From lament to praise!

In this sermon we dive into the depths of Psalm 22. This Psalm, as we go about it becomes a journey that we see our Lord Jesus expressing his prayer to the Father whilst on calvary. Written by king David in the prophetic through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, we learn of how the Lord through his somewhat pendulum emotions throughout the prayer. As we read we relate how the son knows what it is we go through in the absolute depths of our being as well. Knowing how we have such a savior who is so near to us and knows the questions we have especially when we ourselves feel the father is far off. Yet through our beloved King who reminds us all that our father will never forsaken us who hold true His name. He is for us. To God be the Glory! Amen!

Briers and thorns

“...though briers and thorns are with you and you sit on scorpions.” (Ezekiel 2:6)

Now there is an inspiring job description!  

God sent the prophet Ezekiel to Israel and the surrounding nations to reveal their rebellion against God.  He was to be a hammer of judgment against an anvil of stubborn resistance.  And he was not to fear their closed hearts, their dismaying faces, their angry words, ““...though briers and thorns are with you and you sit on scorpions.”

Does God always call His people to this sort of thing?  Are the lives and ministries of the prophets and the apostles and Jesus Himself examples for us of what we ought to expect?  Are we to endure thorns and scorpions and crosses?  

We probably know the right answer to that question.  We are told many times and in many ways throughout Scripture that God’s followers swim against the current.  But these great people demonstrate faith at its extremes.  And there are many Christians today who are enduring them.  But what about us?  Where do we find ourselves in the intersections of our ordinary lives and the Kingdom of Heaven?

While our lives may not resemble the extraordinary features of Ezekiel, Paul, and Jesus, we are alike in this: we are called with a purpose.  Like them, we are sent as emissaries from the Kingdom of Heaven.  Perhaps Paul gives us a clue about how we embrace our mission when he says that when we are weak, then we are strong (II Corinthians 12:10).

I look forward to hearing God’s Word together on Sunday…no actual scorpions will be present.

+Steve E

Genuine fear

Steven Wright, a comedian known for his lethargic, deadpan delivery of ironic, philosophical, and sometimes nonsensical humor once said about fear, “A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me. I’m afraid of widths.”

The definition of an irrational fear is, of course, “someone else’s.” But fear—genuine fear—is a very real, and potentially debilitating thing.

And have you ever noticed the vast difference between being told, “there’s nothing to be afraid of”, and being asked, “why are you afraid?” The former can come off as condescending (and wrong), while the latter leaves open the possibility that there may, in fact, be something there.

It’s the latter Jesus asks of some friends in a boat—and by extension, us—in this week’s Gospel reading.

Days of Harvest

Jewish people will have celebrated the Feast of Weeks (Shavuot) from Tuesday evening through Thursday evening this week. Shavuot celebrates harvest first fruits, the ingathering and tithing of Israel’s crops: figs, grapes, dates, pomegranates, olives, wheat, and barley. While the Temple stood, families brought their tithes to Jerusalem and presented them to God with a moving liturgy: 

“A wandering Aramean was my father. And he went down into Egypt and sojourned there, few in number, and there he became a nation…And God brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And behold, now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground, which you, O Lord, have given me.”  

(Deuteronomy 26)

Harvest themes came to be associated with God’s provision, covenant faithfulness, and future hope of peaceful nations united in worship of the living God.  And their agricultural rhythms and struggles came to symbolize the tensions, tragedies, and celebrations of human life as members of God’s family. The Psalmist cries out:

Restore our fortunes, O Lord,

    like streams in the Negeb!

Those who sow in tears

    shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping,

    bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy,

    bringing his sheaves with him.

                        (Psalm 126: 4-6)

In our readings for this Sunday, we encounter some of the deep and mysterious contours of harvest symbolism. Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a harvest of grain and like the growth of a mustard seed. Echoing the prophets Ezekiel and Daniel, Jesus challenges his listeners not to mistake small beginnings with insignificance; rather, days of harvest are coming, even if we can’t imagine how.

Surprised by suffering

I’m sure it doesn’t come as news to you that we live in a unique cultural moment. Far from everything being progress, everything being “up and to the right”, every culture, even ours a hundred years ago, has been reconciled to the idea that everything in life is loss. Everything is sorrow. 

