Audio recordings will be posted below each class description.
April 7 | Sena Feyissa Negassa
The Work of the Holy Spirit Among Believers
How can believers live a life God admires? This session will cover the role of the Holy Spirit in the spiritual growth of believers. In addition, it will highlight the work of the Holy Spirit among Ethiopian Churches.
Sena Feyissa Negassa is a theologian and theology Instructor at Mekane Yesus Seminary, which is the largest seminary of the Ethiopian Evangelical Church of Mekane Yesus. She teaches several courses including theological issues in context, synoptic gospels, Lutheran confession, and Ethiopian church history. In addition, Sena serves as the seminary’s assistant to the associate dean of theology and summer program coordinator. This year she is a resident scholar at the Overseas Ministry Study Center at Princeton Theological Center.
The book of Psalms, called Zabor in Arabic, is a common heritage of divine song that can be used as a point of connection for public witness between Muslims and Christians. Especially in the Pakistani context, Psalms carries vast potential, in terms of both text and musical expression, as a bridge to peacemaking and missional engagement. Yet the book of Psalms has never been a significant part of witness to the Muslim world. Sarwar believes that can change.
Eric Sarwar is a gifted musician, minister, and missiologist, currently in residence at the Overseas Ministry Study Center at Princeton Theological Seminary. He is the Founding President of Tehillim School of Church Music & Worship, discovering in music and the Psalms a surprising language for transcending boundaries in global context. In addition to teaching, preaching, and writing, Eric continues to sing the Psalms, produce interfaith festivals, and serve as a catalyst and consultant for Muslim-Christian relationships in the world. Eric plays the Indian harmonium and is fluent in English, Hindi, Punjabi, and Urdu.
Presbyterian Church (USA) Past, Present, and Future
A three-week series looking at the Presbyterian Church with a lens beyond Nassau Church. Dr. Heath Carter will lead off with a look back at some of the history of the PC(USA) and the significant occasions that shaped the denomination. In week two, our pastor, Dave Davis, currently serving at the national level of the PC(USA), will share some of the present challenges and opportunities for the church. Finally, students from Princeton Presbyterian Campus Ministry will talk about their hopes and dreams for the future of the PC(USA).
April 21| Heath Carter
PC(USA): The Past
Heath W. Carter is associate professor of American Christianity at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he teaches and writes about the intersection of Christianity and American public life. He earned a BA in English and theology from Georgetown University in 2003, an MA from the University of Chicago Divinity School in 2005, and a PhD in history from the University of Notre Dame in 2012. He came to Princeton from Valparaiso University, where he was on faculty from 2012 to 2019.
Dave Davis has been pastor and head-of-staff at Nassau since the fall of 2000. His PhD in Homiletics from Princeton Theological Seminary focused on preaching as a corporate act and the active role of the listener in the preaching event. He has published two sermon collections, A Kingdom You Can Taste and Lord, Teach Us to Pray.
The Wittenberg Nightingale: Martin Luther, Hymnwriter, and Reflections on Modern Hymns
Following an overview of Martin Luther’s achievements as a hymn writer as well as his theological views on music, Dr. Jiang will lead a discussion of the essence of congregational hymn singing, including reflections on modern Chinese hymns. Linjing Jiang, associate professor for Germanic Languages and Literatures at Fudan University in Shanghai, is currently a visiting scholar at Overseas Ministries Study Center at Princeton Theological Seminary. Her research interests include political theology and German literature, the interactive influence between classical music and literature, and German poetry in the 19th and 20th century.
Our reading today tells of just two people. One person has no name given but is identified as an Ethiopian eunuch. Our text for the morning is the only reference to a eunuch in the New Testament. New Testament professor Eric Barreto is my Lenten partner teaching these texts from Luke and Acts as together we all ponder what it means to be a neighbor and go and do likewise. Dr Barreto has shared that scholars of the bible and of ancient history are of many minds and opinions when it comes to understanding the identity, the personhood, the role, and the portrayal eunuchs. They were understood to be in the margins and yet often served in positions appointed by kings and queens. They were not considered a threat to royalty’s lineage when it come to the children of the monarch and yet they were often educated and wealthy by the standards of the day. In the Hebrew bible, eunuchs are included in lists of the most vulnerable and lowest in society’s strata along with orphans, widows, and strangers. Yet Isaiah, for one, clearly includes them within the promise of God.
As for the eunuch from Ethiopia. They were a foreigner and a person of color. Scholars disagree about whether they were Gentile or Jewish. If they were Jewish, as a eunuch they would be prohibited from full participation in temple worship because of their gender and sexual ambiguity. This person with no name given is a royal court official with a high position in charge of all the money. They could read and clearly traveled as a person of means and status. When it comes to cultural and ritual norms, when it comes to economic and political factors of the time and region, when it comes to this biblical story of just two people one on one, one of them is the definition of life on the margin. The definition of the marginalized.
The other person in the story is named Philip. Philip appears just a few chapters before the reading you are about to hear from the Acts of the Apostles. Philip was one of seven others appointed by the disciples. The bible says they were people “of good standing, full of Spirit and of wisdom.” Some in the community were complaining that the widows were being neglected and not receiving the daily food distribution. The disciples needed help so that they could devote themselves to prayer and serving the word. Actually, it sounds a bit more snippy than that. According to Luke, the disciples first response was “it is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait on tables”. The tradition calls these seven the first deacons. The disciples prayed and laid hands on the seven including Philip and Stephen. Though the seven were ordained to a ministry of compassion and service to the community, Stephen and Philip, at least, were also engaged in proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ. You will remember that Stephen was martyred for his preaching and doing great wonders and signs among the people. After Stephen’s murder, Saul (later to become the Apostle Paul) was continuing to ravage the church in Jerusalem. The apostles and deacons and others fled for their own safety. Philip went to Samaria and was proclaiming the good news about the kingdom of God.
