Luke 7:11-17 [i]
August 24
Lauren J. McFeaters
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Have you been to New Orleans? There’s the French Quarter, the Garden District, Jackson Square, and Preservation Hall. There’s the National WWII Museum and the Mahalia Jackson Theater. Then there’s the food: the Po-Boys and Gumbo, Crawfish Etouffee and Jambalaya. And the way to start your day is with a copy of the Tribune, beignets, and café au lait.

And then, there are the cemeteries. Lots of them. They’re named St. Louis and Cypress Grove, Gates of Prayer and Greenwood, Holt and Lake Lawn. So many cemeteries in so little space. And because the city lies at sea level, all the graves are in above-the-ground crypts, surrounded by stone statuary.

In New Orleans, one of the most notable facets of culture is how you get to the cemetery. You get there with Jazz.

The Jazz Funeral is unique to New Orleans. Its origins date back centuries to Nigeria and West Africa, and it begins at church. After worship, outside on the steps, the casket is carried by family and friends, or slid inside a glass-sided hearse. A solemn brass band leads the procession and the mourners walk behind.

Slowly, very slowly, the procession shuffles toward the cemetery. Dirges are played: Nearer My God to Thee and Just a Closer Walk with Thee.[ii] You know this hymn. Can’t you just hear Mahalia Jackson –  the cadence and the pulse:

Just a closer walk with Thee

Grant it, Jesus, is my plea

Daily walking close to Thee

Let it be, dear Lord, let it be ^[iii]

Arriving at the grave, the words of committal are said, and the pallbearers lift the casket for the burial. And then … Nothing. Silence. Nothing but silence. Silence goes on and on and on …

Until … KAPOW! Celebration music fills the air. Shouts of joy are raised. Hoots and hollers. Glory Alleluia! The brass lifts up When the Saints Go Marching In.  Can’t you hear Louie Armstrong? The festivities of Thanksgiving begin.

It’s the defining moment; a holy moment:

• Past moves to future.
• Shuffling becomes swing.
• A crowd struts, sings, waves umbrellas, all the while dancing everything back to life; dancing everything back to life. [iv]

It’s all tribute. Tribute and care; honor and compassion.

As we travel with Jesus today, he meets a funeral procession: a solemn, mourning people, shuffling to the cemetery.   Searching for a closer walk with God. Dirges are wailed. Laments are moaned.

There’s a shattered mother; known only as the Widow of Nain.   A devastated woman, left in a man’s world. It’s a picture of destitution. Her future without her son’s support and security, is grim; her circumstances dire. She’s left in total dependence upon the crowd around her. [v]

And yet, when Jesus witnesses her heartache, he has neither pity nor kindness. He has no sympathy or charity. What Jesus has is compassion.

“Do not weep.” Compassion.

“Do not cry.” Compassion.

“Let me wipe your tears.” Compassion.

The biblical word for compassion comes from the Greek word splagcna. I’m going to say it again. Splagcna.  It sounds like it means. Splagcna literally meaning: to have tender mercy – straight from the bowels; to have loving mercy from the viscera; to have heart from the innards. Jesus’ compassion is a tender mercy straight from the gut.

The root of compassion comes straight from the very pit of our being. That plummeting in our guts when we hear really shocking news, when we witness cruelty, when we experience something so terribly unexpected that we feel only from our core.

Jesus was sucker punched by the Widow of Nain, so much so that power came forth as he touched the dead man’s body and breath filled the dead man’s lungs:  “Young man. I say to you Rise! Awaken!” “Young man. I say to you Get Up! Dance.”

That’s the root of Jesus’ closer walk with the Widow of Nain: his compassion is more than an understanding look, or a sympathetic word, [vi] his consideration more than pity.

So too for Christians. Our Acts of Compassion must be a lovingkindness [vii] in service to the broken. Our Acts of Compassion must be mercy in service to the shattered.

And if we let our Christian Witness come from our guts, we can completely undermine the contempt, the loathing, and abhorrence of humanity that is happening all around us.

Acts of compassion, can absolutely slash through hatred and cut through fear. Acts of compassion become the indispensable way to rid the world of Tyranny.

And compassion, in the name of our Servant Lord, is perhaps the only thing that can save us from ourselves.[viii]

The Widow of Nain doesn’t ask Jesus to raise her son. She doesn’t fall on her knees and beg for her son’s life. All she does is weep.  There are no words about faith, or gratitude, or praise; just the absolute power of a mother’s tears.[ix]

We’re a church with a lot of tears.  We’re moved by many things. We cry easily. When we witness baptisms; enjoy a partnership with a new friend at St. Mary’s in Trenton; when we embrace a refugee family; when we minister beside our siblings at Westminster and Witherspoon Street Churches; when we experience the generosity of older adults; the determination of teens; and the bravery of children.

When our Lord restores to a widow her son, he restores her world. When our Lord guides a church to practice compassion, he restores our world. That’s what the kingdom of God does: Restores us. Raises us. Resurrects us. It’s pure joy – deep from the gut. Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.

