Rumors of Hope
Isaiah 56:2-8; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25
March 27, 2011
In a little while we’re going to close our worship singing a song that is chock full of rumor and innuendo. Well, sort of.
But with that “introduction,” you are now looking at your bulletins to see what this song is. That is the way of rumor and innuendo. They are all but impossible to ignore. Even the hint of such is enough to get you searching through a bulletin looking for a hymn title.
Having not, I trust, given away too much, too soon, let me ask, to begin with, what comes to mind when you hear the word “rumors.”
“Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people.”
That’s a line, sometimes attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, sometimes to Hyman Rickover, uh, rumor has it that no one really knows where it comes from. In any case, I don’t know what events were happening in that person’s life when he or she said it, but I’d like to start the rumor that it was said by someone with few ideas and fewer friends … or, maybe, just a depressed philosophy grad student who had a hard time at a cocktail party.
Just kidding. But seriously, what a ridiculous and pompous statement. Ideas and events are meaningless absent the people who live them out or live through them. Talking about people is not only essential and essentially human, it is holy.
It’s about all Jesus did talk about, in fact. You don’t find Jesus waxing eloquently about the great theological themes that, down through the ages, come to define – and confine – so much of Christianity.
Instead, you find him talking with and listening to and drinking with and laughing with and praying with and crying with people, as he heals the sick, makes whole the broken, and brings hope to the hopeless – without ever once saying, “let me share with you my theology of atonement,” or “let’s talk about the mystery of the trinity, shall we?”
And perhaps that is why rumors about him spread like wildfire.
From the very beginning, stories seemed to spread. Recall the opening stories of his ministry from Luke. He comes to the synagogue, takes down the scroll of Isaiah, and sings out about bringing new sight to the blind, liberation to the captives, freedom to the oppressed and good news to the poor, and pretty soon the crowds start gathering everywhere he goes.
Rumors of hope spread out, and the people come.
At the National Capital Presbytery meeting a couple of weeks ago, John Bell spoke to us about rumors and community building. After acknowledging some of what we’ve already named, about the destructive power of rumor and the community-breaking sin of rumor mongering, he reminded us of the rumor that founded the church, “he is risen.”
Beginning with the empty tomb and the witness of Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary the mother of James, the story spread on the lips of an ever-expanding circle of witnesses: “he is risen; he is risen, indeed.”
The story that could have ended in despair, the story that the authorities wanted to end with death, instead becomes the story of hope’s triumph, the story of life overcoming death, the story of God’s great “yes” flying in the face of the “no” of the world. Foolishness in the eyes of the world, said Paul, but talk about rumors of hope. Rumors of hope, indeed.
Last week, a small group of us got together to talk about CPC’s mission and outreach to the community. We talked about the core commitment to radical hospitality that guides so much of what we do here. We talked about the continuing call that we discern to engage in hands-on ministries of feeding and housing. We talked about different kinds of hunger that people experience, including the physical hunger that we respond to working through AFAC and A-SPAN and the spiritual hunger that everyone feels at various points in our lives.
And we talked about what our efforts have in common. At that point I think it was Molly who said, simply, “hope.”
What all of our efforts to reach out to and serve the community have in common is the offer of hope.
Wouldn’t it be a great thing if the rumor spread that Clarendon Presbyterian Church is a community of hope!
Oh, but some will say, the rumor is that church is too small. The rumor is that church is hidden away where no one can find it. The rumor is that church doesn’t have enough money. The rumor is that church may not survive. The rumor is that church has too much of this and not enough of that. The rumor is they painted a parlor purple.
OK, sometimes a rumor is true, and even the ones that are not the whole truth often contain kernels of truth. We are small. We are a bit difficult to fine. We don’t have enough money to do everything we’d like to do.
But hold those up against the witness of scripture.
Take the blessings of Jesus:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
It is surely difficult to understand that promise these days, as war grinds on with no end in sight. But surely this blessing can inspire a rumor of hope that someday we might live into the shalom of God’s desire.
Take the promises of Isaiah:
To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.
To the eunuchs – the sexual minorities, excluded by law and tradition, the ultimate outsiders to a tradition that so treasured paternity and family – to them is promised an everlasting name, a monument within the house of God. Sure, Isaiah does not say, “the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) shall ordain gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgender members to church office, but talk about a rumor of hope.
And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants, all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it, and hold fast my covenant— these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.
To the foreigners – the non-Jews, the ones outside of the covenant of Abraham, maybe even ones on the wrong side of the waters that Moses walked through – to them is promised joy in the house of prayer – a house to be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Oh, to be sure, Isaiah does not say anything about the Muslim, the Hindu, the atheist, but I promised in my ordination vows to receive the scriptures of the new and the old testaments as authoritative, so I must monger this Biblical rumor of hope that everyone, everyone is welcome in the house of God.
It was to the scroll of Isaiah that Jesus turned in his first public teaching, according to Luke’s gospel, and he sang out these words,
“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s jubilee.”
Talk about rumors of hope.
We’re going to close our worship with a hymn that recalls these words.
Now, as we sing, it’s important to recall that when Jesus finished preaching these words, the people took him out to a hillside and tried to pitch him off a cliff.
I got insight into that about 10 years ago when I put this song in a service of worship, and the music director came to me and said, “I will not play that song; it’s Marxist.”
I was reminded of Oscar Romero’s remark: “when I feed the hungry that call me a saint; when I ask why the people are hungry they call me a communist.”
Jesus is talking about real hope here, and real hope has the power to transform – to transform both individual lives and also to transforms systems and structures that leave people hungry, cast out, and cut off from community and from autonomy.
The challenge to us, a wee small church tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, comes directly from Jesus: give voice to hope and be open to transformations big and small.
When we do this, rumors will spread. Let the people talk. Amen.