Our text this morning begins after Peter and John return to the region around Jerusalem. The scene shifts dramatically from the hustle and bustle of a rapidly growing community of faith in Samaria. This story told by Luke in the Acts of the Apostles only includes the unnamed eunuch from Ethiopia and deacon Philip in the middle of nowhere.
Acts 8:26-40
So it’s not just the two of them. Yes, there must be someone driving the chariot. But that’s not what I mean in saying it’s not just the two of them. The story of Philip and the unnamed person from Ethiopia is framed by the presence of God. An angel of Lord told Philip to head down the wilderness road toward Gaza. After the baptism, “the Lord snatched Philip away” and dropped him in Azotus well to the northwest near Caesarea that sits on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. The Lord at the beginning and the Lord at the end. In between the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over to this chariot and join it”. God in the beginning, middle, and end. It was not just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. And it is not a stretch to consider it a God-thing that the person in the chariot was reading from the same scroll of Isaiah the prophet that Jesus read from when he went to the synagogue very early in Luke and read “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…”. Different verses, same scroll. It is not a stretch to conclude that coming upon some body of water along the wilderness road in the middle of nowhere in the desert is something approaching a miracle. Or that Philip’s lack of an answer to “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”, that the wordless answer was for both of them to go down to the water. The answer is the baptism. The answer is a divinely inspired, Spirit-filled moment of grace. I don’t know how fast that chariot was moving down the road but that Forrest Gump-like moment of Philip catching up to, running alongside, and being able to hear the man reading the prophet Isaiah, that has to be the Spirit of the Lord at work too.
One of the very important lessons you can learn in a small group studying scripture is that there are always lots of questions to ask of a biblical text. More importantly, plenty of those questions may not have a particular answer or any answer at all. Even more, neither small group participants or leaders or pastors or preachers or biblical scholars or professors have all the answers. Along this wilderness road of faith, beware of those who think they have all the answers. It can also be true that some biblical passages, like this one, leave the student of the bible with more questions than answers; even after some really good study and conversation. But at least one thing seems to be clear and can be affirmed in Luke’s telling of the story of Philip baptizing the unnamed person who was a eunuch from Ethiopia. It was just the two of them and God out there in the middle of nowhere.
Here’s a Jesus-like question: when it comes to just the two of them, Philip and the person from Ethiopia without a name, which one is the neighbor? A first thought probably gives the nod Philips way. Philip comes alongside the seeker from Ethiopia. Philip is the “someone” who guides the Ethiopian treasurer to understanding. Philip takes the time to answer the person’s searching question about “the sheep being led to the slaughter, the lamb silent before its shearers, the one in humiliation denied justice.” Philip sat right there next to the one shunned by many and “starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to them the good news about Jesus.” Philip is the one who welcomed the marginalized yet elite, elusive yet rich, confused yet educated, gender fluid, person of color, never quite understood then or now child of God. Philip welcomed him to the faith the comes with the righteousness of Jesus Christ. Philip is the one who embraced the stranger he found along the way with the water of God’s grace poured out. Philip baptized the unnamed person whose baptism with no name emphases his marginalized status now shattered by God’s boundary blind love. It is Philip’s culturally and religiously defiant neighboring along the wilderness road known to no one but the one now rejoicing along the way. Known to them, and of course, God.
Yet, there is the bold neighboring of the member of the royal court from another country who doesn’t get offended when their ability to understand is questioned. The educated person of means whose transportation and attire likely screamed wealth is not frightened by the stranger who suddenly runs up to the moving vehicle on a road that could not have been safe. A stranger whose means of transportation and attired likely screamed “I need help”. The one on foreign soil fresh off the humiliation of being treated as someone less than, named as “other”, back at the temple in Jerusalem, they asked for help from a total stranger in the middle of nowhere. The vulnerable one who had a level of status who had to have had multiple experiences of being taunted, shunned, and their own personal safety being threatened at the hand of another invites this person up to sit next to them right there along the wilderness way. This one refusing to be defined by the world’s boundaries is gracious in listening to, learning from, and accepting in a way that can really only be understood as Spirit inspired unexpected hospitality. The baptized member of Candace the queen’s court from Ethiopia going on their way rejoicing after such courageous neighboring along the wilderness road known to no one except them, the one now proclaiming good news in the towns along the sea, and of course, God.
The title of this sermon is “One”. When I turned in the title a few months ago now, I was drawn to the Ethiopian’s question, “How can I understand unless someone guides me?” Someone one. One. Neighboring one by one. But now I know the title of the sermon should be “both”. When it comes to just the two of them, which one is the neighbor? Both
What does it mean for you and for me to neighbor when no one else is watching other God?
A new art exhibit is featured this Sunday in the conference room. The artist is Nassau’s own Ned Walthall. Ned’s medium is photography. His exhibit features portrait after portrait after portrait of people. Faces. Ned is leading adult education this morning as part of our Lenten series “Who is my Neighbor”. One doesn’t have to spend much time standing before his artwork to understand the relevance of the question to Ned’s art, the inspiration of his art, and the beauty of his art. Ned’s work on display started me thinking about the many images of the parable of the Lost Son that we all must have somewhere deep within. Portraits, snapshots, scene depictions all far beyond words. The oh so familiar parable that has a kind of universality to it. So readily imaginable, understandable, and relatable. For some of us, as the parable is read, it is not just pictures from the parable itself that scroll. It’s images from life, from our lives, from our memories, from our relationships, from our family. That is part of the unique power of the parable of the Lost Son. The parable of the Samaritan traveler and the man in the ditch left for dead is just as familiar to us but it doesn’t have the resonance with our lives. The parable of the workers in the field who all get paid the same at the end of the day has a similar upending conclusion but is rather far removed from our day to day experience. It’s remarkable how real life rushes in as soon as someone begins to read the words “There was a man who had two sons…”.
