Luke 1:5-25
December 1
David A. Davis
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The day before Thanksgiving as I pulled out of our driveway, a van was parked at the curb in front of our next-door neighbor’s house. The logo on the side of the van said “bright nights”. The neighbors moved in this summer and have been having quite a bit of work so I didn’t think much about it. When I came back to our house a few hours later, I realized that the “Bright Nights” contractor was putting up our neighbor’s holiday lights.  It wasn’t like the tree company putting lights on the tree in Palmer Square. The company wasn’t stringing lights along high eaves of the house like families in the neighborhood celebrating Diwali. These were tiny sparkling lights in the bushes. I don’t think they even needed a ladder.

With the lights on our neighbors’ bushes now lit, Cathy and I had a conversation remembering how our families did or did not decorate the outside of childhood homes. When I was young, the Christmas tree wasn’t even in the house before I went to bed on Christmas Eve. I have distinct memories of my father’s routines the weeks before. I can see him placing spotlights to shine up into the evergreen trees that lined the driveway. I can remember him hanging out an open window to put the string of lights around every front window. The kind of string with what seems like big bulbs now that broke very easily and then you had trouble getting the remains out of the socket. I remember very well when the mantle of preparation passed to me. My brother was off to college and it was now my turn to help. My father would hold my legs as I stretched out the second-floor window with a hammer nailing brad after brad into the caulk of the window to hold that string of lights. While I can remember the house all decorated on the outside, the memories of the preparation are much more vivid. I am guessing that for many of us, the preparations for the Thanksgiving meal likely hold more memories than the meal itself this week. Sometimes the preparation is the best part. When we were preparing the nursery for Hannah, our firstborn, I put the crib together in the upstairs hallway in the manse we lived in at the time. I had to put that crib together twice after we discovered it would not fit through the doorway to the bedroom. A little bit more focus on the preparation would have been helpful.

The story of the angel Gabriel, Zechariah, Elizabeth, and baby John shines a light on preparing the way of the Lord. Yes, John the Baptist is pretty much the definition of “preparing the way of the Lord.” But even here in Gabriel’s annunciation to Zechariah, the focus is on preparation. As the angel describes the gift and purpose of Zechariah’s son to him, Gabriel puts it this way: “to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

The group of priests Zechariah was assigned to were on duty that day. That is like his communion server team, his usher team. Zechariah’s name was picked out of a hat and he was the one to go into the sanctuary and light the incense at the appointed time. It was in there at the altar of incense where none but the priests could go that the angel appeared. While the angel and Zechariah chatted a bit at the altar, the people outside were wondering what was taking so long. Apparently, the lighting of the incense was a rather ordinary everyday religious chore that shouldn’t take all that long. People “wondered at his delay in the sanctuary”. When Zechariah came out, they figured out from his gestures, his excitement, and the look of wonder on his face, that he had seen a vision there in the sanctuary. But Zechariah was unable to tell what had happened, what he was told, who he was with.

While it must have been notable to the people gathered outside of the sanctuary that Zechariah came out unable to speak, it also seemed like a rather ordinary day around the sanctuary. As one member of the staff observed in our discussion of the passage on Tuesday morning, the bible records that Zechariah didn’t go home until the “time of service was ended.” The angel announced that Elizabeth was going to have a baby and Zechariah stayed to finish his shift! He didn’t rush home to share the news, he finished the work day. According to Luke, Zechariah went from terrified and overwhelmed with fear to learning Elizabeth was going to have a child to losing his ability to speak to just hanging around to clock out.

Readers of the gospel are drawn to all the religiosity and piety described in the story: Zechariah and Elizabeth were “righteous before God” and “living blamelessly.” That theme of barrenness and fertility that never seems to leave the scriptures page points to a familiar theological theme. There is, of course, the angel talk. And Gabriel says that John “will be great in the sight of the Lord….even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Before his birth. That must be how he knew in utero that Mary was carrying the Messiah. That time when John leapt into Elizabeth’s womb. He was filled with the Holy Spirit. Yes, the passage has all the trappings of religion and the miraculous that one would expect when one of the angels shows up.

Yet, it also seems like making ready “a people prepared for the Lord” started on an ordinary day at the office for Zechariah and the people of God. For Matthew, the preparation begins with the long list of genealogies. Mark begins with John the Baptist proclaiming in the wilderness. You remember that John’s gospel starts “In the beginning”. Here in Luke, the preparation begins with a local priest going about his day in the neighborhood parish down the street. As to the nature of the preparation, Gabriel foretells? “With the spirit and power of Elijah, John will go before the Lord, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous” Or in the words of Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase “John will herald God’s arrival in the style and strength of Elijah, soften the hearts of parents to children, and kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics—he’ll get the people ready for God.”

Getting ready for God by proclaiming the Word, tending to the most important relationships, and nurturing within God’s people a craving for the wisdom of God in their lives. Announcing the coming reign of God, filling tender hearts with love, and sparking a yearning for the righteousness of God. Pointing to the coming of the Christ Child with energy and enthusiasm and excitement, fueling a contagious spirit of kindness and mercy, and looking to the presence of God to shed the light of meaning in our lives, a meaning that looks to God’s wisdom, God’s justice, and God’s way. Getting people ready for God in the everyday routine of life.

This may not be a surprise to you, but people often have an inflated view of church work. They overestimated the daily piety of members of the clergy or thought that working at a church was like one long extension of a youth retreat. I don’t want to shatter any of your illusions, but for those of us who work here at Nassau Presbyterian Church, our lives are just like yours. Our work lives are like your work lives. Some days are just long and boring. Some weeks are more of a grind than others. As Frank, who works at McCaffrey’s said to me in the parking lot Friday after I greeted him and asked how he was doing, “Well, you know how it is, same job, different day.” It can be pretty everyday and ordinary around here. And here we all are amid that daily, weekly, mundane routine of life. Here we are preparing for the coming of Christ in our lives. Together trumpeting the gospel of Jesus with a Spirit-fed, Spirit-let joy. Together, sharing love in our relationships at home, here, out there. And together, discerning God’s call to discipleship. God’s call to us to live these ordinary days guided by God’s wisdom, God’s justice, God’s righteousness. And yes, amid our collective effort to get ourselves and others ready for God, sometimes an angel shows up and takes your breath away.

Once or twice a year, in the Cook Davis kitchen, we pull out Nana Lease’s hand grinder. We attach it to the counter. Take the cranberries, the orange slices, and some other fruit out of the fridge. We spread newspaper on the floor because grinding up the cranberry dressing always makes a mess. As their mother did before them, our young granddaughters stood on a stool at the kitchen counter, turned the crank, and giggled at the mess being made. Four generations or more with that grinder and cranberry sauce. Here’s another secret, nobody at the Cook-Davis table actually likes the cranberry dressing. But it never was about the sauce, was it?

As you come to the Table today, look around the room, and ponder all the ordinary, everyday ways that we prepare ourselves and the world for the coming of Jesus. Getting ready for God by proclaiming the Word, tending to the most important relationships, and nurturing within God’s people a craving for the wisdom of God in their lives. From one generation to the next generation and the generation after that. It’s what it means to be the church of Jesus Christ bearing witness to his light amid our preparation.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.

