Expectant

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Isaiah 9:2-7; Luke 1:39-45

November 20, 2014 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

My dad is one of the worst waiters I know. Not in terms of waiting on a table, but in terms of waiting for an appointment or anything like that. In fact, I remember when I was growing up that the local doctor’s office would get him in almost as soon as he walked in because they knew how much he hated waiting! You don’t find doctor’s offices like that anymore, do you? Dad hates to wait. I think it’s largely because he likes to be busy, and waiting seems like a waste of time. I didn’t use to think I was like that, but the older I get, the more I find myself wanting to get things done and not have to wait on them. Waiting is hard. On more than one occasion, down here at the corner of Central and Hamstrom, I’ve had the experience of someone blowing their horn the instant the light changes. No one’s had a chance to move yet, but they can’t wait to get going. Waiting is hard. We are an impatient people. And then comes Advent, which is, by definition, a season of waiting, of anticipation, of expecting something. And we even try to hurry through Advent because we don’t like waiting.

So Thanksgiving is over and now it’s on to Christmas. Hurry up, hurry up, get things done. We get busy getting decorations hung, plans made and presents purchased—though I bet some of you went out on Friday and you’re pretty much done with the purchasing part, right? Nevertheless, we hurry around and are always in danger of completely missing what Advent is all about. This is the season of expectation. We’ve learned a bit about that in our family this year. We’ve anticipated and expected many things this year. We counted the days until Christopher’s graduation, then we got excited about our trip to Florida, and then Rachel and I counted the days until our “Lands of the Bible” trip, and every day on that trip we were “anticipating” where we would be the next day. I bet you’ve also expected some things this year: weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, and other celebrations. We are, very often, expectant people.

When I hear the word “expectant,” though, I most often think of new life—pregnancy to be specific. We talk about parents “expecting,” and while I know what that feels like from a Dad’s point of view, I would be foolish to presume that’s the real perspective. But I do remember what it was like to be expecting both our kids. When both of them were born, we were in appointments where there had not been a baby in the parsonage for a long time, and so that expectation took over the whole church. Everyone seemed to have a stake in these babies! Everyone was expecting! And that was fun. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier. I had my heart surgery a year before we became pregnant with Rachel, and because of that surgery, the doctor wanted to run lots of tests to make sure she didn’t have the same heart defect I had. She didn’t, thankfully, and doesn’t, but I remember waiting on those test results, expectant, yet fearful. Sometimes being expectant, anticipating, is hard on us. Test results. Job interviews. Waiting beside the bed of a loved one who passing away. We have a love-hate relationship with waiting.

Today is the beginning of Advent, and over these next few weeks, in worship and in small groups (which I hope you’ll participate in), we’re going to consider this gift we are given, this gift we spend these four weeks waiting on, this gift we never expected. The baby to be born, this Jesus, is not the sort of savior we would have dreamed up, but he is, as Paul reminds us on several occasions, a perfect reflection of who God is. In fact, Paul says he’s the best picture of God we’ll ever get (2 Corinthians 4:4, MSG). “We look at this Son and see the God who cannot be seen” (Colossians 1:15, MSG). So he may not be the gift we expected, but he is the gift we need. In Jesus, in this baby to be born in Bethlehem, we see the God of the universe perfectly reflected. Jesus is God “under wraps.” And so, from now until Christmas, we’re going to consider how we see God in Jesus. This morning, first of all, we want to remember that God is expectant.

Now, by that I don’t mean that God is pregnant in some way! But that a lens through which we see God’s expectancy. We begin at the door of a home in Ein Karem, a small village less than an hour's walk from the Temple Mount in Jerusalem (cf. Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 62). Ein Karem was the home of Elizabeth and her husband, the priest Zechariah. Luke’s Gospel doesn’t begin with a birth. It begins with expectancy, with the promise of not one, but two baby boys to be born just a few miles and few months apart. One, John, was to be born of natural means to a couple once thought to be barren. He would “be great in the sight of the Lord” and would “bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God” (Luke 1:15-16). The other baby boy would be born to a virgin and her husband, a miraculous birth, and he would be called “the Son of God” (1:35). When these two expectant mothers came together to share stories and to support one another, there was rejoicing and a recognition that God was up to something in their lives and in the life of their people. In fact, the younger mother, Mary, sang of that when she visited her relative, Elizabeth: “My soul glorifies the Lord…for the Mighty One has done great things for me…” (1:46, 49).

To really understand what’s going on there, though, we have to step back from these two women and look at the culture, the world around them. It would be hard to underestimate the expectancy that was in the air at that time. It had been nearly 400 years since the people had heard anything from God. No prophet had spoken. No word from the Lord had been revealed. The Romans had taken over their land, and they were just a small outpost in a vast empire. It was a dark, violent, difficult time for the people of Israel, and this urgency, this expectancy, began to rise up in them. They knew the prophecies, the promises, including the one we read from Isaiah this morning, and they began to hope that maybe, just maybe, their generation might be the one to see all of those promises come to pass.

Try to imagine yourself in a first-century BC synagogue, hearing these words from from the prophet Isaiah. As a matter of fact, it might not take all that much imagination. It was a time of expanding governmental power, when religious people often found themselves at odds with the establishment. There were taxes and shortages to deal with, and work was not always plentiful. In addition to that, there were rival religious factions that had different theological views, and they often (or usually) didn’t get along. So perhaps their world was not all that different from ours, a time when hope seemed in short supply and the faithful waited for God to do something about it all. So imagine you’re there in the synagogue, and the scroll is opened to what we know as Isaiah 9, and suddenly you hear these words: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned” (9:1). Every time I hear that passage, I can’t help but think of the times I’ve been to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. If you’ve been there, or probably to other similar caves, you know that at the lowest part of the tour, they will turn off the lights to emphasize the absolute darkness that exists underground. No light whatsoever. And then, someone will either light a candle or turn on a small flashlight to remind us how just a little bit of light can penetrate the darkness. Light always wins. But, unlike that underground trip, Isaiah doesn’t say we can produce the light. He doesn’t say we can turn it on. He talks about the light “dawning.” Can you make the dawn happen? No, of course not. The light is brought to these people in darkness, not produced by them. That’s an important distinction because it reminds us that whatever Isaiah is promising, the people themselves cannot make it happen.

But there’s another great promise hidden in this verse, this prophecy. In the context of Isaiah’s writings, the “darkness” he talks about has come because of the people’s sin and rebellion against God. They’ve created a very dark place for themselves to live. It’s a land of “deep darkness.” The implication is that there is no way out unless someone turns on the lights. And that's where the great good news comes in. No matter how dark their lives have become, no matter how much sin and brokenness and rebellion their lives have consisted of thus far, it’s still not enough to keep God away (cf. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah, Chapters 1-39, pg. 242). You may have come in here this morning thinking you’ve done something or said something or lived a certain way and because of all that, because of that darkness in your life, God can’t love you. One of the things I’ve enjoyed doing over the last several weeks is trying to answer questions sent back by the offenders in our prison ministry, and the theme that keeps coming through is that many of them feel they’ve done something that God can’t forgive. The darkness is too deep. Maybe you feel that way, too. Some people are afraid to come to church, or take communion, or to read the Bible or whatever because the darkness in their lives is so dark, so deep. But Isaiah’s good news to them and to us is this: there is no darkness so deep that God can’t and won’t show up. Folks, there is no sin and there is no rebellion and there is no brokenness that can keep God away. If you hear nothing else this morning, I want you to hear that. God wants to be present in your life. All we have to do is turn away from the darkness and toward the light. That’s the promise of Isaiah, and in those words, hope begins to rise up.

