Knock, knock?

Luke 11:1-13

Fernand Khnopff
I Lock My Door Upon Myself  1891 (Public Domain)

I usually keep my phone on vibrate for the sake of those around me. 

My ringtone is a persistent open G tuned guitar rift that fades in and out monotonously, 

Fading in louder and out softly before sharply and clearly drilling back in like a power tool. 

It is the guitar solo intro performed by Keith Richards, the lead guitar for the Rolling Stones, in their song: “Can’t you hear me knocking?”

It’s on a loop so that the lyrics don’t cut in to what I consider to be one of the best uses of a guitar intro in any song. 

The lyrics to the song, though, are confusing. Mick Jagger doesn’t even know what the original lyrics were. 

But the theme of the song is as persistent as the opening guitar rift, “Can’t you hear me knocking?”

I love the opening, because it creatively simulates the rapping of knuckles on a door, using only a guitar.

Knocks on a door, which of course go unanswered as Mick, Keith, and the rest of the Stones incessantly express their desire to enter into whatever structure inspired this peculiar but delightful rock ballad. 

As I prepared for the sermon this Sunday, I kept thinking of this song. 

“Can’t you hear me knocking?”

Isn’t that part of what we feel when we hear our Gospel for today?

Isn’t that how we feel in response to our unanswered prayers?

Perhaps that is what leads the disciples to their request in today’s gospel for Jesus to teach them to pray a prayer that will associate them with Jesus’ ministry. 

A prayer that will be the signature prayer of Jesus Christ and his followers. 

The prayer that is offered in response to their request is one of the most consistent statements of resignation, trust, and confidence in the will of God that one could offer up. 

But this prayer goes even further. It is a prayer that invites God to take control of EVERYTHING we know, everything we see, everything that we desire to be in control of. 

Relinquishing control of our lives, our world, our desires, our vision for how we think things should be,  how we think they could be. And lets be honest here, you don’t have to be a social scientist to recognize that OUR vision of how things should be or could be isn’t working out all that well. 

Whether you’ve been watching the Republican National convention, certain that your one true hope could be found on a stage in an arena in Cleveland, or whether you’re anticipating catching a glimpse of your one true hope taking the stage at a convention center in Philadelphia this week at the Democratic National convention.

Some have found hope in movements that have  sprouted up across the country demanding their understanding of justice, while other movements demand a new sense of security and safety, defined by their own human definitions of what that would look like. 

Hopefully the persistent quest many are finding themselves on, for fictional Pokemon animals through their phones, is more of a distraction than a sense of hope. 

Regardless of where or what we put our hope in, there is no hope for our own human vision. 

Our plans for the kingdom that WE envision is flawed, but in this prayer Jesus presents a clear vision.

It is a prayer for not OUR will but THY will.

Not OUR kingdom but THY kingdom. 

Relinquishing control and turning our trust to THE One.

But that sounds a lot easier than it really is, doesn’t it?

When things rapidly fall out of our control, out of our hands, relinquishing control of our vision and our plan for the sake of a kingdom and a hope that we are only told to trust will be there because of a mere promise.

William-Adolphe Bouguereau
Soul Carried to Heaven 
1878 (Public Domain)

~

A hospital chaplain once sat beside a father in an emergency room after he had been informed that his daughter could not be resuscitated after severe burns which had been sustained in a house fire. 

The chaplain attempted to comfort the father by asking him to describe his daughter.

The father proceeded to tell the chaplain how much she loved to sing, and as he described her voice and passion for singing he began to calm down and even found himself smiling, until the chaplain took his hand and told him, “Well, I guess God needed another angel in the choir.”

At that point the father tore his hand out from between the chaplain’s palms and exclaimed, “If he needed her voice so badly, why did he have to burn her!” and he stormed away. 

~

The chaplain made a tragic mistake in his encounter. 

He described a god who closed a door, 

a god who closed the door on a father’s joy,

a god who closed the door on a little girl’s life.

Not the God that Jesus describes in the parable that follows his prayer in today's gospel. 

The God who opens the door to us all through Jesus Christ, no matter what doors have been closed. 

The God whose doorstep that little girl will step onto as she raps her knuckles on the door that we all hope to be welcomed into. 

~

The parable that follows the prayer today depicts three individuals:

The guest,who has traveled far, comes to the door weary and worn.

The host, who is ill prepared to provide for the guest, but is still the means by which grace will be received.

And the neighbor, who is the source of the sustenance that will be provided. 

The parable reflects on customs that remain common in the Middle East today. 

It is a custom that is as practical as it is cultural, because the welcoming of a guest was the manner in which people were able to survive long treks across the desert. 

To this day when you enter into a Middle Eastern home as a guest, every courtesy is extended to provide care, comfort, and what the host hopes will be interpreted as luxurious accommodations.

If the guest’s stay is not experienced in this way, it is seen as a dishonor to not only the host but the entire community. 

The neighbor in the parable is not only an unusual cultural portrayal of a neighbor for Jesus’ audience, but offers a contrast to the God who extends every courtesy to those who enter into God’s kingdom. 

It is meant to give us assurance, that we will not only have access to this kingdom, but it reflects on a prayer that implies a longing to enter into that kingdom, even inviting that kingdom, God’s kingdom 

RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

This is a door that God consistently opens, no matter what doors we may close. 

Doors we consistently lock and bar closed. 

Not a god that closes the door on our health, our relationships, and our lives

But the God that opens doors and extends every courtesy into God’s will, God’s Kingdom,

whether that be a door we enter into here on earth or in heaven. 

