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Texts: Isaiah 2:2-4, 9:2, 6-7; Matthew 1:18-25
It happened on April 11, 1954. A most notable day in history. Well, I guess it would be more accurate to say it didn’t happen on April 11, 1954. A computer researcher at the University of Cambridge, William Tunstall-Pedoe, determined that was possibly the most boring day in history. A computer search engine that he developed analyzed 300 million facts about people, places, business and events and used advanced algorithms to calculate the most “objectively” boring day since 1900.
On that Sunday, Belgium held a general election and a Turkish academic named Abdullah Atalar was born. , and a soccer player named Jack Shufflebotham died. The biggest news event around these parts was that the St. Louis Cardinals traded Enos Slaughter to the Yankees for four minor leaguers. If you were a baseball fan, that might be news, but if that is the biggest thing that happened, then it was a pretty slow news day.
“Nobody significant died that day, no major events apparently occurred and, although a typical day in the 20th century has many notable people being born, for some reason that day had only one [Abdullah Atalar] who might possibly make that claim,” Tunstall-Pedoe explained. (I did check and as far as our records go, no one in our church was born on April 11 - in 1954 or any other year.)
Here in the U.S. on that day, Dwight Eisenhower was practicing putts in the Oval Office and Perry Como topped the pop charts while the cover of the New York Post had a picture of two cops attending a conference on juvenile delinquency. It was a boring day.
I’m curious: What is your reaction to the idea of an extremely boring day in our world? I have to be honest: my gut reaction is that it sounds great. It sounds fantastic. In a world in which so much of the news is truly awful, boring sounds pretty good. It sounds wonderful. I mean, we long for such a day, right?
I know that many of the people here this morning are either too old or too young to appreciate good music like this, but back in the day the Talking Heads had a song called “Heaven.” It is a very interesting song that I never quite figured out. It starts out, “Everybody’s trying to get to the bar. The name of the bar – the bar is called Heaven.” The refrain, sung again and again, is “Heaven…. Heaven is a place…. A place where nothing…. nothing ever happens.”
I was never sure what this song was about – was it poking fun at traditional conceptions of heaven, with gold streets and angels singing, that just sound, well, boring? Or is it saying that in a world in which so many awful things take place, that for nothing to happen would be really great, even heavenly? Or more maybe more likely, something else altogether?
Well - where am I going with all of this, on this second Sunday of Advent, as we consider the theme of peace? We live in a world that is filled with such harshness, such despair, such pain, so lacking in peace, that utter boredom may sound far preferable to our present circumstances.
When we were in Indiana over Thanksgiving, my family exchanged Christmas gifts. A week or two before, I received that dreaded text message – what do you want for Christmas?
It’s a common question about this time of year. How many times do we hear this? How many times do we ask this? “What do you want for Christmas?”
I can come up with a list if I have to, but it’s a little different from when I was 8 years old. But if peace in the world peace could be wrapped up under the tree, I would surely ask for it. At this point, most of us would be glad to have world boredom wrapped up under the tree.
But in our desire to be free of war and violence, to be free from fear and free from worry, free from the strong abusing the weak, we should not confuse lack of open hostility with peace. Peace is more than just not fighting. No matter what the Talking Heads may say, Heaven is not a place where nothing ever happens.
Rather than simply the absence of violence, peace is the presence of trust and good will and concern and compassion. Peace is a world marked by cooperation and friendly relations.
Isaiah has a vision of a peaceful world. His vision of peace is more than simply not fighting. Nations shall stream to the mountain of the Lord to learn God’s ways and walk in God’s paths. And rather than putting resources into warring and destruction, they will go into those things that build up and nurture.
God’s peace, God’s shalom, is more than finding ways not to argue or come to blows. Shalom means seeing God’s image residing deep inside every person we encounter. Shalom means not just passively understanding the fact of our inter-relatedness but of actively wanting to do something to make that relationship better. We do what we can to make others prosper and flourish.
That’s why Isaiah has this vision of swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. In times of war, fields are destroyed, crops are destroyed, planting seasons are lost, and people go hungry. War leaves behind ravaged conditions in which nothing can grow. In World War II, almost as many Russians died of starvation in cities cut off by the Nazis as did in battle. After World War II the Russians returned the favor by cutting off Berlin, necessitating the Berlin Airlift to fly in food.
True shalom means that we want to feed one another. We want there to be enough to go around so that no one will be hungry. We want lives of plenty to be the norm for everyone, not just for the privileged few. Maybe it is no coincidence that Jesus, whom we know as the Prince of Peace, was born in the town of Bethlehem, a word that means “the House of Bread.” Jesus’ coming was about bringing peace, bringing abundance, to everyone.
We can be prone to taking the differences among us and instead of celebrating them as God’s gifts, using them as an excuse to do harm to one another. That is true whether we are on the battlefield or the playground or on social media.
In Advent we consider the One who came and who will come again to make the Bread of Life available to all. Jesus came to our world and comes into our lives to bring peace.
