Courtroom Cacophony (Micah 6)

To Kill a Mockingbird, Law & Order, The Crucible, Judy Judy, Legally Blonde, the Seinfeld finale–it may come as a surprise, but the popularity of these movies and television shows can actually help us unpack a sermon preached by the ancient biblical prophet named Micah more than seven hundred years before the birth of Jesus.

But first, did you notice what those movies and shows have in common?

All of them are either set in or see their climatic scene take place in a courtroom.

And that’s where our approach to the scripture begins this morning.

You see–authors, playwrights, screenwriters have been mining the conventions and rituals of courtrooms for material for centuries.

The Greek author Aeschylus wrote history’s first courtroom drama, or at least the oldest surviving example, in the four hundreds B.C.

Shakespeare explored the dramatic potential of courtrooms. So did Charles Dickens, Verdi, Dostoevsky, and Andy Griffith, to name a few.

Basically, storytellers working in every form and genre of storytelling have found court proceedings to be a useful tool for making their point or entertaining their audience.

And when we give it a little thought, it’s easy to understand why.

Courtrooms create endless opportunities for drama and keep open the possibility that the good, the bad, or the ugly among us might enter the stage at any moment.

Courtrooms are inherently places of conflict. Why else would a story end up there?

Judges and juries aren’t necessary when everyone agrees that a handshake or a “My bad. Sorry about that” are sufficient forms of restitution.

No, courtrooms are places of division and disagreement where accusations are made, defenses are presented, and someone–a judge or maybe someone just like you–has to decide what really happened and if someone is lying, misremembering, guilty, innocent, or just really unlucky.

Courtrooms bring to mind some of our highest ideals–things like truth and justice–but they’re also places where some of our worst characteristics and behaviors are recounted and put on display.

Courtrooms allow equal access to the salacious and the virtuous, they invite unexpected twists, turns, and revelations, and, more often than not, they allow their stories to end with a verdict or a resolution.

What more could a storyteller want?

There’s no question that countless generations have understood and experienced the same pulse racing energy we feel when we’re watching the cross examination of a star witness or listening to a powerfully delivered closing argument.

This brings us back to Micah.

Micah, like his prophetic peers, saw a direct connection between the unjust and immoral behaviors of God’s people in ancient Israel and Judah and the national calamities and crises they were facing.

Specifically, the problem in Micah’s day was a war with Assyria that the people were sure to lose.

The gist of his preaching, therefore, was that since the people had allowed their hearts, minds, and institutions to become rotten and no good, they were going to go through some things, but that repentance, changing their ways, and returning to lives of integrity–even as they experienced the consequences of their actions–was their best and most faithful hope.

This is the background for chapter 6, in which Micah imagines or envisions a courtroom drama to deliver this message.

We only read a few verses of the scene this morning, so we need to pull back a bit to appreciate what’s happening here.

In verse 1, for example, God brings the charges.

Hear what the Lord says: Rise, plead your case before the mountains, and let the hills hear your voice.

Hear, you mountains, the case of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the earth, for the Lord has a case against his people, and he will contend with Israel. (Micah 6:1-2)

So Micah casts God as something like a prosecutor, the people as the defendant, and the mountains and Creation itself as the jury.

As the passage unfolds, the charges reveal a people who have forgotten what God has done for them. They’ve lost all affection. They’ve given up on the relationship.

And when they finally have a chance to defend themselves–they only prove how dire the situation has become.

The scene looks something like a neglected spouse pleading for attention, pleading for their partner to become a part of the family, to take an interest in what’s happening in their lives only to have the other say, “What do you want? Some flowers? A nice piece of jewelry? A vacation?”

"With what shall I come before the LORD and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?"(Micah 6:6-7)

What comes next is the most famous line Micah ever wrote.

The speaker is a bit ambiguous. Is it the jury or the prophet himself? Maybe it’s meant to be anyone in the room who’s paying attention.

It could even be a shout ringing through the courtroom as the judge bangs the gavel and calls for order.

Regardless, the words are iconic.

He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?( Micah 6:8)

How could the people be so thick-headed? How could they be so clueless? How could they think that over-the-top, osentatious displays could fill a yearing for genuine connection and realtionship?

Case closed. The people were guilty.

The rest of the chapter is the verdict and the sentence, and it’s not a pretty sight.

Thus says the Lord,

Can I forget the treasures of wickedness in the house of the wicked and the despicable false measure?

Can I tolerate wicked scales and a bag of dishonest weights?

Your wealthy are full of violence; your inhabitants speak lies with tongues of deceit in their mouths.

Therefore I have begun to strike you down, making you desolate because of your sins. (Micah 6:10-13)

It’s a stinging rebuke, the kind of which we find throughout the prophets, but it’s the rhetorical question at the center of it all, the courtroom cacophony, that endures.

O mortal, what is good, and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8)

The intervening centuries have done little to dislodge these words from the core of our faith and practice. Far from it, in fact, as Jesus’ ministry–from the Beatitudes to the Cross–only underscores their importance, reminding us that while the grace of God’s mercy and forgiveness are always offered to us, we’re called to live like grace matters—like this relationship with God matters—and that what God delivers is better than all the treasures promised by greed, violence, arrogance, and deceit.

