Confronted to account for his authority, Jesus refused – but he also told a story that made clear that it is what people do, not what people say they can do, that makes the difference.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the twenty-first chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 21:23-32).
The setting for this passage is one of conflict. Jesus had just entered the city of Jerusalem to the shouts of a cheering crowd acclaiming him as the Son of David. When he arrived at the temple, the priest there wanted to know by what authority he did such things.
It was a pointed and vital question. Did Jesus, indeed, claim the role and title and authority of Messiah, Anointed One, royal figure, son of David? Or was there some other authority that Jesus claimed that might not have been the same but would have explained how he could do such things and expect not to be held accountable for them?
Jesus turned the question on its head. He asked about the baptism of John, was that of divine or human origin? The priests refused to answer because either answer they would give would put them in difficulties with someone: either the people or the Roman authorities. Jesus then said, “Well then, I will not tell you by what authority I do these things.”
He followed up with a story about a father and two sons, and the father asked the sons to go out and work in the field. One said, “Yes,” and didn’t go. One said, “No,” but did. Which one did what he was asked? The answer, of course, was the one who said, “No,” but did the work.
Jesus’ point was as obvious as any of Jesus’ stories ever are: Talk is cheap. Words are cheap. Obvious authority is cheap. What counts is what you do.
And that was true for Jesus just as it was for the priests who no doubt recognized themselves in the one who said, “Yes,” and didn’t go. At least they know Jesus was accusing them of that. Jesus himself, by the end of that week, would be placed in a situation where he not only said, “Yes,” he went and followed the path that led to the cross. Jesus said, “Yes,” and went.
So for us, if we are to be followers of Jesus, what we say is important, but not nearly as important as what we do. Will we follow the example, will we follow the call, will we follow the one who said, “Yes,” and did the hardest thing for our sake and for the sake of the world?
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.
Jesus’ story about every worker getting the same wage makes no sense in the business world – but it does make sense in the love world.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the twentieth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 20:1-16) Jesus’ story that we usually give the title, “The Laborers in the Vineyard.”
On its surface, an easy, if somewhat puzzling, story. Jesus described a vineyard owner who went out to find workers for the day. He went to the marketplace early, found some folks who were available. They went to work in the vineyard and were promised a denarius, which was the usual daily wage for a laborer.
But this landowner went out several times. He even went as late as about five o’clock in the afternoon, not long before the work had to end because of darkness. And each time he found people and sent them off to work.
When the sun had gone down, he gathered everybody up and had those who had arrived the latest receive their wages first. They received a denarius. Those at the end of the line who had worked the whole day, they also received a denarius, and were angry. Because they had worked much longer, why should they receive exactly the same wage?
The landowner replied, “My money is mine to do with it as I like. Are you upset because I am generous?”
As a story of business and economics, I suspect that anybody who taught in a business school would say this is not the way to do it. Among other things, it means that you’re paying expenses that you probably shouldn’t. It also means that some of your workers are angry with you about the way you treat other workers. It isn’t fair.
As is common in Jesus’ stories, it’s the place that somebody departs from the ordinary and the expected that we typically find the point that Jesus was trying to make. And in this case, it is that unexpected and extravagant generosity: that each person who worked in the vineyard, no matter how long, received the same amount. They received what they needed to live on.
Is it a model for business? Probably not. Is it a model for salvation? I think so. In the end, what can God give us that is more than salvation? If we arrive in the vineyard — that is, if we make the effort to participate in the community of God — what more can God give us than membership in that community? There isn’t anything more.
I think also, however, this is a model for relationships. It’s also something that we know.
We labor to try and treat our children fairly, but we do not treat them equally. Because one has skills and talents the other does not. That same one has needs that the other does not. And so we spend our time focusing on the things that they need or spend our time focusing on the things that they accomplish and that time will be different from one child to the next. We are perhaps not fair, not absolutely even-handed in our love for our own children, because it would be wrong to treat all human beings as if they were exactly the same.
Love can’t be absolutely fair. Love has to respond to what is. Love has to reveal what might be.