In World War I, trench warfare lasting months and months meant that soldiers from opposing sides were often in close proximity to one another. This kind of war was horrific. The British lost so many troops in World War I that Winston Churchill said afterwards that theirs was a victory “scarcely distinguishable from defeat.”
But on Christmas Eve 1914, the proximity of the trenches led to something very different. British soldier Captain Robert Patrick Miles wrote about it:
We are having the most extraordinary Christmas Day imaginable. A sort of unarranged and quite unauthorized but perfectly understood and scrupulously observed truce exists between us and our friends in front… The thing started last night – a bitter cold night, with white frost – soon after dusk when the Germans started shouting 'Merry Christmas, Englishmen' to us. Of course our fellows shouted back and presently large numbers of both sides had left their trenches, unarmed, and met in the debatable, shot-riddled, no man’s land between the lines.
British, German, French, and other troops sang Christmas carols, shared Chocolate, champagne, and brandy, and shared photos of loved ones. They even played soccer. For a time, at least, they reveled in their shared humanity.
This of course made their superiors furious, not just because the troops were disobeying orders, but because it is much harder to harm someone with whom you have formed some sort of relationship. Getting to know people, especially people who are different from you, is a way to build peace.
Isaiah foresees a time when we will come to the holy mountain of God. And when we do, we will learn war no more but instead we will walk in the light of the Lord. Sometimes we can see glimpses of this even in our broken world, glimpses like that Christmas Eve ceasefire.
Dwight Eisenhower, who knew more of the cost of war than most of us, said “Ever gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed. The world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, and the hopes of its children.”
To acknowledge the all-consuming appetite of violence is not being pessimistic or unpatriotic; it is simply the truth about the world in which we live.
That was the kind of world in which the prophet Isaiah lived. It was a violent world. It was also the kind of world into which Jesus was born. Matthew recounts the birth of Jesus with a brutal honesty and forthrightness that doesn’t fit with many of our beautiful Christmas traditions. In Luke, most all of the major characters at some point burst into singing, led by the angels. The story in Luke focuses on Mary, who upon hearing that she will bear the savior breaks forth in praise to God.
There is no singing in Matthew. Jesus is born in to a fear-filled world dominated by the Roman military, and in the end children are slaughtered because of Herod’s brutality. It’s no wonder we tend to prefer Luke.
But Matthew contains a word that we need to hear. When Joseph discovers that Mary is with child, he plans to divorce her quietly, but an angel appears to him in a dream and says “Joseph, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.” Do not be afraid. That is what we need to hear. It is a message of peace.
And Joseph does as the angel says, taking Mary as his wife and naming the child Jesus.
Joseph was able to see what others could not. He could see in this child the gift of God’s presence, the gift of God’s power, the gift of God’s peace. He dared to believe that in this confused, conflicted, and broken world, God was sending a child to lead us. He dared to believe that Jesus was the one who could save his people and lead us in the way of peace.
We live in a world filled with conflict – political conflict, religious conflict, military conflict. Conflict between neighbors, conflict within communities, conflict within families. And sometimes, the conflict we feel most deeply is within ourselves.
I recently attended a conference and the speaker, a seminary professor in California, told about running with a friend who convinced him to do an Iron Man triathlon with him.
The Iron Man is serious business. You swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and then run a marathon – 26.2 miles.
They went to this Iron Man competition in Canada. And the night before, there was a big dinner, a kind of pregame party. Lots of pasta, everyone was carbo-loading. And they had a speaker. Madonna Buder, who was then 82 years old. She is a Roman Catholic sister who is known as the Iron Nun.
She got that name because she has run in over 340 triathlons and in 45 Ironmans. She started all of this when she was 52 years old.
Buder kept setting the record for oldest woman who had completed the Iron Man, and then as the oldest person who had completed the Iron Man, finally setting the record at age 82. You have 17 hours to complete the course; typically it all begins at 7 am and you have until midnight to finish. Once she finished too late by a matter of seconds and another time she was 2 minutes late, but this did not deter her from competing again.
So, this 82 year old woman known as the Iron Nun spoke to the other athletes on the eve of the competition. And this was her message: “You are loved. You are wonderful just the way you are and God loves you.”
Events like the Iron Man tend to attract people who are trying to prove themselves – maybe to someone else and maybe to themselves. People who despite being incredible athletes may have a deep sense of dis-ease, of nagging anxiety, a sense of not being good enough. A lack of peace. Her message was, you don’t have to prove anything. You are enough and God loves you. It was a powerful message of peace.
God sent Jesus to bring peace into our hearts, peace deep into our souls. Jesus came to lead us in the ways of peace and to give us a vision of a world in which God’s peace prevails. May it be so. Amen.
Text: Isaiah 35:1-10
“Be strong, and do not be afraid.” The prophet Isaiah speaks these words that invite us to face the future boldly. These are good words to focus on as we start the New Year which begins, of course, today. This is not the first day of the calendar year or academic year or fiscal year. But it is the first day of the Christian year – the beginning of the church liturgical calendar.