For God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is stronger than human strength. (1 Cor. 1:25)

Asbury Church, what is good, and what does the LORD require of you–even as your heart breaks when the powerful trample on the weak, when the rich buy and sell the poor, when the promises of this nation that you thought would elevate all of us are being used as a cudgel to degrade, diminish, and even destroy life itself.

Do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with your God.

As we seek a deeper understanding of the prophet’s words for our lives and for our times, may our hearts be renewed, may our neighbors be blessed, and may we rediscover the power of the Good News that truly sets people and nations free.

Thanks be to God for this Good News. Amen.

Image: Chris Potter, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Folktales and Christmas Classics (For Christmas 2025)

Is there a movie, song, or holiday special that you just have to see or hear in order to get in the mood to celebrate Christmas?

Is it one of the classics–Handel’s “Messiah”; George Bailey’s epiphany in “It’s a Wonderful Life?”; Scrooge’s change of heart in “A Christmas Carol"? Maybe it’s going to see the Rockettes at Radio City, or the look on Ralphie’s face when he almost shoots his eye out in “A Christmas Story.”

There’s Charlie Brown’s pitiful tree, Clark Griswold’s luminous house, Seinfeld’s “Festivus for the Rest of Us” episode, and Will Ferrell’s Buddy the Elf.

Perhaps you’ve been binging on Hallmark Channel Christmas movies since Halloween.

Whatever tops your list, I applaud it, and I think that it’s fair to say that these sights and sounds rightfully have a special place in our hearts at this time of year.

Far from detracting from the season, in my opinion, they add to it and remind us of the humorous, poignant, often beautiful magic of these Holy Days.

Addison Del Mastro comes to a similar conclusion in a piece he wrote for The Bulwark this week entitled “America’s Two Christmases—and Why They’re Both Pretty Great.”

Holding in tension Christmas’ religious significance and the cultural excesses associated with it, Del Mastro notes,

I observe Advent. I try to remember that quiet, expectant…thought that God walked on this earth.

But also, I must confess, I love the American secular Christmas. I love the Christmas songs on the radio for a month or more, the giant, tacky displays of artificial trees in every height and color in the stores, the inflatables ranging from Snoopy to Star Wars contraptions in the front yards, the dorky commercials rewriting carols and seasonal tunes with lyrics about going crazy while shopping. I love Frosty and Rudolph, the observation that “it’s a marshmallow world” when it snows, the general brightening up and enlivening of the winter….

He concludes,

None of this takes away from the “reason for the season.” Why should it? Why can a human heart, and our nation, not be big enough for all of it?

Since bad news and heartbreaks don’t ask our permission before bursting into our lives throughout the year, why shouldn’t we open ourselves to stories full of hope and love, dancing sugarplums, marching toy soldiers, and other assorted Christmas miracles as the year comes to an end?

The truth is that such stories have been a part of Christmas for ages.

There’s an old French Christmas carol and folktale called the “Friendly Beasts,” for example, that says that on the night that Jesus was born God blessed the animals in the manger with the ability to speak in gratitude for the hospitality that they showed the Christ Child and the Holy Family.

The legend recounts how the animals used their gift to praise God and to bear witness to the part they played in Jesus’ story.

“I,” said the donkey shaggy and brown, “I carried his mother uphill and down, I carried his mother to Bethlehem town; I,” said the donkey shaggy and brown.

The cow sang out, too, as did the sheep and dove. All of the animals sang in a glorious chorus of praise.

I absolutely love this carol.

I love it, in part, because like every other person who’s ever lived with a beloved pet, I’m convinced that there were moments when actual words were on the tip of my dog’s wagging tongue.

But its appeal goes much deeper.

I love the simple message of “The Friendly Beasts”--that everyone has a part to play in Creation’s redemption story.

Everyone of us has something worthwhile to contribute.

Everyone of us has a song a sing, and, like the manger animals, we’re invited to make it a chorus of praise.

What a beautiful thought!

If the animals could talk they would tell of the ways in which they graciously received the Christ child and worked to welcome him into the world.

If their barks, neighs, coos, and calls became clear, theirs would be a witness to the joy that one experiences when they find themselves in the right place and doing the right work that they recognize as holy and a gift from God.

Jesus our brother, strong and good, was humbly born in a stable rude, and the friendly beasts around Him stood, Jesus our brother, strong and good.

“The Friendly Beasts” invites us to consider how we will employ our gifts and talents—all that they have and all that they are—in welcoming Christ into our lives, into our time, into this world, just as the manger’s animals did so long ago.

And so it is that old French folktakes, like our favorite holiday movies and traditions, can bring a little magic into our lives tonight.

Such special moments and remembrances have a way of reminding us and empowering us to be present with grateful and open hearts at Christmas and to experience in greater measure the hope, light, joy, and peace Christ shares with the world.

So come, let us sing our songs of praise and adoration.

Let’s worship this barrier breaking Christ, who empowers us to love boldly, to live by the truth, and to forgive as we are forgiven.

