Letting Go To Fly

Mark 10: 17-31
Roger Lynn
January 31, 2016
(click here for the audio for this sermon)

The little boy ran across the field as fast as he could, clutching the kite tightly in his hand and holding it above his head. If you had been close enough to listen, you might have heard him chanting over and over again, “Fly! Fly! Fly!” But when he reached the other side of the field the results were the same as they had been the countless other times he had repeated this ritual that morning. The kite was not flying. It remained firmly stuck in his hand. 

Just as he was about to give up and head for home, he looked around the open space one last time and noticed that someone else had joined him in the field. Way over on the far side stood a man who was holding one end of a string which was attached at the other end to a beautiful kite, made all the more beautiful because it was soaring high overhead, framed by the wide blue sky. The boy watched in silent awe for a few moments and then began walking across the field, drawn by the wonder that the man had been able to accomplish something which had eluded the boy all morning. By the time he reached the spot where the man was standing he had worked up his nerve to ask the question which was haunting him. “What do I need to do to get my kite to fly like that?” The man smiled at the boy and then spoke in a soft and gentle voice. “I’ve been watching you for a while, and your problem is really very simple. To get your kite to fly, you have to let go of it. It won’t ever go anywhere as long as you hang on to it so tightly. Let go and it will soar.” The little boy thought about this for a moment and then began to frown. “But if I let go of it, I might lose it.” “You’re right,” said the man. “You might lose it. That’s the risk you have to take if you want your kite to soar. And always remember, soaring is what kites are made to do.”

Looking for God in All the Wrong Places

Matthew 25: 14-30
Roger Lynn
January 24, 2016
(click here for the audio for this sermon)

The 14th-century Sufi poet Hafiz begins one of his poems with these words:

Fear is the cheapest room in the house.

I would like to see you living

In better conditions.

(from ‘Your Mother and my Mother’ translation by Daniel Ladinsky in “The Gift”)

And yet, so often we seem to find ourselves living in those cramped, dark, lonely places where fear leads us. Indeed, fear tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, giving us the very life we are so afraid will find us.

In Jesus’ parable about the servants and the talents I believe we see an illustration of what life looks like when we allow fear to rule us. If we approach the parable using the traditional interpretive lens, that it tells us about what God is like, then it quickly becomes very problematic. Do we really believe that God throws people into the ‘outer darkness’ because of their fear? But what if, instead of telling us what God is like, it tells us what we are like? When we take the risk of using the resources we have at our disposal (whether those are financial or personal, tangible or intangible), what we discover is that our lives are in sync with the divine source of life. “Enter into the joy of your master” is the way the parable describes it. But when we allow fear to define our reality, when we let it color our expectations not only of life, but even of God, then we will often find ourselves facing a world very much shaped by that fear. “Master, I knew you were harsh...” (Matthew 25:24) Why should it surprise us that when our relationship with God is based on fear we so often find ourselves in “the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth”? (Matthew 25:30) God doesn’t put us there, of course. We put ourselves there. God is a God of love and grace. The world is filled with abundance beyond our wildest imagining. But when we close our eyes and our lives because of our fear, we cannot see the light that is filling the room. The party can be in full swing all around us, but if we have buried our lives in a hole to protect ourselves, from a dangerous world or a dangerous God, we might as well be alone in the dark. We have effectively closed ourselves off from the life which God intends for us.

Our Holy Calling

Leviticus 19: 1-2 & 15-18 & Matthew 22: 34-46
Roger Lynn
January 17, 2016
(click here for the audio for this sermon)

Willie Nelson sang about being “on the road again.” I write newsletter columns under the heading “Notes from the Journey.” This congregation is learning to live into a new future. In one way or another most of us can identify with being in process, somewhere between getting started and finally arriving, between who we are now and who we are becoming. Because the truth is that there really is no “arriving.” We are always in the process of becoming. Of course, figuring out where we’re going and how we’re going to get there is the work of a lifetime. It is the ongoing challenge of faithful living. 

Listening in the Stillness

1 Kings 19: 11-13aRoger LynnJanuary 10, 2016
(click here for the audio for this mediation)

We live in a noisy world and it seems to be getting noisier all the time. Not simply the sounds that make their way to our ears, but all of the things which bombard our senses, our brains, and our spirits. From the roads filled with cars to the constant exposure to media to the email, texts and Facebook, we live fast-paced lives that often teeter on the edge of frantic. It is easy to become so distracted that we have trouble noticing the presence of God in the midst of us. It can be all but impossible to listen for what God might be trying to say to us. So, in the midst of all the noise I thought it might be helpful to spend some time in silence, listening in the stillness for the whisperings of God. I will, from time to time, offer some simple thoughts which might help to guide your reflection. But feel free to ignore me and simply go where the silence takes you. If you’re not used to spending much time in silence (most of us aren’t) then this experience may be a bit uncomfortable for you. That’s OK. Just try to think of it as growing pains of the soul. But mostly do your best not to think too much at all. Just let go. Listen instead for the still small voice of the Divine Presence.

Following Stars & Other Foolish Wisdom

Isaiah 60: 1-6 & Matthew 2: 1-12
Roger Lynn
January 3, 2016
Epiphany Sunday
(click here for the audio for this sermon)

Luke gave us the shepherds – simple, down-to-earth, easy to identify with. They are our kind of folk. Matthew gave us the magi – exotic, mysterious, difficult to understand. We aren’t quite sure what to make of them. We don’t really know if they ever even existed, or were a plot device devised by Matthew to dramatically illustrate the gift of God’s Light coming into the world for all to see and follow. And I’m not sure it really matters. Because either way we still need to ask the important theological question - “So what?” What do the magi have to teach us? What do they tell us about what it means to follow God’s Light?

They’ve been called wise men, but much of their story doesn’t seem very “wise” (at least in terms of how the world usually understands that term). They had a passion for seeking after meaning in life. The path they chose was in the stars – watching for patterns and portends. It was an occupation which required careful attention, a keen intellect, and lots of patience. And so they watched and waited. But then one day something happened – something that would change their lives forever – something that wouldn’t have seemed very “wise” at all. They saw something that caught their attention – a star which seemed to proclaim something powerfully new coming into the world. But they did more than just watch it. They did more than simply study it. They did more than merely discuss it among themselves. They decided to follow it. They packed their bags. They collected gifts. They said goodbye to family and friends. And they set off to follow a star. They had no idea where their path would lead them, or how long it would take. They only knew that something important was happening, and they needed to be a part of it. Their passion for seeking after meaning suddenly became very real and very personal.