The beginning of this annual cycle of praise and prayer and challenge and instruction and worship centers around Jesus’ birth, and today, the First Sunday in Advent, we begin that journey. So at least on paper, this First Sunday in Advent would seem to be an important day. But the reality is, it hardly gets noticed, coming right after Thanksgiving as it does, with many of us in a shopping stupor and many students and others away this weekend. And then Advent in general gets completely lost with the big run-up to Christmas. So Advent is not much in our consciousness.
You will not find Advent cards in stores. There is no Advent display at the mall, no Advent specials on TV. We don’t have office Advent parties.
People worry about Christmas being co-opted by the culture. Well, we don’t have to worry about that with Advent. The Church has Advent all to itself; nobody else would want it. And so here we are this morning, as Christians have been for two thousand years, daring to face the future before us.
Christian faith is forward-looking. At least, that is the way it is designed to be. Now, to be sure, history is important; tradition is important. We read the scriptures, which tell us about God’s work through history. We remember and we celebrate the life and teachings, the death and resurrection, of Jesus. We live out a faith that has been lived for 2000 years and we stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us. We look back, we remember, and this tradition and heritage, this remembering, gives us a place to stand. We have just celebrated Thanksgiving, which asks us to look back – we look back in order to give thanks for the blessings we have enjoyed.
But our faith involves more than looking back. The purpose of looking back is so that we can live now, so that we can move forward. Advent is about preparing our hearts for Christmas, but at a deeper level it is about looking ahead. It is about waiting and anticipating and turning our gaze toward the future, toward God’s promised future, with hope and imagination.
This ability to look ahead, to look to the future, can be difficult for us. Peter Gomes, who was the chaplain at Harvard and a great American Baptist preacher, said that we live under the tyranny of the past. That may not sound right, because a lot of us think of the past as a comfort. We talk about “the good old days,” about our “heyday,” about “glory days,” and the past can seem very comforting.
I am not real big on change. They are building a new Fareway downtown. Well, I liked the old Fareway. They have remodeled Hy-Vee. They have changed the dining area. I liked it the way it was.
I confess that I am as bad as anybody when it comes to thinking of the good old days. Zoe reminds me of how often I say, “Well, when I was in college…” We may think of the past in an idealized way, as the Golden Age, but this is not always helpful. We can live under the tyranny of the past when the past keeps us from living fully today. We tend to remember the good parts of the past and forget the heartaches and shortcomings and failures. We can have this unrealistic view of the way things used to be, and by comparison the present never quite measures up. It is possible to never really be happy and never fully live in the moment because of this tyranny of the past.
The past can also lay hold of us when we will not let go of past wrongs, when we insist on nursing wounds and holding on to hurts and injustices done to us, real and perceived. We hold onto old fears and anxieties and worries. We nurse grudges. There are those who seem to manage life in a difficult present by holding on to an even more difficult past. It’s like those clans who can’t remember the origin of a feud – they don’t really know why their enemies are so awful, but they choose to wallow in hatred nevertheless. The tyranny of the past.
Our scripture this morning asks us to look to a future that is not held captive by the past, a future unlike anything we have experienced before. “The desert shall rejoice and blossom. The eyes of the blind will be opened. The deaf shall hear, the lame shall leap like a deer. Water will break forth in the desert.” A highway will go through the wilderness and it will be completely safe – no robbers hiding off the side of the road. Not even fools will go astray. Sorrow and sighing shall flee away; all will know joy and gladness.
Well, that certainly never happened in the past. As good as the good old days may have been, they were never that good.
Advent bids us to a new future. Now, it is easy to just write off all of this stuff because it sounds way too good to be true. It sounds way too good to be even remotely possible. It sounds like hyperbole on steroids, and we don’t take it very seriously. This is hoping against hope.
The British ambassador to the United States, Sir Nicholas Henderson, was interviewed at the height of the Cold War by a reporter from the Washington Post. It was about this time of year, it was a features article, and he was asked the question, “What do you want for Christmas?”
Sir Nicholas, a master of British reserve and understatement, did not want to appear greedy. Wanting to be truthful, he replied to the interviewer that all he really wanted for Christmas was a jar of fruit preserved in ginger, such as you might find at Harrod’s. Apparently he liked this fruit and that was what he would like for Christmas, and he hoped the Lady Henderson might get him a jar.
A few days later the Washington Post’s feature article described in detail what the diplomatic corps would like for Christmas. The Russian ambassador hoped for peace and goodwill; the Swiss ambassador hoped for genuine disarmament around the world; the Spanish ambassador hoped for Gibraltar to be given back; the Israeli ambassador hoped for peace in the Middle East, and so forth. And Sir Nicholas, the British ambassador, hoped for a jar of fruit.
Clearly, the British ambassador’s hopes were the most obtainable and realistic, but he did seem to be lacking a bit in imagination and courage. Sometimes we do not hope enough. And sometimes our hopes are diminished by the tyranny of the past – by our beliefs about what is possible.