Isaiah is, of course, writing to a time when there was an enemy swarming all over the land, when there was a powerful army threatening to overtake tiny Israel (cf. Grogan, “Isaiah,” Expository’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 6, pg. 74). And he uses fearsome images: a yoke of burden, a rod that oppresses, a warrior’s boot, a garment rolled in blood, burning fire. And what is God’s solution to this terrifying image? What is the hope for the end of the war? “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders” (9:6). A child? Are you kidding me? Warriors, armies, bloodshed—and God plans to send a baby, an insignificant son (cf. Grogan 74). Well, maybe not all that insignificant. This child holds some fairly significant titles, titles that are, in fact, a not-so-veiled attack on the power of the Assyrians, the invading army. These titles would have reminded God’s people that ultimately, though the Assyrians may seem to have the upper hand, God is in control. Wisdom and power belong to God alone and this child he is sending is coming to save them, to rescue them.

Look at the titles the child is given (9:6). “Wonderful counselor.” (That is, by the way, what I call Cathy at home.) But in Isaiah’s prophecy, the title is in contrast to human wisdom, which is depicted as lacking. The one coming will have true wisdom, the wisdom that knows strength is found in weakness, victory is found through surrender (as Pastor Deb shared last week), and life is found through death (Oswalt 247). “Mighty God.” As opposed to the false gods that are all around, the one coming will possess the power of the one true God, the power that can “absorb all the evil which can be hurled at it until none is left to hurl” (Oswalt 247). Isn’t that a great image? Evil wears itself out long but the Mighty God never does. “Everlasting Father.” Most kings of that era called themselves “father” to their subjects, but their “fatherhood” only lasted as long as they lived. This one coming will be an everlasting father—there will be no end to the care this one gives to his people. And, like a good father, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice for the sake of his children (Oswalt 248). He will do whatever it takes so that he can he with them forever. And, then, the final title: “Prince of Peace.” Isaiah saved the best title for last, because in the midst of war, who doesn’t long for peace? And yet, “peace” in Biblical terms means more than just an absence of war or conflict. You can be without any of those and still not have peace. The Hebrew word is “shalom,” and it means wholeness, well-being, soundness and harmony. It’s life working the way it’s supposed to. It’s reconciliation and getting along and not having to all agree to all love. This one coming will make reconciliation possible between people because he makes reconciliation possible between God and humanity. In the midst of war, Isaiah promises a wonderful counselor, a mighty God, an everlasting father, and a prince of peace.

Now, let's go back to that synagogue in Israel, and hear these words read aloud: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this” (9:6-7). Maybe you’re sitting there and you’ve just paid the high taxes you’re required to pay to Rome. Maybe you’ve lost a brother or an uncle in one of Rome’s brutal power displays. Maybe you’ve wondered if the government even knows you’re there, or if they care. And maybe your heart begins to long for something different. Maybe this one coming wasn’t just for Isaiah’s time. Maybe he’s for your time, too. 

And maybe he’s for ours, as well. Wonderful counselor—this time of year, many of us fall again for the world’s wisdom, where we believe that buying more things and spending more money can actually bring happiness to us. We believe that stuff and things and money is what we need. That’s the wisdom that’s all around us, the “truth” proclaimed on the airwaves, on the internet and in print. But our wonderful counselor tells us that the way to shalom, the way to contentment is by giving ourselves away. On Christmas Eve, you’ll once again have a chance to do that, as we give away that evening’s offering to Feed My Lambs and to Africa University. Now, world’s wisdom says to keep it. It’s been a difficult year financially. We’re making it, but just. Why not keep the offering to provide some cushion? Well, because our wonderful counselor reminds us “religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress…” (James 1:27). Contrary to the world’s wisdom, we care for those in need.

Maybe you need a mighty God this holiday season. For some of us, more than we probably are aware of, this time of year isn’t one of anticipation but of dread. We have to pretend to be happy, because that’s the expectation. And yet, in our hearts, there is a hole, a loss that can’t be replaced. For some of us, 2014 has been a difficult year, and you’re just trying to keep your head down and "get through the holidays.” Others are struggling with depression or anxiety and you don’t really know why. Those chains you threw down last week still haunt you. You want to be free, but it’s difficult. And Christmas is just one more thing to try to deal with. For all of those situations and more, our mighty God can strengthen and hold us, walk with us through times that seem to be so dark, and he is strong enough to turn the lights on, to heal and to give hope. If this season is difficult for you, I can’t encourage you enough to come to the Longest Night Service on December 21. That service, over the last few years, has become a favorite for many because it’s a time of gentle songs, prayers and Scriptures. It’s a place to be reminded that the one coming is a mighty God.

And he is an everlasting Father. Now, I know that for some people, calling God “Father” is a hot-button issue. Some have had abusive fathers here on earth, or fathers who walked out on them, or even fathers who were present physically but absent emotionally or spiritually. The thought of someone who will be like that eternally is frightening to some people. But we've got it wrong when we judge God by our earthly fathers. Our earthly fathers are not the standard. We earthly fathers are never the standard. Rather, God is the standard by which earthy fathers are judged, measured. So imagine the sort of care, love, nurture and attention that the best of fathers would give, and then magnify that by an unimaginable number. That’s the kind of father God is. He loves us without condition. He wants us without reservation. And he welcomes us for eternity. Even those of us who had good earthly fathers still long for that kind of care. He is an everlasting Father.

And he is the Prince of Peace. All of it comes together in this final title, because it doesn’t take much thinking or analyzing to know that our world is broken. Sin, sickness, death, hopelessness, rage, anger, broken families and broken relationships—we are a broken and hurting world. We are a world constantly in turmoil, in need of not just an absence of conflict but a sense of wholeness, harmony, shalom. This one coming is the one who will bring that peace and bring it for good. He is the prince of Peace; peace/shalom is who he is. Do you long for some shalom in your days? He is the prince of peace, and he is the one who is coming, who has been promised, and who always keeps his promises.

Now, here’s the problem from our end, and it’s the same problem they had in the first century. We want the one coming to be what we want him to be. We want him to come on our terms, and not his. When the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she was going to give birth to the Son of God, the one who would be king, she and everyone else in her village and among her people thought they knew what that meant. They expected a real, honest-to-goodness king, someone who would take the throne in Jerusalem, defeat the Romans and establish Israel as an eternal kingdom. There are still people today in Israel (and other parts of the world) who are expecting just that. Still! Today! And that expectation caused Jesus all sorts of problems because he came not to conquer but to sacrifice, not to rule but to die. He was not what they expected. And he is not what we expect. Because we read all those wonderful titles, and it’s easy to begin to think that this one who is coming will solve all of our problems, will make life easy for us, will give health and wealth and good looks and no conflicts and…and…and…and he doesn’t come on our terms. When the people of the first century were expecting a king, he came as a baby. No matter what we are expecting, he comes as he is, not as we want him to be.

So we’re expectant, but I thought this series and this sermon was about what God is like, and how God is expectant. How is God “expectant”? Well, in the midst of our expectations, picture it this way: suppose you have spent hours and hours or maybe even weeks either finding or creating the perfect gift to give to someone you love. You wrap it carefully, put it under the tree or maybe keep it hidden until Christmas Day. But there’s that eagerness, that expectation of what will happen, how they will react when you finally give that gift. That’s the image I’m talking about when I say that God is expectant. From the very first sin in the Garden of Eden, God began planning this gift. When Adam and Eve sinned by listening to the serpent, he told them there would one day be someone who would come and “crush the serpent’s head” (cf. Genesis 3:16). Someone who would defeat evil once and for all. And throughout the Old Testament there are hints and glimpses and prophecies of this one who is coming, of this gift God was waiting to give humanity. In fact, Isaiah, when reflecting on what he’s been preaching and wondering aloud how God is going to do what he’s promising to do with this child, says, “The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this” (9:7). The passion, the heartfelt desire, the excitement of God himself will see this through. And that’s why, I think, on a hillside outside Bethlehem, nine months after Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she was going to have a baby, the angels literally explode in song in front of some lowly shepherds. God had been expectant for so long that he couldn’t wait to announce the news that the time had finally come when he would, once and for all, rescue and save his people. God is expectant. He is an expectant giver.