Luke 15:11-32
That opening scene, when the young, overly ambitious, and predictably irresponsibly younger son thinks he is more grown up than he really is. He announces a far from unique desire to take a gap year and see the world. He stands before his father, before his family, before God and everyone and declares it is time for him to receive his fair share. Not all that far-fetched, really.
Swipe to the final scene. A father and an oldest son standing outside away from the crowd and music and the celebration. Standing over in the shadows. Even if an observer couldn’t hear what they were saying, they would know it was tense. It was a really hard conversation. A father pleading not just with words but with his whole self. His son standing up so straight, so tense that his arms are folded on his chest like they are tied in a knot. Every now and then the son can be seen shaking his head in the negative. Anyone could guess right then what he was saying. Everyone has heard it so many times. Everyone has said it so many times. “It’s just not fair!” It’s not right!” The father’s shoulders slump more and more. Its not hard to know what happens next. To know it before the parable ends. The father turns to go back into the party and the oldest son stands at attention with a back to the door saluting his own not wrong understanding of how things are supposed to be as his own robe of unconditional love and unmerited grace and undeserved forgiveness lies in a rolled-up heap at his feet. The image is an unsettling and lasting reminder of the insidious realty of human nature that resents absolutely anyone else getting something they don’t deserve. Anyone else but me. Yes…not all that hard to imagine, really.
In between the opening and closing scene there is the one with the pigs. It is an image that just shouts “he squandered his property in dissolute living” in all caps. How he lost everything. How he spent it all. How he tossed it all away on a binge of loose living. The kid went from helping to run the family business to thinking he was king of the world to working as something less than a servant for a guy who owned a pig farm. A Jewish kid up to his eyeballs in pig slop. If it is not the epitome of hitting rock bottom it is a definition of whatever is opposite of being ritually clean and whole and healthy. The harder part to imagine is the look on his face when as the bible says “he came to himself”. He found himself. He found his senses. He named his desperation.
What might be the easiest image to conjure up, the easier countenance and reaction to fathom is the one displayed by the elder son after a long days work on the farm. It is the parables timeless slice of life. He was still a ways form the house when he heard the music and the dancing; when he heard what he thought was a raucous. It was really just joy. The closer he got he could smell the calf being roasted. He heard the music. He saw all the cars lining the street. Someone was having a party at his own house and he wasn’t invited. Maybe just for a minute, right before asked someone, maybe he thought it was a surprise party for him! But that’s not what he found out. “It’s your brother! Your long lost scoundrel of a brother!” Of course it was. That’s how it always is. That’s how it always is when you’re the oldest child.
Few things are more hurtful (no matter how young or old you are) than finding out your friends are having a party and you weren’t invited. Few things more hurtful except finding out your family is having a party and you are not invited. It wasn’t that the party just started without him. He wasn’t invited. No one told him. His father never sent someone to get him. So he gets angry and refuses to go in. Like the first grader who won’t go out to recess to play kickball because it is someone else’s turn to pitch. Like the middle schooler who won’t go to the dance because the classmate said “yes” to someone else. Like the student in college who freaks out because they always used to be the smartest person in class and they now in bio chemistry they are not. Like the co-worker who stops talking to you and you don’t even know why, or the sibling who won’t call, or the uncle who won’t come to picnic, or the niece who is mad, or the cousin who is holding a grudge or the oldest child who stands outside angry and refuses to go in because the party is for “that son of yours!”. Imagine. Just imagine. Oh, we can all imagine.
But of all the photographs of Jesus’ Parable of the Lost Son, the one not to forget, the one never to forget is the photo of the tear-filled embrace. That might be a better title for the tradition to name. It’s certainly better than “Prodigal Son” whatever that means. In the structure of the parable, this image falls right in the middle, right at the center. The tear-filled embrace both in place and meaning is the very core of the parable. The younger child was “still far off” when their parent saw them.. They were still worlds apart. Maybe it wasn’t as far as the east is from the west to use the expression of the psalmist, but this embrace, this kiss, it happened long before the child came home. They were “still far off”, still in their own slopped up world when their parent saw them, when their parent had compassion , when their parent started to run. Some translations say sympathy or pity. That doesn’t feel right to me. Compassion. Love. Mercy. One paraphrase describes it as the parent sees the lost son from way far away and their heart starts pounding.
The parent started to run, run toward the lost child. They ran away from their own home, their own family, their own turf, their own rules, their own boundaries, their own border, their own everything. The still far off lost child’s parent ran toward them; toward the land of the child’s wandering, the land of the child’s squandering. The parent ran toward the lost child’s own self destruction, toward the young child’s own uncleanliness. The parent crossed every boundary one could imagine because the youngest lost child was still far off.
Before that child could say a word, before they could spit out the lines now over rehearsed, before the child could apologize, confess, repent, or say I’m sorry or I was wrong or I love you, or I want to come home, or just I am hungry…. before they could say anything, the parent flings their arms around their child and kissed them. You know the parent cried. You know there had to be tears. You know there was weeping. “This child of mine who was lost, who was dead, is now alive!” Right then, right there, along the way somewhere, still far off, all the way out there, the party started. Before the fatted calf, before the fancy robe, before a ring on the finger, the party started with that tear-filled embrace. The party started with compassion, with love, with extravagant grace. The party started right then.