Paolo Veronese
Illusory Door 1560-1561 (Public Domain)

God’s kingdom, unlike our own homes, is not one that is built to benefit the One who holds the lease on that home.  It is meant to benefit the guests that come to reside there. 

So, when the chaplain implied that there was a god that needed the door of that little girl’s life to close for the sake of god’s own need, the chaplain invoked a self serving god that closes doors for a purpose that doesn’t really serve God’s people at all. 

Sisters and Brothers, I don’t know that god, I don’t worship that god, and I don’t want to. 

I don’t think the father in that waiting room did either. 

~

There is another song by the Rolling Stones that involves an intriguing legend. 

The Stones played a concert in Excelsior, Minnesota in 1964, and according to legend, during the concert, Mick Jagger and the Stones were booed off the stage. 

Disheartened by the poor reception from American fans, Jagger left his hotel that night and headed down to the local corner drugstore in a state of depression. 

It was there that he met Jimmy Hutmaker, a local celebrity who walked the streets of Excelsior wearing peculiar hats, chewing on cigars, and greeting everyone he met. 

Locals considered him to be a the honorary local “roving ambassador” in the town. 

Back in those days, most drugstores used soda fountains that flavored cola with fruit flavored syrups. 

Mr. Jimmy Hutmaker found out that the fountain was out of cherry syrup.

So after he reported the problem to the man at the counter in the drugstore and paid for his plain cola, he turned to face Mick Jagger while announcing simply,

“Oh, well…. you can’t always get what you want.”

Five years later, The Rolling Stones released their two time platinum1969 album Let It Bleed, which included one of their best known songs You Can’t Always Get What You Want. 

The song tells a tale about closed doors,  including the reunion of a long lost love who is marrying another man,  a protester demanding change but only receiving abuse and frustration for his efforts, and then there is of course the ill-man at the drugstore who decided to have a cherry soda; Mr. Jimmy,  who also seems to have resigned himself to his own closed door, his elusive mortality. 

It is an interesting story told through song. 

But each stanza tells another story of closing doors until the last stanza, just prior to the final refrain; 

“I saw her today at the reception, In her glass was a bleeding man”

Sisters and brothers, in a few moments Pastor Stephen will lift up a cup and share the words our Lord shared on that night in which he was betrayed, and from that glass we will all drink of that bleeding man. 

The bleeding man who is our host, who feeds us by the means given by God. 

The bleeding man who is the means by which all closed doors are reopened in ways that go beyond our plans and our visions.

Sisters and brothers, we are welcomed into that door and we are seated at that table, 

despite whether we knock or not, 

because He already kicked in that door for us….

Amen

William Holman Hunt The Light of the World 1851-1865 (Public Domain)

Sources

The Rolling Stones. “Can’t you hear me knocking.” on Sticky Fingers. n.p.: Rolling Stones Records, April 23, 1971.

The Rolling Stones. “You can’t always get what you want.” on Let It Bleed. n.p.: London Records, December 5, 1969.

“James Lee ‘Mr. Jimmy’ Hutmaker (1932 - 2007) - Find A Grave Memorial.” Accessed July 23, 2016. http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=27097598.

A Confession of Possession

Luke 8:26-39

Exorcism of St Benedict by Spinello Aretino, 1387 {PD} 

The story we encounter today in Luke’s Gospel conjures up images of 1973’s popular horror film The Exorcist for most.

It is a reality that many pastors try to avoid but it is a plain and simple fact, we might as well name it rather than avoid it I’d say. 

Perhaps it is the vivid descriptions of the man’s symptoms, which seem fairly graphic in both Mark and Luke’s tellings. 

Or maybe, it is just our typical response to such stories, an attempt to identify something evil, demonic even, that exists beyond the realm of our own being.

An attempt to remain autonomous from anything we would consider unclean, flawed, or evil. 

But if we are to truly hear the Word today, we have to confront the reality of possession in a context that places us squarely in those tombs of the Gerasenes before Jesus. 

For most of us, it seems that our surroundings and even my attire may be the cause of the barrier in our own minds that we cannot cross with this story. 

Perhaps if I stood before you with a football jersey on my back, with televisions lining the walls, awaiting our order of chicken wings before the big game. 

In that context what does possession mean?

When it comes to possession in a football game I am, sadly, all too familiar with the term. 

As a fan of the WV Mountaineers, I have heard Coach Dana Holgorsen cite this as a key to winning games at nearly every halftime interview. 

Seems its why my Mountaineers can't hold onto a lead following halftime anymore these days. 

They can’t maintain “possession” of the ball, and possession is everything. 

This image, which was originally posted to Flickr.com, was uploaded to
Commons using Flickr upload bot on 05:42, 10 December 2010 (UTC) by Ytoyoda

Very different image than the one that is conjured up in Luke’s Gospel but that may be a better approach to the story for us here today. 

Possession is not about ghosts, goblins, ghouls, or demons. 

It is about control and what we allow to control our lives. 

Today’s Gospel is not clear as to what things have taken over control of the Gerasene man’s life. 

But what is clear is that these things are not of God, in fact they alienate us from God. 

And whatever alienates us from God also estranges us from God’s will for us. 

Severing our ties to not only God but one another. 

It is therefore no surprise to find this resident of the Gerasenes living in the tombs, on the edge of his own community. 

Living on the fray of a Gentile community, a community whose standards of morality and cleanliness are not nearly as stringent as that of the Jewish community that Jesus is part of. 

