I Thessalonians 4:13-5:11
David A. Davis
November 12, 2017

Wake up and encourage one another! Here in Paul’s letter, after the salutations, and the greetings, and the expressions of thanks, and after tending to the pastoral relationship, and offering exhortations, and pretty much constantly giving thanks to God for how much they love each other, and after the description of what it means to be holy, now Paul seems to get to what is on the congregation’s heart. The question that is tugging at their faith. The worry that is not being helped by all that love for another. Well into the letter, well into the body of the letter, Paul brings up the nagging questions that won’t seem to go away. Paul finally comes to what it is in the day-to-day in all that is going on around them. He gets to what is weighing them down. They are worried about those who have died. It’s their grief. What’s getting to them is all the death and destruction. And Paul writes to them and pleads with them to wake up and encourage one another with the promise of life forever in the presence of God.

Some of the language, the images, the expressions leap off the page. They grab the readers’ ears and sort demand their own attention: a cry of command, the archangels call, the sound of the trumpet, a thief in the night, a pregnant woman, children of light, the breastplate of faith and love, a helmet of faith and faith. And this word picture of Jesus swooping out of heaven and scooping up the living, “we will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air.” What is so easily missed, taken for granted, overshadowed by flashy language that catches is the part that Paul repeats. Did you hear it? What he writes to the Thessalonians who are crumbling under the burden and reality of death, what he writes to them, and then writes again. What he repeats: wake up and encourage one another with the promise of life forever in the presence of God.

There must be those times in most congregations when the relentlessness of death starts to tear away at the heart and soul of life together. I certainly know that our congregation has experienced such seasons of despair. Amid the suffering and persecution of the early church, however, Paul’s pastoral response goes beyond offering comfort in response to one death or another. What he offers is a faith-filled perspective when not much in the world around you makes sense. What he acknowledges is that humanity’s illusions of peace and security can be shattered in a heartbeat. What he lifts up is that even the best intended assumptions and conclusions when it comes to faith and God, even the most ardent attempts to put all things divine and holy together, to have them all worked out in both your heart and mind, yeah, that can all be torn down, as Paul might say, in the twinkling of an eye.

A hurricane absolutely devastates the island where you live and weeks, months later there’s still no power. Really, God? Someone intentionally drives a rented truck down a sidewalk to kill and hurt as many people as he can. Really, God? You watch as folks in the public square use scripture and the language of faith to espouse beliefs so far from your experience of God and defend opinions so hateful and justify behavior that is horrific. Really, God? You watch as a family you love and care for faces the sudden onset of inexplicable loss, pain, and grief. Really, God? A man walks into a church with an assault rifle, and… really, God? When your community of faith is looking to the darkness where answers never come and chilling reminders of our mortality never cease, then, even then, Paul writes, wake up and encourage one another.

The theologian Karl Barth suggested that believers are not just those who woke up, they are those who keep waking up. The difference between the children of light and the children of darkness is not simply a difference between those who are awake and those who are asleep. Rather, for Barth, the followers of Christ are those who, in fact, are consistently in need of being jolted awake. They are those who keep waking up, those who over and over again find themselves awakening to the call to discipleship and a fresh taste of the grace of Christ and a renewed commitment to a life that yearns for reconciliation and righteousness and kingdom life. Watch. Keep awake. Pay attention. Keep waking up. Not to the world crumbling all around you but to the Christ who calls you and bids you to come, follow me. The one who promises to be with you forever. The one who promises that you will be him… forever.

Just a few nights ago Cathy and I were with some friends at a violin concert at McCarter Theater. The violinist finished performing the pieces published in the program and announced he was going to play a few more selections. I think it was three. The soloist announced each one before he played it. Now, I listen to a lot of classical music and I enjoy violin solos. But I am not very good at remembering titles or particular composers’ works or really even being able to tell a really, really fine violin player from a really, really, really fine one. Clearly, most in the theater that night were much better at all of the above. Because when he announced each piece before he played it, this audible gasp-like sigh rose from the crowd, like everyone had just taken their first bite of grandma’s best pie ever! And I had no idea what was coming. But in listening, in taking it in, in letting the music wash over me, I bet it was as beautiful to me as the person in front of me who knew, understood, savored, interpreted, explained, defined every note.

The power and assurance and encouragement of God’s promise is not limited to those who can understand it. It is not any better for those who think they can explain it. It is not more real for those who have never questioned it or those who want to dissect it and diagram it and detail it, down to every last note. The beauty comes when you let it wash over you. “We will be with the Lord forever…” Forever. “Remember, I am with you always…” Forever. “Where I am, you will be also…” Forever. “If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord, so then, whether we live, or whether we die, we are the Lord’s…” Forever. “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” Together with the Lord. In God’s presence, forever. Forever.

