Checking the Compass

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Nehemiah 2:11-20

August 25, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

VIDEO: “Change is Bad” (Sheldon)

Change is bad. We know it in our gut. A former District Superintendent of mine once told us the only people who like change are babies with wet diapers, but I’ll tell you that’s not always true. One of my kids (and I won’t tell you which one) hated having their diaper changed; they’d rather go with it wet or dirty than go through that kind of change—because change is bad! The reason we resist change so much is because we get comfortable in what is. We get used to the way things are, even if we know they’re not right. We’d rather continue in something familiar than face change. Just think about this horrible statistic: women who are abused by their partners will go back to their abuser seven times on average. We think that’s awful. Why would they do that? Well, researchers say, much of it is the fear of change. It’s an awful, horrible situation they’re in, but at least it’s known, at least it’s comfortable, and there are too many unknowns if they really do leave. We get comfortable in the way things are, even when we know the way things are are not the way things should be.

Over the this last month, we’ve been considering the way things are in our city and for our church. We’ve been talking about becoming “Out of the Box” Christians, and what that might mean for us as a church. This morning, as we wrap up this series, I don’t intend to propose a clear plan of action. Much of that still needs to be discerned in the weeks and months to come. What we’ve tried to do in these weeks is to survey our community, to take a look around and begin to see where the needs are we might meet. This is not an end; this is a beginning of more involvement with our community, more of making a difference in and around Portage. In many ways, that’s the model we see in the Old Testament lesson this morning, in the story of Nehemiah. 

Now, unless you’ve been in Disciple Bible Study, I’d bet you don’t know much about Nehemiah. He’s not a well-known person in the Bible. In fact, I don’t know that I had ever heard of him until I was elected president of the Ball State InterVarsity chapter, and the outgoing president met with me each week to study Nehemiah as a model for leadership. Nehemiah’s story is a bit unique in the Bible, as it’s written in first person. Nehemiah himself tells the story, but his story really begins before the book, about 130 years before the book begins (cf. Yamauchi, “Ezra-Nehemiah,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 4, pg. 690). In those days, Assyria was the world’s biggest superpower, and so an Assyrian king named Nebuchadnezzar had come and conquered Jerusalem and the nation of Judah. And, just to prove he had conquered them, he destroyed the city. The walls around the city, meant to protect the people, had been torn down and burned. When we were in Israel last summer, we got to see some of the places where there are still stones from the Temple complex laying on the ground, from the time in the year 70 A.D. when Rome destroyed Jerusalem. That’s a bit of the picture of what Jerusalem looked like in Nehemiah’s time. The people had been carried off—well, the important people had been carried off—to Assyria, and the city had been left in ruins. The stones were still in their place and the burn marks on the walls were still visible 130 years later.

As usually happens, one superpower gave way to another one. Assyria was conquered by Persia, and in Persia, one of the Jews there finds himself in a fairly prestigious position. He is “cupbearer” to the king (1:11). [SLIDE] Some translations say “butler,” but there’s a whole lot more here than either word can convey. Nehemiah was trusted by the king—utterly and completely trusted. Some suggest there would have been no one closer to the king than the cupbearer. He was the one who made sure the wine and food was safe for the king, that no one was trying to poison the king, and he would also be expected to be a confidant for the king, someone who was willing to listen at any time. More than that, he would select the right wine for the right occasion. So he was part house manager, part bartender, part advisor. Put allof that together, and we see that Nehemiah is a high official in the Persian court (Yamauchi 683; Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah [NICOT], pg. 157. He’s important. He’s comfortable. He fits in well. He’s probably not looking for other work. But he’s also not forgotten who he is. He is not Persian. Persia is not his home. He is Jewish, and Jerusalem is his home, even though he’s never lived there. So when he receives word of the sorry state of Jerusalem, how even after 130 years conditions have not improved, how the people have just gotten used to the way things are, how the gates are burned out and the walls are broken down, Nehemiah is heartbroken. His people are not all they could be. His city, his home (a home he has never actually seen himself) is battered. And he weeps over the fate of the city of Jerusalem (1:4).

Two weeks ago, I asked you to write down what you saw as the most important issue facing our city and community, and you responded with so many things. Issues facing families, issues facing the elderly, addiction issues, single parent challenges, poverty, jobs and hunger. As I read through those cards, as our staff read through those cards, I realized again how the walls of our city are broken down, and how we’ve become comfortable with that state of affairs. We’re used to it. When was the last time our hearts were broken by the things that break the heart of God? When you see the man on the corner with a sign that says he has kids and needs money, are our hearts broken by the fact that there is poverty and joblessness in our city, or do we just turn away and hope the light changes soon? I’m not pointing fingers, because I find it hard to summon up compassion in those moments myself. I’ve told you before, it’s easy to become cynical. When we think about the hungry kids in our school system, are our hearts broken or do we simply assume it’s someone else’s problem, someone else’s fault? Again, not pointing fingers, but I wonder when we, as a community, became so comfortable with the way things are. You know, I’m proud that this church continues to be the largest contributor to the “Feed My Lambs” ministry, but I can’t help but wonder where everyone else is. Why, after three years, aren’t all the children fed? It’s because we’re comfortable with the way things are, and to pursue the deep, needed change will be hard work. We know it will be. It might require sacrifice, and this is just in one area of our city. When was the last time our hearts were broken by the broken-down, burnt-out “walls” around our city?

After Nehemiah weeps, he prays. Chapter one is mostly his prayer, as he talks to God about the situation. Then, he returns to work as chapter two begins. It’s then that the king notices he is sad, and asks him about it. When Nehemiah explains the situation to the king, the king immediately offers to send him back temporarily, along with letters of authorization to the people around Jerusalem, in order to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. So Nehemiah goes, and that’s where our Scripture reading this morning began, as he arrives in broken-down Jerusalem.

Nehemiah spends the first three days after he arrives resting and gathering information. He doesn’t rush into things. He has a plan, but he wants to make sure he’s moving ahead well informed, and not just hurrying in or making things worse. So he spends time hearing from others, but then he goes out to make a survey of the walls and the situation himself. He specifically says he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s doing except, perhaps, the few who go with him on his nighttime excursion. Now, archaeologists love this passage of Nehemiah because it describes quite well what the land was like around Jerusalem in those days. But that’s not our concern right now. The point here is, in verses 13 through 16, Nehemiah is taking careful stock of the situation. After hearing from others, he wants to see it himself, and only then does he make a firm plan. Only then does he go in front of the nobles and officials of Jerusalem to tell them why he is really there in the city.

Isn’t it interesting how he approaches them? “You see the trouble we are in: Jerusalem lies in ruins, and its gates have been burned with fire” (2:17). He says a couple of things in that sentence. First of all, he’s rather pointed that those who have been sort of in charge all this time have seen the state of the walls. They know what shape Jerusalem is in. They know the city is without any sort of defense, and yet for 130 years, they and their predecessors have not done anything about it. They know the problem; they just don’t want to put themselves out there, to take on the challenge of rebuilding. It’s also very possible they had been intimidated by the enemies who were all around Jerusalem. Nehemiah specifically mentions three: Sanballat the Horonite, Tobiah the Ammonite and Geshem the Arab. They attempt to intimidate Nehemiah, but he won’t listen to them. It’s very possible these rulers have been listening, though. They’ve been convinced that the job is too big, that they can’t do it, and they’ve become comfortable with what is. They have refused to set their sights higher than ruined gates and burned-out walls. But the second thing Nehemiah says is also interesting. He uses the word “we.” Now, he’s not a permanent resident. He’s expected to go back to the king of Persia, and he does so later in the book though he makes a return trip to Jerusalem to check on how things are going (13:6). And yet, still he identifies with the people and their suffering. “We” are in trouble. Not “you” but “we.”

So he identifies with the people, he reminds them of the problem (as they couldn’t see it!), then he proposes a plan. “Come, let us rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and we will no longer be in disgrace” (2:17). Now, “rebuild the walls” sounds like a simple plan, but we learn later he has a very practical way to go about it. People basically end up building the section that is closest to the place they live. Everyone is involved, whether they have special building skills or not (cf. Goldingay, Ezra, Nehemiah & Esther for Everyone, pgs. 91-93). Sort of like Red Bird Mission. I have no building skills, but somehow they manage to find something for me to do! When the enemies threaten, Nehemiah assigns some of the people to guard duty. They work with one hand and have a weapon in the other hand (4:16-18). But the point is this: Nehemiah has a clear plan and a clear objective. The work doesn’t start until he does. And when they follow his plan, the work moves ahead accordingly. “Let us start rebuilding,” the people say enthusiastically.