So when Jesus walks into, not only a community that is considered unclean, but a place for the dead, which is also considered unclean, 

seeking out a man that has been cast out of that unclean community, 

That should tell us a little something about how far this man from Nazareth will go. 

And the most heart wrenching part of the story is when Jesus asks for the man’s name; Legion.

Not as much of a name as a declaration of control. 

Standing before you today, I am sure we could all name those things that have taken possession of our lives. 

Substance abuse, 

financial difficulties, 

estranged relationships with family, spouses, children, or friends

anger

infidelity

despair

or even those things that we quite innocently allow to estrange us from God and one another

Work, sports, or any priorities that cause our alienation. 

But the man from the Gerasenes is occupied by many of these things, and more. 

Because the name Legion is not as much a name but a show of force. 

A Roman legion was made up of 6,826 men.


So, by confessing the name Legion he is confessing to being occupied by 6,826 "things" that take precedent over his relationship with his family, perhaps his wife, his children, his community, his friends, and yes; God. 

Can we honestly even imagine nearly 7,000 things that take over our lives?

Things that separate us from God and from one another. 

Think about it, this guy didn’t even have the internet yet!

If we are truly honest with ourselves, I’m not sure we couldn’t all be considered Virginia Beach Demoniacs. 

I can’t deny it myself. 

Unpacking my office, keeping caught up on the latest tv shows, trying to manage the sale and purchase of houses as my family and I transition to Virginia Beach, trying to familiarize myself with all the new restaurants in the area.

All this and I have yet to even go to the beach!

But have I really been as supportive of my wife, as she packs boxes and balances the kids, as I should be?

Have I really taken the time to return calls from family and friends, congratulating me and supporting me during my ordination?

Have I really devoted the time I should to God through personal devotions and prayer?

Sisters and Brothers, I would be lying if I told you that I have not handed over control of my life to those things that I allow to stand between those I love AND my relationship to God. 

I continuously allow those things that are not of God to possess my life daily, to take possession of me. 

Imagine if I prayed or read scripture as often as I checked Facebook, twitter, youtube, or the scores of a game. 

It is hard to deny it; we are ALL possessed. 

But the hope in this story is that Jesus THE Christ comes to us despite the walls of isolation we build around ourselves, no matter how unclean, no matter how filthy and dark those tombs may be. 

But relinquishing that control of our lives, that possession, it is more than just stripping away those things that separate us from God and one another. 

It is finding some THING to replace those other things. 

When the man from the Gerasenes claims the title Legion, it is a warning to Jesus. 

Marco Dente engraving 1515-1527 {PD}

It is a warning that Jesus as one man, cannot replace all those things that separate this man from community and God. 

~

One of the shows I have enjoyed watching over the past few years is HBO’s series; The Leftovers. 

On this program a psychiatrist, Laurie Garvey, once found herself estranged from her family and friends after joining a cult known as “the guilty remnant". 

Finally leaving the cult, she makes it her mission to liberate others from the cult that she was once part of. 

Through group therapy and private sessions, she slowly liberates many of the guilty remnant’s members. 

In one episode, one of the patients who Laurie has emancipated from the guilty remnant takes her own life shortly after returning to her family. 

When Laurie discovers the death of her patient she despairs and takes personal responsibility. 

But her son, Tom, who assists her in her practice consoles her claiming 

“What she did, it wasn’t our fault, we tried”

To which she questions “Why are we losing?”

“Because they’re giving them something” he responds

“I mean, we can strip it away but once it’s gone we have nothing to put back in it’s place”

To which she proclaims “Then let’s give them some thing!”

~

Sisters and brothers, that is the nature of our afflictions, our possessions. 

The man from the Geresanes is possessed by a Legion of afflictions that possess his life. 

Not just one lustful desire, deceitful transgression, or immoral misdeed that has overpowered his own will and control of his life, but a legion of them. 

And if stripped away, what could ever possibly replace the gap in his life waiting to be refilled with other far greater wickedness. 

Certainly not a man!?

But what about THE Christ?

It is Jesus the Christ that fills that void, that redirects the man into a new state of being and new life, liberated and yes, most certainly justified by grace through faith in Jesus the Christ. 

So it is any wonder that this man begs to remain with Jesus. 

Can we blame him?

It is so easy to feel inspired, fulfilled, and forgiven as we sit here before the cross. 

Assured of our absolution as we begin worship

Renewed and strengthened by the meal we will soon receive, when we return to the pews with the pungent aftertaste of the wine on our breath. 

And inspired to serve following the incredible sermon from our new pastor… maybe?

But certainly inspired when we are charged at the dismissal to go in peace and proclaim the good news following the benediction. 

But how far out of the parking lot can we take it?

I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I just want to stay here. 

While worship is something we do in our daily living it is something that is far easier to do in this place surrounded by these like-minded people. 

And certainly it is easier to feel Christ’s presence in this place than in our travels through that tunnel I have grown to know so well already. 

It’s not just you, we ALL feel that way and so did the man from the Gerasenes. 

~

Last weekend, as many of you know, I was ordained in Roanoke. 

It didn’t hit me until 24 hours before the ordination but when it did, my mind was going a mile a minute. 

Over the past four years and even longer, I have taken on pastoral roles. 

But this was different. 

About 4 hours out, I became terrified. 

Not because of the crowd of people from across the synod gathered to worship at St Andrews in Roanoke. 

Not because I have failed in my studies.

And certainly not because of the ominous presence of Bishop Mauney. 

