Psalm 86 pairs two of the most common prayers of human life: prayer arising from need, and prayer arising from thanks.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the second half of Psalm 86 (Psalm 86:11-17). The lectionary editors have chosen to begin this week’s reading with the words, “Teach me your way, O Lord,” that I may live in your truth. That is a wonderful thing for any of us to do and to pray: to seek from God the guidance and the leadership to shape our lives to mirror that of our God and our Savior.
Curiously, however, it is not the dominant thought of this ancient poem.
Psalm 86 is far more concerned with two other things. The first is a plea for assistance. The author (who is credited as David before the Psalm actually begins) the author says that he is beset with enemies, with a band of ruffians even. The other theme is a theme of profound thanksgiving. The author repeatedly raises praises to God for the things that God has done in the past.
Need and praise. These are the side by side dominant themes of Psalm 86.
I suggest that they can be and frequently are the dominant themes of our lives here in the 21st century. Some of our needs might be fleeting: the hunger we feel when we rise from sleep in the morning, something that we can satisfy with a breakfast. And then there are those whose hungers in the morning are not satisfied with a quick breakfast, but must linger until they find the resources to satisfy them.
There are other hungers that are also deep and enduring: the hungers of the Spirit, the hungers of the soul, the longing for those who have passed away, the longing for justice and for righteousness in a world that often seems to care very little. Need is our constant prayer.
And thanksgiving is also our constant prayer. For we do rise to a world that is filled with beauty. We rise to a world that is filled with human beings who do love one another —imperfectly, it must be said — but love is still the dominant experience of most of us in this world. And love can be the dominant experience for everyone in this world, because human beings can bring it and God always brings that love and grace.
Need and thanksgiving. These are our prayers yesterday, today and tomorrow.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
I have only briefly been a farmer or a gardener. My parents decided one year to plant a small vegetable garden behind our house. It wasn’t a great location. Between hedges, a small garage, and fruit trees, it didn’t get much sun. The soil wasn’t terribly rich. And then there was the family of garden-loving rabbits that lived nearby. Nevertheless, we planted a garden, and my brother and I were allowed to choose one vegetable to plant. Me: I chose carrots.
I like carrots.
We were careful if not terribly skilled about it. We cleared away grasses, dug holes, carefully planted seeds, watered them, and did whatever else we were supposed to do to make things grow. It took time, of course, but gradually shoots appeared above the places we’d placed those seeds. Shoots also appeared in places we hadn’t planted seeds, because we weren’t very good at weeding. Shoots didn’t appear above all the places we’d planted seeds, for whatever reasons that seeds don’t grow, which may have included shade, poor soil, and rabbits.
As far as I can remember, I only ate one carrot from that garden. I wasn’t patient enough at that age to let them sit in the ground and grow. I don’t remember being all that impressed with that tiny carrot, but I did eat it. I certainly didn’t get the results of a hundredfold increase over what I’d planted.
Of course, you don’t get that with root vegetables.
I am not a farmer.
Most of us aren’t – with at least one of our families here at Church of the Holy Cross a notable exception. Our daily work doesn’t include planting, weeding, fertilizing, harvesting, and starting all over again. I would guess that at least some of you are gardeners, however, and hopefully more successful gardeners than I’ve been, and would recognize that there’s something peculiar about the sower in Jesus’ story.
He’s a very careless sower.
I carefully planted each carrot seed, leaving space between it and its neighbor so there was space to grow. I grant you that carrots and grains grow differently, but this sower seems careless at best. As Amy Frykolm writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Instead of carefully calculating how each and every seed is going to be planted and cultivated, the sower just scatters the seed on all kinds of different terrain. I can almost imagine the people around Jesus, many farmers themselves, all dependent on whatever the earth produces, puzzled and even laughing at Jesus’ depiction of the sower. What is this crazy person doing, scattering seed on ground that he knows won’t yield a harvest? Why bother?”
Even ignorant children like I was know that you keep the seeds away from paths and rocks and thorns. Why didn’t Jesus know that?
Well, of course he did.
When Jesus created his parables, he had a technique of starting with something ordinary, something straightforward, something with an ending you could anticipate. Then he introduced something unexpected, out of joint. It’s that moment in the story, that moment when the audience says, “Wait. What did you just say?” that Jesus used to make his point.
That’s why the sower is so careless.
Because we – meaning the followers of Jesus – are not farmers.
Farmers and gardeners have to focus on results. The resources of horticulture are sometimes scarce and often not under the farmer’s control. So they do the best they can to choose proper soil, to nourish the soil as best they can, to protect the growing plants from disease and low water and things that eat leaves. Farmers and gardeners have to concentrate on the sites and the soils that give them the best chance for a good harvest. They may seek to expand their available good soil by breaking up paths and moving rocks and cutting back thorns, but that’s a long-term investment, isn’t it? They don’t plant seed on that land until the hindrances have been removed.
That’s not how the followers of Jesus work. Because we’re not farmers.
The seed, which Jesus described as the Word, gets cast everywhere and anywhere. It shares with actual seed the characteristic that it grows – seeds grow into plants, the Word grows within the human soul to produce more loving, more compassionate people. The Word, which I think we have to understand as being more than simply speaking of God; the Word, which I think we have to understand as emulating God; the Word, which I think we have to understand as displaying the love of God, gets spread to everyone and anyone.
