Another Shepherd’s Story (a Christmas story)

a Christmas Eve story
by Roger Lynn
December 24, 2020

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From the time of the Beginning until now the world has always been filled with Wonder. Everything was called into being by the very Word of God, so how could it be otherwise. But it is also true that for all of that time from then until now we humans have often forgotten to notice. We get busy doing whatever it is that’s right in front of us, and we stop seeing the Wonder. Sometimes, however, usually when we least expect it and are busy not noticing, the Wonder shines through so brightly that we can’t help but pay attention. And on those occasions, when we are lucky enough to be present and awake, our lives are transformed and marked by the experience forevermore. I want to tell you about one night many years ago when that happened to me.

My name is Caleb, and I come from a family of shepherds. I am old now, and no longer spend my nights out in the field with the sheep, but in my younger years, now long past, that was often where you would find me. On one of those occasions, when I was a young man, there were several of us gathered around a fire to keep warm, for there was a chill in the air. The sheep were quiet, and we were talking among ourselves. It was one of those times when we weren’t particularly paying attention. Oh, we were mindful of the sheep, but the larger picture was not in our awareness. It was just a night like so many others before it. And then, suddenly, everything changed. Some of us noticed, and some of us didn’t. I’ve never been able to comprehend how anyone could fail to catch at least a hint of what was happening, but I guess we each have our own unique ways of experiencing the world. Even for those of us who did come awake to the wonder of it all there is no one way of telling the story. You may have heard my cousin, Jonas, tell his version of that night. He was there, just a kid though he was at the time. He talks about the air exploding with life, and being intoxicated with joy. And I can understand why he would describe it that way, but it felt different from where I stood. There really are not enough words to tell this story, at least not that I’ve been able to find. The closest I’ve ever come is to say that one moment the air was full of snow, and then next moment it was full of God.

Some folks talk about angels – manifestations of sacred presence. And maybe that’s what I’m trying to describe. There were no wings and halos, or trumpets and fiery swords. In fact, as far as my senses were concerned there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary at all. But whatever it is in us that senses what lies just beneath the surface of things knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that the air was full of something, and it sure felt like holiness to me. There is a Hebrew word, Emmanuel, that means “God with us”, and that’s what it felt like. God was with us! Not in some ethereal, out there somewhere sort of way. This was a right here, right now, filling every bit of everything kind of experience. Earlier, when I was talking about Wonder – this experience is what I was talking about. Even now, all these years later, I can still feel it.

Well, as I said, some of us noticed and some of us didn’t. And those of us who noticed couldn’t sit still a moment longer. Those who didn’t seemed perfectly content to stay with the sheep, so we let them. I don’t know why we headed into town. I don’t know how we ended up by the stable out behind the old inn. I don’t where the young couple came from. I don’t know when the child had been born. There is so much that I don’t know. And none of that matters. What matters is that we were there and we were awake and paying attention. The sense of God’s almost tangible presence had softened, but it was still very real. In fact, maybe it was even more real in the quiet of that moment. What I know is that it felt as if I had come face to face with God shining through the face of that newborn child, and my life has never been the same since. I was touched by Wonder, and I was paying enough attention to notice.

I have walked through all of the long years that brought me from then to now with my eyes and my heart wide open, always on the look out for another glimpse of that Wonder. And what I want to tell you, what I want you to know, is that I found it. Over and over again I found it. Every day I find it. Emmanuel – God with us – is the story of my life. In every moment it is the great story of the world. Wonder is everywhere. Pay attention.

Love That Stoops To Greatness (Advent 4)

Micah 5: 2-5a & Luke 1: 39-55
Roger Lynn
December 20, 2020
4th Sunday in Advent
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I think that sometimes we find understanding God to be a challenge, not because God is so big, but because God acts in such small and unexpected ways. We appreciate stories like the creation story. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” It has a certain grandeur and spectacle about it. Such stories fit with who we want God to be. We really want a Cecil B. DeMille/Charleton Heston kind of God. There is a certain comfort and security which comes with believing in such a God.

The problem comes when we begin to discover that much of Scripture is filled with a very different image of who God is and how God works. Over and over again we find God choosing backwater places, obscure situations, and ordinary people as the focus of God’s action and attention. Look at Abraham – a nomadic sheep herder. Look at Moses – a fugitive from the Egyptian government hiding out in the wilderness. Or David – the youngest son of an unknown family. Or, for that matter, look at the whole nation of Israel – a small collection of tribes who kept getting run over and conquered by their more powerful neighbors. None of these cases would appear to be likely candidates for providing a showcase for God’s divine action. But in every case they became defining pieces in the tapestry of God’s relationship with the world. It is not what we would expect. It is not even necessarily what we would choose. But it appears to be how God does things.

Which brings us to the scriptures for today. Again we find God working, and promising to continue working, in obscurity. “But you, O Bethlehem, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel.” (Micah 5: 2) Not from some major capital or trading center of the world. Not from some long-standing ruling dynasty. But from backwater Bethlehem. And when it happens, when God finally does bring forth this long-promised ruler from Bethlehem, it is the same story all over again. We find Mary (who?) and her kinswoman, Elizabeth (who?) about to have babies (babies?). In those days women often didn’t count for much in the large scheme of things, and babies counted for even less. So why in the world would God choose women and babies to serve as primary players in this auspicious undertaking? Because that is what God does.

There is a song which gets sung about this time of year that says, “Love came down at Christmas.” It certainly did! God’s Love is so great that God isn’t afraid to bring it down to where we live. I remember seeing an ad for a movie once which announced that it was “larger than life.” Such descriptions appeal to us. We like the big and the dramatic. But if God had chosen to be simply “larger than life” then most of us would be left out. The problem with a Cecil B. DeMille/Charleton Heston kind of God is that most of us don’t live in that kind of world. Most of us are ordinary folks living ordinary lives in backwater places. That is where the vast majority of life takes place. So it is a very good thing that God chooses to devote so much time and energy to just our kind of living. It is a good thing that God chooses places like Bethlehem, because we live in places like Bethlehem. And it is a good thing that God chooses unknown women like Mary and Elizabeth, because we have a lot more in common with them than we would have with someone like a Caesar or a Pharaoh. And it is a good thing that God chooses babies, because it reminds us that it isn’t how educated, or powerful, or famous, or attractive, or anything we are that matters. What matters is God choosing to love us no matter what. The truly remarkable message of the gospel is that there is no limit to how far God will go to love us. God’s love knows no bounds.

As we prepare to celebrate Christmas, the temptation is to make everything big and flashy and spectacular. Let us remember that the One whose birth we are preparing to celebrate once said, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” (Mark 9:35) God’s love stoops to greatness. May it be so for us as well.

Rejoice? (Advent 3)

Isaiah 35: 1-10
Roger Lynn
December 13, 2020
3rd Sunday in Advent
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“Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” (Isaiah 35:10) That is the promise of Isaiah. To which we are tempted to respond, “Yeah, right!” Everlasting joy doesn’t seem to be a very likely possibility in these dark times in which we find ourselves. The list of things stacked against it would include: a global pandemic; massive unemployment; social and political upheaval; to say nothing of the personal challenges and disappointments we face on a seemingly daily basis. Everlasting joy, indeed!