 

ENDNOTES

[i] Luke 7: 11-17 NRSVue: Soon afterward Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow, and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he was moved with compassion for her and said to her, “Do not cry.” Then he came forward and touched the bier, [that is the frame on which the young man’s body is laid] and the bearers stopped. And Jesus said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized all of them, and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has visited his people!” This word about him spread throughout the whole of Judea and all the surrounding region.

[ii] “Multi-Cultural Traditions: The Jazz Funeral.” Originally printed in The Soul of New Orleans. www.neworleansonline.com.

[iii]  Just a Closer Walk With Thee (anonymous)

I am weak but Thou art strong
Jesus keep me from all wrong
I’ll be satisfied as long
As I walk, let me walk close to Thee

Just a closer walk with Thee
Grant it, Jesus, is my plea
Daily walking close to Thee
Let it be, dear Lord, let it be

When my feeble life is o’er
Time for me will be no more
Guide me gently, safely o’er
To Thy kingdom’s shore, to Thy shore Refrain

[iv] Mary LaCoste. “New Orleans jazz funerals — A joyous tradition.” The Louisiana Weekly, www.louisianaweekly.com, September 22, 2014.

[v] Beverly R. Gaventa Charles B. Cousar, J. Clinton McCann, Jr., James D. Newsome. Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV, Year C. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994, 379-80.

[vi] Ibid.

[vii]  Gratitude abounds for Brian Phillips and Kevin Reel as they are the living definition of lovingkindness.

[viii] Walter Brueggemann. The Prophetic Imagination. New York: Fortress Press, 1978, 91.

[ix] Kim Buchanan. Sermon: From Procession to Party. Luke 7:11-17. Day1: A Ministry for the Alliance of Christian Media, Atlanta, Georgia, June 10, 2007.

 

Galatians 6:1-10
August 10
Len Scales
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We are back in the sanctuary at 61 Nassau Street as we come to the conclusion of a series in Galatians!

We are surrounded by a lot more light, fresh paint, and beautiful artwork in the chancel. The change of text reflects a focus in the life of Nassau Church to be mindful that as we worship gathered in this space, we are prepared and sent into the world to continue to live in God’s love.

Since Andrew and I started with Princeton Presbyterians, the campus ministry took up Micah 6:8 as our motto—Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly. When the orange banner goes up in the coming weeks to welcome new and returning students to Princeton, it will be the 10th year of reflecting this call into our community. Buttons and stickers have been shared between campus ministry and congregation and Micah 6:8 keeps working its way deeper into our life together so much so that it has become the banner text in the chancel. This is a reflection of who we are and who we aspire to be.

Much like Micah, the letter to the Galatians is a call to ongoing life as a follower of God. Filled with the Spirit, Gentiles in Galatia hear the message of Christ and begin to live it out. People had different opinions of requirements for Gentiles following Jesus, and so arguments and manipulation impacted the church there, making people feel like they weren’t enough. These conversations reached Paul and he wrote to encourage the church in Galatia, reminding them that salvation is through God’s grace, and that our calling is to bear good fruit for all through the work of the Spirit. Living as followers of Christ does not include tearing one another down. It does not leave people hungry. It does not oppress the neighbor.

When Andrew and I preach through epistles on Sunday evenings at Breaking Bread Worship with students, we talk about how a letter is just one segment of an ongoing conversation. We are hearing a particular voice in what we are reading, and we can use our sacred imagination to consider what the rest of the conversation might have included. What did the Galatians say when they wrote Paul back? Where did they have questions? How did they push back? What did they deeply appreciate?

We continue these conversations when we read Scripture and listen for God’s word for us as a part of the church today. We know that sometimes Scripture has been used to clobber our neighbors or maintain hierarchy. That is, in part, why the chancel text change is careful to not use masculine language for God, because we know there are pieces of Christian history (and present) that use gendered language as a support for belittling women and teaching binary thinking that cuts out so many siblings.

We have to ask what values guide our reading of Scripture and engagement in a faith community so that we can collectively live into the life of the Spirit.

The fruit of the Spirit in the chapter prior to today’s text illumines a theme that has come alive in my work in ministry. I arrived at my first call in North Carolina in 2011 shortly after the Presbyterian Church (USA) voted to support, rather than bar, LGBTQ+ folks seeking ordination. I had the opportunity to be a part of tough conversations and studies with the congregation. Some congregants knew the deep rejection their queer children experienced from that community and wanted to make sure no young person ever felt condemned again. It was through those conversations and reading Matthew Vines’ God and the Gay Christian that the role of good fruit crystalized for me. I heard a story just this spring about the good fruit harvested from those seeds planted over a decade ago. When a graduating high school student came out to the pastor, he shared with gratitude the acceptance he felt from the congregation. Fear, rejection, and broken relationships replaced with trust, support, and love. The congregation had to undergo some painful pruning to bear good fruit where there had once been bad.

As we look at the role of the church, the interpretation of Scripture, the practices we take up, we can ask “Is this bearing good fruit?”

Is it providing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control?

We can and need to ask if what we are doing is life-giving.

Christians have a long history of being on the wrong side of history, and the power of religion has been wielded to coerce people, bearing fear and even death into the world. That is not good fruit.