Let’s be honest: we have trouble with a lot of the Bible. We have problems with different parts of the Bible for different reasons – some of it seems too hard or too demanding, and there are those troubling passages which are too violent or too narrow and nationalistic. Passages such as what we read today present a different kind of problem. We like this because it is beautiful and moving poetry. It is a lovely passage - but we don’t take it very seriously.
Most of us, dare I say the inner engineer in many of us, likes things laid out in a nice, clear, factual format. We like summary sentences and talking points. Like Sgt. Friday used to say on Dragnet, “Just the facts, ma’am.”
The Bible seems very distant to modern readers because we are lacking in imagination. Our culture prizes facts and information, and the rich imagery of the Bible sounds very different, even alien. For the Biblical writers, imagination is the home of faith. To modern people, imagination is the home of the fanciful, untrue, and naïve. The crocus shall rejoice? The speechless will sing for joy? Sorrow and sighing shall flee away? Are you kidding me? This sounds like a fairy tale.
Well, this is where Advent begins. It begins with hope that seems almost an impossible hope. It seems impossible because things have never worked out this way before and it seems exceedingly unlikely now. I mean, look at our world, filled with division and animosity and tribalism and hatred. People are hurting. Nations are hurting. The planet is hurting. The future can seem bleak. It is understandable that we just kind of wink at each other when we read that the desert shall rejoice and blossom.
In financial matters, there is boilerplate language that the Securities and Exchange Commission requires in marketing mutual funds and other investments: “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.” We’ve all heard these words.
Maybe an investment has done well for a number of years and averaged a 20% gain. (This is hypothetical, obviously.) But if you read a fund prospectus or see an ad in a magazine or a commercial on TV, it will say, “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.” That phrase is meant to temper what might be unrealistic expectations. Just because something has done well in the past does not mean the same thing will happen in the future.
“Past performance is no guarantee of future results.” That phrase can work both ways. Just because the past has been lousy does not mean there is no hope for the future. We don’t have to be constrained by the failures and the disappointments of the past.
When I was in college – there I go again – my alma mater, the University of Evansville, had a pretty good basketball team. But for the last 20 years, it’s been rough. We haven’t been in the NCAA tournament in 20 years. Last year, with a new coach, we won 11 games and lost 21. We were hopeful about this season, but based on past performance, the team was picked to finish 8th in the Missouri Valley Conference.
A couple of weeks ago, Evansville played the Kentucky Wildcats – the #1 ranked Kentucky Wildcats, at Rupp Arena. It was hard to imagine even our very best teams of the past winning a game like this. A couple of years before we played at Duke and lost. By 50. But you may have heard that Evansville won that game in a shocking upset, probably the biggest upset in college basketball of the last 10 or 15 years. “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.”
The past performance of Israel was not good. It was not at all good. The nation had been captive in Egypt for 400 years. They were finally delivered from Pharaoh and led by Moses, but right away they are wandering in the wilderness, complaining, wishing they could be back in Egypt where they at least had three square meals a day. Moses goes up the mountain to receive the law, and the people make a golden calf to worship. It was constantly one step forward and two steps back. Their history was a succession of corrupt rulers and chasing foreign gods and being a pawn in power struggles between regional powers.
The tribes of Israel could not get along and the nation split north and south. In time, the northern kingdom of Israel was taken into captivity by the Assyrians and then the southern kingdom of Judah was taken into exile in Babylon. Over the course of Israel’s history, there were occasional righteous rulers and there were great prophets from time to time, but it was not at all what you would call an illustrious past.
There was absolutely nothing in the past to make anyone expect that a child born to poor unwed parents in a weak, occupied nation like Israel, in a small town like Bethlehem, born in a stable of all places, would be anything special. But past performance was not an indicator of future results.
We begin this season of Advent with the reminder that our hope is not based on what has taken place in the past. Our faith looks forward, with prophetic imagination, seeing in our mind’s eye the future God has for us. And we are not simply reenacting the hope that people had for a savior born 2000 years ago; we are called to live in the real hope, in the this-world and present hope, that God has a future for us, a future beyond imagining.
Our hope is for the world to come, yes, but our hope is for, in Biblical language, a new heaven and a new earth - our hope is for a world made right, a world made anew, a world remade according to God’s will. We celebrate Jesus’ birth, but our hope is not that Jesus’ birth was Good News then. Our hope is that Jesus’ presence and the promises of God are Good News now.
And so, we look forward. We look ahead. “Be strong, and do not be afraid,” say the prophet.
A remade world may not come this year. We may not be able to see it happening next year. But then again, we might. And if we look closely, we can see glimpses.
Echoing the words of the 19th century abolitionist Theodore Parker, Martin Luther King Jr. liked to say that “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” Parker spoke in those terms about the abolitionist movement. He could see slavery abolished even when it was far off into the future. King spoke those words in some of the dark days of the civil right movement. And Isaiah’s stunning words of hope and joy were written to the exiles in Babylon, when a return to Jerusalem must have seemed a pipe dream.
