Home › View all posts by admin-sam › Page 9

Author: admin-sam

Wash Us Off. Cool Us Down.

Posted on by

James 3:13-18
Lauren J. McFeaters
April 23, 2017

James picks us up after a long thorny winter and blows a cool spring breeze across our furrowed brows. He scrapes the mud off our boots and tells us quite frankly we have some serious choices to make concerning how we will live Purely. Peaceably. Gently. Enthusiastically yielding our wills to the One who expects and deserves our mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.

Beginning today and reaching out across the weeks ahead, James testifies that if we are to live as people of the Risen Lord then:

  • enough of our endless inclination to say one thing and do another;
  • our never-ending preference to profess faith and live without honor;
  • our selective obedience;
  • our faith without works;
  • our ceaseless need to create drama and crisis and spectacle;
  • our perpetual need to go it alone.

James doesn’t understand how we can worship on Sunday, surrounded by the Living Word, and Living friends, only to return home and hole up, lonely and isolated and without wisdom.

It’s been said that if we face warring political factions, James faces more. If we have had it up to here with partisan backbiting, James feels our pain. He’s sick and tired of hearing what people think about faith in God. He’s unimpressed by so-called wisdom that’s used to pound on one another.[i] The only wisdom that interests James is the wisdom that puts hands to work and hearts to God.

For James, who knows Christians need an intensely practical way to live, he sets before us the standards to which we’ve been called:

  • Do you want to be counted wise? Learn from your mistakes.
  • How do we do that?
  • Live modestly because it’s the way you live that counts.
  • Do you find yourself being passive, unreceptive, hard-hearted? There’s no wisdom there.
  • How about twisting the truth, living arrogantly and unpleasantly? That’s the furthest thing from wisdom—it’s cunning, devilish, conniving. [ii]

Here’s wisdom: the Tibetan monk who after 18 years of imprisonment by the Chinese was asked what he experienced as the biggest threat during his imprisonment and he answered, “Losing… compassion for the Chinese.”

There’s Abby McAlister who fasted for Ramadan so that she might better understand her Muslim neighbors.

There’s the Masai warriors, who 15 years ago gave a herd of cattle, their most precious gift, to the people of the United States, so that they we might find healing from the attacks of 9/11.

There’s Cynthia Ngewu, the mother of a young man murdered in South Africa, who at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings said, “this thing called reconciliation…if it means the perpetrator, this man who killed my son, if it means he becomes human again…so that I, so that all of us, get our humanity back…then I agree, then I support it all.” [iii]

Or from our prophet-poet Wendell Berry:

“So, friends, every day, do something that won’t compute. Ask the questions that have no answers.
Put your faith in two inches of soil that will build under the trees every thousand years. Laugh.
Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.
Practice resurrection.” [iv]

Now here’s where many of us will nod off, or start making a grocery list, or work on our car-pool schedule for the week. We just give up and think: “Yada. Yada. Yada.” Or if you’re from New Jersey: “Bada Bing, Bada Bong.” “What’s the use? It’s just too hard.” “Godly wisdom is for saints, not sinners.” “Wisdom is granted to those few really good people who have some special capacity for it, who are naturally virtuous and decent.” [v]  I’m a hawk. I’ll leave this for the doves. Mmm. I’m a dove. I’ll leave this for the hawks. Mmm.

Do we believe an Easter Life full of mercy and wisdom is dispensed from on high like medication from God the pharmacist? Does God only allot particular doses to some and write out scripts to those worthy and valuable?[vi]

No. That’s the lie we tell ourselves when we believe God doesn’t mean this for me. That’s the lie we tell ourselves when we leave the faith-stuff for those who can do better. We are a stiff-necked people, aren’t we? I know I am. Stubborn as all get out. Proud beyond measure. Utterly resistant. Foolish. Thoughtless. Unteachable.

And perfect – perfectly in need of God’s mercy and wisdom, perfectly created to depend on our Maker. So James washes us off, cools us down, stands us on our feet, and preaches the best good news to those who just last week experienced our own betrayal in Gethsemane. Were nourished at the table of mercy. Stood at the cross and looked up into the eyes of love. And then gathered to shout our alleluias with our Resurrected Lord.

God is not expecting perfectly wise people.

What God is expecting is for us fall into the arms of the One full of mercy, who loves us perfectly, who makes us bold, and who gets us off our duffs to love and serve.

And how? How? Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life characterized by getting along with others. It is oh so gentle and reasonable. Overflowing with mercy and blessings. We’re not to live hot one day and cold the next. We’re called to joy. And we’re not lone rangers who go it alone but people who can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God especially when we do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.

What on earth does that look like? When people in our lives are unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you’re honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. [vii]

Wise living is the best model of the Christian life. Living as Christ’s Easter people means we’re honest enough to know truth is not painless, brave enough not to sing our songs in private, courageous enough to live out what we pray and profess.

Living as Christ’s wise people means we’re humble enough to be teachable, flexible enough to be merciful, pure enough to be peaceable, agreeable enough to bear really fine fruit. [viii]

This is God’s Word given to James.

It’s given to you and for you in all your days ahead.

Thanks be to God.

[i] Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Editors David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, Year B, Vol. 4, Season after Pentecost 2, 2009, 87-91.

[ii] Adapted from Eugene H. Peterson’s The Message: The New Testament in Contemporary English. James 3: 13-18. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress Publishing Group, 1993.

[iii] Kaethe Weingarten, Common Shock: Witnessing Violence Every Day:  How We Are Harmed, How We Can Heal. New York: E.P. Dutton, 2003. As told by Pam Houston, O Magazine, September 2003, 200.

[iv] Wendell Berry. The Country of Marriage: Poems. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 1971.

[v] Frances Taylor Gench, Hebrews and James. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996, 113.

[vi] J. Philip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal. London: Canterbury Press, 2002.

[vii] Kent M. Keith. “The Silent Revolution: Dynamic Leadership in the Student Council.” Harvard Student Agencies, Harvard University, 1968.

[viii] Images from Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace. Philadelphia: Innisfree Press, Inc., 1984, 70-71, 82-83, 96-97.

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

Posted in Uncategorized

Tell Us Again!

