3.4.12--Sermon on Mark 10:13-16

Jess and I passed my dream car the other day as we were walking into Starbucks. What was it? A Humvee. One of the military-issued ones that had been civilianized and polished until it shined. It. Was. Beautiful. My eyes immediately locked on to it. A little drool might have trickled down my chin. I was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. And when I stopped to take a moment to admire the beauty and sheer power of this machine, my lovely wife proceeded make fun of me! Not nice!

She spent the next few minutes telling me why we will never own one, and why it is an absolutely, completely, utterly ridiculous vehicle. I just stood there, taking it, thinking that I never said I was going to get one… I just have a slight obsession with them.

Her main argument was that they had absolutely horrible gas mileage. We would spend more on gas the first year than we spent on the down payment!

It reminded me of my first truck, and the fun I had every week, pulling up the gas station, squeezing the pump—we get to pump it ourselves down there, you know—and watching my bank account take a substantial hit. Week after week. $75 fill up after $75 fill up.

I know about horrible gas mileage.

In high school, I would avoid the gas station as long as possible. I’m pretty sure that my truck ran on fumes more often than it ran on actual gas. Which, I will admit, was scary, but it worked out.

Most of the time.

Twice I ran out of gas and was stranded. The first time, my dad had to drive out 20 minutes away, in the middle of nowhere, while I waited patiently for the much-needed gas. The second time, I was literally two blocks away from the gas station. Stranded. Down hill.

I couldn’t believe it! I was so close, but there was a slight incline and a right turn between my goal and me. I couldn’t make it. My way was barred.

2.26--Sermon on Revelation 21:1--22:5

One of my new favorite book series is coming to the silver screen this month. Suzanne Collins’, The Hunger Games, is a New York Times best seller, and even though it is located in the young-adult fiction section at Barnes and Noble, the trilogy is really a must read for all who enjoy immersing themselves in a new world full of rich plot and deep character development. I am very excited for the movie to come out, and I might even re-read the trilogy in preparation for it.

But here’s my problem. The four years of high school English I had to endure—not to mention having an English teacher as a mother—le my mind warped and twisted and made it impossible for me to read a good book and not wonder about the hidden depths of meaning that might be hiding just below the surface of the page. I’m sure that if you remember back to your days in the grind, you can remember having the same problems. Your teachers beating it into your brain that everything has a hidden meaning and that every novel, poem, or limerick is replete with symbolism.

Well maybe they were wrong.

Maybe that poem isn’t meant to symbolize the ultimate power that time holds over us and our inability to overcome it. Maybe it’s just about a tree that loses its leaves in the winter.

Maybe the author isn’t trying to satirize the dominant religious institution of its time as overly pious and power hungry. Maybe it’s just a good story about a boy standing up for what is right in the face of adversity.

Maybe we read too much into literature, and that B that I got in my senior English class was not because I refused to delve deeper into the mystery of the text but was because my teacher refused to admit that she really did not have any idea what the Shakespeare was thinking when he wrote King Lear.

Smudges on the Soul--A Meditation for Ash Wednesday by Safiyah Fosua

**(Just so it is clear to everyone, I am not the author of this. It is the meditation that I read from the pulpit for tonight's Ash Wednesday service.)**

Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing. (Joel 2:12-13, NRSV)

I would rather wear the smudge on my forehead than to admit its residence upon my soul. I prefer a crude cross above my eyes to questions about runny mascara and smudged liner. In a place where self-confidence is rewarded and any sign of weakness or emotional predisposition is held suspect, it is difficult to consider actually following the advice of the prophet to return to the Lord with fasting, with weeping and with mourning. It is, however, acceptable — maybe even fashionable to appear in public with a dirty forehead as a sign that I have religion. It is amazing how the symbols of piety, sackcloth and ashes, have been transformed into a mask that hides me from myself and circumvents the intent of Ash Wednesday.

Blow the trumpet in Zion, the prophet said. Not the trumpet that signals advance to war, or the trumpet that celebrates victory, but the one that warns trembling penitents that the day of the Lord is coming. Blow the trumpet that warns a penitent like me to wear the smudge of ashes long after her face has been washed and to admit the smudge on the one place that matters to God, her heart.

Blow the trumpet in Zion, the prophet said, and sanctify a fast. Hear the sounds of grumbling need in a world where few are filled — and where we are overfilled. Today I am called to push away from the voracious consumption of everything in my path, for at least a little while, in hopes that I might realize something about the equitable distribution of the world's resources before the fast is over.

Rend your hearts and not your garments, the prophet said. The gift of the day is personal reflection, a season of confession, and change. Start the arduous journey from shadow to substance, from ritual to reality, from façade to faith. Today, choose the harder course. It is easier to buy new clothing than to mend a soul.

Prayer: Lord, as I begin this year's Lenten Journey, turn my attention to the things that matter most to you. Amen.