I made the serious error in judgment a while back when I decided that I could install the new under-the-cabinet microwave in our kitchen all by myself. Now, in my defense, it didn’t go all that badly. It only took two days, two friends, and my wife. It works fine and looks great, thank you very much. But also in my defense, the written material made it all sound so easy. So easy, in fact, that they even provided a paper template to show where the holes should be drilled for the screws to hold the blasted thing up under the cabinet. Now, when I say paper template, I mean the actual life-sized facsimile of the top of the microwave. The instructions were to tape that paper up under the counter to show exact size, edges, and, of course, the placement of the holes. All one had to do to get it right was to drill the hole right into the paper where it said, “hole, drill here.” And I still got it wrong.

When the Apostle Paul finally writes about the concern of the Thessalonian believers, when he addresses their worry about all those who have died, he doesn’t give them a template, a cut-out, a diagram. Writing to the church now grown weary because of death and suffering, Paul tries to write them a picture of “forever.” Professor Eric Baretto puts it so when he concludes, “The point is not how. The point is the promise.” Between you and me, if you will excuse the possible heresy here, when comes to exactly what happens when we die, I don’t think Paul knew any more than we do. He does now! And he was a few years off on his expectation that Jesus would return pretty much in his lifetime. It’s not a template. It’s a promise. “The point is not how. The point is the promise.” Wake up and encourage one another with the promise of life forever in the presence of God.

A few weeks ago I came over to Mark Edwards here in the chancel during the hymn we were singing and told him I had an out-of-body experience while I was preaching. I was counting the number of people who were falling asleep during that particular sermon. I stopped when I got to six. Yes, I see it! No, I will never say anything. Maybe a vocal “elbow nudge” by raising the volume every now and them. Keep awake!

Paul’s exhortation. It’s not a mad vision for the church, for a congregation. Nudging each other to stay awake and encouraging each other along the Way. Pointing one another back to the life of discipleship and speaking hopeful words of God’s promise. Calling one another back to the pathway of faith and patting each other on the back with whispers and shouts about “forever,” our life forever in God. Helping each other to keep waking up to the gift of God’s grace and helping each other never lose sight of the visions of God’s future. Not letting each other forget Christ’s call to servanthood, and loving neighbor, and putting God first. And lifting each other up with the assurance of the light that never dims, and the love that never fades, and the life that ever ends. Keep awake and encourage one another. It’s what it means to be the church.

And these days, when it comes to life and death and faith and heart and mind and the world and figuring it all out, and wrapping it all together, holding it all together, you just can’t do that alone. God doesn’t expect you to do that alone.

So, to the body of Christ that is Nassau Presbyterian Church, keep awake and encourage one another with promise of life forever in the presence of God. In the presence of God. Forever.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

I Thessalonians 3
David A. Davis
November 5, 2017

It seems to me that most of us Presbyterians aren’t sure what to do with “saints.” Not as in “For all the saints who from their labors rest, / who thee by faith before the world confessed, / thy name, O Jesus be forever blest, / alleluia, alleluia.” No, we love that one. Presbyterians love to sing that hymn.

But it’s the term “saints,” it’s the understanding of “saints” that makes us uncomfortable. Today is All Saints’ Sunday. The Sunday closest to November 1st, All Saints’ Day. Remembering All Saints’ Day today, remembering it today, because Presbyterians would never come out mid-week to celebrate saints.

To be fair, it’s sort of in our Reformation DNA. Some of what John Calvin wrote in the 16th century about the veneration of saints is so harsh it would be difficult for me to quote here in worship. Here’s a calmer snippet from Calvin and his Institutes of the Christian Religion: “A few centuries ago the saints who had departed this life were elevated into copartnership with God to be honored, and also to be invoked, and praised in his stead. Indeed we support [try to convince ourselves] that by such an abomination God’s majesty is not even obscured while it is [in fact] in great part suppressed and extinguished.”

Presbyterians are supposed to be uncomfortable with saints. Though there will always be those among us who would admit to a quick prayer to St. Anthony when we’ve lost something really important and are in a complete panic. But saints? We know that none of us were ever, are ever, or will ever be that good. Presbyterians tend to prefer “the great cloud of witnesses” to the “communion of saints.” It is as if every time we Presbyterians use the term “saints”, we need a hand gesture to indicate small “s.” All saints’ Day.