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Revelation 1:4b-8
November 24
David A. Davis
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In the gospel of John, Jesus said “I am the bread of life”. And Jesus also said, “I am the light of the world”. “I am the door”. “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the resurrection and the life” “I am the way, and the truth, and the life”. “I am the vine”. In the Book of Exodus, at the burning bush, God said to Moses “I AM WHO I AM… You shall say to the Israelites, “I AM has sent me to you”. So, when one gets to the end of the New Testament and the Revelation to John, this verse ought to catch the ear. “I am the Alpha and the Omega” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” The Risen and Triumphant Christ, the Lamb upon the throne, at the end of Revelation says to John, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
“I am,” says the Lord, who is, who was, and who is to come. It is not the Alpha and Omega that struck me this week. It is not the Lord as beginning and end that spoke to my sacred imagination. It is John the Revelator’s description that comes with the Lord God saying “I am”. “The Lord God who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” A chronology method, a logical word choice, and ordering of tense would simply affirm the Lord who was, who is, who is to come. But no, the phrase begins with “who is”. It is more than a matter of grammar or word choice. If not a coincidence, then it is a theological conviction. The description of the Almighty begins with the Lord who is. The God of the present. The God of the moment. The God of the here and now. There before the Victorious Christ who reigns in the Kingdom of heaven, there among the great cloud of witnesses, a crowd which no one can number, with a vision of the new heaven and earth about to be proclaimed, John affirms the God of the present. John the Revelator proclaims the is-ness of Jesus Christ.
I’m betting that you can imagine a Thanksgiving dinner table somewhere in the kingdom of God later this week. It is a small gathering because not all Thanksgiving meals are overflowing with attendees; multi-generations from the same family, worn-out travelers from out of state, and a kids’ table that’s just this side of being on the back porch. No, the table I’m picturing in my mind is much smaller there in the MacGregor’s home. There are only three MacGregors; George is the Dad. Cindy the Mom. Justin is all of 7 years old and in second grade. They were of the generation that usually traveled to see out-of-state family. But for a variety of reasons that every one of us could list, including the challenges these days of being with extended family, they are staying home for Thanksgiving this year.
Cindy had thought about inviting another family or two from the neighborhood, but she kind of didn’t want to ask and kind of assumed everybody else would be with family. She and George decided they would invite Mr. Wasley from church. They shared a pew with the Wasleys on Sunday morning about a third of the way back in the sanctuary on the left side. After Mr. Wasley’s wife had died a bit more than a year ago after 47 years of marriage, the pew friendship seemed to deepen. He loved to sing the hymns. He had mentioned that he had served as an elder and that he had been on the property committee when they redid the sanctuary. He always had some tidbits of history to share about the church. He was listed when the congregation celebrated 50-year members. Mr. Wasley was always patient with Justin (a bit more patient than Justin’s parents). He usually gave Justin a quarter after church. He never said why. But Justin was saving them now in his treasure box. Though Cindy remembered that the Wasleys had no children, she sort of thought he would have a better offer for Thanksgiving. She asked him one Sunday in early November. Much to Cindy and George’s surprise, Mr Wasley said “Well yes, thank you. That would be lovely.” Justin was probably the most excited that Mr Wasley said yes.
So just in a few days, the four of them are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner (five if you count the is-ness of Christ at the table). The time comes for the prayer before the meal. Justin’s Dad, George had decided that instead of a formal prayer, he would simply invite each person at the table to share something for which they were thankful. Not wanting to leave God out of it completely, George goes first and makes sure his words of thanks are appropriately religious. He tells his four listeners that he is grateful to God for bountiful blessings in the last year and the privilege of sharing those blessings with family and friends for years to come. He also expresses gratitude that they can share the meal with Mr, Wasley. Cindy, in an attempt to acknowledge Mr. Wasley’s loss, shares that she is thankful for the special Thanksgiving memories that she has for meals and family gatherings past. She also mentions her memories of Mrs. Wasley when they used to serve coffee hour together at the church. She concludes by telling Mr. Wasley that she hopes this Thanksgiving might be the first new tradition that could include him at their table and in their family for years to come.
Now it’s Justin, the second grader’s turn. His dad had given him a heads-up earlier in the day so as not to spring this prayer plan on him. So, theoretically, Justin had time to prepare. He lets go of his mother’s hand on one side and Mr. Wasley’s on the other just to wipe the sweatiness off on his pants. And then looking around the table filled with all the food, Justin sort of blurts out, “I’m thankful for mashed potatoes, aren’t you Mr. Wasley?” Needless to say, Justin’s parents are a bit underwhelmed by their son’s prayer effort. So Justin’s dad suggests maybe it could have a little more to do with God. His mom takes his hand again with a bit of a tighter hold and says “Aren’t we also thankful for Mr. Wasley being here?” with that tone of voice that ends in a question but was more of a strong suggestion.
“No, no, no,” says Mr. Wasley, interrupting both parents who were trying to perfect Justin’s prayer by some parental form of Roberts Rules. Right then, during that prayer, just in those few moments, time sort of stands still for Mr. Wasley. He finds himself thinking about what his afternoon could have looked like all by himself, and how much he missed eating a meal with someone other than the news anchor or the host of Sportscenter on ESPN. He thinks of how food never would taste as good as food used to when his wife cooked it. This time standing still moment is almost an out-of-body experience now for Mr. Wasley as he tells himself and the Risen Christ at the table how thankful he is for this Lord’s day friendship that has come from the pew. He tells Jesus that some weeks his conversation with the MacGregors is the longest he has had with anyone all week. Mr. Wasley finds himself wishing this moment with Justin and Cindy and George, this moment with he and them and Jesus would last for hours. With the wisdom of age, he understood Justin’s word of thanks better than the parents, and perhaps exactly how Justin intended it. Being thankful to God for the very moment, yes for the past and yes for the future, but for the very moment, for the very moment the way a child understands the moment, something that is, something right now, like hot mashed potatoes with melting butter just waiting to be served. And right then and there in the timelessness of it all, Mr. Wasley silently admits to God and to Jesus and to the Holy Spirit that it has been more than a little while since he has offered such a prayer of thanks for what is. For his life in the here and now.
“No, no, no…it’s my turn.” Mr. Wasley starts to speak. He looks around the table, looks at Justin’s parents, takes Justin’s hand, and with a grin and a sparkle and a squeeze and a sense of gratitude he had not felt in a long time, Mr. Wasley says, “Yes, Justin I am very thankful for mashed potatoes” and he pauses a beat or two, “actually, Justin, I am quite thankful for hot, fresh biscuits as well, with just a touch of gravy.” He stops with that and together Justin and Mr. Wasley offer a robust “amen” and pick up their forks. Justin’s parents glance at each other with a bit of confusion on their faces. The unseen Christ at the table heaves a sigh, nods his head yes, and offers a bit of a smile.
Before the church affirms the God of the past, we ought to sing praise to the God who is. Before we stand and proclaim the God of the future, we ought to be standing and pointing to the God who is. Before we find ourselves drawn to the stories of Jesus recorded in scripture and before we fall on our knees before Jesus, the Lamb of God who sits upon the throne, the One who shall reign forever and ever, the One who is surely coming again, you and I, we ought to give witness to Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, the Savior of the world, who is. On this Christ the King Sunday on the threshold of Thanksgiving Day, giving thanks to God and to Jesus and to the Holy Spirit, God the three in One, giving thanks for the God of the here and now, not unlike the way a child lives and celebrates the moment. Giving thanks for the presence of Christ at the table of our lives.
Theologian Karl Barth argues that the message of Jesus’ past is proclaimed, heard, and believed in order that it should no longer be past, but present. For him, a community interested only in the historical Jesus would be a community without a guiding spirit. Likewise, a community that endures a certain emptiness now, a passive, futile waiting, a kind of church-based gestation period that only counts the days waiting for Christ to come again, well, according to Barth, it’s just unspiritual. Meaning it is a community lacking in the evidence of the work and the presence of God, the gifts of the Spirit, a spirit of thankfulness for the moment. In Barth’s own language, “It must never be forgotten that He who comes again in glory, this future Jesus, is identical with the One proclaimed by the history of yesterday and the One really present to His own today.” (Church Dogmatics III.2. p.468). That presence, that “isness” of Christ is made known as the community gathers around Jesus himself in worship, a community that lives by and with Christ the King, through faith. “I am the Alpha and Omega, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
If I had to try to tell Justin and his second-grade church school class about the “is-ness of Jesus Christ”, I wouldn’t describe a feeling inside or point to spiritual high upon a mountain top or faith hero or today. I would invite them to stand here with me and look out at you, right now. A community that with the passion of its worship believes that Christ is present, that in this weekly gathering, Christ is at the center. A community with all of its brokenness and frailty believes that Christ’s love binds us together. That Christ’s love is our only comfort in life and in death. A community that knows itself to be sent out in service, not fill out our resumes, not to facilitate team building at the office, not to achieve honorable mention in faith-based initiatives, but solely because Christ calls us now, Christ sends us now. We know ourselves to be the hands and feet of Christ for this moment, for this time, for this place.
Even here and even now, even today, celebrating the Is-ness of Jesus Christ. “I am the Alpha and Omega, says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”