But such an attitude, while understandable, would represent a significant failure to look at anything beyond the surface of our existence. It would be to forget that we are people of faith who, by definition, seek to grasp the bigger picture. I am reminded of what Frederick Buechner says about joy. “Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to – a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.” (Wishful Thinking) The kind of joy which Isaiah promise is not about what appears to be true when we look with just our eyes. Rather, it is about what is ultimately true because we dare to believe that God makes it so. “Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.’ ” (Isaiah 35:4) God is always bringing something new into our world and the promise of this ongoing renewal can serve to counter our exhaustion, our despair, and our hopelessness.

It doesn’t mean we ignore what is going on around us. It simply means that as we become aware of God’s presence in our lives and in our world, as we seek to allow that awareness to seep down into the core of our being, we gain a fresh, new perspective on reality. We discover it is possible to declare with confidence that, “Appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, God is at work even now healing the brokenness of our world and bringing new life into the midst of the death which surrounds us.” We can join with Isaiah in believing that a new age is dawning – an age which is defined by joy rather than sorrow, peace rather than conflict, wholeness rather than brokenness, community rather than isolation, love rather than hate, life rather than death. “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.” (Isaiah 35:6-7) And as this vision of divine extravagance begins to take root in us, rejoicing becomes not only possible but unavoidable. The exuberance of Isaiah begins to bubble to the surface of our lives, and we cannot contain it. “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. . . For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water.” (Isaiah 35:1-2&6-7)

And, of course, once we become infused with this joyful perspective we also find ourselves both challenged and empowered to share such joy with the rest of the world. “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.” (Isaiah 35:3) God’s abundant work in our world is accomplished through our efforts on God’s behalf. How we live matters – we are the agents God chooses to use to reach the world and make a difference. Returning again to the words of Frederick Buechner, he says, “[Compassion] is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.” (Wishful Thinking) Faith always pushes us outward, beyond ourselves. When our connection with God leads us to discover a source of true joy, we also discover a prompting to share that joy with others. To ignore such prompting is to risk losing touch with the joy – not because God will take it away from us, but because sharing it is intrinsically woven into the very fabric of the experience.

And so we come again to where we started. Our faith still calls us to a life which is defined by rejoicing. And our experience in the world continues to challenge the very concept of joy as something irrelevant and contrary to the realities we face. The choice is stark and dramatic – choose joy or choose despair. Either God is working in the world towards the ultimate goal of a transformed and transforming creation, or God isn’t. Either we are called to participate in a vision of life defined by joy and peace and hope and love, or we aren’t. Isaiah chose joy. What will we choose?

God’s Uncomfortable Peace (Advent 2)

Isaiah 11: 1-9 & Matthew 3: 1-6
Roger Lynn
December 6, 2020
2nd Sunday in Advent

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“Prepare the way of the Lord!” John the Baptizer – the wild prophet in the wilderness – proclaims this challenge to the people around Jerusalem in the middle of the first century. And 2,000 years later the message still resonates with us. It is dramatic. It stirs the soul and gets the blood flowing. It urges us to do something. But what does it mean? What is the “way” we are being called to prepare? I suspect that much of the reason why we enjoy hearing “prepare the way of the Lord” in this season of Advent is because we are looking ahead to Christmas and thinking about the sweet little baby Jesus. This is a season which we often fill with warm, cozy feelings, and we like it that way. But if we are to take John’s message seriously, we must look beyond the manger. The voice of the Baptizer, crying out from the Jordan river, calls for a change in the very fabric of our world. He joins the likes of Isaiah in offering a new vision of hope, but it is hope which comes at a cost. We cannot continue “business as usual” because a new age is dawning. God is bringing something new into our lives, and nothing will remain unchanged.

The theme for this second week of Advent is “Peace.” It is a word which we love to hear and love to speak, particularly in times such as these which we now find ourselves facing. We long for peace to find its way into our lives and into our world. But as with most things associated with this season, we tend to reduce our understanding of peace to a simple message that will fit on the front of a Christmas card. We don’t want it to challenge us. We don’t want it to cost us anything. We just want it to feel good. Fortunately, for us and for the world, the peace of God is bigger than that. One of the word which Jesus would have used to speak of peace was the Hebrew word “Shalom,” which can also be translated as “wholeness.” I find that to be a helpful concept. True peace is founded upon and emerges out of regaining and restoring the sense of wholeness and unity which God intended for all of creation.

This is the vision which comes to us through prophets such as Isaiah and John. In a world filled with violence, destruction, and despair, they see God’s active presence moving us towards a bold, new future of hope and peace. There is a coming together of the broken pieces into a new wholeness. It is a powerful vision. But for many of us who would look to such a vision for comfort and security, we may well be in for a serious shock. The wholeness which forms the Shalom of God will require a new way of relating with each other. We will no longer be able to profit and benefit and enhance our own lives at the expense of others. Justice (in the Biblical sense of restorative justice) for all means exactly that. When God’s peace begins to find root in the world, our lives will change. And for those of us who are used to being on top and being in control, we may find the experience uncomfortable and challenging. In describing both the promise and the threat of this new vision of peace and wholeness, Isaiah uses some disturbingly strong language. I find myself wishing he had found some other ways to express himself, but at the very least it has the virtue of making it very clear that abusive imbalances of power have no place in God’s peace. What will have a place, indeed the central place, in such a vision of peace is a fundamental re-orientation towards harmony, community, and interdependence. “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.” (Isaiah 11:6) The old ways of living in the world – ways based on power over and self-preservation – must give way to a basic awareness of the ways in which we are connected and interdependent. I invite you to spend a moment reflecting on all of the myriad ways in which our lives would be dramatically altered by such a radical new understanding of life.

So John comes along and calls for us to “prepare the way of the Lord.” In Matthew’s Gospel, the first word out of John’s mouth is, “Repent!” That word literally means to “turn around and go the other way.” “Carefully, and urgently, examine the ways in which you are living your life,” John is saying, “and look to see if it is consistent with a vision of God-centered wholeness, peace, and justice.” We are to “make the paths straight.” “Level the playing field” might be another way to put it. The “way” we are called to prepare for God involves making sure that everyone has an equal opportunity to experience the fullness of God’s presence in their lives. Everyone!

It is not the kind of peace we might have chosen, because it will require that we change in ways which will be uncomfortable and might even be perceived as threatening. But ultimately it is the only kind of genuine, lasting, meaningful peace which is possible. And it is only possible when we begin to let go of our need for power and control, and begin instead to trust in the God who is calling us to a new sense of wholeness with each other, with the world around us, and with God. God is always coming into our world in bold new ways. How are we preparing the way?