There is also history of good fruit with establishing education for all, building hospitals, calling for non-violence, and the ongoing work for justice.

As we look again to our chancel text today, we see that love appears all around us—God is love, love God, love kindness, and that the center panel gives us an example of what that love looks like. It makes what we do not just an idea but a material impact—caring for neighbors with housing, food, clothing, and freedom. This calling is not a small one; it is not a simple nor quick task.

Our text in Galatians today reminds us the life we are called to live out as followers of Christ is a collective undertaking. It is empowered by the Spirit and done in community.

Author, organizer, science fiction lover, adrienne maree brown, points toward examples throughout nature of the effectiveness of interdependence and resilience for a better future. In considering the power of a group, she describes flocking, how birds migrate. Brown’s book Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds, says, “There is an art to flocking: staying separate enough not to crowd each other, aligned enough to maintain a shared direction, and cohesive enough to always move towards each other” (13). A flock of birds is able to quickly change directions, adapt, to avoid predators. This is possible because leadership can come from any corner of the flock helping turn and guide toward safety.

This example from nature highlights the power of working together and how recognizing leadership from throughout the group can help us face challenging conditions and go the distance.

This sense of teamwork is what drives my Doctorate of Ministry research on the collaborative power between congregations and campus ministries. We get to learn from one another, and are better able to follow God’s call in the world when we welcome the energy and imagination, wisdom and love that comes together with a dynamism of varied ages and life stages.

A small example of that is Ms. Ingrid inviting the children in Club 3-4-5 to make care packages during finals season for Undergraduate and Graduate students. The cards are sweet and often funny and the college students love knowing that this younger generation is cheering them on. It is also a meaningful example for the kids to know church community can extend into your life as a young adult.

I’ve kept one of those cards from Club 3-4-5, because of the wisdom it shares. On the front are stickers of Winnie-the-Pooh, Piglet, and Tiger, separated from one another, trying to push and pull a huge lady bug each on their own. They can’t do it, until you open the card and see that they’ve come together to move what had seemed impossible. Now they are all flying! The inscription reads “If it isn’t working, try teamwork!”

When we look at the world it can seem like the obstacles are too large, too heavy, too longstanding, too complex to resolve. And the truth is that we can not do it alone. We really do need one another. We must work together, bearing one another’s burdens, resting when we need to and leading when we can to make sure when Christ appears in our midst that we as a community are ready.

This kind of teamwork is why the Neighbor Fund is possible. Generosity, willingness to respond to the request of trusted community partners, and commitment to cultivating good fruit — well-being, compassion, and courage — are the ways you are gathering around God’s love and responding with love through the power of the Spirit. Let us “bear one another’s burdens … not grow weary in doing what is right, … [and] work for the good of all.”^[1]  Amen.

^[1] Galatians 6:2, 9-10

Galatians 5:13-25
August 3
Lauren J. McFeaters
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When I was a teenager, my father gifted me with the first edition of The Book of Lists. You may or may not remember this book. It was a publishing phenomenon; the first of its kind; a compilation of unusual facts, a collection of cultural curiosities, and lists from the mundane to the bizarre, like:

• Jane Austen’s best heroines.
• The world’s greatest libel suits.
• Actors who turned down great roles.
• The Holy Land’s most sacred spots.
• Unusual stolen objects.
• And my favorite: 18 Sayings of Oscar Wilde. [ii]

I was very grateful for this gift because, as a kid who read the Encyclopedia Britannica for fun and who would rather be in a library than a softball field, I found a collection of the most interesting information. And remember, this was decades ago – no internet, no online research, no Google, so here was a guide that helped me catalogue and synthesize information. It helped me in school and in church because I suddenly had a new way of visualizing details. I started making lists, and I experienced history and literature as accessible and within reach.

My lists were academic and fun. For instance: Lauren, what are your favorite films? My Favorite Films are Ship of Fools, Raise the Red Lantern, Kind Hearts & Coronets, and Looking for Bobby Fischer

Greatest Actors?  Alec Guinness, Sidney Poitier

Best Vocalists?  K. D. Lang, Bill Withers, Rhiannon Giddens, Van Morrison

Favorite Authors: Kazuo Ishiguro, James McBride, Ngaio Marsh, John le Carre

Beloved Hebrew Prophets: Miriam, Micah, Deborah, Jeremiah

It’s become a hobby, keeping a journal of lists – prayers to be said, books to be read, liturgical readings to be followed, series to be watched, museums to be visited. It’s had an unexpected effect on me, because there a kind of security, when you have a place to keep track of things, a place to remember.

Our text today is a kind of a Biblical Book of Lists. Paul, who never shied away from a list, takes us through a registry of faithful living in the Spirit; an inventory of a life with God, and the security of knowing a freedom in our Lord leads to liberation and blessing.

It is absolutely clear, God has called you to sacred freedom, Paul says. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your Spirit-given freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows.

My friends, says Paul, everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. And a free spirit is incompatible with selfishness.