Nehemiah also refuses to be intimidated. I’ve already mentioned how those around Jerusalem try to threaten and frighten the people. They’ve been successful, apparently, up until now, and when Nehemiah starts the work that they’ve stopped for 130 years, they come to him with a not-so-veiled threat: “What is this you are doing? Are you rebelling against the king?” (2:19). It was sort of understood that if a conquered people were going to rebel against their conquerers, the first thing they would do would be to build up their defenses. Nehemiah’s actions could have been interpreted that way. Now, we know Nehemiah has the approval of the king, and at this point, he could have told his enemies just that. But isn’t it interesting that Nehemiah sees behind all of this the hand of God? He doesn’t appeal to the authority of the king. He appeals to a higher authority. “The God of heaven will give us success. We his servants will [not might, will] start rebuilding, but as for you, you have no share in Jerusalem or any claim or historic right to it” (2:20). Not that they’ll quit bothering him, but Nehemiah really knew how to put them in their place! It’s not ultimately the king overseeing this project, he says. This is God’s doing, and therefore, it will succeed.

And he knows that for certain because everything Nehemiah does is undergirded with prayer. Nehemiah prays constantly. When he hears about Jerusalem’s problems, he prays. When he is asked by the king what’s wrong, he prays before he responds. When the enemies threaten and insult him, he prays. He doesn’t move quickly, but he moves decisively because he’s spent time on his knees seeking God’s vision and God’s plan all along the way. Even when the project is underway, he’s still praying. In essence, he’s constantly checking the compass of the landscape God has laid out before him. When I was in Boy Scouts, they taught us that the compass was a very important piece of equipment on our campouts and outings. It was never enough to just check it at the beginning to determine our direction, because sometimes you would start out and get off track a little bit. In a short amount of time, a little bit off can mean you end up somewhere else entirely, somewhere you never planned to be. You may have a goal, but you won’t reach it because you’ve made a wrong step along the way. It was important to frequently check the compass to make sure you’re headed in the right direction. That’s what Nehemiah’s prayer life is. He’s got a vision, a goal God has set before him. So he could, if he were like most of us, say, “Thanks, God, I’ve got this from here,” and then head out on his own. But not Nehemiah. He knows how easy it would be to end up in the wrong place. So he prays, checking his spiritual compass all along the way, to make sure his vision is God’s vision. Even in the end, at the very end of the book, his prayer (which he has prayed throughout the story) is this: “Remember me with favor, my God” (13:11). He approaches God with humility and asks God to “remember” him, to keep him on the right path. Nehemiah is, above all else, a man of prayer.

So what does this 2,500 year old story have to do with us today? Well, for one, Nehemiah’s story is about vision—having vision and keeping vision—for the people of God. Vision is a “desirable picture of a future state…Vision is the picture in your mind of what could be and what you hope will be” (Rusaw & Swanson, The Externally Focused Church, pg. 147). If you’re going to get somewhere, you have to know where you’re going, right? Now, true to my gender, I don’t like to ask for directions. Women don’t understand that; even my daughter, 13 years old, tells me she doesn’t understand that. But it’s the way we men generally are wired. And yet, I recognize you need to know where you’re going. Simply going faster in the wrong direction doesn’t get you really anywhere. Well, it will get you somewhere, but most likely not where you want to be. So we seek a vision first, and that takes time. What is it we are called to be and do? Where are we headed? That’s really been the main question we’ve been asking during this series of sermons. What’s next for Portage First as we seek to engage with our community? Because the danger is that we’ll get comfortable, and we’ll just do what we do. I’m not saying what we do is bad. I’m saying it’s dangerous to get comfortable. For 178 years, this church has been determined to reach the community. Today, we phrase that this way: we’re becoming a community where all people encounter Jesus Christ. But if we simply wait here for people to come, we’re going to find ourselves lonely and focused only on our own needs. We’ll become more about “serve us” than “service” (cf. Rusaw & Swanson 151). We’re called beyond these four walls. So like Nehemiah, we take time to seek God’s vision. We take time for prayer. There are lots of things we could do. But we want to do what God calls us to do.

In addition to this being a time of prayer, it’s also a time for eye-opening exploration. What are the things, the situations, the places in our city where the walls are broken down and burned-out? In other words, where are the true broken places in our community? Our version of Nehemiah’s night-time excursion might be asking questions around our neighborhoods, or in the places we are involved in the community. (Remember, the people built the walls near their home.) This might mean we need to become more aware, open our eyes so to speak, of the need that’s right around us. It also means becoming aware of what ways already exist to meet needs in the community. We’re not looking to reinvent the wheel; rather, it makes much more sense of us to partner with groups and agencies who are already doing a good job. We don’t need another food pantry; we need a stronger partnership with the food pantry that currently exists. I get asked from time to time what we do, for instance, with those who come seeking financial assistance. Like a lot of churches in the community, we are partnered with First Contact, an ecumenical agency that acts as sort of a “clearing-house” for those in need. Now, the benefit to the church is that we are less likely to be taken advantage of, and by pooling our resources with those of other churches, people are able to be helped in bigger ways. The benefit to the one in need should be that they only really have to make one stop instead of going church to church. So we partner with those who are already doing excellent ministry. Seeking our vision means we both open our eyes to the need and to the resources that are already out there. Nehemiah took the time to discern God’s call; so must we.

“Taking time,” though, is not an excuse to do nothing. As we begin to discern God’s call, the time will come for action. And, in fact, one of the ways I believe we discern God’s call is by stepping out and then checking the compass. In other words, we try something. If it doesn’t “fit” or it doesn’t work, then we adjust and move in a different direction. In just a few weeks, you’re going to have the chance to do just that. On Sunday, October 13, which is closer than you think, we are having our second annual “Faith in Action” Sunday, but this year will be significantly different than last year. For one, we’re going to have only one worship service that morning, at 10:00, and it will be very short. No sermon—so that in and of itself might entice you to come! There will be singing, Scripture, a brief challenge, and then we are going to spread out through the city to “repair the walls.” Pastor Deb is working on a complete list of projects, but some of them are: sorting food for the food pantry and also delivering and helping unload it. We’ll also be making fleece scarves for those in need, and going on prayer walks through the community. We’re hoping to have some folks who send cards, and others who collect even more food. In addition to that, we have some individual projects that will require a little bit of skill but will make a world of difference for the families in need. And that’s really just the beginning. There will be other projects announced in the next month. So here’s the idea: you pick a project, sign up for it, and come ready to participate in it on that Sunday. For those who have limited mobility, there will be some projects here you can take part in. For kids and families, there will be projects you can take part in together. The whole point is making an impact on our community, but we don’t want it to be just about a day. After the morning, we want to hear back from you. You’ll be invited to come back to the church for a provided lunch after the projects, and we’ll also be setting up various other methods by which we can get your feedback on how it went, and what you think future possibilities are. This also becomes part of our discernment process. Where is God leading us all of this? How are we being called to be even more externally-focused than we have been in the past? So mark October 13 on your calendar, and plan to be a part of that Sunday. I believe it’s going to be a spark that lights a fire here and in the city, and my prayer is that we will never again be comfortable with “the way things are.”

As we move ahead, there will be voices that say, “It can’t be done. You can’t change the city. You can’t change the world. It’s just too hard.” Most likely, those voices won’t be from other people. Nehemiah at least had tangible opponents he could confront. Often today, we hear those voices in our heads. No, I’m not talking about the schizophrenic sort of voices, or even demonic voices. I’m simply talking about the ways we convince ourselves that it can’t be done. The single largest reason change doesn’t happen is because we convince ourselves it’s too much work, or we can’t do it, or no one would care if we did it, or…or…or… So many things we tell ourselves, so many reasons we stay comfortable where we are, and we’ll never be able to move ahead until we become convinced of what Nehemiah told his opponents: “The God of heaven will give us success.” In our own strength, we’re exactly right: we can’t do it. It’s too big. Changing the world is too big. And yet we serve a God who took twelve ordinary men, unschooled men, fishermen and tax collectors and laborers, and God used them to turn the world upside down. Two thousand years later, the world still has not recovered from what they did. We serve a God who gave a man named Paul a vision of a world transformed by Jesus Christ, and that vision so captured Paul that he was able to say, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31). John wrote about those inner feelings we get that stand in our way. He put it this way: “If our hearts condemn us, we know that God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything” (1 John 3:20). He knows everything and still he called you and me into world-changing ministry. The God of heaven will give us success when we focus in on the vision he has given us. Don’t let your opponents stop you, even if the chief opponent is your own heart.

And then, also like Nehemiah, we need to be people who are praying, constantly. One author suggests that to be effective in carrying out our mission, in seeing our vision become reality, we need to be people who spend part of each day praying about this vision of transforming the city (cf. Rusaw & Swanson 50). Prayer is what helps us “check the compass” constantly, to be sure that we are still on the right path, on God’s path. Last week, in the interview, our mayor asked us first and foremost to pray for the city. And I would add to that we should pray each day for our church’s ability to impact the city, to make a real difference. Now, to remind you to do that, we have a small gift for each person when you leave this morning. Pastor Deb will tell you they looked bigger in the catalog, but we have a pen for you that has a small compass on it. I wouldn’t use the compass to find your way out of the wilderness, but it’s meant to be symbolic anyway. The compass is meant to remind you to pray, to check the compass, and to ask God to give us clear direction as we move ahead. The pen also has words on the side that say, “Find your direction at Portage First United Methodist—Love God, Love Others, Offer Jesus.” Put it somewhere that you’ll use it and let it remind you to pray, to seek God’s face, to ask God for continued guidance as we move ahead.