And he expects one other thing, too. He expects us to respond to his gift. Imagine that gift you eagerly bought or made and wrapped. Imagine gathering on Christmas Day and presenting it to the one you love. And then imagine that they look at the box, then back at you and say, “That’s very nice, but it’s not what I wanted. And it’s really sort of irrelevant to my life. And besides that, it makes me uncomfortable.” And then they put the gift aside. You’d want to say something like, “But you haven’t even opened it yet. You don’t even know what it is! Don’t you know what I went through to get that gift for you? And you can’t even open it?” And then they say back to you, “I told you, it’s irrelevant to my life. I don’t need to know what it is or try it out. I just don’t want it.” Well that’s the same sort of response God often gets today to his gift. God, the expectant giver, expects us to receive the gift he prepared through the centuries, just for you, just for me. It’s a lavish gift, but you’ll never know that if you never open it. You’ll never know that if you leave the gift of God’s only son wrapped up, unopened, never received. God, the expectant one, offers you his gift this Advent season. What will you do with it?

This is a season of expectation. The first candle that we lit today is the candle of hope, and Advent is a season that ought to give us “a sense of hope that the unchangeable can change, that good can prevail over evil” (Under Wraps, pg. 21), that light triumphs over darkness. That’s why Advent celebrates both the first coming of Jesus and anticipates or expects the second coming. This one who came once to Bethlehem is coming again to set the world to rights, to repair the broken, to bind up the hurting and to redeem the world. On that day, he will indeed reign on David’s throne and there will be no end to his peace. “The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this” (9:7). With eager anticipation, we expect his return even as we celebrate his arrival.

When we were in Bethlehem a little over a month ago, we visited the Shepherd's Field, or at least one of the traditional locations, and we saw the cave and the church and there are a lot of decorations all over the place. But I’d seen all that, and when we had a bit of free time, Rachel and I wandered down the hill a bit toward some more recent excavations. There, we found lots of little caves, probably other places where, in the first century, shepherds would have kept their sheep at night, protected from the elements and from any attacking animals. In those caves, in the spring, the shepherds would have and waited for baby lambs to be born. And there was something in me that said, “This feels more authentic.” Now, I don’t want to question tradition, but as I’ve thought about it, it was because in those caves, in those small places, there weren’t all the distractions and decorations that there were in the other places. No one selling souvenirs. No guides arguing over who gets in first. Just simple caves, places of anticipation and expectation. Places where ordinary life happened. Places where baby lambs were born. And I’ve wondered, as I’ve thought about that time, how often we let all the glitter and hustle and overcrowded calendars get in the way of our letting the expectant God give us his simple gift, the gift we never expected. He comes in the midst of our ordinary life, but he will not force his way in, which is why we so often go all the way through this season and completely miss him. This Advent, can you make room, clear out some space, and allow your soul to connect with the expectant God? He’s waiting to give you the greatest gift you can ever receive. Let’s pray.

The Throw Down

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Exodus 4:1-5; Matthew 6:19-26

November 16, 2014 (Generosity Sunday) • Portage First UMC

While most of our Lands of the Bible trip was filled with activity, there was some down time, especially each evening before dinner, so during that time, Rachel and I would often flip on the television, which had about eight channels of selected programs. Most of what was on seemed to come from the Food Network. Any Food Network fans here? I’d never really watched many of their programs, except for “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives,” but there was one show on a couple of times during the trip that was kind of interesting. Anyone here watch “Throw Down with Bobby Flay”? I learned pretty quickly Mr. Flay is a chef based in New York, and that in this show he challenges a master chef of some sort of food to a contest. He learns how to make a particular dish, then goes to the other chef’s restaurant to have a “throw down,” a contest to see who makes that dish the best. Rachel was always hoping Bobby Flay wouldn’t win. It makes for an interesting half hour of entertainment, but the whole idea got me thinking about today, and this story we’ve been exploring about Moses, because in chapter four of the book of Exodus, God basically issues a challenge to Moses, a throw down, as God dares Moses to dream big dreams.

For the last few weeks, we’ve been talking about Moses’ story and how God gets our attention, calling us to dream his dreams for our lives and for our church. Last week, in particular, Pastor Deb helped us explore the “big buts” that get in our way, the excuses we make for not answering God’s call. And we all have those buts, especially when it comes to stepping out in faith, to doing something, perhaps, we’ve never done before. Trusting that God will be with us is hard. It’s as hard for us as it was for Moses, and he’s standing in front of a burning bush that is talking to him. Even then, he finds several excellent reasons why he can’t do what God is calling him to do. So do we. Every week, we gather here and we listen and we pray and the question we’re challenged to answer when we leave is this: so what? What difference will this Gospel, will this God, make in my life today and every day? We spend a lot of time and energy coming up with reasons why we can’t respond when we could just follow God’s call—and that would probably take less energy than the excuses do! But, you know, the biggest reason we most often talk ourselves out of doing what we know God has called us to is because of our focus. We tend to focus on what we don’t have rather than on what we have. That was Moses’ problem as well.

So, remember, Moses has been a shepherd now for forty years, after spending forty years as a prince of Egypt. He’s eighty years old, give or take, and probably not looking for any new challenges. But, do you know what? God is not done with any of us until we take our last breath. As Billy Graham has famously said, there is no retirement in the Kingdom of God. Moses is learning that in a big way, and he’s focused on so many reasons why God’s plan won’t work. That’s why I love God’s question to him at the beginning of chapter four: “What is that in your hand?” (4:2). God doesn’t even bother to really respond to Moses’ excuse at this point. While Moses, like us, is focused on what he doesn’t have, on what could and will probably go wrong, God is focused on what Moses does have. “What is that in your hand?”

Can you picture Moses, looking at his hand, and then back at the bush, and then at his hand again? “Uh, well, God, maybe you’ve never seen one of these, but it’s just a simple shepherd’s crook. It’s the staff I use to guide the sheep. It’s a just a stick.” That’s when the throw down begins—literally! God tells Moses to take his staff, his ordinary stick, and throw it on the ground. Now, watch what happens next very carefully. When the stick lands on the ground, it becomes a snake. And what does Moses do? Big, powerful Moses? Killed a man in Egypt. As a shepherd, he would have fought off all sorts of vicious wildlife. We always picture him as a manly man, and what does he do when the staff becomes a snake? He runs away. Now, is it because Moses is afraid of snakes? Maybe. That’s certainly a possibility. Or is it perhaps because he’s afraid of God, a God who is powerful enough to take an ordinary object and do incredible things with it (cf. Oswalt, “Exodus,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 1, pg. 313)? Because, you see, if God can take a stick and turn it into a snake, he might be able to take a shepherd and turn him into a statesman, someone to rescue the people of Israel. And if God can do that, then Moses’ excuses are a waste of time.

God isn’t concerned about what Moses doesn’t have. He’s not concerned that Moses is scared, or that he can’t speak clearly, or that he’s got an arrest warrant on his head in Egypt. God isn’t focused on what Moses doesn’t have. He’s focused on what Moses does have. He has a shepherd’s rod. And he has a heart for his people. And those two things God can use. So, you see, the question isn’t what we don’t have, but what we do have. What’s in your hand? God asks you and me that same question. What do you have that I can use? Because, you see, in God’s grace, everything you need to do what he has called you to do you already have. In God’s grace, everything this church needs to be able to do what God has called us to do we already have. The problem, in both cases, is that we’re clinging too tightly to it, hanging onto it for ourselves. We have to throw it down and let God use it.