It doesn’t always take. As Elisabeth Johnson writes at Working Preacher, “One can find examples of each kind of response to the word in Matthew’s Gospel. There are many in Matthew’s story who ‘hear the word of the kingdom and do not understand’ (3:19), including the religious leaders who are antagonistic to Jesus’ ministry from the beginning. The crowds respond positively to Jesus, especially to his miracles of healing (9:8; 15:31; 21:8-9), yet turn against Jesus at the end and demand his crucifixion (27:15-23), leaving us to wonder whether they ever truly understood.
“The disciples themselves might be included among those who fall away ‘when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word’ (3:21; cf. 26:56b, 69-75). And the rich young man unable to part with his possessions (19:16-22) provides a stunning example of ‘one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing’ (3:22).”
What I have to emphasize here is that Jesus shared the Word, the invitation, the compassion, the love of God to all of them. More than once. Over and over. Yes, he ate with the sinners and the tax collectors. He also ate with the nice people, the good people, and some of them, I think, grew in the Word themselves. Others did not.
We are not farmers. Not when we’re sharing the Word and the love of God.
For one thing, how do we know what kind of person we’re sharing God’s love with? The ohi’a, I observe, grows in places that I would never imagine. So does the Word of God. As Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Who am I to tell God, the Creator of the earth and all that is in it, what ‘good soil’ looks like? Who am I to decide who is worthy and who is not of the sower’s generosity? Who am I to hoard what I have been so freely and lavishly given? Who am I to look at God’s profligate blessing and call it waste?”
We are not farmers. We are disciples.
And the people with whom we share the love of God are not soil, they are people. You can change soil. Famers and gardeners create fertile soil from paths and rocks and thorns with time and effort. Ohi’a trees transform lava rock into fertile soil over decades.
You can’t directly change people – but people can and do change, and you can support them as they do. You can help them nurture the seeds of God’s Word, of God’s love, of God’s grace within them.
You do it by believing it will grow. What is packed hard may soften. What is stony may break apart. What is thorny may be draw aside. Who knows what impact our love and care added to God’s love and grace may have?
We are not farmers. We are disciples.
Debie Thomas continues: “How I wish that the Church — the Church across the ages, the Church across all cultures, denominations, and circumstances — were known for its absurd generosity. How I wish we were famous for being like the Sower, going out in joy, scattering seed before and behind us in the widest arcs our arms can make. How I wish the world could laugh at our lavishness instead of weeping in the wake of our stinginess. How I wish the people in our lives could see a quiet, gentle confidence in us when we tend to the hard, rocky, thorny places in our communities, instead of finding us abrasive, judgmental, exacting, and insular. How I wish seeds of love, mercy, justice, humility, honor, and truthfulness would fall through our fingers in such appalling quantities that even the birds, the rocks, the thorns, and the shallow, sun-scorched corners of the world would burst into colorful, riotous, joyous life.”
Absurd generosity. Like God’s. Like Jesus’.
Let’s do that.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while he preaches – intentionally and otherwise – so the sermon as prepared does not precisely match the sermon as presented.
If we planted fields and gardens the way Jesus’ sower scattered seed, it wouldn’t work well. But if we scatter God’s love that way, it might work very well indeed.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking that you might be wondering about the bandage. I did just have to have some skin surgery. It was minor and everything that needs to be removed is removed. You can expect that there will be a bandage (somewhat smaller as the weeks go on) on my brow for the next few weeks.
I am also thinking about the thirteenth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23). This contains one of Jesus’ best known parables, the Parable of the Sower. It also contains something that is a little less usual for one of Jesus’ parables, that is, an explanation.
Most of the time, Jesus let his stories stand by themselves. In this case, Jesus’ disciples wanted to know what he meant by describing someone who went out and scattered seed in the most unlikely of places. And in some of those places, the seeds simply could not grow or could not thrive. In other places, the seeds sprouted and produced astonishing yields.
Jesus compared the seeds to the Word of God. In some places, the Word of God is simply rejected or choked out. In other places, the Word of God finds fertile ground and bears much fruit.
I think that one of our roles as Jesus’ disciples is to take on that of the Sower. That is, to scatter the Word around. Now, if we were gardeners, and I am not one, but if we were gardeners or farmers, we would be careful about where we placed the seeds. We want each seed to have the best opportunity to produce a plant, to grow, to flower, and to bear fruit. But for the Word, for the grace of God, for the blessings of God, for the description of our loving God, well, for that, the guidance is different, isn’t it? The guidance is: describe the love of God to everyone, whether it seems like they might be thorny soil or rocky soil or good soil, whatever they are.
We will find out who they are by what happens when the Word tries to take root.
We scatter the words. We scatter the love of God. We proclaim the love of God. We display the love of God anywhere and everywhere, so that the love of God may grow around us and bear fruit.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67 Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Some people – and apparently some birds, if my story has any connection to reality – are never satisfied. Serve them coffee and they’ll ask for tea. Serve them hot tea and they’ll ask for iced. Serve them iced tea and they’ll ask for coffee.