Advent is about hope. We live in the hope that just as God came in Jesus Christ to bring us hope and wholeness and salvation, God will come again to set things right in our lives and in our world.
Our calling is to be a part of God’s movement toward hope and wholeness and salvation. Toward the time when “the desert shall rejoice and blossom… sorrow and sighing shall flee away, and all will know joy and gladness.”
And so, be strong and do not be afraid. Past performance is no guarantee of future results. The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. Look ahead, abide in hope. And, Happy New Year.
Text: Luke 17:11-19
Like many of you, I enjoy traveling. It is always nice to arrive at your destination, especially after a long trip, but it is funny how some of the best stories happen along the way. When we travel we can come across surprising, unexpected things. Sometimes the most interesting stuff happens on the trip.
Our text today is a travel story. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, traveling through a border area between Samaria and Galilee. For a variety of cultural and religious and historic reasons, the Galileans, who were Jews, and the Samaritans really didn’t want anything to do with the other, which made life interesting. Jesus is traveling through this border area and he enters a village. This is not his destination; this is just a rest stop on the trip. But he enters this village and is immediately approached by ten lepers. The scripture says that “they kept their distance.”
Well, they were supposed to keep their distance. This was by tradition, as they could make others ritually unclean. Or even worse, they could spread the disease. Leprosy was a terrible disease. At a safe distance, they cried out to Jesus, that he might have mercy on them. We can surmise that perhaps they were asking for a donation – this was the only way they had to earn an income. But Jesus has something bigger than a cash donation in mind. He simply tells them to go and show themselves to the priest, which is the instruction given in the law for those who have been healed of leprosy. They set off on their merry way, and lo and behold, they are healed.
It’s already an amazing story, but this is where it becomes really interesting. One of the ten lepers turns around and goes back to thank Jesus. One out of ten. Now you would think that would be the least a person could do. I mean, if thanks are ever in order, this was the occasion. But only one returned to thank Jesus.
So this one person returns and this time, he did not keep his distance. He didn’t have to keep his distance. He throws himself at Jesus’ feet and thanks him.
Jesus then asks a very good question. There were ten who had been healed, but only one returned to give thanks. Jesus asks, “Where are the nine?”
A good question. Where were they? Why didn’t they return to say thank you?
We don’t know the answer to that question. But we can speculate. Perhaps one did not feel great gratitude because he had a sense of entitlement. Healing was something that he felt like he deserved, he had it coming his way.
Unlike the Samaritan who returned to express gratitude, this one considered himself one of God’s chosen ones and as such he felt a right to expect that this Jewish teacher named Jesus would do for him what he could. He deserved it.
Maybe there were a couple of those nine who, after being healed, weren’t entirely sure that that is what they really wanted. They had been lepers for so long that it had become a part of their identity. It had become, if not exactly comfortable, at least familiar. They knew what to expect and how to behave and how to relate. A predictable life of leprosy in some ways might be easier than a whole new life.
I mean, everything would change – their living situation, their family relationships, their livelihood. They were contemplating these matters, trying to decide if this was a good thing or not, and they did not return to say thank you.
One was so self-absorbed, it didn’t occur to him to thank Jesus. He wasn’t in the habit of thinking about other people. It didn’t even occur to him that Jesus had anything to do with it. He just went along with the others, found himself healed, and was happy about it. It was all about him, and he was delighted by his change in fortune. Assking who had helped bring this about wasn’t an important matter. It wasn’t really on his radar.
For one of the nine, there was a different reason. He had completely lost the ability to say thank you. For years, he had been forced to beg for money or food and said thank you, at first sincerely and then somewhat grudgingly, and then without any feeling at all. So many had given him just a trifle, some small thing, and expected his tremendous gratitude. It got to the point where he just couldn’t say it any more. He could not say thank you.
There may have been one of the nine who was thrilled initially - who was momentarily thankful - but before he could return to say thanks, he remembered what a terrible lot he still faced. He was very poor and it was doubtful whether he could get his job back. His disease had cut him off from old friends and connections. He had been a victim for a long time, and now that he was healed of leprosy, he simply went right to the next problem. He didn’t return to say thanks because he was still overcome with feeling sorry for himself.
One of the nine did not return to give thanks because he had never really learned to say thank you in the first place. He had not seen it demonstrated. The people in his life had never expressed thankfulness. His parents had not taught him to say thank you. It was not a part of his history. Never having seen it modeled, he himself just simply was not a thankful sort of person.
One, perhaps, was simply too busy. He was hurrying to see the priest and get a clean bill of health, and he could not wait to get back to his family. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful; he just didn’t have time to say thank you. There were important things to do. He was busy.
And the last of the nine, well, it was a bit embarrassing for him, but he just plain forgot. He should have gone back to say thank you, but he was so caught up in what was happening that he simply forgot to say thank you to Jesus.
They had their reasons, no doubt. And some of these reasons were perhaps understandable, valid even. Except that, we need to remember what it was that they had reason to be thankful for.