Posted on by

Matthew 28:1-10
David A. Davis
April 16, 2017
Easter Sunday

A pastor, a rabbi, and a chaplain went into a bar for coffee. Actually, it was a coffee place. The established meeting place was Small Word Coffee. The pastor and the rabbi entered Small World through the secret back entrance just off Palmer Square. They waited for the chaplain to arrive. The top of the hour passed. Then five minutes. Ten minutes. No chaplain. At that point both phones, the rabbi’s and the pastor’s, buzzed with a text. It was from the chaplain. “Weren’t we supposed to meet for coffee at 10?” “Yes,” the pastor typed, “we’re here. Where are you?” “At Small World” came the response. The rabbi looked around. Then came the next text. “Small World, Nassau Street.” The pastor and rabbi were in Small World, Witherspoon Street. The pastor texted, “Give us a few minutes. Wait for us. We’ll meet you there.” I knew — we all knew — there were two places, two Small Worlds, in town. It was just that no one ever thought to ask.

The disciples never make it to the empty tomb in Matthew’s gospel. It’s Mary and the other Mary that had the Easter morning experience: the earthquake, the angel rolling back the stone, the angel telling them not to be afraid, the angel telling them Jesus was not there but had been raised, the angel telling them Jesus was going ahead to Galilee, the two women leaving the tomb quickly in fear and great joy, and the risen Jesus meeting the women along the road… suddenly. As Matthew tells it, “Suddenly, Jesus met them and said ‘Greetings!’ And the women came to Jesus, took hold of Jesus’ feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’”

In John’s Gospel, Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved took off and ran to the tomb. Jesus wasn’t there. Here in Matthew, if they took off racing, Jesus wouldn’t have been there either. The women heard it twice, from the angel and from the risen Jesus, that he was going to Galilee. They wouldn’t see him until Galilee. They were going have to meet him there, somewhere else, somewhere up the road, in Galilee. Christianity’s first preachers, Mary and the other Mary, the two female preachers? They told the eleven that Christ had risen! (He is risen indeed!) But he’s not here. He’s in Galilee. He’s in Galilee. We’ll meet him there.

My friend Scott Hoezee at Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids points out the awkward switch of location. Christ is risen! He’s just not here. Galilee is about 80 miles north of Jerusalem, and that’s as a crow flies. It’s easily 90 to 100 by pathway and roads. I know it’s a good few hours by bus. Scott suggests that walking at a good clip, accounting for elevation changes, eating, resting, and sleeping, it would have easily taken them two to three days to get to that meeting. I figure that means the disciples would not have seen the risen Jesus until long about Wednesday. In John, it’s evening on that day, the first day of the week, when they get to see Jesus in the Upper Room. In Luke, the two walking along the Emmaus Road, they see Jesus in the breaking and sharing of bread. It was later that same day. In Mark, well, in the shorter ending of Mark, no one sees the risen Christ. Here in Matthew, if you define the New Testament experience of Easter as an encounter with the risen Christ, well, then yeah, for the disciples, Easter comes long about Wednesday! And nowhere near Jerusalem. Who would have thought to ask?

Of course, the Bible doesn’t say that it was Wednesday. “Now the eleven went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed him,” Matthew writes. “When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” That’s when Matthew’s Jesus gives the Great Commission. “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s the end to Matthew’s gospel. No Upper Room. No Emmaus Road. No breakfast on the beach. No “do you love me, do you love me, do you love me” with Peter. Just the trek up to Galilee. The eleven finally seeing Jesus. Worship. Doubt. Some doubted (which means more than one and there were only eleven) and the Great Commission. The risen Jesus gives the Great Commission to the eleven who aren’t even close to 100% on board. And it all happened long about Wednesday.

It doesn’t say which mountain in Galilee. It could have been the same one that Jesus climbed when the devil took him up to show him “all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor.” It could have been the Mount of Transfiguration where Jesus took Peter, James, and John and then Elijah and Moses showed up too. But it must have been the Mount of the Beatitudes where Jesus preached the sermon, the Sermon on the Mount. The risen Christ tells the eleven to teach them “to obey everything that I have commanded you.” It just makes sense that they would been there, at the teaching mountain. And here’s where one of the disciples, maybe one of the doubters, maybe not, but one of them had to ask. Pulling out a fresh notebook, and something to write with, after Jesus said, “Everything, teach them everything.” That’s when one of the disciples said, “Now Jesus, could you tell us again? Tell us again! Tell us again, Jesus!”

Like the student who sits down in the precept with the physics professor still trying to grasp the mind-blowing part of the lecture the day before: “Could you tell us that again?” Like the grandchildren who never tires of the absolute awe in her heart when her WWII veteran grandfather tells stories about those days in the war. Sometime after dinner today, she says, “Papa, tell us again?” Like the person in the office who has to fill in for the presentation because the boss is being called away; the pressure’s on to know it all and to get it right. “Now, before you go, tell me one more time.” Like the child at bedtime who can recite every word of the bedtime story but asks for it every time, and the parent will never say no. “Tell it again.” “Goodnight room, goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumping over the moon.”

Maybe like all of those and so much more; the eleven, the risen Christ, and his body of work that is the kingdom of God. His resurrection shines now through all his teaching, every healing, every miracle, every touch. Letting your light shine, turning the other cheek, laying aside your worries, doing unto others, the exhortation comes with access to resurrection power, death-stomping hope, and a life-giving, life-sustaining, life-creating hope. Trusting in God, seeking first the kingdom of God, shouting hosanna, save us, it’s all undergirded, founded on, nudged along by his resurrection spirit. Losing your life in order to save it, knowing that the last will be first, taking up your cross and following Jesus; only and because of the strength of Christ himself, the Risen Victorious Christ. It was Paul who wrote, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” It was the risen Christ who said, “I am with you always.” Tell us again and again and again, Jesus!

Tony Campolo has a famous sermon known by the title “It’s Friday But Sunday’s Coming.” In the sermon he actually tells of his pastor preaching a “knock it out of the park” sermon all riffing on the phrase that “it’s Friday but Sunday’s coming.” It’s Good Friday but Resurrection Sunday is coming. We live in a Good Friday world but the Easter Victory is coming. It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. You get the picture. Well, today is Sunday. Easter Sunday. Christ is risen! But Wednesday’s coming. It’s one thing to shout “Christ is risen” today. But what about Wednesday.

Because long about Wednesday is when another trip to an open grave in the cemetery comes. Long about Wednesday is when that brutal meeting at work happens and holding a grudge is the least you can do. Wednesday is when rest and peace and quiet seem a long way off. Wednesday is when no one is talking to each other at the dinner table. Wednesday is when forgiveness is really hard. Wednesday is when time seems to stand still, and loneliness is brutal, and even a sunny day doesn’t help lighten the load, lighten the mood, lighten the journey. Long about Wednesday is when the headlines tell of another terror strike, or the size of a bomb being praised, or the nations escalating talk of missiles and retaliation and war. When nasty graffiti is sprayed on the synagogue wall, when a racist incident goes viral on social media, when an elected official says something hateful. That feels like a Wednesday. A Wednesday is the next doctor’s visit, or just another day to visit your dad long since lost to dementia, or the day when all those blasted acceptances and rejections from schools comes out, or the day after graduation and no job in sight.

