I'm on vacation in Florida for a week, and changes are in store for the pantry when I return!

>Do you like to be scared? Do you like to be “jump three feet off the ground and scream like a girl” scared? Do startling noises, people popping out from behind a tree, ghost stories, amusement park rides, skydiving—take your pick—do they get the old adrenaline flowing and make you feel alive? Do you like to be scared?

The youth group was having a discussion on Facebook this past week about the possibility of going to Nightmare New England—which I take is a scary place, right? The talk centered around the cost and the timing. Someone inferred that it was too pricey, and that money better be used for the New Orleans trip. That received little attention from the kids. Then someone suggested they go Sunday evening--tonight..

At which point I chimed in and reminded them about confirmation class that evening. (Major buzz kill.) To which a certain youth leader who shall remain nameless (Tall Guy), posted his response—a comment on the idea of saving the money which ended up with “Besides confirmation might just be scarier than Nightmare New England!”

Some scary things can also be fun. Like Nightmare New England, roller coasters, horror movies, and confirmation. But there are other scary things that aren’t any fun at all. They’re just scary. Things like cancer. Scary. I remember when I was diagnosed with cancer almost twenty years ago. I almost passed out. Horrifying. Parenthood—that’s scary stuff. To think that every decision you make has the potential of an adverse if not catastrophic effect on your child. Bone chilling! And how about waiting up for your teenager to get home with the car—those are scary thoughts that run through your head.

Since September 11^th we have a communal fear: terrorism—an always just below the surface anxiety that’s periodically summoned up by the media or politicians to scare us some more. The senselessness of it and it’s random cold-heartedness makes terrorism a frightening thing indeed.

But nothing—not the avian flu, nor triple E, nor tainted tomatoes, lead laden toys, or melamined milk—nothing puts fear in our good old American consumer hearts like the happenings on Wall Street these past two weeks. Talk about your roller coasters. The Dow was going up and down so sharply you could loose an eye just looking at the graph.

Couple that with a still-depressed housing market, a mortgage foreclosure meltdown, several of the world’s biggest and most trusted financial corporations failing and having to be bailed out by the fed—and couple all that with a rise in food and oil prices, plus a $700 billion stimulus package, dwarfed only by the 1 trillion $ national debt and the estimated $2 trillion loss in value of 401ks—Take into consideration all of that, squeeze all that into your head, then add a 24 hour a day news cycle that is constantly stirring the pot and adding any ingredient that will keep glassy-eyed viewers tuned in—no matter how outrageous or inflammatory, and you have a scary situation indeed. Monster in the closet scary, boogie man scary, flying monkeys scary!

And yet, no one—no one—not the Federal government, or the news media, or the political candidates, not even Joe Sixpack or Joe the Plumber—no one—no one dares use the dreaded “R” word. They’ll go right up to the line in their commentary and proposals, but they won’t say that R word. You know the word I’m talking about, right? What is it? (recession) Oh no, not that r word. This one: repentance.

Repentance. Literally it means turning around 180 degrees. Figuratively it means to change one’s mind, to forsake a direction you’ve headed in that has proved false or dangerous, to set your face in a new and sure direction. Repentance is most associated with sin and forgiveness—it being the cessation of sin and the catalyst that results in a spiritual reaction of forgiveness.

In the financial scenario previously described one could quite easily jump on the fundamentalist bandwagon and think that God is punishing us for something—greed, gluttony, usury, or right to life or gay marriage, or some equally non-tangential causality. And that if we only repented and returned to being a Godly nation like we were in the good old days, then everything would be coming up roses once again. The Dow would rise from the dead and AIG could go on that fancy retreat—heck we all could! There fixed—easy as apple pie. Ha! If only it were that clear cut, that black and white, that ultimately controllable by our actions.

Cause it’s not. It’s scarier because it’s not an easy fix. But neither is it God punishing us, despite what Yahweh seems to say in the first reading—“I am the Lord and there is no other, I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create woe; I the Lord do all these things.” True nothing happens in all of creation without God’s hand in it somehow. But the idea that God punishes us on such a grand scale is very scary indeed. For that would implicate God in the wanton destruction of innocent human life. That’s not the God personified in Jesus Christ. That’s not the God that we call Father. That’s not the God we have in our very being through the indwelling of the holy Spirit.

I prefer to believe that God lets us punish ourselves. With the consequences of our actions. We don’t share the bounty of the earth equitably, and so people starve to death. We spew pollutants into the air for a half a millennium, and so the global climate changes. Or…or, or we lose touch with reality when it comes to money, and so the house of cards collapses, and we are convulsed with fear and doom. What do I mean by losing touch with reality when it comes to money?