This was not like being thankful for a small favor, like motioning for the other car to go first at an intersection. This was not like saying thank you for a small gift, like a pair of socks from Aunt Jane and Uncle Harold at Christmas.
These ten people had been given nothing less than a new life. Leprosy was a terrible disease. Although we may think of leprosy as a skin disease, it was really a nerve disease. With leprosy, a person would lose feeling in hands and toes. Without the sensation of pain, a person could be injured and not know it. The disease progressed and moved along limbs. It was a horrible disease. Those who had leprosy were social outcasts who had to leave their families and go live with other lepers. They gave up jobs, friends, livelihoods. The fact that both Jewish and Samaritan lepers were in this group of ten attest to how awful the disease was. Their shared pain and hardship brought them together and was even greater than the animosity Jews and Samaritans generally felt for one another.
If one were healed of leprosy, I cannot imagine being anything but extremely grateful.
Imagine ten patients in a cancer ward who are suddenly, miraculously made well. I cannot imagine them not being grateful. Imagine ten AIDS patients, who suddenly are healed, with no trace of disease. They would without a doubt return to say thank you – we cannot imagine otherwise.
So what is it with these nine lepers? What is going on here?
Well it seems that there are two significant points to be made in this story. First of all is our need for thankfulness. We have failed to feel gratitude for the very same reasons that may have kept the nine from giving thanks. We have felt a sense of entitlement and failed to be thankful. We have questioned whether we really want the wonderful gifts we are given. We have been too self-absorbed to think of thanking another.
Some may find it difficult to say thank you for anything. We have focused on our hurts and pains and needs rather than our blessings and failed to be grateful. We have not learned the attitude of thanksgiving, we have not learned to look around and be grateful. Or we have been too busy, too distracted, to say thank you. Or sometimes, we just plain forget to say thanks.
George Herbert wrote, “Thou hast given so much to me. Give one thing more: a thankful heart.”
This story has a word for us about gratitude. But there is more.
It is not coincidental that the one who returned was not a Jew, but a Samaritan. And while the nine were healed, this one was transformed. He was completely changed. The scripture says that when first approaching Jesus, all ten “kept their distance,” but now he falls at Jesus’ feet – he draws near to Jesus. Not only was his body made whole, his while life was changed forever.
But why the Samaritan? Why was his life changed in a way that the others were not?
Fred Craddock puts it this way:
It is so often the outsider, the stranger, the visitor who sees and appreciates and responds with gratitude for countless gifts that we have come to take for granted. The visitor in my home talks with and enjoys the children I hardly noticed between coming home and reading the evening paper. The visitor thanks my wife for the meal I have eaten 1000 times in silence. It is so often the stranger who notices and expresses appreciation for what familiarity has blinded us to. This is the truth that hurts.
But it is also a truth that can heal. He is not just someone who shows us up for the ingrates we are. He is one sent by God to give us new eyes and ears. And hearts.
The point is not to simply feel shame for our lack of gratitude. The purpose of this story is not just to make us feel bad about ourselves. The word for us is that we may need to learn from outsiders, like the Samaritan, how to see with grateful eyes.
Do you want to know how to be grateful for our country? Talk to an immigrant who has spent his life savings and perhaps even risked his life, and is willing to work at the most menial of jobs just to stay here. Talk to the person who has come from another country and who gets there early to wave a flag at the 4th of July parade while others are on the lake or the golf course.
Ask immigrant youth who are on honor rolls in schools across the nation, “Why do you take education so seriously? Why do you study so hard?”
Newcomers can help us see everything in a new way. Children are new enough to this world that they have a sense of delight and wonder that some of us who have been around awhile desperately need. Lay on your back on the lawn with a 5 year old and ask her what she sees in the sky, or watch her play with a kitten. You will learn something.
In a sermon about the Prodigal Son, Helmut Thielicke imagines that once, when he was young, he invites a less-well-to-do playmate over to play. And the playmate is astounded not only by the plenty there – by all this kid has - but by the father's love for his son. “I never even knew my father,” he says. And for a short time, the prodigal-to-be sees his father and his situation in a new light -- through the eyes of his friend. For a short time, he is grateful. But it does not last.
Often it is that way with us. Our gratitude fades, unless it is constantly renewed. That's why God is always sending us children, and visitors and outsiders and newcomers – folks who can see what we have become blind to.
It happens. The rookie major league ballplayer comes in wide-eyed. He can’t believe the luxurious locker room, the sumptuous meals, the comfortable, spacious jet airplanes that beat the heck out of bus rides to Toledo. But over time, things change. The cushy accommodations are appreciated no more than a Motel 6. The notion of taking a commercial flight feels about like riding in the back of a 15-passenger van. “I can’t believe I get paid for playing a game” becomes “I’m insulted by your offer of a stinkin’ $5 million a year.” The sense of wonder and gratitude fades.