It’s a joy-filled, beautiful Easter Sunday with brass and a full church and familiar hymns and a resurrection acclamation. Christ is risen! I don’t know about you, but I hope the risen Christ is waiting for me long about Wednesday. I’m so thankful to rejoice and celebrate with you this Easter Sunday morning. But I want to see Jesus on Wednesday. His presence. His strength. His death-stomping, sea-calming resurrection power. That spirit of his that lifts me. That teaching of his that inspires me. That grace of his that claims me. That kingdom of his that welcomes me. That love of his that will not let me go. I’m going need it on Wednesday. When the nations rage, when the leaders of the world rattle their sabers, and when death just never goes away, and when it’s just harder to love, and hope is harder to find, and it’s whole lot easier to just worry about me, and my old sinful self is winning the day. Wait for me then. Wait for me there. Meet me there Jesus. Oh, uh, guess what day it is! What day is it? It’s Wednesday, Jesus.

Jesus Christ and his resurrection power. It is so much more, so much bigger, so much better than one Easter Sunday. The first preachers, they said Christ is risen. But he’s not here. He’s in Galilee. We’re going meet him there. He’s waiting for us there. He’s there.

Christ is risen.

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

Posted in Uncategorized

The Great 50 Days of Easter Prayer

Posted on by

Easter isn’t just a Sunday. It’s a season.

Traditionally, the season of Easter lasts seven weeks, a “week of weeks,” spanning the “Great 50 Days” from Easter Sunday to Pentecost, a time to rejoice, give thanks, and live in gratitude. Easter is a new way of life, in which we are “dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 6:11), called to “walk in newness of life” (Rom. 6:4).

This year we will celebrate the Great 50 Days by coming before God in prayer. Beginning Sunday, April 23, Prayer Cards will be available in the pews. Fill out a card with a prayer each week, drop it in the basket at the church entrance, and pray with others through the Prayer Chain.

You may also submit your prayers online via the form below. Online submissions will go to Deacon Debbi Roldan and then to the Prayer Chain. All prayers are confidential.

You are also invited to join the deacons for times of prayer on Sunday mornings in Niles Chapel on April 23, May 7, and May 21, 10:15–11:00 AM.

We invite you enter this season in prayer.

Submit a Prayer

Artists Survey

Posted on by
Master weaver Armando Sosa is our 2016-2017 Artist-in-Residence. Armando lives and works in Hopewell.

Do you know a local artist who would make a valued Nassau Church Artist-in-Residence? The Worship and Arts Committee would like to learn more about local artists in the Princeton area whom we might consider for the coming year, especially those with connections to the congregation.

Artists can be writers, visual artists, and beyond. Current and previous Artists-in-Residence include a weaver, a theater director, a dancer and choreographer, and a poet.

Fill out the survey by Sunday, April 30, and learn more about the artist residency program on the Music and Arts page.

Astounding

Posted on by

Matthew 7:24-29
David A. Davis
April 9, 2017
Palm Sunday

I bet that parade wasn’t as big as we remember it. No one remembers it, but a whole lot of nostalgia surrounds it. No one remembers it, but there is a picture in your mind. A sense of what it looked like. Your biblical imagination. A lifetime of Palm Sundays all squished together. “Hosanna in the highest!” Maybe it wasn’t quite the deal we “remember.”

Not all parades are barn-burners. We sat along the curb in Laporte, Pennsylvania, for a Fourth of July Parade. Our kids were young at the time. We showed up early to get a spot and that wasn’t quite necessary. The parade consisted of a car with the grand marshal, a marching band of sorts, a car with the country dairy princess, and one firetruck. It was quaint but “quaint” isn’t that great of a description for a parade. The parade was so short that it actually came around twice. Every parade can’t be a winner.

The volunteer fire department organized a Christmas parade a few years after I had arrived at my first congregation. The youth group and Sunday School decorated a float. The pickup truck had Christmas lights, and a sign on the front grill that read “First Presbyterian Church of Blackwood.” An artificial Christmas tree was in the bed of the truck. The trailer being pulled was turned into a manger scene with a few spot lights shining on the hand-crafted animals, and the elementary-school-aged Mary and Joseph. I said a prayer of invocation that night in the firehouse over a megaphone. It was frigid cold and blustery. We waited at the church near the end of the route for the parade to pass by. When our float arrived, no one was prepared for the sight to behold. The generator had stopped, so no string of lights, no spot lights. The Christmas tree had blown over as had all the hand-crafted animals. They were strewn around the manger like some sort of plague had struck. And Mary and Joseph? Well, they were too cold and were riding in the cab of the truck next to the driver who was just shaking his head and smiling. Not every parade is a hit.

The four gospel accounts of Jesus riding into Jerusalem give varied reports on the size of the crowd. John describes “the great crowd that had come to the festival” in Jerusalem. They heard Jesus was coming and went out to meet him. Mark and Luke don’t use the word “crowd.” Mark tells of many who spread their garments and those who went before and those who followed crying out “Hosanna.” In Luke it is “the whole multitude of the disciples” who began to shout. That’s so Luke; like the “multitude of the heavenly host” that joined the angel that holy night to sing “Gloria.” Matthew tells of “a very large crowd” spreading cloaks on the road. But a footnote suggests another translation could be “most of the crowd spread their cloaks and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.”

Despite what we see when we close our eyes, this parade couldn’t have been “all that” when compared to real parades of the day. Parades for kings. Parades for military leaders. The kind of procession that has troops and horses and banners and big, strapping, armor-decked-out guards, and a horn section announcing royalty all along the way. This Jesus parade wasn’t all that much. It wasn’t much of a winner. He was riding a donkey or a baby horse for goodness sake! Triumphal Entry? The “crowds,” they were trying. With shouts and palms and garments, they were giving it their best shot. But for the Messiah, for the Savior, for the Son of God, for the Son of Man, for the Son of David, for the One who taught with such authority, would a few horns be too much to ask? That parade scene can actually seem a bit absurd. Riding a donkey.