If you read the rest of the story of Nehemiah, and I highly recommend you do, you’ll learn that Nehemiah and his people finished the wall, but do you know what happened next? After they witnessed the provision of God, a spiritual revival broke out. People began reading the Scriptures again, and they took a whole day to confess their sins and to ask God’s forgiveness for the ways they had strayed. When the practical needs were met, when the wall was built, they came to realize how far they had strayed from God’s plan for them, in how many ways they had failed to be who God called them and made them to be. A revival broke out after the people finished a practical project. So this is not just about doing nice things. These projects, this work, this calling to have an external focus is all about helping people see the love of Christ through us. It’s about bringing renewal and hope and healing to our community. Do you think it’s possible God just might use us in that way? I believe so. As I’ve said repeatedly in my years here: I still believe our best years are yet ahead. God is still wanting to do mighty and wonderful things through this church. Are we willing to let him? Change can be oh so good when it’s God’s plan, God’s calling we are pursuing. So are we willing to get out of the box so God can work in and through us? Let’s pray.

The Genius of the And

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Micah 6:8; Isaiah 61:1-6; Luke 4:14-21

August 18, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to one of my regular podcasts, one of those radio shows that offers a Christian perspective on news events and culture. If I mentioned the name, many of you would recognize it. And usually they are spot on. But that day, as I listened, I got to hear the United Methodist Church singled out as one of three denominations specifically mentioned because, according to this broadcaster, we do not preach that a person can find salvation in Jesus Christ (BreakPoint, August 8, 2013). The perspective of this broadcaster is that we in the United Methodist Church are all about social justice rather than personal salvation, and apparently in this person’s thinking, those are two mutually exclusive ideas. You can either be a church that proclaims salvation in Jesus or one that is active in making a difference in the community and the world.

That’s a choice many feel they have to make. For the last couple of weeks, in this series called “Out of the Box,” we’ve been talking both directly and indirectly about the difference between inwardly-focused churches and externally-focused churches. We can put it on a grid of sorts, like this. If one side represents “social justice” or “good deeds” and the other side represents “good news” or “evangelical proclamation,” then churches sort of fall into one of four categories. The first, we would call “Come To” Churches, as these churches are good at teaching the Scriptures, building up the saints, and caring for those who are in the church. But everything happens “in here” because they believe “we need to take care of our own needs before we take care of others.” So the focus is on getting people into the building. A second type of church would be called “Servant” Churches. They’re really good at serving people in the community and are often very active politically. But they don’t talk much about Jesus. They simply “do” and believe people will see Jesus in them. They do lots of “good things,” but have little Christian witness. A third group could be called the “And” Churches. They serve in the community and they preach the good news about Jesus. They don’t believe you have to keep quiet about your faith in order to serve others, and they believe in the combination of truth and grace. And then a fourth type of church we would call “Evangelistic” Churches. Their sole focus is on proclaiming salvation in Jesus Christ. They go into the communities, but usually only to hand out flyers about the church. There is little to no service in the community, because the main point is helping people find Jesus (Rusaw & Swanson, The Externally-Focused Church, pgs. 125-127). Now, I hope you know that I’m not trying to condemn any of these models. If the church has honestly and prayerfully come to the conclusion that this model or that is where God has called them to be, then they should pursue it with all their hearts. They’re not doing bad things. But as I read the Scriptures, and as I understand our heritage, and as I pray about our calling as a church here at Portage First, I become more and more convinced and convicted that our calling is to pursue what Jim Collins several years ago called “the genius of the and.”

Jim Collins is the business guru who, several years ago, wrote a monumental book called Good to Great. Several years prior to that, however, Collins had spent six years at Stanford University studying visionary companies, and in the book Built to Last, he introduced the idea that many companies live in the “tyranny of the or.” In other words, many businesses live and function as if they are caught between two choices: profit or benefit to society, speed or quality and so on. Companies make choices believing they can only do one thing, but Collins found that truly visionary companies realize they can do both at the same time. Companies can make money AND provide benefits to society; they can increase production AND provide quality products. Collins called that “the genius of the and,” and he said it’s what sets truly great companies apart, still today (Rusaw & Swanson 121). Now, I’m not always a fan of taking business methodology and applying it to the church, but here I believe it works and it’s true. We aren’t called to choose evangelism or social justice. The truly visionary and great churches do both, and seek to do both well. Tell others about Jesus AND make a lasting impact in our community and in our culture.

As I’ve shared the last few weeks, this is our heritage as Methodists. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, is famous for saying, “The gospel of Christ knows of no religion, but social; no holiness but social holiness” (Jackson, ed., The Works of John Wesley, Third Edition, Vol. XIV, pg. 321). By that statement, he meant two things. One, we were not meant to practice our faith in isolation, as (to use his words) a “holy solitary.” And two, we were meant to do good to all because of our faith. Our faith must work itself out in good deeds, in works of mercy toward others. Wesley himself, though he was a person of privilege and rank in British society by being clergy, left much of that behind in order to reach out to those who were considered “common.” One area in particular that concerned him a great deal was the health of the ordinary person, the one on the street who had little access to healthcare and often lived in conditions we wouldn’t put our dog in. Wesley is considered by some to be the “greatest health educator of the eighteenth century in Britain” as he sought to raise the ordinary person’s standard of living. He even wrote a book full of common medical cures. That book, quaint by today’s standards, went through thirty-eight printings in England and twenty-four printings in America (Malony, The Amazing John Wesley, pgs. 102-108 iBooks version). We might think it strange that a preacher would involve himself in medical matters, but for Wesley, it was about making a difference in the life of people—spiritually, to be sure, but also physically and emotionally as well. Evangelical gospel AND social justice. That’s our heritage. And that’s also the example Jesus set for us.

We read today’s Gospel lesson not that long ago, when we talked about learning to read and study the Bible, and we focused then on the way Jesus read and used Scripture. Today, however, I want us to hear what it is he’s saying when he preaches on that Scripture. Just a quick refresher course as to what’s going on in Luke’s Gospel, leading up to this story. Jesus has been out in the wilderness, being tempted by the devil, and once those forty days are over and he has “passed the test,” he returns from southern Israel to the northern part which is his home. He comes to Galilee, not worn out as you might expect after forty days of fasting, praying and facing the devil. No, Luke says Jesus comes back home “in the power of the Spirit” (4:14), and he immediately begins teaching in the various synagogues. Galilee is an interesting choice for a home base for Jesus. It’s a beautiful area, still today. It’s lush, and green, and there are often breezes off the harp-shaped lake. But Galilee got its name because it was surrounded by pagan nations, by non-Jewish people. The name “Galilee” means “circle.” These were people who were in the middle of a circle, so to speak, surrounded by all these other influences. They were a people who were always generally progressive in their thought, and were often ready to follow a leader, to participate in an insurrection against Rome or whomever had conquered them. It was said they were people who were never without courage. More than that, the place Jesus grew up, Nazareth, was situated where much of history had taken place and much of the world would pass by on trade routes (Barclay, The Gospel of Luke, pgs. 44-49). So they’re used to hearing new ideas. They’re used to radical thinking. But, even with all of that, there was still one thing they would have agreed on with those down in Jerusalem. They had no use for Gentiles, for non-Jews. Generally, they believed God had created Gentiles as fuel for the fires of hell (Barclay 48). Yeah, not much subtlety there! But add to that the idea their belief that the poor were poor because they were sinners and God had forsaken them (Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 69), that the rich were rich because of God’s blessing (an idea that’s still around, by the way), and you have an interesting setting in which Jesus comes to proclaim good news.

So Jesus, most likely at the end of the synagogue service, is invited up to read the final Scripture for the day, and he is handed the scroll of Isaiah. No chapter markings, no verse notation like we have today. Jesus rolls through the scroll and finds what he wants to read. It’s from Isaiah 61, written centuries before Jesus’ time: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (4:18-19). Now, there’s a lot in that quotation, some of which we explored a few weeks ago, but I want us to hear clearly the mixture in that passage of salvation and good works. Jesus proclaims good news, but not just to the privileged. Not just to the Jews, even. Good news to the poor. Healing is part of Jesus’ work—sight for the blind. Freedom is part of Jesus’ work—and we often interpret that as “spiritual freedom,” meaning freedom from sin, but I think Jesus also intends us to hear freedom from whatever binds a person, whatever imprisons a child of God. Addiction, worshipping the wrong things, the need for approval, pornography—whatever it is that holds a person captive, Jesus came to bring freedom. To set the oppressed free—that’s a proclamation of equality for all. Proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor—that’s a reference to the year of Jubilee, a time prescribed in the Old Testament book of Leviticus when all debts would be cancelled and slaves would be set free. Justice for all. Equality for all. And the radical part of this for the people in Jesus’ time is that he’s not just promising these things for the Jews, for his own people. He’s proclaiming this for everyone, no restrictions. Justice for all, salvation for all. Luke says “all spoke well of him,” but that can also be translated as they were amazed at him—amazed that he was speaking about God’s grace as if it were available to all sorts of people. When he gets to the end of his sermon, they’ve gone from sort of confusion/amazement to being “furious,” angry enough to try to kill him by throwing him off the cliff that sits at the edge of town. Why are they so angry? Because, according to Jesus, God is setting out to save everyone. And in their estimation, God is saving the wrong people (Wright, Luke for Everyone, pgs. 47-48).