The robe must have been a party robe. The best party robe for the best party. A party for the lost child now found. A party not just for the younger child but for the extravagance of compassion, mercy, and love shown. Like the party the shepherd threw when he found that one sheep. Like the party the woman had when she found that coin. Like the party already started. The celebration that started long before us and yet it is a party for us. The party celebrating God’s extravagant grace. The party God throws for us. A celebration for each of God’s children; even more of a celebration of God’s love revealed. A celebration of an encounter with God’s compassion, God’s love, God’s grace. God’s extravagant grace. God’s extravagant compassion, love, and grace made known in Jesus Christ. God’s own tear-filled embrace of us. For us. A party that never stops. It’s like a party in your heart. A celebration of the experience, the taste, the wonder of Christ’s embrace of you and me despite our own slopped up world, an embrace that comes no matter how far off we may be.
As for that crumpled up robe of robe of unconditional love and unmerited grace and undeserved forgiveness that lies at everyone’s feet including ours; that resentment of absolutely anyone else getting something they don’t deserve. A resentment so pervasive in the world, in everybody include you and me. Maybe the only way to lose the resentment, to get better when it comes to someone else’s unexpected, maybe even undeserved receipt of something positive, something good, something that helps, something makes a difference for good in their life, someone receiving a bit of compassion or love or mercy, maybe the best way to go with less resentment and better neighboring when it comes to family, friends, and strangers is to remember to pick up that best party robe and put it on again and again and again.
Consider donating to the Raritan Valley Habitat for Humanity ReStore in Manville. They have a partnership with Housing Initiatives of Princeton (HIP), one of Nassau’s Mission Partners. HIP received an exceptional grant from Nassau’s Mission & Outreach Committee in January for their transitional housing move-in/move-out days. Often a family is in need of furniture as well as a home. HIP’s partnership with the ReStore helps families furnish their new apartments.
The fear comes even before Jesus steps out of the boat in the 8th chapter of the Gospel of Luke. The disciples are overwhelmed with fear and amazement after Jesus “rebuked the wind and the raging waves.” Though eight chapters into the gospel where healings and cleansing and teaching abound, Jesus calming the storm leaves the disciples afraid. Maybe that’s why none of them got out of the boat on the other side. It is only Jesus himself who steps out on the Gentile land across the Sea of Galilee from Capernaum. The description of the unnamed man’s reaction to the arrival of Jesus also oozes fear. “The man of the city who had demons.” The man falls down at the feet of Jesus begging the Son of the Most High God not to torment him. Luke never reports that the man was overwhelmed with fear but it sure sounds like it.
There on the other side Jesus steps out of the boat into the world that reeked of torment, suffering, and death. A placed where the forces of darkness, the powers that work against the ways of God, forces and powers run amok there among the tombs. The demon infested pigs were not the only ones headed for the abyss. Jesus himself stepped out on the edge of the abyss to a one-on-one conversation with the tormented soul there in that place for the dead. The man tormented by an unclean spirit multiplied by a factor of several thousand (as in legion). Forces so powerful that sometimes the shackle and chains would be broken and the man would be driven even further “into the wild”. Fewer terms, fewer metaphors are fraught with more meaning in both the Hebrew bible and the New Testament than the wild; the wilderness. The man was sent to the same wilderness, the same abyss as Jesus was when the Spirit led him out to a place to be tempted by the devil. Jesus stepped out of the boat into a world he already knew.
The gospel’s lingering on the details here, it may not stoke fear in the reader, but it certainly foments discomfort. Or at the very least, it raises lots and lots of questions that have few easy answers. The magnitude of the man’s suffering is not the end of fear in the passage either. After Jesus commands the unclean spirit to come of the man and after Jesus humanizes him by asking his name, the demons beg Jesus to let them enter a herd of pigs. The demons rush down the bank and drown themselves in the Sea of Galilee. The calmed sea now all stirred up again. The pigs die in an abyss after all. Demons can’t avoid the abyss. Demons demon. Rushing to get as far away as possible from the ways of God.
When the man now no longer tormented man is clothed and in his right mind sitting at the feet of Jesus, that’s when fear rises again; great fear. The farmers tending the herd of pigs saw everything that happened both to the man and to their pigs. They went to tell everyone in the country and in the city. Everyone. They came to see for themselves. The people saw the healed man and were afraid. The people heard the details of the story an all the people, everyone, was seized “with great fear”. If Luke had made reference to the anger of the swineherds or mention of the economic disruption to the entire community, maybe we could convince ourselves that the people were angry rather than afraid. Their great fear didn’t come until they saw the man sitting at the feet of Jesus clothed and in in his right mind.
Jesus takes on the powers of darkness, empire, suffering, evil, and death, power exhibited to the nth degree. Jesus goes toe to toe with all that is at work in the world against what God intends, against the kingdom now fulfilled in him, and the people were afraid. Was their great fear because of the power Jesus unleashed in calling out the demons from the man or did their create fear come from seeing the wholeness and health of the man the world tortured with chains and shackles. Of course, the answer is yes.
It is easier when you know where to point, where to look, what to hate. It is easier when the forces of darkness are contained somewhere, in something, in someone. There is clarity in life when there is a clear enemy. The people were afraid because Jesus took away their scapegoat. Jesus brought healing to the one they believe to be the face of death. Jesus took away the focus of their fear kept in the tombs where darkness and death belong. With the man sitting there at the feet of Jesus whole, the man being set free, the people started wondering where to look. The people were so afraid they begged Jesus, Son of the Most High God to leave. The people were so afraid they turned their backs on the Savior in their midst. The chose darkness rather than light. The people who walked in darkness turned away from the great light. The people begged “God With Us” to head the other way.
This gospel story so full of fear, that great fear that comes from all the people near the end, it may not stoke fear in the reader, but it certainly foments discomfort. The man begged Jesus to allow him to stay with him, to go him. The man made whole wanted to get back in the boat with Jesus. But Jesus sent him: “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” Professor Barreto suggests that Jesus sent the man home to embody healing, to bring healing, to witness to good and wholeness and healing right in his own community so broken by fear and torn by the forces of darkness. To perhaps make a difference for the sake of the gospel among those whose actions and fear were far from “neighboring’. Those who seemed far from doing likewise. As is often the case in the gospel stories of Jesus, the Son of the Most High, the reader never knows how that went for the man, or for the Gerasenes, of for all the people once Jesus headed back on the boat.