It’s obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get our own way all of the time; when selfishness takes over? Here’s Paul’s list. We experience repetitive, loveless, and cheap sex;  fetid accumulations of emotional garbage; frenzied indulgences; joyless grabs for gratification; merciless competitions; brutal tempers; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives. We could go on. It’s a list that shakes and crumbles us.

But what happens, asks Paul, when we “love your neighbor as ourselves, when we put away the devouring of one another, and pause before we gratify our egos? Well, if we commit, together, to live by the Spirit, then, by contrast, God brings gifts into our lives that we can hardly imagine.

It’s the same way fruit appears on the peach trees at Terhune Orchard, or the tomatoes ripening on the vine in your gardens, or the sweet corn freshly harvested at the Trenton Farmers’ market. All fragrant and all gifts from God. God gifts us with a deeply scented concern for those who are suffering and the ability to act on their behalf; an aromatic affection for those in anguish and a new capacity for openhandedness; and God infuses us with an understanding of injustices meted out to the poor and then the skills needed to feed, clothe, visit and to turn poverty on its head.

Living in the Spirit also comes with serenity and composure; a peacefulness that gifts us with groundedness and allows us to live in our world filled with incessant political tantrums that try to distract us from the truth. Living in the Spirit obliterates these distractions, and we live with poise and calm. Poise and calm – the antidotes to the toxic chaos that tries its best to divert us, but will never have the last word. ^[iii]

And here’s the thing. There will be constant moments throughout this day and week when we’ll be tempted to detach ourselves from our groundedness in faith. It often happens when something is dangled in front of us as a promise to distract:

• It’s the lure of an iPhone Pro Max in Barbie Pink.
• The car that promises us a “Season of Dreams” if we purchase the Mercedes-Benz EQB 300 4MATIC.
• The HP Z Book Fury 16 G11 Mobile Workstation PC might set us back 9K, but promises that in using it, we can “expand and evolve.”

The temptations of this day will never end. Somewhere out there, we’ll find a microbrewery offering us the fellowship of the pub; a yogurt that will cure our gut woes; a deodorant that, head to toe, is going to make us feel better about our bodies; and Macy’s, which this very week, is generously inviting us to start our Christmas shopping.

Paul, however, would like us to cease the nonsense and to stand with Christ, who does not deny the existence of the things of the world, but gives those things the perspective they deserve.

We’re not created for the things we want, or own, or have to have, are we? We’re not created for the things we crave or desire. We’re not created to be seduced into purchases, relationships, and possessions. We’re created for the Lord who calls us to freedom.

In our world turned inside out and shaken up and down, Paul comes to us with a prayer that convicts us to get down on our knees, asking God to fortify us and to love us into sanity.

When you have experienced the anchoring love of God’s sanity – you can never be the same – that the breadth of God’s love will never leave your side; that you are then bowled over by wonder, and that there is nothing left to do, but to come to the Table of Joy, and feast with the One who frees us.

So come with joy even if your hearts are broken, for here is our joy, here is our nourishment, and my friends, here is our freedom.

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ENDNOTES

[ii] David Wallechinsky, Irving Wallace, Amy Wallace. The People’s Almanac Presents the Book of Lists, New York: William Morrow & Co., 1977.

[iii] Inspired by Eugene Petersen’s The Message. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress, 397-398, 1993.

Galatians 3:23-29
July 27
Lauren J. McFeaters
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I’m not sure we can truly value how radical a message our text was to those who lived in the 1^st century world of the Mediterranean.

Our current concept of individualism would have been unfathomable in Paul’s time. Life was lived in circles of society different from our own. First century life revolved around networks of trade and work, the empire and religions, guilds and associations.

As C.K. Robertson says, the Apostle Paul was a man of two worlds. He could move in and out of synagogues and at the same time he was a citizen of the Roman Empire. And yet, with his message that “all are one in Christ,” Paul set up a new possibility: a network that demanded primary allegiance from its members and in which all other distinctions between people became secondary and irrelevant. [ii]

So when word reaches Paul that within the Galatian Church there are those casting doubt about an inclusive gospel; telling church members that only some can be considered followers of Christ Jesus; and that the Body of Christ is becoming a club with an entrance fee, he is angry and fearful.

You can smell Paul’s fear lifting off the page of this letter. Paul is afraid that this church is being seduced by an elite and exclusive circle, restricting entrance to the love of Jesus. Paul’s fear is a living, breathing thing because he is fighting for the very soul of the church – for the Galatians and for us.

To preach Christ crucified and risen – for all:

• Not as a reward to be earned through the Law of Moses, but a gift given to each and every person.
• Not as a prize to be won by choosing a clique to belong to; but a treasure opened to every individual.
• Not as a payment to receive by selling your soul to an inner circle, but a cherished place found at the table and font.

Listen again:

My Beloved Ones, remember you are now seasoned in Christ, and free to respond in faith to the Living God.

It is true, there was a time when we were carefully protected by Mosaic law, and the law was like the best of teachers, who walk with us and protect us.

But now we have arrived at our destination, and in the family of faith there is absolutely no division in any way for Jew and non-Jew,  immigrant or citizen, slave or free, male or female.