You want to know something? It can happen in the Church. Often those who are new to faith in Christ have a spirit and enthusiasm and commitment that has somehow waned in those of us who have been longtime Christians. Those who are new in the faith often have a joy of salvation and joy in God’s presence that we need to have rekindled in our own hearts.
It can happen in our own congregation. Sometimes those new to our church can see gifts we cannot see and appreciate blessings that we don’t notice anymore. Churches tend to feel like we need new people in order to survive. If you just look at things demographically, that is certainly true. People move away, congregations get older, we need new folks to survive. But this is even truer than we realize. If no one ever aged or no one ever moved away, it would still be true. We need newcomers to help keep us alive, because they can help give us a sense of purpose and enthusiasm. They can help us to see those things we have become blind to. They can help us to feel gratitude.
Do you want to be more grateful? Find yourself a child. Find yourself a newcomer. Find yourself a rookie, a stranger, an outsider. And ask them to tell you what they see. Amen.
(I drew inspiration from Martin Bell's story, "Where Are The Nine," in The Way of the Wolf)
Text: Acts 2:42-47
For 34 years, LouAnn Alexander worked as a flight attendant. But then at the age of 58, she received a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Before long, this full-of-life mother and soon-to-be grandmother was making plans for hospice care.
Her older brother Rex was flying to see her when he asked the flight attendant—who happened to be an old colleague of his sister - if he could speak to the passengers. He talked about his sister, even passed his phone around the plane so they could see photos of her. Then he handed out napkins and asked if they’d write a little something for her. Many passengers did. Some drew pictures. Two seatmates created flowers out of napkins and swizzle sticks. But mostly, there were warm words. One said, “Your brother made me love you, and I don’t even know you.”
96 passengers, people who had never even met LouAnn Alexander, sent notes of love and care and encouragement and prayer. Her brother never forgot the compassion shown that day. “I’m just amazed that given the opportunity, even total strangers will reach out and show a lot of empathy and concern,” he said.
People responded to this request, I think, because at some level we understand that we are all in this together. We understand that it could be any of us. And deep down we know that regardless of our differences and all those things that might serve to separate us, we are really all family.
This morning we will be receiving pledges of financial support for our church for the coming year. Now, the money is important. Don’t get me wrong. Giving of our time and energy and talent is important. I want us all to do that. But when we are talking about generosity, it really begins with something deeper. It begins with our hearts. Part of the reason we give is that deep in our hearts, we understand that we are all in this together.
Our text this morning is from the book of Acts. It is a description of the very beginnings of the Christian church.
You may have noticed the bulletin insert this morning – it is a condensed version of the narrative budget that went out in a mailing a few weeks ago. We have described our life as a church in terms of the heart – worshiping hearts, growing hearts, caring hearts, serving hearts. It is interesting to me how closely the actions and practices of this early community of believers reported in Acts might be described in this same way.
“They were devoted to the apostle’s teaching.” This church was about learning. They were about spiritual growth. If we reflect back on Jesus’ ministry, he spent the bulk of his time teaching a small group of disciples. This instruction in the faith continued for these early believers as they were taught by the apostles. Growing hearts.
This might happen for us as we hear the Word read and proclaimed each Sunday. It can mean studying the scriptures and the history of the Church. It can mean learning from each other and from those who have wisdom and experience. It can happen as kids go to camp. We need to continue to learn and explore as well as live out our faith. Growing hearts.
They devoted themselves to ... fellowship. They shared meals together. They “had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.” These were people committed to one another. Cultivating their common life together was important. Caring hearts.
This model of communal living is not the only Biblical model and did not become standard practice for the early church, although it has been practiced by groups throughout Christian history. But what was non-negotiable was the impulse to care for and provide for one another – the sense of responsibility for each other.
We have such a strong emphasis on the individual and the idea of the self-made person that we can wind up with a very individualized spirituality. And with our Baptist emphasis on personal faith, we may be especially prone to focusing on the individual to the point of neglecting the community. Taking a look at these early believers reminds us of the importance of the community and that we are to have caring hearts.
This was a church that truly looked out for one another. If there was a big need, they would have a garage sale or put something on Facebook marketplace. They would come up with the funds and find a way to provide for the needs of the community.
Care was not just a concept or a feeling; it led to action. It led to service. Reading this passage you are struck by how many actions there are. Teaching, fellowshipping, breaking bread, praying, performing signs and wonders, selling, distributing, praising.
This was a faith that led to action. A faith that led to service. The church was filled with serving hearts.
And indeed the care and the service provided by early Christians was not only shown to those within the community; it reached out beyond the community. They drew others in. They had a focus beyond themselves. The fact that Christians would care for the poor and the sick and the needy had a great deal to do with the growth of Christian faith in the Roman Empire. Christians were known for their serving hearts.
They devoted themselves... to the breaking of bread and the prayers… Awe came upon everyone… They spent much time together in the temple. This church worshiped together frequently and fervently. They centered their community life around it. They had worshipping hearts.
The word “awesome” has come to have a broader and more generic meaning in our contemporary English usage, but to be in awe is to be aware that we stand before a Power and a Presence greater than ourselves. This sense of awe was a regular part of the life of these early Christians. It was a sense of God’s presence with . Worshiping hearts.