Jesus, I’m sure, in part spoke of the love of God here. The love of God is what it is and it is shared equally. And that may not seem fair, but that is what it is. And our love, we’re also called upon to respond to the needs and to rejoice in the successes of those we love, as they occur, but also in such a way that all know that they are loved.
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.
In a community made up of people from different religious backgrounds, the temptation to judge was hard to resist. Paul urged them to resist.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the fourteenth chapter of the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans (Romans 14:1-12).
The Roman church was made up of people from quite startlingly different backgrounds. Some had been raised as Jews, others had been raised in the traditions and religions of Rome, Greece, Egypt, and for that matter, many other cultures around the Mediterranean world. They brought very different assumptions about what a faith life was supposed to be like.
Christianity, originating as it did as a reform movement within Judaism (and indeed continuing to attempt to be a reform movement within Judaism in Paul’s lifetime), nevertheless welcomed folks from these other traditions and expectations. And Christianity did not fully endorse or fully reject religions and religious ideas of Judaism or Greece or of Rome. There was a lot to learn and to adapt to and to reframe for both those coming from Judaism and those coming from other faiths.
As a result, they were feeling at their way through the expectations of this new religion that they were calling the Way of Jesus.
Also as a result, they were criticizing one another, and sometimes fairly harshly.
Paul’s advice was, “Do not judge one another.” Those who observe in one way, well, they observe these things in faithfulness to God. And those who do other things to observe, they do those things also in faithfulness to God. It is God who is going to judge in the end. It is not up to us to judge one another.
Well, it is certainly true that a society without any kind of judgment or discernment rapidly draws into chaos as people do this, that, and the other thing. It is also true that the apostle Paul deeply disliked chaos and, as we noted from last Sunday’s reading, had some pretty firm notions on things that were to be done and things that were not to be done. But in matters of faithful observance, Paul was far more willing to let God be the judge of the heart, to let God be judge of the intent, to let God be judge of the devotion, than to permit Christians to run around willy-nilly judging one another.
Leave that to God, said Paul, and in such a way we can build a religious community together that is supportive rather than a religious community that drags one another down.
“Do not judge your brother or your sister,” wrote Paul. We will all be accountable to God, and that is more than enough.
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.
When I served the historic Connecticut Conference of the United Church of Christ, I shared an office with my colleague Drew, who also worked in communications and publications. We managed to keep one another entertained when a joke needed to be told, and comforted one another when we were sad, and supported one another when there was simply a lot to be done and less time than we really needed to do it.
From time to time Drew and I would find ourselves really easily distracted. A random glance at some word and we’d be thinking about what a strange way that was to spell it. A name would float by and we’d be thinking about all the people we’d known with that name. The phone would ring and it would take ten minutes afterward to remember what we’d been doing.
We had a name for these days. Based on the dogs in the 2009 movie Up, who could always be distracted by the mere mention of the word, “squirrel,” we called them Squirrel Days.
“Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness and came to mount Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned up.’”
From a work productivity point of view, Moses had little business turning aside to see this burning-but-not-consumed bush. I’m no shepherd, but here’s what I imagine I, as a competent shepherd, should do if I see a fire in the wilderness.
Move away from it.
Get downhill from it, if I can. Get upwind from it, if it’s possible. Do both, and take the sheep with me. Fire in the wilderness, as we know from our wildfire experiences here on this island and from the terrible disasters in Canada, California, and Maui, is dangerous. Getting out of its path – getting my father-in-law’s sheep out of its path – is the first, most urgent priority.
Turn aside to look at this great sight? I don’t think so.
Nevertheless, that turn to the side, that step in an unanticipated direction, that movement toward risk and not away, was as crucial to the deliverance of the people of Israel from slavery as any step thereafter. Without this step, there would have been no steps toward Egypt. Without this step, there would have been no steps into Pharoah’s palace. Without this step, there would have been no steps across the exposed bottom of the Red Sea. Without this step, there would have been no steps up Mount Sinai to receive the Law of God.
As Amy Frykolm writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “God notices that Moses has ‘turned aside’ and then calls to him. Imagine if Moses had ignored that little impulse, that desire to know more.”
Imagine.
Fortunately, Moses did get curious. Fortunately, Moses sought to learn more. Fortunately, Moses took a closer look.