He is certainly anything but ominous. 

It was because for the first time since July 9th, 2001, I felt that I had come into waters that were far too deep for me to wade. 

On that date in 2001, in the middle of the night, I wasn’t sure if I could accomplish the task at hand. 

I wasn’t sure if I was worthy of the title I was seeking. 

At Parris Island Marine Corps Recruit depot, as those yellow footprints lay before me and the Drill Instructor screamed instructions to stand before him on those yellow footprints, I was intimidated by the task at hand. 

Yellow footprints at MCRD Parris Island
(Public domain)

Uncertain of my worthiness. 

Last weekend, I felt very much the same. 

In the side room, where we don our albs and stoles, I was asked the same question time and again by friends, family, and pastors as I swallowed the lump in my throat; 

“Are you ready?”

All I could muster in reply was simply “No, I don’t think any of us are”

Like the man from the Gerasene I knew and and still know, I am unworthy of sharing the good news we receive in Jesus Christ. 

But as Pastor Stephen carried out the prayer kneeler before the altar during the hymn of the day, 

Looking up to me as if to say “You better get your knees on those yellow footprints!”

I knew that regardless of how worthy I was, this was the mission I was being called to.

Following worship, I felt confident and hopeful. 

We went back to the hotel for some sleep before rolled out of bed to see off my Uncle, bright and early, who had surprised me with his attendance at the ordination. 

As we sat in the lobby of the hotel, sipping on coffee before his departure, I saw breaking news flash across the television behind his head. 

And it was in that moment that I realized that this mission we are all called to, would have been far easier if I could have just remained in that beautiful church at St Andrews in Roanoke. 

But we aren’t just called to share that good news in just the beautiful sanctuaries we worship.

~ 

I pray to God that someone was sharing that good news, that promise, that hope, that cross, with those who were taking their final breaths at a nightclub in Orlando on Sunday morning. 

Amen

St Francis Kneeling before Christ on the Cross 

by Stefano di Giovanni 1437-44 {PD-1923}

Sources

Blatty, William Peter. The Exorcist. Directed by William Friedkin. USA: Warner Bros, 1973. Film.

Perotta, Tom, Damon Linelof, and Patrick Somerville. The Leftovers; Season 2 Episode 3 “Off Ramp.” Directed by Carl Franklin. n.p., 2015. HBO.

The Centurion on Memorial Day

Luke 7:1-10

The Confession of the Centurion - James Tissot

Over the past 11 years Memorial Day has changed for me. I can’t really put my finger on it exactly, but a real change occurred about three years ago. The first 8 years following my return from a combat tour in Iraq, I was pretty angry. For many years I was angry at those I fought against, even angry at the Iraqi citizens who were caught in the middle of the conflict. When I began seminary, I wrestled with forgiveness. It was an incredibly healing experience that culminated in a trip to Israel and Palestine. Being surrounded by Arabic speaking Palestinians and the call for prayer echoing across the Bethlehem skyline had a distinct impact on my struggle with forgiveness. My memories of the Iraqi people existed in a tension between blame and admiration, until I immersed myself back into Muslim and Arabic speaking culture again. Since then, I have longed for the day I can return to Iraq. I’m not sure it will ever happen, but I hope I can return to that place one day and walk the streets of Hit or Haditha along the Euphrates river. 

The two years following my trip, Memorial Day was a day that lived in a tension similar to that of my memories of the Iraqi people. As a mainline protestant, I was oftentimes told that my participation in the Iraq war excluded me from taking an active role as an ordained rostered leader. While I received support and affirmation from many pastors, parishioners, professors, and classmates, some were very vocal in their opposition to my presence as a veteran and police officer, especially as an Infantry combat veteran. I resented those who could not recognize the struggle of those who served in combat or those who lost loved ones.

To further complicate this tension, my own faith was questioned by some of those whose support I coveted most. Some of the police and the veterans I served with could not reconcile who I had been as a police officer and Marine with who I would be as a pastor. The very perspective that gave me the greatest credibility with patients in the hospital and parishioners that were facing their own traumas, was the perspective that also caused the greatest doubt among some of those who knew me best. The question that caused the greatest conflict was simple; “How can you believe in God given what you have seen”? Maybe they thought it was a crutch? Maybe they thought I was running away from my experiences? Maybe some thought I didn’t conform to their view of what is “Christian” (for the record I hope I don’t conform to anyone’s)? I’m not sure, but I haven’t had to read too much between the lines to interpret the condescension and ridicule. What troubled me the most was not the doubt regarding my faith, it was the lack of engagement by some of those who I had so admired for their courage. I felt abandoned by many of those I regarded as the ones who knew me best. 

I reached out to both those who told me I was unwelcome to ministry and those who ridiculed the faith that offered me the hope to rise out of the anger in which I wallowed. Those I reached out to were often the most resistant to respond. Those who authentically cared and wanted to understand, usually sought me out. Some gained a deeper perspective, some provided me a deeper perspective, some just agreed to disagree, but we usually came to a place of mutual respect. Regardless, it has been trying not to shut doors to those who continue to ridicule or marginalize either communities that I still care deeply for. 

When we come to a place where we feel the most alone, we often try to inflict our pain on others. Memorial Day is one of those days. This year I am sitting at home with sick kids, and my last opportunity to worship from the pews will be spent watching Disney Junior and wiping noses. The demand made by some to take on the mantle of survivor’s guilt that many veterans and families feel - but so many cannot fully understand - is spread across social media and editorials. I still carry a true sense of survivor’s guilt, but yesterday I felt a sense of joy, and I honestly felt guilty. 