And he had such authority. “For he taught as one having authority.” That’s how Matthew the narrator wraps up the Sermon on the Mount. “Now when Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes.” All of that sermon, from the Beatitudes to the wise man who built his house on a rock, Jesus taught with such authority. Mark writes about his authority right off the bat in the first chapter. Before Mark quotes any teaching of Jesus, he tells of how those in the synagogue in Capernaum were astounded by his teaching. He taught as one having authority. Such authority. You would think he could have had a better ride that day. That maybe someone would have said, “No, he deserves a bigger horse than that.” He had such authority.

Authority, not like that of their scribes. Scribes by definition work with someone else’s material. Scribes ruminate on another’s teaching, not their own. This authority of Jesus. One writer suggested Jesus’ teaching was more declarative than deliberative. Another described Jesus teaching without footnotes (because the material was all his). Thus, authority. The crowds were astounded. That’s a pretty strong word. Astounded. The New Jerusalem Bible puts it a different way: “his teaching made a deep impression on people.” Ich! That makes it all sound so bland. When trying to pinpoint Jesus and his authority, others talk about his presence, his countenance, his being. One reads terms like moral gravity and weightiness and substance. But that sort of makes it sound like something David Brooks would write about in the New York Times. His authority; it must be more like this: They are astounded because he is what he is teaching. He embodies in their presence what the sermon is all about. He came preaching the kingdom of God and he is the kingdom of God. He doesn’t just practice what he preaches. He is what he preaches. That’s astounding.

During my research on Jesus, authority, and the end of the Sermon on the Mount this week, I came upon a typo in an essay that made me laugh out loud. The writer was addressing this very matter of the uniqueness of Jesus’ authority. The text read: “What Christ taught in word, he fulfilled in dead.” Now, the correction one assumes, would be “deed,” not dead but deed. “What Christ taught in word, he fulfilled in deed.” Given the content and nature of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’ actions, his healing, his care, the company he kept, his miracles, all should be considered a fulfillment of his word. His deeds. Perhaps the typo was both a wrong letter and an added space between in and dead. Maybe the sentence should read as an acclamation. “What Christ taught in word, he fulfilled INDEED!” Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

What if the writer was offering a theological twist on Jesus’ authority that takes “astounding” to a whole other level. That word, “dead.” Still a typo. But the correction could be “th.” “Death.” “What Christ taught in word, he fulfilled in death.” His authority in full view, on display, fulfilled in death. The Messiah, the Savior, the Son of God, the Son of Man, the Son of David, the One who taught with such authority emptied himself in death. Authority poured out.

For though he was in the form of God,
he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form, he humbled himself
And became obedient to the point of death – even death on the cross.

Therefore, God has highly exalted him…. (Phil.)

That parade, it wasn’t absurd. It was tragic. The crowds were astounded at his teaching. Then to watch someone one with such authority and power and honor and glory riding into town on a donkey. And then watch that same One being hung on a tree to die, astounding doesn’t begin to describe it. Authority (in teaching), authority (on the donkey), authority on the cross. It is all the same authority. It is the authority of Jesus and his cross. Christ Jesus and him crucified

Authority, power, honor, glory, all redefined. What makes for a parade that rocks turned upside down. What qualifies a Friday as good, forever transformed. A kingdom established not by weapons and might and conquest but by selflessness, compassion, humility, and love. A kingdom marked not by wealth or achievement or privilege but by the care of another, and the comfort of the sick, and the welcome of all. In his kingdom, victory comes when all are fed, when dividing walls come down, when the father embraces the lost son, when saints and sinners march together, when they no longer hurt or destroy on all of God’s holy mountain. When you find yourself longing for that kingdom, that world, Christ’s world, when you find yourself longing for that one and all but fed up with this one, it’s never too late to shout “Hosanna.” Save. Save. Save us. Shouting Hosanna never gets old.

The final hymn that is sending us out this morning is “Ride on! Ride On in Majesty!” Majesty. Ride on in majesty. The phrase ought to come in the hymn text with a question mark. Ride on in majesty? That’s majestic? I checked the hymnbook. No question mark. Actually, an exclamation point. Every time. Every verse. Ride on! Ride on in majesty! Ride on! Ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die. Every verse starts with majesty and every verse tells why this parade is so tragic. The 19th-century writer of the text wanted the church to sing it until you got it, until you really, really get it. Majesty! Majesty! Majesty! Majesty! Jesus there on that donkey… is so majestic.

Calling it “ironic” isn’t quite right. Maybe a paradox some would suggest. But a literary term isn’t enough. Really, it just changes everything. Christ and him crucified. It changes everything. Authority and power and honor and glory, all poured out in his death on the cross. And authority, power, honor, glory? Never the same again. The world will never get it. The world will never get the kingdom of God. But you can. Sing it til you get it. The Messiah, the Savior, the Son of God, the Son of Man, the Son of David, the One who taught with such authority riding a donkey to his death. For you and for the salvation of the world. “Making peace by the blood of his cross” (Eph).

It’s so majestic.

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

Pearls

Posted on by

Matthew 7:1-6
David A. Davis
April 2, 2017
Lent V

Pearls. Do not throw your pearls. Don’t throw your pearls before swine. They will trample them, turn, and maul you. Don’t give the meat of ritual sacrifice to the dogs like some kind of table scraps and don’t toss your pearls. Pearls. Pearls?

The pigs will turn and maul you. That’s harsh, graphic, violent for a sermon, for THEE sermon. But remember this is the same preacher who said “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away… and if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away: it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.” Same preacher. Same sermon.

Pigs and pearls. Later in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus offers a riff on the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field. The kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind. And this too, “The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” One fine pearl. Searching for, finding one fine pearl. Don’t throw your pearl.

Here as the Sermon on the Mount comes to an end, Jesus is tossing out the memorable phrases, the one liners, like a rap artist stringing images together one after another, after another. “Do not judge, so that you may be judged… first take the log out of your own eye… Ask, and it will be given you, search and you will find, knock and the door will be opened for you… In everything do to others as you would have them do to you… The gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life… You will know them by their fruits.” Right there in the rapid delivery, in the pounding 16th notes of the sermon’s last pages, “Do not throw your pearls before swine…” It’s that one line in the song, that one line in the soliloquy, that one line in the poem that you weren’t sure you heard right. If you did hear it right, you have no idea what it is supposed to mean. Pearls and swine.