Moses himself was probably not so grateful. Like the later prophets who left us their stories of call – people like Isaiah and Jeremiah – Moses had reservations about his selection as God’s ambassador. Given the message he’d been given, I’m a little surprised that he didn’t run away faster than Jonah. As Amy Merrill Willis writes at Working Preacher, “The typical commissioning scene involves the prophet’s objection to God’s commission. The objection highlights the prophet’s dependence upon God in undertaking sacred work and reveals an appropriate sense of humility. But Moses is not typical in any sense. Instead of one objection, Moses raises four (3:11,13; 4:1,10) before saying flat out, ‘O my Lord, please send someone else’ (4:13)!”
So, not so grateful. Gratitude aside, however, and request to be set aside set aside, he accepted the commission and he assumed the mantle of prophet, leader, and lawgiver.
Because he’d taken a closer look.
It’s time I asked the question: Have you taken a closer look? What do you need to take a closer look at?
Taking a closer look isn’t always popular. Some people these days eagerly ignore expertise. There is a movement of people frequently referred to as “sovereign citizens,” who have adopted a legal theory that essentially means nobody has to obey a vast number of criminal laws. They refuse or ignore the advice of lawyers if they’re brought to court.
It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t seem likely that that will go well. It’s one thing to look at some documents you found on the Internet. It’s another thing to take a closer look at actual lawbooks, professional rules, and court precedents. I grant you that it’s a shame that law is so complicated, but it is complicated. So is medicine. So is automobile mechanics. So is software development. So are ecological systems. So is plumbing. So is theology.
I’ve heard this statement from before I started my professional education: “I heard of people who went to seminary and they lost their faith, so I didn’t go.”
Because yes, seminary was taking a closer look, and yes, I learned things in seminary that were different from what I learned in Sunday School. That’s OK. There’s a limit to what you can teach in Sunday School.
The British authors Terry Pratchett, Ian Stewart, and Jack Cohen described this as a “lie-to-children” in The Science of Discworld: “A lie-to-children is a statement that is false, but which nevertheless leads the child’s mind towards a more accurate explanation, one that the child will only be able to appreciate if it has been primed with the lie. The early stages of education have to include a lot of lies-to-children, because early explanations have to be simple. However, we live in a complex world, and lies-to-children must eventually be replaced by more complex stories if they are not to become delayed-action genuine lies. Unfortunately, what most of us know about science consists of vaguely remembered lies-to-children.”
[Terry Pratchett, Ian Stewart, Jack Cohen, The Science of Discworld (New York, Anchor Books), 1999.]
The same might be said of auto mechanics, literature, carpentry, law, accounting, and, of course, theology.
You’ve got to take a closer look.
Just like Moses. As role models go, that’s a pretty good one. As with all Biblical figures, there are things you’d like to avoid – my God, that man could whine – but he took that crucial first step. He turned aside to learn more and it opened up the world.
As Amy Frykolm writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “The poet William Stafford called this kind of curiosity and the following that it leads to ‘the golden string.’ And unlike Egeria or Moses, he saw the ‘end of a golden string’ in everything, in every detail of human life that we notice enough to write down. For Stafford, the whole of the sensual world was alive with the possibility of the sacred practice of noticing. Which makes me wonder: what did I walk by today that I could have turned aside to see with curiosity? What ends of the golden string did I pass by?”
As you’ve probably noticed, I’m a photographer and, increasingly, a bird photographer, so for me some of the golden strings are the movement of feathers in greenery, the hops of clawed feet across the grass, the gentle glide of a floating body over the water. Those aren’t the only ones. I’m fascinated by people’s stories, so another golden string is the things people share about what they’ve experienced, what they’ve valued, what they’ve learned. The Scriptures themselves are a golden string – or a big set of strings – for me. So yes, I keep coming back to this story and looking for new things, because each new discovery in Exodus 3, or Luke 2, or John 20, or Romans 8, or Micah 6, or a raft of other texts invite a closer look each time.
What are your golden strings? What do you need to take a closer look at? What would fill your mind to learn more about? What will fill your soul to experience more deeply? What experience can you embrace and, by God’s grace, it will change the world?