It’s nothing incredibly insightful or revolutionary. I did what I normally do on the 26th, one of my “alive days” as they call it. I reflected on that day. I reflected on the death of a fellow Marine. I looked up his obituary and the numerous articles about him. I hovered over his picture on social media, contemplating changing my profile picture in an effort to assure others I have not forgotten. I decided not to. I live with the grief and I am willing to share the pain and experience with others, but I have grown concerned that my pain has become my own golden calf. Yesterday, I took my daughter to soccer and a fun song came on the radio. She and her sister made me laugh, and my girls and I spent the morning together. I even ran into a friend who spoke to me at length about getting together on Monday -Memorial Day- to go for an early morning ‘fun run’. From the 26th through Memorial Day are normally reserved for melancholy memories and depression. So, I am still wrestling with this different perspective and unscheduled ‘living’ that is occurring in the midst of calendar dates that are reserved for a bleaker outlook.

So I took the time to read over the Gospel for today. Luke’s telling of the Centurion’s servant. A man who also lived in a strange tension. A Roman Soldier, living in a foreign land. It is hard to tell whether he is beloved by the people of Capernaum or if they are indebted to him for the favors he has offered them. He is most likely unwelcome in Capernaum, regardless of what favors he has granted. He represents the imperial forces of Rome and is the physical representation of persecution and oppression in that town. Perhaps he serves as the enforcer of imperial law in that community? A mayor of sorts imposing a sense of martial law to keep order in a region of the world that has consistently risen up against Rome, violently. 

Regardless, he has also supported a religious community that is mocked by Rome as superstitious idealistic nonsense. What is even worse is the fact that he drinks the Kool-aid. He appeals to the religious leaders for their help in healing his beloved slave. Asking a favor of the very people who are meant to submit to his military rule. The very act of asking anything of these people undermines his authority and threatens to erode the very nature of the office he holds. 

It’s a pretty extreme stance for any Roman soldier but this is a Centurion. He is a seasoned veteran who has seen much and grown to rely on one thing alone, himself. So, the story takes an odd twist in his appeal to Jesus. This Centurion places his faith in something beyond established religion, beyond national allegiance, beyond himself. He places his faith in the Christ. What is more, he places his faith in the Christ for the sake of another. 

I cannot speak for others but I wrestle with what I have done as much as what I have lost. I cannot erase the past. If I could have given my life for the sake of any we lost, I would have gladly done so. If I could have established a lasting peace between those I fought against and those I fought alongside by giving my life, I would have gladly done so. I wonder if this is the perspective of the Centurion? Perhaps he realized he could not erase his past, nor could he forgive it? But there is a detail that goes unnoticed in most translations. In verse 7 (Luke 7:1-10) the slave is referred to as a child. I cannot help but wonder if he seeks to plant his hope in another, free of his own jaded perspective. A far more fertile soul for joy and hope, maybe obviously so because this child may be his only window into that joy and hope. 

By far the most revealing thing for me in this text is that the Centurion, who has seen the magnificence of Rome -and is aware of the general scorn directed towards the ‘superstition’ of the occupied Judeans- puts his faith in Jesus. Jesus is a figure he has only heard stories of, a Judean man who subscribes to what is concluded to be such a ridiculous superstition. Without asking to even see Jesus with his own eyes, and even turning Jesus away for the sake of Jesus’ own reputation. Knowing full well that if Jesus is seen going into a Gentile home and especially a Centurion’s home, it will invite anger from Jesus’ own people. You would think that by placing faith in something that he has never seen, he would at least invite the opportunity to witness it for himself. To invite the chance to become a follower of Jesus, perhaps even finding the chance to heal his own wounds and erase his past. 

We cannot escape the past. We only live with it, but in Christ I can reconcile the world I have seen with the joy I am still capable of feeling. You don’t have to subscribe to the most orthodox doctrines to recognize that hope in a man that we can see and touch is a lost cause. You only need to recognize that human beings are incapable of being a reliant source of hope or goodness. There is only one way I can reconcile the notion of a world that continues to turn; an external hope. It is in that hope that I find joy. It is in the joy my children share on those days reserved for my own despair. A joy that they find in the unseen. A hope and joy I hope others can find in the unseen.

A chaplain I worked with at the hospital once used to say, “I don’t work in sales, I work in customer service”. I stole that line from him and I use it often. Because faith is a personal thing that an individual must find for themselves. It doesn’t mean I cannot or will not share my own. But it does mean that I pray that others can find their own hope on the darkest days, wherever it may be. 

Much like the Centurion, I do not believe I can find that hope in me, in my nation, in my despair, or in any person. I can only find it in the Christ. When I see God continue to create, I know that God is still actively creating in the world, no matter how broken. The Centurion never saw Jesus lay his hands on this child, he only found the child in good health and in that moment he found hope, because he knew God was at work. 

It is in that confidence that I will find joy this weekend and tomorrow. Not because I deny what I have seen or what I owe, but because of what arises from the unseen. That is where I find faith that God is still creating in the midst of the darkest corners of our pasts. 

Let it BURN!

Acts 2:1-21

In the summer of 1988 a series of wildfires flared up in and around Yellowstone National Park. 

The National Park Service had recently researched the value of naturally occurring wildfires on vegetation and wildlife. 

For decades, many researchers had argued that wildfires served a definite purpose in the natural ecological cycle. 