In God’s world all are equal through Christ and that makes each of us heirs of God’s promises. You are now seasoned in Christ, and free to respond in faith to the living God. [iii]

Seasoned in Christ.

Seasoned, as in, experienced in Christ, practiced in Christ.

Seasoned in Christ.

Seasoned, as in flavored in Christ, as in being salt and light for Christ, baptized in Christ; engrafted in Christ – living and dying in Christ.

More than anything else, this is the issue we wrestle with in these treacherous days. Can we be seasoned? Are we teachable?

For Paul, the place to start our seasoning is to tell the truth about our incessant need to categorize people into camps and factions; the never-ending competition to see who will be eliminated.

We hear it every day:

the “Who’s In, Who’s Out,” “Who Stays, Who Leaves.”

It’s so easily pronounced in entertainment catchphrases like:

• “You’re out! Auf Wiedersehen!”
• “You’re the Weakest Link.”
• “You’ve been evicted.”
• “The tribe has spoken.”
• “Please pack your knives and go.”
• “Your tour ends here.”
• And the worst: “You’re Fired! “Now get out!” [iv]

The categories that divide us today may be different than in Paul’s day, but divisions persist and are signs we are not seasoned with Christ; that we are immature; that we have forgotten Christ’s coming abolishes any camp or faction, category or label.

Because in our Lord divisions are pulverized and crushed. A life lived in Jesus is a life where we are accepted solely by what God has done for us in Jesus Christ.^[v]

Will we be seasoned? Are we teachable?

For me, there are four phrases, four things I have learned to say over and over again. They are a spiritual discipline that each day I hold onto, as needed, to help me stay teachable. The four phrases are these:

“I don’t know.”

“I need help.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I was wrong.” [vi]

Some of you may recognize these phrases from the writer Louise Penny and her Inspector Armand Gamache. Louise Penny is for me, a kind of pastor and her four phrases are meant to cultivate humility, vulnerability, accountability, and courage – essential for the seasoned person; the teachable Christian. I’ll say them again:

“I don’t know.”

“I need help.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I was wrong.”

For Paul and his beloved Galatians, it’s all about being a seasoned, teachable spirit in Christ. Teachable at any age  – we all grow, all progress, all reform.

And this is one of the things I love most about Paul:  his unrelenting quest for us to grow-up; his dogged way of kicking us in the pants; his overwhelming, in-your-face evangelism.

Paul tracks us down, haunts us until we listen, and rummages around our heart of hearts until we get it right. He’s a terrier for the gospel, a doggedly, unrelenting presence God puts in our lives.

This Paul, that puts Christ crucified front and center; puts font and table right out there for all to see; gifts from God for the people of God. Gifts of grace meant for each and every person. Paul knows who we must be and that living in the joy of our Lord is the central most important part of life and faith. Nothing will stop Paul from getting this Word across.

 

And why?

Because when we learn to grow-up in Jesus, we learn of a love that does for us what we cannot do for ourselves.

Hear the Good News:

You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and belong to Christ Jesus forever.

Like holding a child and whispering all of the dreams and possibilities for that child’s future, Paul picks us up, dusts us off, and sets us on the path of Christian maturity and growth.

Like a parent who brings their child to the Baptismal Font, encouraging and cheering all the way, Paul wakes us up, splashes us in the waters of baptism, just as the Spirit makes us one in Christ.

Because we are heirs according to the promise.

And that is Good News.

What better news could there be? [vii]

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ENDNOTES

[ii]  C.K. Robertson. A Dangerous Dozen: Twelve Christians Who Threatened the Status Quo but Taught Us to Live Like Jesus, Woodstock, Vermont:  SkyLight Paths Publishing, 2011.  

 

[iii] Adapted from Eugene Petersen’s The Message. Colorado Springs, CO:  NavPress, 1993, 394.

 

[iv] Project Runway: “You’re out. Auf Wiedersehen.” The Weakest Link: “You are the Weakest Link.” Big Brother House: “You’ve been evicted.” Survivor: “The tribe has spoken.” Top Chef: “Please pack your knives and go.” Rock of Love: “Your tour ends here.” The Apprentice:   “You’re fired! “Now get out!”

 

[v] Elisabeth Johnson. Commentary on Galatians 3:23-29, Workingpreacher.org, June 20, 2010.

 

[vi] Louise Penny. Still Life. New York: Minotaur Books, 2008.

 

[vii] Billy D. Strayhorn. “Heirs According to the Promise,” found in A Hope That Does Not Disappoint:  Second Lesson Sermons for Sundays after Pentecost (First Third) Cycle C. Lima, Ohio:  CSS Publishing Co., 2000.

 

Jeremiah 18:1-11
July 20
David A. Davis
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The potter and the clay. As in “Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way. Thou art the Potter. I am the clay.” I am guessing I am not the only one who has that hymn etched somewhere deep within. The potter and the clay. “O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” The prophet Isaiah, chapter 64, verse 8. The potter and the clay. An old biblical image. An old metaphor about God and humankind. Just an old, worn-out sermon illustration. The potter and the clay. The Apostle Paul, when he is trying to work out election and covenantal theology and God’s relationship to Israel amid his argument in Romans, pulls out the example of the potter and the clay. “Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one object for special use and another for ordinary use?” (Romans 9).

