Fearfully and Wonderfully Made.

Psalm 139

8 September 2013

            “I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

            The Sunday school children begin a unit on creation next week. They will learn about the creation story found in the first chapter of Genesis. We will also amend the curriculum with some other creation stories from other cultures, because one thing that seems universal about creation stories is the sense of awe and wonder that inspired them, and that the stories in turn inspire in those who hear them.

We don’t take the first account of creation as the literal be all and end all explanation of how the world began. If we did, we would run into trouble when the book of Genesis presents a completely different story in the second chapter. We know that the Bible is not a science textbook. It was never meant to be. The bible is a collection of stories, some very ancient. The Bible is a collection of faith conversations with generations of monotheists with whom we have claimed a kinship. It is a chronicle of how we have made sense of God, the universe, everything. Whenever we open the Bible we enter into a family reunion with our long-dead relatives, and we do what we do at family reunions: tell stories and vent disagreements.

How do you explain this to children? Well, young children rarely have a problem with biblical literalism. They live in the world of story. They can enjoy Maurice Sendak’s “Little Bear” series without challenging Sendak on the veracity of bears who talk and wear clothes. They see no problem in the space time contiuum of “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind or another… he sailed away through the night and almost over a year to where the wild things are.”  And when Max eventually returned from the land where the wild things are, his supper was waiting for him and it was still hot. If you haven’t read the book, I apologize. Get thee to a public library and check it out.

The truth is, even when we get a little too wild and mother sends us to bed without any supper, when we come to our senses and return from the land where the wild things are we will find that mother has provided us with all that we need. Because she loves us, wild or not.

In the same way, the creation stories are true. Each stage of creation light and darkness, day and night, sky and sea and land; birds and fish and animals and finally, the capstone of creation, people: we are created and blessed by our maker, and declared good. In fact, we are very good.

It doesn’t matter that it didn’t actually happen. It’s still true. So we teach the creation stories not to create little creationists who are ready to argue with their science teachers! No! We teach these stories so that the children can learn that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, created and blessed by a God who declared them good.

            This is important, because there is power in naming and blessing. We become who we are told we are. Anyone who has ever suffered abuse knows how poisonous curses are. There are grown people in the world today who are still trying to get over the names they were called by their parents, siblings or others who had power over them.

            A few years ago I met a man named Jerry, who was working with GLBT veterans at the VA hospital in St. Cloud, veterans who were struggling with PTSD and depression with the added challenge of being gay or lesbian in Central Minnesota. When Jerry asked the group what their experience of church was, stories poured out of their mouths, stories of moral injury. Their experiences of church were incredibly similar—they were stories of blessings revoked. No matter how faithful these veterans had been while “in the closet,” as soon as they “came out” they were shunned, cursed, rejected. Jerry asked them if they knew of any churches where they would be welcome. They did not. He told them about our church in Brainerd, an open and affirming church, and they were surprised, and a little disbelieving.

            You see, what I have learned over the years is that many GLBT folk have been so injured by churches and church folk, that they are not eager to give another church a chance to hurt them some more. It’s not enough to put up a sign that says “open and affirming.” That’s insider language, nobody outside of the UCC knows what that means. And showing up at Pridefest isn’t enough either, though it’s a move in the right direction. If you sat at the booth yesterday you might have noticed how many people passed cautiously, looking out the corner of their eye, making a wide circle. Once bitten by a rabid Christian, twice shy.

            It takes a good deal of patience and perseverance to heal the moral injury done by the cursing Christians. And it takes a lot of blessing to build up the trust required to bring someone into a church, where they can learn that they are loved and blessed by God, and by the beloved community of the church.

            It’s hard work, but it is precisely what we are called to do. To bless as we are blessed, to love as we are loved. To tell the story of original blessing, until we know it is true, and can tell it by heart.

            Praise God, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made. And God thinks you are fabulous.

Whose Party Is It, Anyway?

Luke 14:1, 7-14

September 1, 2013

            “When you are invited to a banquet… go and take the lowest place.”

            This might be the only bit of scripture almost everyone takes literally. Even we liberals. Obviously, this explains why in every church I have ever attended, the seats in the back fill up first. Only in church. If this were a Broadway show or a Springsteen concert (Taylor Swift concert for you youngsters), or even a school concert, it would fill from the front!

            Come on up higher!

No? OK, stay where you are. I know I’m no Taylor Swift.