But, yet, on the other hand, if we’re honest, if the truth be told, all of us, even us Presbyterians, have known some saints in our lives. Yes, some among us have studied the saints, read lots of work by the saints. But we’ve known a few along the way too. All of us can name those heroes, those big names of faith in our lifetime, just outside our lifetime. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Mother Theresa, Dr. King, Rose Parks, Bishop Tutu. That’s a hall of fame approach to saints.

But we’ve known a few along the way. Even Presbyterians have known a few a saints along the way. People who have, by the content of their lives, shown us the way of Christ. Shown us the way, less by their piety and more by their example. Less by their certainty of faith and more by their enduring relationship to God. Less, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer might put it, by talking to you about Jesus over the years and more because over the years they never gave up talking to Jesus about you. Less by showing you an unwavering, steadfast belief in every season of life and more by showing you the courage of holding on by nothing other than the thread of grace in the darkest of days.

Saints. Not the pillar of the church on Sunday but the example of Christ on Monday. Not the one who writes of a transforming, supernatural vision of Christ but the one who somehow by God’s mercy is able over and over again to see the face of Christ in the face of the other and the stranger and the outcast and the untouchable and the unloved and the last and the least. Saint: someone who in the gritty ordinariness of their life has shown you the holy path of Christ himself.

Many, many years ago I was meeting with a family I did not know in the office at a local funeral home just prior to officiating at the service for the husband, father, and grandfather who had died. I didn’t know them. I didn’t know him. Such meetings were intended for introductions but also to pluck a bit of last minute material for the service, things the family would like said, qualities and experiences and attributes for which the family would like to offer thanks to God related to their loved one.

In this case the man had lived well into his 80s. When I asked his wife what about him she would like me to lift up in the prayer, in the thanks, she couldn’t think of anything. She did want me to know that while he wasn’t religious at all and he wasn’t a church-goer, and he was certainly no saint, he was a man of faith. That’s a refrain we clergy types hear a lot in funeral planning. And she shared that he always said the prayer at every family Thanksgiving dinner and that his favorite Bible verse was “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.”

Their son, who sat with us, didn’t say a word. The meeting wrapped up, they left. I waited the few minutes prior to entering the next room with the casket and the lectern where everyone was gathered. The son came back to me and said, “You can say whatever my mother wants you to say about my father but I need you to know he was a real son of a gun.” And he walked away. The life of faith is more than a table blessing and a favorite Bible verse.

Saint: Someone who has, by the content of their life, shown you the way of Christ. Here in the middle of First Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul continues to expound on the importance of the relationships he has with the believers in Thessalonica. He writes of sending Timothy to see them and offers such gratitude for the reports that came back that told of the “good news of [their] faith and love.” Amid all the thanksgiving and joy, Paul continues to express his concern that they would stay strong in their faith amid suffering and persecution, that God would allow their love for another to increase and abound. Not just their love for one another but their love for all. “And,” as Paul writes, “may the Lord so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.”

That God would so strengthen their hearts in holiness. The remedy for a struggling faith, the opposite of a weakening faith, Paul’s prayer for them in light of what might be lacking in their faith, is that they would increase and abound in love and have their hearts strengthened in holiness. When struggles and suffering comes, when the world shakes, when your faith is dicey, Paul urges, recommit in your faith, double down in your faith, focus in your faith on love and holiness. Hearts strengthened in holiness.

When John Cavin would administrate church discipline in Geneva in the 16th century, historical records indicate that he would often admonish an individual and them tell them to go to more sermons, to go hear more sermons and to listen better the next time. In one case of follow-up, the person was asked to tell how many sermons had been heard, what had been learned, and then was asked to recite several creeds and catechisms. One might conclude that Calvin was exhorting people to work on the holiness.

But in First Thessalonians, Paul doesn’t go there at all when it comes to strengthening hearts in holiness. In the first part of chapter four, the verses that follow Paul’s prayer for hearts strengthened in holiness, in what is to come next, Paul exhorts the believers to live in a manner that is pleasing to God. Phrases leap from the text about controlling lustful passions, and not wronging or exploiting a sister or brother, and loving more and more, and aspiring to live quietly, and minding your own business, and working with your hands, and behaving properly to outsiders, and being dependent on no one.

Paul does not challenge them to listen more, study more, read more. He writes not just of a Sunday morning holiness but a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday holiness, a Thursday, Friday, Saturday witness. Not just a holiness of the prayer offices at the start of the day and the end of the day, but a holiness that carries throughout the day and carries through the night. Not just a witness of faith in devotion in prayer, but a witness of faith in every relationship, a witness in every context, a witness in every role of life, a witness to everyone.