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Esther 3:7-15; 4:1-17
November 17
Andrew Scales
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Genesis 21:1-21
November 10
David A. Davis
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As you can imagine, many of my Presbyterian pastor colleagues have been asking each other the same question this week: “What are you going to preach on?” That is not a version of “What are you going to say?” It is a question about what biblical text you are going to use. We are nearing the end of our fall Linked-In series on “Women in the Old Testament”. Some will remember that I and the other preachers did not choose the texts. Neither did we choose the order. That was determined by the availability of adult education leaders. This morning our text tells the story of Sarah and Hagar in the Book of Genesis. That question among preachers this week also implies another question. “Are you going to change your biblical text this week?” I, for one, certainly thought about it. I also thought about asking Noel to lead a hymn sing. But when teaching preaching at Princeton Seminary, I told students what I have often shared from this pulpit over the years. “Never underestimate the work of the Holy Spirit and the power of the Living Word when you bring the world to bear on an unsuspecting biblical text.” So we’re sticking with Genesis 21 and Hagar and Ishmael.

One other note from my experience in the classroom down the street. You have heard it before but it bears repeating. Over the years, I have often been invited to the Introduction to the Old Testament class to participate on a panel discussing “Preaching from the Old Testament”. Students were invited to submit questions ahead of time that were shared with the members of the panel. Every year there was a block of questions about preaching difficult passages with the students referencing God’s judgment, war, violence, and sexual violence. In my attempt to answer, I would add another group of texts to the list: stories like the text for today that tell of barrenness and fertility. It is a significant theological motif that stirs questions, emotions, pain, grief, and now fear, for those who have lived the realities of infertility. A reality all too often ignored by the church or by preachers like me and worse, invoked by the church or preachers and people of power as a justification to threaten and do harm. Bringing the world to bear on unsuspecting biblical texts, it seems, just gets harder and harder and harder.

Feeling a deep need for a whole lot more of the Holy Spirit this morning, please pray with me as I offer two traditional prayers from our liturgical tradition:

Genesis 21:1-21

This scene in the wilderness is not Hagar’s first trip to the wilderness. When Abraham and Sarah were still Abram and Sarai, back when God had promised to make Abram a great nation and Sarai had no children, Sarai suggested that Abram have a child with Hagar, Sarai’s slave woman. After Hagar became pregnant Sarai regretted the plan, Abram told Sarai that Hagar was still under her power and could do what she pleased with Hagar. The text says, “Then Sarai dealt harshly with Hagar and Hagar ran away from her.” Scholars point out the reference to Hagar being treated harshly was the same description of how the enslaved people of Israel were treated in Egypt. That treatment included hard labor and physical abuse.

As Hagar fled from the abuse to the wilderness, an angel of the Lord found Hagar and told her to return, that God would greatly multiply her offspring: “Now you have conceived and shall bear a son; you shall call him Ishmael, for the Lord has given heed to your affliction.” The name Ishmael in Hebrew means “God hears”.  As often happens in the pages of the Hebrew Bible when God speaks to someone, the well where the angel speaks to Hagar is given a name. Here in the Book of Genesis, Hagar is only the second person to whom God speaks. She doesn’t just name the location. She names God as well. “She names the Lord who spoke to her, ‘you are El-roi” which means “God sees”.

As we get to chapter 21, according to the recording of Abraham and Sarah’s age, Ismael is a young teenager. Baby Isaac has grown a bit and according to the story as told here in the NRSV, Sarah saw Hagar’s son “playing with her son, Isaac”. The Hebrew text stops with “playing” and makes no mention of Isaac. The Hebrew does not include “with her son Isaac.” Instead of “playing”, other translations use “mocking” or “scoffing”. It’s a fascinating example of how tradition, interpretation, and translation can so easily be influenced by the assumptions, the biases, and the humanity we all bring to the text. All the text says is that Sarah saw him playing

A few scholars working with the text argue that the word for “playing” can also be translated as “laughing”. Sarah sees Ishmael laughing and given Isaac’s name, and Sarah’s laughing, well, the deeper literary insult becomes clear. In Sarah’s eyes, only Isaac should have the privilege of laughing. Culturally speaking, Ismael was still the firstborn son of Abraham so would still be entitled to the privileges that entails. We should not be surprised that at the end of the day, Hagar’s second journey to the wilderness with her child is about power, privilege, and money. Despite Abraham’s distress, Hagar is still an enslaved foreign woman whose son is perceived as a threat.

Notice, too, that after Isaac is born, Ishmael’s name falls off the page. He is no longer Ishmael, he becomes only “her son”, or “that boy”. This account of Hagar and Ishmael being sent away never refers to Ishmael by name. Even the narrator doesn’t use his name. Here in the story of Hagar and Ishmael’s wilderness deportation, the only reference to the boy’s name comes in God’s action. As in “God heard”.  In the Hebrew text, to the ear of someone listening to the Hebrew, Ishmael is named even as God heard. His name comes in the verb. Hagar lifted up her voice. Hagar wept. But God heard the voice of the boy himself. God “Ishmaeled” the boy who by now, according to Sarah and Abraham and the writer of the story, is pretty much nameless. God heard. As God promised, God made a great nation of Ishmael. Through Abraham, God’s covenant with two nations.

One cannot bring the world to bear on this biblical text this week and understate who Hagar and Ismael were and what was done to them by a system, a culture, and those closest to them. Hagar was an enslaved foreign woman who, though it was a cultural practice, was raped, sexually assaulted, physically abused, and eventually sent off into the desert with her teenage son with little to no chance of surviving. Ishmael was stereotyped by the biblical writers themselves; described as a child who “shall be a wild ass of a man.” He was maligned by the wife of his father, and accused by translators and scripture interpreters of misbehaving around baby Isaac or doing worse to Isaac with absolutely nothing in the ancient text to support the allegation. All because they were powerless, vulnerable foreigners, helpless in the system, the culture, and the “family” that owned them. And then, even then, even for them, God sees and God hears. The most powerless, the most vulnerable, the most abused, the most marginalized, God sees and God hears.

Allow me to use the words of Dr. Kathi Sakenfeld. Kathi concludes her chapter on Sarah and Hagar in her book Just Wives. “Next time you hear about Abraham, remember Sarah, and when you remember Sarah, remember Hagar. Remember that in Hagar God has affirmed the marginalized in their desire to be included in history. Remember so that you will be more open to those not like yourself, Remember so that your heart will be opened to the outcast and downtrodden. Remember so that you will believe that God sees and hears, that the cry of one lonely and fearful person in the wilderness does not go unheard.”

            To build upon Dr. Sakenfeld’s charge to her reader in her book written now twenty years ago, for the disciple of Jesus Christ today, for someone striving to live the gospel Christ teaches in scripture, remembering in and of itself, is not enough. Because all the Hagar’s and Ishmael’s around us these days are scared to death. When threats of vengeance and violence, bigotry and hate, vulgarity, and misogyny win, the number of people who find themselves more like Hagar and Ishmael grows exponentially. When systems and cultures plant fear, violence, and hate, the people of God are called to cling to hope and promise that God sees and God hears. When systems and cultures seed fear, violence, and hate, the followers of Jesus are called to witness to the teaching of Jesus in the gospel, to live out that gospel in word and deed, to feed the hungry, and to give drink to the thirsty, and welcome the stranger, and clothe the naked, and care for the sick, and visit those in prison. When systems and cultures stoke fear, violence, and hate, the servants of Jesus Christ are called to embrace the unclean, to speak for the long silenced, to love the neighbor, to protect the marginalized, to work for peace, to rise for justice, to spread seeds of mercy, and pray for the very righteousness of God to fill the land.