Let’s lift our hearts and bow our egos as we live generously and humbly and as we renew our commitment to mend what’s been broken, to lift up the lowly, and to remember the poor.

Let’s treasure the magic of a night when animals talked and God became one of us.

Thus all the beasts, by some good spell, in the stable dark were glad to tell of the gifts they gave Emmanuel, the gifts they gave Emmanuel.

Thanks be to God and Merry Christmas! Amen.

Report of the Pastor to the 2025 Church Conference

“Asbury Church needs you more than your money.” I included this statement in a letter to the congregation this Fall and believe it remains a useful assessment of the state of the congregation at the end of 2025. While financial stewardship remains an area of focus, Asbury’s biggest challenge isn’t financial in nature. Rather, our biggest challenge is aligning the use of our financial, spiritual, and personal resources with a vision for the church’s mission and ministry that motivates and empowers people to participate in ways that are meaningful to them and impactful on our community. The purpose of this report is to review where we are progressing toward meeting this challenge and areas of our life together in which we need to invest greater attention, creativity, and support.

Creating opportunities for people to connect and build relationships with one another is an area in which we are making solid progress. Our Fellowship Committee is active and expanding the number of events they sponsor. In addition to Sunday Potlucks, Fat Tuesday Pancakes, and Fall Kickoff S’mores, in 2025, the group also planned our first off-site retreat since the pandemic at Blue Mountain Trail Lodge in Cordlandt Manor, NY. These events are well attended and create a low stress, welcoming atmosphere where connections can blossom. Sunday Coffee Hour creates similar vibes. The majority of people who attend worship stay for Coffee Hour, a sign that people at Asbury want to know one another. In order to enhance this ministry, this year we invested in a ping pong table and monthly birthday celebrations. We also purchased a new dishwasher which has allowed us to live out our values and to dramatically reduce our use of plastic and disposable items.

Making it possible for the people of Asbury to get to know one another is one of our growing strengths. Inviting people into life at Asbury is an area that needs greater focus.

We’re excited when visitors attend an event at Asbury, but we don’t have a clear plan for inviting them into a closer relationship with God or to further develop the ways in which they participate in Asbury’s ministry. I raised this issue with the Committee on Nominations this year and it was the subject of a good conversation at our annual church meeting in November. At that time, I introduced the congregation to See All the People resources published by UM Discipleship. Since then, I’ve announced that we’ll begin a new study series in January 2026 called “Get Their Name.” Based on a book by the same name, the series guides congregations that want to “create an outwardly focused environment where hospitality and invitation happen Sunday and every day of the week.” Growth in this area and in classic Christian concerns like evangelism and spiritual formation is essential for Asbury’s future vitality.

The People of Asbury also need to carefully assess how we deploy our time and energy. I’m sensitive to the fact that the members who lead and actively participate in most events at Asbury have been doing so for many years, especially since the pandemic, and I am concerned about weariness and burnout. Connecting our activities with our mission–the “what we do” with “why we do it”--is an important part of keeping spirits fresh and ministries vital. Wearing ourselves out by doing what we’ve always done while hoping for different results isn’t an enticing thought.

As a small membership congregation, we also need to be honest about the volume of ministries that we can adequately sustain at this moment. For example, is it realistic for us to plan a mission project or spiritual development event two weekends a month? Once a month? A few times a year? The correct answer is it’s realistic for us to plan whatever we can energetically and eagerly support.

I believe that when our ministry is in alignment with God’s vision we will find that we have exactly what we need to help that ministry flourish. However, I also believe that worn out leaders and volunteers are a sign that such alignment is lacking. Prayerful discernment around these issues is another essential endeavor regarding Asbury’s future vitality.

In one of the primary texts of the See All the People campaign, Junius B. Dotson writes,

For too long, The United Methodist Church has looked for a quick fix to help guide our discipleship efforts, and it is not working. We have lost our focus on intentional discipleship, we have forgotten the reasons why we said “yes” to Jesus, and we ourselves have stopped growing as disciples. We have forgotten that being on a path of discipleship is a life-long journey of growth and maturing.

I feel convicted by these words and believe many of you would admit that Dotson is right, too.

God isn’t calling Asbury Church to chase after fads and quick fixes. God desires and makes possible authentic, sustainable, impactful growth–within our hearts, among our relationships with one another, and in a ministry through which people experience God’s love in profound ways. This is the kind of growth that we must pursue, and in order to do that, “Asbury Church needs you more than your money.”

In the Meantime (James 5:7-10)

In 1965, an American folk rock band called “The Byrds” had a number one hit song with “Turn, Turn, Turn” thus making a passage from one of the Bible’s most unusual books one of the most unlikely additions to the pop culture soundtrack of the 1960’s.

Legendary folk singer Pete Seeger wrote “Turn, Turn, Turn,” but in reality, the lyrics are almost a verbatim transcription of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

Here’s what that scripture says,

For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die;

a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill and a time to heal;

a time to break down and a time to build up;

a time to weep and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn and a time to dance;

a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek and a time to lose;

a time to keep and a time to throw away;

a time to tear and a time to sew;

a time to keep silent and a time to speak;

a time to love and a time to hate;

a time for war and a time for peace.