That’s fine, mostly. There are many ways in which I, personally, would like the world to be better than it is. I’d like my skin to be more resistant to ultraviolent light. I’d like the rain to hold off until I’m under a roof. I’d love to officiate at fewer funerals of friends and beloved members of this church.
On this day after Independence Day, I’d also like to see the Constitution’s goals of a more perfect union brought closer to fulfillment. I few years ago I read Jill Lepore’s These Truths, a history of the United States from 1492 to 2016. I came away with an appreciation of how often people had made significant gains in achieving a more just and egalitarian government – and how often those gains had been clawed away by succeeding generations, to be won again at a later time.
I don’t think anybody should be satisfied with bending away from the full inclusion of all people in the social and political life of the nation. I don’t think denying rights to people of color or to women should be tolerated. I think that LGBTQ+ folks should have every right that a straight person has. I think that any person present in the United States accused of misdeeds deserves proper process of law and reasonable bail.
If we look at this nation without rose-colored filters, we’ll see that we have not attained these things. There’s no reason we should be satisfied. There’s no reason we shouldn’t do the work toward achieving these goals.
But was that what Jesus was talking about two thousand years ago? A little bit, perhaps.
The issue wasn’t the organization or inclusive nature of government, which was organized against inclusion far more than that of the United States of America. The issue was how some people found ways to discount the similar messages of two dissimilar figures: John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth.
As Elisabeth Johnson writes at Working Preacher, “The problem with this generation, Jesus says, is that they listen neither to John nor to Jesus. John’s austere lifestyle led people to accuse him of having a demon, while Jesus’ habit of eating and drinking with sinners earned him a bad reputation (11:18-19). This generation finds reason to take offense at both John and Jesus and thus to evade the call of both.”
Ah, how little things have changed.
Some people are never satisfied, are they?
I swear this dissatisfaction comes from all sides. When the Church advocates for publicly funded support for the poor and marginalized, we get told to stay in our lane and stay out of politics. But then when the Church organizes to provide meals and shelter for the poor and marginalized, we get told we’re creating a public nuisance by having all these poor and marginalized people about.
The social services of the first century were nothing to aspire to, but at least the reality of poor people was accepted. In the twenty-first century, we have a bad habit of closing off spaces to the poor, in the curious belief that somehow if we can’t see them, they don’t exist, and we don’t have to worry about them, support them, or assist them any more.
Never satisfied.
A few weeks ago someone who goes by Pastor Brandon online posted a cartoon in which two figures hold this conversation: “Why don’t you preach more on sin?” “Okay, tell me your sin and I’ll try to preach a sermon on it.” “No, I mean, why don’t you preach on…” “Is that your sin?” “No.” “Well, why would you want to hear a sermon on someone else’s sin?”
That goes to the heart of it, doesn’t it? Each and every one of us, if we’re challenged by some element of the Good News, by some aspect of prophetic summons, by some vision that requires us to change, well. That’s when we start to discount the messenger. Or to rework the message. If we’re Christians, we can’t say that Jesus didn’t mean what he said. But we’re pretty good at changing the meaning of what he said.
To this day, I’m astonished that Christians in political power, from the first Christian Roman emperors to members of the United States Congress, draw a dividing line between the expectations of individuals and the expectations of civil authorities, as if a government run by Christians can start wars of conquest like the Crusades, commit savagery against designated heretics or Jews, or just simply refuse to aid the poor whose poverty has been exaggerated by the acts of other Christians. Did Jesus seek glory through power? Did Jesus gather wealth to himself? Did Jesus call for war and revolution?
No. But later Christians did. Contemporary Christians do. And they keep saying it’s consistent with the words of Jesus.
I started by saying that there’s no reason to be fully satisfied with the nation, and that we need to work for its improvement. I also say that there’s no reason to be fully satisfied with the Church. It has always needed improvement – witness the aggravated letters of Paul – and, so far as I can tell, always will.
Because at the heart of it all is the human talent for finding ways around the clear teaching of John and Jesus and those who echoed them well: we have work to do, obligations to fulfill. It may be a yoke that does not injure, but it is still a yoke and we have to pull. We pull in the presence of Jesus, who encourages, guides, and strengthens us, who saves our spirits and gives rest to our souls.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric prepares a written manuscript, but he does make changes while preaching, so the sermon as recorded is not an exact match to the sermon as written.
People didn’t know what to think about Jesus or John the Baptist. How do we recognize those who tell us the truth?
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the eleventh chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30).
As Jesus himself observed, people didn’t know what to do or what to think about him and about his predecessor, John the Baptist. Jesus compared it to children in a village square singing, “We played the pipes for you and you would not dance. We wailed for you and you would not mourn.” Because John the Baptist, well, he was an ascetic and they said he had a demon. Jesus came along and he met with people. He ate and drank with them. And they said that he was a glutton and a drunkard and the friend of sinners.
What is one to do? How is one to meet expectations which are never quite defined, but mostly seem to come down to if you’re not behaving just like me, then you can’t possibly be somebody with a legitimate message from God. Isn’t that the case today? For this person and for that person, if the message doesn’t sound like something that they might say, well then it probably isn’t from God, now, is it?
I’m pretty sure that’s the case from me. I suspect it’s probably the case for you as well.