They proposed that wildfires could help to clear out underbrush, dead plant matter that had accrued on the forest floor, eliminate vegetative competition for the same rich soil, reduce overgrowth, and increase grassland space for herd animals. 

Aldo Leopold made this claim in 1924 but not until 1972, -after timber companies, private citizens, and the Park service itself recognized the potential benefits- did the Park service pass a new policy. 

That year, the park service deemed fires that were prescribed as natural would be allowed to burn under controlled conditions. 

Between 1972 and 1987 235 wildfires broke out, but out of those 235 wildfires, only 15 had exceeded 100 acres.

The new policy went largely unnoticed until the summer of 88.

But that year, after an extensive drought and over 1,000 years since a major forest fire, Yellowstone erupted in flames. 

250 fires broke out that summer, with 7 major fires that were responsible for 95% of the famous Yellowstone wildfire. 

After remaining largely unnoticed throughout its history as a government agency, both the National Park Service and the National Forest Service became magnets for media attention. 

Sensational media reporting deemed these government agencies as irresponsible and incompetent. 

Some even claimed the Park Service was maliciously destroying a national treasure. 

By the time the fires ceased burning, 793,000 acres -36 percent of the park- had been impacted by the fires. 

Today, the Park service claims that even if they had tried to put out the fire, they were exhausting every resource they had to protect human life and property. 

The story of Pentecost is another story of a completely uncontrolled burn. 

The sound of a violent rushing wind fills the room, and it is the sound that attracts people throughout Jerusalem. 

And the people it attracts don’t meet any specific criteria. 

It is a vast array of people, different languages, different ethnicities. 

I read this text on the Pentecost Sunday I was confirmed, and ever since I have felt for whoever was tasked with reading off this geography lesson.

But the broad range of geographic locations these people call home and the diverse languages that are present, serves a purpose in our reading. 

As the people were scattered and divided at the tower of Babel, now the God who has scattered does a new thing in a new way. 

By the Spirit, God gathers together. 

Regardless of their language or ethnicity, they find that they are driven to hear the same thing.

Drawn to this room by a sound like the rush of a violent wind, confronted by the sound of people they hear speaking their own language. 

It is at this point that I could throw in the catchy gimmick about the language we all speak being the language of love, but that is a language that seems less prevalent or desirable today.

It’s also quite dishonest to the text, because what is heard does not spawn love, faith, answers, or certainty, just confusion and astonishment. 

This moment is often described as the “Birthday of the Church” but this is not the anniversary of the founding of the Church or the anniversary of a birth.

This is the dedication, the initiation of the Church that Christ has been building throughout his ministry. 

It isn’t the birth, it is the removal of the training wheels. 

The church that began with a man is now entrusted to his followers. 

They are given the power to move forward in this mission if they can train their ears on what they hear,  if they can listen. 

This past year has been difficult. 

The internship committee, Pastor Nickols, and a few others have been aware of the ups and downs of this past year. 

Over the past four years, my family and I had attempted to discern a very specific call. 

We believed that we were being called to return to the military. 

Throughout the process, I continuously dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s. 

I checked and rechecked paperwork. 

But paperwork was lost, emails mysteriously missed their intended inboxes, and finally in October the Navy changed their policy regarding the chaplain corps. 

The weekend of the Oktoberfest, I received an email advising me that my path would not only be an indirect one, but it may not lead to the ministry I envisioned at all. 

To be honest, this path was a rocky one from day one.

Surprise pregnancies, surprise classes, surprise transfers, surprise internships. 

These four years have been filled with uncertainty and the path forward was anything but clear. 

And had I known as I started down this path, I would never have dared to take the first step. 

So I guess being drawn to the mystery of it all is a good thing, but the problem is when we attempt to contain it. 

Throughout this process, I have been told time and again to trust in the Spirit. 

One afternoon I called a chaplain to resign my commission from the Chaplain Candidate Program. 

He was also one of the first to implore that I trust in the Spirit.

The chaplain who answered the phone asked me why I planned to resign my commission.

He was dumbfounded when I told him it was because I wanted to trust in the Spirit. 

You see, the Spirit always leads the church forward, oftentimes to places it doesn’t want to go.

Places WE don’t want to go. 

Never in my life did I plan to be a parish pastor. I knew my call.  I knew my place. I controlled that call, and I controlled what I was hearing. 

But this year I was given the gift of hearing a call from you all. 

This year I was entrusted with your children, your questions, your anxieties, your fears, your pains. 

This year I was given blank checks to be a pastor in a context that few interns will ever experience. 

And because of that, I have had the chance to hear the call of a congregation and a pastor, to do the same work I have done here. 

And so, here I stand, confused, uncertain. 

I will begin my call at St. Michael, Virginia Beach in June. I will be ordained at the Synod assembly and shortly thereafter installed. 

I don’t know where I will live and my family will not join me until the end of June, but I am so excited. 

Because I don’t know where this goes, just like I didn’t know where this internship would go. 

When I sat in a room with a youth group of two great people as we three sat staring blankly at one another, not knowing where it would go. 

But we listened to one another and those around us, even when we didn’t want to, even when it took us where we didn’t want to go. 

And during this past year another heard the sound and came to see what it was, and then another, and another, until the youth ministry grew to eight youth, one pastor, and one almost pastor. 

It wasn’t the youth group anyone wanted or anyone planned. 

You can bet I took credit for it when it came time for approval with the candidacy committee, but I didn’t do it. 

We did it because we listened, even when it meant the death of something. 