The passage’s content, along with its rhythm and cadence, creates the impression of a world set on repeat–of predictable cycles and routines.

Feast and famine, war and peace, love and hate–round and round go the seasons of life.

But predictably can be a double-edged sword, at times offering comfort and dependability in life’s steadfast relationships and blessings, at others, creating dread and anxiety as we face challenges and pressures that just won’t let up.

The predictable world of Ecclesiastes falls into this latter camp. In fact, I’d go so far as to say the passage from Ecclesiastes is disorienting because it lacks a clear prescription for how to heal what is broken within life’s cycle.

There’s no “should” or “ought to” language here, just a reflection on what is–a perspective that has bedeviled and confused readers of scripture for centuries.

People of faith, after all, crave direction and purpose and often find strength to face life’s unrelenting challenges because we have a sense that we’re at least making progress, or a difference, or doing good work.

But Ecclesiastes tends to withhold such comforts.

Whereas prophets like Isaiah cast a vision of what the world could be if the Faithful changed their ways or lived by love or what will be when God takes decisive action on behalf of the poor and outcast, the Teacher at the heart of Ecclesiastes was laser focused only on what is happening right here, right now–a point of view that has led to charges of nihilism, hedonism, and even godlessness.

Some have asked, where’s hope in this book? Where’s faith? Where’s God?

This morning I want to make this unusual passage into a key to unlock some powerful truths about Advent, waiting, and the relationship between having hope for tomorrow, but being rooted and grounded in the here and now.

So let’s take a closer look at chapter 3 and the song lyrics.

One of the most unsettling aspects of the passage is the inclusion on the list of all things that have their season of forces that we regard as wicked and problematic, specifically killing, war, and hate, for example.

Is Ecclesiastes saying that these aren’t as bad as we’ve been led to believe?

What’s going on here?

I don’t think Ecclesiastes is endorsing destructive actions and attitudes or telling us that they’re somehow part of God’s plan for us.

Ecclesiastes doesn't declare that it’s God’s will that people are going to hate each other so don’t bother trying to change that.

Rather, Ecclesiastes asks a question, “How are you going to live your life in a world where destructive forces like these exist?”

What this passage, this scripture, this Word from God, wants to know, even if your hopes and dreams for peace, justice, and all things holy will be realized tomorrow, what will you do today when those same hopes and dreams look like little more than a flickering candle in a sea of darkness, or, in Ecclesiastes’ famous refrain, when those hopes and dreams look like the “vanity of vanities,” like a cloud of breath dissipating on a snowy morning.

“When you’re waiting for God to move, what do you do in the meantime?” the wise Teacher asks.

One of the readings for this Third Sunday of Advent invites similar considerations.

The Epistle, or Letter, of James addresses a very common phenomenon among Jesus’ followers–the same Jesus who loves and calls people like us has a way of loving and calling people that we don’t care about so much. Rich, poor, men, women, old, young, liberal, conservative–as Saint Paul would say, “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; look, new things have come into being!” (2 Cor. 5:17)

Leaders like James and Paul knew that God was molding and shaping the people into something beautiful and important, inviting and empowering them to participate in Creation’s amazing redemption story, but even as the Spirit continued to work within them, old habits died hard among God’s people.

James recognized that one of the most persistent habits was the way the people talked down to and disrespected one another.

He wrote,

The tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity; it stains the whole body, sets on fire the cycle of life, and is itself set on fire by hell. For every species of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species, but no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. (James 3:6-8)

With this, James had identified the fundamental tension at the heart of Christian discipleship–the tension between the promise that we are a New Creation and will be filled with God’s love, but that we’re still, very much, works in progress.

In the language of our Methodist tradition, we are going on to perfection, but we still have a very long way to go.

So, what do we do in the meantime?

Be patient, therefore, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Brothers and sisters, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. (James 5:7-8)

When we’re waiting for God to complete a good work in our midst, be patient, strengthen your hearts, and don’t grumble against one another.

You know, looking back at The Byrds’ big hit, there were only two lines from the song that Peter Seeger didn’t take directly from the Bible. The first was the title, “Turn, turn, turn.” The second was the song’s last line. That’s where the Seeger shared his own hope for a better world.

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of peace, I swear it's not too late.

That might not come from the Bible, but Seeger’s hope wasn’t misplaced.

Do you carry in your heart today dreams for peace, or healing, or turning your life around, or making a positive difference in our community or in this church?

Are you hoping that tomorrow will be better than today?

Don’t despair because it’s never too late.

And in the meantime, be patient, strengthen your hearts, and don’t grumble against one another.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pete_Seeger_sings_(cropped).JPG

Angry Birds (Matthew 3:1-12)

Note: I delivered this sermon extemporaneously. The text printed here is a lightly edited AI generated transcript taken from the church's video of the serivce.

John the Baptist is one of those characters who always grabs our attention at this time of year. It is one of the funny things, one of those moments where we sense a little bit of tension between the biblical stories that we read during the leadup to Christmas and the way in which we celebrate Christmas as a culture that while we fill our lives with presents, festive occasions, parties, food, and decorations, we get the wildest, craziest prophet anywhere in the New Testament preaching to us and calling us and inviting us to open ourselves to what God might be doing in our world and in our lives.