The Pharisees tried to entrap Jesus by asking him if it was lawful to pay tax to the Emperor. If he answered “no” they’d have him arrested as a tax evader and general rabble rouser. If “yes” than he’d be about as popular with the crowds as a guy wearing a Rays shirt in Fanneuil Hall.

But Jesus isn’t falling for their con game. He asks for a coin of the realm. And they instantly produce one (even though foreign currency is not allowed in the temple, not to mention the graven image of a false god, Caesar, stamped on it!) He asks them, “Whose picture is on it.” “The emperor’s,” they answer. And then Jesus zings them. “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” OOOO!

But wait a minute here—wait just a second here. Did Jesus just say the emperor and God are two mutually exclusive entities in this equation? That there are some things that belong just to Caesar, and the rest is God’s?/ Isn’t everything God’s? “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof,” as it says in the Psalms. How could anything be Caesar’s? Aren’t Caesar’s coins actually God’s? Isn’t the majesty of Caesar’s palace in Rome really God’s? And by the way—isn’t even Caesar himself God’s own creation?

So what gives? Is Jesus saying that we should obey the government, and not mix that up with obeying him? Kind of. Let’s return to where this excursus began, and that is with the statement “we have lost touch with the reality of money.”

The reality of money is that money is not God. It is a false God. A very potent one. And quite often, we unwittingly worship that false god. For all the things we believe it does for us. We think it makes us happy, when in reality it makes us restless for more. We think it is our security, when in reality it leaves us open to calamities like we have experienced in the global economy. We think money buys power, prestige and admiration, when in reality it only leases those commodities.

The big problem for us is that we can get carried away by money, and then it begins to rule us—which it does not through excess, but by scarcity. How many of you usually know day by day what the Dow Jones has done by the closing bell. Not many. Now, how many of you kept watch over it last week like a mother hen with her chicks? We get real interested when the stocks go down and down and down. Scarcity – the news is far more scary when the blue chips are down. When they’re up, the news that hundreds of families were being forced from their homes is oh so ho-hum. And I doubt any of us got out of our Mutual Funds, so as not to share in big oil’s windfall. Scarcity grabs our attention by hitting us right where we live.

Scarcity even effects the way we talk here in church. Lately there’s been lots of talk about money—mostly concerning a lack of it. We voted in a deficit budget. And we’re about to run that deficit. And in presenting that information to you, we may have scared you—perhaps it’s fairer to say we wanted to scare you. Because we were scared.

But that all is scarcity mentality. And it can take over if left to its own devices. It can even replace God as our ultimate concern (to borrow Tillich’s definition), the thing that matters most to us. When what our eyes, ears, hands and mouths should be attending to is the abundance God has given us. An abundance of talent, of resources, of kindheartedness, of compassion, or work to be doing. We’ve looked away from God’s abundance and fixed our gaze on this seeming shortfall. Well, I’m here to tell you: that’s Caesar’s attitude, and we should give Caesar what is Caesar’s

We should repent. Stop what we’re doing. Turn away from seeing a half empty cup, and turn towards the God whose love is an ever flowing font. For you see, the key to the gospel passage for today is not in the question that the Pharisees ask Jesus. It in his answer—which has little to do with taxes, coins, or emperors. Jesus’ answer to those Pharisees is both a promise and a challenge.

A promise of the steadfastness of God’s love for all creation and his true dominion over all. We say, “Nothing is certain except death and taxes.” Jesus says, “God’s love is stronger than death and you don’t need to fill out a lot of forms to get it.” God’s love is certain, and it is abundant. And spreading that good news to anyone on the highways and byways of Hillsborough county is where we have focused our ministry historically, and it will continue to be—if we approach our mission not from a deficit position, but from a surplus waiting to be tapped. If we approach the upcoming Mission Freedom debt reduction campaign not from an attitude of paying our debts, but of giving to God from the abundance that is God’s.. The Mission Focus process that we have just entered into will help us discern how to do that—but for now, I can think of no better way to begin than to repent.

So—do you repent of an attitude of scarcity? (I repent!)

Do you repent of putting money before mission, budget before blessings?

Do you repent of trying to blame our anxieties about money on others?

Do you repent of staying silent in church when it comes to talking about money?

And finally, do you offer your repentance freely? (I do!)

Now that wasn’t so scary was it? And a whole lot more fun than paying your taxes. And now that we’re facing God and his abundance, we can move forward. Amen

Last year my wife and I took a cruise to Bermuda. The food was really great (and the scenery too).
And exotic. One of the things my wife and I tried was snails (which sounds nicer in French - escargot). They tasted mostly like the butter and garlic they were slathered with, but they were tastier than I imagined.

Another thing she tried but I didn't was cold soup. I can't remember the types. But, in my humble opinion, the words "cold" and "soup" don't go together unless you're complaining to the maitre'de! To me eating cold soup would be right up there with taking a big slurp of your coffee--only to find it had cooled off! Yuk!