Hopeful Anticipation (Advent 1)

Isaiah 2: 1-5
Roger Lynn
November 29, 2020
1st Sunday in Advent

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Watching! Waiting! Preparing! Anticipating! These are the themes of Advent. This is the season of the Church Year when we turn our attention to new beginnings. In this moment, as, indeed, in every moment, we stand at the edge of something utterly new – long yearned for but beyond our capacity to enact. Advent invites us to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations as we consider our life afresh in light of the unfettered possibilities of a God-centered and God-powered life. Advent is a time to remind ourselves of the promises which God makes. We are challenged to give ourselves over to a vision of a healed alternative for the world. We are invited to look forward to a bright and bountiful future, not because of what we hope to accomplish on our own, but because of what we trust that God can accomplish in us, through us, and with us. The Church at Advent watches, and waits, and prepares, in order that we might notice where God is already acting in our lives and in our world – bringing justice and peace and wholeness. In these days so filled with upheaval, strife, and despair, Advent is a season of hopeful anticipation.

“In days to come...” declares the prophet Isaiah. He proclaims a vision of life which is centered on God – a time characterized by radical justice and even more radical peace. When the world is whole in the ways God intends, then hostilities cease, prosperity abounds for everyone, and people experience safety and security. Isaiah does not even attempt to predict when this time will come, but he declares with unshakable confidence that it will come to pass. His confidence is certainly not based on anything he sees going on around him in the world. His vision will not become a reality simply because enough people decide to work hard enough. Isaiah’s trust is firmly rooted in the God who stands behind the promise. It will happen because God declares that it will happen.

Having said that, however, it is also important to note that Isaiah’s vision requires the participation of we human beings. God may be at the center of the vision, and God may be the source of its fulfillment, but the people must be open to this new life which God offers. God invites and God empowers, but we must be willing to be transformed, and we must be willing to participate in the transformation of the world. God’s peace can be fully realized only when our swords are beaten into plows, and God will not do the beating.

Such a vision was no more practical in Isaiah’s time than it is in ours. Conflict, violence, and war were as prevalent then as now. I’m sure that Isaiah was as tempted as we are to simply write the whole thing off as unrealistic foolishness. But he did not give in to such temptation, and neither should we. Just because such a radical vision of peace and wholeness seems out of reach in our current historical context (or any historical context for that matter), should we then abandon all hope and fall into resignation and despair? We are people of faith who claim to believe that God is more than we can see or even imagine. We dare to trust that God can, will, and does bring transformation to our lives and to our world. And just because the path promises to be long and difficult does not mean we should avoid beginning the journey. Just because we have attempted the path before and failed does not mean we should resist trying again. If not we who already claim to live by faith, then who will dare to step out on such an audacious journey? If not now, when the world cries out for peace and wholeness in so many places, then when will be the right time?

So, as we begin this journey through the season of Advent, it is good that we find ourselves confronted by this radical vision of what life can be like when it is centered on God. And having encountered such a vision, the appropriate response is to open our hearts and allow our lives to be guided and shaped by it. Let us be God’s people who experience life with hopeful anticipation of what God is already doing in the midst of us. And let us be God’s people who strive to actively participate with God in such works of transformation. In the words which Isaiah uses to address the people of Israel, “Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.” Amen.

Thankful in Everything? (a Thanksgiving sermon)

Philippians 4: 4-9
Roger Lynn
November 22, 2020
Thanksgiving Sunday

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I don’t know how many times I have read the passage from Paul’s letter to the Philippians that we heard read a few moments ago, but it’s a lot. Part of it is even a camp song (and now, if you know it, it will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day)! I’ve preached on this text at Thanksgiving time on several occasions, but never before have I done so in the middle of a global pandemic when the infections and the deaths keep climbing. Never have I done so in the days leading up to a Thanksgiving when millions of people will be making alternative plans which will not include getting together with family and friends. And so I find myself pondering one particular phrase in the midst of this passage, and wondering if it even makes sense under these circumstances. “...in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” (Philippians 4:6) How can Paul possibly believe that it is possible (to say nothing of desirable) to be thankful in all circumstances? But there it is, right in the middle of what we Christians call “the Bible.” “In everything,” Paul writes. And it’s not like Paul was some naïve, sheltered, never-had-to-face-any-hard-stuff sort of guy. This is the man who was beaten, and arrested, and thrown in jail, and shipwrecked, and run out of town on more than one occasion. It’s that man who writes, “...in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Thus I find myself pondering what Paul might have had in mind when he wrote those words.

And then I notice a small, seemingly insignificant word that might help me to understand. “In” everything! Paul doesn’t say “for” everything. He says “in” everything. I don’t believe he is advocating a Pollyanna-ish, rose-colored-glasses approach to life. He’s not telling the folks in the church at Philippi to just smile and pretend that everything is wonderful. What he is suggesting is something honest, and hard, and potentially life-changing. It requires that we gain a wider, deeper, fuller, richer perspective of life beyond just whatever circumstances we are facing in any given moment. Those circumstances are real, and they may very well be challenging and painful. We are not being asked to deny that reality. I believe what Paul is asking us is to remember is that in the midst of whatever is happening around us there is more. There is a larger picture into which our current circumstances fit. That perspective can be difficult to see at times. In one of Carrie Newcomer’s songs she talks about walking through life with a small flashlight. Often we can only see what’s right in front of us. It can be challenging, but it’s not impossible.

Paul reminds the Philippians that God is near. He reminds them that in whatever circumstances they find themselves they are not alone. He invites them to pay attention to the good that is around them. In the midst of whatever they are facing gratitude is possible – not necessarily gratitude for the circumstances themselves, but for the gifts which can be found even in challenging times.

During the dark days when Veronica was in the hospital, and then after she died, I experienced so much grief and pain there were times when I could barely function. But what I came to realize later was that the gift of gratitude had also been present, helping to guide me out of the darkness and back into the light. I was not grateful for the loss, but somehow, through a gift of pure grace, I managed to learn how to notice the things I could be grateful for. I was surrounded by love and support. I was not alone. My needs were met. There were lessons learned. My heart was not just broken – it was also broken open in profound new ways. The gratitude I learned to experience didn’t change the circumstances. Veronica was still dead and I was still devastated. But it transformed how I experienced those circumstances. Gratitude made it possible for me to survive and even learn to thrive.

Paul invites the Philippians, and through them he invites us, to be thankful “in” everything. Because no matter what is happening in our lives, “everything” always includes more than we can see in any given moment. God is always present – even when we are in so much pain we can’t remember to notice. We are cared for – even when it feels like we are alone. When we engage in the practice of gratitude, and it most certainly is something we have to practice, we open ourselves to the possibility of becoming aware of the larger picture. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, Paul tells the Philippians, and eventually you will arrive at the place where you’ve always been – right in the very heart of God’s peace and presence and care.

So this Thanksgiving, when so much about our lives and our world seems to be filled with such chaos and upheaval, I invite you to spend some time practicing gratitude. Not to deny the present circumstances, but to remember that there is more to life than just these present circumstances. There is always more. And remembering can make all the difference. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Keep Reaching Out with Our Giving (a stewardship sermon)

Isaiah 58: 6-8
Roger Lynn
November 15, 2020
Stewardship Emphasis

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Last week I preached a stewardship sermon and barely even mentioned money. Yeah, I know – weird, huh! Well, you can relax because I plan to make up for it this week. But you still don’t need to run for the exits (or shut off your computer, as the case may be). Talking about money in church need not be tedious, or demanding, or any of the other things that so often come up in people’s minds when the topic is mentioned. Giving (or sharing) actually appears frequently within the pages of scripture. Even Jesus mentions it. Often such references don’t specifically include money, but that is because the Bible was written in other cultures at other times when there were various methods by which transactional arrangements were made. In a largely agricultural context, for instance, where barter was a primary means of exchange, money could easily be less important. Different forms for different circumstances.