So, let’s think about what it is we have that God can use. We often talk about our gifts in three categories: head, hands and heart. So let’s ask the question this way (cf. Slaughter, Dare to Dream, pg. 95). What are the gifts of my head? In other words, what do you know a lot about? And I’m talking about what you really know, not just what you want others to think you know. (You know what I’m talking about!) What do you know about that you can share for the sake of God’s kingdom? One of the things I’ve learned over almost twenty-two years in full-time ministry is that people think I know more than I actually do! We did not have classes in seminary on building maintenance or on fundraising or even on leading meetings, believe it or not. There are a lot things I’ve discovered that I don’t know, and I think I’ve gotten better over the years at admitting when I don’t know something. What I’ve learned to do, instead, is to develop a network of trusted souls who know things I don’t know, whom I can turn to when I need help. For instance, even though we did have to take one course in pastoral counseling in seminary (yes, just one course), what that did for me more than anything else is tell me I’m not a counselor. I’m not good at it, I don’t have the skills, and I would probably do more harm than good if I tried it. So I’ve learned who I can ask questions of. Who knows things about that area of life? Oh, and I married a counselor as well! That also helps! But I know things about history and theology and the structure of the church that I can use for the sake of God’s kingdom. And those are areas I’m constantly learning in as well. I love the trips to the Holy Land, because every time I learn more that I can then use in helping others come closer to Jesus. Those are the gifts of my head to God’s call. What’s in your head? What are the “head gifts” you bring to God’s kingdom?

The next question, then, is this: what are the gifts of your hands? What can do you do better than others around you? What skills do you have that can be used in the kingdom of God? This is a very practical question, of course. Perhaps you can sing, but you’ve been hiding that gift and not using it with any of our worship leadership teams. Maybe you are a great cook, but you’ve shied away from sharing your gifts with the funeral dinners, or Alpha dinners, or any other time that we eat around here! Maybe you have leadership skills, or you have great ideas for reaching new people, or you are a creative, artsy person. All of those gifts can be used in so many ways for the glory of God if you lay them out there, throw them down and let God use you in that way. I can’t tell you how many times we are looking for someone with artistic abilities for something having to do with worship, or how many times we are looking for that person who can take a meal to a shut-in, or even how many times we are asked if there is just someone who can spend some time or give transportation to someone who needs it. Maybe your skills are in the “fixing things” or “building things” areas. There are always projects around here that need workers, fixers, builders. The Red Bird Mission team needs folks like you. People like me who go on those trips need guidance from people who actually have the skills and abilities. I can do stuff like that if I’m shown how, but there are many of you who can just do it. You have the skills; you have the abilities. So what are the “hand gifts” you bring to the table? What can you do for the sake of God’s kingdom?

And that brings us to the third question: what is the passion of your heart? What is it you value most above all else? Because that is what you will give your life to. What captures your heart will transform your life. Jesus said it this way: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (6:21). That was certainly true for Moses, though he didn’t really want to admit it, but from early on in his life, the desperate situation of his people, the Hebrew people, captured his heart. We don’t know exactly how he learned he was a Hebrew and not an Egyptian, though since his Hebrew mother raised him when he was young, I’d be willing to guess she told him over and over again to remember who he was. Even in the palace, even while being treated as a prince of Egypt, Moses never forgot his own people. He had a passion for them, even though he didn’t demonstrate that in the right way. He chose to kill an Egyptian to protect one of the Hebrews, and that earned him forty years in exile in the wilderness. Part of me wonders what might have happened, how God might have used him had he not done that. But sometimes we take our passions and we channel them in unhelpful and even destructive ways. So God shapes and reshapes Moses in the wilderness for forty years, but that passion for his people never goes away. That’s why God calls Moses there at the burning bush. God knew Moses’ heart, and Moses, eventually, used that passion to help the people find freedom from slavery.

For as long as I can remember, I have been passionate about the local church. I shared just a couple of weeks ago about the moment (I can still remember very clearly) when I became passionate about sharing Jesus with others, about wanting others to come to know him. At the same time, God was developing skills and abilities in me as a speaker and leader. In high school, someone suggested I join the speech team, which was something I had absolutely no interest in. As Pastor Deb shared last week, I’m an introvert. Standing up in front of people to give a speech held no interest for me whatsoever. And I still don’t remember how I was conned—I mean, talked—into joining the team, but through very patient and loving coaches, I grew in my ability and even won the State tournament in my event one year. At the same time, in my home church, the children’s choir was suddenly without a director. I knew nothing about directing a choir, least of all working with children, and yet I somehow found myself doing both as a high schooler. I still look back on those times and am very thankful for the patience of the people at the Rossville United Methodist Church! They put up with a lot from me! But in doing those things, God developed within me a passion for the local church, for helping others know about Jesus, and for teaching about the Word of God. Those are still my passions. Those are still the things that grab onto my heart and won’t let go. Those are still the things that get me out of bed in the morning. So let me ask you: what is the passion of your heart? What is the thing that drives you? Or here’s another way to think about it.

Video Clip - “One Thing” (City Slickers)

I don’t know if the screenwriters of City Slickers had ever heard of the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, but they certainly knew what he was about. Kierkegaard put it this way: “Purity of heart is to will one thing.” One thing, that’s it. Moses, one thing. Dennis, one thing. Portage First, one thing. What is your “one thing”? My prayer is that Jesus and his mission is your one thing. Not that you don’t do other things, but my prayer is that his mission defines everything else in your life. My prayer and hope is that his mission (and not our own) drives everything else we do in this church. The church is not a country club. The church is not a daycare or a hospital or a civic organization that just does nice things. The church is an outpost of heaven situated at the gates of hell. The church is the only organization in the world that exists for the sake of those who are not yet a part of it. The church is the hope of the world, and if there’s anything this world needs today, it’s the hope that only Jesus can provide. What do we have? That’s what we have to offer. My prayer is that this is your passion, your “one thing,” and if it is, then everything else must be lined up around that “one thing.”

When we become part of this church family, whether you’re a member or not, we ask that you give of your prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness. In other words, all of life. We give everything we have to the God who has given us everything he has. Jesus challenges us in that way through the Gospel reading for this morning. He tells those who follow him, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal” (6:19-20). In other words, put your “treasure,” the things that matter most, in the place where it’s going to last for eternity, the place where it will make an eternal difference. God calls Moses to do the same thing, to throw down the thing that represented who he thought he was, everything that mattered to him in this world. The shepherd's staff was his means of income, his survival, his way of life. Throw it down, God says, and allow me to use it. Throwing it down was a definitive action (Slaughter 98), a way of once and for all throwing his lot in with God’s plan. And though I don’t think Moses realized it quite yet, it was a call to turn his back on all that had been and move forward into God’s future. From this moment on, everything Moses owned, everything he was, everything he would ever be was thrown down, to be used for God’s call on his life.

I want you to notice one other thing in this story of Moses, and it’s especially important for us this morning. Notice that, from this moment on, Moses doesn’t look back and he doesn’t go back. He never focuses on his past in Egypt or his job as a shepherd. He doesn’t spend time worrying about his failures or his foibles. Because God has called him to move forward, from this point on, Moses has a future focus. In other words, Moses let the past be the past because he knew if all he focused on was the past, he was done. Pastor Mike Slaughter puts it this way: “Anytime you begin looking to the past, it means death. You might as well hang it up” (111). And that’s true for both good and difficult things. If we get focused only on the great things God did last year, or ten years ago, or a hundred years ago, we’ll be stuck there. The same is true if we get stuck on the challenges we have had to face in the last couple of years. We can get focused on that, but if we do, we’ll be done. Anytime we fail to let the past be the past, we’re done, whether that’s in our own personal life or in the life of the church. God is calling us forward. God is calling us toward his future. God is calling us to pursue the “one thing” of becoming a community where all people encounter Jesus Christ. We need to let the past be the past, because God is waiting for us in the future.