Jesus stepped out of the boat into a world that reeked of torment, suffering, and death. A world full of the forces of darkness and power that works against the ways of God. A world where the forces that work to squelch the kingdom way are far from contained. Where so many demonize, label, and fear those who are different in an effort to know there to look and what to hate. A world where no explanation point is needed because the examples and descriptions are stacked up like the details of this gospel story that are so discomforting and raise so many questions. A world where further details need not be listed. Jesus stepped out of that boat right into your world and mine. Jesus stepped out of that boat into your world and mine.
I have been watching the PBS documentary written and narrated by Henry Louis Gates. His first documentary not long ago was on the Black Church. The current one is on Gospel music. This week’s episode ended with an anthem familiar to us here at Nassau Church; Richard Smallwood’s Total Praise. One of the consistent themes that comes up as he and others discuss the history of Gospel music is the inseparable relationship between preaching and gospel music in the Black Church. Gates and others tell of the despair and loss of hope in the church after Dr. King was assassinated. Through preaching and gospel music the church refused to give in the powers of darkness and evil forces of racism. Not only were people able to cling to hope, they dared to rejoice and give thanks for the promise of God’s present and ultimate victory. In their sermons, preachers like Gardner Taylor and Shirley Cesar and others elevated the conclusions of their sermons to another level when it came to taking worshippers to an experience of praise, hope, and yes, joy.
Henry Mitchell was the dean of the teaching of African American preaching. He called that kind of conclusion to a sermon “celebration”. He taught that every sermon should end in celebration. Mitchell wrote this: “Celebration is not to be mistaken for exhortation, even though it may actually bring the same result. The concluding “challenge” so often heard is not as great a motivator as being glad about God’s will and work in the same area of the Kingdom. The more people rejoice about the goodness and faithfulness of God, the more they establish that joyous quality,,,[in[ their inner livs, regardless of outer chaos. Preaching’s accentuation of the positive Good News should help hearers be liberated….as well empower them to seek by faith and work to liberate the oppressed.”
Jesus stepped out of that board into the outer chaos of your world and mine. That’s the Good News, isn’t it? Good News. That’s the gospel! Jesus the Son of the Most High God stepped into this world. From the ark of Mary’s womb, he came bearing our flesh. A flesh that aches when surrounded by the powers and principalities. A flesh that cries out for light amid the present darkness. A flesh that craves the present and ultimate victory of God. It is the Good News. For as you and I draw near to the man set free, now released from all the trappings of death and captivity, another tomb comes into view. Another tomb comes into view for the followers of Jesus. That tomb is empty. He sets us free from death too. For this Jesus, the Savior who steps into our world again and again, this Son of God has conquered death and plunged the depths of the abyss itself. He has forever broken the shackles and chain of those powers that work against the ways of God. And for those of us who live in a world of evil uncontained, who walk in a land of deep darkness, on them, on us, a light has shined.
And so God’s people will dare to hope, and the people will not fear, though the “earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, for God is our refuge and strength” (Psalm 46). God’s people dare to pray endlessly for peace for one day the “people shall beat their swords into plowshares and nations shall not lift up sword against nation”. One day God’s people “will learn war no more”. (Isaiah). God’s people will work for justice and mercy and compassion knowing the kingdom in heaven shall surely be coming on earth, a kingdom where “they will hunger no more and thirst no more, and the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd”. This “God with Us’ will guide them to springs of living water, and God will “wipe away ever tear from their eyes” (Rev )
Until that day, here along the Way where Jesus steps out of the boat again and again in this world of outer chaos, you and I are called to go home and to tell anyone you can find how much God has done for us.
He never called him good. That was everyone else, ever since. Jesus never called him good. In the parable Jesus tells of “a Samaritan” who came near the man, saw him, and was moved with pity. Not “good”, just a Samaritan traveler. In the gospel of Luke, the words “Samaritan” and “good” are never paired together. In the previous chapter in Luke, Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem”. He was heading out from Galilee and intentionally went out of his way to enter “a village of the Samaritans.” The Samaritans where not hospitable to the visit of Jesus and the disciples and James and John wanted to “command fire to come down from heaven and consume them.” Jesus, of course, rebuked them and they headed off to another village. The disciples wanted to wipe out the Samaritans.
You will remember Luke’s account of Jesus healing the ten people with leprosy and only one of them turned back and fell at the feet of Jesus to thank him. Do you remember that it happened “in the region between Samaria and Galilee”? The man who turned back was a Samaritan. Jesus didn’t call him good either. Though the man had already been healed, Jesus said “Get up and go on your way, your faith has made you well.” John’s gospel includes the longest conversation Jesus had with any one person. It was the woman at the well. She was a Samaritan. Late into their conversation, the disciples return and find Jesus talking to her. “They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman.” They didn’t say anything but John writes that they were thinking “Why are you speaking to her?” Presumably because she was a woman and she was a Samaritan. “Many Samaritans from that city believed in Jesus because of the woman’s testimony.” Jesus didn’t call her good either. Jesus never called the traveling Samaritan good. That was everyone else, ever since.
Small groups started this week and my group on Wednesday morning had such a good conversation. Helpful for preaching, too. One person in the group noted that when the lawyer was asked by Jesus which of the three “was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robber”, the lawyer couldn’t even bring himself to say it. That he was the Samaritan. No, all he could muster was “the one who showed him mercy.” The one. When Jesus finished the parable, everyone and their uncle knew the answer. It wasn’t the Levite. Come on, say it. It wasn’t the priest. You can say it. IT WAS THE SAMARITAN. Jesus could have said, “uh, uh, uh…..which one?” But the parable is shocking enough, Jesus just said “Go and do likewise”. Shocking and timelessly relevant when it comes to the human condition. Part of what makes the parable so lasting and powerful in the world we live in today is not that the Samaritan was good. It’s that he was a SAMARITAN.