Still you can't knock it unless you've tried it, as the saying goes.

I think that every time I read this Isaiah lesson, which describes the great messianic feast at the end of time. Fine wines I can deal with--it's the part about the marrow that makes my stomach cringe. I wonder if there's a vegetarian option in heaven?

But for the first listeners, that marrow would have been something to drool over--representing all the goodness of eternal life with God. Marrow was something decadent--something so rich, so sought after as to be highly desired.

I guess I just could just substitute French Onion Soup for the marrow blue plate special in my mind. It's savory goodness evokes warm and rich imagery in my mind. Unless it's cold!

The lessons from Isaiah and Matthew both speak of grand feasts. So what better way to explore them than through the theme of a banquet? So, without further adieu, here is the appetizer, our first course. Its purpose is to whet your appetite for the goodies to come...

(from Matthew 22:1-14) ..."When the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said, 'Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?' And he was speechless..."

The story of the wedding banquet with reluctant guests is familiar. The King holds a wedding party for his son, but when the invited are summoned to the table, they are too busy and indifferent to come. Some even "shoot the messengers." So those people are "destroyed," and new guests are found (wherever) and invited (whomever). They have the good manners to come when they are called to dinner!

Everything is going great--the feast is on and the band is playing the bunny hop, when in comes the king (fashionably late for a neat entrance), and lo and behold he spots a guy in the corner who is not wearing black tie. Immediately the king calls him on it--stupefying the poor guy. (And then has him tossed out on his butt!)

What gives with this moment of Miss Manners on steroids? Isn't the "King" supposed to be gracious? Hey this kind of feature whets my appetite for knowing more!

In those days one was issued the duds you were to wear to a wedding feast. So either this guy has slipped in uninvited, or he's dissed the king big time by refusing to wear the robe assigned him. Either way he is both a stand out, and bonehead for thinking that no one would notice!

Which leads me to believe that what we see here is some editing by Matthew. Perhaps the original parable ended with the hall being filled with new guests. And the part we're discussing was added on, maybe from another unrelated parable, to address the reality Matthew's church was facing. That being a separation from the Jewish community, and a need to explain why some were not "chosen." (Because they refused to.)

There's more to these two (?) parables than that. There's eschatology, soteriology, and theology wrapped up in these stories. But for now we must be satisfied with this delicious tidbit, and wait for the next course...