When their life was shaken, and their faith lacking, Paul doesn’t exhort the church at Thessalonica to get their piety on, to do better at this religion thing, he urges them to be saints: to be people who have, by the content of their lives, shown the world the way of Christ Jesus. He prays for their hearts to be strengthened in holiness.

Years ago at the Woods Memorial Presbyterian Church down near Annapolis, when they did a major renovation they built a columbarium in the rear of the sanctuary. Beautifully done, the niches for ashes were behind large doors that matched the design, the architecture of the now redone sanctuary. When our colleague was showing us, he said that on All Saints’ Sunday, they open those large doors as a way of remembering the saints. My first thought was that it was a bit creepy. But you know, every time we gather at this table, we are joined in the mystery and promise of God’s mercy by such a great a cloud of witnesses…(uh, uh, uh?!)…joined by the communion of saints.

Today, in our bulletin, we have the list of those in our congregation who have died in the last year. We will read that roll of names from the table in just a moment. We Presbyterians might have some trouble with saints, but I have to tell you, some people on that list, some were flat out saints in my life.

Saints, who by the content of their life showed me the way of Christ. We’ve known a few along the way, haven’t we? Come to the Table, and remember all that Christ has done… and remember them too.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

I Thessalonians 1
David A. Davis
October 22, 2017

            “We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.” The Apostle Paul and his thanksgivings. “I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is proclaimed throughout the world.” (Romans 1:8) “I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind.” (I Cor 1:4). Paul and the thanksgivings of his letters; consistent with the genre and the structure of an ancient letter. “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.” (Eph 1:15) “I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with you in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now.” (Phil. 1:3)  Paul and his consistent thanksgiving. Except, you may remember in Galatians where Paul skips the thanks and gets right to “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel.” (Gal. 1:6) So Galatians, not so much on the thanks. But Colossians; “In our prayers for you we always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, for we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love that you have for all the saints, because of the hope laid up for you in heaven.” (Col. 1:3). And here in Thessalonians, Paul begins the letter with thanksgiving for the congregation’s work of faith, labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. Paul thanks them for their faith, their love, and their hope.

“Your work of faith”. It is a striking turn of phrase coming from Paul. It sounds more like James; “Faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead……Show me your faith apart from your works and I by my works will show you my faith.” (James 2:17-18) “Your work of faith.” That’s Paul, not James. It’s a unique expression from Paul, from the one who argued that you are saved by grace through faith and it’s not your own doing it is the gift of God, not the result of works. (Eph 2) “Your work of faith”. It’s only here in I Thessalonians and again, once in II Thessalonians. Some translations apparently can’t abide with Paul and an expression like “work of faith”. And so “we remember your work that comes from faith” is how one translation puts it. And other says “we remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith.” And still another reads “Each time we pray, we tell God our father about your faith and loving work”.  You just can’t have Paul referring to faith as work. But the Greek is pretty clear; “your work of faith.”

            On Wednesday night I was in Cleveland preaching at an historic African American congregation for a revival. The congregation was celebrating the 7^th anniversary of their pastor. Courtney is a Princeton Seminary graduate. She is a former student of mine. The theme of the night was from Hebrews. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely , and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith” (Heb 12:1-2). During that forty minute sermon, I told the congregation about Vergene Weiman; a member here at Nassau who died in August just shy of her 90 birthday. At the memorial service, Vergene’s son described how is mother died surrounded by all of her children, while the student chaplain was praying, and how she suffered the stroke earlier that week after being here for Sunday worship and then having lunch with some church friends. “She died well” he said. Or as I said to the folks in Cleveland, “She finished well. She finished the race well. But as Vergene herself knew, and as she lived, finishing well isn’t the hardest part of the race.” Sometimes this race, this faith journey, sometimes all of this, is hard, really hard. Sometimes, most times, you really have to work at it.

“Your work of faith.” Maybe it isn’t all that complicated. Maybe we don’t have to get all theologically contorted about it. Maybe we don’t have to have all those Protestant Reformation “saved by grace through faith alone” warning bells going off. Maybe its really pretty simple coming from Paul to the Thessalonians to us. Faith is a gift. Your faith is a gift. But you’re still going to have to work at it. You really ought to work at it. You really have to work at it. Working on your faith. Working at your faith. Your work of faith.

