“Great Reversals”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Luke 14:1,7-14

August 28, 2022

In the spirit of the Gospel of Luke, which so very often looks at society from the underside, we’re going to work through today’s passage from the bottom, up. 

“You will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” 

That’s what Jesus says to the guests at a dinner party on the sabbath day. He’s just turned their whole worlds upside-down (more on that later) and now he tells them that if they really want to live life to its fullest, they need to rethink their social lives. Instead of considering who the “cool kids” are and inviting them over for a meal, Jesus says they should do the exact opposite. Throwing aside all hope of reciprocity, Jesus counsels folks to invite those on the margins. Don’t think about whether they’ll be able to throw you a grand dinner party in return, he says. They can’t. That’s not the point. 

Even if you never get invited to the cool kids table at lunch, you will be blessed, he says. Precisely because you spent your time hanging out with people who weren’t able to pay you back. 

To social media influencers, Jesus says, “Don’t just take ussies with the high and mighty and don’t just @ people you want to boost your signal. Don’t use other humans as currency. Instead, go and seek out those who don’t have any followers and spend time with them. They may not improve your brand. That’s not the point.”

To the lenders, Jesus says, “Don’t just lend money to those with good credit scores and collateral - those who are safe bets. Instead, give money to those who actually need it most. They may not be able to repay you. That’s not the point.”

To teachers, parents, grandparents, Jesus says, “Don’t spend all your time focusing on the kids who clean up perfectly for school photos and win all the awards. Instead, be sure to seek out the kids who are struggling. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones who hardly ever meet expectations. The ones that sit alone at lunch. They may not make your life easy. That’s not the point.”

To fine, upstanding church folks, Jesus says, “Don’t just welcome the visitors who look like they’d fit right in. The ones who look like they’ll have money and time and energy to share. Instead, be sure and talk with the person who’s standing in the corner at coffee hour. Be a friendly face to the person who looks like they stumbled into the wrong place on Sunday morning. They may not be able to serve on a committee or make a donation. That’s not the point.”

So what is the point? 

Jesus says we’ll be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. Which is to say: what matters is what matters to God. What matters is shaping our lives in a way that resembles the Realm of God, the Beloved Community. 

If we back it up a bit, we start to see further hints at what it looks like to live in the Realm of God. Jesus says to those gathered at this dinner party, “Hey, don’t puff yourself up and sit down at the head of the table. Instead, sit in the lowest place and then see if the host invites you to move up. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

The invitation to follow Jesus is an invitation to divest fully from the ways of the world. 

While news pundits and analysts remind us again and again of the invisible hand of the free market and economic theories and laws, in the Realm of God, life flows differently. After all, Jesus turned scraps into loaves and fishes to feed more than 5000 people. He ate with sinners and outcasts. He told troubling stories about laborers who worked all day getting paid the same thing as those who clocked in just before quitting time. He painted a less-than-complimentary picture of the elder brother who followed all the rules and instead drew our attention to the ridiculously compassionate father who threw a lavish party for the son that hadn’t earned a darn thing. And he taught us to pray: “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”

Just when we think we may have things figured out, Jesus says “look again.” Biblical scholar Allen Verhey calls the ethics of Jesus the “great reversal.” It’s not Stranger Things but it is a kind of Upside Down, where everything is topsy-turvey.

To follow Jesus is to accept the invitation to live life in this topsy turvey world. Biblical scholar John P. Burgess says this Beloved Community is a place where, “human relationships are no longer characterized by suspicion and competition, but rather by deep, rich communion. Christ makes possible a way of life that turns present reality upside down. The reign of God is characterized by a series of ‘great reversals.’” [1] 

In this realm of great reversals, we rejoice when those on the margins are welcomed at the table. We celebrate when debts are forgiven. And, at the same time, we are called to remember that it’s even bigger than celebrating the small wins. To truly live in the Realm of God is to divest so fully from “the way things are” that the very foundations are questioned, systems are razed and rebuilt, and wildly-impractical practices like Jubilee become reality. 