I wanted to start off this week on a serious note. But it didn’t work out that way! Because, first I want to talk with you about good news, and bad news. As in, “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” Ever hear that kind of joke? But did you know that they have some specifically for pastors? Like: Pastor, the good news is Mrs. Jones is wild about your sermons. The bad news is she’s also wild about Keeping up with the Kardashians, Survivor Hoboken, and reruns of Three’s Company! Or: Pastor, the good news is church attendance rose dramatically in the last three weeks. The bad news is you were on vacation. Or: The good news is it’s your birthday, Pastor. The bad news is the youth group decided to surprise you with an unplanned visit at 3 in the morning. And the worse news is: they have flamingos! Good news and bad news. Sometimes the scriptures that we hear read aloud in worship are good news—so full of hope, so infused with grace, so saturated with the gospel that you can almost taste salvation in the air. Sometimes the scriptures that we hear read aloud in worship are full of God’s care and concern—indicative of a god who has nothing but steadfast love for his people. In fact, most times, the scriptures we hear at worship reveal a broken, yet salvageable relationship between God and humanity that God cherishes and covenants with us restore to whole and right. Most times. Today, not so much. Today we have the tales of two vineyards—one sung by Isaiah, the other told by Jesus to the crowds and religious authorities in the Jerusalem temple. These are not happy stories. They’re not the kind you would read to your kids at bedtime. There are no knights in shiny armor. Instead there is a vengeful God. There are no lives lived “happily ever after.” Instead there is death and destruction. One cannot imagine these stories eliciting anything but gloomy-doomy faces amongst the people gathered to listen to them. It’s the “bad news,” the bad news that, in these vineyards, there are consequences for misguided actions—dire consequences. In the Old Testament story, the vineyard itself bears the brunt of God’s wrath. [The vineyard being an allegory for the people of Israel.] God spared nothing in providing for the well-being and continued good fortune of the vineyard (good news), but instead of fine, cultivated grapes, the vines produced musky, old, wild grapes. (Bad news.) So, the hedge that keeps out the animals is torn down, the wall that protected it is leveled, the vines are no longer cared for, the plot is overrun by useless weeds and thorns, the wild grapes are devoured by wild animals or smashed underfoot, and even the clouds won’t rain on the vineyard anymore. (You know you’re down and out when it won’t even rain on you.) Basically this divine meltdown portends the devastation of Israel and Judah, their total and complete abandonment. (Even worse news) In Jesus reworking of this prophetic passage, he describes a landowner who, although he is non-resident, has still provided everything necessary for the successful cultivation of grapes and the production of fine wine. Tenants are selected, an agreement is reached as to the harvest, and they are well set. (Good news.) But the harvest comes, and the tenants choose to renege on their agreement with the landowner. They abuse or kill the collectors he sends—not once, but twice. (Bad news.) And then they audaciously carry out a plot to take the vineyard for themselves by murdering the landowner’s son. (Worse news.) Now. We could get all allegorical on these two stories, and assign each and every character a real life counterpart—for example, the vineyard in Isaiah could be Israel, God is the vintner, and in Jesus’ story, the collectors were the prophets, and the landowner’s son is Jesus. We could even get creative and determine modern day allegories for them. The tenants are those who have not worshiped God rightly, the new tenants are those who are pure in worship and doctrine. But this approach totally misses the point of these two vineyard stories. Isaiah sang this sad love song to Israel and Judah. Not to entertain them, but to hold a mirror up to them, that they might see just who he’s singing about. The story’s details are meant to draw them into a scenario in which they recognize that Isaiah is singing about them!. With the gospel reading as well, the point is in not the details and portrayals. It’s in the listeners’ sudden realization that Jesus is accusing them! The chief priests and the elders of the temple figure out that Jesus has made them a character in his vineyard parable. Not a flattering characterization, either. That’s a difficult realization to come to. The people of Israel ignored (or killed) the prophets for the most part, rather than accept the notion that everything weren’t just hunky-dory between God and them. And it took three stinging parables and a fig tree for Jesus to get the point across to the temple crew. Even then, they didn’t clean up their act, ironically they moved towards fulfilling the story. They want to arrest him. To kill him. Now, if we believe that the bible is the living word of God that speaks to us still today (and we do), and that it is multivalent in interpretation (and it is), then what we could extract from these two tales is the same sense of revelation that struck the Israelites in Isaiah’s time, and the temple authorities in Jesus’. That being, to sum it up with a song lyric—It’s me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer! Me! Mea culpa. I have sinned—I am a sinner. And it is so hard to admit our culpability. It’s so much easier and more pleasant to think that such passages are polemical and don’t include “us” as characters—except maybe as those bearing good grapes, or the new (and improved!) tenants. Like the disciples at the last Supper, we ask incredulously, “Is it I, Lord?” Secretly thinking, “I just know it’s someone else.” One Sunday the pastor of St. John’s by the Delicatessen determined that he needed to preach on sin. His flock had been straying a bit, especially the old bachelor farmers. They’d been spending too much time at the local pub. Couple that with the usual gossip and backbiting that goes on in any group, and the pastor’d seen and heard enough. Today he would convict them all. (He could steer them back to the gospel and its sweet forgiveness next week.) He ascended to his pulpit, drew himself up, and had at it—decrying everything from taking extra packets of sweet’n’low at the local diner, to tattling on your little brother, to taking the Lord’s name in vain. He even worked up a sweat, laying into them for their own good. And he thought that he had made an impact. Until, at service’s end when he stood at the door and shook hands with the folks. Never had he had so many responses to one of his sermons. Usually he got a, “Great sermon,” from the head usher, and Mr. Greene invariably weighed in with a, “Nice job Reverend.” But today, just about every person shaking his hand did so with comment on the sermon. Unfortunately they were all the same. “You sure gave it to those sinners today, Pastor. They’ll never show their faces here!” Donald Miller is the author of what has been called the best look at Christian spirituality from a non-Christian perspective, Blue Like Jazz. Miller speaks to this type of “hard look in the mirror” when he relates his experience protesting in NYC at an World Bank event President Bush was attending. After the president was whisked off without being seen, much less engaging with the protesters, Miller suddenly has a moment of intense clarity about the futility of the blame game and a basic tenet of the Christian faith. "When we were done [protesting], I started wondering if we had accomplished anything. I started wondering whether we could actually change the world. I mean, of course we could -we could change our buying habits, elect socially conscious representatives and that sort of thing, but honestly don't believe we will be solving the greater human conflict with our efforts. The problem is not a certain type of legislation or even a certain politician; the problem is the same that it had always been. I am the problem. I think every conscious person, every person who is awake to the functioning principles within his reality, has a moment where he stops blaming the problems in the world on group think, on humanity and authority, and starts to face himself. I hate this more than anything. This is the hardest principle within Christian spirituality for me to deal with. The problem is not out there; the problem is the needy beast of a thing that lives in my chest. More than my question about the efficacy of social action were my questions about my own motives. Do I want social justice for the oppressed, or do I want to be known as a socially active person? I spend 95 percent of my time thinking about myself anyway. I don't have to watch the evening news to see that the world is bad, I only have to look at myself. I am not browbeating myself here; I am only saying that true change, true life-giving, God-honoring change would have to start with the individual. I was the very problem I had been protesting. I wanted to make a sign that read "I AM THE PROBLEM!"" You are the problem, that’s the bad news. But here’s the good news. You are also the solution. Gathered together as one great holy people spanning the globe and time itself, we’ll hear the words “given for you,” and shed “for you.” God comes to us individually with love and forgiveness, enabling us to live again for others. And here’s the really, really good news. Renewed and strengthened by the body and blood of our Savior Jesus Christ, we are transformed. Our past ceases to be a sinful burden and instead becomes a trove of wisdom and experience—even as we come to realize that the things we once valued above all, are now not important, and can easily be sloughed off. And in this transformation, which by the way comes from the Holy Spirit, in this transformation, we are empowered. In the same way it hits me that “I am the problem,” I know now—I know—that I can make a difference. I can change the world! You might think this is a pipedream, a fantasy, an exercise in naïveté. But let’s take global warming for instance. We all know we should reduce our individual carbon footprints as much as we can. But I think that deep down we consider it futile—that it is really the factories and power plants belching acrid smoke into the upper atmosphere who are to blame. That unless these behemoths green up, the cause is dead. And yet, according to the Wall Street Journal, 64% of green house emissions are caused by individuals. So mea culpa—I’m going to switch lightbulbs, tune up the furnace and do whatever I can—because it has been revealed to me that I am the problem. Where else am I the problem? (Don’t answer that!) It may be in Darfur. It may be in feeding the world. And it might even be something so close to home as this fellowship. Where are you a problem? Where am I a problem? That, I trust will be shown to me, And if today’s readings are any indication (and they are!), it will be shown to me in surprising ways—like in a story in a major newspaper, like out of the mouths of children, like in the bible (even those books that are so hard to find—Nahum), like in the supermarket checkout line, like via e-mail! Like in a song. You know the one I’m thinking of—Let It Begin with Me. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me. Let there be whatever—religious tolerance, an end to racism, a sanctuary full of people on a Sunday morning, mission and ministry for others in the name of God, let there be people of many Christian denominations gathered at the Lord’s table despite their different interpretations of that admittedly foundational event. Let there be all of these things. But let them begin with me being convicted and admitting my guilt, with me knowing that I am the problem, then with God transforming my sinful life into a weak-strong vessel, and with God inviting me into a relationship of co-creation. Let it begin with me. Together, we are the solution to the problem. Amen? AMEN!