And that leads me to wonder who the Gentiles are in our lives. Who are the ones we consider not worth saving? They are usually the same group whom we think, if we were to reach out to them, if we were to offer them acts of kindness, we would be wasting our time. Usually, they are the people we dehumanize in our minds. We convince ourselves they are less than human. Or we generalize “those people” into a large group and dispense of them as a whole. Who are the Gentiles, the ones you wish God would not bother with? The ones you hope God doesn’t call you to be nice to? The ones you certainly think the church shouldn’t bother with, or the ones who will most bother you if we do try to reach out to them? The ones we tend to blame for every problem that confronts our community or our nation? Who are the Gentiles in your life?

This Jesus, who rocked the world of Nazareth in the synagogue that day, went on to constantly remind his disciples they are called to do more than just preach good news. That, certainly, but also more. In fact, in the Gospel we read two weeks ago, Jesus called them, you remember, to be “salt” and “light,” to preserve and flavor the culture and to push back the darkness of our world. And he said we would do that though acts of kindness, good deeds. In Matthew 5, Jesus says, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (5:16). Sometimes, when we set out to do good, when we set out to pursue works of mercy and kindness, when we seek justice, it can get frustrating. We don’t always see the results we want, or if we do, sometimes it takes a long time. So it’s important to briefly remember what purpose so-called “good deeds” serve.

First of all, good deeds benefit others. That may seem obvious, but it needs to be said. Paul wrote in Galatians, “As we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers” (6:10). He doesn’t say “only” to the family of believers, though he goes give them preference. But he says do good to “all” people. Make a difference for everyone. John agrees with Paul: “If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth” (1 John 3:17-18). Andy Stanley tells of a time in 1987, when he was new in ministry at his father’s downtown church in Atlanta. They got word that the Gay Pride parade, which took place on a Sunday morning, was going to pass by their church at about the time they would be dismissing the worship service. The church leaders got wind of that, and decided to let everyone out of church early, and to send people out the back door. Well, he says, that just made the church members more curious and what was meant as a protest ended up just being a lot of confusion. More than that, Stanley says, across the street from their church was St. Mark United Methodist Church, and in front of that church were members handing out water and holding signs that said, “God is love.” Stanley commented, “The contrast could not have been more pronounced. It was embarrassing” (Deep & Wide, pgs. 69-70 Kindle version). Cups of cold water—symbolic of good deeds that seek to reach out, benefit others and build a bridge of reconciliation.

The second thing good deeds do, according to Jesus, is to glorify God. Good deeds aren’t about others seeing how good we are. It’s about helping others see Jesus in us—which is why it’s important to reach out to our Gentiles, to the people whom, without the power of God in our lives, we could not begin to be around, let alone be kind to. The church historian Eusebius tells a story about a plague that broke out in the Roman Empire, and how those who had no faith fled, but the Christians stayed. They took care of the sick, buried the dead, and gave bread to those who were in the city with them. “When this became known,” Eusebius writes, “people glorified the Christians’ God, and, convinced by the very facts, confessed the Christians alone were truly pious and religious.” Our good deeds bring glory and attention to God, not to ourselves.

Third, good deeds validate the good news. They are proof that something is different within us, that Jesus makes a real change in a life. Good deeds are the way we “prove” our faith to be real. Most do not know that when the communists took over in Russia in 1917, they did not outlaw Christianity. Their constitution guaranteed freedom of religion. However, they did make it illegal for the church to perform good deeds. They could not, in the name of their faith, feed the hungry, teach the young, care for the sick or house the orphan. The result was a church with no power to transform the culture. I have to wonder about our own times, in an age when “freedom of religion” has subtly been redefined as “freedom of worship,” when Christian groups like Catholic Charities are being curtailed in their acts of mercy and even shut down in some states. Will our own agencies that relieve human suffering, like UMCOR, be told they can’t do such things in the name of Jesus? You see, freedom of worship is not the same thing as having the freedom to practice our faith openly. Our faith is lived out in our works, and the works validate the truth of the good news.

Fourth, good deeds move people toward Jesus. In fact, that’s true of not only those who receive, but of those who want to give. Many churches have discovered that the younger generation wants to make a difference and will partner with churches to do that, if the church is active in the community. They associate, then, with Christians and begin to see that this faith does make a difference and isn’t just a bunch of words. It’s also a way for us to share the love of Jesus with those who are in need. When we give to the food pantry, when we offer water along the trails, when we raise money for neglected kids and when we feed children in the school system it’s a way of practically demonstrating the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the love of God. Now, let’s also be clear that good works can be the bridge to the good news, but the good works are not the Gospel itself. There are times when we need to also speak about the love of Jesus. St. Francis of Assisi is credited with saying, “Preach Christ always; use words if necessary.” We sometimes focus on the “if necessary” part, but we also should hear his call to use words when we have the chance. “It is in tying loving God to loving our neighbors as ourselves that puts legs to our faith” (Rusaw & Swanson 116).

And, then, finally, good works create goodwill with our city and community (Rusaw & Swanson 116-120). It shows our community that we are interested in being an active part, contributing to the solution to the problems in our city rather than being a passive observer or, worse, part of the problem. I want you to hear from our Mayor, Jim Snyder, and his perspective on churches in the community and how churches can impact the community. Mayor Snyder is a deeply committed Christian, as many of you know, and he’s also a man with a passion for our city. This is not a political statement; whatever your feelings are about the city and the mayor, it’s important for us to hear from our leaders, to create goodwill with and make connections to our city. Take a listen.

VIDEO: Mayor Snyder

So, last Sunday I asked you what you believed was the biggest problem facing our community today. And I asked you for one issue; some of you were overachievers and filled your card fully! And there were some that were more “city” problems or “internal church” issues than an interaction between the two, but many of the cards you turned in fell into a few broad topics. One of those areas had to do with youth and children—what is there for our youth to get involved in? Where can they go where it’s safe and healthy? There were several who were concerned about addiction issues—drugs and alcohol, in particular, some to do with teens and others to do with adults. Where do people go to find help in recovery? Families were a concern: single parents, affordable child care, after hours child care. Other issues popped up, like the lack of public transportation and issues revolving around the elderly who are going through significant changes in their lives. Jobs were also an issue—helping people find and keep meaningful and profitable employment. As you can see, many of these issues that are on your hearts and minds are intertwined, and none of them are as simple as waving a magic wand and getting a simple fix. That’s especially true with the two issues mentioned the most: poverty and hunger. Poverty is huge, and taking it on is not as simple as writing a check. The roots and reasons are many and varied. The same is true of hunger. I wasn’t surprised to see that come out as the number one issue that’s on the heart of this congregation; that’s been evident over the last few years as we’ve stepped out to stop hunger, as we’ve fed the “lambs” (and become the single largest contributor to that program), and as we’ve worked in other ways to provide food for those in need. So that’s the mood of this congregation. You’re people with big hearts, people who want to make a difference. The challenge is this: are we willing to do whatever it takes to grapple with the challenge of some or all of these issues? It won’t be easy. It won’t happen tomorrow. But that’s the question we’re faced with this morning: what kind of a church do we want to be? Which of these four do we want to be known as? Are we willing to do whatever it takes—all of us, not just your leaders, but all of us—to make it happen?

Several years ago, we distilled what we are about into six simple words, and if you’ve been here any length of time, I hope you know them: love God, love others, offer Jesus. Six words that describe who we are as a congregation, as a body of Christ. Those six words include people finding salvation in Jesus, and they include reaching out in acts of love, kindness and compassion to the world around us. That is who we are. That is who we are striving to become. We are becoming a community where all people encounter Jesus Christ, and we do that by loving God, loving others and offering Jesus. Everything we do is defined by that. We have a car show not just to look at cool cars. We have a car show to reach out to the community and to make a difference for kids we may never meet this side of eternity. And we do it in the name of Jesus. We’re building a road not just because we like construction or we like to deal with governmental red tape. We’re building a road to make room for others to be able to encounter Jesus. We develop youth ministries so that kids and youth can learn how to love God, love others and offer Jesus. We feed children in schools with the love of Jesus. We love God by loving others. Do you get the picture yet? That’s who we are. That’s what it’s all about. Love God, love others, offer Jesus. Not the tyranny of the “or” but the genius of the “and.”