I’m talking to you – not because of your impressive brain, compassionate heart, not the beautiful singing voice, rippling muscles, spiritual depth, perfect complexion, long hair.
You with the toes, are you listening?
This is the holy moment.
Take a closer look.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes to his sermon while he preaches, so the prepared text above does not necessarily match the recording of how he preached it.
The image is Moses Before the Burning Bush by Gebhard Fugel – Photo permission – Own work (fotografiert in der Ausstellung “Gebhard Fugel 1863-1939. Von Ravensburg nach Jerusalem”. Galerie Fähre, Altes Kloster, Bad Saulgau, 2014), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32072413.
The circumstances of our lives do not match those of those who first read Paul’s Letter to the Romans. We, after all, are not a congregation containing both Jews who had embraced the new Way of Jesus, and Romans who had once worshiped such deities as Jupiter, Vesta, Mithras, or Isis.
Mind you, we are a congregation that contains people from a number of different national and cultural backgrounds, and from several different religious backgrounds, some of which weren’t Christian. So… it’s still not the same.
We do not live under the authority of the Roman Empire. I grant you that those who wrote the US Constitution were substantially guided by the Roman Republic, and used the Latin “senator” in creating one of the legislative bodies. So… it’s still not the same.
But it’s close enough that Paul’s advice to “not be conformed to this age,” meaning the first century around the Mediterranean, is still good advice in the twenty-first century in the Pacific Ocean. We just can’t assume that the cultural pressures of the first century Roman Christians he addressed are the same problems we face. We also can’t assume that the cultural pressures of the twenty-first century are entirely different from the pressures they faced.
For nearly two thousand years Christianity has worked very hard to create a society in which it was easy to follow Jesus. I’m not convinced that we’ve been as successful as we’d like. Europe’s history of wars between its acknowledged Christian nations – not to mention repeated persecution of non-Christians or not-acknowledged as Christians – has echoes in lots of other non-Christian nations in the course of human history.
What are our cultural pressures? First and foremost, I think, there’s pride. Hubris. Arrogance. The conviction that I and I alone am right. The conviction that me and mine are the center. The conviction that my chosen community is the greatest, and by rights should be in charge.
As Elizabeth Shively writes at Working Preacher, “Paul has exhorted his audience to be transformed by the renewal of their mind; now they are to use that new mind to think rightly about themselves and each other: ‘I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think but to think with sober judgment … ‘(verse 3). Paul calls for a new way of thinking that takes account of others.”
I think that Paul addressed that advice about not thinking to highly of yourself as much to himself as to his readers, then and now. Paul was on his best behavior writing to the people he hadn’t met in Rome. He wasn’t so restrained in his other letters. His arrogance took center stage in parts of Galatians, even daring to call Simon Peter a hypocrite. He was self-aware enough to call himself a fool in Second Corinthians, but only after he’d demonstrated the foolishness of his own ego in response to criticism he’d heard. Yes. It was hard for him. I resonate with that from the inside. I think I’ve mentioned that I share that temptation to arrogance. It’s one of the few things I can claim to share with a saint.
Let’s face it, arrogance is a characteristic of Christianity these days. It’s not just the Christian nationalists, although their manifestation of hubris is, I think, the most dangerous of our time. In the United Church of Christ, I applaud our advocacy for marginalized groups while noting at the same time our curious reluctance to move beyond certain points, and I note that when the marginalized come into positions of authority, they are just as subject to the temptation of “I know it better than you” as their predecessors had been. I’d dearly love it if we could solve the problem of arrogance by replacing all the male leaders with female, or the straight leaders with LGBTQ, or elder leaders with young ones, or… insert your own preferred group here. Regrettably, it seems like our favorite prayer is not the Lord’s Prayer, but what Pearls Before Swinecartoonist Stephan Pastis called “The Genius Prayer” in a 2014 strip:
“God grant me the courage to change the things I cannot accept, serenity to accept the things I’ve changed, and the wisdom to know I’m different.”