“Your work of faith and labor of love”.  Labor of love. Well there’s an expression so easy to take and run completely into the ground. “Jimmy has been restoring that old car in the garage for 8 years. It is such a labor of love….Aunt Mame knits those hats for babies in the NICU at the hospital. It is her labor of love….Coach has been there as an assistant with the high school baseball team for so long and he doesn’t even get paid. It’s just a labor of love for the game and for the kids.” Labor of love: “a task done for pleasure not reward…productive work done voluntary for no compensation….work done for the sake of one’s own enjoyment.” Labor of love, all of which must have absolutely nothing to do with Paul’s word of thanks to the church at Thessalonica. Paul and the diligent effort at loving one another in the church of Jesus Christ. Paul and the essential call to be loving in life. Paul on the labor of love.

Not long ago I was on a New Jersey Transit train coming home from a meeting in New York City. It was mid-afternoon, before the rush. I took a seat in the quiet car. Have you ever notice how the self-appointed overseers of the quiet car are always louder than those who forget or didn’t know they were in the quiet car? In the seat across the aisle and one row up from me was man reading his bible. Actually he was mostly sleeping with his bible open; or maybe resting his eyes. Some clearly inexperienced commuter’s cell phone rang. The man bellowed immediately from this slumber: “It’s the quiet car. No phones”.  The person answered the phone a few rows up, after struggling to get the flip phone out of the bag. The person was rattled, surprised, sort of like that phone never really rings. “Please, please, the sign is right above your head. Can’t you read? No phone calls.” With his tone, his impatience, his nastiness, he chased the person off the car. And I spent from Metro Park to New Brunswick thinking of all the things I would have liked to have said. “You know you’re ten times louder than that phone call. Are you reading about the fruit of the Spirit? Kindness and gentleness? Or you know when it comes to being nice, and kind, and loving, you’re going to have to work a lot harder.”

Love is patient, Paul said. Love is kind. Love is not envious or boastful or rude. Paul on the labor of love. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Paul called it the more excellent way. But he never wrote that it would be easy. The followers of Jesus have to labor at it. Labor at love.

Your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. Persistent hope. “For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Rom 8:24-25) Constant hope. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”(Rom 15:13). Always hope. “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all”. (Eph 4:4-6) One hope. Steadfast hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. Not just your hope. His hope. Your work of faith in Christ. Your labor of love in Christ. Your steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. “Now faith, hope, and love abide, these three”  Paul wrote to the Corinthians. And to the Thessalonians he gave thanks and remembered before God their “work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.”

            I served on one of the agency board’s of the Presbyterian Church USA for several years. I learned so much from one of the ruling elders from Denver who was the board chair for a season. At every meeting, every board call, every committee gathering, he would take time right at the outset after the opening prayer and right at the end before the closing prayer to thank the board members and staff for their time, their efforts, for the good work of a board meeting, for stepping away from work and congregational life to serve the church, for the gifts each and every one offered. His leadership style was one of gratitude. It’s easy to run by right the Apostle’s Paul thanksgiving in his epistles. They’re just part of the structure of the ancient letter form. They’re rather formulary in their style. No one uses their highlighters on the thanksgivings. Students of Paul only pay attention when the thanksgiving isn’t there; like in Galatians. But preachers and pastors and church leaders ought not to be too quick to pass by and maybe Paul deserves a bit more credit for his expressions of gratitude and thanksgiving to God for the Church of Jesus Christ. Besides, don’t you get tired sometimes of hearing the preacher tell you what you ought to do, what you need to do, wagging a finger all the time and telling you that here in this old mainline protestant church gig we just have to do this better, and get better at that, and do more, do better. YADA YADA YADA.

Well, Nassau Presbyterian Church family and friends, we always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God your work of faith, your diligence in discipleship, your desire to share in prayer and to grow in understanding, the robust spirit when you gather in this place for worship, your expectations about gospel proclamation and relevance to your life and relating to the world, your collective present here each and every Lord’s Day, your yearning to pass forward what has been entrusted to you when it comes to fellowship and education and service and outreach and advocacy, for how you as a congregation make the effort to work on your faith.  For your labor of love; for your decades long effort to welcome refugees, for your advocacy for Dreamers and your embrace of the LGBTQ community in our midst, and for how you have tried to get better at hospitality on Sundays, for your inclusion of children in worship, for working on loving one another when you may not always agree, for singing a song you may not like, knowing that someone else in the room does, for the always diligent care and compassion of the board of deacons, for your unending support of your pastors and staff and for the history you celebrate and live into, a history of advocating for the hungry, and serving and supporting efforts in Trenton, for caring for those in prison…for your hard work of love.