So it can be helpful to take a step back and begin by looking at the underlying message. In our scripture text for today, for example, (which you may recognize from last week), we hear encouragement to work for justice, to stop oppression, and to end hunger, poverty, and homelessness. Similar messages can be found throughout the Bible. I suspect that most, if not all, of us would find these things to be admirable and worthy goals. And in this passage from Isaiah there is no reference to money. The means by which these admirable and worthy goals are to be achieved are not stipulated. In some cultural contexts they could, perhaps, be accomplished with little or no use of monetary currency. That is not, however, our particular cultural context. For those of us who live in the United States of American in the year 2020, money occupies a central place in terms of how we get things done. This is not because our money has some sort of intrinsic value. The paper on which a dollar bill is printed is not “worth” a dollar. And most certainly this is even more dramatically true for the electronic signal used when I spend $100 at some on-line business by clicking on a digital button. We all know this, but it’s easy to forget. Our money is an intermediary stand in for other things we value – our time, out talents, our treasure. If someone earns $10/hour at their job and then goes to the grocery store to purchase $10 worth of food, what they are really doing is exchanging an hour of their time for something to eat.

So, back to the matter of talking about money in church, what we’re really talking about is something larger than dollars and cents. When we hear the words of Isaiah about working for justice, and stopping oppression, and ending hunger, poverty, and homelessness, and we say (either individually or as a congregation) that we want to take those words seriously and start doing something towards making them a reality in our world, then that conversation is almost certainly going to include a discussion about money. Clearly there are things we can do towards ending hunger that don’t involve money. There are people in our congregation, for example, who volunteer their time at Food Share. The same could be said for all of the other things on Isaiah’s list. When I attended the Black Lives Matter rallies earlier in the year I was, in my own way, working for justice, and it didn’t involve making a financial contribution. But there is so much that needs to be done in all of the areas which Isaiah mentions which requires enormous and specialized attention beyond our individual capacity to address. And so we pool our resources to more efficiently and effectively meet the needs. We give money (a representational substitute for our time and talent) so that experts can be hired and commodities can be purchased on a scale that can actually get the job done. 

Our stewardship theme this year is “Keep Reaching Out.” As I mentioned in my sermon last Sunday, I believe that reaching out is built into the very fabric of our being. The drive to connect with the world beyond the boundaries of our own skin is a vital part of what it means to be human. It is part of what it means to be created in the image of God. In the creation story which appears in the second chapter of Genesis, God says, “It is not good that the human should be alone.” We are created to reach out and share connection with the world around us. We are created to care about each other and make a positive difference in the world. When we deny and ignore this aspect of our divinely created nature, we end up living diminished lives.

One of the ways in which we can extend our reaching out beyond the length of our own arms is when we make financial contributions to organizations (like Plymouth Congregational Church) who use our gifts to work on our behalf for causes we believe in. Some of that happens locally. Your financial support allows us to maintain our building. Even in these past nine months when much of our facility has been shutdown there has still been mission and ministry occurring through our building. Children have been cared for in the daycare, now under new management. Alcoholics Anonymous has been able to meet and support sobriety and healthy living for its members. Worship on the lawn (for both Plymouth and the Unitarians) was able to occur in support of people’s spiritual well-being. In addition, we use our collective financial resources to support the work of other agencies in town, including God’s Love, Food Share, and Family Promise. This worship service right now, being streamed on-line through YouTube, is made possible because of your financial support. When the Covid-19 crisis is over and we return to a more “normal” schedule of activities at the church (Bible Study, fellowship events, worship, etc) there will be even more need for available funds, including an expanded and enhanced capacity to stream our services, because we have discovered that we are reaching people who we would not reach otherwise. Some of the work we support happens nationally and globally. Because we are a part of the United Church of Christ denomination we join forces with other UCC congregations by contributing to the work that is accomplished through funds such as Our Church’s Wider Mission (OCWM) and One Great Hour of Sharing. In this way we seek to make a difference in our community, our country, and our world.

If you believe that working for justice, stopping oppression, and ending hunger, poverty, and homelessness are worthwhile causes to support, and if you believe that Plymouth Congregational Church is working on your behalf to promote those values, then I encourage you to reach out through your giving to support us. If you believe that sharing the gospel message of God’s all-inclusive and compassionate love is a worthwhile endeavor, and if you believe that Plymouth Congregational Church is actively engaged in that undertaking, then I encourage you to reach out through your giving to support us. If you believe that the work we do together here at Plymouth makes a positive difference in your life and in the lives of others in our community and in our world, then I encourage you to reach out through your giving to support us.

Stewardship is about everything we do, with everything we have, and everything we are. It will include getting actively and personally involved in a direct and hands-on way. And it will include supporting the larger work beyond ourselves with our financial contributions. I encourage you to be prayerful and intentional in deciding what stewardship looks like in your life. How will you support the things you value and believe in? How much of your time, talent, and treasure will you contribute to support that work, either directly or through your financial gifts? I invite you to keep reaching out, with your living and your giving, so that together we can continue to make a difference in our world. Keep reaching out. Amen.

Keep Reaching Out With Our Living (a stewardship sermon)

Isaiah 58: 6-8
Roger Lynn
November 8, 2020
Stewardship Emphasis

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Sometimes reaching out can seem counter-intuitive. In these days filled with so much separation, isolation, division, hate, and fear, it is tempting to just shut down. A verse in one of Dan Fogelberg’s songs gives expression to this temptation.
“Gonna pull in the shutters
On this heart of mine
Roll up the carpets
And pull in the blinds
And retreat to the chambers
That I left behind...”
(from Heart Hotels by Dan Fogelberg)

It’s tempting, but that path will not ultimately serve us well because we are made for something more. As I said at the end of my sermon last Sunday, “We are created for community. We are created for equality. We are created for connection.” And finding the path that will lead us to community, equality, and connection requires that we reach out beyond ourselves. It means expanding rather than contracting. When we reach out beyond ourselves we begin to live into the fullness of who we truly are – human beings created in the very image of God!

I have heard it said that some of the largest living organisms on the planet are a field of mushrooms and a grove of aspen trees. They look like a collection of individuals, but in reality they are all connected. I believe that the same thing can be said about humanity. Our separateness is an illusion. One of the great spiritual mysteries is that we are all One – connected in ways which we are only beginning to discover and understand. When we practice reaching out beyond ourselves, even when it seems counter-intuitive, even when it frightens us, we begin to open ourselves to this larger reality.

The scriptures are filled with variations on this theme. Our reading from Isaiah calls us to work for justice, to free the oppressed, to feed the hungry, to house the homeless, to clothe the naked, to stop hiding ourselves from each other. And then we are reminded that in so doing our own light begins to shine, our own health is restored, and we begin to experience the very presence of God in our lives. In the Gospels we find Jesus saying much the same thing. The Apostle Paul describes the Church as the Body of Christ – each of us sharing our own unique gifts within the larger context of a connected whole.