It’s not the only struggle we have with our contemporary world, however. I think one of our strongest pressures is the temptation to put people into arbitrary categories and make assumptions about them based on those categories. I’m pretty confident that the first century members of the Roman church had a similar problem – Paul wrote powerfully that both Jews and Gentiles (whom he called “Greeks”) stood in the very same position with God, needing God’s mercy. In other letters he wrote of slaves and free people, of men and women, that God’s grace, love, and power were accessible to them one and all.
In the twenty-first century, we struggle with prejudices within ourselves, and we struggle with the systematic “isms” that enshrine prejudice in law, culture, and religious practice. We have made progress. In 2021 the Rev. Elizabeth Dilley, who supports authorization of ministers in the UCC, wrote, “…women now make up 52.5% of all ordained ministers in the UCC.” At the same time, I’m aware of Christian churches that have rolled back access to leadership positions for women, and others that have simply never opened them at all. On Thursday morning I read a social media post asking for Biblical support for the ordination of women.
People, as we understand ordination, there’s not that much Biblical support for the ordination of men.
In addition, we’ve got people openly calling for the repeal of the nineteenth amendment. That’s the one that enfranchises women in the United States of America, that allows them to vote. I thought that question had been settled for a century. I guess we’ll have to keep it settled.
More of a concern in the twenty-first century than the first is the temptation to individualism, to think that community is less important than the individual. It’s a heritage of the European Enlightenment, and one that was really important to undo the feudal systems of Europe and Asia, which were so arbitrary and oppressive. As with most things, it can be overdone, and it has been. Israel Kamudzandu writes at Working Preacher, “I think of Romans as a call to abandon the sin of individualism and to embrace the cross-cultural Christian life. The life to which Paul calls Christians in Rome, and consequently those in the 21st century, is a life that exhibits the essence of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit.”
It’s one that embraces the notion that community is important. It’s not just about me; it’s about us. I don’t have all the skills, I don’t have all the gifts. Somebody else can better find the ‘ohelo; somebody else can fix the plumbing; somebody else can handle the bookkeeping. Look at that list of gifts of the Spirit Paul gave here (he wrote other longer lists in other letters): prophecy, ministry, teaching, encouragement, generosity, leadership, compassion. Any one of us might have some portion of each. Some of us will have deeper reservoirs of one of those gifts, and when we share them in community, everyone does better.
Amy Frykolm, writing at JourneyWithJesus.net, composed a reworked version of Paul’s advice here, and it’s stunning, so I share it with you:
“So then, I ask you, my dear family, in light of all the mercy, compassion, and kindness that God has shown us, place your whole selves in God’s hands — mind, heart, strength — this whole embodied being that is you. Make that offering full of life and vitality, as living as living water. The depth of your spiritual understanding and your willingness will fill the heart of God with joy.
“And do not let the ways of this world — its greed, ambition, empty fulfillments — mold and shape you, make you like itself. Instead be transformed through the renewal of your perceptions. Seek every opportunity to see with new eyes, hear with new ears, try out new paths, feel things for the first time and let them sink into your heart. From your heart, your mind, your senses, and your intuition, let yourself be continuously renewed. In this way, you will know what to do, how to act, how to choose the good, the true, the beautiful, the holy, and the whole.”
From the Apostle Paul, from Amy Frykolm, maybe even a little bit from me, there’s advice for this age or any other.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while preaching – sometimes he intends to. The sermon as prepared does not precisely match the sermon as delivered.
Moses took an important step – quite literally – when he saw the burning bush. He turned aside to look closer, and that is how the conversation with God began.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the third chapter of the book of Exodus (Exodus 3:1-15), Moses’ encounter with God over a bush that was burning and not consumed.
It’s the very beginning of the story that strikes me at this time. Moses was out doing a very ordinary thing. He was keeping watch over a flock of sheep. He saw the burning bush. He observed that it was not burning up. He said, “I must turn aside and see this thing and find out more why isn’t the bush being consumed.” That was what began the conversation with God.
It strikes me that what Moses did was to get closer to look deeper, to go and learn more than he had known. And that, it strikes me, is an essential element of life and of faith. Learn more.
It just isn’t enough to see that there is a bush on fire in the wilderness. It’s just not enough to make the further observation that it’s not burning quite as one would expect. It takes another step. It takes turning aside. It takes drawing closer to find out what is going on.