March 27, 2011
In a little while we’re going to close our worship singing a song that is chock full of rumor and innuendo. Well, sort of.
But with that “introduction,” you are now looking at your bulletins to see what this song is. That is the way of rumor and innuendo. They are all but impossible to ignore. Even the hint of such is enough to get you searching through a bulletin looking for a hymn title.
Having not, I trust, given away too much, too soon, let me ask, to begin with, what comes to mind when you hear the word “rumors.”
“Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people.”
That’s a line, sometimes attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, sometimes to Hyman Rickover, uh, rumor has it that no one really knows where it comes from. In any case, I don’t know what events were happening in that person’s life when he or she said it, but I’d like to start the rumor that it was said by someone with few ideas and fewer friends … or, maybe, just a depressed philosophy grad student who had a hard time at a cocktail party.
Just kidding. But seriously, what a ridiculous and pompous statement. Ideas and events are meaningless absent the people who live them out or live through them. Talking about people is not only essential and essentially human, it is holy.
It’s about all Jesus did talk about, in fact. You don’t find Jesus waxing eloquently about the great theological themes that, down through the ages, come to define – and confine – so much of Christianity.
Instead, you find him talking with and listening to and drinking with and laughing with and praying with and crying with people, as he heals the sick, makes whole the broken, and brings hope to the hopeless – without ever once saying, “let me share with you my theology of atonement,” or “let’s talk about the mystery of the trinity, shall we?”
And perhaps that is why rumors about him spread like wildfire.
From the very beginning, stories seemed to spread. Recall the opening stories of his ministry from Luke. He comes to the synagogue, takes down the scroll of Isaiah, and sings out about bringing new sight to the blind, liberation to the captives, freedom to the oppressed and good news to the poor, and pretty soon the crowds start gathering everywhere he goes.
Rumors of hope spread out, and the people come.
At the National Capital Presbytery meeting a couple of weeks ago, John Bell spoke to us about rumors and community building. After acknowledging some of what we’ve already named, about the destructive power of rumor and the community-breaking sin of rumor mongering, he reminded us of the rumor that founded the church, “he is risen.”
Beginning with the empty tomb and the witness of Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary the mother of James, the story spread on the lips of an ever-expanding circle of witnesses: “he is risen; he is risen, indeed.”
The story that could have ended in despair, the story that the authorities wanted to end with death, instead becomes the story of hope’s triumph, the story of life overcoming death, the story of God’s great “yes” flying in the face of the “no” of the world. Foolishness in the eyes of the world, said Paul, but talk about rumors of hope. Rumors of hope, indeed.
Last week, a small group of us got together to talk about CPC’s mission and outreach to the community. We talked about the core commitment to radical hospitality that guides so much of what we do here. We talked about the continuing call that we discern to engage in hands-on ministries of feeding and housing. We talked about different kinds of hunger that people experience, including the physical hunger that we respond to working through AFAC and A-SPAN and the spiritual hunger that everyone feels at various points in our lives.
And we talked about what our efforts have in common. At that point I think it was Molly who said, simply, “hope.”
What all of our efforts to reach out to and serve the community have in common is the offer of hope.
Wouldn’t it be a great thing if the rumor spread that Clarendon Presbyterian Church is a community of hope!
Oh, but some will say, the rumor is that church is too small. The rumor is that church is hidden away where no one can find it. The rumor is that church doesn’t have enough money. The rumor is that church may not survive. The rumor is that church has too much of this and not enough of that. The rumor is they painted a parlor purple.
OK, sometimes a rumor is true, and even the ones that are not the whole truth often contain kernels of truth. We are small. We are a bit difficult to fine. We don’t have enough money to do everything we’d like to do.
But hold those up against the witness of scripture.
Take the blessings of Jesus:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
It is surely difficult to understand that promise these days, as war grinds on with no end in sight. But surely this blessing can inspire a rumor of hope that someday we might live into the shalom of God’s desire.
Take the promises of Isaiah:
To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.
To the eunuchs – the sexual minorities, excluded by law and tradition, the ultimate outsiders to a tradition that so treasured paternity and family – to them is promised an everlasting name, a monument within the house of God. Sure, Isaiah does not say, “the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) shall ordain gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgender members to church office, but talk about a rumor of hope.
And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants, all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it, and hold fast my covenant— these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.
To the foreigners – the non-Jews, the ones outside of the covenant of Abraham, maybe even ones on the wrong side of the waters that Moses walked through – to them is promised joy in the house of prayer – a house to be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Oh, to be sure, Isaiah does not say anything about the Muslim, the Hindu, the atheist, but I promised in my ordination vows to receive the scriptures of the new and the old testaments as authoritative, so I must monger this Biblical rumor of hope that everyone, everyone is welcome in the house of God.
It was to the scroll of Isaiah that Jesus turned in his first public teaching, according to Luke’s gospel, and he sang out these words,
“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s jubilee.”
Talk about rumors of hope.
We’re going to close our worship with a hymn that recalls these words.
Now, as we sing, it’s important to recall that when Jesus finished preaching these words, the people took him out to a hillside and tried to pitch him off a cliff.
I got insight into that about 10 years ago when I put this song in a service of worship, and the music director came to me and said, “I will not play that song; it’s Marxist.”
I was reminded of Oscar Romero’s remark: “when I feed the hungry that call me a saint; when I ask why the people are hungry they call me a communist.”
Jesus is talking about real hope here, and real hope has the power to transform – to transform both individual lives and also to transforms systems and structures that leave people hungry, cast out, and cut off from community and from autonomy.
The challenge to us, a wee small church tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, comes directly from Jesus: give voice to hope and be open to transformations big and small.
When we do this, rumors will spread. Let the people talk. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
12:43 PM
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