This great truth is active and present, whether we reach out beyond ourselves or not. We are still connected. We are still surrounded by love and grace and wholeness and Sacred Presence. But many of the benefits remain largely unrealized until we begin to open ourselves to this wider reality.

So what does this look like? How do we go about taking this step and making it happen in our lives? It will look different for each of us, because even though we are all connected we are not all the same. We will each reach out in our own unique ways. And it will take a lifetime to really figure out what those unique ways look like. But just because it will take a lifetime doesn’t mean we can’t begin now. We make it happen in our lives by deciding to begin, and then taking a step in that direction.

If you are reaching out to God, perhaps a step in that direction will be look like setting aside time every day to pray. Or perhaps it will look like walking up onto the mountain in the morning to watch the sunrise. There is no one right way to do this. Pay attention to what your heart is telling you. Get creative. Try something. If it doesn’t work for you let it go and try something else. The journey really is the destination.

And if you are reaching out to other people (which is really just a different way of reaching out to God) it will be pretty much the same thing. Pay attention. Listen to your heart. Take a deep breath, and try something. Maybe it will be as simple as calling a friend you haven’t talked to in a while. Maybe it will be writing a letter to your congressperson and sharing what’s on your heart. Maybe it will be volunteering at the food bank, or Habitat for Humanity, or the hospital. The specifics of what this reaching out will look like are as unique as you are. One of my favorite quotes from Frederick Buechner puts it this way, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” (from “Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC” by Frederick Buechner)

As we engage in this very spiritual practice of reaching out beyond ourselves, what we begin to discover is that in the process of making a difference in the world we ourselves our transformed. As we connect, with God and with the world, we start to connect more fully and deeply with our own God-given nature – connected and interrelated with all that is. Paradoxically, the more we reach out beyond ourselves, the more fully we become ourselves.

And just in case you forgot, this is a stewardship sermon (the first of two, actually). So, let me remind you that stewardship is about everything we do with everything we have and everything we are. We are being good stewards not just when we share our financial resources with others (we’ll get to that next week), but also when we are intentional about doing what we can to become more fully who God created us to be. Reaching out beyond ourselves to establish and nourish connections, with God and with the world, is a profoundly spiritual act of stewardship. I invite you to begin now. You’ll be glad you did.

We Are Not Alone (All Saints)

Luke 6: 20-31
Roger Lynn
November 1, 2020
The Feast of All Saints

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We are not alone! This may well be one of the most important truths for us to grasp. And yet, more often than not, we forget, resulting in so much pain and suffering. We cut ourselves off from valuable resources which could help us face the challenges of life. We start seeing other people as enemies to be subdued and defeated instead of as partners to be cherished. And all because we forget the basic truth that we are not alone.

In the very familiar Beatitudes of Jesus, rendered in this less familiar form by Luke’s Gospel, we find this truth hiding just beneath the surface. It is the understanding which gives Jesus’ words their meaning, hiding as the unspoken phrase attached to both the blessings and the woes. How can it be that the poor, the hungry, the grieving, the persecuted can understand their lives as blessed? It becomes possible if you added the phrase “because you are not alone” to each of the descriptions. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh, because you are not alone.” The blessedness is not determined by the outward circumstances, but rather by the sense of connection with God and with each other. Whatever comes our way, we can face it when we remember that we do not have to pretend to be brave and strong and self-reliant. We do not have to draw exclusively on our own resources. We are truly blessed when we catch a glimpse of the bigger picture of which we are a part.

Understanding the “woes” of the beatitudes is likewise easier if we think in terms of connections. First of all, it is important to understand that these do not represent God’s condemnation. They are not judgments. They are warnings. If you continue down the path you are on, you are going to be in trouble. Not because God wills it to be so, but simply because that’s the way life works. And so, having said that, how is it that being rich, or well-fed, or happy, or respected is cause for warning and concern? This is the flip-side of the blessings, and again an unspoken phrase assists us in our understanding. This time the phrase is, “if you think you are alone and don’t need anyone else.” “Woe to you who are rich, if you think you are alone and don’t need anyone else, for you have received your consolation.” When we get caught in the trap of thinking we are self-sufficient, we cut ourselves off from all the benefits of being connected to God and each other. If meaning and purpose and comfort and strength for our living extends no further than our own skin, then we are in for hard times indeed. How will we cope when the money runs out? What will we do when the grief comes? Where will we find the strength to go on when someone we count on lets us down? We are not alone, and life simply works better when we recognize that truth and begin to embrace it.

The Sufi poet Hafiz had some fun playing with this notion in one of his poems.

Resist the temptation to lie

By speaking of separation from God,

Otherwise,

We might have to medicate

You.

In the ocean

A lot goes on beneath your eyes.

Listen,

They have clinics there too

For the insane

Who persist in saying thing like:

“I am independent from the

Sea,

God is not always around

Gently

Pressing against

My body.”

(from The Gift by Daniel Ladinsky)

When we forget that we are connected to God and to each other, it doesn’t change the ultimate reality of the  world. God is still all around us. We still have deep-rooted ties which bind us together with every other person on the planet. But we start acting and reacting as if it weren’t true. We suffer needlessly and in our pain often contribute to the suffering of those around us. And so, from time to time, we pause to remember our connections. When we celebrate the ancient Church tradition of the Feast of All-Saints, we intentionally draw our attention to what the writer of Hebrews called “so great a cloud of witnesses” – all those who have gone before us but are connected to us still. We remember that we are not alone. We savor the divine heritage of every human being who ever has or ever will live – that we are one with God and thus we are one in God.

We are not alone, and only when we really remember this truth does it become possible to begin living into the reality of Jesus’ words which follow the blessings and woes. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6:27-31) Living with people as if we are connected, rather than separate. As if we truly matter to each other. As if we have access to resources greater than our own. Not to be submissive and subservient, but to be equal and connected. Walter Wink did some work with this text and offers a helpful understanding of what Jesus was saying. So often the words about turning the other cheek and giving up your shirt have been taken as advice to be a doormat. Dr. Wink suggests that it is, in fact, advice about creating equality. In the ancient culture of the Mediterranean region, you struck an inferior with the back of your hand, and would only strike an equal with the palm of your hand. So if someone backhands you as if you are inferior, and you turn the other cheek, thus forcing them to use the palm of their hand, it is saying, “I will meet you here as an equal.” To give up your shirt as well as your coat is to be naked before the other person, and in that ancient culture it was the beholder of nakedness who bore the shame.

We are not alone. We are created for community. We are created for equality. We are created for connection. And when we remember to live that way, we are most certainly blessed.

Even When We Forget To Notice

Matthew 14:22-33
Roger Lynn
October 25, 2020

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His spirit was in need of renewal. He had been giving himself completely to the people for more days than he could count, and now it was time to be alone with the ultimate source of his life. His followers could go on ahead. He would catch up. They wouldn’t want to go, of course, but this was important. He would insist. Maybe this time they would learn to see past the moment and avoid falling victim to their fears.