"What do you mean by repeating this proverb concerning the land of Israel, 'The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?'" - Ezekiel 18:2

(In other words, the older generation has done wrong, but the younger generation pays for it.)

The LORD told Ezekiel to ask this of the people of Israel, who (according to the blurb before the reading in Celebrate) thought that the sins of their wayward ancestors and parents doomed them to more of the same. They didn't feel capable of repentance. They didn't feel worthy of God's love, and they were more than a bit whiny about it. Classic blame casting. Also classic resignation.

Ezekiel was giving the next generation of Israelites the good news that the past was the past, and only what they did with their lives really mattered. Their parents may have sinned, and it may even have had effect upon them. But when it comes to God's love, it's the same. Turn and live. Look to the God who loves you and follow his precepts.

This passage made me think of the mess we're leaving the next generation. Global warming, wars, poverty, corruption--the list goes on. We have feasted on sour grapes, and left those who follow to receive the bad taste in their mouths. They, in turn, feel a sense of doom and become resigned to living in some post-apocalyptic world.

But with God there is no statute of limitations for eating or tasting sour grapes. The parents can turn and live, and so can the the children. Turning and living can restore what was damaged by sin, and it can restore, more importantly, the relationship we have with God. So we are responsible for our own sin, but the consequences of sin are not forever. We can work towards the kingdom of heaven, despite the debris and obstacles left by others--and those others can change and help instead of hinder.

We can make a difference in the really big issues of the day. We need only turn and live lives worthy of Christ Jesus.

A story to finish--My friend, a vintner on Long Island, once gave us a bottle of Merlot. We tasted it and was it ever sour and dry. We mentioned that to Rich, and I'll never forget what that master wine maker said. "Just put some sugar in it." So if life gives you sour grapes, I guess with God's gracious help, we can make grape-ade.