And for hope. For over and over and over again, coming into this room to witness to the hope of the resurrection in the face of death. For constantly fanning the flames of a kingdom imagination, daring to see the world that God intends and praying for it and working for it and yearning for it. For your witness amid storms and tumult, after turmoil and suffering, your witness to one another, and to this community and to the world, your witness in word and deed that Christ is Risen. He is Risen indeed. For your constant and robust affirmation to a world that long ago declared the end of the mainline church, for your bold and courageous commitment of time and talent and money to an institution and a practice and faith that many of your friends and family long ago thought was worn out and done with and no longer relevant, for your hope-filled witness in just being here and speaking up with your lives, proclaiming to the world, that here at Nassau Presbyterian Church, we’re not dead yet. Because Christ is Risen. He is Risen Indeed.

The Body of Christ, today at Nassau Presbyterian Church. For your work of faith, your labor of love, your steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ…..thanks be to God!

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church

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Philippians 4:1-9 [i]
Lauren J. McFeaters
October 15, 2017

In traveling to Canada this summer, I stayed in Old Quebec City at the Monastery of the Sisters of St Augustine.

Their story starts four hundred years ago when several sisters, 16 years of age, left the shores of France and traveled by ship to the shores of New France. They traveled with one goal: to serve Jesus Christ by bringing healing to the Inuit peoples and settlers of New France.

They created a church in a tent. They opened a clinic for the healing of bodies and a clinic for the healing of minds. They shaped holy friendships. They mended and bandaged and stitched and bound up the broken and infirm.

They built a small hospital in the middle of the settlement. You see the word hospital in French is Hotel Dieu, meaning House of God. And over the last 400 years they have created an entire hospital system: 12 hospitals stretching north throughout Quebec Province. Each with a free clinic, a sanctuary, and a Monastery.

Whatever.
Whatever the disease – they found a way to treat.
Whatever the condition – they found a way to mend.
Whatever the complication – they found a way to sooth.
Whatever.
Whatever is true. Whatever is honorable.
Whatever is just or pure or pleasing or commendable.
Whatever.

I think the Church of Philippi needs the ministrations of the Sisters of St. Augustine. You see two leaders of the church, Euodia and Syntyche, are in crisis.

Their friendship needs a therapeutic intervention.
Their disease needs a cure.
Their condition needs treatment.
Their complications need soothing.
A House of God needs intercession.

We don’t know the substance of the quarrel between these two women, but whatever it is, it’s not inconsequential.^[ii]  What we do know is there’s distress in the church. There’s anxiety. The times are ominous. Times are frightening. The Romans are bearing down and Christians are swept into prisons to rot, and Coliseums to be slaughtered.

Paul himself writes this letter under extreme conditions. He’s in jail awaiting trial. The outcome is his death. So, when he hears his Companions in Christ; his friends in the Book of Life, are hostile and antagonistic, he is more than eager for things to be set aright. Because you know and I know and Paul knows that left untreated – quarrels and resentment can lead to years of bitterness and estrangement. The Christian family does not have that kind of time to waste.

And though Paul does not explicitly describe it as such, these nine verses are essentially medicine for the church. He’s sending a remedy to the Hotel Dieu du Philippi and not just for the mending and bandaging and stitching up of individual friendships, but for the binding and suturing of friendships within a group of holy friends.

Throughout the entire letter, Paul emphasizes a cure for the mending of the church: it’s friendship and reciprocity; that the healing of deep friendships is not a one-way street: it’s a constant give-and-take from both sides, full of mutual caring, loving generosity, and most of all – wait for it – that long-lost and forgotten word “Forbearance.”

Forbearance.

If you asked for words that describe the healing of friendships, I highly doubt forbearance would make the Top-10. And yet Paul – and the Sisters of St. Augustine in their rule for community life – uphold this concept as the crucial medicine for healthy Christian Community.

Forbearance? What is it? Well it’s patience, gentleness, and mercy. It’s self-control and moderation. It’s acceptance and leniency. It happens when friends walk through the muck of life together and accept the good, bad, and ugly.[iii]  It’s taking on anxiety and fear as a part of life; a life being difficult to live.

Have you noticed when forbearance is not a part of Christian living life becomes palpably anxious and fearful on the outside and people turn against each other on the inside. Holy Friendships are scuttled. Without forbearance:

• The community of faith bends in on itself.
• Comments are muttered under the breath; not to take sides mind you, but out of “Christian” concern.
• Up go the walls. Down go the connections.
• Up go the defenses; Down goes the contact.
• “It doesn’t surprise me at all that she’s acting this way. It’s so…typical.”
• “Well if he’s going to decide to show up; I’ll just leave.”
• “No wonder they’re so lonely, all they do is gripe and complain.”
• Or, no comments are given at all. Instead of the right hand of friendship, what’s given is the cold shoulder of self-righteousness.
• Without Forbearance we become the Church of Whatever.