The waves were crashing, the wind was howling, the sea was threatening to overwhelm them – and Jesus was nowhere to be found! He was the one who had sent them out there in the first place and now he had abandoned them. It was dark, they were exhausted, and fear was nagging at the edges of their souls. This was not how things were supposed to work out.

He might have wished there had been more time, but it would have to be enough. His presence was needed among them once again. The world was knocking them down, and they kept forgetting to notice anything beyond what they could see in that instant. When would they remember that they were never far from his care? It was ironic that the connection with God which he sought for himself was precisely what they needed as well. But for now they were frightened, and in need of another reminder.

The storm was powerful and overwhelming, but at least it was familiar. They could keep their fear in check because they knew what they faced. But now, in the midst of the chaos, came something new and unexpected, and thus it was much more frightening. It was exactly what they had been crying for, but their fear gave testimony to the truth of just how little they had actually expected it. Even as he came to them in their time of need, they could not recognize him for who he was. Fear can be such a powerful enemy.

Why was it, he wondered, that every time God shows up, in any form more obvious than the slightest glimmer, the first thing that must be said is, “Do not be afraid!”? But if that is what it took to reach them with God’s comfort and grace, then that is what he would do. They could face whatever storms the world might throw at them, if only they would remember that they were never alone. He saw such potential in them, and there was so much work for them to do out here in this storm-ravaged world. But first their fears must be calmed. Then, perhaps, their confidence could begin to grow. “It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

They wanted to believe that it was true. Part of them knew that it was possible, because they could remember other times when they had experienced his powerful presence. But in the midst of the wind and the rain and the waves, it is often easy to believe that the world has always been the storm and always will be as well. Sometimes what is required is an impulsive leap. “I’m not absolutely sure that it’s you,” Peter said, “but I’m willing to be convinced. Call me out of my fear.”

He had to smile. Peter was always full of such wonderful surprises. His exuberance would often get him in trouble. But it was also the source of amazing possibilities. It was a quality that would take him far. All of them could use a healthy dose of such enthusiasm. “OK, there is a way past your fear. But it will require trust and it will require risk. If you want to follow me, then get out of the boat. To do my work in the world means trusting me to be with you even in the storm.”

The waves and the wind and the sea were still there. But suddenly they didn’t seem as frightening. He remembered to notice that he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t all up to him. Whenever he saw Jesus the way he was seeing him in that moment, anything was possible. Before the others could even ask him what he thought he was doing, he was stepping beyond the safety of the familiar, out into the great unknown storm. His focus was fixed on the One he knew was with him, in this and every moment. And because he knew that Jesus was with him, he could even dare to believe that God was with him. He took another step out into the storm.

This was good. They might actually be able to accomplish something powerful in the world. The trust he saw in Peter’s eyes warmed his heart. It was more than just talk. He was actually able to look past his fear and take a step beyond the safety of the familiar. There was hope.

First one step. Then another. He was doing what he said he would do. Jesus had called him and he was following. But then he got distracted. The waves were lapping at his feet and up around his legs. The wind was blowing in his face. And suddenly he was more aware of the storm than he was of the One standing in front of him. In that moment the chaos and the fear came crashing back in on him and he began to sink. What in the world had he been thinking? It was all too overwhelming for him to face alone. He was lost.

This was the hardest part for him – hoping that this would be the time when they remembered to trust and watching as they once again allowed the fear to blind them to the reality that they were neither lost nor alone. They were each so precious. Why would they ever think that they would be abandoned?

And then, even as the storm seemed about to win, a ray of hope came shining through. He remembered that he was not alone. In desperation he cried out, “I can’t do this by myself. Help me.”

That was all it took. In that moment his hand was already reaching out, lifting up, embracing, calming fears. “You almost had it that time,” he said gently. “Maybe next time you’ll remember to keep your eyes on me instead of on the storm.” But that would be next time. He would keep working with them for as long as it took – day by day, moment by moment – through the victories and the set-backs. He knew that sometimes they would remember and sometimes they would forget. Sometimes they would notice and sometimes they would ignore. But always he would be with them. And together there was nothing they couldn’t do.

Journeying On By Stages

Exodus 17: 1-7
Roger Lynn
October 11, 2020

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In the interest of full disclosure, I am preaching this sermon today because I need to hear it. The speed of my life has been increasing exponentially in recent weeks and it’s not finished speeding up quite yet.

There is a strong tendency in our culture to get where we’re going as quickly as possible. 80mph speed limits that are routinely broken. Faster and faster computers. High-speed internet connections that are never quite fast enough. Express lanes in the grocery stores. Patience is not a quality much prized in our culture. And that, I think, is unfortunate. It is difficult to appreciate the landscape of our lives at 80mph.

Almost twenty years ago I had the privilege of taking a sabbatical, and one of the great joys of that experience was giving myself permission to take my time. With a few rare exceptions, there was nowhere I needed to be at any particular time. As a result, I discovered lots of interesting places I might otherwise have missed completely. Driving down the Oregon and California coast on Highway One is not the route I would normally choose. There are corners on that road labeled “15mph” and they mean it. But by choosing to take such a route I experienced the amazing beauty of the southern Oregon coastline, with giant rocks standing out in the surf; the breathtaking magnificence of the redwoods; and the section of highway around Big Sur that runs several hundred feet above the water, where I was pulling off every 50 or 100 yards to savor the view. Because I slowed down I was able to spend a week camped by the ocean in southern California, where everyday I watched dolphins leaping and pelicans gliding over the surface of the water. None of that would have been possible if I had been in my usual hurry.

My friend Randy loves to tell stories. It isn’t just something he does. It is actually a central part of who he is. Talking to him is an exercise in patience, because his conversations almost always meander along, with frequent side trips which seem both out of the way and beside the point. If you have ever heard Garrison Keillor’s “News from Lake Wobegon” then you have experienced some of what it is like talking to Randy. It used to drive me nuts, but what I have come to realize over the years is that the side trips are at the very heart of the point. They flesh out the reality of what we are talking about and provide a richness and meaning that could never be achieved simply by sticking to “the facts.” It takes more time to have this kind of conversation, but the trip is always worth it.

The Hebrew people spent forty years traveling the few hundred miles from Egypt to the Promised Land. Contrary to popular opinion, it was not because Moses was a man and refused to stop for directions. It was because there were lessons to be learned and it took a while to learn them. There is a phrase in today’s reading from Exodus which I find particularly illuminating. “The whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages...” (Exodus 17:1) They didn’t always like it. In fact, they very seldom liked it and frequently complained loudly. But in the end, the story of their journey became a central part of how they understood themselves as a people. That slow journey came to define who they were – who God was – who they were in relationship to God. They would not have been the people they became if Moses had simply chartered a bus and driven them directly from Cairo to Jerusalem. They were shaped in profound and lasting ways because they “journeyed by stages.”