Jesus’ quote, it has a sort of folklore status to it. Casting pearls before swine. Lift it from his sermon, turn it into a proverb all its own, drain it of the theological/spiritual context and meaning. The standard fare sounds something like this: “Don’t waste something of value by giving it or sharing it with someone who can’t appreciate it.” The common example given is not to share a sonnet from Shakespeare with someone who lacks the education, the sophistication, to appreciate and enjoy it. That’s the “Jesus as Ben Franklin” approach to understanding the pearls. Jesus as Ben Franklin, or Aesop, or Dear Abby. Jesus with a bit of an intellectual, condescending attitude.

In his contemporary paraphrase of the Bible, Eugene Peterson has a whole other take on throwing pearls before swine. “Don’t be flip with the sacred,” he writes. “Banter and silliness give no honor to God. Don’t reduce holy mysteries to slogans. In trying to be relevant, you’re only being cute and inviting sacrilege.” For Peterson, Jesus is warning against turning faith into kitsch. That you can’t reduce discipleship to a bumper sticker, a t-shirt, or a decorative plate on your grandmother’s wall. While that might be a fair warning and a realistic concern when it comes to trying to live the Christian life, when it comes to Peterson’s paraphrase I found myself missing the dogs, the swine, the trampling, the mauling, and the pearls.

I have told this before and some of you will remember. Years ago Paul Jeanes, the rector at Trinity Church, Paul and I were the wine-pourers at a wine tasting that was a fundraiser for Housing Initiatives of Princeton. Paul and I were part of the show. Sometime after all the white wines were served and early into the reds, one of the guests at a table called me over, not for a fresh pour but for a question and a comment. “Dr. Davis, you don’t believe in the resurrection, do you? Forty years I have lived in Princeton,” he announced in a loud voice, “and I have yet to find anyone who believed in the resurrection of the body!” I can tell you that with his tone it wasn’t really a question and he wasn’t looking for a conversation. With me standing there with two bottles of wine in hand and a napkin over my arm, I think the belittling intent was clear. His sneer was probably intended less for me and more for the faith. It was wise of me not to call him a pig that afternoon. But according to Jesus, maybe he was. Pigs and pearls.

Several commentators, current and long, long ago, surmise that Matthew’s Jesus was concerned with those who had fallen away from faith and the community. That when someone is openly hostile to the church or disobedient in faith there comes a time when leaders have to stop trying and admit that the effort is going nowhere and the breath is being wasted. The “wash your hands” interpretation calls Jesus’ instruction to the disciples in Matthew 10 to mind. “If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town. Truly I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgement than for that town” (14-15). Don’t waste your pearls if they’re never going to listen, if they’re too far gone. Toss your pearls, shake the dust. The glitch in this approach is that it makes Jesus sound more like Paul in one of his letters addressing congregational turmoil and there is little else in the Sermon on the Mount that would have such an intramural flavor to it.

Pearls. Pearls? Pearl of wisdom. “Let your light shine before others so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” That’s a pearl. “When you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.” A pearl. “You have heard that it was said ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’, but I say to you…” Jesus had all kinds of pearls. “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them… when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing… do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” The Sermon on the Mount is full of pearls.

And not just the Sermon. How about “Behold! A sower went out to sow” and “the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed” and “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me” and “the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard” and the parable of the ten bridesmaids and the parable of the talents and the parable of the sheep and the goats…” as you did it unto the least of these.” When it comes to Jesus, his teaching, his gospel, there is no shortage of pearls. Do not throw all that teaching away to those who will devour it, trample it beyond recognition, and turn and come after you in the process. Do not give what is holy to dogs and do not cast pearls before swine.

But notice Jesus didn’t say his pearls. He said your pearls. “Do not throw your pearls before swine.” Yours, not his. Your pearls. Pearls. It must have something to do with all that is precious about our life now in the kingdom of God, the Christian life, and Christ’s call to discipleship. Precious pearl. In the context of Matthew’s Gospel, your pearl is more than the sum of Jesus’ teaching. Plucked from the last notes of the Sermon on Mount, your pearl must have as much or more to do with how you live than what you say, how your light shines, your saltiness. Your pearl, it’s the sheen of your yearning to forgive in a culture of vindictiveness. Your stretching to love more than your neighbor in a time when every stranger is portrayed as an enemy. Your giving, your generosity because God has poured out an abundance of blessing on you rather than always expecting something in return. Your pearl, its beauty shines in your times of prayer and when God takes away the worry of the day and instills a settled-ness, a peace deep within you, and when you are longing, striving, thirsting for the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness.

The dogs and the swine. It’s not just that guy at the party who mocks your faith and thinks you must just not be smart enough. It’s the powers and principalities that foster the notion that the church is dying and the Christian life is nostalgic and the millennials just couldn’t be bothered anymore. It’s not just the kid at school who seems to enjoy intimidating the most vulnerable and making fun of someone who is different. It’s a dark and growing darker environment that spawns puffed-out chests and finger pointing and belittles any, who, inspired by faith, stop to hear the voices of peoples long silenced and dare to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace. It’s not just that prejudiced, unrelenting sister-in-law you unfriended on Facebook, it’s the forces of evil at work in every generation trying to separate being Christian from the Spirit’s fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Separate discipleship from loving your enemies, and caring for the poor, breaking down dividing walls, and the work of reconciliation. It’s not just that ardent, self-proclaimed Christian at work who just won’t let it go when he found out you went to church. It’s a bitter movement of those who hold to an unrecognizable Christianity, thinking its more important to be right than to love, too often confusing the cross with the flag, stoking fear rather than claiming a peace that passes all understanding. Dogs and swine. Some days it feels like the world is just waiting to stomp all over your pearls and come at you to gnaw at your faith until there’s nothing left.

Pearls. Pearls? Don’t just throw your pearls into what the Bible calls the outer darkness. They are too precious. Your life in Christ is too precious. It was Christ himself who said, “I will be with you always.” You and I, we have to pray for wisdom, and strength, and courage, and persistence in discipleship, because the world is just so full of… don’t make me say it!