Today is Generosity Sunday, and it is the time of year when we ask, without apology, for each and every one of us to step up and financially support the ministry of this church so that we can follow God’s leading into the future. But it’s about more than money. It’s about giving our prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness. It’s about making God’s kingdom our “one thing.” So I’m going to invite Paul Keaton, our Finance Team Leader, to share a bit about our future and how you can be a part of.

PRESENTATION: PAUL KEATON

Thank you, Paul. At our last Administrative Council meeting, we looked at our goals for the coming year as a church. There are a lot of new areas we believe God is calling us to move into, including beginning a depression ministry, expanding our grief care ministry, and developing a comprehensive curriculum for our children’s ministries so that we have an idea what children at each age level should be learning about the faith. We also want to be able to develop new ministries to parents of all sorts, as well as continuing to grow and support our youth ministries, our Outreach ministries, our new prison ministry—and yes, the list could go on and on. The opportunities to offer hope in our community are endless. And we need you. We need your prayers. We need your witness. And we need your presence, not just in worship. There are two teams, in particular, that need your input. Both Outreach (which is about reaching people for Jesus and inviting them to be part of the church) and Missions (which is about meeting the practical needs of people who are underserved) are open groups that need your input, your ideas and your energy. We need your service. And, of course, all of this takes funding. We need your gifts. So today, we’re asking unapologetically for your commitment. Will you let God’s kingdom be your “one thing”?

In just a few moments, we’re going to sing and invite you to come and place your commitment cards here on the communion rail. This is your moment of decision, and I realize it's a challenging choice in our culture. There are so many things calling for our attention. But that was no less the case in the first century. When Jesus was calling his disciples to wholehearted commitment, to making the kingdom of God their “one thing,” he put it this way: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money” (6:24). In other words, he was asking them which master they would serve. He was issuing a throw down challenge. Who or what would be their master? And then, as if to head off their complaints, he says in the very next verse, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” (6:25-26). Yes, of course we are more valuable. And I will tell you that Cathy and I have experienced the truth of this statement. As I’ve shared before, we began tithing when we were in seminary and had very little in the way of money or possessions. Lots of bills and little resources. But we decided we needed to be obedient to God in this area, and so we began giving 10% to our church. And we discovered that when we released the hold money had on us, we always had enough. We didn’t always have everything we wanted, but we always had what we needed. We didn’t go hungry. We had a roof over our heads. Most of the time, our old car ran fine. God is faithful—and he has told us that the only area in our lives we are allowed to test him is in this area, in the area of our finances. In the book of Malachi, God says this, “‘Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,’ says the Lord Almighty, ‘and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it’” (3:10).

So that’s the throw down. Are you willing to pick up the challenge? Will God’s kingdom be your “one thing” this year? Will we trust God to be faithful? Let’s pray, and then we’re going to come forward to present our commitments for the coming year. 

The Moment

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Exodus 3:1-6

November 2, 2014 • Portage First UMC

Twenty minutes. That’s what he said it would take: twenty minutes. We were on the island of Patmos, and while our educational touring had taken up the morning, we had the afternoon free while the ship was in port, so a small group of us, including three of us from Portage First, decided to go on a hike. Our speaker, Dr. David deSilva, said there were ruins on the acropolis of Kastelli, at the top of one of the nearby hills, that he wanted to check out and we were invited to come along. So, Rachel and I and Kris Bailey joined Dr. deSilva and his son and another traveler and we headed out. The only problem is that ancient ruins do not show up on Google maps. In other words, we had no idea where we were going. We could see the top of the hill. We could see a church near the top of the hill. But the path to the top of the hill was not clear. Not to be deterred, we headed out and chose a road that looked like it was going up. And it did, for a while, until it came to a “T” and we weren’t sure where to go. We had a 50/50 chance of being right—and we chose the wrong way. After backtracking, we walked for a while longer and found ourselves passing a junkyard complete with chickens and then we came to a goat farm. Surely we must have lost the path, because there were these goats in the way. Dr. deSilva went and asked the farmer, only to learn that the path went through the farm, past the goats, and on up the hillside. Did I mention that it was somewhere around 80 degrees on this particular afternoon? And that the hike took far longer than twenty minutes? Even so, we eventually made it to the top and found the ruins in addition to a beautiful view of the island. There was a small Orthodox church at the top of the mountain, beautifully maintained, which told us that someone makes that journey regularly to worship in this little church. But the view was worth the hike, and when I asked Rachel, at the end of our trip, what her favorite thing was, she said it was that hike. All of the planned things and all of the history and all of the things we learned, and her favorite thing was the unplanned, sometimes directionless hike.

It is often the things we don’t plan that make the most impact on us. It’s been said that life is what happens when you’re planning other things. And sometimes, we hold back from adventures like that because we’re—what? Afraid? Confused? Feeling directionless? We get lots of prayer requests every week for people who need “direction” in life. Maybe what God is calling us to do in those moments is to step out, dare to dream, and see where he might lead us when we put down our maps and plans and schematics. This morning, we’re picking up on a theme we started a month ago, about daring to dream God’s dream for our lives and for our church. It’s not as easy as it may sound, and we need to come, as individuals and as a church, to “the moment” when God steps in and turns things upside down. To sort of explain what I mean, I want to look this morning at the life of Moses, and how he came to that moment in his life.

Many of you may remember Moses’ story, or maybe you’ve seen the movie, but I want to focus this morning on how his story mirrors ours. Not in the details, because I would guess none of us were floated down the Nile in a basket as a baby or raised in Pharaoh’s court. But in the way he grow up, in the way he went through life, Moses mirrors you and me. There are really three stages our lives pass through, and the first we might call “Empire Building” (Slaughter, Dare to Dream, pg. 55). This is the time of life when we are pretty much absorbed by our own wants and needs. We might characterize it as “climbing the ladder.” For most of us, this is about establishing a career, setting goals, getting married and having children, maybe buying a house and so on. For Moses, the first forty years of his life were marked by growing up in a privileged place. He was a Hebrew, a slave, but when the Pharaoh ordered the death of all the baby Hebrew boys, Moses’ mother had put him in a basket and floated him down the Nile River, where Pharaoh’s daughter found him and raised him as her own. He grew up in the palace, and was given the best education, the best luxuries, the best of everything. He seemed destined for greatness; he was a prince of Egypt. At this stage in life, we’re not often asking what God’s will for us might be. This stage is all about “God bless me” prayers. It’s about making our own plans and (maybe) asking God to fit into them. Pastor Mike Slaughter says this stage of life is focused on three A’s. The first is appetite: “I want.” So many people get stuck here, and in our day, we end up in incredible debt because of what we want. Americans today spend $1.33 for every dollar we earn. We become consumed by our appetites. The second “A” is approval: we want to be noticed and, more than that, we want what we do and who we are to be recognized. How many people do you know who spend a lot of time in self-promotion? And today we even have platforms in the form of social media to get our “approval” fix. I know people, and you probably do too, who live and die by how many “likes” they get on Facebook or Instagram. Approval. And then, the third “A” is ambition. This is where it’s really about “God bless me” and nothing else. We become focused on what we can get from God, and it easily becomes all about my health and wealth and prosperity. But Jesus said something different. He said it’s about loving him with heart, soul, mind and strength. It’s not about me; it’s about him (cf. Slaughter 55-57).