Here in the work of the prophet Jeremiah, in the text offered for your reading and hearing, it’s the potter and the clay. The prophet offers perhaps the most familiar biblical use of the potter and clay analogy. But Jeremiah doesn’t just pull out the old illustration. The prophet doesn’t just drop it in. Jeremiah goes down to the potter’s house. The word of the Lord came to Jeremiah: “Come, go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.”  Jeremiah went down and watched and waited and listened. The potter was working at the potter’s wheel. Something went wrong with the pot there in the potter’s hands. It didn’t look right, feel right. So, the potter reworked it. The potter kept the wheel spinning, shaping a new, fresh vessel from the clay. The potter did what the potter thought best, what seemed good. The prophet/proclaimer Jeremiah watched and listened.

There at the potter’s house, Jeremiah didn’t just toss in an illustration. The potter and the clay. Jeremiah sat there and took in a rather ordinary slice of life and listened for the voice of God. Jeremiah took in what was far from a unique experience, a potter sitting at the wheel, and he waited for a word from the Lord, for God had promised to let him hear. Jeremiah went to the potter’s house to take in the promise of God.

I preached my first sermon in seminary in this chapel in the fall of 1987. I was wearing a brown tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, khaki pants, a cream-colored dress shirt, and a brown knitted tie. It was the 80s after all. The first words of feedback came from a teaching fellow who was doing a PhD in preaching. The person told me that my sermon was like my outfit, “drab and boring”. That experience has absolutely nothing to do with this sermon, but I have thought about it several times this summer as we worship in this space!

I hope my comments to students in the preaching classrooms on this campus were more pastoral.  One thing I learned to share with new preachers was the danger of an illustration. It’s not great if the listener remembers the illustration and nothing else about the sermon. Similarly, a preacher struggling with a sermon is never just one great illustration away from making it a memorable sermon. Preachers often mistakenly spend hours searching for an illustration to make the point rather than trusting their observations of the ordinary and inviting the hearers of the word to feast on the promise of God.

One wonders how long Jeremiah sat there watching, waiting, and listening in the potter’s house. When Jeremiah went down to the potter’s house, he would have brought it all with him: his call from God, his desire to speak to the people of God, his lament, his concerns, his prophetic heart, his heavy prophetic heart burdened by the disobedience of God’s people. He would have been carrying it all. His view of the world. The suffering of a nation. Devastation and destruction at the hands of the Babylonian Empire. Jerusalem on the brink. The end of temple life. The end of the monarchy. A people’s relationship to God is redefined. The faithfulness of God is reaffirmed. The faithlessness of the people was called out. Jeremiah would have brought it all with him down to the potter’s house. All of life. God. Israel. The present. The past. The future. Jeremiah brought it all to the potter and the clay. Then the word of the Lord came to him. “Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this potter has done?… Just like clay in the potter’s hand, so you are in my hand.”  Down at the potter’s house, Jeremiah heard a word of judgment and a call to repentance.

Like any illustration, any metaphor, any analogy, any parable, if you try to explain every part of it, it just sort of crumbles. If the potter is God and God has the vessel in God’s hands the whole time, if the wheel is always spinning, how could God create something that is spoiled? If the potter destroys one vessel and creates a new one, but it’s the same clay, is it really just the same substance, the same object, the same vessel? If the potter determines to destroy a particular piece so another one can be crafted that is better, does that mean that the first vessel became spoiled of its own free will? What about all the clay pots that decide to follow their own plan, spin their own wheel, and be shaped by their own humanity? The divine potter and the clay that is so utterly human. Any illustration, any metaphor, any analogy, any parable can be pounded into submission.

The invitation here is to step into the potter’s house; to listen for a Word from the Lord, to yearn for the very presence of God amid the most ordinary places of life, to seek to hear the promise of God while bringing with you everything you have to bear. Not just the prophet Jeremiah, but you and me. Those of us called to be hearers of the Word. You. Me. The potter. The clay. The potter is working at the wheel. With hands around the clay, the potter transforms one vessel in another, another that seems good. We watch, wait, and listen, even as we bring it all with us, all of life, all of the world. God. You. The past. The present. The future. The potter and the clay.