Centuries ago, a prophet speaking for God brought a case against God’s people. He wanted them to remember who they were, or who they had been called to be. All of the religious ritual they were going through wasn’t who they were. God had blessed them and led them to the promised land for something more. What was that “more”? Micah, the prophet, told Israel, reminding them who they were: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). That’s our call as well, today and always. Let’s be who God calls us to be.

At the Intersection

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Luke 10:30-37; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

August 11, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

It’s a familiar story. Even if you know little about the Bible, you’ve probably heard this story. Aside from the parable of the Prodigal Son, this is one of Jesus’ most famous stories. We call it the parable of the Good Samaritan, but in the first century they wouldn’t have called it that. To that world, there was no such thing as a good Samaritan. Samaritans were half-breeds. They were the mixed descendants of Jews and pagans—people who had been left in the land after the “good” people had been taken away by a conquering army. They were ones who were unloved, despised and rejected by the community (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 139). A “good” Samaritan? To those who were listening to Jesus, there was no such thing.

Jesus tells this story in response to a question from lawyer, not a trial lawyer like we think of today. This is a man who is an expert in the religious law of the day. He knows the text, and he knows various interpretations of the text. He really sets out to trap Jesus by asking him what would entitle him to eternal life. Jesus tells him to love God and love his neighbor. That’s what the lawyer expected him to say, so he is able to spring his trap. “Who is my neighbor?” he asks. And to answer that question, Jesus tells a story.

A man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. He was headed down a road everyone knew was dangerous. For one thing, it drops nearly 3,300 feet in just 17 miles. There were many narrow passes along with lots of twists and turns so it wasn’t unusual for bandits to hide out in some of the bends in the road and terrorize travelers (Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, pg. 229). That’s exactly what happens to this man, and the bandits beat him so badly he is left by the side of the road for dead. The bandits make off with what they want, and it gets quiet until a priest walks by. Jesus says he sees the man by the side of the road, but rather than helping him, he crosses the road and walks by on the other side. Commentators go out of their way sometimes to make excuses for the priest, how he couldn’t touch a dead body and he might have been on his way to Jerusalem to perform priestly duties…but, really, does any of that justify his neglect of this fellow Hebrew? Besides, that, there was a rabbinic writing that said if a priest on a journey found a corpse, he had a duty to bury it (Culpepper 229). This priest has no excuse as he walks by this man in need.

After a time, a Levite comes near the wounded man. The Levite was a temple assistant. He’s not the same as the priest, but he is a religious professional of sorts (Card 139). And he, too, passes by. No excuses. He just can’t be bothered. Now, those in the crowd knew how this story would go. They’ve heard it before. First a priest, then a Levite, next an Israelite (Culpepper 229). An ordinary person. They think this is a story about how bad their religious leaders are. So imagine their surprise when the next person in the story is not one of their fellow Jews, but a hated Samaritan, someone they hate like poison (Wright, Luke for Everyone, pg. 127). And worse yet, Jesus makes him the hero of the story. It’s the Samaritan who picks the man up, nurses his wounds, takes him to a hotel, pays his bill and offers to pay whatever else his care requires. Then, Jesus’ question: “Which one is the neighbor?” And the lawyer can’t even bring himself to say the dreaded word “Samaritan” (Card 140). Instead, he actually gives a better answer: “The one who had mercy on him” (10:37). The one who had mercy on him.

So, there was once a man going from Portage to Valparaiso, and somewhere along highway 6, on a dark night, he is stopped and pulled out of his car by a bunch of thugs. They beat him, throw him into the ditch, and drive off in his car. But as it happened, not too long after, a United Methodist pastor came driving down the road. He’s on his way to the hospital to visit a sick church member, and his headlights catch something off to the side. It looks like a man, and it appears that he’s in pain. But, he’s told the family he’d be at the hospital at a particular time, and he needs to keep moving. So he drives on by. Surely someone else will help him. Not too long after that, along comes one of the elected leaders of his church, someone who has taken a vow to uphold the mission of the church. He, too, sees something in the ditch, but he’s heard about people who pretend to be hurt and then jump you when you stop, so he hits the accelerator and speeds on by. And it’s quiet for a quite a while, but then, out of the distance comes another car, driven by—well, you fill in the blank. A member of a gang from inner-city Gary? An al Queda member? A Democrat? A Republican? Someone with an alternative lifestyle? A drug addict? A pornographer? Fill in the blank with your Samaritan, because it’s that person who stops, puts the wounded man in the back seat of his car and drives him down to Porter Regional Hospital, checks him in to the emergency room, and gives them his Visa to pay for it. So which one is his neighbor? The one who had mercy on him.

This story is every bit as jarring today as it was then because mercy is still as out of fashion today as it was then. This morning, we’re continuing our series of sermons called “Out of the Box,” and behind that title is the desire and the hope that we will become ever-more “out of the box” Christians. Last week we talked about Jesus’ call to us to be salt and light—to be influencers in our culture, our world, our community. This morning, we want to begin to ask the question: where do we find the needs to meet? And the answer, according to Jesus, is anywhere and everywhere because every moment is an opportunity to push back the darkness and mend the brokenness of our world.

Luke’s Gospel has this ongoing theme of how the people who should get it don’t and the people who shouldn’t get it do (Card 137). Michael Card calls it “radical reversal.” I like to think of it as Jesus turning the world upside down. That truth is seen in this parable and in the story that prompted the parable. The lawyer, Luke says, set out to “test” Jesus (10:25). He’s not so much interested in the answer as he is in seeing whether Jesus is up to the challenge or not. He pushes Jesus by asking, “Who is my neighbor?” And just like the first question, about inheriting eternal life, there was an expected answer to that question. Your neighbor was someone like you. People who agree with you. Fellow Israelites. There were clear boundaries in those days, and those boundaries allowed certain groups to maintain their power, their privilege, their position. You didn’t cross the boundary lines. In fact, it was considered a matter of purity, a religious duty, to maintain the boundaries (Wright 127; Culpepper 229). Your neighbor was your fellow Israelite, and then usually only the group of Israelites you were associated with. Pharisees with Pharisees. Saducees with Saducees. And no one with Gentiles or especially Samaritans. Who is my neighbor? The lawyer knows what to expect. There is a right answer, Jesus.

This is one of those instances where we can say the more things change, the more they stay the same. We may have more technology and knowledge than those folks in the first century, but we’re still divided, and we still prefer to hang around people who are just like us. Conservatives with conservatives. Liberals with liberals. Rich people with rich people. Poor people with poor people. The lines continue to be drawn between the haves and the have nots, the insiders and the outsiders, the powerful and the privileged. And then there are the religious lines we draw, not just between Christianity and other religions. We draw plenty of lines between various groups of Christians. We put a label on the door and consider everyone else to be on the outside. And even worse, Sunday morning is still the most racially segregated time in America. It seems we’ve moved toward erasing lines in every area of life except in the church, the group Jesus prayed would be one (cf. John 17:21). And we very often adopt the same attitude toward “those on the outside” that the Jews adopted toward the Samaritans. Stay away, don’t hang around those sinners, keep yourself pure. After all, didn’t James tell us to make sure we don’t get polluted by the world (cf. James 1:27)? Yes, he did. But do you know what the rest of that verse says? Pure religion, James says, is to do what the Samaritan did: risk everything for the sake of caring for those in need. James puts it this way: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” Being pure or unpolluted doesn’t mean drawing lines. In fact, it involves showing mercy. And that means we have to erase some lines that we’ve drawn.

So a man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, along a dark and winding road, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. Two men passed by and didn’t help him, because he wasn’t part of their group. But we’re most interested in the third man, the one who did help. What was it he did that we might learn from? The first thing is, perhaps, obvious, but it needs to be said anyway. He didn’t avoid the person in need. He didn’t cross to the other side. He didn’t make excuses as to why he couldn’t help. He went to the one who was in need, because the one in need couldn’t come to him. When I was a young pastor, brand new in ministry, I was part of a church staff and, as the office was configured, my office happened to be the one where people would just wander in. It was right by the secretary’s desk, and we practiced an open door policy. But I remember one time complaining somewhat to my senior pastor, Tom Rough, that I kept getting interrupted and couldn’t get things done. And Dr. Rough, with wisdom that came from years of ministry, said to me, “Your ministry is in the interruptions.” I’ve never forgotten that. To this day, I practice an open door policy, and even though my office is way in the back here, if you stop by, you’ll most often find my door open unless I’m in the middle of a meeting or something like that. Because ministry happens in the interruptions. The Samaritan wasn’t planning this sort of day. His ministry happened in the interruption, and he didn’t ignore it. To paraphrase a theologian from an earlier generation, ministry happens at the intersection. Frederick Buechner put it this way: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” At the intersection of your ability and the world’s need—that’s where ministry happens. We can’t ignore it.