So a moment arrives when Moses, sensing somehow that what his step-family is doing toward the Hebrews is wrong, steps in, takes matters into his own hands, and kills an Egyptian. Then he runs into the wilderness. He runs away from everything he knows, and I would imagine that, at that point, Moses probably thought his life was over. There, in the wilderness, he meets a family, marries the daughter and settles down to a life of shepherding, and he probably thought that was the shape of the rest of his life. The second stage in our lives is “disillusionment,” what we sometimes call a “mid-life crisis.” Moses’ mid-life crisis lasted forty years. For forty years in the wilderness, he worked with sheep. And I can tell you firsthand that the Sinai wilderness is not a kind place. It is a desert. There is nothing to see for miles and miles. When we drove across the Sinai peninsula two years ago, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the strength of those, like Moses, who lived and worked there. There is nothing but sand for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Of course, as a shepherd, Moses would have learned the rhythms of the desert. He would have learned where a little winter rain may have caused some grass to grow. And he might have to travel a long way to find it. This wasn’t a “come home at night and tuck the kids in” kind of job. He might be gone for months. But if he was going to survive, he had to know the wilderness (cf. Goldingay, Exodus & Leviticus for Everyone, pg. 15).

Now, can you imagine what he must have thought about in the midst of the desert? Forty years he had to remember what had happened in Egypt, how quickly he had fallen from being a prince of Egypt to being an outlaw. I imagine Moses the shepherd as being disillusioned, convinced that life had now passed him by. The prayer of this stage of life is, “God save me.” Some of you may have prayed that when you lost a job, or when you lost a spouse through divorce or death, or when someone very near to you died unexpectedly. It happens when our assumptions about life are shaken to the core. When I graduated from seminary and began serving as a pastor, I thought I had it all figured out. I had been equipped with all this knowledge and Biblical grounding, and everything seemed clear, straightforward. At the ripe old age of 25, I had certainty in my faith and clarity about what life would hold. I’d like to go back and laugh at that young man now, because it didn’t take long before those certainties gave way to some measure of disillusionment. One of the youth in my first appointment attempted suicide. A young man contracted a serious disease and died when he was 37 years old, leaving behind a young widow and two young daughters. People who lived so close to Jesus got cancer or had tremendous challenges in their lives. 9-11 happened, and terrorism became a fact of life for all of us. And I’ve watched as Christian people have treated each other with contempt and unkindness. I’ve gone through my own heart surgery and a cancer scare with my dad, and I can tell you that now, at 47, I have more questions about God and my faith than I’ve ever had in my life. Disillusionment is a stage we all pass through, a time when we cry out, “God save me.” But if we don’t pass through it, we can never get to the third stage, to the moment when everything changes. And that’s where we find Moses in the passage from Exodus that we read this morning.

Moses is out with his flock, minding his own business, probably continuing to reflect on what brought him to this point in life, and on the “far side of the wilderness,” he arrives at Mount Horeb. There, he sees what he calls a “strange sight” (3:3). It’s a bush that burns but is not consumed. Now, scholars try to explain exactly what was happening, that maybe the sun was reflected off of some red leaves, or maybe what Moses really saw was a Bedouin campfire in the distance. But remember that Moses has walked all over this wilderness for the last forty years. If he says what he saw is strange, then you can bet it was strange. It’s not something ordinary; he would know if it was (cf. Kaiser, “Exodus,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 2, pg. 315). This is something he’s not seen before. A bush that is burning but somehow not consumed. And more than that, he hears a voice speaking to him through the bush, calling him by name. Because of Moses’ experience, we can call this third stage, the one that is meant to last the rest of your life, “Fire.” Pastor Mike Slaughter points out that the bush not being consumed reminds us that what happens in this moment is meant to burn within us for the rest of our lives (59). It’s meant to direct us, not consume us. We can allow that fire to burn in us, knowing we won’t be burned up. We’ll be driven by a passion that we cannot explain any other way than the fact that God put it there. Our prayers at this stage are not “God bless me” or “God save me” but rather “God use me.”

You see, God has a plan and a purpose for Moses in the last forty years of his life. At age 80, Moses is about to receive a new commission, a job for which everything before has only been preparation. God tells Moses that he has seen the suffering of the Hebrew people—his people—back in Egypt and that it’s time for Moses to quit hiding in the wilderness. Enough preparation, God says! Instead, Moses is being sent back to Egypt, back to the land where, forty years before, he was a man wanted for murder, and there he will bring the Hebrew people out of slavery into a new land and a new way of life (3:7-10). In that moment, Moses’ life changes forever. Up until now, he’s either wandered around a palace or wandered in the wilderness. He’s not had much purpose other than organized leisure and then, later, taking care of sheep. But God has something bigger in mind for him. From this moment on, he will be a leader and he will do God’s work in rescuing the people from slavery.

The moment. For a young boy named Jeremiah, a young priest who was content doing the religious rituals he had learned, God came and said, “I have a message for you to preach, and it’s not going to be easy. But I will be with you, so don’t be terrified.” Don’t be terrified! That’s what God says to him. If God’s telling him not to be terrified, there must be something terrifying ahead, and yet Jeremiah goes. To another young shepherd, writing songs while watching his sheep near Bethlehem, God calls and puts him in a place to deal with a giant named Goliath who was threatening the people. And ultimately, God made the shepherd boy David king. From the shepherd’s field to a palace, because David answered the call of God in a moment. And in Nazareth, God sent an angel to speak to a young virgin, a young woman who was no doubt planning her future and did not have in mind being the mother of the Messiah. And yet, when God called, Mary said, “May your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38). God comes to us in burning bush moments and, if we open our lives to what God wants to do in us and through us, those moments will change everything.

A “burning bush moment” is a time when God speaks to you in such a way that you know what it is you have to do, who you’re called to be. Now, remember what I shared a month ago in regards to hearing from God. When God is speaking to us, the things he calls us to do will always honor him, bless other people, and bring you joy. If you believe God is calling you to do something contrary to Scripture, or something that will hurt someone else, or something that is contrary to Jesus’ call to love God and love others, then you’re not hearing God’s voice clearly. When God calls us, he will call us to honor him, bless others and experience joy. God calls Moses to free the people from Egypt, to show God’s power over the Egyptian gods. That honors him. And being rescued from slavery blessed the Hebrews, even though they didn’t always think so. And though the next forty years would probably require Moses to down a significant amount of Tums, it also brought him great joy to see the people growing into who God called them to be. A burning bush moment happens when God calls us and gives us a purpose for our lives. And often, that call will be affirmed by others.

Over the last few years, I’ve had some serious doubts about whether or not God was still calling me to pastoral ministry. I’ve wrestled with God, and I’ve wondered if, all those years ago, maybe I heard him wrong. But through lots of prayer, wise counsel with trusted friends and colleagues, and encouragement from many of you, these last few weeks have been a burning bush moment, where I come back to knowing that God has given me this purpose. And God often uses our most painful experiences to either give or confirm the purpose he has for us. Moses is certainly evidence of that, and maybe your life is, too. I’ve known people who, out of their experience with pain and death and grief, have given themselves to helping others who are going through those experiences. Some do that informally, and others are serving in our Congregational Care ministry. Some who have been seized by a passion for those on the underside of life have given themselves to going every Wednesday night behind bars, to share the good news of the Gospel with prisoners, with people most of us give very little thought to. I have to ask you: what’s the purpose God has given you? Not the job you do, though the two may overlap. But what purpose has God given you at this moment in your life? Let me ask it another way: how is God calling you to change the world right where you are? You see, I’m not content to just get by, to let my life rush by and someday wonder what I did with all the time God gave me. Like Moses, I want to “turn aside” and see what God has for me, what God’s purpose is for me.