Several years ago, Iman Chablis from the Islamic Center of New Jersey out on Rt 1, Rabbi Feldman from the Jewish Center of Princeton and I together did a three-night gig. Each night was at one of our respective houses of worship. Our intent was to show our collegiality and respect for one another and for each of us to give an example of how we interpret our sacred texts. I chose this parable of the man in the ditch. I won’t ever forget how, after we finished at the Jewish Center, several members of the synagogue came up to me one after the other. Not a few. Several. They told me they were raised to think this parable is an example of the antisemitism of the New Testament and of Christians. It was all because of how the priest and the Levite were portrayed by Jesus as walking by and failing to show mercy to the man in the ditch. One or two mentioned that they never heard that the man who had been robbed was Jewish. I had argued that while Jesus doesn’t say it one could assume someone traveling down from Jerusalem to Jericho was Jewish. But notice, Jesus never called the Samaritan good and never criticized, said a negative thing, or called the priest or the Levite bad. As another person said Wednesday morning, “Can’t we find something good to say about the priest and the Levite?”
Jesus never called him good and he never called them bad. Maybe that’s because at the end of the day the parable isn’t about being good. The wonder and the power of the parables is that they cannot easily be reduced to a moral point. They are not simply morality tales with a takeaway about being good. Jesus didn’t say “Go and be good” or “Go and do good.” Like a parent dropping a child off for a friends birthday party or a practice or a rehearsal or an SAT test. Jesus asked “who was a neighbor”. The lawyer is the one who brought up mercy. Jesus might as well of said “go and be” or “go and live” or “go and neighbor”.
If a takeaway from the parable here is about being good, you and I are in deep trouble. Because we are good enough. We aren’t ever good enough. I’m not good enough. You’re not good enough. And compared to the priest and the Levite, we’re not holy enough and probably not smart enough either! If this parable about the traveling Samaritan who acted as a neighbor to the beat up man in the ditch left for dead is about being good, if that’s the standard of assessment when it comes to faithfulness, the instruction manual for how to live and work and stop and care and help and give, I will only speak for myself, but I am failing miserably. And I am the one who walks down Nassau Street as the religious professional like the priest and the Levite.
A long time I was in the office of the church in South Jersey all by myself. Solo pastors are often in the building all by themselves. The doorbell rang and as I went to the door I could see man outside whose clothes were very tattered. He was clearly worn down from life and life on the street. I was smart enough to not invite him into the building. It wasn’t cold outside so we stood in the parking lot and he started telling a long story that was hard for me to follow. At one point I was able to interrupt him and I asked him in a very straight forward way: “what can I do for you?’ I was expecting him to ask for money or food or a bus ticket or a hot meal or a place to stay. I could have helped with some but not all of those things. In a manner different from the rambling story, he looked me in the eye and asked “Can I have a ride to Camden?” That was about a fifteen-minute ride from the church. Maybe I was sort of dumbfounded by the request but a few minutes later I was driving up the Atlantic City Expressway on the way to the bus station in Camden. It didn’t take long on that trip for me to think of my family: Cathy, Hannah and Ben who were very young at the time. That’s when I said to myself, “Self, this might be the stupidest think you have ever done in ministry” I sort of think Jesus would agree with me. Going and doing likewise. It’s not as easy to figure out as it seems. And the Christian life as never been as easy as “What Would Jesus Do?”
To go and do likewise is not an exhortation to do good or to be good. It is the call of Christ to live and to be and to work toward a world defined by compassion, mercy, kindness and love. To go and do likewise is the expectation of the gospel of Jesus Christ that boundary walls should be tumbled down and hateful stereotypes of all kinds should be crushed and that everyone should be treated as a child of God. To go and do likewise is confirmation for the followers of Jesus that righteousness starts with a trickle of unexpected action and liberation from all the world ingrains in us about those who are different from us and we. To go and do likewise is the less an invitation to do what Jesus would do and more an invitation to see the world and the people in it as Jesus did.
The first step to going and doing likewise is to find yourself and know yourself on the receiving end of God’s compassion, mercy, kindness and love. To know with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind that this saving grace of Jesus Christ is as unexpected and undeserved and upending and life transforming as being on the receiving end of the loving, not anticipated, surprising care of a neighbor. And there is no better way to remember that and experience it afresh than to hear the words “This is my body broken for you. This is cup is the new covenant sealed in my blood for the forgiveness of sins. It is for you.
He never called him good. That was everyone else, every since. Jesus never called the Samaritan good. Not at the end, not in the middle, not at the beginning for the parable. Maybe that’s because when it comes your life of faith and mine, the parable actually begins with us in the ditch.
The Nassau Church Refugee Coordinating Team has provided this update on the Hashimi family, the Afghan refugee family that Nassau Church has sponsored.
This past summer, the Coordinating Team reported the good news that the family’s asylum applications had been approved. This gave the family the legal right to live and work in the United States and to apply for permanent residency and eventually citizenship.
More recently, the father of the family who is stranded in Dubai has received preliminary approval for his spousal asylum application and an invitation to submit his information for a visa. That could still take a long time to resolve, but the Coordinating Team is hopeful that things are moving in a positive direction.
There is other good news. The second oldest daughter has passed her GED and is enrolled at Mercer County Community College. Her mother and older sister are also enrolled there.
The oldest son is still working at Princeton Orthopedics, and his brother is in the process of enrolling in a commercial pilot training program which will prepare him for a promising career.