In a prayer, just a little further down the chapter, Jesus actually thanked God for the revelation coming to those not who were powerful or educated, those that you would expect to recognize the incarnation of God. Instead, the truth had been revealed to people like Simon Peter or James and John, day workers, fishermen, people who had not spent a lot of time learning and studying people who probably could not read at all.
The message of the good news in the end comes not to those who have prepared for it necessarily, but to those who are willing to embrace it. The message of the gospel comes to those who are willing to listen for truth and to accept it into their spirits when they do. The blessings of the gospel come not to those who have set themselves out as the arbiters of truth, but to those who can recognize it when it comes.
May that be said of you and of me.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
Ah, Jeremiah. My favorite prophet. No, really. He is. Despite the fact that, as a college student, I had to take a break after reading the book of Jeremiah because it was so depressing (I told you that story last week), I took a course on this book during seminary that has stayed with me for over thirty-five years now.
In that course I learned about the prophet who might have been called “Magor missabib” in Hebrew, something like “terror on every side” in English. It was a pretty good description of Jeremiah’s message. The nation had failed to meet God’s expectations, Jeremiah said. They had erected shrines to other deities and worshiped them, and they had failed to protect the widows and the orphans, the most vulnerable of the population. Jeremiah had warned that this risked the end of God’s protection for the nation, which was a very small one between the two great empires of Egypt to the south and the Assyrians, then the Babylonians, to the north.
Jeremiah’s warning had come true. Judah’s King Jehoiakim had submitted to the Babylonians as a vassal, but he attempted to break that yoke when the Egyptians won a battle against them in 601. Jehoiakim’s rebellion resulted in a siege of the city and their surrender, during which Jehoiakim died. His son Jeconiah ascended to the throne, but the Babylonians replaced him with his uncle Zedekiah.
The nation had surrendered to the Babylonian Emperor, Nebuchadnezzar II. The king, many civic leaders, and many religious leaders had been removed to Babylon (Ezekiel was one of them). The new King Zedekiah was the choice of the Babylonians.
Into that, Jeremiah appeared wearing a yoke, symbolizing and saying in so many words that Babylon would continue to control Judah for some time as a result of their unfaithfulness. Other prophets, notably one named Hananiah son of Azur, disagreed. In contrast to Jeremiah, Hananiah promised that God would restore King Jeconiah and the other exiles and even return the sacred objects looted from the Temple.
I have to say that this would be entirely consistent with a dominant theology of the day. They fully believed that God’s promise that David’s line would continue forever meant that the nation would always be preserved as well. That theology had been confirmed one hundred and fifty years before, when the northern kingdom of Israel, which was not ruled by descendants of David, had fallen to the Assyrian Empire. Judah, in contrast, ruled by a king from the house of David, had endured.
Why shouldn’t that happen again? Why shouldn’t a nation blessed by God be preserved again?
As Tyler Mayfield writes at Working Preacher, “Prophecy is deeply contextual. The content of a particular prophecy is not eternal truth for all situations. What is an authentic, appropriate, and helpful prophecy in one moment and place can be false, inappropriate, and obstructive in another setting.”
Hananiah spoke a word that promised the nation’s restoration. It was a vision that Jeremiah wanted to see. “May the LORD do so,” he said, “may the LORD fulfill the words that you have prophesied.” Who wouldn’t want their nation freed from foreign domination? Who wouldn’t want to see exiled people returned? Who wouldn’t want to see their friends restored to their homes? Who wouldn’t want to see the Temple once more filled with the objects they called sacred?
But Jeremiah didn’t hear the word of God saying that. He invoked the voices of previous prophets who had warned about disasters and conflicts arising from the nation’s unfaithfulness. Those were the prophets people remembered: prophets like Elijah and Elisha, like Hosea and Isaiah, like Micah and Nahum. They weren’t much more cheerful than Jeremiah, and some of them a lot less so.
As Charles L. Aaron, Jr., writes at Working Preacher, “One prophet, Jeremiah, tells the people the truth. The other prophet, Hananiah, tells the people what they want to hear. One appears to us as the brave preacher who endures scorn for speaking the word the Lord gave him. The other appears to us as the soothing charlatan over whom everybody fawns because he offers near-term hope.”
If you want to discern God’s voice, said Jeremiah, take a look at who tends to get things right.
What he didn’t say – what he didn’t have to say, because I’m pretty sure that he left a pretty big echoing silence – was that he, Jeremiah, had declared God’s judgment against Judah and look: they’d been invaded and surrendered to the Babylonians. He, not Hananiah, had been right.
Who should they trust for understanding God’s will in the present?
To be honest, it didn’t require the voice of God to predict Judah’s likely future in 596. They were under the thumb of the Babylonians and they were going to stay there. It didn’t need divine intervention to keep them vassals of that empire. If God did nothing at all, they would stay just as they were.
Hananiah misread the signs of the times just as much as he misread the signs of the Divine. Oh, by the way, he ended this conversation by breaking the symbolic yoke Jeremiah had been wearing, and the story ends with this sad line: “At this, the prophet Jeremiah went his way.”