John's physical appearance is the stuff of legend. He's wearing the wild clothes, the camel's hair. He's got the leather belt around his waist. He's eating locusts and wild honey.

But above all, his message strikes like an arrow to the heart of the people.

It's simple really.

“Repent. Repent. The kingdom of God has come near.”

We read these words every year during the Advent season. And today, I think it's worth pausing for a moment and to think about what that even means.

What does it mean to repent, to be a people of repentance?

Frankly, we talk about that throughout the year, offering prayers of repentance, acts of repentance throughout our life as Christians.

What does it mean?

What did the people who were drawn to John's message, the people who were coming away from civilization and into the wilderness where he was working and preaching?

What did they understand his message to be?

I think one of the classic ways we're schooled to understand repentance is as an invitation to stop doing the things that we know are wrong. And that's certainly a part of what we're talking about here.

You know, you're doing something, but you keep doing it.

You know it's not right. You're cooking the books, you're telling lies, you know, in your heart, I’ve got to stop doing this stuff.

So, yeah, part of John’s message is “Stop doing those things that you know are hurting people and that you know are wrong!”

But as we dig into John's message and as we kind of look at our lives a little bit, well, obviously if you're doing something wrong, stop doing it. But I think there's something else going on in John's proclamation of repentance.

It seems to me that while we've all willingly done the wrong thing at different times in our lives, most of the trouble we find ourselves in is caused when we've perhaps even stepped out with good intentions but just ended up in a mess. Or we tried something and it didn't work and we were just so stubborn about it, we just kept doing it and we dug ourselves into a deeper and deeper hole.

You know the word in scripture that we translate as sin comes from comes from the Greek and its roots are actually in the practice of archery, in shooting arrows, and in that context the word that we translate as sin means to miss the mark.

It's the archer shooting the arrow and missing the bullseye. And I think that's very evocative and very interesting as we think about what this message of repentance might mean for us because no archer except for the most insane archer would stand up there and say, "I'm deliberately not going to make the best shot possible."

Of course not. Right? They keep trying and they shoot and they miss.

They miss the mark.

Now, a good archer at that point will make the corrections, right?

Did I not judge for the wind? Did I not have the right angle? They will make the correction so their next shot is better.

The foolish archer would say, "I'm going to do the exact same thing I did last time." And they would continue to miss the mark.

Now, I've never been an archer, but I've recently become obsessed with the old video game Angry Birds.

Have any of you ever played that game before?

This has been my little moment of zen. I know some of you do Wordle and you like to stimulate your mind by expanding your vocabulary.

I like throwing angry birds at pigs.

Angry Birds is a puzzle game.

This will sound crazy if you’ve never played the game, but the goal of Angry Birds is to sling shot birds at structures in which there are pigs.

You're trying to knock down the structure and wipe out the pigs.

All right? It's a very, very sensible game.

There are two ways you can play it. One is to get all the pigs. You get to move on to the next level if you get all the pigs.

Or you can try to accumulate the most points to get a three star win and then you move on and try to accumulate as many stars as you can.

I've noticed something in my behavior as I play that game. In the effort to score the most points, I will sit there and repeatedly do the exact same thing, throwing the exact same bird to the exact same spot, expecting a different result, and I will do it repeatedly, obsessively.

It's not healthy. Dana probably wants to take away every device in the house that has this game on it.

But I will sit there, why am I not scoring the point?

Why am I doing the exact same thing expecting a different result?

Then finally, sense and reason take over and I think maybe I have to try a different approach.

Throw this bird over here instead of over here. And you know what?

Almost inevitably within one or two tries with that new perspective, there will be a breakthrough and I'll score the points and get the stars and move on.

I'm convinced that playing Angry Birds is not the only area in our lives where we demonstrate such behavior.

We don't set out to do the wrong thing, but our stubbornness gets the best of us. And even as we are trying to do something, maybe even trying to do something good and positive and uplifting, we keep doing the same thing in the same way, expecting a different result, and we get nowhere with it.

So what if we were to understand repentance as, in addition to stop doing the things that we know are wrong, as an openness to the way in which God might be showing us a better way and a better pattern for doing the things that we'd like to do that will yield the results that we'd like to accomplish.

We talk about making a positive difference in our community.

We talk about being an open and inclusive church.

We talk about living our lives centered in God's goodness and God's grace.

But if we keep doing the exact same things that we've been doing, are we really going to get there?

Are we going to make progress in that regard?

Or do we need to say, "No, I've missed the mark. I want to be open to the correction that I need to hit the mark to accomplish the good and positive things, the holy things that God has set before me.”

John came into the wilderness and said, "Repent. The kingdom of God is near."

I don't think his only goal was to shame people into not doing what they knew was wrong.

I think that there might be something about playing Angry Birds that helps us understand John the Baptist's message a little bit more clearly.

God is present in our midst, moving and guiding and leading us forward.