Pastor Brian McLaren says that to live in the way of Jesus is to accept the invitation to follow where the Spirit leads. And the Spirit does not lead us to the head of the table. Instead, McLaren says, 

The Spirit leads us downward. To the bottom, to the place of humility, to the position and posture of service . . . that’s where the Spirit, like water, flows. . . .

If you listen to the Spirit, here is what will happen to you. You’ll be at a party and you’ll notice on one side of the room all the beautiful people laughing and having fun together. In a far corner, you’ll notice a person who is alone, feeling awkward, not knowing anyone. The Spirit will draw you to the person in need. You may become the bridge that connects the outsider to the insiders—and in that connection, both will be better off. . . .

Here’s what will happen if you listen to the Spirit. You will see a person or a group being vilified or scapegoated. Everyone is blaming them, shaming them, gossiping about them, feeling superior to them, venting their anxieties on them. . . . But the Spirit will draw you to differ courageously and graciously. . . . You will risk your reputation in defending the person or people being scapegoated. And in that risk, both you and they will know that God’s Spirit is alive and at work in your midst.

If you listen to the Spirit, here’s what will happen to you. It will be late. You will be tired. There will be dishes to do or clothes to pick up or trash to empty. Someone else should have done this, you will think with anger. You will rehearse in your mind the speech you will give them. And then you will think, But I guess they’re just as tired and overworked as I am. So maybe I can help. You won’t do this as a manipulative ploy but as a simple act of service. . . .

There is a prison near you. A hospital. A park or a bridge or an alley where homeless people sleep. . . . There’s a country in great need or a social problem that few people notice. If you listen to the Spirit, you will be drawn toward an opportunity to serve. At first, the thought will frighten or repel you. But when you let the Spirit guide you, it will be a source of great joy—one of the richest blessings of your life.

And now we come to the beginning of this text from Luke. And the end of today’s sermon. 

Jesus went into the house of a Pharisee to eat a meal on the sabbath and the author of Luke tells us “they were watching him closely.” When we follow the Spirit in the ways that McLaren is suggesting - when we divest from systems that harm and step more fully into the Realm of God - we are being watched. 

I don’t mean to alarm you by saying that, but it’s true. People are watching us and if we call ourselves followers of Jesus, they’re watching us to see what it looks like to be a Christian. Whether we like that label or not. 

Preaching professor Joy J. Moore tells a story about being watched. 

When Moore was a little girl she went to a Protestant church and there was one woman there who came from the Catholic tradition. (This was a different time and place where being Catholic meant “being different” - unlike in our congregation where people come from all kinds of religious backgrounds.) So Moore remembers this woman as being different from other folks. And she noticed that when she came into the sanctuary on Sundays she fell down. She wasn’t sure why that happened. She just watched and noticed. 

And one day she finally asked the woman why that happened. Why she fell down when she came in. And the woman was so surprised. Her initial reaction was, “You saw me???” And then she went on to explain to the child that she was raised Catholic and in her tradition she had learned to show reverence for the altar by kneeling when she came into the sanctuary. She explained that she didn’t mean to call attention to herself by doing so. 

Moore, as an adult, recalls two things about this interaction. First, that the woman was surprised that anyone saw her. She was being watched, but she didn’t even know it. And, second, that She didn’t mean to call attention to herself. She was not doing this for kudos. She was simply honoring God in the ways she had been taught and seemed a little embarrassed to know that someone had noticed her actions. [3] 

Just as the crowds watched Jesus, people watch us to see what it looks like to walk in the Spirit. 

And the way of the Spirit is a downward path, flowing like water. Always moving to fill the cracks and seep into the edge places just out of sight. Off the beaten path. Topsy-turvey. 

Following in the path of the one who came in the name of Great Reversals. The One who shows us glimpses of the Realm of God - a place where we can divest fully from systems of harm and, instead, live into the promises of a world where debts are forgiven, outcasts are beloved, and there’s always room to pull up another chair at the table. 

May it be so. 

NOTES:

[1] Feasting on the Gospels--Luke, Volume 2 (p. 188). Presbyterian Publishing Corporation. Kindle Edition.