If you read the journals and diaries from people—even from the early 20th century—you’ll see it. They understood this. They weren't surprised at suffering. They weren’t surprised at death. They weren’t shocked. They didn’t freak out. Most of the time they never even complained…at least not like we do.

 We are, perhaps, the first culture in history that this is a shock to. We’re surprised by suffering.

 St. Paul in this week’s Epistle reading from 2 Corinthians 4, tells us, don’t be. Why would you be surprised by suffering? Everything—everything—in this world is, in his words, “wearing away”, our bodies, our skills, our families, our relationships. That’s life under the sun. Stick around long enough and you’ll experience suffering, disappointment, difficulty, and troubles.

 But Paul reminds of this sure and certain bad news in order to remind us of something really good: despite the reality of suffering, Christians, uniquely, can live with a life shaping certainty that all temporal suffering is “light and momentary” compared with an “eternal weight” that is our sure and certain future.

The Ordinary

Welcome to Ordinary Time, which we resume this Sunday.

The church year revolves around two cycles:

1. The Christmas cycle (Advent, Christmas, Epiphany), and;

2. The Easter cycle (Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost)

But what about the rest of the year?

There are two periods of the liturgical year called Ordinary Time that stitch together the Christmas and Easter cycles. One is the season of Epiphany, and the other, which is what we most often call Ordinary Time, is alternately called The Season after Pentecost. It covers around half the year, stretching from late spring till late autumn. When referring to Ordinary Time, the word “ordinary” means “numbered” because the Sundays of this season are simply numbered “after Pentecost” (Trinity is the First Sunday after Pentecost, this Sunday is the Second).

The Collect for this Sunday entreats that “we may so pass through things temporal (the ordinary) that we lose not the things eternal.” The readings, then, suggest a way to help ensure this, though it may not be what immediately comes to mind: Sabbath.

I’m personally reluctant to preach on the importance of Sabbath-keeping because, candidly, I’m not what you’d call an exemplar. In fact, not even close. But I will tell you it’s a message I need to hear again and apply my life to.

Pentecost

The Biblical feast of Pentecost marks fifty days from the conclusion of Passover, after seven weeks of seven.  Thus, in Hebrew, the festival is called “Shavuot” or “Weeks.”   As with all Biblical festivals, meanings are richly multi-layered and accumulate depth over time.  They are given by God to help form and shape Israel into a people that recall God’s mighty acts on their behalf, know His nature and His character, and express their love and gratitude in worship and witness.  

Shavuot marks the spring harvest of wheat and is celebrated by Israel’s offering of the first fruits of their labor.  It also recalls the period between Israel’s exodus from Egypt and their arrival at Mount Sinai.  Thus, Jewish tradition developed themes of mourning or sobriety during the seven weeks prior to Shavuot similar to Lent.  And it came to celebrate the giving of Torah.  

In fact, ancient Jewish traditions describe the giving of Torah accompanied by rushing wind and fire resting on the Israelites.   

We can see the richness of the Shavuot festival informing Luke’s description of Pentecost where we encounter the disciples gathered with Jews from around the world for Shavuot, experiencing the outpouring of the Holy Spirit with wind and fire, proclaiming the fulfillment of God’s covenant promise, and experiencing the rebirth through baptism of 3,000 Jewish people—incidentally, the same number of Israelites who died in punishment on Mt. Sinai resulting in their worship of the golden calf.

As we celebrate Pentecost on Sunday, we are joining our worship with a long tradition of commemorating God’s relationship with His people.  Through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, the bond of that relationship grows even stronger, the Torah now written on our hearts.  

Pretty much ignored

Everyone knows Christmas and Easter are integral to the Christian faith. But what about The Ascension? Is it integral as well? And if so, why is it pretty much ignored? Maybe it’s because it always falls on a Thursday…forty days after the Resurrection, and ten days before Pentecost. Or maybe we just don’t understand its significance.

Yesterday was The Feast of the Ascension. Did you know?

But have you ever wondered why Jesus said in John 16:7 that it was better for us that he go away? It’s because The Ascension has profound implications for the Church as a whole, for you, and for Monday mornings.

It’s too good to be ignored.