The dogs, the swine, the trampling, the mauling, and the pearls. There’s such a twist to it all. Because the world needs your pearls more than ever. Just don’t let the world destroy them along the way. Your pearls. Your life in Christ. Your discipleship. Your life now in the kingdom of God. It’s all so precious. It’s all such a gift. With God’s help, Christ’s promise, and the Spirit’s guidance, let them shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

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

Following Your Heart

Posted on by

Matthew 6:19-24
March 26, 2017
Lent IV

A Presbyterian pastor friend of mine always has the same answer to the question. No matter when or where you ask him. Regardless of what might be going on in life, in the world, in ministry, his response to the question is always, has always been the same. He’s retired now. I don’t see him much. But if I asked, I am down right sure the answer would still be the same. The question is “Rob, how are you doing?” The answer, every single time, Rob’s answer is “grateful.” I used to think he was just being a bit quirky, maybe trying to be funny like the person who says, “well, I woke up and took nourishment today.” Rob’s answer doesn’t even really fit, grammatically, semantically. “How you doing?… I am doing grateful today.” I thought for a while he was enjoying playing with words, “How are you doing today, Rob?… I am doing GREAT-ful.” Everyone falls into that routine of answering the question sort of mindlessly.“I’m doing great.” Maybe when the truth is you are far from it. Far from feeling great. But Rob never gives up on his answer. There is nothing mindless about it. “How are you, Rob?” … “I am grateful!” I have come to understand that for Rob that’s a faith statement.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” And where your heart is, the rest of you, body, mind, soul, the rest of you is soon to come. Following your heart. “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, and with all of your soul, and with all of your mind,” Jesus says later in Matthew. Following your heart. Up there on the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warns his disciples about how the world can destroy treasures. Moths. Rust. Thieves. “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.” Store up. In his work on this passage, New Testament scholar Dale Allison emphasizes the connotation of accumulation here. Store up. Not just set aside your treasures. Not just save your treasures. More than put your treasures in a safe place. Accumulate. Collect. Add to your treasures in heaven. Dr. Allison suggest a better translation of the Greek may be “treasure up.” “Do not treasure up for yourselves treasures on earth… but treasure up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” Treasure up! Treasure up treasures in heaven. Treasure up!

About ten years ago I was preaching at Shiloh Baptist Church in Trenton. It was week-long celebration for the pastor’s anniversary. During that worship service, the liturgical dance group danced to a recording of a gospel song by Hezekiah Walker called “Grateful.” The refrain of the song simply repeats these words, “Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful, gratefulness is flowing from my heart.” At a certain point, then, only the refrain repeats. No more verses. Just refrain. And it goes on and on. With each repeat of the refrain, voices are added in the choir (more parts I mean), and it gets louder and louder. Near the end, in that gospel music kind of way, it’s pretty much a shout that overwhelms the room. Grateful.

Because of those worship leaders who were dancing that evening, to this day when I listen to the song it is so much more than mere repetition, more than an endless loop. When I experienced the dance, the song together with the dance, I learned something about gratefulness. Each time the refrain came early in the song, the movement was the same. And then as it continued and repeated, the movement was the same, just more intense, more exaggerated. It was nothing like a fevered pitch or a frenzy, rather it was determined, almost defiant. The dancers were working harder and harder. The movements grew stronger and stronger every time. The worship leaders, they were embodying a gratefulness that only grew deeper and stronger with every movement and tone. With their dance they were proclaiming, embodying a gratefulness that grows deeper and stronger with each movement and tone of life itself. Being grateful is hard work.

Jesus’ teaching about money, wealth, mammon, it’s usually pretty uncomfortably obvious. Except when it comes to “treasuring up.” “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven…” It’s just not all clear what it means. Remember the conversation Matthew’s Jesus had with the rich young man. The one that started with “what good deed must I do to have eternal life.” After acknowledging he thought he was doing pretty well with the commandments, the man pushes further, asking what he still lacked. Jesus answered, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come and follow me.” Sell what you have, give to the poor, treasure in heaven. Treasure in heaven through transactions of generosity and service to others. Makes sense. That is very Sermon on the Mount-like. But you and I better hope for something more than a transaction-based gospel, a race to see who can fill the jewels in his or her crown the fastest. Because that won’t end so well for most of us.

More than ten years ago in his book entitled God and Mammon in America, Princeton University professor Robert Wuthnow wrote that “work and money are too central to our lives to be divorced from the values and assumptions of our faith.” Wuthnow issued a challenge in the book to faith leaders and preachers like me to talk more about it, not less, and to call the faithful to engage and reflect and study and discuss. He offered a call for a spirituality of “critical and collective resistance” when it comes to faith communities and our money, our work, our treasure. “We may not be able to effect sweeping changes in our society, but we can do more than simply affirm the way things are,” Wuthnow concluded. That’s the sociologist’s way of saying “for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” You and I, we live in a day when a critical and collective resistance begins with just being grateful. The first move of treasuring up is being grateful.

A while back I represented the Princeton Clergy Association at a special Sunday afternoon worship celebration over at the First Baptist Church of Princeton. At one point in the service, Pastor Carlton Branscomb called the ushers forward for the offering. But nothing happened, and he waited and he looked. He tried to communicate from front to back like pastors often try. Then one usher came forward and whispered in his ear. “I’ve been told we’re going to march today,” the pastor announced. And a pleasant murmur went through the church. And then the music started. And a few ushers went for the offering basket and it was placed up front and center. Then a few other ushers started to lead the march, from the last pew up the aisle passed the basket and back down the aisle. It wasn’t so much a march, as it was a dance. Dancing toward that offering basket like the basket itself was the king and queen of the ball. The music never stopped. Some movement more graceful than others. When it was the choir’s turn to march out of the loft and around the church and back to the baskets, they all marched in time together. The offering must have gone on for twenty minutes, and there weren’t that many people.

As a Presbyterian born and raised with decency and order and the secrecy of money and the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing and almost apologizing when I have to preach a stewardship sermon, I have never seen an offering like that. It was an act of praise, an overwhelming act of thanksgiving that filled the room, filled the church, filled me. It was a bodily act of praise. It was an all-in kind of gratitude. It was being grateful from head to toe.

I’m going to keep thinking about what it means, “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” What it means in the Sermon on the Mount. What it means in the gospel. What it means for you and me to treasure up. On a morning when we get to splash together in the river of God’s grace, when we are celebrating God’s mercy and salvation, which abundantly flows even and especially when we can do nothing to earn it, ask for it, deserve it, when we once again gather around this fount to proclaim to all who will listen that we love because God in Jesus Christ first loves. That God’s love comes first, I am going to keep thinking about what it means, but I know it all begins with being grateful. That being grateful every day is a faith statement. And that being grateful every day is hard work. You can’t take it for granted. Being grateful is a first act of resistance in a world that wants you to believe you can never have too much, and wants you to worry that there’s always someone who wants to take your money, and wants you to buy into the myth of your own bootstraps, and wants you to tell others you work harder, work longer, deserve more, and it’s all mine. Mine. Mine. When you are grateful from head to toe, there’s not much room left for worry.