We are grateful that they and all the members of the family have been such cheerful and enthusiastic partners in our work together.
We want to recognize the ongoing commitment of the Refugee Coordinating Team, who are walking alongside the Hashimi’s as they continue to navigate immigration, education, and medical systems. Our thanks to them and the other volunteers who have given of their time and resources as part of Nassau’s commitment to support refugees.
But wanting to vindicate himself, [an expert in the law] asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” ~Luke 10:29 NRSV
February 17 – March 24, 2024
9:30 a.m. | Assembly Room
Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan invites us to imagine what it looks like to be a good neighbor. What does it mean for us to “go and do likewise” (v. 37) as individuals and a congregation? We will explore stories from Luke & Acts about how Jesus and the early church engaged with their neighbors. We will consider what neighboring looks like for us today in our own communities.
Get Linked-In for Lent as our education, small groups, and preaching life at Nassau will all focus on these stories.
Audio recordings will be posted below each class description.
Join us each Sunday morning as Eric Barreto facilitates our exploration of what neighboring looks like through stories in Luke and Acts.
Eric Barreto is Weyerhaeuser Associate Professor of New Testament at Princeton Theological Seminary, an ordained Baptist minister, and a Nassau parent. He earned a BA in religion from Oklahoma Baptist University, an MDiv from Princeton Seminary, and a PhD in New Testament from Emory University. Prior to coming to Princeton Seminary, he served as associate professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary, and also taught as an adjunct professor at the Candler School of Theology and McAfee School of Theology.
Ned Walthall will lead the class in connection with his Conference Room exhibit “Who is My Neighbor?” featuring portraits from New York City’s Grand Central Terminal. View on Lenscratch (link). Ned Walthallis a photographer based in Lawrenceville, New Jersey. He received his MFA from the Institute of Art and Design at New England College (formerly the New Hampshire Institute of Art). His work has been shown throughout the United States and abroad.
There is something about life on the other side of the Transfiguration that ought to strike a chord with those who would follow Jesus. The Transfiguration. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up to a high mountain. Up on the mountaintop the appearance of Jesus changes right before their eyes. Mark only mentions his garments glistening in white. Matthew adds that “his face shone like the sun.” As if the glow wasn’t enough, Moses and Elijah mysteriously appear. Up on the mountaintop, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are talking to one another like old friends but with heaven’s spotlight shining on them. Though Mark gives no runway commentary on the countenance of the Old Testament folk, their appearance must have no comparison to that of Jesus. Up on the mountaintop Jesus is transfigured.
It is interesting how many English translations of the bible stick with the word “transfigured.” Yes, some use the verb “transformed”. Others simply say “changed”. But most English versions of the bible just leave it as “transfigured.” A cognate of the Greek noun “transfiguration” is” metamorphosis”. The Apostle Paul uses the same word in a familiar verse from Romans 12: “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Transformed. I couldn’t find any version of the bible that uses the word “transfigured.” Only up on the mountaintop. “He was transfigured before them.”
Perhaps generations of New Testament scholars and translation committees have stuck with “transfiguration” to highlight and preserve this strange old world of the bible moment in the story of Jesus and his disciples. Maybe sticking with “transfiguration” is signal to preachers that not all biblical texts can be clipped, lifted and explained for the 21st century ear. Sometimes the gospel just invites that 21st century reader to sit in the strange old ancient world of the bible for a while. Like the disciples, contemporary readers of the gospel are never going to fully wrap their minds around Jesus, Moses and Elijah up on the mountaintop. Somehow amid the other-worldliness of the moment and despite being terrified, Peter acknowledges that it is “good for us to be here”. Maybe with some mix of wanting to provide hospitality and hoping to preserve the moment Peter offers to build three dwellings. But the mountaintop doesn’t last long. Not long at all. Mountaintops never do. The cloud comes. The voice booms. And then there was only Jesus heading down from the mountaintop.
There is something about life on the other side of the Transfiguration that ought to strike a chord with those who would follow Jesus. As mystical and mythical and “bible-ly” as the mountaintop experience of transfiguration reads, there is something about life with the disciples and Jesus on the downside of the mountain that seems more relatable. On the way down from the mountaintop, as the disciples seek to understand what just happened, together with Jesus they start talking about things the scribe said about Elijah coming again, and all this talk of the suffering of the son of man, and what on earth “rising from the dead could mean.” On the way down from the mountaintop, Jesus and the disciples are greeted again by the crowds of humanity and people arguing and lots of sickness and suffering. Down from the mountaintop Jesus tells them again about his own death and resurrection. Down from the mountaintop the disciples start to bicker among themselves about which one was the greatest. Down from the mountaintop Jesus tells the disciples “whoever is not against us is for us” and he warns them about being a stumbling block to those who believe in him. Down from the mountaintop for Jesus and the disciples life happens, gospel teaching happens, ministry happens, people happen.
It is the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. For though we may be invited again and again into the strange old world of the bible, we are always sent out into the 21st century world as servants and disciples of the Savior. Sent out to live out our faith where life happens, teaching happens, ministry happens, and people happen. Often caught up in our own arguments and attempts to understand both the gospel and the world in which we live yet sent out by Christ himself not with a divine glow but with what the preacher in the Book of Hebrews describes as “drooping hands and weak knees”. Sent out to life on the downside with the promise of the prophet Isaiah that “those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they mount up wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”
The life of faith on the other side of the mountaintop is not defined by struggle, doubt, pessimism or fear. Quite the contrary, it is about the life of discipleship to which we have been called. The life of discipleship where sleeves are rolled up and shoes are worn down because we’re called to be his hands and feet in and for the world. Where our clothes are not dazzling white but are worn in the knees as we heed Paul’s call to “rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, and constant in prayer.” An everyday journey with Christ Jesus that is less about getting questions answered and more about a life-giving servanthood, a radical concern for others, a theology of stewardship that shatters the love of money and smashes the idolatrous search for “what is in it for me.” A life in Christ in your neck of the world where instances of forgiveness are multiplied to the nth degree and long-established walls are busted by daring reconciliation and the people most different from you are viewed and understood and loved through the lens of Christ himself. Some are blessed to have more than their share of mountaintops along the way, but for the rest of us, for most of us, our walk with God is usually somewhere on the way down from the mountaintop, on the other side of the Transfiguration.