It’s a skill that is sort of unevenly taught in our educational system. At the very youngest levels, of course, you don’t teach that so much, because it is important to teach young children the very basics of what makes up a world and how people should live together in community.
But as we go on in education, it should be and it can be (in some places it is) stressed that we need to look further. We need to go deeper. We need to learn more.
So don’t accept the first thing that anybody tells you. It might be right. Quite possibly is right. But you won’t know and you won’t know more until you look closer, go deeper, learn more.
Do that in faith, do that in life, do that in family, do that in relationships. Go closer, look deeper.
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.
The apostle advised his readers to do the will of God as best they could – but also to be aware that they did not, could not know everything.
Here’s a transcript:
I’m thinking about the twelfth chapter of the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans (Romans 12:1-8).
Paul wrote that we should present ourselves in our bodies as a sacrifice to the living God, by which I’m fairly certain that he meant that all our deeds, our actions, and our words ought to be done with some notion of fulfilling the will of God, at least as best we understand it. Paul followed that with a caution, not to think too well of ourselves, which is very much a temptation if we see ourselves as following and enacting the will of God.
It is, I think, some of the most honest advice that the Apostle Paul ever wrote in his letters. I’m pretty sure that his besetting temptation was, in fact, arrogance. The temptations to think that he knew more than he did, to proclaim more than he knew. You can see it in a number of places in the letters, both where the Apostle Paul recognized it and drew back from it, and the places where he didn’t recognize it and did it anyway.
That’s advice that is good for Paul’s time, for Paul. It’s advice that is good for our time, for us, for me.
First of all, to be cautious about what we claim to know, to be careful about the things that we say, to make certain that we identify our opinions as opinions, our faith as faith, and to maybe not declare it quite so firmly as established fact. By all means, bring out that which supports your opinions, but know also that there is far more to know than any of us can know.
And of course, that first point still remains an excellent challenge for all of us, to strive to do that which God has called us to do, to love our neighbors as ourselves, to love God with all our heart and soul and mind.
Romans twelve. Romans eight is, by far, my favorite in this letter, but there are good words here to guide us in each day of our lives.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you are thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
Psalm 86 is a song of an individual person. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t written to be said together in a big worship service, or chanted by a procession through the streets. It describes the spiritual place that one person was in thousands of years ago. It doesn’t tell us a lot – the writer wasn’t very specific about things – but that does help make it accessible to any of us. The themes of the poem are familiar to us, though the events which prompted its writing might not be.
The poet’s first concern was, well, concern. The very first words are: “Incline your ear, O LORD, and answer me, for I am poor and needy.” The psalmist wrote from a “day of trouble.” They had opponents, they had enemies. “O God, the insolent rise up against me; a band of ruffians seeks my life, and they do not set you before them.”
The need for help is not just a common theme in the Psalms. It is a common reality in human life. Sometimes our need is the result of other people’s actions. We might be targeted for crime. We might be discriminated against in employment or housing. We might be suffering from an injury or illness which doesn’t just test our health but also our financial resources and the support of our family and friends. We’ve all been through a global pandemic, when a shortage of human contact made it even harder to endure economic hardship and the fear of dangerous disease.
We know what need is. We know what it is to pray out of our needs.
Curiously, the Psalmist did not just pray out of their need. There’s no shame in doing that; there are Psalms that really do concentrate on the cry for help. This writer, however, spent roughly as much time on a second theme as on their concerns and distress.
The second theme was thanks and praise.
“I give thanks to you, O LORD my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever.” A lot of the Psalms praise God. You could make a case that, in some way, they all do, but there are a good number that focus on praising God. About half of Psalm 86 praises God for being merciful and generous, for being great and powerful, for abounding in steadfast love.
We know what it’s like to pray in thanksgiving. We’ve enjoyed successes, we’ve received gifts, we’ve celebrated the beauties of the world. We’ve rejoiced at weddings, we’ve welcomed births, we’ve completed difficult things and received rewards. Out of these and more we pray with thanks.
This is a Psalm which simultaneously praises God’s goodness and seeks God’s aid in some pretty deep distress. It’s a Psalm that knows both pain and exultation, both sorrow and celebration. Which made one line really stand out for me:
“Give me an undivided heart to revere your name.”