I think it’s fair to say that we, in the twenty-first century after Jesus, are surrounded by people who are happy to tell us what God’s will is for us, for our church, for our communities, for our nation, and for all the nations of the earth. I also think it’s far to say that I’m one of those voices. If you’d like to know my opinion about God’s will for us, I’m right here to tell you.
So how will you know whether I’m the one who’s right, or among those who are right, or how right I or any of those preaching similar messages might be?
I’d like to say something similar to what Jeremiah did: Go look at the words of the prophets of the past. In theory, that’s a good comparison. Go look for the ones who are Mister or Ms. Bad News. The judgmental ones are right.
In our day, though, we’ve got plenty of judgmental people (and I’d have to include myself among them), but we don’t agree on what to be judgmental about.
Jeremiah found the presence of shrines to other gods in the nation of Judah profoundly troubling. Me, I don’t. It’s trite to say that some of my best friends are Buddhists, but it’s also true that some of my best friends are Buddhists. I’m quite content to let them remain Buddhists as they continue to be kind and compassionate people.
Jeremiah found the abuse of the poor by the powerful to be profoundly troubling. As do I. The gap between rich and poor was probably greater in the sixth century before Jesus than it is now, but it’s much too big now and it’s getting bigger. I am not content to see this nation and this world torn apart by systems that reward a few and impoverish many.
There are plenty of modern-day religious leaders who berate us for living in a religiously pluralistic society. They tell us we should all be Christian. They tell us to remove the Buddhists, the Jews, the Muslims (especially the Muslims), the animists, the Wiccans, the Taoists, the anybody else. Jeremiah might have been there with them. I’m not.
Plenty of these same modern-day religious leaders praise the accomplishments of wealthy individuals. They’ll tell you that wealth is the inevitable result of virtue, and therefore wealthy people are, by definition, virtuous. I think I’ve mentioned before that I think this is really poor theology. I’ll actually call it heresy. Jeremiah would have agreed.
So who’s right? How will we know?
For Christians, there’s a complicating factor. We can’t say that good prophecy comes exclusively from Mr. or Ms. Bad News because… Jesus. Jesus insisted on speaking Good News. I grant you that his good news could be hard on the wealthy, and it could be challenging for the powerful, but there it was: Good News.
I’m not doing well at telling you how to distinguish between the prophets and the charlatans, am I?
Debie Thomas has some wisdom at JourneyWithJesus.net: “As God’s messengers in the world, we are not at liberty to soften the Gospel for the sake of our own likeability. Jesus has not commissioned us to say whatever is trendy or comfortable or easy or popular. He has commissioned us to say what is true. False hope is not God’s hope. Easy peace is not God’s peace. And convenient justice is not God’s justice.”
I think I can authoritatively say that if the message benefits a few and burdens many, it’s not God’s justice. If the message promises peace without the hard work of rebuilding broken relationships, it’s not God’s peace. If the hope is entirely disconnected from the reality of today, it’s not God’s hope. If the promise is built on lie after lie after lie, it’s not God’s truth.
Hananiah broke Jeremiah’s symbolic yoke and the prophet went away. The leaders and the people of the nation had made their choice, and they continued to make their poor choices until King Zedekiah’s rebelled about ten years later, resulting in the destruction of the nation and the burning of Solomon’s Temple. Zedekiah’s rule was built on injustice. It was built on violence. It was built on fantasy. It was built on lies. It resulted in disaster, as Jeremiah had foreseen.
May we choose better. May we choose truth.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while he preaches – intentionally and otherwise – so the sermon as he wrote it is not precisely the sermon as he spoke it.
What happens when people claim to speak for God and have radically different views? Ask if they can read the signs of the times as well as the signs of God.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the twenty-eighth chapter of the book of the Prophet Jeremiah (Jeremiah 28:5-9).
Things were not good in Judah. The Babylonians had sent an army which had conquered its capital city Jerusalem. They had taken away the king, a number of the king’s advisers, senior leaders in the city, the nation, the Temple. They had looted the city, including removing at least some of the sacred appointments of the Temple itself.
Now, some prophets in the city had declared that God would keep the Babylonians away. They had been wrong. Among them was one named Hananiah who declared that within two years, God would reverse the judgment, restore the nation and even return the sacred objects to the temple.
Jeremiah, who had opposed Hananiah, said that no, no, the sins of the leaders were still working themselves out. And indeed, they would live under Babylonian domination for some time to come. “But Hananiah, may it be as you have said, may it be that this different proclamation, unlike the prophets of before, who had observed the conditions of the day and said that there were consequences for them, the consequences sometimes from God and sometimes consequences of the behavior in itself. If peace comes, then we will know that you are a prophet. And if Babylon maintains its dominion, we will know who the prophet is.”
Jeremiah, in addition to hearing from God, could read the signs of the times. Babylon was not going away. And indeed, it would be more than seventy years before the people who had been taken into exile were able to return home. And if you think about it, that’s not the people taken into exile. That’s their grandchildren and their great grandchildren.
Jeremiah could read the signs of the times and would not be swayed by words that promised what he wanted. He wanted the restoration of the nation. He wanted the Temple’s sacredness to be restored. But that was not going to happen. The nation’s leaders had taken them down terrible paths, and the nation as a whole had suffered the consequences.