Peter, the eleven, and the rest of the gang are not where they want to be in the account we read today. 

Peter didn’t want to lead a church and even if he did, I am pretty certain he didn’t know that his own path would land him in the same place it landed Jesus. 

When we talk about the Spirit, we usually picture some magical ghostly figure like Casper the friendly Spirit, but it is described as a fire because it destroys. 

The Spirit destroys our dreams, our plans, our decisions about what is best for our lives, our church, our gifts. 

God, the Spirit does this because these are not our lives, this is not our church, and these aren’t our gifts

These are God’s lives. This is God’s Church. And these gifts belong to God. 

But that doesn’t give us a lot to look forward to when our plans are burned in these flames. 

But the flames give us the confidence that if we continue to listen, if we continue to look for the path forward, that even when we fail we can keep getting up to fail again, knowing that the way forward will eventually come about. 

Following those fires in Yellowstone, recovery began almost immediately. 

Very little replanting occurred when the Park service witnessed the fast pace of vegetative regeneration, the restoration of the old habitats, and the birth of new ones. 

They found that seed dispersal had been the most successful in the places where the fire had been the most severe. 

Aspen -which had been less prevalent before the fire- grew more abundant.

Aspen is the preferred food source for elk.

Elk are the preferred food source for bears and wolves. 

And contrary to the media reports, the fires killed very little wildlife, some of which were actually killed by the fire retardants used to contain the fire, rather than the fire itself. 

And the following year, Yellowstone attracted the highest number of visitors in a decade who came to see the wildflowers and wildlife that was in abundance as never before. 

It isn’t the way we want it to be, but this isn’t just biblical or theological. Fire serves a purpose in our lives. 

Because it is by the loss of the things we cling to the tightest, that new life takes shape. 

Today is my last Sunday and it is the loss of one thing and the beginning of a new thing, and yes, I am excited.

But I am not just excited for me, I am excited for you. 

Because today there is new room being made for new life, new growth, if we can just let go of the things we are grasping so tightly and listen. 

Are you listening?

Amen

Just Another Sheep

John 10:22-38 and Psalm 23

The good shepherd JESUS MAFA

A substitute was called to fill in for a kindergarten teacher one day. 

After identifying the most unruly student, a boy named Tommy, this substitute teacher went right to work. 

The Substitute pulled him to the side and asked if he would like to be the “special helper” that day. 

Tommy was advised that as the special helper for the day, he would keep watch over the class when the substitute stepped out, keeping classmates orderly and safe, and he would function as the line leader for the day. 

Tommy followed up the instructions by demanding to know “What’s in it for me?”

“Well” Responded the Substitute “you would be in charge whenever I am out, you would be helping me, and you know what else? NOBODY messes with the line leader!”

It worked.

Tommy behaved marvelously once he’d been given the task 

and it provided a role that gave, at least, the illusion of authority. 

As the class left the art room later that afternoon, the substitute had to take one of the children who had eaten some glue to the school nurse. 

Tommy was instructed to guide the class back down the hall, past the school office, to their regular classroom and wait until the substitute got back. 

Tommy did as he was told, taking his line leader position quite seriously. 

But as he walked past the office, the principle saw Tommy leading them down the hallway. 

The principle, quite familiar with Tommy for all the wrong reasons and noticing the lack of any adult supervision, ran out of the office yelling for Tommy to stop. 

But he did not stop, he continued on following his orders from the substitute to a T.

As the principle ran to the front of the line demanding Tommy stop leading the class astray, the class began to hesitate. 

Tommy spun around and demanded they continue to follow him as the principle grabbed him by the shoulder exclaiming “You stop right now! What do you think you’re doing!?”

Tommy responded by thrusting his finger into the Principle’s face and informing him “Hey! Nobody messes with the line leader!”

Hope for the future Dwight Baird

In John’s gospel for today, Jesus is also being stopped in the hallway. 

The religious authorities have noticed Jesus’ discipleship growing and they have become worried. 

There have been numerous charismatic figures that have claimed religious authority over the years. 

These charismatic religious figures had caused uprisings, wars, and acts of treason against Rome that had caused the full force of Rome to be brought down on the community. 

Many of the religious authorities had worked out a deal with their Roman rulers, basically, go along to get along. 

It had worked out well for most of them, they were able to continue to practice their religion as they had before and they were even recognized as leaders in the community. 

So, it is understandable that many of these religious elite would prefer to not have anymore of these uprisings. 

Rooting out these uprisings meant rooting out these charismatic figures, putting them back in their place, and keeping the attention of the community set on those whose authority really mattered; 

the religious elite. 

But the authority of these religious elite cannot come from Rome  

-the very force that is oppressing the community-

So, they must claim themselves to be divinely ordained, pointing to themselves as the Shepherd that leads the flock, a claim that is rather contrary to the 23rd Psalm. 

The role of the shepherd was more of a metaphorical role than a desirable vocation. 

It was a miserable job, more similar to the lifestyle of a rancher or a cowboy, than that of the shepherds we envision from Christmas pageants and claymation cartoons. 

It was difficult labor, with few benefits. 

Oftentimes Shepherds were not even caring for their own flocks, they would take care of sheep that belonged to their community or family, rather than caring for their own personal investments. 

and they were held accountable for each and every one of those sheep. 

But in the Ancient near east, a shepherd served as a good metaphor for a king. 

Prior to the psalm, the imagery had been used by many other cultures throughout the region to describe the magisterial role of their human kings and rulers. 