As the Apostle Paul proclaims, “For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is low and despised in the word, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are.”  God hears and God sees. It is a profound promise to cling to because as the writer of I John reminds us, “God is greater than our hearts.”

A retired pastor in our midst gave me a gift this week. We were having a cup of tea at my office to the north and west at the Dunkin at Princeton Shopping Center. We were meeting to talk about some of the work I have been doing at the national levels of the Presbyterian Church (USA). Yes, we talked about other things of the week. As we were wrapping up our time together, the pastor casually mentioned an article they had just earlier that morning in the Christian Century. They even told me the page number in the issue. “You may want to take a look at it,” they said.

It is a short essay written by the Lutheran pastor and writer Heidi Neumark entitled “Conspiracies of Goodness”. She begins by quoting the new Episcopal bishop of New York who says that  “The Holy Spirit moves at ground level.” Then she goes on to tell of a French priest named Andre Trocme who was sent to serve a small French village in 1934. Under Father Trocme’s leadership, the village became known as the safest place in Europe for refugees. More than 5,000 Jewish lives, mostly children, were saved by families in the village who took them in.  Neumark reports that the priest preached almost always on the Beatitudes and the Good Samaritan never mentioning the war. His pastoral visitation was considered key in the encouragement of families to be bold and courageous in their faithfulness. His ministry came to be described as “the kitchen table struggle” by some. Heidi Neumark writes that “[the village] became a center of organized resistance to hate through a series of daily-on-the-ground, compassionate acts, ordinary acts that saved lives and required extraordinary courage.”

She concludes that in those Beatitudes Father Trocme preached, “Jesus declares blessings upon those who are disregarded, dehumanized or slated for extermination. Jesus promises that in the end, God’s way of seeing will prevail.”

God’s way of seeing. God’s way of hearing.

God sees. God hears. And so shall we.

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Ruth 2:1-13
November 3
David A. Davis
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As we move our way through this fall’s series on “Women of the Old Testament”, this week’s study brings us to the Book of Ruth.  Our study guide, this week’s small groups, and today’s adult education discussion all focused on Ruth and Naomi in Chapter 1. With the presidential election only days away and all the campaign rhetoric, actions, and ads that fill the airwaves and the public square, I find myself drawn to chapter 2 of the Book of Ruth for the sermon this morning. With a slight change to the sermon title I submitted, I invite you to join me in pondering the notion of “Protecting Gleaners”.

Chapter 1 of the Book of Ruth tells of a couple from Bethlehem moving to the country of Moab with their two sons because there was a famine in the land. Unfortunately, Elimelech, the husband and father soon died, leaving Naomi with two sons. The sons eventually married but after ten years or so, they both died as well leaving Naomi and her two Moabite daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth. Naomie hears that the famine in the land of Judah has ended and decides her best hope for survival as a widow in the ancient world is to return to Bethlehem.  Naomi tells Ruth and Orpah that their best hope would be to stay and meet a Moabite man to marry rather than show up in Bethlehem as a foreigner. All of them weep together at the thought of separation. Orpah kisses her mother-in-law and heads off while Ruth clings to Naomi and expresses her intention to stand with, be loyal to, and never leave her mother-in-law. “Entreat me not to leave you”. When the two women wandered into Bethlehem, the bible says that “the whole town stirred because of them.” Two unaccompanied women, no doubt tattered both by the journey and life itself. After ten years away from Bethlehem, the other women in town barely recognize Naomi. They arrive in town just at the beginning of the barley harvest.

Ruth 2:1-16

Ruth didn’t just make up her idea to go gleaning in someone else’s field to gather food for her and Naomi.  Gleaning is supported by the ancient law of Israel recorded in both Leviticus and Deuteronomy. Gleaners were not uncommon.

“When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. When you beat your olive trees, do not strip what is left it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow.

When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore I am commanding you to do this.” (Deut. 24:19-22)

 Dr. Kathie Sakenfeld wrote a commentary on the Book of Ruth in the Interpretation Commentary Series. In that volume, Professor Sakenfeld points out that Boaz goes over and above the law when it comes to Ruth. He doesn’t just allow her to glean with the other gleaners. He asks the reaper-in-charge about her. He gives Ruth instructions that will help keep her safe in the field. He offers Ruth water that his reapers have drawn. As the chapter moves beyond what I read, Boaz invites Ruth to eat lunch with the rest of the workers and serves her a “heaped up” portion. When everyone goes back to work, he tells the men to allow Ruth to glean among the standing sheaves not just the ones that had fallen to the ground.

This “prominent rich man” offers generosity, hospitality, and security to the daughter-in-law of the wife of a dead, perhaps distant, relative he hadn’t seen in more than ten years. He offers generosity, hospitality, and security to a vulnerable woman with little to nothing to her name who is referred to over and over again as the Moabite, which is the ancients’ way of emphasizing that she was a foreigner, a stranger, an alien, an immigrant. Ruth was the biblical definition of “the other”.

It has to be mentioned that while Boaz was indeed protecting Ruth the gleaner, the story reflects all of the uncomfortable realities about patriarchy in the ancient world and the bible. A rich man who doesn’t seem to lift a finger at the harvest. The laws regarding property ownership, and marriage. And the only means by which a vulnerable woman could find security and a future being with and through a man. Boaz should not be glamorized as a hero. But two things can be true at the same time: the account of Naomi, Ruth, and Boaz drips of patriarchy and Boaz went over and above in offering generosity, hospitality, and security to a vulnerable foreigner at significant risk.

Dr. Sakenfeld also notes that God seems to have a minor role in the Book of Ruth. God does not have a speaking part. There is very little God-talk in the four chapters of Ruth. Chapter One describes the end of the famine in Judah as God considering God’s people. Naomi laments that the Lord had turned against her in all of her loss. When Ruth becomes pregnant, the narrator says that the Lord made her conceive. But very little is said about the main characters’ relationship to God, their prayer life, or a life of worship. No theological expositions like those of the Apostle Paul. No prophetic announcements to God’s people like those of the Hebrew prophets. No call to a life of discipleship like those of the gospels. You remember, however, that Ruth does have a place in the family tree of Jesus. As recorded in the gospel of Matthew, “Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David.”

Yet, in this morning’s scripture lesson, Boaz does invoke the promise of God to Ruth. “May the Lord reward you for your deeds, and may you have a full reward under whose wings you have come for refuge!” The blessing Boaz bestows upon Ruth is that she will find refuge under God’s wings. In a book where the action of God seems to be rather understated and no credit is tossed God’s way when it comes to Ruth finding refuge under God’s wings, the reader is left to conclude that the refuge for Ruth comes in the form of the generosity, hospitality, and security at the hands of Boaz. The shelter and protection of God’s wings through the actions of Boaz, “a prominent rich man”.

It is not a stretch to suggest that when considering the ancient culture, practice, and history that shaped the context of the Book of Ruth, the decisions and actions of Boaz were life-saving for Ruth and Naomi. A refuge that is more than a metaphor. A refuge that is less about a spiritual rest under God’s wings and a whole lot more about finding food and water and safety and survival under God’s wings. With generosity, hospitality, and security, Boaz becomes an agent for the very wings of God. One can hear echoes of the teaching of Jesus in Matthew 25; as much as you did it to these most vulnerable and at risk you did it to me. One also cannot forget the disorienting words of judgment from Jesus either. As you did not to it these you, you did not do it to me. To not offer generosity, hospitality, and security to the orphan, the widow, the alien, the stranger, the immigrant, is then, to withhold the promised refuge of God. To not protect the gleaner is to clip the wings of God.