Spending two weeks traveling with a group of twenty-something people in Northern Ireland and Scotland wasn’t easy for me. I am actually an introvert on the Myers-Briggs inventory. One of the ways I would recover was on the many bus rides we took. Backpack in the seat next to me. Ear buds in. Lots of time to take in the scenery, the landscape. I realized that the last time I was in Ireland and Scotland, I was the one doing the driving on the other side of the road with a stick shift to my left. I never saw anything. I was told the Cliffs of Moor and the Ring of Dingle were beautiful, but I only saw the road. In preparation for our trip, we were assigned homework. We read a lot about the history and centuries of conflict, both in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Our bibliography included watching the Derry Girls. In all that we read about what they refer to in Northern Ireland as “The Troubles”, there was no mention about how absolutely beautiful it is. The scenery. The landscape. The view of the sea. Sunset at 10:30 at night. Even on cold, windy, rainy days. Beautiful. Just beautiful. I looked out that bus window one morning in Northern Ireland, just a few miles from where the British Open is being played this weekend, listening to Brahms’ German Requiem. The choir is singing in German. “How lovely is thy dwelling place O Lord of Hosts. My soul, it longeth, yea fainteth for the courts of the Lord, my soul and body, crieth out, yea for the Living God.” It was as if I were absolutely alone on that bus. Well, me and God. It was then that  I thought about how God’s good creation, how God’s beauty, how God’s creating still, is a kind of act of divine resistance amid humanity’s lust for conflict, violence, and power. Observing the ordinary and inviting hearers of the word to feast on the promise of God. God’s creating still. God’s wheel still spinning. As Marilynne Robinson puts it at the end of her lecture on “hope”, Jesus’ healing and feeding, and teaching let us see that the good that matters to mortal us also matters to the Eternal God. And that is reason to hope. The potter and the clay.

“Just like clay in the potter’s hand, so you are in my hand.”  There in the potter’s house, Jeremiah heard a word of judgment and a call to repentance. I don’t know about you, but for me, I find myself sitting before the potter and the clay, watching and listening, pondering the potter and the wheel, the artist’s hands, the clay pots. And what I hear, what I feel, what I experience is a promise. A promise that my life, that all the days of my life, that everything I have to bring, that all of life, is now and forever shaped by the hand of God. That those I love most and those I have yet to love, that the present, the past, and the future, that my view of the world, that my lament for it and my gratitude for the beauty of God’s creation, that my life as your pastor and a preacher, that everything I bring with me to the potter’s house are held in the precious hands of God. The wheel is still spinning. The potter is still working, shaping, molding this old and growing older clay pot. I can’t explain it any further than that. I don’t choose to figure it all out or run it into the ground. Just like any work of art, a piece of music, or a glimpse of God’s creation, some days, maybe most days, it is better to just watch and listen. When I come down to the potter’s house, I find myself feasting on the promise of God. How about you?

 

Jeremiah 1:4-10
July 13
David A. Davis
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“Ah, Lord God! Truly, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” Jeremiah and his response to God’s call. “I am only a boy”. Jeremiah is hardly unique when it comes to his efforts to dissuade, deflect, or deter the call of God. “Only a boy”. Only. Standing before the burning bush, Moses said, “O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” “I am only slow of speech and slow of tongue”, Moses said to God. “How can I deliver Israel? My clan is the weakest…and I am the least in my family.” That’s Gideon responding to the angel of the Lord. “I am only from the weakest clan and I am only the least in my family,” Isaiah responded to the Lord, sitting on a throne high and lofty. “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips…” I am only a man of unclean lips. Only. I am only. “But the Lord said to me, ‘Do not say I am only a boy’. God said, ‘Don’t say only.”

The call stories of the Hebrew Bible can sound so… well, biblical. Moses and the burning bush. For Gideon, it is an angel of the Lord under an oak tree. Ezekiel’s call story goes on for chapters. It all starts with “a stormy wind that came out of the north.”  Isaiah tells of an angel and some hot coals touching his lips. Here in Jeremiah: “Then the Lord put out a hand and touched my mouth.” These call stories, these theophanies, come with all the divine flair that a reader of the Old Testament has come to expect. The detail of God touching, angels acting, mouths and lips anointed, they sort of make Jesus’ call of the disciples sound rather pedestrian. The whole “drop your nets and follow” is kind of barren compared to the call of Jeremiah and his prophet colleagues. Prophets, angels, burning bushes, burning coals, voices, the touch of God, the Word of the Lord. The bible’s world seems so far from our world, our experience, and our relationship with God.

Yet, that strange old world of the bible hits surprisingly, uncomfortably, timelessly close to home, close to the heart when God says to Jeremiah, “Don’t say only.” Only. I’m only. God must hear it all the time, still. “Do not say, ‘I am only a boy’, for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them for I am with you to deliver you.” Don’t say only for I am with you. So far beyond prophets and preachers is the call of God. The God we know in and through Jesus Christ calls each one of us, sends each one of us, anoints each one of us, empowers each one of us to a deeper, profound life of discipleship in and through him. The last words of the Risen Jesus to his disciples, to the church, to you, and me in the Gospel of Matthew, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Don’t say only.

Frank was a member of my first congregation. He was old enough to be my grandfather when we arrived. He was the church’s all-around handy person. Cathy and I still have the mailbox he put up for us at the manse where we lived right next to the church. I am guessing he didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t bat an eye when we asked him if he would add to the hardware store sticky letters on the mailbox frame he built that said “Davis” so it would say “Cook Davis”.  One day, as Frank was putzing around the church doing some odd job or another, I asked him if he ever served as an elder on session. His response was swift and strong. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not religious enough. I’m only a guy who is good at fixing stuff.” It didn’t take long for me to hear the stories about Frank back during World War II. For a reason I never knew and never asked about, Frank was unable to serve in the military. During the war, he was one of the very few men left in that small town. It takes a long time for me to start hearing stories from folks in the church and beyond. People are telling me how Frank pretty much took care of the whole town during the war. especially those whose husbands and fathers were serving overseas. Caring for widows and those whose husbands were prisoners of war or landed at Normandy. Serving as an elder may not have been for Frank, but don’t say the only. “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress.” (James 1). Don’t say only.