The second thing the Samaritan did was to offer aid. “He went to [the man] and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine” (10:34). The wine would cleanse the wound; the oil would keep it soft (Culpepper 230). We’re not told he was a doctor necessarily, but travelers would need to know such things as basic first aid as there were no ambulances to call. But here’s the point: he offered what he could, what he had that the man needed. He also offered transportation and a place to stay. He put him on his own donkey and took him to an inn, presumably in Jericho. He gave what he had to the one in need. And it cost him something. It interrupted his trip; wherever he was going, he was going to be late now. He risked being rejected. If the Jewish man knew it was a Samaritan who saved him, he might very well have some unkind words for his rescuer. He risked much to help, but I bet if you asked him, he would do it again. Jesus indicates no hesitation on the part of the Samaritan. He simply gave of what he had—practical resources to meet a real need.

When we were in college, during the summer between our junior and senior years, Cathy and I had the opportunity to work on the west side of Chicago in an inner-city mission called Circle Urban. In the mornings, we worked in tutoring and a kids’ day camp, and some afternoons, we went out into the neighborhood to invite kids to come to the mission. One family in particular was very interested, but as I spoke with the mom, she said, “I don’t have a way to get the kids there. Could you help with that?” Now, I didn’t know these people. I didn’t know the area, other than the rumors I’d been told. But I had a car. And I knew the way. So I said yes, and for the next several weeks, I got up early every morning and picked up those two kids for day camp. I gave what I had. I couldn’t change their situation, but I could do something easy like drive them to day camp and connect them to the church. Honestly, it didn’t cost me that much, but it was what I had. What do you have that you can give? As Methodists, our first instinct in a time of crisis seems to be to cook something. I have a friend who, upon hearing about someone going through a difficult time, immediately goes to the kitchen, bakes a casserole or a cake and delivers it. That’s what she can do to help. What do you have and how can you help, practically speaking?

Is there a chance we’ll be taken advantage of? Yes, of course. In fact, as I was preparing this sermon, I could think of a whole lot more stories of times I had been taken advantage of than I could of times when it worked out well. I thought of the man who came to my office wanting money for the bus and after I bought him a ticket, started talking about a show he watched on cable the night before. I thought of the man who, after the church worked overtime to find him a job, wouldn’t get out of bed to go take it. And I thought of the ones who took the church’s help for a new roof and then disappeared. I could go on and on; being a pastor or a church staff member can make you rather cynical. But for those we are able to help, it’s worth the risk of those who take advantage of you, who reject you. The Samaritan didn’t get a guarantee that the man by the side of the road would gladly accept his help. He simply gave what he had and met a need.

Thirdly, the Samaritan gave money. It’s the last thing he does, in fact. He tells the innkeeper to care for the wounded man, and that he’s good for any extra expense the innkeeper might incur (10:35). Often, offering money is the first thing we do, isn’t it? We write a check, because that’s easy. It’s certainly easier than getting involved with people, people who might disappoint and frustrate and even take advantage of you. The Samaritan obviously knew that money was needed, and he provided that, but it was not the first thing he did. It was the last thing he did, after he had done what he was personally practically able to do. If all we do is write a check, have we really participated in meeting the needs of our community? Of course, there comes a time where money is needed, but then, we do it without the expectation that we will be paid back. The Samaritan doesn’t send the wounded man a bill. He doesn’t even tell the innkeeper to make sure the man knows who is paying his bill. He doesn’t leave the man at the inn and say that the innkeeper can get the rest from the wounded man. No, he does what he can then he gives what we can and he doesn’t expect to get it back. In fact, he offers to give more at a later point. Here’s the reality: while some needs require cash, what’s needed more is relationships. If we give only when we expect to get it back, we’ve not really served anyone except ourselves. We’ve only made our conscience feel better (Rusaw & Swanson, The Externally Focused Church, pgs. 66-70). It’s that sense of giving with nothing expected in return that caused the lawyer, when Jesus asked him who was the neighbor, to respond, “The one who had mercy on him” (10:37).

So what is “mercy”? We use that word a lot. People throw themselves on the mercy of the court. There are hospitals with the word “Mercy” in their name. Some use it as an expression, and there’s even a band named “MercyMe.” But what do we mean when we talk about showing mercy to someone? And, more importantly, what did Jesus mean? The English word “mercy” is an attempt to translate a Hebrew word, hesed, which is more of an idea than a single word. Sometimes in your Bibles you’ll see it translated as “lovingkindness,” a word the King James translators made up to try to convey the idea behind hesed. There are a couple of places in this passage where this idea shows up. Jesus says the Samaritan “had compassion” on him. The word there is a great sounding Greek word: splangnidzomai. It means “from the bowels.” In other words, he cared for the man from the depths of his being, from his bowels. He cared deeply for a man he did not know and had no reason to pay any attention to. He cared deeply for a man who most likely would not have cared for him if the situation were reversed. Then, as we’ve said, the lawyer talks about the Samaritan having mercy on the wounded man. The word there is eleios, which is the Greek translation of hesed. The best definition we have would go something like this: hesed happens when the one from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything. When the one from whom I would expect hatred shows me love. When the one whom I have harmed reaches out in care for me. Hesed, by the way, is not something we feel, believe, or think about. Hesed is something we do. When the one from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything (Card 139-140).

We’ve already been shown hesed, haven’t we? We’ve been given more than we can imagine. When Jesus gave his life to save us from our sins, when we accept that gift, we’ve already been given more than we can ever repay. We’ve been shown hesed, and so to us, just like to the lawyer, Jesus says, “Go and do likewise” (10:37). But there’s a natural reluctance, isn’t there? One Friday morning, a couple of years ago, I had gotten the kids off to school and I was relaxed on the couch, reading a Max Lucado book. And I had just finished this really good chapter on meeting the needs of those around me, when there was a knock on the door. I got up and went to the door to find one of the kids from the neighborhood standing there, telling me his parents were already gone to work and he had missed the bus. Could I take him to school? And I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to. For one, I didn’t know this kid very well, other than having seen him around. And it was Friday, my day off, for heaven’s sake! Then I remembered what I had just read, and I heard a quiet whisper in my soul, “Go and do likewise.” So, grudgingly, I took him to school. Now, that was a small thing, but it’s the sort of thing we’re talking about. What do you have that you can give? In what practical, simple ways can you meet the needs of those around you? What gifts and abilities and resources do you have that you can use to serve those who are in need?

Well, pastor, you might say, I don’t know if I have any abilities or gifts. Or what if I know a need but I don’t have the ability to meet it? Well, you’re in luck. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul talks about our abilities and our place in the body of Christ, the church. He is telling the Corinthians about the way the Holy Spirit gives gifts to every believer in Christ, but not every believer has all the gifts or abilities. The Spirit, Paul says, “distributes” them “for the common good” (12:4, 7). Paul just mentions a few gifts in that passage. He says some are able to speak wise words, others have great faith to see beyond the moment, some can provide healing (and that comes in both what we call “natural” ways and also in supernatural ways), some can speak truth to a situation and so on. These are just a few gifts. In other writings, Paul mentions other gifts. But here’s the point: the Spirit gives different gifts to different believers so that, together, we can meet the needs of our community and our world. We can do ministry together. We need each other. We cannot meet the needs around us all by ourselves. Instead, we rely on each other, we seek to connect people, and together the church comes to the intersection of the world’s great need and our abilities, our “gladness.” And in that moment, the world is changed.

Many of you know this story, but those who are relatively new to the church probably don’t know the ministry that has happened in the house we own at Crossroads. When we purchased the property next door, it came with a house, one which was not in the best of shape, and conversations began to take place as to what to do with it. Then Hurricane Katrina hit, and many families were displaced. Many of them ended up in our area, and it wasn’t long before the District Superintendent at the time, David Schrader, called and asked if we could put a family up in the house for a while. I told him the house wasn’t yet in a state where we could put anyone in it, and that we would have to do some fundraising to be able to get it to that state. So Dr. Schrader said, “What if I can get you some money to do that?” It wasn’t long before we had a check in our hands, and this church went to work. We all used our different skills. Some painted, some did major renovation, and some solicited donations. Most of the appliances and such in the house were donated by local businesses. Within six weeks of receiving the money, we had the house completely rehabbed and a family moved in. They lived there for five months. The only “string” attached to the money we were given is that the house had to be used for ministry, not as a rental or an income generator. It’s one of our resources for making a difference in our community, and we’ve housed folks from the flooded areas in Lake County, we’ve hosted many mission teams in the house, and lately we’ve hosted a pastor who was in between locations and having a difficult time making ends meet. In each and every case, this church has stepped up, using a resource we have, using our gifts and abilities, at the intersection of the world’s need and our gladness. And, step by step, lives have been changed for those people.