And so it is for us. The life of faith is a journey and a process. It requires patience and it demands that we take it slow. And most of all, it is absolutely essential that we remember we are not in it alone. We travel with each other and we travel with God. As a community of faith there are worthwhile, significant, important places we are heading together – places with names like justice and peace. There are qualities of life we need to be striving for – qualities such as compassion and understanding. Sometimes the journey will be filled with beauty and joy – when we are fully aware of God’s presence in our midst and empowered by God’s Spirit in our lives. And sometimes the journey will be filled with grief and pain – when God’s presence seems very far away indeed and we seem impotent in the face of the world’s horror. Like the Hebrew people in the wilderness, our journey of faith may take a very long time, because there are lessons we cannot learn quickly or easily. There are things we need to do which cannot be accomplished overnight. Such a perspective of faith opens us to the possibility of catching a glimpse of the light of God’s presence which is always breaking forth in our world, despite the headlines which so often leave us focused only on the darkness. Taking the long view enables us to understand that with God’s help we are not powerless and we can make a difference, even when it doesn’t seem to be happening immediately. May we learn to slow down long enough in our life together that we might begin to recognize the value of journeying on by stages.

United We Stand – Around The Table (World Communion Sunday)

1 Corinthians 11: 23-26
Roger Lynn
October 4, 2020
World Communion Sunday

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Perhaps you are aware that in about a month there is an election coming up. And maybe you’ve noticed that there is a lot of animosity and divisiveness and sometimes open hostility free-floating in our country right now. But God has something more than that in mind for us. We are called to something bigger and better and richer and deeper than that.

This morning I want to focus on a very old ritual which has the capacity to expand our horizons and move us beyond the differences which we so often allow to divide us. It holds the power to cross all our borders, transcend our differences, and bind us together in rich community. In these days which seem so filled with strife and fear, we will do well to turn our attention to those things which bring us together and fill us with strength. World Communion Sunday provides us with an opportunity to remember and experience the power of God to bring us together. We gather around this table and remember that in countless places around the world, in a wide variety of settings, in places of worship which span the spectrum of denominations and culture and politics and geography, millions of people are meeting to share in this same mysterious feast of grace. They will call it by many names – communion, the Lord’s Supper, Eucharist, and names in other languages which I can’t even pronounce. They will surround this moment with a variety of worship forms and styles and traditions. Some will be very formal, with incense and liturgies, while others will be quite simple and plain. It is good to be reminded from time to time that God’s love and grace are more powerful and more expansive than any of the forces which threaten to separate us – that the Church extends far beyond the walls of this sanctuary, or the membership lists of the United Church of Christ, or the boundaries of the United States. The Church includes ALL Christians everywhere, regardless of their color, their nationality, their politics or social agenda, their church affiliation (or lack thereof), their level of wealth or poverty, or any of the countless other categories which we sometimes use to divide people into “us” and “them.” Around this table we discover the common ground upon which we all stand and the unifying force which binds us all together. United we stand – around the Table of the Lord!

So what does this mean? Does participating in this feast of grace magically transform us into nicer people who live in a nicer world where everyone just naturally gets along? Obviously not. Christians have been taking communion for 2,000 years, and we are still fighting among ourselves and with those around us. But it does mean that we are not on our own when we try to rise above our differences and seek peace in our relationships, our communities, and our world. We have nothing less than the very power of God at work on our side. When the church in Corinth was experiencing internal stress and dissension, Paul sought to bring them together by reminding them of the common meal that they shared. Does it mean that our differences don’t matter and aren’t important? Not at all. When Paul told the Galatians, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28) he was speaking in ultimate terms. Within the context of that ultimate unity, our differences make us distinctive and flavor the world around us with the richness of our diversity. In Christ our differences no longer hold the power to divide us – unless we give them that power. When we come together around the Table of the Lord we are reminded of who we are and whose we are. Reminding ourselves of the countless others around the world who also gather around this table is a way of remembering that the God who loves us and meets us here is the same God who loves the whole world. Indeed, ultimately the power we find when we share in this very old and very powerful experience can allow us to transcend even the walls of Christianity itself, as we begin to recognize that the Sacred Presence we encounter at this table can also be encountered in the lives of our Muslim and Jewish and Buddhist and Hindu and Pagan and Atheist brothers and sisters.

“United we stand – around the Table of the Lord” means that we are a part of something bigger than ourselves. It means that we are the recipients of God’s amazing gift of grace. It means that we are brought together as family (in the very best sense of that word) – sisters and brothers in Christ and beyond. It means that we are sent out nourished by the power of God’s Spirit alive and at work within us to share the good news that love and peace and joy and hope and community are within our grasp if we will open ourselves to such gifts from God. Sometimes when we gather around this table it is easy to allow familiarity to leave us feeling complacent – just one more thing we do so often that it becomes simply routine. Today as we share together in the bread and the cup, let us remember that we are not alone, even in these days filled with separation, distance, and discord. United we stand – around this Table, with each other and with all those around the world who join us in this feast of grace. Together let us remember that since we are surrounded and embraced by God we can begin to open our arms and our hearts to embrace the whole world. Amen.

Risk & Transformation

Philemon 1-25
Roger Lynn
September 27, 2020

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Why is this book even in the Bible? Who decided to include this one chapter, 25 verse long letter? It is very different from anything else we find in the New Testament – a personal letter from Paul to an individual, about a personal matter, with hardly any “theology” at all. There were almost certainly other similar letters from Paul which have not survived. Why is this one still with us? We will probably never know the answer for certain, but there is an intriguing possibility if we view it as one piece out of the middle of a story.

Once upon a time there lived a man named Paul. Over the years the stories about this man have been told and re-told, until he has grown much larger than life. People love him and people hate him. But once, before the storytellers and the scholars and the faithful believers and the skeptical critics all had their way with him, Paul was just a man, trying to live his life the best way he could.

It should be noted that one of the reasons why Paul’s life has become so expanded and expounded is because there was much about his life which really was extraordinary. He was a man of passion and faith, who lived life on the edge and challenged others to do the same. Such living often placed him in less than ideal circumstances. Over the course of his life he was beaten, arrested, thrown in jail, run out of town, shipwrecked, and on and on the list could go. And it is in one of these moments that this story begins.

House arrest was a strange sort of experience. It wasn’t jail, because you were still surrounded by many of the comforts of home. But it wasn’t freedom either. You couldn’t decide to visit friends or live somewhere else. You were confined. Except that Paul didn’t really feel confined – not since his life had been transformed by the freeing grace of Jesus Christ. How could mere circumstances ever hope to imprison him after such an experience? Nonetheless, he was under house arrest and thus found himself limited in his ability to attend to the business of being God’s apostle. He could write letters – which, of course, he did. But that as not the same as personal contact, which was what he missed the most.

And then an amazing thing happened. Amazing things always seemed to find their way into Paul’s life. In the midst of this house arrest he becomes re-acquainted with Onesimus, the slave of Philemon from Colossae. Paul had last seen him in the house of Philemon, but he had not been a Christian then. Much had happened since that time. Over the course of the next several days the story began to emerge. Onesimus had run away, finally being unable to live as a slave any longer. He longed to be free and free he would be. He made his way to Rome, where he eventually became associated with one of the groups of Christians who were living in the city. His life was forever changed when he opened himself to the presence of God through Jesus Christ. And it was that change which led him finally to Paul’s door. He remembered Paul from the days he spent visiting Philemon, and now he needed Paul’s advice.