Are we willing to be humbled, to open our hearts and minds to changing the behaviors and attitudes that have blinded us or led us astray from the path that God would set before us.

Maybe that's what repentance can mean for us today.

Maybe God is calling us to make the corrections to throw the birds at the pigs in a different way, to make the changes that God wills for us so that we might experience the transformation of life and community and heart and mind that God's grace makes possible.

And if we do that, we will truly be a people of Good News.

Thanks be to God for this Good News today. Amen.

Image: Eyck, Jan van, 1390-1440. John the Baptist, Ghent Altarpiece, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the C Divinity Library, Nashville, TN.

Slowly, Then All of a Sudden (Matthew 24: 36-44)

Our Gospel reading this morning finds Jesus and his disciples in an animated conversation about big changes that were coming to Jerusalem, the holy city at the center of their lives and ministry.

The conversation took place as Jesus was turning up the rhetorical heat on the people and the institutions who represented the religious status quo.

According to Jesus, these leading figures were leading the people astray.

“Woe to you, hypocrites!” declared Jesus. “You are like whitewashed tombs….[You] look beautiful [on the outside,] but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.” (Matthew 23:27-28)

Leadership was corrupt and was corrupting the hearts of God’s people.

Jesus even went so far as to say that the Temple, the second one to stand on Temple Mount, would be destroyed, just like the first one.

The disciples were fascinated, curious, and probably a bit nervous.

Jesus was talking about big, history making changes, and they wanted to know how and when everything would come to pass, so they asked him.

That’s when things got weird.

The disciples knew that Jesus had a habit of answering questions with questions or a thought-provoking parable, but this time, his response really had their heads spinning.

First, he said that no one knew when this change would come, not even him, but then he started talking about Noah and the flood, and how people weren’t paying attention then, but that the disciples should pay attention now.

And on top of all that, he kept referring to himself as the Son of Man, an old term used by ancient prophets that carried all kinds of implications about who Jesus was, what he was going to accomplish, and the hopes that people placed upon him.

Jesus said,

For as in the days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so, too, will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken, and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken, and one will be left. Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. (Matthew 24:38-42)

In order to help us unpack all of this, I’m going to follow Jesus’ lead.

When asked when change would come to Jerusalem, he threw his disciples a curveball and started talking about Noah’s Ark, so as we try to connect his words with our lives, I’m going to talk to you about volcanoes.

In 1980, after appearing to do nothing for one hundred forty years, Mount Saint Helens, a volcano in Washington state, woke up.

It started on March 15th. That’s when the mountain literally began to shake as magma, or molten rock, began to move closer to the surface.

As Mount Saint Helens continued to shake for several weeks, its appearance began to change, too. Steam vents emerged, as did a new crater. Mudslides caused by melting snow rolled down the slope. The atmosphere was charged with electricity. Lightning flashed.

The most ominous change on the mountain, however, was the growth of a gigantic bulge on its northside.

Marring what was once an almost perfect conical shape, this feature grew steadily as more and more magma pushed upward.

By May 18th, the northern slope was distended by more than 500 feet.

And then, just around 8:30 that morning, the northern slope of Mount Saint Helens exploded.

That eruption set off the largest landslide in recorded history and wiped away everything it encountered in a tsunami of mud, rocks, and melting glaciers.

Scientists have determined that the landslide traveled at speeds between 110 and 155 miles per hour and covered an area larger than Manhattan in debris.

And that was just the beginning.

Mount Saint Helens continued to erupt for several hours.

By the time it was over, 540,000,000 tons of ash had been spewed into the atmosphere, 1.1 billion dollars in damages had occurred, and 57 people were dead.

Like so many geological cataclysms, the 1980 eruption of Mount Saint Helens is a powerful example of change that comes slowly, then all of a sudden.

Slow, then sudden change is a feature of the Bible’s major stories, too.

It’s said that the Israelites suffered as slaves in Egypt for centuries and wandered in the wilderness for forty years before the Jordan River miraculously parted before them and the Exodus finally ended as they entered the Promised Land.

Prophets like Elijah, Amos, Jeremiah, and Isaiah called God’s people back to covenant faithfulness for almost three hundred years, but it still hit the people like a sucker punch when Babylon’s army sacked Jerusalem and carried them into Exile.

And then there’s the slowest developing storyline of them all, the long burning fuse of hope that God would take action to make right what the people could not do for themselves, “the belief,” as Father David Neuhaus notes, “that God would eventually win victory against the forces of darkness and evil that have troubled the world since the expulsion from Eden.”(Vatican News)

A flickering flame of hope kept alive since the days of Eden, yet destined to light the way to restoration, renewal, and new life with God—this has everything to do with the way Jesus talked to his disciples.

It’s also the slow, then sudden change we remember and celebrate during Advent and Christmas.

If you’ve ever watched the classic Christmas Eve Service of Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College, Cambridge, then you’ve seen this hope on display.

In that service, which hasn’t changed the order of readings since 1919, the familiar elements of the Christmas story don’t even appear until lesson number five. That’s when the angel Gabriel visits the Virgin Mary.

Prior to that, it’s all about hope’s long arch.