Not all that many years later, the king that the Babylonians had installed tried a little rebellion of his own, resulting in the destruction of the city walls and the burning of Solomon’s Temple.
Jeremiah could read the signs of the times. May we read the signs of the times and make the changes that are necessary to restore the fortunes of the most vulnerable and the most needy in our society, and to hold accountable those who oppress and impoverish them.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
What could be better than the Bible? Yes, that title is deliberately provocative. If we’re honest with ourselves and others, however, it’s true that the Bible is an uneven work of literature. The first time I read through the Bible, I didn’t read it exactly through. Jeremiah ends with the relentlessly depressing accounts of the fall of Jerusalem and the tragic early days of Babylonian occupation, and then I read the Lamentations of Jeremiah, which is even more depressing.
I had to take a break. I had to read something with a happy ending. So I read the Gospel of Matthew. Then I went back to resume my progress through the Bible with Ezekiel.
It’s also true that your tastes may favor some parts of the Bible over others. Those who like poetry may gravitate to the Psalms or the Song of Songs. History fans might prefer First and Second Samuel and First and Second Kings, or in the New Testament, Acts of the Apostles. If you want to hear about Jesus’ work as a healer, read Mark. If you want to hear some of your favorite parables, read Luke. If you want to hear Jesus say, “I am…,” head over to John.
I suppose if you’re a fan of genealogy, you’d enjoy those long family lists in Numbers, but you’d be a rare person.
A lot of people read the Bible for wisdom, guidance, and models for their own decisions and actions. The Bible is full of advice, even more advice than I’m happy to give you. Some books are dedicated to giving advice. The writers of Proverbs (it’s a collection, so there were a lot of them) and Ecclesiastes have plenty of guidance for you. And then there’s the Apostle Paul, whose willingness to tell other people what to do has informed many generations of Christians.
One of the models of faith for generations of Jews, Christians, and Muslims is Abraham. He trusted God enough to move to a new place, and he believed God’s promise of descendants. We also revere his wife Sarah. She laughed at the promise, it’s true, but she also lived and fulfilled it.
Which makes this story even harder to take. Because Abraham and Sarah act horribly here.
Ishmael, Hagar’s son by Abraham, existed because Sarah insisted upon it. Believing that she would not have a child of her own, she forced her slave to have her husband’s child. As Vanessa Lovelace writes at Working Preacher, “Ishmael’s birth would also have brought Sarah esteem, since ancient Near Eastern surrogacy laws granted her the right to raise the child as her own. With the birth of Isaac, however, Ishmael’s status changed—from Sarah’s legal son and Abraham’s firstborn heir to the son of a slave woman.”
Sarah was not willing for her son to share Abraham’s inheritance with any other child, and especially not to be second in line to Hagar’s son. Commentators have tried to soften her position for centuries, but the text is clear: “the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.” It was about the transmission of wealth and the family name. My son, not her son.
An understandable feeling, I suppose. But acting upon the feeling to condemn Hagar and Ishmael to death?
I don’t care whether it was legal by the standards of the time. I don’t care whether the social mores of the time embraced it. I don’t care.
It was wrong. Dead wrong. Horribly wrong. Sinfully wrong.
And that is what I mean by “better than the Bible.” Abraham and Sarah are heroic figures in many ways. They are archetypes for Jews, Christians, and Muslims.
But at this moment, we have to be better than the Bible.
This story gets me angry because Abraham and Sarah decided to dispose of Hagar and Ishmael. Before Isaac’s birth, Abraham had pleaded with God, “O that Ishmael might live in your sight!” But now the boy was disposable. The mother was disposable. Once members of the family, now they were disposable.
Disposable people. Disposable people.
That’s why I get angry.
The problem with Abraham and Sarah’s treatment of Hagar and Ishmael isn’t that it’s exceptional. It’s that it’s been echoed so many times by so many people in so many cultures over so many centuries. On this weekend following Juneteenth, I have to raise the world-wide practice of slavery. For millennia, some people have insisted that some other people have had to follow their instructions, do their work, bear children to those they insisted on, and live where they said. Under some codes, enslaved people lived or died at the will of those who held them in bondage.
These were literally disposable people.
The Law of the Hebrew Bible, I regret to say, mitigated the evils of slavery without eliminating them. Slavery of Hebrews had to be time limited, and enslaved people could not be abused or their possessions stripped from them. But still: disposable people. Though slavery is illegal in every country in the world today, the International Labour Organization found in 2022 that 28 million people endure forced labor and another 22 million are forced into marriages – just like Hagar.
That’s why we’ve got to be better than the Bible.
The Bible both warns against national leaders who abuse their authority and praises them. God warned the Israelites through Samuel against the appointment of a monarch. Saul proceeded to demonstrate the accuracy of the warning. At God’s direction, Samuel anointed David to displace and succeed Saul, and everybody celebrated. Well, not everybody.
I can’t help noting that David spent more time in power than Saul, and had more time to demonstrate the abuses of kings. Ask David’s wives and concubines. Ask his sons, two of whom rebelled against him. Ask Bathsheba. Ask Uriah.
When national leaders abuse their power, they create disposable people. Sometimes they’re the women they want to abuse. Sometimes they’re the foreigners they want to eject. Sometimes they’re the political opponents they want to subdue. Sometimes they’re people with a different skin color. Sometimes they’re people who are attracted to people of the same gender. Sometimes they’re people who are women.