In a Psalm that is divided between opposite themes, the writer asked for “an undivided heart.”
I think some people do have the notion that the life of faith is supposed to feel like one thing and one thing only. Once you’ve made the commitment, somehow your faith is supposed to keep you in a similar state of mind from day to day. A read through the Book of Psalms would tell you, to the contrary, that the life of faith is filled with different feelings. A read through one of the Gospels reveals that Jesus himself, though a remarkably consistent person, displayed a range of emotions and reactions on different occasions.
I’m not sure why anyone thinks that Christian faith means our internal life is supposed to be just one thing, but some do.
You don’t have to. At any rate, you don’t have to worry about it when you find that your mind keeps changing and your feelings keep changing from one day to the next. That happened to the prophets. It happened to the Psalmists. It happened to Jesus himself.
So how can this Psalmist call for a unified heart?
“Heart” means a lot of things to us. We think of the heart as the center of feelings. Unity of feelings is really unusual in human experience. It happens, but it happens relatively rarely and in pretty intense situations. I can think of a few occasions, mostly while driving, when the only emotion I was aware of fear. I can also remember times when I was overwhelmed with joy, to the point where other emotions simply weren’t present. That just hasn’t happened all that often, though, and frankly that’s a good thing. Overwhelming emotion is overwhelming. Even the most joyous moments in my life were better as moments than they would be as an ongoing reality.
I’ve also mentioned more than once that our feelings aren’t under our direct control. We can do things to influence our feelings – I’ve found that a good meal reduces my anxieties pretty effectively – but it’s really difficult to tell yourself, “I want to feel happy” and then actually do it. So the deepest understanding of the truth of God, for which the Psalmist prayed, isn’t going to give us a unified heart. We’re still going to feel what we feel, and most of the time that’s a mixture, isn’t it? A mixture of feelings about what’s right in front of it and the things on our mind and the things that linger, good and bad, in our memories.
Did the Psalmist actually mean a unified mind?
I don’t think so, and not just because of the use of the word “heart.” The whole Psalm argues against it, because it’s a Psalm about both need and praise. The Psalm itself is divided in mind.
How do we resolve the paradox of the unified heart in a divided Psalm?
Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “It’s not that we hold paradox; it’s that paradox holds us. We are held in a deep place. An ample place. A generous, sufficient, and roomy place. Though we might fear paradox, God does not, and it is in God’s soil that we are firmly planted. We’re safe, even in the contradictions. Messy and weedy for sure, but safe.”
In our understanding, but even more so in the use of the Psalmists and the writers of the Hebrew Scriptures, “heart” was not just the seat of emotion. It was also a seat of decision: of loyalty. Of commitment. Of devotion. It’s one of the reasons that we use “heart” when we think about the way people come together in loving relationships – they’re rooted in emotion, but they go beyond that to commitment.
For the Psalmist, I think, the unified heart was able to bring together the needs and the thanksgiving, the feelings of fear and the feelings of joy, the reality of deprivation and the truth of God’s presence, into a foundational reliance upon God. That is, what connects need and praise is that we come to God with both.
Unlike emotion, that’s something that we can choose. We can bring our burdens to God for help and for comfort. We can bring our hurts to God for healing and for renewal. We can bring our uncertainties to God for guidance and for wisdom. We can bring our griefs to God for comfort and for resurrection.
And we can bring our successes to God for thanksgiving and for continuance. We can bring our celebrations to God for increase and for sharing. We can bring our joys to God for blessing and for remembering.
The unified heart is the one that knows that God cares about our joys and sorrows. The unified heart is the one that lifts the voice in praise and in petition. The unified heart is the one that waits in silence for God’s aid and for God’s smile.
Don’t worry that you feel different today than you did yesterday. Don’t worry that you think new things from day to day. Feelings will change, and I earnestly hope that you’re learning things as time goes on.
Do raise your needs to God; do raise your thanks to God. That is the practice and the commitment that makes a unified heart.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while he’s preaching, hopefully to improve it, and sometimes accidentally.
The photo shows a sculpture of a world being unified. Taken by Eric Anderson in South Korea in 2013.
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.