Luke reports that day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. Growth, you will notice, is not at the top of the list. It is attributed to God, not to the congregation. And it seems to be more a by-product of everything else. This church was devoted to teaching, devoted to fellowship, devoted to worship, devoted to prayer, they had a sense of awe, shared their gifts, shared their resources, shared meals, provided for everyone, they praised God and enjoyed the good will of the people. Of course they grew. Of course this attracted others!
With growing hearts, caring hearts, serving hearts, and worshipping hearts, the values of this church are much like what we hope to accomplish today. But there is one little phrase that especially interests me this morning. They had “glad and generous hearts.”
Over the past month we have looked at various dimensions of stewardship. We have heard Erin and Rita talk about their own experiences of having been blessed by God and wanting to give in response. We have heard from Taylor Schram from the Center for Creative Justice, who shared a moving story of how one client’s life was changed through the work of CCJ. It is work that our church, work that our giving, helps to make possible.
The stewardship testimonies we have heard came from people who have “glad and generous hearts.” If you had to describe the central idea of Christian stewardship in a few words, you couldn’t do much better than this. “Glad and generous hearts.” I love this phrase because it has connections both to being blessed and being a blessing for others. Glad and generous.
When we have glad and generous hearts, everything else kind of falls into place. When a community, such as this church in Acts, is filled with people who have glad and generous hearts, everything else works. The community is truly a family of faith – and hope and love and goodness.
As we think especially about generosity this morning – about having generous hearts – the question may be, how do we get there? Can we just flip a switch and suddenly have a generous, giving heart?
As it turns out, this is not rocket science. The way to develop a generous heart is by being generous. We learn, we grow, we change by doing.
A basketball player wants to become a better shooter. How do you do it? Not by reading about basketball, and not just by getting coached on shooting technique, though that can help. But the way to improve is through practice. Shoot a couple hundred shots every day.
How do you become an excellent piano player? Taking lessons is a good start, but if you don’t practice, it’s not going anywhere.
How do you develop a love for books? You can visit libraries, you can buy books, you can put up book-themed artwork on the wall, but you learn to love books by reading – and maybe as a child you start by having a parent read to you. The love grows through the doing.
Generosity is the same way. The gladness part – being thankful, being appreciative, knowing that we have been blessed – can lead us toward generosity. But generous hearts grow through actually being generous.
I am not simply talking about money here. Being generous with our money is really a by-product of having a generous heart. Being generous means being ready to give, even beyond what is expected, and practicing kindness. A generous heart affects so many things: the way we use our time. The way we think of others. Our willingness to act in ways that show concern and understanding and empathy.
My mom buys greeting cards like they are going out of style and has birthday cards and anniversary cards ready sometimes weeks in advance. She will put a date where the stamp goes and when the time comes she puts the stamp on the card and sends it. She sends cards to family, to nieces and nephews, to folks at church, to other friends. She has done this for a long time. It comes from a generous heart.
There is so much heavy, demoralizing, and just plain sad news out there. This week I tried to pay attention and looks for stories of generosity – and they were all over the place. Maybe you heard the story of the young man in Georgia, late 20’s, who needed a heart transplant. He has autism and with no family, he was homeless. To get a transplant you have to have a home – a place to go and recover after surgery. It’s one of the requirements. One of his nurses learned of this and decided to take him in. She became his legal guardian. He received the transplant and he still lives with her and her son. It was an amazing act of generosity, but I imagine that this was not the first generous thing she had done.
We grow in generosity by doing – by being generous. It is interesting that Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be.” You would expect him to phrase that the other way around. If he said, “Where your heart is, there your treasure will be,” that would be easy to understand. We give to things we care about. That is true. But Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be.” This is about growing in generosity. As we give, our hearts become more generous. As we give, we become less focused on ourselves and more focused on others.
And generosity is not just an individual effort; it is meant to be a team sport. It is like those passengers on the plane, sending notes to a woman they did not know – generosity can actually be contagious. It can become a characteristic of a community. That is exactly what happened at the church we read about in Acts.
I have been amazed again and again by the generosity this church has shown. Folks are generous with their time, generous with their money – often in quiet ways that go largely unnoticed. When we have a significant need, people meet the need. And we have been generous in supporting ministry beyond ourselves, in the community and beyond. Like this church in Acts, there are so many in this place who have “glad and generous hearts.”
We will receive our pledges this morning as the offering is collected, and we encourage you to give generously as an act of worship. But the challenge for us, the challenge of generosity, really goes beyond that.
We develop generous hearts by doing – by being generous. A challenge for us might be to find new ways to act generously. Do an unexpected kindness for a neighbor. Send an encouraging card or email. Make a contribution to an organization you appreciate that you have not contributed to before. Hold the door open for someone longer than they would expect. Take the time to visit with a child. Invite a student for a meal. And like this church in Acts, share our gladness and generosity as a community. Amen.
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