[2] https://cac.org/daily-meditations/spirit-led-action-2022-08-24/ 

[3] Sermon Brainwave podcast. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/brainwave-859-ordinary-22c-twelfth-sunday-after-pentecost/id1538186845?i=1000576810391 

“The Passion of Christ”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Luke 12:49-56

August 14, 2022

Silent night, holy night,

All is calm, all is bright,

Round yon virgin, mother and child,

Holy infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace. 

Such a tender, sweet song. And for many of us, it carries with it warm memories of Christmas Eve services, Christmas pageants, maybe even caroling while holding mugs of hot cocoa. 

And, of course, the warmth of candlelight glowing. A feeling of tranquility, comfort, and deep peace. The song is like a lullaby for the infant Christ child. Rocking gently in his parent’s arms. A song of peace. 

It feels difficult to reconcile this image of the sweet, sleeping baby Jesus with the grown man in today’s text. 

“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

Most of us aren’t quite sure what to do with this version of Jesus. The table-flipping one. The one who calls people “hypocrites!” and “nest of vipers!”

We like the quiet, cuddly, peaceful Jesus more. We like buddy Jesus. We like Jesus the Good Shepherd, the Lamb of God, the Prince of Peace. We like Jesus when he’s domesticated.

Regardless of our preferences, Jesus refuses to be put into a neat-and-tidy box. The Prince of Peace is also the one who comes with a winnowing fork in his hand, ready to separate the wheat from the chaff, and baptize with fire. 

Fire is complicated. It can make us feel warm and cozy, like when we hold our candles on Christmas Eve. But it is also dangerous, of course. In the Bible, fire is a complex symbol. Biblical scholars have called it “ambiguous” [1] and “multivalent.” [2] Fire is associated with the voice of God, like when Moses heard God’s voice in the burning bush. Fire reminds us of the Holy Spirit, like the tongues of flame that dance among the disciples on Pentecost. Fire in the Bible is spoken of as a refiner’s fire - something that cleanses and purifies. And, of course, there’s fiery judgment in more places than we would prefer. 

What do we make of this Jesus who comes to bring fire to the earth? 

The sense of urgency in this passage is palpable. Jesus is nearing the end of his ministry on earth and he’s a bit frantic. There are so many things he’s passionate about - so many things he wants to accomplish - but time is running out. 

He tells his disciples that he has a job to complete and he’s under stress until the job is finished. He has spoken often about his upcoming death and resurrection and now the time is almost upon him. The fire that he brings is a flame of urgent hope that God’s Reign - that Beloved Community - might finally be a reality. 

Jesus understands that his message isn’t fluffy unicorns and cute puppies. His message, his call to radical transformation, is counter-cultural and hard. I often joke that “no one ever said following Jesus would be easy,” but the urgency of this part of Luke’s gospel gives a sense of just how uncomfortable and challenging it is to call ourselves followers of Jesus. If it’s not uncomfortable and challenging, we’re probably not doing it right. 

I repeat: if following Jesus isn’t uncomfortable and challenging, we’re probably not doing it right. 

Discomfort and challenge is one thing, but what are we supposed to do with this diatribe pitting family members against one another and sowing division? Biblical scholar Audrey West says it might be helpful to think of these statements as descriptive rather than prescriptive. [3] Jesus’s mission isn’t to divide families BUT the natural outgrowth of following Jesus means that some ties will be frayed. Scholar Abigail Kocher reminds us that while Jesus didn’t come with the intent of dividing families, he also didn’t come with the intent of uniting families. She says, “Making sure families were harmonious was not the goal of his life, death, and resurrection. Jesus came with a greater purpose. He came to create a new family. His new family requires a loyalty to a larger family.” [4] 

Now, I don’t know how this hits you. If you’re very close with your family, you might think, “Huh? I don’t want to deny my family!” If you have family members you're estranged from, it might feel good to remember that chosen family is such a gift. We can surround ourselves with communities of support and care when our family-families can’t meet our needs. And faith communities have been a powerful source of support for many of us here. But I also know that some here have been deeply wounded by conflict and abuses of power in faith communities. It’s complicated and this is a troubling text.  There are no easy answers here. 

Jesus goes on to vent his frustrations that his followers seem out-of-step with what’s going on around them. He says they understand basic day-to-day things like the weather all-too-well, but they’re clueless about things that really matter. He tells them they’re out of touch with the world around them and unable to see how urgent things really are. 