It is hardly a shocking or outside-the-box theological conviction to believe that God’s actions are often experienced in and through the actions and words of humankind. Divine agency at work in the hands and feet and voice of people like you and me. What is startling, what ought to be stopping the people of God in their tracks these days, what ought to give the followers of Jesus more than just a little to think about is that theological conviction turned around. It doesn’t seem all that profound to proclaim that human sin works against the ways of God. But it is more than compelling to be confronted with the notion that the lack of generosity, hospitality, and security threatens the refuge God promises to the foreigner, the orphan, the widow, the stranger, and even the neighbor. It leads to a theological conviction of a different kind. For the church of Jesus Christ to ponder the possibility and the pretty plain reality all around, that the followers of Jesus may have a role to play in clipping the sheltering wings of God.

Nassau Church has been involved in resettling refugees for more than sixty years. Starting way back in 1964 a family from Cuba was welcomed by this congregation. Families have come from Cambodia, Vietnam, Bosnia, The Sudan, Burma, Iraq, Syria, and Afghanistan. The Hashimi family has been in Princeton for three years and our team of folks kept working all the channels to finally get a visa for their husband and father (Ahmad). For the last 15 years or so we have partnered with Princeton Seminary for housing our refugee families. Together with the seminary, we can also add Mang and his family from Burma reunited after three years as well. Sixty years of ministry, of being agents of the sheltering wings of God. By God’s grace and in the power of the Holy Spirit, transforming lives one family at a time. Acts of discipleship and faith are now threatened by the frightening rise of hatred, and bigotry; much of it shrouded in the cloud of an ugly Christian nationalism. The church of Jesus Christ has to ponder the possibility and the pretty plain reality all around, that the followers of Jesus may have a role to play in clipping the sheltering wings of God.

In the Presbyterian Reformed tradition, we believe this meal is a sign of God’s kingdom. Yes, it is a foretaste of glory divine but it is also nourishment for the journey of faith. That nourishment has to include some ethical protein as you and I go forth into the work to work for and serve God’s kingdom. Yes, a meal to remember and give thanks for all that God has done but also a meal of empowerment, encouragement, and exhortation. A kind of pre-game meal for those sent out into the world as disciples of Jesus Christ.

Richard Lischer retired from teaching preaching at Duke Divinity School. He wrote a memoir about his time serving a small congregation somewhere in the South. At one point he writes about why he would lift the silver chalice during communion when he said “As often as you drink it, do it remembrance of me.” Church members often told him it seemed too Catholic to them. But in his words, “I lifted the chalice because when the light was filtering through our stained-glass windows or flooding through the open doors in the back, I could see the whole congregation reflected in that cup. And in the congregation, the whole church.”

I bet if Lischer was serving that church today in the world we live in, he would lift that cup a lot higher. Because God is calling us to see the church at work in the world. A church living out what must now be described as bold and courageous acts of generosity, hospitality, and security. A church still willing to serve as an agent of the sheltering wings of God.

Come to the table this morning and be nourished for the journey of faith to which we are being called.

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Numbers 27:1-11
October 27
Lauren J. McFeaters
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Introduction to the Text

I have to tell you I’ve had the most wonderful few weeks in preparation and becoming friends with these five sisters. Between walking beside them in the desert, I’ve had the remarkable Professor Kathie Sakenfeld walking beside me in faithfulness and scholarship –  every step of the way. And gratitude to Carol Wehrheim for writing our Study Guide. [ii]

And to top it all off, I’ve discovered contemporary Jewish women’s Midrash – voices of faith, artwork, poetry, and song, all celebrating five remarkable women who lived thousands of years ago.

Our story, from the 4^th Book of the Hebrew Scriptures, is set in the Plains of Moab, across the Jordan River from Jericho. The Israelites are in the wilderness, awaiting the crossing of the Jordan River, to find their new home in the Promised Land.

 

How did they do it? These five sisters, orphans without standing, unmarried women without security, making their way to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, stepping over the threshold to God’s own sanctuary in the desert, a tabernacle where Moses himself and throngs of formidable men gather, and they walk right into the place of sacrifice and worship  — not a place where women’s voices or upper registers are heard. And everyone is listening. ^[iii]

And in full-voice, before God and everyone, they proclaim the right, under the law, to be counted, valued, respected, and seen as human beings. [iv]

Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, Tirzah – they do the unthinkable. Voices reaching across time and space: ‘Our father died before we reach the Promised Land.  Why should the name of our father be taken away from our clan because he had no son? Give to us his possession.’

They know the rules and regulations. They understand what it means to be  at the mercy of men – and to be in danger without men. They understand the problem of not belonging. Their lack of both brother and father means they no longer belong: a family forgotten; no name in the genealogy; no protection under the law.

Kathie Sakenfeld, in her inaugural lecture at Princeton Theological Seminary, takes us to the heart of this passage and into the workings of feminist biblical interpretation. She speaks of many possible interpretations for this text, and through her scholarship, Professor Sakenfeld opens the Word of God as it comes to the community in its encounter with the text; that the revelation of this story comes to us because God is at work in the whole life of the believing community.

She says: I believe in the power of acts of imagination. As the community encounters the Bible, hearing God’s Word, is an act of imagination where personal experience and the biblical text most readily touch each other, because together we can mark a path through the wilderness to the land of promise. [v]

Now here’s the place this pastor can jump into – where the act of imagination, personal experience, and the biblical text are converging. I can hold onto that faith-filled imagination. These sisters too converge at the Tent of Meeting, and in their bravery, they broaden our theological imagination.

Through this one small, but mighty story – so easy to gloss over because it’s hidden in the middle of a book that’s one  never-ending list — comes voices that spin an ancient world on its head: Belonging is magnified, being counted is amplified, and God’s generosity is multiplied. All because five women were willing to claim:

• They too are God’s beloved,
• They too have names.
• They too have a place.
• They too have the power to advocate.
• They too should enjoy inheritance.

Not only are these sisters our fore-mothers in the faith; they are also our inheritance. [vi]

What is your inheritance in the faith?

Here’s a little bit of mine. In 8^th grade, I asked my parents about becoming a Presbyterian minister. I think they tried to remain calm. In those days, there were no ordained women clergy in the Pittsburgh Presbytery. My church was the last in the Presbytery to ordain women Elders and that was in 1984. To say my parents were speechless is an understatement, and not knowing what to say, they sent me to talk to my pastor.

My father drove me to church mid-week after school and I met with my pastor, in his office. I said to him I felt God wanted me to be a Presbyterian minister; that there was so much joy inside of me, and I thought I would like to study the Bible. My pastor said he was sorry, so very sorry, but it wouldn’t be possible. He said, I could marry a minister, but not be a minister. He said there was so much I had to be grateful for as I had many role models in the faith, including my mother, aunts, and grandmothers, who enjoyed working in the church’s kitchen. The church he said, did not ordain women to become clergy. He lied.

Four years before I was born, Margaret Towner was the first woman to be ordained as Presbyterian clergy by the Syracuse-Cayuga Presbytery of New York. That very year Katie Geneva Cannon was the first African-American woman ordained. In 1965, the first woman in the southern branch of our church, Rachel Henderlite, was ordained a Minister of Word and Sacrament. Perla Belo, the first Asian American woman ordained in 1985. And you can bet, for years before Margaret, Katie, Rachel, and Perla, dozens and dozens of people of the church acted as Daughters of Zelophehad, standing in the halls of power in our denomination to demand justice. They spoke, saying the voices of women had an equal inheritance to preaching, teaching, lecturing, counseling, and having a voice at Session and General Assembly.

Ten years later, I had graduated from college, moved to New York City, and joined a new Presbyterian Church, and a few years after that, with great trepidation, I approached my new pastor in New York City and asked if we could meet. His name was Bob Nunn, and when I met in his office, I said I really, really felt called to be a Presbyterian minister, and called to serve the church, he said, “Of course you do. I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me. When would you like to begin?” It may have not been like standing before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders, and all the congregation, but in my world, it was close. And Bob Nunn was for me, a Daughter of Zelophehad.

And it’s not just ordination. The Daughter’s act for justice is for anyone denied serving Christ and the church; anyone refused full inclusion, to fully serve our Lord, be it race, gender, sexuality, marital status, being otherly-abled, financially insecure, and more.