If you want to justify any of these abuses — anti-immigrant, political imprisonment, racism, heterosexism, sexism — you can do it from the Bible. Sexism and heterosexism are easy. Racism? Yes, you can justify that. The Bible is rife with anti-foreign sentiment. It’s harder to make the case for imprisoning your political opponents, because a number of the prophets turn out to have been the political opponents of the monarchs, but if you work hard enough, you can do it.
You can justify disposable people.
That’s why we’ve got to be better than the Bible.
Amy Frykolm writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “This is an astonishing story to find amongst the accounts of the patriarchs and matriarchs of Genesis. It follows not the perspective of the householders, but the perspective of the slave. Not the ones who are awaiting their destiny to be fulfilled by God, but the one who is collateral damage along the way. Hagar is the archetypal mother of every person who has ever been exiled, who has fled violence, both domestic and governmental, every person who has found themselves shunned, discarded, trafficked, forgotten.”
In Hagar, we hear from the disposable people.
It turns out they’re not disposable.
Amanda Benckhuysen writes at Working Preacher, “Our chosenness as people of faith does not mean that we have a corner on God. It does not mean that God’s love and care is limited to us. What is striking about Isaac and Ishmael is that God makes the same promise to them both. They would each become a great nation. They would both experience God’s presence and blessing.”
Hagar and Ishmael were not disposable.
We are not disposable. It’s the foundational assertion of Christianity, that God has no desire to discard any of the souls that God has placed upon the Earth.
The people who aren’t us are not disposable. Whether they’re male or female, Jew or Greek, slave or free (to borrow from the Apostle Paul), they are not disposable. Whether they agree with us or with someone else, whether they’re gay or straight or bi or trans, whether they’ve committed a crime or been accused of one, whether they’re demonstrating against abortion or against ICE raids, no people are disposable.
No people are disposable.
That’s why we’ve got to be better than Abraham and Sarah. Better than the Bible.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while he preaches – sometimes intentionally, and sometimes accidentally – so the recorded sermon does not precisely match the sermon as written.
The image is Hagar and Ishmael by Robert Loftin Newman – This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=57365865.
It is true that many figures in the Scriptures give fine examples for how we should behave – but that is not true of this story.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the twenty-first chapter of Genesis (Genesis 21:8-21). It is a troubling story.
It begins well enough. The family of Abraham celebrated the weaning of Isaac, who had been born to Sarah long after anyone thought that that was possible. Then Sarah saw Isaac playing with his older half-brother Ishmael. Now Ishmael existed because Sarah had insisted that Hagar, his mother, conceive a child with Sarah’s husband Abraham. Hagar, as a slave, had no choice in the matter. And so Ishmael was born.
Seeing them playing together, Sarah decided that it was not proper for the son of the slave to be playing with the son of the wife. She insisted that Abraham send Hagar and Ishmael away. And Abraham, reassured by God that God would take care of them, did precisely that.
The second half of the story is familiar to us. Hagar left her son under a bush and went away so that she would not have to watch him die. God spoke to her and guided her to a spring, and so the two survived. It is a rescue from a situation that should not have happened.
The story of Abraham and Sarah and Hagar and Ishmael and Isaac is one of those that I hope we look at and say, “We will not emulate the people into this story. We will not take advantage of the neediness or the social place of people in order to provide children or just relief to powerful men. And we will not send helpless people out into the desert with minimal resources and a vague hope that they survive.”
This is one of the places where I read the story and I say: We have to be better than this. We have to be better than our ancestors have shown us.
May it be true for us, for our children and our children’s children.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comments section below. I’d love to hear from you.
Jesus’ travels through Galilee disturbed him. D. Mark Davis, writing at LeftBehindAndLovingIt, translates verse 36 as, “Yet having seen the crowd he was wrenched with compassion about them that they were having been harassed and tossed aside like sheep not having a shepherd.” Then he writes: “This verse is chock full of strong language. Jesus’ reaction is not just a sweet feeling of kindness, as if he just saw a flock of cute baby lambs. It is a visceral reaction, as the definition of σπλαγχνίζομαι suggests. I think it reads best as a gut reaction, something like ‘furious compassion.’”
“Furious compassion.” You’ve had that feeling, haven’t you? That’s the feeling when you see that somebody has been misled or abused and you’re not only concerned for them you’re angry on their behalf.
People feeling furious compassion tend to tell others about the feeling. They tend to gather people to witness and understand what’s happening. They tend to organize them to do something about it.
That’s what Jesus did. From a larger group of followers, he selected twelve to take on roles not just as learners, but as leaders. He selected twelve to take on the same work that he had been doing. It was no small commission. “As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”
Every bit of that charge is laden with challenge. The easiest part seems to be first part: proclaim good news. Good news. Who could object to people proclaiming good news?
Well, the first people who object to good news are usually the people who are benefiting from the bad news. They’re the ones setting the rules that protect their wealth and power from the ones without wealth and power. They’re the ones who accused Jesus of healing people’s demons with the power of demons. They’re the ones who eventually got him executed as a rebel – since when you tell people the good news that God is in charge, not the people who say they’re in charge, it is a rebellious act.