It was many days before Onesimus could bring himself to tell Paul the real reason why he had come, but in the mean time they talked and shared and opened themselves to each other until a deep and lasting bond had grown between them. He proved useful on a practical level, because he could come and go from Paul’s house, running errands which Paul could not do himself. He proved useful on a personal level because they so obviously connected in such a deep and significant way.

All of which made it even more difficult when he finally decided to confide in Paul the real reason why he had first come to see him. But he might have saved himself the worry, because Paul had been thinking almost the same thoughts. When Onesimus had run away, he was just a slave in search of freedom. Now he was a Christian, and life was different. Philemon, his old master, was also a Christian. Onesimus had to bring some resolution to this situation – but he was afraid. When Paul spoke almost the same thoughts, however, he knew what he must do. He must return to Philemon and face him. But he would not go alone. He would go surrounded by the presence of Christ. And he would go with Paul’s friendship and his support, which was symbolized in the letter he would carry from Paul to Philemon.

And so the day came when the letter was drafted, the good-byes were said, and Onesimus was on his way. It is worth reflecting on the risk which would have been involved in delivering such a letter. Paul was risking the loss of a friend and colleague in ministry. What if the letter didn’t help? There was much at stake for Paul, both in terms of personal loss and the responsibility he would have felt for this one who had come into his life with such trust. The risk for Philemon was also great. To reject Paul’s appeal would have been very acceptable within the cultural context of his day, but would have been at odds with the faith which he was learning to live and to share. To accept Paul’s appeal, however, would have carried its own complications. To receive his wayward slave as a slave no longer, but rather as a brother in Christ, would certainly be in keeping with his faith, but would have left him at odds with his culture and the other slave owners who would disapprove of such precedence being set. But neither the risk for Paul or for Philemon was anything compared with the risk for Onesimus. If Philemon risked losing respect within his community, Onesimus risked losing his freedom. If Paul risked losing a friend, Onesimus risked losing his life. And still he chose to take the risk. They all chose to take the risk. And the results were far greater than they could have imagined.

It is at this point when speculation must take over, because we simply do not know for certain what happened next. There is evidence, however, that what happened was nothing short of miraculous. To begin with, Philemon almost certainly did as Paul had asked. Had anything else taken place, then this letter would not have been preserved. Reminders of failure are not often saved. And just that much would have been the beginning of a remarkable transformation. For Philemon it would have meant a whole new way of relating with the people in his life. For Onesimus it would have meant literally experiencing the freedom of Christ in new and powerful ways.

But the story may not end there. Early in the second century, a man named Ignatius was bishop of Antioch in Syria. In a letter he wrote, we find a reference to the bishop of Ephesus – whose name was Onesimus. Among the reasons why it seems at least plausible that this could be the same Onesimus has to do with the Church in Ephesus. It is here, late in the first century, when Onesimus could easily have been bishop, that a collection of Paul’s letters was assembled and published. It is to the publication of this collection of letters that we trace the beginning of the formation of what eventually became the New Testament which we use today.

In the letter to Philemon, Paul says that Onesimus had been useful to him. If the rest of this story is true, then Paul could not have dreamed just how useful this runaway slave would eventually prove to be. This is a story of risk and transformation which can take place, both personally and in the world, when such risk is taken in the name and by the grace of God in Jesus Christ.

What risks are you being challenged to face in your life and in the world? Will you step out in faith and take the risk? Who can say what transformation will result? May we be so faithful!

Bearing Witness To The Resurrection

John 17: 6-11
Roger Lynn
September 13, 2020

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We are Easter people. Celebrating the resurrection is at the very heart of Christian faith and practice. And figuring out what that means is an ongoing challenge. Too often we make the mistake of treating Christ’s resurrection as a one-time event which occurred on a certain day at a certain time in a certain place. To do so is to miss much of the power which is inherent in our faith. It is interesting to note that in all four of the Gospels which we find in our Bible, there is not one single mention of anyone being present at the actual moment of resurrection. There is no description of what happened or when it took place. Instead we find stories of Jesus dead and buried, and we find stories of people who encountered the risen and living Christ. For the writers of the Gospels, resurrection is an experience rather than an event. It is an experiential reality rather than a provable fact. It transcends time rather than being limited by time. It is about transformation rather than resuscitation.

What we find revealed in Christ’s resurrection is life as God intends it to be lived – an extraordinary, transcendent life given by God as a free and gracious gift. It is life which takes us beyond our ordinary experience in ways which make it qualitatively different from human existence as we experience it apart from God. Thus understood, such resurrection living need not be thought of only (or even primarily) in terms of what happens after we die. When we open ourselves to the active and ongoing presence of God in our lives, we find ourselves thrust into resurrection living beginning right here and right now. And such living is most certainly worth celebrating and sharing. Indeed, how can we keep from doing so?

Christian faith is not about sitting on the sidelines. It is not about participating when it is convenient. It is a full-time, all-the-time, 110% way of life that transforms both us and the world completely. It cannot be left to a chosen few. Bearing witness to the resurrection is the responsibility of everyone who is touched by the resurrection. And that means all of us. Please note that we are not called to convince anyone of anything. We are not called to force anyone to accept our beliefs or our way of life. We are only called to bear witness to what we ourselves have experienced – the living presence of the resurrected Christ bringing meaning and purpose and direction to our lives. And we do this not so much with our words as with our living. One of the very practical ways in which other people come to experience Christ’s presence in the world is in and through us. When our lives reflect our faith, people notice.

In the prayer which appears in the 17th chapter of John’s Gospel, we find Jesus asking God to bring certain qualities into the lives of the disciples. 2,000 years later such qualities of living are still worth praying for and striving for. In many ways these qualitites are the evidence of God’s active presence in our lives – the way in which we “bear witness” to the resurrection. The over-arching theme which defines this section of Jesus’ prayer is one of relationship – Christ’s relationship to God, God’s relationship to Christ, God’s relationship to us, our relationship to God, our relationship to each other. Literally everything else about the life of faith emerges out of this all-encompassing, inter-connected web of relationship. We sing a song sometimes – “They will know we are Christians by our love.” The core of Christianity is not the particular things we believe – it is the ways in which we love. Within the context of this theme of relationship, Jesus prays, “that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:11) Such unity does not mean complete agreement on everything, or lack of any conflict, or the absence of all tension. It does mean the presence of care and respect and a sense of connection which transcends our differences. The world in which we now find ourselves living often seems to be defined by radical self-interest, divisive polarization, and a profound sense of isolation and separation. Within that context, I can think of no more powerful sign of God’s presence than unity which is born not of conformity, but of love. And then, at the end of Jesus’ prayer, he asks that the disciples might experience joy. This is not naive, ignorant, close your eyes to what’s happening around you kind of euphoria. This joy rises out of the deep and abiding presence of God rather than the transient, external circumstances of life. It is a by-product of resurrection living.

We are Easter people. Celebrating the resurrection is at the very heart of Christian faith and practice. And figuring out what that means is an ongoing challenge. It is a task which can occupy us for a lifetime. But we can begin by remembering that resurrection is not a “once upon a time” story, but a “right here, right now, in the midst of us” experience. When we start living in that reality, the rest will follow. May we continue to be Christ’s disciples who bear witness to the resurrection we experience.