Note - this sermon contains references to the presidential campaign--as an organizational device for the message, and an attempt at humor. In no way does it endorse one candidate or the other. Can you spot the references? May the boundless grace and total peace of our almighty, merciful God, and of his Christ, be with you now and forevermore. (Come out from sacristy with a handheld sign that says “UNFAIR!”) Unfair! Unfair! God is unfair! Unfair! Unfair! Unfair! God is unfair! You’ll never guess what God did! Unfair! I mean it’s outrageous! Unfair! God is unfair! You haven’t heard about this? Weeeell, you’re in for a shocker! Let me tell you. Unfair! God is unfair! Listen to this…Jonah—you remember Jonah don’t you? Prophet? Sent by God to warn Ninevah to clean up her act? Didn’t want to go—didn’t want to warn those hated Ninevites? Ran away to sea, got caught in a storm, was unceremoniously thrown overboard, and swallowed by a whale? Yeah, that Jonah! He didn’t want to go because he was afraid. Not scared of the Ninevites, or of the big city. Not frightened of God’s retribution for his disobedience—he was ready to die rather than give the enemy the heads up. Jonah wasn’t afraid because God was worked up over the sins of the Ninevites—fire and brimstone mad at them. No, Jonah liked that. He was afraid if he warned them what was headed their way, they might just, might just change their evil ways. Put on the old sackcloth and ashes and repent. Which wouldn’t be so bad—seeing those suckers groveling at God’s feet. Oh no, that would be most excellent! What would definitely stink is if God changed his mind and didn’t pulverize the curs. Forgave them instead! That would stink big time. Well finally Jonah does his job, and dontcha know the Ninevites repent, and God spares the city. Jonah is miffed, to say the least. “That not fair,” he complained. “That’s just more of my grace,” said the Lord. Unfair! Unfair! God is unfair! You know, God has a record of this unfairness. In fact, 95% of the time, when confronted with sin against him, God voted to forgive it. That’s not so bad for those little sins, but when he forgives a whole people at once (which he does time after time with Israel) and he bails out the ones who should have known better—then that’s , that’s…that’s unfair! Some of the biggest names in the bible were treated unfairly by God. Abraham—Abraham passed his wife Sarah off as his sister to two powerful kings. Kings with romance on the mind. Despite that cowardly act, God blessed Abraham and made of him a nation blessed by God. Unfair! Speaking of blessings—Jacob stole his brother Esau’s paternal blessing. A crime so devious, that Jacob fled from his bother’s wrath. But not from God’s. Instead of wrath, Jacob gets a heavenly vision, two wives, a passel of kids, a beasts-load of household goods, and the title in a wrestling match with God. Unfair! One more—Joseph. That egotistical, self-righteous, amazing techno-colored coat wearing dreamer. You’d think he was getting his just desserts being tossed in a pit and then sold off to slavery in Egypt. But, nooooo! In a surprise move, God arranges for Joseph to be the Pharaoh’s second in command—despite his lack of foreign policy experience. Unfair! God is unfair. At least to our way of thinking. That’s because God’s way of thinking is radically different from ours. Well….there are some similarities. Say for instance, you have a homework to write an essay every night. And every day the teacher has each student read their essay aloud to see if it’s been done. Done earns you an “A,” not done lands you and “F.” Now you, being the free spirit you are, you rarely do the assignment. And imagine if you will, a straight A student who never ever neglected to write an essay, but had a rough day and didn’t complete the assignment. So the both of you are not “ready to read.” But the teacher, after red-penning your F in her collection, gives the other student a chance to make up the assignment. No F. You say, “Not fair!” Actually, it is fair. It’s just not equal. And about as foolish as a bridge to nowhere. But, now, turn that around. Imagine you’re the straight A student, who did the assignment, and the person sitting next to you is the slacker. Tell me. How would you feel if the teacher gives that ne’re-do-well a great big A plus plus plus (with a gold star), and gives you an A. Now that’s unfair. But that’s the way things work in the kingdom of God. It’s radical, man! Radical grace. The kind you can’t earn, no matter how early you hit the bricks. No matter how hard you work. No matter in what order you were “hired.” Everybody gets the same daily recommended allowance of God’s grace. Because that’s all you could ever need. It’s one size fits all. If I have been on the Gospel Talk Express from day one and I get the same amount of grace, love, forgiveness, acceptance—that feels a little bit unfair. But from the underside of the gospel story today, that sounds real good. If I come to faith later in life, or drift away from the church and come back to it—no matter—I’m not considered a second class citizen in God’s eyes. God doesn’t just crack the glass ceiling of our making, he shatters it completely. So, we just have to learn to accept the fact that God’s “fair” is way more far reaching than ours could ever be. We need to adjust our preconceived notions of who “belongs” and who doesn’t, of who is forgiven and who is not, of which sin is worse or whose repentance is lacking or insincere. And we need to set aside our self-righteousness and admit that we too are not much better than third party candidates when it comes to winning election—it’s impossible, but we’re elect anyway. And that’s what grace is all about—it’s about being in not the White House, but in God’s house—in relationship with God and with each other. Working together to make our world a reflection of the kingdom of God is what we do, but brothers and sisters in Christ is who we are—and that’s conferred upon us not by the swing state of NH, and not by blue collared workers in PA, not by middle class barbers who favor polka music, and not by any promises or slogans—but we are made God’s own by God, graciously, through the cross, on which Christ opened his arms to all. To ALL. Sometimes this won’t seem fair. But remember…That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. A man convicted of a heinous crime, gets out of jail and says he’s found Jesus and experienced his love. That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. A teen who never shows up for confirmation classes is allowed to confirm his faith with the class anyway. That’s not fair. That’ just more of God’s grace. People who profess a need for a little monetary help from the church are not greeted with skepticism, but with assistance and concern. That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. The 80% that do only 20% of the work and give 20% of the funds needed to do ministry, are just as blessed by God for their gifts. That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. When we turn a sympathetic but deaf ear to those in need, those marginalized, those afflicted, those harmed by disasters both natural and manmade, we are still loved by God. That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. When we know we should be last in a world overly tipped in or favor, but demand to be first. And yet God relents from punishing-- That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. And remember most of all—when I don’t live a life worthy of the gospel of Christ, when my sinful self wins out over the new man that Christ has created in me, when I’m a lazy disciple, or a neglectful steward, or a bad Samaritan, Jesus doesn’t reject me. He forgives me, and encourages me to try again to live a godly life. And if I fall, again he’ll pick me up. And again, and again, and again. That’s not fair. That’s just more of God’s grace. May that grace of God bless us always and my God bless Messiah Lutheran Church! Amen

"Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ..." -Philippians 1:27a

We had company over the other night. So the other day we cleaned house! Got rid of that "lived in" look, and spruced up a bit. You know, it's good to have folks over if for no other reason than it forces you to take a look around and do the things you've been meaning to do for quite some time. It compels you to make your home worthy of visitors.

Although Paul knows that through our own device we are never worthy to have Christ, he does believe that, once you've been given Christ Jesus, you should try to make your life worthy to have Christ in it. That we should clean up our act because Christ dwells within us.

What would you throw away in your life, if you wanted to make it worthy of Christ? A grudge? A bad habit? A stereotyped world view? Think about it for a minute--what would you do to make your life worthy of Christ?

Lord, help us to live our lives in one spirit, with one mind, in true faith. Amen

God's grace is the concept on display in this weeks lessons.

[To read them go to http://www.textweek.com/yeara/propera20.htm}

Jonah is perturbed that God would show mercy to the hated Ninevites. The Psalmist echoes Jonah's words about God's steadfast love and grace. St. Paul speaks of God graciously giving us the privilege of believing in, and suffering for, Jesus And the gospel from Matthew is a parable of God's surprising grace--meted out without consideration of timing or ability.

Grace is more than what you say at the dinner table. It's more than "love" and more than forgiveness. For God' grace is boundless--there are no limitations to its application. That's good for us--for, like it or not, we fall more towards being undeserving rather than worthy. And even when we're at our best--God still spreads his mercy out evenly.

A radical concept--God's grace. Hard to fathom. But maybe we're not supposed to plumb the depths of God's grace. Maybe we're just to float along in its waters. Being "graced."

Lord God, your grace is beyond our comprehension, yet we know it through Christ Jesus. Help us to glory in your care for the marginalized, and not want more for ourselves, or less for them.
AMEN

Now that summer’s officially, if not astronomically, over, I’m regretting all the things I wanted to do during it, but didn’t get to, for one reason or another. For example, I didn’t go swimming near enough—too rainy. I didn’t get to the beach at all this summer. And I didn’t do any climbing either—our hike up Pac Manadnock had to be canceled. (Due to rain, surprise, surprise!)

Of course I did do a lot of wonderful things this summer—I sat around a campfire at our Calumet camp-out, I finally read that last Harry Potter book, and Lisa and I went geocaching several times. All fun, but still I miss those traditional summer things that I just didn’t get around to. Like fishing. Like ka-bobs on the grill. Like running through the sprinkler. Like a picnic.

Oh, and not just some roadside tuna sandwich and bottle a moxie type picnic. I mean an all out summer church picnic. With tables groaning under the weight of all that good summertime food. With Frisbees flying and kids’ games of tag and jump rope. With a softball game—adults versus kids—sure to be exciting!

And contests! Have you ever been to one of those church picnics where they have contests? Pie-eating. The infamous sack race and the notorious three-legged race. Egg on a spoon relay. And, of course, that granddaddy of all summertime picnic contests—the tug-of-war.

You know how that works, don’t you? You split the group into two teams. Then you take a rope and you stretch it evenly over some kind of midpoint marker, usually someone’s t-shirt, but, ideally, a goopy, slippery, slimy, old mud puddle. And then the teams pick up the rope, facing each other—one to each side of the mud. Then on the count of three, each team digs in and pulls! And they pull against each other—the object of the contest is for one team to out pull the other—sending them into the quagmire. Yuk!