For the Israelites, it was a common practice to take the grand titles given to lofty rulers and superimpose them on God. 

It was an attempt to correct the idea that human rule could be unflawed 

Rulers in the Ancient near east were often seen as not only governing authorities but human gods

Taking the title of shepherd and placing it on God made a clear statement to all that there was no human rule that could match that of the divine. 

So when Jesus is confronted in the portico by these religious elite and accused of blasphemy, his response is not only justified but damning evidence of their own blasphemy. 

Because their entire practice is not pointing to God, it points to themselves. 

Not only are shepherds good metaphors for rulers, but flocks are good metaphors for us as people. 

Flock animals can easily stray if not cared for properly. 

The problem is that most flock animals do not have the means to protect themselves. 

Anyone can observe that whether it be sheep, cattle, birds, or other herd or flock animals, if one of them becomes startled, the rest will follow the first animal that flees the group. 

It is a natural response, programmed for their own safety, strength in numbers. 

Native Americans used this response it to drive bison herds off cliffs when hunting. 

It is a gruesome example of how flocks and herds can be led astray, even to their own demise. 

So, just imagine sheep that name themselves as the shepherds. 

This is exactly what Jesus is pointing out to those accusing him of blasphemy. 

Because while the religious elite are pointing to their own authority, Jesus -the One given the true authority- uses it to point to the Father. 

In 1947, the iconic baseball player, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier.

After having played baseball for the Kansas City Monarchs in the Negro Leagues and the Montreal Royals in the Minor Leagues, Robinson was signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers. 

Robinson’s admirable career would have been iconic regardless of the color of his skin but it was his role in breaking the color barrier that is usually associated with his career

…..and I find this sad in a way. 

You see, Jackie Robinson was a great ballplayer, but he said very little about breaking the color barrier. 

He wanted to play baseball, and while he resented the insults, the ridicule, the threats, and the actual physical violence that was inflicted on him, he did very little to respond. 

He didn’t respond because he ended up making a similar argument to the one Jesus makes in our gospel today by the very way he played the game.

Robinson’s debut in the Major Leagues was condemned by many as just a marketing ploy, a distraction from baseball. 

This icon did very little to stand out in any way, unless you count the way he played baseball. 

In his first year he led the league in sacrifice hits and stolen bases, had 175 hits -125 of which were scoring runs-, and drove his teammates to scoring runs 48 times!

He led the Dodgers to the World Series in 47, 49, 52, 53, and finally winning the whole thing in 55. 

Sisters and brothers, Jackie Robinson was just a sheep. 

Yeah, a black sheep that conformed to the flock for the benefit of the flock. 

And while other sheep led others astray they became distracted and distracted others from the game, making a spectacle of themselves and a mockery of the game through their hateful actions and rhetoric.  

But Robinson and his famed bronx bombers conformed together no matter what valleys or enemies they faced or what evils were threatened against them. 

Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese,
and Preacher Roe 

And it wasn’t because they were focused on Robinson, it is because Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese, Gil Hodges, Duke Snider, Carl Furillo, Roy Campanella, Don Newcombe, Carl Erskine, and Preacher Roe were one flock following a call to the same prize. 

In the film 42, Pee Wee Reese is portrayed in one scene joking with Jackie Robinson;  “maybe tomorrow we will all wear the number 42, that way they won’t be able to tell us apart”

The authorities that confront Jesus as a blasphemer in the portico fail to recognize that they are the ones leading other sheep astray, gathering whole flocks of stray sheep into the valleys and enemies awaiting, alone. 

Because they have named themselves as the authority, they have told the people that they will be the shepherd in a world where we are all ill equipped for that roll, and the greatest danger are these overambitious sheep. 

Psalm 23 doesn’t assure that the shepherd will eliminate those evils, it only assures that the shepherd will remain with us as we flock together and journey through these narrow passes we travel. 

It is the idol we make of ourselves and our own selfish wanting that leads us astray. 

Just like a sheep that is looking for that greener pasture and wanders from the safety of the flock. 

It isn’t that individuality is a bad thing, because it is not, it should be cherished. 

But just like the shepherd knows every scar, blemish, and abnormality of each sheep in the flock, 

So too does our Shepherd, it is how we are identified and accounted for as we walk through the valleys we travel. 

Because we are sealed with the shepherds brand at that font and we are called to the meal where we are fed. 

And we are called to conform to the shepherd that will lead us home. 

But in a world where individuality is so prized, I find it ironic. 

We claim to demand an acceptance of one another’s uniqueness and individuality

Yet we consistently find ourselves asking why other’s do not join our own flocks?

Leading other sheep to our political parties, our shared hatred of a particular group, our demand to think, act, or live the way we deem ideal. 

How many of our flocks distract us from what it truly means to be in relationship with God and one another in the true flock that God calls us to?

How many of the sheep who claim to be shepherds are drawing attention onto themselves rather than what is best for the flock? 

In a few weeks, this will be the very question I will ask of you. 

Because as this internship comes to a close, I hope that I have not led you astray. 

I hope that the ministry I have shared with you in this place will continue to be of value to you, not because it was mine but because it was ours, because it was something we created together as a flock. 

I pray that years from now you will still see the cross I pointed to rather than the finger that was pointing to it. 

And most of all, I hope and pray that the ministry we have shared over this past year was Christ centered and not Nate centered

Because sisters and brothers, no ministry should ever mistake a sheep for a shepherd 

And God help me, sometimes faith is just trying to recognize where the true flock really is.

Amen