Take a look at the cover of your Order of Worship. It’s a painting of the Daughters of Zelophehad. It’s painted by Presbyterian minister, Lauren Wright Pittman,^[vii] who says, when the powers in place don’t budge, it’s not the end of the story. For those whose voices are less valued, those who go unseen, those who have fought a long and continuing fight, we must breathe life into those old, tired, worn-out laws. The winds of change, the breath of God, surrounds the tent of meeting, and the voice of God descends on these women, hearing their cry. New life sprouts from the ground as the law is heard afresh. And the catalyst for this moment of new inheritance – it isn’t only the women’s strength; it takes all of us to listen. Moses opened his heart, and God declares, “They are right.” Make way for change.^[viii]

Our faith is living, breathing, changing.

Remember their names:

Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, Tirzah.

Remember their names:

Margaret, Katie, Rachel, and Perla,

Kathie, Carol, and Bob … You.

Remember Your Names.

 

ENDNOTES

[i] Numbers 27:1-11 NRSV: Then the daughters of Zelophehad came forward. Zelophehad was son of Hepher son of Gilead son of Machir son of Manasseh son of Joseph, a member of the Manassite clans. The names of his daughters were: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They stood before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders, and all the congregation, at the entrance of the tent of meeting, and they said, “Our father died in the wilderness; he was not among the company of those who gathered themselves together against the Lord in the company of Korah, but died for his own sin; and he had no sons. Why should the name of our father be taken away from his clan because he had no son? Give to us a possession among our father’s brothers.” Moses brought their case before the Lord. And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying; you shall indeed let them possess an inheritance among their father’s brothers and pass the inheritance of their father on to them. You shall also say to the Israelites, “If a man dies, and has no son, then you shall pass his inheritance on to his daughter. If he has no daughter, then you shall give his inheritance to his brothers. If he has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to his father’s brothers. And if his father has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to the nearest kinsman of his clan, and he shall possess it. It shall be for the Israelites a statute and ordinance, as the Lord commanded Moses.”

[ii] Carol Wehrheim. https://nassauchurch.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Fall-2024-Small-Groups-Guide.pdf.

 

[iii] Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. “Feminist Biblical Interpretation.” Theology Today, Vol. 46, Issue 2, 1989, 155.

 

[iv] Lauren Wright Pittman. Adapted from her Artist’s Reflection on They Stood, a graphic image

inspired by Numbers 27:1-11. © A Sanctified Art LLC, Sanctifiedart.org, 1, 2018.

 

[v] Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 166-168.

 

[vi] Teri Peterson. “Expanded Inheritance: Numbers 27.1-11.” The Presbyterian Church of Palantine, IL, June 5, 2016, palatinepres.org.

 

[vii] Lauren Wright Pittman. They Stood, a graphic image inspired by Numbers 27:1-11. © A Sanctified Art LLC, Sanctifiedart.org:

https://nassauchurch.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Fall-2024-Small-Groups-Guide.pdf

 

[viii] Lauren Wright Pittman.

 

 

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Proverbs 31:10-31
October 20
David A. Davis
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Before reading our sermon text today, I feel a nudge to remind everyone that I did not select Proverbs 31. We are beginning our “Linked In” fall series as small groups, adult education, and sermons all work with the same scripture week. The theme is “Women of the Old Testament”. I’m pretty confident that for obvious reasons, I probably am not the best choice to preach this text. But the texts were selected after the preaching calendar was set and next week I will be at the Broadway Presbyterian Church in NYC for our granddaughter Maddy’s baptism. I have actually never preached Proverbs 31. 30 or 35 years ago, occasionally a family would ask me to read selected verses at the funeral of the family matriarch. A woman from a generation who might have had the verses cross-stitched and framed and hanging somewhere in the house.

Before you read along and/or listen to the text from Proverbs, some context may be helpful. The 31^st chapter is the last chapter of this book of wisdom attributed at the very beginning to King Solomon. The 31^st chapter and the 1^st chapter bookend the content with “the fear of the Lord.” “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge” (1:7). Fear as in awe or worship. Scholars point out that Proverbs 31 is a Hebrew Poem. A Hebrew acrostic poem where, like several of the psalms, each section begins with a Hebrew letter and the psalmist works their way through the Hebrew alphabet. Old Testament professor Elaine James is leading the education hour conversation this morning with the title Women, Poetry and God: reading Proverbs 31.

Part of Dr. James’s expertise is Hebrew poetry in the bible. In her writing on this chapter, she gives the preacher some cautionary notes or interpretive moves to be avoided. They are relevant not just to the preacher but to the reader/listener as well. Among those warnings, Dr. James argues that one cannot ignore the countless differences between ancient households and contemporary ones or set up the poem as some sort of glorification of endless hard work for others that sets an ideal and impossible standard for women. Neither should be portrayed as casting any sort of singular definition of gender role perfection. It is, after all, a poem crafted in a patriarchal world. With these notes for listening and receiving and pondering…

Psalm 31:10-31

The work of her hands. A field purchased. A vineyard planted with her hands. Strong arms making merchandise that is profitable. Her hands to the spindle. Her hands open to the poor. Her hands reaching the needy. Self-made garments. Linen garments made to sell. Strength, dignity, humor, wisdom, teaching kindness. Elaine James points out the Hebrew word translated as “capable” as in “capable wife” at the beginning is the same word used near the end, translated as “excellently”: “Many women have done excellently but you surpass them all.” The professor suggests that since that Hebrew word has connotations of military strength, “courageous” might be a better translation. The word for “wife” is the same in Hebrew as “woman”.

The poetry tells of a courageous woman whose works are praised at the city gates. At the city gates where in the ancient world the male elders, leaders, and deciders gathered (including as mentioned in the text, the courageous woman’s husband.)  At the city gates, the works of her calloused hands were praised by the top rungs of the patriarchal hierarchy. The works of her strong arms are not taken for granted but praised. Her courage was not diminished but lauded. Perhaps a timeless affirmation in the then and now patriarchal world. A poem that begins with the question “a capable wife who can find?” shattering all expectations and assumptions clung to in that world, this world. Right about now in this sermon, the title of a book written by retired professor of Old Testament Kathi Sakenfeld, leaps off the page: Just Wives? Stories of Power and Survival in the Old Testament and Today.

It shouldn’t be glossed over that the only mention of children in the poem is near the end. “Her children rise up and call her happy”. Better translated as “blessed”. “Her children rise up and call her blessed.” No mention of caring for children in all the descriptions of the work of her hands. Yes, that could be because the poetry paints a picture of a wealthy household where others may tend to the children. But in the days we live, as so many who sit at the city gates and bask in the patriarchal hierarchy threaten a woman’s healthcare, a woman’s right to her own body, a woman’s access to the best science, and define a woman’s worth only by bearing and raising children way too often using faith and these pages of scriptures as their justification, the art of the poetry of Proverbs 31 comes with a shattering irony. The art of poetry that tells of a courageous woman.

My friend Scott Hoezee at Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids MI writes that reading Proverbs 31 is sort of like finding a shoe box of old pictures in a closet in your great-grandmother’s house after her death. Another form of art that depicts an ancient world unfamiliar to you and unimaginable to you. Pictures that often raise many more questions than answers when it comes to what life was like. Before my mother died, she created a photo album of those pictures for my sister, brother and me. You can see those really old family photographs in your mind. Not just black and white, but dark and rather stark. Pictures of people not one smiling but staring right at the camera.  My mom wanted to make sure we knew who was in those pictures/. She wrote with a big old Sharpie marker all the names, grandma this, great aunt that, great grandpa so and so. Just a family note, in my mother’s wisdom, she wrote with a sharpie right on the front of the photograph rather than the back!