We celebrated the memorial service for Lindsey Christiansen yesterday. Lindsey died five months after diagnosis. Her brother shared something yesterday in his homily that Lindsey said after her diagnosis. It was something she told me in one of our visits. Lindsey told one of her doctors that she had just celebrated a big birthday and that she had lived a long and full life. Anything after that, anything now, she said, is all gravy. “But doctor,” Lindsey said, “I really like gravy.” Or in other words, Lindsey was grateful.

Treasure up! It starts with being grateful. I don’t know about you but there’s something about being around grateful people. Like it’s contagious, or more joyful, or less miserable. It’s something. How about this? Somewhere out there, the buzz, the chatter, the reputation… over there at Nassau Presbyterian Church, “They’re so grateful.”

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

Do Not Worry

Posted on by

Matthew 6:25-34
Youth Sunday
March 19, 2017
Lent III

On Youth Sunday our youth lead our worship service, including preaching the homily. In the 9:15 service our youth preachers were Amy Olsen, Sam Weinglass, and Anna Hill. In the 11:00 service they were Ellie Dykstra, Sam Weinglass, and Emily Rounds. 

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

Perfect, Just Perfect

Posted on by

Matthew 5:38-48
David A. Davis
March 12, 2017
Lent II

The word “perfect” is rare in the four gospels. For that, I guess, folks like us should be grateful. Folks like us, meaning human beings. There’s no shortage of “perfect” in the epistles, however. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (I John 4). “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above” (James 1). “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12). Perfect love. Perfect gift. The will of God, good, acceptable, perfect. Lots of “perfect.” But in the gospels, both English and Greek, the word occurs just a few times. Three to be exact and two of them I just read to you from Matthew, from the Sermon on the Mount.

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” The only other instance of the word is also in Matthew. In chapter 19 Matthew writes about someone who came to ask Jesus about what good deed has to be done to have eternal life. Jesus responded, “Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” The man asks which one. Jesus rattles off a few from the list of ten. The man said, “I’m all over that. Got it. What else do I lack?” “If you wish to be perfect,” Jesus said, “Go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When the young man heard that, Matthew tells the reader, “he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” Perfect. The Sermon and then Jesus’ call to the rich young man. Only three times in the gospels. But maybe that’s plenty when it comes to perfection.

Pope Francis has been shaking it up a bit recently. This week he said in an interview that he would entertain the idea of married men becoming priests. He shared thoughts that were much more nuanced on the subject but that was the headline. Last week, just as Lent was starting, in another interview the Pope said that one should always give to the poor and stop worrying about how that person on the street might spend the money. “Who are we to judge?” was his basic argument. And don’t just toss the money in their direction, he said. You have to look them in the eye, touch them, and in so doing acknowledge their human dignity. Some published responses to the Pope’s word about serving the poor covered the spectrum from cynicism to practicality. If someone chose to follow the Pope’s teaching they would soon be a beggar and homeless themselves, one person wrote. Another article pointed out how that in any city in the United States it just would be impossible (in case you had not already figured that out). Others suggested that the Pope must have been exaggerating and that anyone who works in an urban center knows you have to make a plan when it comes to beggars and stick to it to give your philanthropic dollars in ways that go the farthest while working on advocacy and policy. Maybe in that interview, all the Pope was trying to say was, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Turning the other cheek. Going the extra mile. Giving to anyone who begs or wants to borrow from you. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. And in the context and flow of the Sermon on the Mount it’s not just that short list of aspirational behavior in play. Jesus’ zinger of a concluding sentence, his rhetorical flare, his memorable, quotable sermon snippet goes all the way back to where we left off last week about Jesus coming to fulfill the law. Jesus preaches about reconciling with a brother or sister and not letting your anger open you to judgment, and lusting in your heart being akin to adultery, and if your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out, and divorce, and making an oath, letting your yes and yes and your no be no. Then he says, “Perfect. Be Perfect.”

In his book on the Sermon on the Mount, Professor Allison from Princeton Seminary points out that if Jesus was suggesting moral perfection here, if Jesus was calling those disciples and the crowd listening in to a kind of perfection that means being without sin, if Jesus was intending to refer to sinlessness with the word “perfect,” why would his teaching in the Lord’s Prayer include a petition for daily forgiveness. Just a bit later in the Sermon, Jesus teaches them how to pray and how to ask for forgiveness. It strains theological, spiritual common sense to think that Jesus’ turn of phrase is a hyperbolic call for sinlessness. The word “perfect” might appear a whole lot more in the epistles but it is exactly there where the first interpreters of the gospel, the first theologians affirm that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3) and that “if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us” (I John 1). Jesus may have been tempted in every way as we are and was yet without sin (Hebrews 4), but as for us, not so much.

The Common English Bible translates the 48th verse of chapter five like this: “Therefore, just as your heavenly Father is complete in showing love to everyone, so also you must be complete.” Professor Allison and others point out that the Greek word for “perfect” here, telios, can be translated, can bear the connotation of “complete.” When Jesus asked that rich young man “if you wish to be perfect…” he was asking him if you want to be all in, if you want to really do this discipleship thing right now, if you want to be completely, utterly, drop-your-net-and-follow-me in, then sell your possessions, give the money to poor, and come, follow me. It’s a “if you want to be complete” kind of commitment.

No, not “you complete me” as Tom Cruise said to Renee Zellweger in the film Jerry Maguire. But more like, there is a completeness, a wholeness when it comes to God and God’s kingdom. It’s God’s perfection, not ours. God’s perfect love. There is an “A to Z” and “Alpha to Omega” sense to God’s whole kingdom of love, righteousness, justice, and peace. It has a “this is it” sort of definition. When it comes to turning the other cheek and caring for the poor and loving your enemies, that’s how it is, that’s how it will be in the kingdom. It is perfect, just perfect. Life in the kingdom of God is the definition of turning the other cheek and serving the least of these and a love that knows no bounds. Complete in the kingdom. Complete in him, in Jesus, for that matter. Perfect. Just perfect.

Three times here in Matthew Jesus used the word. Only three times in all of the gospels. But he must have thought it more than that. You remember when Jesus looked up and saw rich people putting their gifts into the treasury at the temple. Jesus also saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. Jesus said to the disciples gathered around him, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them, for they contributed out of their abundance, but she, out of her poverty, has put in all the living that she had.” What Jesus could have said when he looked over to her was “perfect, just perfect.”