Today is All Saints Sunday, when we remember and celebrate those who have gone before us, who have pointed us in some way toward Jesus, or helped us dream about God’s purpose for our life. And the folks we have remembered today each had a sense of what God had called them to be and do, but that didn’t come easily. For most if not all of them, it came through struggle, wrestling with God, because God most often speaks through our difficult times. And on this day, I also remember the saints who have spoken God’s truth to me even when I didn’t want to or had trouble hearing it. When I was in that stage of praying, “God bless me,” a dear saint named Esther reminded we senior high Sunday School class members every week that Jesus loved us and that he had a plan and call for our lives. When I was in that “God save me” stage, God used wise friends to keep me stay focused and remind me that “this too shall pass.” And I don’t know that I’m fully in the “God use me" stage. I’m still stubborn and rebellious and far too self-centered, but I do know that when I get those glimpses of God’s purposes being fulfilled through something small I have done, my heart is glad. My heart rejoices. There is nothing else like finding God’s purpose and pursuing it with all your heart. Those saints who have gone before us knew that. And today, that’s my desire, my passion, and my hope for you.

We’re going to look more at Moses’ story next week, but before we leave him this week, I want you to notice God’s strange instruction to Moses while he’s standing in front of the burning bush. God says, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (3:5). This is the first occurrence of the word “holy” in the Bible (cf. Kaiser 316), but to look at the ground, I doubt Moses noticed anything special about it. Just a few minutes before, his sheep had probably walked across that very piece of ground. What made it holy is that God showed up. What set it apart was that God chose to use this place to speak to Moses, to give him a sense of purpose, calling, vision, a dream. It was holy because God was there. And though this is the first time in the Bible where something is declared holy, it’s not the last. Even today, anywhere God shows up, that place is holy. Even in bread and grape juice. This practice we call holy communion is not holy because the bread or the juice is special in some way. They are about as ordinary as you can get. But communion is holy because this is a place and a time and an action through which God has promised to meet us. The question is this: are you ready to meet God? He has promised to be here, in this bread and in this cup. But far too often we just go through the motions. I’m tired of going through the motions, aren’t you? This morning, open your heart to meet God in this bread and in this cup, and this could be your moment.

As Big As The World

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Genesis 28:10-19; John 3:16-21

October 5, 2014 (World Communion Sunday) • Portage First UMC

It is good to be with you this morning, as the next two Sundays Rachel and I and six others from Portage will be on the other side of the world from here. Over these next couple of weeks, I’m going to be able to check off a couple of things from my “bucket list.” You know what that is, right? I don’t know that I had ever heard of a “bucket list” until the movie by that same name came out, and though I haven’t written it down, there are certain places I want to be able to visit before I leave this earth. This “Lands of the Bible” trip will help me accomplish a few of those, as I’m able to walk among a couple of the cities whom John wrote to in the book of Revelation, and stand among the Parthenon and the Acropolis and the place where the ancient Olympics took place. We covet your prayers as we travel, and look forward to sharing all that we learn with you when we get back.

But I’ve been thinking about that “bucket list” over the last couple of weeks. Some of you know we lost a dear friend a couple of weeks ago, a woman who was just a little bit older than Cathy and I, who seemed perfectly healthy one moment, felt a little ill and in the next moment, was gone. Her funeral was the same day as our celebration here for Jim Jongsma, and going to two funerals in one day can’t help but affect your perspective. It makes you think and wonder if you’re really doing what God calls you to do. Suddenly, you want to be sure about that. And I’m not just talking about a job. Jobs are just that: jobs. They pay the bills and support the family. I’m talking about your vocation, which is much larger than a job. I’m talking about how we find, pursue and respond to God’s dream and vision for our lives.

Think about it this way: when your kids are little, the question they are often asked or even are asking themselves is, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The problem is, we translate that question into a job or a career path. When we ask that, what we’re really asking is, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” Our kids are answering that question right now. Christopher is in college, studying Computer Graphic Technology in order to pursue a career in technology. Rachel wants to skip high school so that she can get right to doing what she wants to do, and that’s being a nurse. And yes, we want them to be gainfully employed some day. But, more than that, I want them to answer the original question: what do you want to be when you grow up? Being and doing are two different things. We “do” our jobs. But who we are, our “being,” is shaped by how we find, pursue and respond to God’s dream and vision for our lives. So, this morning, let me ask you, at whatever age and stage of life you are: what do you want to be when you grow up?

I often get asked, “How do I know when a vision or a dream is from God and not just from myself?” We’re going to explore that a bit today, and even more when I return from the trip, but let me just throw this “big idea” out up front. When a vision is from God, “it will always honor God, bless other people, and bring you joy” (Slaughter, Dare to Dream, pg. 16). Did you get all three of those? Because all three are vitally important, and the order is important as well. When a vision is truly from God, it will always honor God, bless other people and bring you joy.

Now, in a couple of weeks, Leigh Coffey is going to share with you about listening to God, a skill that we often struggle with in our very loud culture. But let me say that, in the Bible, there are a wide variety of ways through which God speaks to people. Sometimes it’s an audible voice, sometimes it’s through the voice of a preacher or prophet, sometimes it’s through the written word, and sometimes it’s through dreams and visions. We know from science that dreams are often the way our mind processes bits and pieces from our day, things that we're worried about, things we are anticipating (cf. Goldingay, Genesis for Everyone, Part Two, pg. 86). Now, I don't know about you, but I have some really strange dreams sometimes. My mind seems to put really strange things together, but there have been a few times where I felt like God was using my dreams to prepare me for something or speak to me. One in particular, a very vivid dream that I still remember from over thirty years ago. Our neighbor was like a grandfather to me and we had watched over the previous several years as he struggled with Parkinson’s Disease. One night, I dreamed that my dad came home to tell me Papa had died, and within a very short time, that very thing happened. Dad was there when Papa died, and then came home to tell us about it. It was a hard loss to bear, and yet I felt a sense of peace because God used a dream to prepare me. There are other times where God gives direction through our dreams, and to help us see that, I want to take you back to the twentieth century B.C. and a man named Jacob.

Jacob had an eventful childhood and adolescence. He is born a twin, but he is second-born and he’s always scheming to become the first, the most important. His name means “heel grabber” because he came out of the womb grabbing onto the heel of his brother Esau. His mother, Rebekah, is also a schemer, and since Jacob is her favorite, she tries to help him along as he steals the birthright from Esau and later he steals Esau’s blessing. Those may not sound like big deals in our world, but in that world, it meant that Jacob had taken everything that rightfully belonged to his brother. Esau is so angry that he swears he will kill his brother once their father is dead. So, Rebekah convinces her husband Isaac to send Jacob off to a far away land. She wants to make sure her favorite son is protected. And that’s how Jacob, the schemer, the heel grabber, ends up far away from his family, and that’s where we pick up the story in Genesis 28.

We’re told Jacob goes from Beersheba to Harran. That’s a trip of about 500 miles. Walking, it would take someone in good shape around seventeen days. So that song that says I would walk 500 miles to fall down at your door—better make sure you have seventeen days or more if you’re going to sing that to your sweetheart. But Jacob does have seventeen days, and can you imagine what he must have been thinking about as he walked, every step taking him further away from everything he ever knew? Do you think there were regrets or “wish I would have’s” going through his brain during those seventeen days? Because at the end of those, God gives him a dream. Now, undoubtedly, he has stopped along the way every night. He’s probably done each night what he does this night: he picks up a stone and lays it by where his head is going to be. Contrary to the way it’s usually translated, the wording doesn’t really mean he makes the stone a pillow, though he may have leaned on it. The wording really means he put a stone by his head for protection. He would have it handy. If he were attacked he could throw it at the attacker (cf. Ross, “Genesis,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 1, pg. 170). So he ends up in a particular place, no place special, no hotel, no swimming pool, no cinnamon rolls on the breakfast buffet and he lays down to sleep just like he has every night for the last sixteen days. But on this night, Jacob has a dream. On this night, God shows up.