Seeing Jesus chastise his followers like this seems surprisingly relevant in the year 2022. How often have we wondered what Jesus might think about the things his followers are doing these days? We wonder: how can a religion of Jesus followers be so far off base? How can anyone read the Bible and come to the conclusion that we’re supposed to hate others who are different than us? Or try to force our religion upon other people? When faith and nationalism get wound up so tight you can’t pull them apart, we can hear alarm bells ringing. 

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never found it so difficult to call myself a Christian before. So many of the folks who say they are Christians seem to be practicing a completely different religion than what I think of as Christianity. And so it becomes difficult to say “Yep, I’m a Christian,” when we don’t want to be guilty by association. 

Again, there are no easy answers here. Just complexity and division and trying to find our way together in messy times. 

Jesus’s fiery passion in this passage reminds us, though, that it’s worth it to stay the course. The one we DO call the Prince of Peace, the Good Shepherd, the Lamb of God, the Liberator, the Still Point of the Turning World - this Christ Force doesn’t let us off easily. Nor does he abandon us when the going gets tough. 

Instead, Christ burns brightly like a fire - all pulsing energy and crackling beauty. All these centuries later, we are still drawn towards the light. It moves and illuminates and casts shadows. We stand in awe of its presence and mystery and power and passion. 

We give thanks for the warm glow of candlelight in those sweet moments like Christmas Eve as we hold the image of peace near our hearts. 

And we keep wrestling with those other songs that are more troubling. Like the one Mary sang when she learned she was to bear this passionate fire into the world. 

Your mercy reaches from age to age for those who fear you.  

You have shown strength with your arm;

you have scattered the proud in their conceit; 

you have deposed the mighty from their thrones and raised the lowly to high places. 

You have filled the hungry with good things,

while you have sent the rich away empty.

Surely she sang that song - the Magnificat - to Jesus as she rocked him. And in his mother’s arms the passion, the conviction, the thirst for justice that was his birthright seeped into him. May the passion of Christ continue to burn within us, that we might be seekers of that Beloved Community - the Realm of God - too. 

NOTES:

[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-luke-1249-56-5 

[2] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-20-3/commentary-on-luke-1249-56\
[3] and [4] Feasting on the Gospels--Luke, Volume 2: A Feasting on the Word Commentary . Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition. 

[5] Priests for Equality. The Inclusive Bible (p. 2220). Sheed & Ward. Kindle Edition.

"Things Unseen"

 Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 and Luke 12:32-40

August 7, 2022

On Tuesday night, I drifted off to sleep with the words of Irish poet Seamus Heaney rolling through my head. In the Cure at Troy, he writes:

History says, don’t hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change

On the far side of revenge.

Believe that further shore

Is reachable from here. [1] 

If you’ve never had the experience of waiting for the electorate to vote on whether or not you have access to your own God-given rights - well, I can’t quite describe how surreal it feels. I was a nervous wreck all day Monday and Tuesday. Unable to think clearly and keyed up. Once the national news called it on Tuesday night, I didn’t feel much of anything. Just numb disbelief. We’ve all become so accustomed to uncertainty and disappointment, haven’t we? 

But as I fell asleep, Heaney’s words came to me. And I thought about how many times in the past they’ve been a touchstone for me when things didn’t turn out the way I had hoped. When disappointment gave way to despair and I needed someone to remind me that we all have to keep finding a way to “hope for a great sea-change.” 

Rarely have I held onto this poem as a touchstone when justice DOES rise up or when hope and history DO rhyme. It felt good to experience a connection to these words in a new way. Poetry can be a balm when we are hurting and a party popper when we are rejoicing. Thank God for artists. 

The author of Hebrews had a way with words, too. This book contains some of the most beautiful language in the Second Testament. And it includes several needlepoint scriptures like the one at the beginning of today’s passage, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

Faith is what we hold onto when we’re not sure things are ever going to turn around. And faith is also a party we throw when we are finally surprised by something good. Faith is the ability to squint our eyes at the horizon and see a glimmer of hope there. Faith is reminding ourselves, “everything will be okay in the end - if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” [2] Faith is living and loving as if the “not yet” is already here. Faith co-exists with doubt because, otherwise, it wouldn’t be faith, would it? 