God’s call to Jeremiah continues: “Now I put my words in your mouth. See today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant”. For a reader who likes to keep score, that’s four tear downs and two constructions. Four negatives and only two positives. Pluck up. Pull down. Destroy. Overthrow. Build, Plant. By any math, that’s a call with a lot of judgment and a bit of hope. It is an equation, a balance, a ratio that is reflected throughout the book of Jeremiah and the testimony of Jeremiah’s life. The call of God pushes against the worldview of nations and kingdoms. Pushing and bringing discomfort to the powers that be. The voice of Jeremiah, the Book of Jeremiah, according to the Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, “is a hard, demanding theological tradition, mostly unwelcome.” A line of teaching and perception not so fully “seduced” by the world’s promises that too often float around unchallenged or worse, unnoticed. The call of Jeremiah is a crisp and lasting reminder that the Word of the Lord will always be in opposition to the empires of this world. “I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms.”

A preacher doesn’t have to work very hard these days to affirm that all of us are pretty much up to our eyeballs, in over our heads when it comes to the ways of nations and kingdoms. With a nod to the hard and demanding theological tradition embodied in Jeremiah and his prophetic call, you and I are called to live out our faith amid the ongoing and ever-growing dissonance and discomfort that comes as we cling to the gospel of Jesus Christ and strive to live the everydayness of our faith in this blasted world. To use Brueggeman’s image, God is calling us to hear the teaching of Jesus, to follow him in a life of discipleship, knowing full well that it conflicts with the promises of the world that try to seduce us. God is calling each one of us to a life of discipleship in, to, and for the world. God is calling us to be part of the body of Christ, refusing to say “only” to the call of God on our lives.

Brian Blunt, the now-retired president of Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond, VA, taught New Testament for many years here at Princeton Seminary. Brian raised his family in the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church. In my early years of ministry at Nassau Church, Brian and I would have lunch at Karen’s Chinese restaurant on Witherspoon Street about once a month. Brian was instrumental in helping me understand and start to build a relationship with the Witherspoon congregation. At that point in time, Brian was beginning his work on the Book of Revelation. I attended a lecture he gave entitled “Preacher as Prophet”. Over lunch, a few weeks after the lecture, I brought up the subject of local preachers and the call to speak a prophetic word to their congregations. My own sense was that a preacher ought to establish a pastoral relationship first, maybe even over a few years (as I was attempting to do at Nassau back then). Tend to the pastoral things first, and then later say harder things from the pulpit out of a trusted pastoral relationship. “Brian, do you think preachers are called to be pastors first or prophets first.” Without missing a beat, Brian said “yes.” Firmly asserting that the gospel itself comes with a disconcerting word to the nations and kingdoms of this world, to you and to me…to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant. And of course, Dr. Blount would be the first to add that the gospel’s call is not just for pastors, preachers, and prophets.

A bit more than a week ago, I was standing in the rain with a group of friends and colleagues from our presbytery on the wall that surrounds the city of Derry in Northern Ireland. We were there to learn about the history of the conflict and hear from those who are working hard to build and preserve a lasting peace. There in Derry, we listen to two men, Mickey and Peter, one catholic, one protestant. Both had participated in the violence. Peter, the Presbyterian who seemed to be a bit younger than me, had spent time in prison. He had been involved with a Protestant paramilitary group. Peter and Mickey were now reconciled friends, working to help others on both sides of the history build relationships and work especially with youth to try to stop the never-ending cycle of hatred and violence.

A member of our group asked Peter how he was able to move beyond the mindset of violence, bitterness, and hate. Peter told us that as Presbyterians, we would understand that he never had a Damascus Road experience (referring to the conversion of the Apostle Paul described in the Book of Acts). Peter told us of the day he went to visit the mother of a dear friend of his who had been killed in the conflict. In her grief and heartbreak, she said to him, “The violence, the killing, the conflict has to stop. How many more mothers have to suffer like this? You have to stop Peter.” Peter told us that he knew right then that she was right. His life was forever changed by the words of a mother with a broken heart. It was a Damascus Road-like experience coming from the voice of a grieving prophet who refused to say “only” and spoke in opposition to the powers of the present darkness.

The tradition defines “minor prophets” as the collection of the twelve shorter books of the Hebrew prophets in the Old Testament. Minor as opposed to longer books of Isaiah and Jeremiah. Minor as in Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. But what if a “minor prophet” could refer to something, someone other than a book in the Old Testament? What if a “minor prophet”
was simply a child of God who, in their way, chose to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. The Risen Christ has promised to be with us always to the end of the age. The Risen Christ is calling us to cling to the gospel of Jesus Christ and strive to live the everydayness of our faith in this blasted, broken world. The God we know in and through Jesus Christ calls us to not say only.

Indeed, God calls you and me to be minor prophets.