Jesus wasn’t done. “Cure the sick” – I’m afraid that’s not one of my skills. “Raise the dead” – I can’t do that. “Cleanse those with a skin disease” – I can put a bandage on it. “Cast out demons” – maybe I can; I’ve never tried. “You received without payment; give without payment” – how ironic is it that tomorrow is payday?
Matthew only gave us Jesus’ side of the assignment here, but my goodness. The disciples must have been saying something along the lines of, “Who me? No way.”
If they said it aloud (Matthew didn’t tell us), I’m pretty sure Jesus said something like, “Yeah, way.”
Christian discipleship – the Way of Jesus – is Assignment: Mercy.
As Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Go and proclaim the good news of the kingdom. Go and cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons. Go and touch. Go and heal. Go and resurrect. Go and make peace. Go and render believable the compassion of God.”
Assignment: Mercy.
As our myna hopefully learned this morning, mercy doesn’t have to be grand and glowing. Mercy begins with basic consideration. Mercy welcomes others to join in the feast. Mercy steps in to decrease the temperature of a dispute. Mercy. Is attentive to everyone’s safety.
During this weekend’s ‘Aha Pae’aina, called together with the theme of building bridges, there were more than a few exhibits of basic mercy. We greeted one another warmly, with hugs and smiles and aloha spoken and unspoken. We feasted together – my, how we feasted. I’m not sure when I’ll have room to eat anything else again. There were items of disagreement on the agenda, and we addressed them with respect and consideration for the people on either side of the question. And if I can summon up a personal example, while delivering my workshop I froze my feet in their places for a minute or two, because a nine-month old baby was crawling around next to me and I was not going to step on her fingers.
Mercy is also bigger than that. I kept my feet still to avoid hurting a baby. Why can’t the nations of the earth keep our militaries still lest they harm the infants of another nation? Why are we told that it is a virtue to use force ruthlessly and mercilessly? Why are we told that we don’t have the courage to take territory from another nation, instead of being told that our sense of morality prevents us from taking territory from another nation?
Jesus had the opportunity to start a war. When he was arrested, somebody swung a sword. Jesus could have screamed, “Attack!” Instead, Jesus said, “Enough of this,” and healed the injured man.
Assignment: Mercy.
During this ‘Aha, Conference Minister the Rev. Dr. David Popham told me something I hadn’t known – he knows plenty of things that I don’t, of course. He mentioned that Hawai’i has been closely followed by the disaster response people in the UCC and the Disciples of Christ. We’ve been through a lot, for sure: the 2018 Puna eruption here, the fires on Maui in 2023, this year’s series of Kona low storms. He joked, in fact, that sometimes they would call him and tell him things that he didn’t know, which was probably because the local people who would call the Conference were still busy dealing with the situation in front them, while those whose professions it is to assess disasters were communicating with our national church staff.
The point is that we have friends. We have neighbors who meet the definition Jesus provided to “Who is my neighbor?” Do you remember? “Who is my neighbor” was the question that launched the story of the Good Samaritan – and the neighbor was the one who showed mercy.
Assignment: Mercy.
All right. Have I made that point enough? How are you going to fulfill your assignment?
You do it with everything you’ve got. Yes, that’s a big ask. Yes, it’s a lot to give. And in some instances, yes, it’s not going to be enough.
Assignment: Mercy is a call to stay attentive to the small mercies, to the politenesses, the sharings, the protections. None of us can possibly be aware of everything going on around us, but if we can we can look right and left before crossing the street, we can look right and left to see what’s going on with our neighbors. It’s a call to ask about needs and not assume them. A person in a wheelchair may appreciate some assistance from you on a streetcorner, but they also may not. Be vigilant, and let your vigilance include the simple politeness of asking, “How are you doing?” followed, perhaps, by, “What do you need?”
Assignment: Mercy is a call to stay attentive to the big mercies, to the relief from systemic oppression and suffering, from the prejudices of social pressure and the discrimination of unjust law. Assignment: Mercy is a call to remind the world that war simply isn’t the Way of Jesus, no matter what awful things the Church has said to the contrary in the past. Assignment: Mercy insists that people be held accountable for the harms they bring to others, that they be held accountable through an open and transparent process of law, and that those in power shall have no special influence in the adjudication of the crimes of which they’re accused. Assignment: Mercy further calls us to bring people into society as well as we can, to make sure that neither habit nor desperation are major forces to drive people to criminal behavior.
Assignment: Mercy is a call to show that a loving God has had a powerful and positive influence on our lives. It is a call to testify to the grace that God has demonstrated in the world: in Creation, in guidance, in wisdom, in the poetry of the Psalms, in the restoration of distressed people, in the birth, life, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus, in the activity of the Holy Spirit from the first century to the twenty-first.
At this point, I am sorely tempted to parody the opening of an episode of Mission: Impossible. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to show God’s mercy to a hurting world. If you are caught or captured in this mission, God will not disavow, but will celebrate your actions.
Actually, you want to be caught at this. Let everybody see. Let everybody know. You have accepted: Assignment: Mercy.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes as he preaches, so the sermon as prepared does not precisely match the sermon as delivered.