I’m stuck this week on the statement that faith is the conviction of things not seen. What a thing! To be certain of something invisible. 

Think about some of the most faithful people you’ve known. Were they able to see things you couldn’t? Were they able to share that vision with others? 

One of the gifts of artists - and poets - is the ability to see things the rest of us don’t. And then to paint those realities with a brush or clay or words or their body or a bow….and make them visible to us. 

When artists do this - they make faith visible for us. They help us see the unseen. They shine a light on the shadowy corners of the world and invite us to name truth. They turn on a disco ball and invite us onto a dance floor with glitter and sweat and pulsing joy and remind us that faith is for the hard times, sure, but it’s for the good times, too. 

Jesus reminds us that God is pleased with us. That God desires for us to live in the kindom of justice and peace and joy here and now. That faith can look like holding on tight in desperate times AND it can look like twirling and whirling in celebration and laughter. Faith is big enough for the downs and ups. The key is turning our hearts to the frequency of things hoped for but not yet seen. 

Poet Ross Gay does this beautifully in his collection of short essays, The Book of Delights. You can find it in the newly-created box of prayer resources out in the lobby, by the way. 

Gay says, 

One day last July, feeling delighted and compelled to both wonder about and share that delight, I decided that it might feel nice, even useful, to write a daily essay about something delightful. I remember laughing to myself for how obvious it was. I could call it something like The Book of Delights. 

I came up with a handful of rules: write a delight every day for a year; begin and end on my birthday, August 1; draft them quickly; and write them by hand. The rules made it a discipline for me. A practice. Spend time thinking and writing about delight every day…..

It didn’t take me long to learn that the discipline or practice of writing these essays occasioned a kind of delight radar. Or maybe it was more like the development of a delight muscle. Something that implies that the more you study delight, the more delight there is to study….I also learned this year that my delight grows - much like love and joy - when I share it. [3] 

Gay’s writing not only brings vicarious delight - he makes you want to follow in his footsteps and be a collector of delight, too. This must be what Jesus was talking about when he said, “Sell what you own and give the money to poorer people. Make purses for yourselves that don’t wear out—treasures that won’t fail you, in heaven that thieves can’t steal and moths can’t destroy. For wherever your treasure is, that’s where your heart will be.”

In other words: live generously. Remembering that all good things - love and joy and delight - grow when we share them with others who need them. Cultivate spiritual practices that give you new eyes for seeing the world. Make purses that don’t wear out - collect treasures every day - little nuggets of delight. Gather them up, turn them over in the light like the treasurers they are. 

Inscribe these visions of God’s goodness - this faithfulness - upon your heart and soul, bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you are at home and when you’re away, when you lie down and when you rise up. Write this faith on the doorposts of your house and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be blessed. [4]

It’s a little bit like Mirabel in the Disney movie Encanto. Everyone else in the family Madrigal has a magical gift but Mirabel doesn’t receive one. But by the end of the movie it’s clear that she does have a gift. Her gift is seeing things as they really are, naming hard truths, and finding hope anyway. If you split her name in two it means mira = sees, bel = beauty. She is the one who sees what’s really there. And, in doing so, saves her family. 

In good times and hard times, this gift of seeing is one our faith invites us to. The assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of seeing what’s really there - even when it’s hard to see. The simple act of gathering up delights in our purses that don’t wear out. For those acts of intentionality become our spiritual disciplines. Gathering up treasures that really do sustain. And being led to share what we have generously with others who might need a little extra. 

I’ll close with a final reminder from one more word-artist, Amanda Gorman. She spoke so beautifully of the hope that comes through shared faith on Inauguration Day 2021. Her words sound like faith: 

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it

If only we’re brave enough to be it

NOTES:

[1] https://besharamagazine.org/newsandviews/poems-for-these-times-14/ 

[2] As best I can tell, this saying originated with Fernando Sabino. 

[3] Gay, Ross. The Book of Delights, preface. 

[4] An interpolation of Deuteronomy 11:18-21.