But that’s just one way we’ve been called to make a difference. Next week, we’re going to hear more specifically where the points of greatest need are in our city, but this morning, we want to hear from you. In your bulletins this morning, you should have found an index card, and what I’m going to ask you to do with that is to write on it what you see as the single greatest need in our own community. To paraphrase Buechner, what would you say is Portage’s “great need” to which we can seek to match our great gladness? Where is the intersection in this time and place? Now, I’m sure we can all think of more than one thing. What I’m asking you to do is to just write one thing on these cards. Don’t write everything you think of. Try to imagine what the greatest need is right now, and write that one down. I’m going to play some music and give you just a few moments to write, then the ushers are going to pick those up and this week, we’re going to prayerfully go through these cards. Next week, we’re going to share where the “mood” of our congregation is, and also hear from our mayor as we begin to move ahead toward where God is calling us to make a real difference, right here, right now. So, let’s take a few moments and prayerfully consider where the great need of this community is today.

Looking In/Looking Out

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Matthew 5:13-16

August 4, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

One of the most basic questions—perhaps the fundamental question—of our existence is this: “Who am I?” In some ways, it’s an easy question to answer, and in others, it’s very difficult. If you were to pick one or two words to describe yourself, how would you answer that question? Who are you? Go ahead, take a moment and tell your neighbor who you are in just a word or two. [PAUSE] So how do you define yourself? Some of you will define yourself by your ethnic group, religion, gender, or where you are from. We might define ourselves by our likes or dislikes, our political party, or our hobbies. Most often, I think, in our world, we define ourselves by what we do, what our occupation is. But do any of those really define who you are as “you”? Who are you? And what happens when we don’t know how to answer that question? There are times in our lives where everything is up for grabs. “The greatest moments of emotional stress and upheaval occur when our self-understanding is challenged or violated, when we don’t know who we are” (Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 20).

Somewhere around the year 70 in the tiny province of Israel, the world was falling apart. Up until that time, Christians had been a small sect within the larger religion of Judaism. They still attended synagogue worship, they were accepted into the community, they just had this curious belief that Jesus of Nazareth was somehow the savior of the world. But there was tension brewing. In fact, among the Jewish leaders, there was a movement to expel Christians from the synagogue, from the community. At the same time, some Jews were seeking to make Israel an independent nation again, and open rebellion was brewing. Sort of picture what’s happening in Egypt today, as a people who feel oppressed are openly rebelling against the government that’s in place. That’s sort of what was happening in Israel, and in the year 70, Rome responded. With force. Deadly force. They came in and destroyed the rebels, brought down the city and destroyed the Temple, the holiest site in all of Judaism. In that one, horrible action, everything the Jewish people held as important, sacred and holy was gone. What would they do now?

The time was ripe, many leaders decided, to reformulate what they believed, to reshape their religion. What would Jewish faith and practice look like with no Temple, no sacrifices? Many writings came out of that tumultuous time, and one of them in particular was aimed at this Jesus sect. A series of benedictions were written that were meant to be a statement of faith for the newly reformed Jewish people, and one of those benedictions read this way: “Let the [Christians] and the [heretics] be destroyed in a moment.” With the stoke of a pen, Christians were no longer part of the community. In an instant, they were no longer Jews. They were outcasts. Heretics. False believers. They had the roots of their life stripped away. The Temple was gone, the community had abandoned them, and they had no idea who they were anymore (Card 16-20). Perhaps you can relate. Perhaps you’ve found yourself in a situation where everything you thought was true was changed. A job was taken away. A marriage ended. Children refuse to speak to you anymore. Questions bigger than you can answer haunt your faith. You lose your house because of a loss of income. You have to relocate to a brand new community, far away from family and anyone you know. Who are you now? What is your identity? That’s the sort of thing facing the believers in the late first century, the folks to whom Matthew writes. And as he writes, he’s trying to help them remember who they are. Matthew tells stories about Jesus that are meant to help them see who Jesus calls them to be.

In many ways, those early Christians aren’t all that different from us today. Not just individually, though in Disciple class we often make the comment that people haven’t really changed all that much in 2,000 or 6,000 or more years! But I’m thinking more of the gathered people of God—the church. And specifically, I’m thinking of us—Portage First United Methodist Church. Sometimes even churches forget who they are and why we exist. Every church starts out with a dream and a sense of calling to change the world. Every church. Why else would you start a church? One hundred and seventy-eight years ago, here in the little town of McCool, Indiana, a group of people who wanted to change the world started a little Methodist church. And, as we’ve been remembering over the past few weeks, that little Methodist church grew and grew and grew. That passion to change the world caused them to build and build and build to what we have today. Churches do that. But a hundred and seventy-eight years is a long time. That’s nearly five generations of believers who have worshipped here, and who have come together with a dream, a passion, a goal of changing the world for Jesus Christ. Is that still our passion? Is that dream still alive? Who are we, Portage First? Who do we want to be? As one of the largest churches in Portage, what is our responsibility to the larger community? Those are questions we’re going to tackle over the next four weeks, as we see to remember who we are. We’re called to become a community where all people encounter Jesus Christ, and we do that by loving God, loving others and offering Jesus. But to do any of that requires that we resist the urge to become an inwardly-focused community and instead get out of the box so we can change our world. Today, we’re going to talk about the “why” of getting out of the box, and then in the next three weeks, we’ll talk about the “how.”

When it comes down to it, there are really only two options for churches, two distinct personalities that they take on. Remember, they all begin with the desire to change the world, but that mission is hard, and often seems to produce so little results. So eventually, over a period of time, a church can become inwardly-focused. I don’t know of any church that would put that on their stationary or claim it as their mission statement, but it can become true nonetheless. Inwardly-focused churches are those in which the main goals are getting people to the building and taking care of themselves. Inwardly-focused churches spend most if not all of their resources on generating activity within the four walls of the church. That’s not to say there aren’t great things happening there. They may indeed have passionate worship, excellent teaching, fun youth groups and even vibrant small groups, but at the end of the day, the main point of all the activity is increasing the number of folks who walk through the door. It may even be said of such churches that they are very loving, or even very “spiritual” or “religious.” They may have a healthy budget, good giving, and a lot of folks who spend time in prayer (Rusaw & Swanson, The Externally Focused Church, pgs. 16-17). Hear me clearly: none of those things are bad by themselves. In fact, most if not all of those things are necessary for any church to exist and function well. It’s not that inwardly-focused churches are bad, or that bad people go to them. It’s just that the focus is not the same focus as what Jesus gave us. With inwardly-focused churches, it always stops with “me,” and never moves beyond that. The members of the church are most important. The problem is, church was never meant to be primarily about “me.” Church is about responding to the call and the command of the Gospel.

So what is that call? In the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus gives two images that describe it, two images that we often rush past and don’t think much about. As I said last week, this sermon makes up the first large block of teaching in Matthew’s Gospel (Card 51)—it covers three chapters—and in many ways is the “constitution of God’s kingdom.” Jesus covers a lot of ground as he sits there on the hillside overlooking the beautiful Galilean Sea. The passage we read this morning comes right after the beatitudes, those familiar blessings Jesus pronounces on such unlikely people as the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, and the persecuted (5:3-10). After these blessings, Jesus tells his followers who they are, or who they will be: “You are the salt of the earth…You are the light of the world” (5:13-14). Some forty years after this time, a Roman naval and army commander who was also an author and philosopher, Gaius Plinius Secundus (better known as Pliny the Elder), said this: “There is nothing more useful than salt and sunshine” (qtd. in Card 54). Some suggest that was a proverb for the Romans even in Jesus’ day (cf. Augsburger, Communicator’s Commentary: Matthew, pg. 67), but regardless, Jesus is tapping into two things that, for the people of his day, were very valuable. Salt. Light. Small, common things (Texts for Preaching, Year A, pg. 134). What is it about these two things, things we take for granted, that is important enough for Jesus to use them as symbols for the church, his followers?

We use salt mainly for flavoring today, even though we’re often told it’s bad for us. For some, there might be no sentence worse than a no-salt diet. Cathy’s grandpa was put on one of those, but he learned how to deal with it. When he visited us in seminary, we found out he would wait until during the prayer, and while everyone else had their heads bowed, Grandpa Cobbum would put salt on his food. When we caught him, he just had a smirk on his face! Salt was much more than a flavoring in ancient times, though. Salt was, in fact, highly valued in the Roman world. In some places, Roman soldiers were paid in salt, and the world “salary” comes from that practice (Augsburger 68). But, primarily, salt had three functions in the ancient world. First of all, as it still is, salt served as a preservative. There was, of course, no refrigeration in Jesus’ world, and I can tell you, summers there in Galilee are hot. Without refrigeration, meat in particular would spoil quickly. So salt was used to preserve the food, to keep it edible. Salt was also used, as it is today, for flavoring. It helps, as one author put it, to help food taste “foodier,” bringing out flavor that might be hidden if it weren’t for the salt. Salt makes food taste more authentic. And thirdly, in the ancient world, salt was a symbol of purity. Perhaps it gained that symbolism because of its color—white—or the way it would glisten in the light. But because of that sense of purity, salt was often used as a sacrifice to the gods (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of Matthew, Volume 1 [Revised Edition], pgs. 119-120). Even in Jewish tradition, sacrifices were often offered with salt. Leviticus (2:13), for instance, instructs the Hebrews: “Season all your grain offerings with salt…add salt to all your offerings.”