As the youngest child, my siblings can remember a few more relatives in those photographs than I can. I have no memories of three of my grandparents. The only one I can remember is my grandmother Jesse Aubrey. I am named after my grandfather David Aubrey. Grandma Aubrey died when I was in early high school. One of the memories I have is as a young boy. Grandma was staying overnight in our house. She never lived with us so maybe it was a holiday. She seemed a gazillion years old to me and she went to bed early. One evening as I came out of my room, I could hear her talking behind the closed door in the guest room. I did what any young boy would do. I stuck my ear closer to hear who she was talking to. It was before cell phones and I didn’t think anyone else was in there. I thought maybe was doing a grandma thing and talking to herself. As I intruded with my listening, I figured out she was talking to God. Grandma was saying her bedtime prayers and she wasn’t whispering. My family only prayed out loud at home at the dinner table on holidays. It was the first time I ever heard someone praying out loud other than at church. I consider that experience to be the first influence of someone on my faith.

“Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a share in the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the city gates.”  The Book of Proverbs begins and ends with the “fear of the Lord.”

Amanda Gorman published a book of her poetry written during the years of the pandemic. You remember that she wrote the poem “The Hill We Climb” for the 2020 presidential inauguration. The title poem of her book is “What We Carry.” These two poems have a movement that lean toward a powerful culmination in the last few phrases. Not for all her work, but for these it is as if the poem starts pianissimo (very softly) and ends double forte. Listen to the optimism, hope and power of the end of “The Hill We Climb”

We will rise from the gold-limned hills of the West!

We will rise from the windswept Northeast, where our

forefathers first realized revolution!

We will rise from late-rimmed cities of Midwestern states!

We will rise from the sunbaked south!

 

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover/

In every known nook of our nation.

In every corner called our country.

Our people diverse and dutiful.

We’ll emerge battered but beautiful.

 

When day comes, we step out of the dark,

Aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always a light.

If only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

 

Similarly, written about life in the pandemic, the ending soars with a defying hope.

            In discarding almost everything-

            Our rage, our wreckage

            Our hubris, our hate

            Our ghosts, our greed

            Our wrath, our wars

            On the beating shore.

            We haven’t any haven from them here/

            Rejoice, for what we have left behind will not free us.

            But what we have left is all we need.

            We are enough.

            Armed only with our hands.

            Open but unemptied,

            Just like a blooming thing.

            We walk into tomorrow

            Carrying nothing

            But the world.

 

Maybe the poetry of the wisdom writer of the Book of Proverbs is shaped in the same way. Sloped in emphasis toward the conclusion. The exhausting, exhaustive description of the everyday life of the courageous woman who shatters all expectations concludes in bold print and underlined. To be read with emphasis.  “Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband too, and he praises her. ‘Many women have done excellently but you surpass them all’. Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a share in the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the city gates.”

A poem that concludes with the most important part. A conclusion that underscores, repeats, and puts an exclamation point on the most important part of wisdom and courage. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Or as the apostle Paul puts it at the end of his sermon on resurrection hope: “Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is never in vain.”

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Psalm 8
October 6
David A. Davis
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“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” It’s one of the verses from the psalmist that ought to stick with you. Like “Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within bless God’s holy name” and “Be still and know that I am God” and “Hope in God, for I shall again praise God, my help and my God” and “I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where does my help come My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth!”

            “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Ingrid Ladendorf, our Director of Children and Youth Choirs and Director of Children and Family Ministries was helping to lead worship at a recent staff gathering. Ingrid offered a children’s setting of Psalm 8. We read in unison and broke up the psalm like this: “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (WOW!) “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you mindful of them, mortals that you care for them” (WOW!) “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (WOW!)

            This first verse from Psalm 8 is also the last. It’s not quite a refrain but is the psalm’s first and last word. It frames the psalmist’s word. It’s the takeaway from the poetry. It sets the tone for the psalm’s guts, which comes in between. It shapes how the psalm will be read like an old adage about preaching. “Tell them what you are going to tell them. Then tell them. Then tell again and sit down.”  “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” You can’t miss the praise even though the word isn’t there. No “praise the Lord” in Psalm 8 but it is a song of praise nonetheless.

It is the kind of song of praise that comes from the children and we sing it our whole life long. “Out of the mouths of babes and infants”, the psalmist writes. From the lips of the youngest, O God, you formed this foundation. You have established this stronghold of praise, this bulwark within your people that shouts our praise to you and lifts our adoration before you. It is a perpetual stream, words and songs and worship in all places and in all circumstances and at all times. A continuous loop of praise intended to drown out all other voices,  intended to silence every voice in us but your own. Even the voice of death will be squelched by our bold song of praise, O God of resurrection life. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            When I plan a memorial service with a family or plan a wedding with a couple, one of the regular topics of conversation is whether or not to sing a few hymns during the service. I have learned to ask about whether the expected congregation would be familiar with a hymn or would be a singing crowd. That’s because of all the times I stand up here before a community gathered for the occasion and I am the only one singing. I always find it interesting and a bit disconcerting when attendees dutifully stand during a hymn, don’t open the hymnbook, and just look forward; just stare at me. I understand that folks might be from a different religious faith or from a tradition that doesn’t sing hymns. But when politely standing and not participating people just look at me. Sometimes it feels like they are glaring at me. “Can’t you just read along or look at the windows or scan the room? Are you mad at me because of this hymn?” Honestly, I would like to share with them that this is what we do in this place. This is who we are. We are a people built and called together to praise God in joy and sorrow.

This last week I was with my peer group of pastors that I often tell you about. 25 Presbyterian pastors from all around the country. We were at the Mercer Island Presbyterian Church in Seattle. But we were a smaller group this time because our friends and colleagues from Asheville and Black Mountain NC and Spartanburg SC were not able to come because of the hurricane. We were able to talk to two of them by phone and pray for them. The other pastor still had no cell service. What they described to us was more heartbreaking than the videos and pictures we have all seen. How they had no way to check on the members of the congregation. How the Black Mountain Church gave water and food to 1,000 people on Monday. How they were told it might be 6 months before water is restored. Patrick, the pastor of First Church Asheville told us the church had power but no water. They were keeping it open for the community to come and charge devices or use the wifi. As our in-person group listened on a beautiful sunny day in Seattle, most of us were in tears. And then Patrick said, “We will gather for worship on Sunday morning for whoever can get here.” Then everyone in the room was in tears.

We don’t often think about it like this but maybe more often than not the worship of God by the people of God is a subversive act in the world in which we live. The Psalm reading for this morning in the Revised Common Lectionary is Psalm 8. That means congregations of all denominations all over the southeast (those that can gather or still have their building) will be reading Psalm 8 together. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Most will celebrate World Communion Sunday. The joyful feast of the people of God.” The children of God and the daring, subversive, counter-intuitive steady drumbeat of praise even when the world is washing away. Even when humanity’s care for the earth, the dominion entrusted by God has been abused. Even amid devastation and loss. Even when pondering the world near and far invokes a weariness deep within. Whether standing here for a child’s confirmation or here for a baby’s baptism or here to make solemn vows to one another, or sitting there for the service of a loved one now in glory, or gathered here for a “joyful feast of the people of God”. Or when two congregations gather to both celebrate and lament a history on race that is more complex than can be imagined, or when you are sitting out there on an ordinary Sunday joining in a hymn of praise when you weren’t sure you could bring yourself to sing after a rough week, or when you find yourself unspeakably grateful as three generations of your family share a pew. A steady drumbeat of praise. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            As I looked at the pictures coming out of the Montreat Presbyterian Conference Center where the Nassau Youth group went for the summer youth conference for several years, I thought of folks I know who live or lived there. David and Nancy Mulford lived there in retirement before moving here to Stonebridge to be closer to family. Marti and Peter Hazelrigg who were on staff with us here at Nassau now own a home in Montreat. Their home is okay but it will be some time until they can get there from Greensboro where Marti’s church is located. And I thought of Pat and MaryAnn Miller. They were part of Nassau for so many years when Pat taught Old Testament at Princeton Seminary. They owned a home for decades in Montreat that their children now have since both Pat and MaryAnn have joined the Communion of saints.

Dr Miller once wrote this about our praise and adoration of God. The worship and praise of the people of God “assumes and even evokes a world….where impossible things become possible, where things too difficult become the order of the day.” Miller continues “In a world that assumes the status is quo, that things have to be the way they are, and one must not assume too much about improving them, the doxologies of God’s people are one of the fundamental indicators that wonders have not ceased, possibilities not yet dreamed of will happen, and hope is an authentic stance.” That’s all ridiculous, he notes, “unless one has seen the wonders of God in the past.”