Gross! But it’s the tug-of-war that I want you to think of this Holy Cross Sunday, as we contemplate the wisdom and power of God. Yes, tug-of-war! Only I’d like you to consider the game with just a slight adjustment to the rules. There’s the same rope, same icky mud, and same two groups of people pulling either end towards the middle. BUT - instead of two teams working against each other, the two groups are on the same team.. And the object isn’t to land one group in the yuk. The object is to keep the rope in perfect tension—moving back and forth somewhat—but keeping it as still as it possibly can be—while still tugging hard.

Have you got that image in your head? Well congratulations then, you’ve visualized a paradox. Which, by the way, is not something you’d find at the lake…or, as the sermon title says, it’s not two M.D.’s. Rather, it is two diametrically opposed concepts, both held as true, simultaneously. Now you can see why I spent five minutes on picnic games! It’s a difficult word to wrap your head around and capture the full meaning thereof. And so the image of a team with two groups pulling equally as much—avoiding the mud bog—that’s a good visual aid. And a simple model for the highly nuanced theological point I want to make today. And that is:

God isn’t reasonable. And that’s good.

Sounds bad. But I mean “God isn’t reasonable” in the sense that our human reasoning doesn’t work with trying to understand God. God won’t be contained by our logic or our science. God is. God just is. Or to put it in Old Testament words, “God is who God is.” And sometimes, “God is” requires that we hold two contradictory ideas in tension.

Primary example for today being the cross. Side one of the rope: the cross is a cruel instrument of institutionalized execution and torture. Side two of the rope: With the cross of Christ, God saved the world. Held in static tension, these two diametrically opposed concepts form the basis of our theology of salvation. That the Son of God was killed by human beings—the most heinous of sins. But that this was exactly the way God chose to manifest his power over sin.

It’s like the Old testament lesson describes, in an episode I like to call Snakes on a Plain. (P-l-a-i-n – get it?) The Israelites are wandering in the desert—complaining that they were missing the luxuries of life they enjoyed in Egypt. Like food and water. Seems like a reasonable gripe—but again God isn’t reasonable. The Israelites demeanor reveals the fact that they don’t trust God anymore. So God sends them? Snakes—poisonous snakes. Now that’s not something I like to hear. But again…not reasonable. Hold on to that end of the rope.

The people repent and ask forgiveness. So God has Moses make a metal snake and attach it to a pole, and instructs the people who are snakebit to look up at the snake and live. The very thing that plagued them, saved them. That’s the other end of the rope. Pull too hard on one side, you get many dead Israelites. Too hard on the other, you get a bunch of healthy people wasting their time looking at a snake on a stick! Paradox.

As Christians, and especially as Lutherans, we must be able to deal with paradox. We must be able to accept them for what they are. A tug-of-war. Why do we need to deal? Because they’re all over in our faith.

God’s power is shown via weakness.

God’s wisdom is foolishness to us.

Through death we receive new life.

Law and Gospel.

A Christian is free and subject to none, A Christian is bound to Christ and servant to all.

Over and over we are given two propositions that make perfect sense each on their own, but together are totally opposite. And we’re given those two and told, “This is what we believe.” Moses was a murderer. Moses led God’s people out of Egypt. Paul persecuted the early Christian church. Paul established the greater part of the first century church. Jesus was the almighty, all seeing, all knowing Son of the living God. Jesus died.

Put those together.

But there’s more—and here’s where it gets interesting. (Not that it hasn’t been an edge of the seater up to now!) Not only are there paradoxes that we must hold together in our faith, there are also those which we struggle to keep together in our day to day lives. Paradoxes like…

Suffering…and God’s presence in it. God takes what is bad and draws good from it. God used the suffering of Jesus to model for us the godly life that includes sacrifice for others. Pull too hard on the suffering end of the rope and you get a masochistic religion that I could never accept. Too hard to the other side and you get a God who only relates to us through pain. God is present in more than suffering, but God can always be found in suffering

Including all in our mission…knowing all fall short of God’s mercy.

Building a church…so that we could better serve those outside of it.

Not knowing what lies ahead…trusting that God watches over us and guides us.

Financial conservativism…extravagant giving in response to God’s word. We will in a few minutes be looking at raising $300,00 dollars. To get our debt off our shoulders so we can move forward on the journey. Pull too hard one way, and we choke off our mission and ministry in our attempt to be responsible stewards. Too hard the other way—well, I can’t see a down side to that one!

Each of these, on it’s own works. Together—they’re hard to accept. But—you know what I’m gonna say: God isn’t reasonable.

Thank God! Amen