So, for the ancients, salt represented preservation, flavor, and purity. Is there any parallel in those symbols to what Jesus intends for his disciples? Well, yes. First, Christians are to be a preserving force in the culture. When we see corruption, when we see things falling apart, we are called to be those who stand up for what is right. When there is injustice, we’re called to be ones who stand for justice—even if no one else will. You are the salt of the earth—you are called to preserve what is right and holy and just. Being a preservative in society is part of our heritage. The very last letter John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, wrote, less than a week before he died, was to William Wilberforce, who was at the time engaged in a great battle in the British Parliament. Wilberforce had devoted his life to ending the British slave trade, and Wesley wrote to encourage him in that task: “If God be for you, who can be against you?…O be not weary of well doing! Go on, in the name of God and in the power of his might, till even American slavery (the vilest that ever saw the sun) shall vanish away before it” (February 24, 1791). With his last breath, Wesley wanted to be salt, preserving his society against the corruption of sin. Today, there are many issues, great and seemingly small, that challenge the follower of Jesus. There are bioethical issues, end of life issues, marriage and family issues, hunger issues, and slavery issues. Just this last week, 100 teenagers (the youngest of which was 13) were rescued in 70 cities across our own nation (including Chicago) from the sex slave trade. It was a huge FBI sting operation that captured 159 pimps. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It’s estimated that 240,000 children are “at risk” in our country alone. Friends, we’re called to be salt in the face of horrendous evil and sin.

Salt is also a flavoring. Christianity should add flavor to life. The Christian faith should be bring joy to life. And yet, the common perception of the person of faith is solemn, sad, mournful. Robert Louis Stevenson once wrote in his journal of an unusual occurrence in his life: “I have been to Church today, and am not depressed” (Barclay 121). Now, I’m not saying we have to walk around with a smile on our face all the time. There are things that happen, even to Christians, that are difficult, hard, even depressing. We live in the real world. We live in a sin-soaked world. We aren’t always happy. There are things that take place that we don’t understand, and I hope no one ever goes away from this place saying that the folks at Portage First don’t know how to deal with real life, tough questions, and difficult circumstances. But joy is deeper than happiness, stronger than circumstances. Even in the midst of a difficult season of life, there is joy, a deep down assurance that God is good, even when life is not. We must bring that joy of the Lord to our world. Salty Christians provide flavor for life.

And salt represents purity, which is a reminder that God’s people are called to live differently. Not apart from the world; different from the world. James wrote that Christians should keep themselves “from being polluted by the world” (1:27). In other words: do we live just like the rest of the world or do we live differently, in ways God calls us to live? Some people, particularly in earlier generations, interpreted that idea as “stay away from bars, dance halls, etc.” I don’t think that externals ever define purity, because, as I said a couple of weeks ago, that too easily turns into legalism. The question is more about purity of heart. Do we seek to live in a way that honors God? Do we seek to live out our faith each and every moment of the day in what we say, what we do, the ways we treat each other? Salty Christians seek to live pure lives, and you, Jesus says, are the salt of the earth.

He also says, in this passage, that you are the light of the world. Now, that’s significant because Jesus is telling us to be what he himself said he is. In John, Jesus says, “While I am in the world, I am the light of the world” (9:5). Notice that: “While I am in the world.” Here, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says we are the light—once he is no longer present physically in this world, who is going to shine the light of the good news of Jesus? You and me! That’s what he says. In Jesus’ world, the homes in Galilee in particular weren’t very large. Maybe they had only one or two windows in the front of the home. And there were no street lights. No public utilities. So when it got dark, it got really dark. Remember how dark it gets when you lose power at night? Picture that in a tiny house with only one opening. The lamps that were used to light their houses weren’t very big, either—just small, circular bowls with a wick, fueled by inferior olive oil. What little light they had was very important to a Galilean family (Barclay 123).

So there are a couple of things about light that we want to notice. First of all, a little bit of light goes a long way. My favorite service every year is our Christmas Candlelight, and especially near the end of the service when we light the candles. Now, we don’t get it completely dark in here, but it’s dark enough to begin to notice how even one candle pushes back a little bit of the darkness. And then another candle, and then another, and pretty soon, as we start to sing “Silent Night,” the darkness is pushed back. Then we hear that familiar word from John: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). I love that, because it reminds me of the power of one little light, my little light. We almost ought to break out singing, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!” A little light goes a long way. And secondly, light is not secretive. Light shines. Light is meant to be seen. So Jesus says we are the light: we’re meant to shine, to allow our faith to be seen, and to use the light we have to make a difference, to push back the darkness in our world. You are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world.

However, sometimes salt can go bad and lights can be put out. Salt can go bad, you say? Mine never does! True, but in ancient Israel, much of the salt came from the Dead Sea, one of the lowest spots on earth, that place where all the water in Israel flows into but doesn’t leave. The Dead Sea is nearly 9 times saltier than the ocean, so salty that nothing can live in it. It’s so thick you cannot sink, which means even people like me can swim in the Dead Sea—if you can get in without falling down! However, while today the minerals from the Dead Sea are used for cosmetics and even fertilizer, in Jesus’ day, the salt that came from this sea was full of impurities and therefore it would sometimes become rancid, unusable (Card 54). When Jesus talks about salt losing its saltiness, that’s the image he has in mind. The people would have remembered the stinky salt they would get from time to time. They knew the truth of his words: “It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot” (5:13). The same is true for the light; it had a right way and a wrong way to be used. The right way was to put the lamp up on a stand, so that its light would shine throughout the small house. What sort of person would light the lamp, then put it under a bowl and hide it? What good would it be then? It’s like they have light, but don’t want to share it with anyone else, so they hide it. It’s useless then. It won’t light up the house! Jesus’ point, I hope, is clear: the Christian who fails to be salt or light in their culture is not useful, not fulfilling their purpose—we might even go so far as to say they are not truly Christian at all because they’re not being who Jesus said they are to be.

Here’s Jesus’ bottom line: be salt, be light, be someone who is helpful, useful, powerfully transforming in the culture. That’s Jesus’ call to the church. That was Jesus’ call to those people on the hill beside the lake. God had long ago called them to be those who transform the world. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, centuries before Jesus came, the people were called to put aside their own selfish, self-centered ways and become “Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings” (Isaiah 58:12). And yet Israel, with its power politics, factional squabbling and militant revolutions had, in fact, become just like the world it was supposed to transform. And things had not changed all that much from Isaiah’s day to Jesus’ day. If anything, they had gotten worse. The people of God were more like the world than they were like the one they claimed to worship. How in the world could God keep the world from going bad and becoming dark if his people failed to be who he called them to be?

The same question comes down to us today. An inwardly-focused church is one who is becoming more like the world than like Jesus. Are we preserving the world with our acts of restoration and repair? Or are we simply taking care of ourselves? Can the world see the light of Christ shining through us, or do they just see us arguing over issues that are internal? Do they see us as people who are more concerned about our own well-being or the health and salvation of our community? Can we hear Jesus’ call to be salt, to be light, to be repairers and restorers? These are the questions we’re going to explore more in the next few weeks, as we seek ways—concrete ways—that we can live as salt and light to our neighbors who don’t yet know Jesus.

As an act that signifies a commitment to be salt and light, you’re invited to come to receive communion this morning. Communion is an ancient ritual, going back to that last night Jesus spent with his disciples before he was crucified. Often we say that he gave them this act that night so that, even before it happened, they would know what he was doing for them. And that’s true, wonderfully true. He did go to the cross for you and for me. But do you know he didn’t just go to the cross for you and me? He went to the cross for that neighbor across the street who never says anything nice about you. He went to the cross for that person who talks behind your back. He went to the cross for the politician who stands for everything you oppose. He went to the cross for the person whose lifestyle you don’t understand and can’t agree with. He even went to the cross for that person who curses his name each and every day. He went to the cross for every single person on this weary old world, which includes you and me but doesn’t end with you and me. As he hung on the cross between heaven and earth, he looked over the city of Jerusalem, over those who had gathered there at the foot of the cross, over those who had nailed him there and not once did he curse them. He loved them. By his word and deed, he loved them. And he still does. So when we come to the communion table this morning, we remember all of that and more. We celebrate all of that and more. And we commit ourselves to looking out more than we look in. Come to the table and recommit yourself to being salt and light for a world that desperately needs preservation, for a world that needs to have the darkness pushed back. Come to the table to become more like Jesus. Let’s pray.