In Matthew’s telling of the Transfiguration, after the disciples fell to the ground in fear as the voice from the cloud spoke, Jesus comes over to the disciples, touches them and says “Get up and do not be afraid.” Mark’s Jesus doesn’t approach, touch, or speak to the disciples on the mountaintop. “Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore but Jesus.” Right then the trek down the mountain begins just as suddenly. It could be that the gospel known for its brevity just doesn’t have the space for the “do not be afraid.” Or maybe Jesus in Mark is just eager to take the disciples to the other side, to the downside. Perhaps the children of God, the followers of Jesus are to be amazed, wowed, overwhelmed by grace and filled with praise and adoration on mountaintops. But somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are sent. Somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.
I have been reading a new book by Cornelius Plantinga, author and former president of Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids. The title of the book is Gratitude: Why Giving Thanks is the Key to our Well-Being. It is much more of a devotional book than it is a self-help one. At the end of the book, Dr. Plantinga writes about how Jesus calls his disciples to live life with a purpose. To live so as to “glorify God and enjoy God forever” as the Westminster Confession puts it. Or as Jesus puts it in Matthew: “Strive first for the kingdom of God.” Plantinga describes it as living life with a calling an pursuing with an energy that comes from the very Spirit of God.
“People who have been penetrated by the Spirit of God so that they are redeemed all the way downtown in their hearts”, he writes. “They love God. They love their neighbors. Even when they don’t like their neighbors, they love them by treating them well. They hunger for justice. They read scripture with an appetite and ponder it with respect. They hate cruelty and join efforts to opposed it. They love kindness and support groups that show it. They know that God’s kingdom project is to make things right in the world, and they want to be part of that project.”
As I finished my friend’s book, I found myself struck, struck in a good way, by how un-profound that conclusion sounds. How ordinary, how do-able, how attainable the Christian life can be. Because Plantinga is not writing from the prophet’s mountaintop. He doesn’t end with some kind of never thought of revelation that has its own stunning aura of newness clothed in glitz. To be honest, n, either does the book lead with the timeless, essential, bold, death conquering, world shattering acclamation that “Christ is Risen”. No, Neal Plantinga writes as a doctor of the church who has spend a lifetime watching students, saints and sinners, the disciples of Jesus striving to lead the Christian life. He isn’t writing about the mountaintops. No, gratitude comes on the other side of the Transfiguration too. He is writing about life on the downside where life happens, teaching happens, ministry happens, and people happen. Somewhere down from the mountaintop is where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.
Years ago a pastoral search committee from another congregation came here to Nassau Church to listen to me preach. Some members of my own search committee that spent years going to other congregations on Sunday mornings were very suspicious at these new folks who all sat together. It was more than 15 years ago so they had nothing to worry about. At one point over lunch, the chair of that committee explained the reason their pastor left after only four years. He wanted to make sure I didn’t think the church was in conflict or crisis. Our pastor shared with our Session that after four years the pastor was feeling bored, needed a new challenge, and wanted something new.
Now I have friends all around who accept a call to another congregation for all kinds of reasons and within all kinds of timeframes. No judgment here. You know in 38 years I have served two congregations. I have had students and colleagues asked about whether I can bored or how do I find new challenges. Trust me, it’s a much longer answer. But at the end of the day, I think I side with Neal Plantinga and his un-profound yet so profound conclusion about the Christian life. And year after year, season after season, watching and walking with the follows of Jesus who find themselves on this side of the Transfiguration, somewhere down from the mountaintop where disciples are formed, shaped, molded into the life Christ calls us.
I just look at you and give thanks to God, for it doesn’t get any newer than that.
Sena Feyissa Negassa is a theologian and theology Instructor at Mekane Yesus Seminary, which is the largest seminary of the Ethiopian Evangelical Church of Mekane Yesus. She teaches several courses including theological issues in context, synoptic gospels, Lutheran confession, and Ethiopian church history. In addition, Sena serves as the seminary’s assistant to the associate dean of theology and summer program coordinator. This year she is a resident scholar at the Overseas Ministry Study Center at Princeton Theological Center.
Eric Sarwar is a gifted musician, minister, and missiologist, currently in residence at the Overseas Ministry Study Center at Princeton Theological Seminary. He is the Founding President of Tehillim School of Church Music & Worship, discovering in music and the Psalms a surprising language for transcending boundaries in global context. In addition to teaching, preaching, and writing, Eric continues to sing the Psalms, produce interfaith festivals, and serve as a catalyst and consultant for Muslim-Christian relationships in the world. Eric plays the Indian harmonium and is fluent in English, Hindi, Punjabi, and Urdu.
Heath W. Carter is associate professor of American Christianity at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he teaches and writes about the intersection of Christianity and American public life. He earned a BA in English and theology from Georgetown University in 2003, an MA from the University of Chicago Divinity School in 2005, and a PhD in history from the University of Notre Dame in 2012. He came to Princeton from Valparaiso University, where he was on faculty from 2012 to 2019.
Linjing Jiang, associate professor for Germanic Languages and Literatures at Fudan University in Shanghai, is currently a visiting scholar at Overseas Ministries Study Center at Princeton Theological Seminary. Her research interests include political theology and German literature, the interactive influence between classical music and literature, and German poetry in the 19th and 20th century.