We become more of what our society becomes:

• where disparagement is a profession,
• and mockery a pastime,
• and ridicule is lifted as an aptitude.
• “Whatever.”

In our lives, where reality is known as Big Brother and Hell’s Kitchen – and Twitter is used as a weapon of mass destruction, and abuse and mistreatment becomes best-see, 5-star entertainment, Christ Jesus is our Forbearance and our Mercy.

Beverly Harrison puts it like this:

Our world is on the verge of self-destruction because we have so deeply neglected that which is most human and most valuable and most basic: the work of human caring and nurturance, of tending the personal bonds of community.

Because in the larger scheme of things it’s too insignificant, too mundane, too non-dramatic, too distracting from the serious business of world rule.

Yet the urgent work of love is gentle and powerful. Through acts of love — what Nelle Morton calls “hearing each other to speech” — we literally build up the personhood of one another; we build up dignity and self-respect. ^[iv]

Whatever.
Whatever the disease – we find a way to treat.
Whatever the condition – we find a way to mend.
Whatever the complication – we find a way to sooth.
Whatever.
Whatever is true. Whatever is honorable.
Whatever is just or pure or pleasing or commendable.
Whatever.

You know as followers of Jesus our Lord, we have the power, through him, to stand the world on its head. It starts at home and at school and work and on the streets. We stand the world on its head for Christ when we:

• When we make that step in humility toward someone we’ve hurt or betrayed;
• When we finally stop long enough to listen to what our elderly parent has been trying to tell us; what our spouse has been trying get through; what our nephew needs to let us know;
• When we refrain just long enough not to hit “send” on our snarky response or juicy gossip or
• When we go to the Assembly Room today to meet new friends from Malawi;
• When we fill up the food bin at the back door and the coat bin at the side door;
• When we pack our bags with hammers and nails and work boots and head out to mend and rebuild;
• When forbearance and its patience, gentleness, and mercy becomes our rule of life.
• Whatever.

Whatever is true, whatever is honorable.
Whatever is just, pure, pleasing, commendable.
This is our call to faith.

---

ENDNOTES

[i]  Philippians 4:1-9: Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life. Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I will say, Rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

 

[ii] Fred B. Craddock. Philippians, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1985, 69.

 

[iii]  Christi O. Brown. “Holy Friendships.” Duke Divinity School, faithandleadership.com, December 1, 2014.

 

[iv] Beverly Wilding Harrison. Making the Connections: Essays in Feminist Social Ethics. Boston:  Beacon Press, 1985, 12.

 

 

[1]  Philippians 4:1-9: Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life. Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I will say, Rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

 

[1] Fred B. Craddock. Philippians, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1985, 69.

 

[1]  Christi O. Brown. “Holy Friendships.” Duke Divinity School, faithandleadership.com, December 1, 2014.

 

[1] Beverly Wilding Harrison. Making the Connections: Essays in Feminist Social Ethics. Boston:  Beacon Press, 1985, 12.

 

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

Psalm 19
David A. Davis
October 8, 2017

Just a few weekends I was looking out at the Atlantic Ocean as night was falling. The wind was whipping and there was a bit of mist in the air. There on the dune facing the surf I could see a few lights on ships far out on the sea. All I could hear was the wind though the crowd gathered for the rehearsal dinner wasn’t that far away. The vast expanse of the water. The constant rhythm of the waves. The mist starting to feel more like rain. Sometimes there are no words.

When you hold a newborn child for the first time. When you sit and watch your child say “I do.” When you stand before a Van Gogh and take in those water lilies. When you listen to a Bach cello suite. When you hold the hand of a parent who is drawing their last breathes after a full life of “four score and ten.” Sometimes there are no words. When you’re toddler has one of those blasted ear infections and it’s four in the morning and all you can do is hold them tight. When the doctor said the wait would be about two hours and it’s going on four. When your teenager goes through a breakup and doesn’t want to hear about other relationships yet to come. When you climb or hike or drive to that high point and then just look. Sometimes there are no words.

When all that you have is destroyed in a storm. When people you love are in harm’s way and there’s nothing you can do about it. When scenes of devastation and destruction are relentless. When you wake up Monday morning and learn of yet another mass shooting and the horrific death of more than fifty people in a matter of seconds and you try to wrap your heart around the magnitude of grief for those families and wrap your head around the sinfulness of a civilization that is bound and determined to do absolutely nothing about gun violence, the idolatry of the Second Amendment, and the feckless leadership of those elected to serve the common good. There are no words.