When Jesus was in Bethany at the house of Simon the leper, a woman broke open a very expensive jar of oil and began to anoint his head. It created quite a stir and everyone else in the room became angry and started to scold the woman. That’s when Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Why yell at her. She is offering me a service and anointing my body beforehand for burial.” Jesus spoke those puzzling words about the poor always being with you. “Truly I tell you, whenever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” That’s how he finished. He must have been thinking “perfect, just perfect.”

When Jesus and the disciples were up around the Sea of Galilee, Jesus looked up and saw a huge crowd coming toward him. Jesus turned to Philip and asked how they were going to feed all these people. Andrew said, “There’s a little boy here who has five loaves and two fish.” Jesus told them to invite everyone to sit down. What he might have thinking was this is perfect, just perfect. After Jesus told the one about the Good Samaritan, he said to that rich lawyer, “Go and do likewise.” He could have easily said, “Be perfect, just perfect.” The father who embraced his lost son, crying out “This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and now is found.” Those hugging words could have been “perfect, just perfect.” The wise maidens who brought enough oil to keep their lamps burning, the sheep who did all that was described unto the least of these, Martha who chose the better portion and sat at the feet of Jesus, the tax collector who beat his own chest in prayer and cried out, “Lord, have mercy on me a sinner.” The one leper who came back to throw himself at the feet of Jesus and offered him thanks. All of them. All of them. It could have been. He could have said, he could have thought, “Perfect, just perfect.” Because each and every one of those snapshots, those scenes from the life the kingdom, they point to something greater. They offer a glimpse of the kingdom of God. Turns out there’s a whole lot more of “perfect” in the gospel than the three times the word was used.

After the Women’s March back in January, I talked to colleagues and church members and friends and family who all participated in Washington, in New York, in Trenton. One thing, one theme, was consistent in every report and description I heard. What was most meaningful was that sense of being a part of something greater. It wasn’t a particular speech that folks will remember. Most folks could quote a saying or two from a sign or share a chant that moved through the crowd. Everyone noted the lack of any incident or any violence, But what will most be remembered, according to people who went, was that feeling of taking a small part, a little cog, one voice in something that was so much bigger, greater, more important, more profound. Knowing somewhere deep within that day, that each was a part of a powerful message so beyond themselves, but somehow made greater because of the presence of each and every one.

Anyone who has been a part of a choir when the piece was just sublime, or in the jazz band the night they killed it, or on a team that won a game they were not supposed to, or part of a group at work that met the untenable deadline, or in the cast when the play soared to another level, or in the congregation for that Easter proclamation never to forget (“Christ is risen”). Jesus’ exhortation to perfection isn’t a call to a beyond human sinless state. It is an invitation to take part in a kingdom of forgiveness, generosity, and love that is so much bigger and greater, more profound than you can even fathom. And don’t forget the one who is doing the exhorting, the one who is preaching here. Jesus and all those snapshots, those scenes. His life of forgiveness, generosity, and love. The exhortation is to be a part of something much greater and in so doing, to draw near to Christ himself. “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

There is a major gathering this week in the Presbyterian Church. It’s called the “Next Conference.” About 600 Presbyterians from around the country will gather to worship, to be inspired, to hear about compelling ministries, to discern what might be next in the PC(USA). Tom Charles has been invited to speak. Together with Sue Jennings, Ann Youmans, and others, Tom leads our ministry in refugee resettlement. Tom has prepared a guidebook for sponsoring refugees that has already been shared with hundreds of contacts in other congregations. I received an advanced of Tom’s remarks to the conference next week and with his permission I share this one small bit.

At one point Tom tells of his own motivation and passion for being involved in refugee work. He cites the influence of his parents and grandparents. He mentions being a part of a congregation that has resettled twelve families over 60 years. But then Tom writes this, “But, most of all, my passion comes from the realization that I am most fulfilled as a Christian when I do this work, receiving back so much more than I provide. Put very simply, it is when I am working with a refugee that I feel closest to Christ.”

The hours, the hurdles, the joy, the frustration, the challenges, the laughter, the hard conversations, the organizing, the job training, the language teaching.

“It is when I am working with a refugee that I feel closest to Christ.”

Tom might have put it another way, “It’s perfect, just perfect.”

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

Posted in Uncategorized

Letter: “A prayer for acceptance, respect, and love”

Posted on by

We are writing as multi-faith community leaders who are concerned about the growing number of hate crimes that we are seeing in our country. We want to speak up and speak out against any acts of hate directed at a particular group and we hope that parents, teachers and other community leaders will add their voice to ours so that everyone will learn why these actions must not be tolerated in any community and those who commit these crimes should be found and help responsible.

We know from studying history and from each of our own traditions why it is so critical to love your neighbor as yourself, to accept the orphan, widow, and stranger and to demonstrate respect for people of different faiths and backgrounds. We hear the hate speech coming from too many places in our country and we want to counter that speech with language of love and trust and acceptance and honor.

We know of Muslims who feel threatened today by certain policies and statements being made in many public forums and then we witnessed acts of hatred directed at a Jewish cemeteries. This is not only disrespectful to the deceased and their families but it also violates so many of our religious traditions of demonstrating honor to people after they pass away and honoring religious institutions. These actions must stop.

In Princeton, we are proud of the multi-faith voices that come together to celebrate certain national holidays and to unite in support of certain values that are key to our religious traditions and to our country. When the times call for us to speak out against religious discrimination and anti-Semitic acts like we have witnessed this week – we do so as well.

When we gather in our own congregations for communal worship, or when we come together as families and individuals for private reflection and prayer, let’s add a prayer in our own religious tradition for not only peace but also for the end of violence and hatred, a prayer for acceptance and respect and love. Perhaps this prayer from the Jewish prayer book could inspire us all:

May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease, when a great peace will embrace the whole world. Then nation will not threaten nation and humanity will not again know war.

For all who live on earth shall realize we have not come into being to hate or to destroy. We have come into being to praise, to labor, and to love.
Compassionate God bless the leaders of all nations with the power of compassion. Fulfill the promise conveyed in Scripture: I will bring peace to the land and you shall lie down, and no one shall terrify you.

I will rid the land of vicious beasts and it shall not be ravaged by war. Let love and justice flow like a mighty stream. Let peace fill the earth as the waters fill the sea.
Amen.

Rabbi Adam Feldman
The Jewish Center of Princeton

Rev. David A. Davis
Nassau Presbyterian Church

Rev. Jana Purkish-Brash
Princeton United Methodist Church

Rev. Bob Moore
Coalition for Peace Action

Leaders of the Princeton Clergy Association