            Mostly when we come to church, we are on our best behavior. Our best guest behavior anyway. You know that the roles of guest and host are very different. The host’s role is to make everyone feel at home, and the guest’s role is never to get caught acting as if you were at home. The host’s role is to offer food and drink, and the guest’s role is to accept what is offered. The host’s role is to initiate conversation; the guest’s role is to respond. The host makes introductions; the guest waits to be introduced to someone who is unfamiliar. Worship is God’s party, and when we arrive we all tend to act as if we are guests. Which is to be expected, but it needs to change.

            We have to remember this one thing about Jesus: he was always turning everything upside down. In the beginning of Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ mother Mary sang about lifting up the lowly and bringing down the mighty; filling the poor with good things and sending the rich away empty. And Jesus scandalized the religious know-it-alls by calling them blind guides and giving sight to those who were blind, even on the Sabbath, when no one was supposed to work, not even healers.

            By taking a simple meal of bread and wine, making it a sign of his presence, and giving it to the church, Jesus makes us co-hosts with him, and entrusts to us the duties of host. So whenever we come to church we need to remember that Jesus is busy elsewhere, but he has appointed us to be his body while he is away. That means it’s our job to make everyone else feel welcome, to introduce ourselves to anyone who is unfamiliar to us, and to make sure everyone has a place at the table. For this is the joyful feast of the people of God. This is a family meal of the simplest fare, and it is also a holy feast of the richest kind.

            This dinner party that is Holy Communion was a memorial meal even before Jesus showed up on the scene. It had long been a reminder of God’s saving power. It was the Passover meal which Jesus shared with his disciples. The feast of Passover commemorates God’s saving work. In the Passover meal we remember that we were once slaves in Egypt, where we were treated shamefully. We cried out to God in our distress and God delivered us from slavery with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and led us through the wilderness to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey. This Passover meal is to make us feel as if we personally had been delivered from slavery, and to remind us that our God is the God who rescues the poor and oppressed. It is a reminder to us to consider what side we are on—there’s a Labor Day plug for you (click on the song lyrics for a video clip of the song). “Which side are you on, boys, which side are you on?” God’s side, or the bosses’? God’s side, or the slavers’? God’s side, or the oppressors’? The meal has redemptive and transforming power, and practical, political implications.

            It was the unleavened bread, the bread of suffering that Jesus broke and called his body. It was the cup of Salvation, the promise of God’s return in the person of a Messiah, that Jesus called the new covenant in his blood. Whenever we eat this meal, we eat not only in the presence of Jesus, but also in the presence of Moses, and Miriam, and the Judges and the Prophets, and people of faith in ages past.

            When we celebrate communion we break bread with the unnamed disciples whom Jesus met on the road to Emmaus. We break bread with third-century Christians hiding in the catacombs under the streets of Rome. We break bread with saints and martyrs. We break bread with Bonheoffer and King and Biko imprisoned in Germany, Alabama and South Africa, and with all who have suffered for righteousness’ sake. We break bread with Christians living all around the world now, and we share a oneness with all of life.

We also share this feast with saints who haven’t even been born yet. This feast of paradise is eternal in both directions, past and future. When we share this bread and this cup, the walls come down and we become one great cloud of witnesses. This is a foretaste of what is to come, when all creation shares the feast of paradise in the presence of God and we all sing, Holy, holy, holy.

This is the party. This is the banquet where Christ is the host and we are all the guests. Not one of us has earned a place here, not by believing rightly or doing justly. This is what grace is all about—a place for everyone, an open table. All are welcome. Believe it or not.

This may disappoint you if you thought this meal was like dinner at the club. You might be tempted to refuse membership in a club that has no privileges. Like Groucho. “I refuse to be a member of any club that would have me as a member.”

This meal is definitely not dinner at the club. This meal is about dissolving boundaries, not establishing boundaries. No bouncers need apply.

Like any good dinner party, it’s not about the food, well, it’s not just about the food, it’s about the bonds that are formed around the table. It is about the shared experience of the meal. The touch a hand as you pass the plate is as important as the bread on the plate. The shared movement of raising our cups together is as important as the juice that fills each cup.

This is God’s dinner party. We are the guests and we are also the hosts, co-hosts with the risen Christ, for we are the body of Christ, the church. And Christ has commanded us this: My table must be filled. Go out to the highways and the hedges and compel them to come in. There are hungry people waiting for the bread that satisfies, and the wine that saves, and the love that lasts for eternal life. Remember this. Forget sitting in the back! Remember this: “My table must be filled.”