The service begins with readings from the prophets and a selection from the story of Abraham, but in the very first lesson, worshippers hear how Adam and Eve succumbed to temptation and, in shame, “hid themselves from the presence of the Lord.”

Everything that follows is about the incredible lengths to which God goes to correct that wrong and heal that wound.

Recounting our faith’s story in this way, the Service of Lessons and Carols helps us appreciate hope’s slow burning nature.

Hope also explains Jesus’ wild-eyed exchange with his disciples.

Jesus didn’t tell his disciples when the change they wanted was going to come, but there’s an urgency in his tone–like the urgency you would feel if you were talking to a friend and they’d suddenly disappeared.

If that happened to you, you’d stop dead in your tracks. You’d get dialed into your surroundings and what was happening all around you very quickly.

You’d be laser focused on figuring out what was going on.

And that’s exactly what Jesus wanted from his disciples.

He said,

Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. (Matthew 26:42-43)

The ground beneath their feet was shaking and the pressure was building.

Something big was about to happen, but their hope was not in vain.

The conversation between Jesus and his disciples continued for a while.

We only read a small portion of it this morning, but Jesus goes on.

His tone becomes less “apocalyptic prophet” and more “the preacher of parables” that we know so well, but the whole discourse remains difficult to understand.

Until the end, that is, when he told the disciples something that made it all make sense.

Matthew tells us that,

When Jesus had finished saying all these things, he said to his disciples, “You know that after two days the Passover is coming, and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.” (Matthew 26:1-2)

“The hopes and fears of all the years,” the heartaches of exiles and wanderers, the sermons Jesus preached, the miracles he performed, the way he loved all the people, on a cross, slowly, then all of a sudden, everything would change.

That brings us back to Lessons and Carols.

Beginning in the shadow of Eden’s shame, the service ends in the light of God’s love.

The ninth and final lesson is from John 1,

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:1-5)

You and I have a calling to walk in that light, to point the attention of others toward it, to follow where it leads, to worship in its presence.

Ultimately, I think our Gospel passage is about the challenges of living in this light, because, like the disciples, worry, fear, anxiety, our desire to do things our way–the creep of sin’s darkness–can blind us to what God is doing in our midst.

God’s word to us this morning, then, echoes what Jesus told his friends.

Stay awake.

Your hope is not in vain.

Change can come, slowly, then all of a sudden.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Image: Mount St. Helens on May 17, 1980, one day before the devastating eruption. The view is from Johnston's Ridge, six miles (10 kilometers) northwest of the volcano. Photo by Harry Glicken (Public Domain)

Salt of the Earth (Philippians 4:4-9)

This morning we conclude a series of sermons aimed at helping us remember that Jesus calls his disciples to be “the salt of the earth.”

With this in mind, for the past three weeks, we’ve placed a spotlight on qualities and characteristics that Jesus wants to see in us as his followers.

Along the way, we’ve connected each characteristic with a letter in the word salt in order to create an acronym for marks of salty discipleship.

Do you remember what each letter stands for?

S is for Surrender because surrender is what Jesus is talking about when he tells us to take up our cross and follow him.

A is for Awake because Jesus needs awake, alert, and attentive followers to share Good News in a hurting world.

L is for Livid because Jesus needs disciples who burn with righteous anger like him and are ready to take loving, self-sacrificing, holy action to heal broken hearts, relationships, and communities.

And today, T is for thanksgiving because we can’t understand grace, praise–basically anything else about who Jesus is and what Jesus wants for us–unless our lives are firmly rooted in a deep sense and disposition of gratitude.

Now, to help us unpack what that means, I want to tell you about the person who shaped my understanding of discipleship as much as, if not more, than anybody else, my Grandmother Kemp.

My Grandmother Kemp, Gram as we called her, my mom’s mom, was a major figure in my life.

Gram and my Grandpa looked after my brothers and me after school and during the summers when we were little and they helped to give us an unbelievably good childhood.

My grandparents had a little farm with a garden, a couple of cows, and chickens. We spent our time on sunny days fishing, taking walks in the woods, and playing baseball in the pasture. We called it Cow Patty Stadium.

On rainy days, we played board games or colored pictures. Gram even taught us how to sew.

Whether we were goofing off by the pond, cooling off with a pitcher of Kool-Aid, or playing a game of Yahtzee around the kitchen table, if Gram was with us, then she made sure that we knew Jesus was there, too, and I mean that in the absolute best possible way.

That was just the way she lived her life and the way she talked.

Faith, love, and joy permeated everything that she did.

Throughout this month I’ve thought of my grandmother a lot because she was the kind of person many people think of when they talk about “the salt of the earth.”

She was kind, modest, loving, honest, decent, good.

My grandmother was also the kind of person more sophisticated and cynical people might regard as naive, her faith simplistic.

A wife and mom on a small farm in a small town? What does she know of the world and its troubles?

But those who loved her knew that my grandmother’s faith came from a very deep place and that it had been forged in the fires of intense grief and loss.

When we were little, Grandma always told us that one day she was going to write a book about her life–the hard things she’d experienced, and how good God was to her through it all.