Prayer Liturgy for a Hurting Community

Last Thursday, a school bus was in an accident with a garbage truck. 17 of the 25 students were injured in some way, three were sent to the hospital in critical condition, and one was taken from this life. The following is the prayer liturgy we did in place of the sermon. As you read it, please lift up a prayer for the family of Isabelle Tezsla, the young lady who passed away.

2.12.12--Faith or Fad? (Acts 5:27-42)

This might come as a shock to most of you, and if you are never able to look at me the same way again, I do apologize for the upset. But I have to confess something to y’all, and hopefully we can still be friends after I get this off of my chest. Ok… here goes:

I have an absolutely horrible fashion sense.

There. I feel much better.

It’s true, though. I cannot count the number of times that I’ve tried to leave the house in one get-up only to be flagged down by Jess for her to kindly but sternly suggest that I put on different shoes or try for a shirt that is not both wrinkled and stained. Honestly, church is a blessing for me, because it’s not too hard to pick out a shirt and sometimes a tie to go with a black suit. It pretty much does the work for me.

I kid you not, though. In high school, every day of every week—with the exception of when it was freezing outside—I wore the same ensemble: aloha shirt, t-shirt, blue jean shorts, and flip-flops. I had enough aloha shirts to clothe a village, and I would wear out a pair of flip-flops in a matter of months from the constant wear.

I can remember in college trying to figure out just what was right to wear and what wasn’t. An old girlfriend once told me that white doesn’t go with khaki and that brown shoes and belts don’t go with black pants or a black shirt, so I tried to pay attention to colors. That didn’t stop me from wearing striped shirts with floral print shorts, though. Even now, I have no idea which of my jeans I’m allowed to wear with dress shirts and which ones I have to save for days off. And if I had it my way, I’d either wear boots or flip-flops with everything.

Fashion just doesn’t make sense to me. It changes so often, and it seems like every week brings a new fad that will be gone just as quickly. Why even bother paying attention to it, when it is such a transient thing?

So much of our culture is like that, isn’t it? This gadget or this activity is the hot new thing now, but as soon as you get it or try it out, something has taken its place. If you blink, you fall behind everyone else. But this isn’t a new fact of reality. Throughout human history, as technology and innovation continue, the old is discarded for the new. In hunting, this meant transitioning from the spear to the bow and arrow. In war, this meant discarding iron swords for steel. Pottery makes way for glass. Feudalism bends knee to democracy. Frank Sinatra is replaced by Lady Gaga.

2.5.12--Sermon on the Resurrection of Christ

Two years ago, Jessica and I were living in Princeton while I was attending my first semester of seminary. Jessica was working full-time at Starbucks as a shift supervisor and when I wasn’t working on my homework I was desperately and hopelessly trying to find a part-time job. We weren’t in a good place financially. Even with the scholarships and loans that I received, the cost of living was too much for us to handle, and our savings was slowly but steadily diminishing as the bills seemed to steadily increase. In about six months’ time, we would be out of money and in need of other options. Now, I don’t know about you, but money is an extremely stressful thing for me. I never feel like I have enough of it, and I always feel like too much of it is gone before it hits my wallet. Having no money, especially so early in our marriage, was all the more stressful, and we were beginning to worry more and more about how we were going to make it through the summer. To top it off, I was already struggling with my work because I didn’t have any practical outlet for the highly abstract things I was learning. The academic aspect of Princeton Seminary so outweighed the practical that I felt I was drowning in it!

Then I got a call from my district superintendent asking me what I thought about doing a two-point charge. It was a less-than-half-time position at two small but grounded churches, and it came with a parsonage. Would I maybe be interested in this? I remember my voice catching in my throat as I answered him, “Absolutely!”

And all of a sudden, doors that were previously barred began to open. In that one conversation, Jess and I went from not knowing how we were going to continue making payments on her car to figuring out when she would be able to quit her dead-end job and find something she really loved to do. I went from dreading my classes to feeling excited about the chance to learn more that I could then share with my congregations!

It was as if the new day had dawned, and the dread of night fled at the approach of the rising sun.

Sermon 1.29.12--Mark 15:33-39

I think that one of the most underrated Disney movies of all time is The Sword in the Stone, Disney’s tale of how King Arthur—who everyone calls Wart in the film—grew up and his zany adventures with Merlin. I saw a copy of this movie on the DVD rack in BJ’s the other day and then proceeded to spend the rest of my shopping excursion reliving my favorite parts of this movie that I haven’t seen in over a decade.

Two parts in particular still stand out in my mind. Merlin wants young Wart to truly come to know and love the world around him, so as he teaches this king-to-be, Merlin keeps turning him into different animals so that he can experience the world through new eyes. Arthur learns what it’s like to be a fish swimming around in a lake and what it’s like to be a bird soaring through the air. He lives through the joy of near-weightlessness in the water as well as the overpowering fear of running from a predator for dear life. He finds true freedom and ecstasy in flight as well as the pang of loss in the death of a fellow sparrow.

By truly experiencing life in these different forms, Arthur learns to love and care for every creature, great or small.