When you take a few moments to stop and breathe, to stop and be still… to stop; before starting the car, just as the light goes out at night, in the back of the Uber midday, when the child has just fallen asleep in the car seat, before the kids blow in the door from school, when you look at yourself in the mirror at the start of the day. You stop, heave a sigh, some days like a groan, others like a gasp of joy, and there are no words.

“There is no speech, nor are there words,” writes the psalmist. And yet there is this everlasting proclamation, this wordless telling, this persistent affirmation of God’s steadfast, immovable, presence in life and in death.

The heavens, the firmament, the sun, the moon, the stars. Creation’s expanse reflecting the One whose glory forever shines, whose mercy abounds, whose grace pours out, whose strength abides. The vast mysteries of the universe reflecting the unspeakable holiness of God amid our lives of unanswered questions and raging doubts and indescribable suffering.

The holiness made real in an eternal love known in the life, death, and resurrection of the Son, made sure in the Spirit’s presence with every breath we take, made visible in lives transformed, lives sustained, lives forever touched by the beauty of salvation. When words fail, when words are not enough, when words are nowhere to found, you and I, like the psalmist, we cling to and yearn for the silent telling of the glory of God.

On that canvas, onto the awe and wonder of that canvas God speaks. Into that intricate beauty comes God’s voice. God’s breath. God’s Spirit. Where there is no speech and there are no words, God has spoken. God speaks. God utters God’s promise. “The wind from God swept over the face of the waters… I am the Lord God Almighty; walk before me and be blameless and I will make my covenant between me and you… I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me… Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all you soul, and with all your might… The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined… I am the Lord your God the Holy One of Israel, the One your Savior… the grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.”

The word, the promise God speaks. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God… The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it… Remember I am with you always, even to the end of the age… I am the resurrection and I am life… Come unto me, all you who labor, and I will give you rest… Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain… They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from eyes.”

The heavens declare, the firmament proclaims, and God’s voice, God’s promise, God makes it all the more beautiful. It revives the soul. It makes the wise so simple. It fills hearts with joy, enlightens eyes, endures forever. Righteous. Pure. Like gold, much, much fine gold.

I was with a group of my Presbyterian pastor colleagues in St. Paul, Minnesota, at the end of last month. One morning in our daily worship, one of our colleagues preached on that scene in Luke’s gospel when Jesus is teaching and reading from the scroll in the synagogue. You remember:

“He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’ And Jesus rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all were fixed on him. Then Jesus began to say to them, ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’”

The entire sermon that morning was one “today,” the word “today.” What does it mean that Jesus has fulfilled the scripture “today.” The preacher was offering encouragement and exhortation and reflection on what that prophetic promise from Jesus means “today’; to live into it, to live like it, to work for it, “today.”

So with the psalmist, Psalm 19. “The heavens are telling the glory of God” today. “There is no speech, nor are there words” today. “The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul” today. “Making wise the simple… enlightening the eyes… true and righteous altogether” today. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer” today. The heavens declare and God’s promise makes it all the more beautiful today.

I had to learn to drive in Scotland last summer because the three congregations I served on the island were miles apart. We picked up the car after a few days in Edinburgh. Online I made a reservation for a mid-size. It was more like a “Mr. Bean” car that I could barely get in and out of. It was quite an adventure driving in Scotland, an everyday adventure.

I came up with a saying about driving on the wrong side of the road (or the correct side of the road as folks told me over there). Every time I made a turn, every time, I would say out loud to myself “lefty tighty, righty widey.” I guess I was invoking a form of what my father taught me about a screwdriver, “lefty loosey, righty tighty.” Cathy can vouch for me that I said it every time and I said it out loud. Every day for six weeks. “Lefty tighty, righty widey.” I am pleased and bit relieved to tell you that it worked every time.

Some days, some moments, sometimes it feels like the whole world is driving on the wrong side of the road. Disorienting, dangerous, frightening, exhausting. Sometimes there are no words. At that moment, on that day, today, you ought to try a psalm or two. Just a snippet, a verse or less, like a breath, a breath prayer:

“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want… How lovely is thy dwelling place, O Lord of hosts… I lift mine eyes to the hills, from whence does my help come. My help comes from the Lord.”

Say it every day. In those wordless moments, out loud in front of God and everybody:

“Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within me bless God’s holy name… God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble… The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?… Wait for the Lord, be strong, and let your heart take courage, wait for the Lord… Be still and know that I am God.”

Just try it. I am pleased and relieved to tell you that it works.“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my Redeemer.” Say it today. Every day. It’s a way to remember and to live remembering and knowing that the heavens declare and God’s promise makes it all the more beautiful today.

When there are words… why not use theirs.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.