When she was almost 90 years old, she wrote that book. She called it The Message Glorious, a title she’d selected almost fifty years earlier.

Gram died a few years ago and every now and then, I’ll pick up her book and read a little bit.

It always makes me smile. Sometimes I’ll cry.

It helps put things in perspective.

I read some of The Message Glorious this week and noticed a passage that I’d never really appreciated before.

There’s a paragraph toward the end where she writes about the three times in her life when she felt closest to God.

Now keep in mind that this was a woman who spent every Sunday in church, attended her weekly prayer and share group faithfully for decades, and began every day reading her Bible, praying, and journaling.

Here’s what she wrote,

Three times in my life, I’ve felt the Lord’s presence so close I could nearly reach out and touch him. One time was when I was looking out our hospital window seeking God’s wisdom concerning [my 12-year old son] David’s terminal [cancer diagnosis]. Another time was when our dear [David] breathed his last breath here on earth. And then, [at my husband’s funeral] when we started to sing [his favorite hymn], and we all rose to our feet in the crowded funeral parlor. (p. 170)

It’s not lost on me that the person who taught me so much about God’s love, the person whose kindness touched so many, someone who could talk about time spent with Jesus so genuinely, so sincerely, knew heartbreak so deeply.

That’s what grabs my attention this week as we’re thinking about giving thanks.

If I have even a glimmer of insight into the profound wisdom Saint Paul shared in the passage we’ve read today from his Letter to the Philippians, it’s because of my grandmother.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice…The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:4-7)

“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say rejoice.”

While some of the Bible’s teachings cause us to do a double take—things like loving our enemies and always being ready to forgive, for example—Paul’s admonition to rejoice seems on the surface to be much more palatable to our modern sensibilities.

“Rejoice in the Lord always.” We put it on cards and bumper stickers and share it on Facebook.

The only problem with all of that, though, is that joy is often as difficult to find in life as the will to forgive and love.

In a broken world, amid broken lives, joy can be elusive—and it doesn’t take a particularly dour person to notice that.

If we’re going to hear and respond to the Good News about joy, gratitude, and thanksgiving with some integrity, though, instead of reducing all this to some syrupy sweet slogans, then we need to take a closer look at the Letter to the Philippians, and taking that closer look, we find two essential characteristics about the joy Paul describes.

First, Paul’s joy is rooted in a deep love for God and an understanding of God’s deep love for all people. There’s nothing superficial or self-serving about it.

When Paul says “rejoice in the Lord always” he isn’t saying that we should “always look on the bright side of life,” nor is he particularly interested in seeing people become more optimistic or positive in their thinking. He’s not interested in those things because he knows—from experience—that that’s not how the Christian life worked.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is one of a handful of letters that the Apostle wrote while he was in prison because of his work as a missionary.

“I’ve been thrown in jail more than any other minister,” he wrote in another of those letters. “I’ve been flogged too many times to count, whipped five times, beaten with rods three times, and stoned with rocks once…I’ve even been on three ships that sank…Yet even so, I am content with weaknesses, insults, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 11:23-25)

To an outsider, it might seem as though Paul had joy in spite of his faith, not because of it. Those who knew him, however, knew that the Good News about God’s forgiving mercies made known through Jesus Christ was the only thing that mattered to Paul, and worth any cost he would personally have to pay.

That’s why he could write with so much joy, even from his prison cell.

"I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel…and I will continue to rejoice!" (Philippians 1:12)

When Paul encouraged the church to rejoice, then, he was drawing from his own experience with God—the experience of finding joy and peace in the midst of tremendous hardships—because he wanted the faithful to have that experience, too.

He wanted them and he wanted us to have that experience because Paul knew that when God’s love defines us, we will find joy and peace and the will, passion, and encouragement to accomplish great things in God’s kingdom.

This brings us to our second point about Paul’s joy. Paul believed that when Christ-centered joy takes root in our hearts, then we are one step closer to the fullness of life God’s grace makes possible.

We find the second step just a few lines below where we stopped reading today, in the 13th verse of chapter 4 where Paul writes, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Paul’s ministry teaches us that when we know where we stand with God we will be able to stand up against any challenge we might face.

The chains of his prison, the hardships of his travels—Paul met these head on with the confidence of someone who knew that his body could be held, but his mind, his heart, his spirit were forever set free by Jesus.

“Rejoice in the Lord always…The Lord is near.”—closer than your fears, closer than your doubts.

The Philippians might face persecutions, they might suffer unjustly—but what they had within their hearts, the world didn’t give it to them and the world couldn’t take it away.

Faithful disciples–salty disciples– like my Gram, know the power of this wisdom, too.

Salt is small, but it makes a big difference.

A pinch of it can transform a meal; it preserves what might otherwise be lost; it brings out the best flavor in what already exists.

In the same way, when stale ideas and bitter words leave people searching for something that will satisfy their hunger, Jesus reminds us that the Church should season the world with faith, hope, and love.

There is power when disciples commit themselves to be Surrendered, Awake, Livid, and Thankful.

There is power when we heed the call to be the salt of the earth.

Thanks be to God for this Good News. Amen.

Image: Doris Kemp, my grandmother