In other words, our doxology, our drum beat of praise, our subversive act of worship assumes and evokes the very kingdom of God. The sounds of our praise serve both to witness to God’s past faithfulness and point to God’s future. The steadfast presence of our song on the sabbath day dares give witness to a world where justice and righteousness kiss, where the weak are made strong, where the poor are lifted up, where the hungry are fed, where the wounded are cared for, and where the oppressed are set free. It’s that song of God’s people. The proclamation of God’s people. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            A few generations of children have grown up reading the book “Guess How Much I Love You” at bedtime. It’s the story of two rabbits: Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nut Brown Hare. The two, parent and child, are engaged in a dialogue trying to one-up each other about how much they love each other. This much. THIS much. THIS MUCH. The little one is falling asleep and trying to keep up. “I love you to the moon”, Little Nutbrown Hare says just as sleep takes over. With the young one now fast asleep, Big Nutbrown Hare says, “and back”. As in “I love you to the moon and back again.”

One can imagine all sorts of children now grown who share the refrain with those they love. “love you to the moon…and back”.  Maybe the psalmist has offered a version of that dialogue to God’s people. More than a dialogue of praise. A dialogue about our love for God and God’s love for us.  “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Not just as part of our drum beat of praise but deeply ingrained in our relationship to God. You, me and God. When we rise, when we nod off to sleep. Expressing all the fullness of praise that comes with our life in God. And knowing ourselves to now and forever be basking in the love of God made known to us in and through Jesus Christ. God’s offering of the “and back” part of the steadfast love God has for us.

Come to the Table this morning. Even after a week like this, come and dare to celebrate the joyful feast of the people of God.

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

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James 5:13-18
September 29
Len Scales
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At the close of the passage today, we hear of a harvest. Last week, in James chapter 3, we explored a harvest of righteousness, elsewhere translated the fruit of righteousness. Dave in his sermon reminded us of the good fruit that we hear of throughout Scripture. The passage that always comes to my mind is the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. As we consider good fruit that comes from prayer, we can discern between the bad fruit that too often accompanies conversations around prayer in our current world.

It is not good fruit when prayer is only “thoughts and prayers” without any accompanying action. It is not good fruit when people are told they aren’t praying with enough conviction because loved ones are still sick. It is not good fruit when prayer is used to isolate an individual rather than surround them with supportive community.

We hear in our passage today how prayer is a part of community care. It has to do with connecting those praying with God and with others. Prayer acknowledges the mysterious working of God, the responsibility of the community, and the participation of the one praying.

Similarly, as we celebrate a baptism today (in the 11 o’clock service), we as a community are surrounding a family in prayer and with promises to help care for the child baptized and always tell them about Jesus. Baptism reminds us of the promises of God that nothing, nothing ever, can separate us from the love of God. Baptism of a child is also about the promises of the family to raise the child in the family of faith. Baptism of an adult includes the individual’s promises of faith. The prayers at baptism are about these promises, acknowledging the mysterious, unending love of God combined with the community’s active engagement in the life of the one baptized. Baptism is a sign of God’s love and seals us as Jesus’ disciples, caring for one another and our world.

Prayer is this line that runs throughout our actions as a community in our entire life together. Civil Rights activists would gather to pray, preparing themselves, inviting God’s presence with them, that come what may, they would be ready to respond with nonviolence. One of my first sermons at Nassau in 2017 was the weekend of the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville. Andrew and I saw our seminary colleague Seth Wispelwey gather with other faith leaders the evening they were surrounded by tiki torches in the church. They were there praying. They were preparing themselves for the day ahead. They prayed that night and they sang “This Little Light of Mine” in the morning as they stood between the Nazi-inspired white nationalists and the counter-protestors. The Rev. Dr. William Barber II when interviewed then and since has continued his call for a “non-violent moral movement.”^[1] Barber’s call for a moral movement is built on a fusion coalition, bringing together people across differences for the good of the poor.^[2]

So too prayer is about bringing us together, from our different identities and concerns. Our passage today offers several examples of how prayer is communal, for one, James encourages the sick to gather the elders, to pray in a way that is embodied. In the passage, they anoint the sick with olive oil, which was tradition. It is not about magic powers, but about a humanizing touch, a reminder that we are here together.

The call to confession is also in community, that we may together be honest about the brokenness of our world, our need for healing. When we participate in confession in worship in the Presbyterian tradition, we only do so in conjunction with the assurance of forgiveness. It is a time to tell the truth that God has the power to forgive and transform us to follow God’s call to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly.”

Through our prayers of preparation, our prayers of petition, and our prayers of confession, we engage them together. As we face the challenges of life, we as a congregation will do so with the compassion of community and the promises of God.

A particular community known for its prayer is the Taizé Community in France. Taizé is an ecumenical monastic community that joins together in prayer three times a day, welcoming young people from around the world. The fusion of people of faith from protestant, catholic, and Orthodox traditions along with their growing conversations between Muslim and Christian young people, results in this unique space of prayer and in their collective work for the poor. David Hicks wrote about the prayer and action of Taizé on the occasion of their fiftieth anniversary as a community in the 90’s. Hick’s encourages, “To be faithful to the lesson of Taizé, then, would be to use a ‘prayer and action’ commitment to the gospel to discern present, particular needs in present, particular places.”^[3] As we share in prayer with one another, we can better see and understand the opportunities and needs before us in any given season.

One of the traditions on Sunday evenings at Breaking Bread Worship with the 40 or so undergraduate and graduate students who gather in Niles Chapel is how we participate in the prayers of the people. With a community of that size, we take the time to pray for one another with a communal bidding prayer. We ask for students, as they want, to briefly share something they are bringing with them that is either a joy or a challenge they need help holding. Then, the person leading the prayer rephrases the petition aloud, so that the person can hear it in another’s voice. We close by praying “Lord in your mercy,” and the congregation responds, “Hear our prayer.” In this way, it gives us space to acknowledge what we are carrying into worship with us and some insight into how to care for one another during the week.

In a larger community, small groups can be a way of understanding the present, particular needs. As you heard from Marshall & Debbie in the Moment for Mission, Small Groups are gearing up for a new season and are a wonderful way to get to know one another. They include a space to share prayer requests and join in prayer. Prayers for when we are sick, prayers for when we are celebrating, prayers when we don’t even have the words.

Praying is not about having the most eloquent phrasing or just the right description. It’s not a test of our vocabulary or faith. Prayer is about what is going on. Whether it is a timely topic, a shared silence, or a joining in the Lord’s Prayer, we are reminded that we are not alone when we pray. We can be carried by the community who is praying with us and even for us at times. It is an opportunity to be lifted by the community when we don’t have the energy or the focus to be able to put into words what is going on. We can draw on the words from Jesus and tradition.

In our prayers, we carry the needs of our community and are equipped by the Spirit to respond together. It reminds us that we are not alone. God is with us. Last fall, we explored prayer in the Old Testament with several narratives. As we turn to prayer in the New Testament with today’s text, we hear both descriptions of how people prayed but also prescriptions to simply pray. So in our corporate worship and in our gatherings in small groups, may we pray. Pray welcoming God’s everlasting love. Pray with an intent to follow it with action. Pray in sorrow and in joy. Pray in ways that bear good fruit.

^[1] “Religious Leaders Respond to White Nationalists in Charlottesville,” August 12, 2017, https://www.msnbc.com/am-joy/watch/religious-leaders-respond-to-white-nationalists-in-charlottesville-1023675459700.

^[2] Matthew Desmond, “A Prophet for the Poor,” The New York Review of Books, October 3, 2024, https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2024/10/03/a-prophet-for-the-poor-white-poverty/.

^[3] Douglas A Hicks, “The Taizé Community: Fifty Years of Prayer and Action.” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 29, no. 2 (1992): 202–14.

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