First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9
Ordinary Time, Oct. 8, 2017
“Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O God, my rock and my redeemer….”
Holy One,
It’s hard to find words today. Which, I guess, is why the people here today are going to get a prayer instead of a real sermon.
Earlier this week on Monday, I wasn’t even out of bed yet when my husband came in and mouthed to me, “Check the news” while I shared the daily ritual of morning cuddles with my two sons. I have to admit, God, I didn’t do what he said. I waited just a little while in the relative safety and security of my room, breathing in the scent of my beloved children for just a few more minutes before I finally shooed them down to breakfast and picked up my phone to see what had happened.
A few hours later I was here in this room. Lighting candles, keeping silence, praying with sighs too deep for words and trying to figure out just how we got here. How have we gone so far off course, God? Why do we keep doing this to one another? Oh, there are lots of possible answers to those questions. We all have our opinions. I wonder if you know, though, God. I wonder what you think.
I know that our problems aren’t exactly new. After all, I see those commandments you gave to our faith ancestors all those thousands of years ago. The first four are about our relationship with you - a reminder that you are our God, the one who brought our people out of Egypt, the one who relentlessly works for our liberation. Thank you, God. I never remember to say “thank you” enough.
The second and third are related - we are not to have any idols….you are to be our only God. And we aren’t supposed to take your name in vain, either.
I joked to someone earlier this week, “Maybe I’ll just preach a sermon on how bad idolatry is this Sunday. If only I could think of a few idols that we have problems with….”
We laugh because it’s hard to know what else to do, God. The problems seem so enormous. But in all seriousness, we know we have idols. And it’s not just “them” those-other-people-out-there who have this problem. It’s us, too. All of us have put other things before you. We are sorry.
I saw a bumper sticker last week, God. It had your name on it. I guess you’re the one who really gets to decide whether it was taking your name in vain or not, but - as you already know - I was filled with rage when I saw it. In fact, I almost stood outside their truck in the parking lot until they came back just so I could tell them how offensive I found it. Thanks, by the way, for talking me out of that.
Anyway, the bumper sticker. It had your name on it. It said, “God, Guns, and Guts. Let’s keep all three.”
It turned my stomach to see your name there right next to our idols of weapons and toxic masculinity. Dear God. I’m so sorry this is who we are. I want us to do better. I think we could do better. Can we do better?
The fourth commandment is a pretty hard one for lots of us. Keeping the Sabbath day. See, to follow that one we have to do a lot of things that are distinctly counter-cultural. We have to stop working and trust that what we did in the other six days is enough. We have to rely on others to help take care of us. Mostly, we have to admit that we are not You and that the world will keep turning without us. These are not easy things for us humans, God. Did you know that? I’m sure you did. That’s probably why you made a commandment about it, in fact.
After that, the commandments are less about our relationship with you and more about our relationships with each other. If there’s a difference between those two things. Honor our parents, don’t kill each other, be faithful in our relationships, don’t take things that aren’t ours, don’t lie about each other, don’t be so darn jealous of everyone else all the time.
These aren’t particularly easy, either, I’m afraid. We humans struggle with all of them.
But you know what, God? I am thankful for these commandments. I am thankful that you look at us human beings - created in your image, full of strife and struggle, full of terror and beauty - and you say, “You know what, humans? I have faith in you. I think you can be more than you are right now. I believe in you.”
If we were hopeless you wouldn’t have cared enough to set expectations, right? That’s how that works. A teacher gives her students rules because she believes they can attain them. A father tells his children what is expected because he believes in them. We show our friends how we’d like to be treated because we believe it might really happen.
You give expectations to people when you know they struggle to get it right….but you believe they can find a way. You give expectations when you believe in them.
And so, O God, on this particular Sunday morning when so very many things feel broken and messed up and hopeless - when we keep killing each other and watching our leaders tweet thoughts and prayers, when we weep and gnash our teeth and feel powerless because our leaders don’t seem to listen, when we fear and worry about our own lives and those nearest to us, when we can barely bear to say the names of those lost aloud because it makes it too real - on this particular Sunday I want to say thank you.
Thank you for reaching out to us with the words from these ancient pages and reminding us that we are not hopeless. We are not a lost cause. We can do better. You believe in us.
Thank you for reaching out to us in the stories of those who survive atrocities - the ones who sit vigil with the dying, the ones who drive makeshift ambulances and airlift supplies, the ones who run unthinking into chaos trying to help. We see Your Light in their faces. When we look at the best of humanity we remember that we are not a lost cause. We can do better. You still believe in us.
Thank you for reaching out to us in the life and witness of this living, breathing, striving-yet-still-imperfect congregation. We come to this place and see You in the faces of the others who fill the pews. We greet each other by name. We bless one another. We connect spirit to spirit. And we know that we are not a lost cause. We can do better. You still believe in us.
Holy One, please don’t ever stop believing in us. Please continue to show us your way. We can’t promise that we’ll ever get there, but we want to keep trying.
Show us our idols so we can find the strength to tear them down. Get in our faces and remind us to take Sabbath - because it’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. Walk with us through each and every day and help us find the strength to be the people you think it might be possible for us to be. For we know, O Holy Dreamer, that your version of who we can be is so much better than anything we could ever dream up for ourselves.
Centuries ago, a man named John wrote, “A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” Shine on, O God. We need your light today. Keep us turned towards your light, forsaking all the other idols that offer us cheap and easy grace.
Keep us focused on you. We need you. Don’t stop believing in us.
More than anything, O God, let the words that come out of our mouths and the meditations of our aching hearts and the actions we take each and every day be acceptable to you, our rock. Our redeemer. Amen.
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