You know, when we go through difficult times, we want to tell God when and where to show up. I know I do. When I’m struggling with something, it’s not uncommon for me to pray, “Okay, God, here’s what I want and when I want you to do it.” And the “when” is usually “now.” But I’ve learned that in those in-between times, in the seventeen days of walking through the wilderness (and mine are usually longer than seventeen days), God is working. It may not seem like it. It may seem like God has gone off somewhere else and is silent and has forgotten about you, but God is still working. He’s working on me, and you. He’s waiting for us to get quiet enough to listen. He’s preparing us for the next stage of our journey. Some of you this morning are probably caught in that “walking” time, the in-between time. You’ve been in the midst of a struggle and you are hoping it will be over soon. Maybe you’re feeling exiled, like Jacob was, and you’re wondering where God is. Some of you may have come here this morning ready to give God just “one more chance,” and you’re feeling like, “If God doesn’t show up today, I’m done.” Friends, those times when you’re in the wilderness, those times when it feels like God is not present, God is doing his best stuff. You can't see it, but He’s working in and through you. He’s preparing you for what comes next. You can trust him, even in the wilderness times, even in the “walking” times. Just do what Jacob did: keep walking and moving toward God’s future for you, even if it’s uncertain.

And Jacob’s future was uncertain. But there’s not any reason to expect that he thought this place where he lay down for the night was anything special. He probably expected to have the same dreams he’s had for the last sixteen nights: maybe dreams of regret or of worry or of the fear that his brother was going to show up and kill him. But this night, Jacob had a decidedly different dream. As he sleeps, he sees a stairway or a ladder or a ramp (it depends on your translation, but it indicates something going up from earth to heaven) (Goldingay 86). What happens here is what happens in just a few other places in the Bible. God opens Jacob’s eyes to see what is actually happening all the time. There is constant connection between heaven and earth; we’re just usually unaware of it. The ancient Celtic Christians talked about “thin places,” places where it seems you can almost see to the other side, where heaven touches earth (Slaughter 21). We might talk about “holy places,” those places where you have experienced the presence of God in powerful and unique ways. It might be at a camp, or a retreat center. I’ve had experiences like that at monasteries and ancient churches, places where, it seems, people for centuries have rubbed up against the barrier between heaven and earth so much that it’s grown thin. Jacob is in such a place in Genesis 28, a thin place, a holy place, and he doesn’t even realize it. Then, God shows up.

At the top of the ladder/stairway/ramp stands the God of Abraham and Isaac, and at the bottom is the son of Isaac and the grandson of Abraham. These two need to have a talk, and God reminds Jacob of the promises he made to Jacob’s ancestors, promises he wants to renew with the new generation. It’s a promise of land, a promise of descendants, and most importantly, a promise of presence. “I am with you,” God tells Jacob, “and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I promised you” (28:15). Now, imagine Jacob, seventeen days away from home, no family nearby, no guarantee that this journey would turn out well. Imagine Jacob hearing these words from the God who have proven himself so faithful in the past: “I am with you.” I would imagine those words echoed in his life from that point on, and maybe you’ve come here this morning just needing to hear those words: God is with you. He is with you. Even when, like Jacob, you don’t realize God is present in this place, or when you don’t “feel” him, he is with you. And, more than that, he will go with you because “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). He is with you and he goes with you; hang onto that truth.

Beyond getting a glimpse of God’s presence, Jacob is being changed, little by little. God is giving him a bigger vision for his life (cf. Slaughter 19). He is moving Jacob from being self-centered to God-directed. Up to this point, he’s lied to his father, taken God’s name in vain, and made his brother want to kill him (cf. Goldingay 87). He’s not what we would call a model citizen or even a model for faith. But after this encounter with God, Jacob says that if God will go with him, he will serve the Lord. He will follow God’s leading, just as his father and grandfather have (28:20-22). Granted, he puts some conditions on that promise, which he probably shouldn’t have, but we all come to God in small steps. We can’t expect Jacob to have it all together right away. The point is this: Jacob is moving, even if slowly, from being self-centered to God-directed. You see, it’s not Jacob at the top of that ladder; it’s God, which begs the question: who is at the top of your ladder (cf Slaughter 34)? If you achieve everything you want to achieve and reach the “pinnacle of success,” who will be standing there with you? Who’s at the top of your ladder? When we are operating out of a self-centered mindset and life, we’ll find it’s just us there at the top. That’s probably here the idea that it’s “lonely at the top” came from. But Jacob is gaining a bigger vision for what life could be like, and he’s coming to realize that a life of earning and acquisition is too small a life. He needs a bigger vision, one that’s as big as the world, one that has God as the focus, one in which he understands his part in pointing the world toward God, so that God would be not just the God of Abraham, Isaac and even of Jacob, but God of the world which he created. Anything else is far too small to spend a life on.

Now, let me say quickly that Jacob didn’t always get it right. He goes from this place to his uncle's home in Paddan Aram, where he falls in love with a woman named Rachel, then is tricked into marrying her sister. After marrying Rachel as well, they all have children (and make a good argument against marrying sisters!), then he decides to head back home and tricks his father-in-law out of the best of his flock. And he ends up wrestling with God on the shores of the Jabbok River, where he doesn’t lose but he doesn’t win. What he does get there is a hip out of joint and another glimpse of God, along with a new name: Israel, which means “One who struggles with God.” Jacob didn’t always get it right, but like many of the Biblical figures before and after him, in that place, he set his heart on a vision bigger than his own life, and more than anything else, he wanted to pursue that vision. That transformation began in a very ordinary place that he named Bethel, “House of God.” God’s dreams often come to us in ordinary places.

I remember one of my own Bethels very well. In the midst of an ordinary place, God showed up and changed my heart. I was watching a movie—I can’t tell you what movie it was, but it was about a woman who had so little hope and was dying. I was just probably 11 or 12 years old and I remember very clearly wondering what people did who didn't know Jesus, who lived without hope. That thought led to my heart being broken for those who don’t know Jesus, and in many ways it led me to what I’m doing now for a job. But that moment wasn’t about a job; it wasn’t about what I was going to do when I grew up. It was about who I wanted to be when I grew up. God used an ordinary thing like a movie to break my heart for those who don’t know Jesus. There have been other times, other Bethels for me. One of the reasons I keep going to Leadership Institute in Kansas City is because that has become a Bethel for me, a place where I can worship without being responsible for leading worship, a place where I can meet with God (and get some great barbecue at the same time!). The same is true for walking in the Holy Land (except there it’s falafel instead of barbecue). It’s not about the travel, it’s about being in a “thin place” where God meets me. And another time I remember is when Christopher was a baby and a toddler. (He turned 19 this week, so I’m allowed to be nostalgic.) One of our rituals when he was small was that I would pray with him and sing to him when I put him to bed at night. And those times when I rocked him to sleep and sang to him were times of pure worship. Of course, every ritual comes to an end. When I tried to do the same thing with Rachel when she was a baby, she reached up and put her hand over my mouth as I sang. I got the message!

But here’s the point: God will meet us in the most ordinary of places and turn them into a Bethel. God will meet us in the midst of our daily lives, while we’re going from here to there, while we’re doing our everyday routine. Brother Lawrence, a seventeenth century monk, found the presence of God in his kitchen, among the pots and pans. He said it this way: “The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were upon my knees before the Blessed Sacrament.” I’ve been reading the biography of a French saint, Madame Guyon (and I’m probably mispronouncing her name terribly), who had a horrible life. Married to a 37-year-old man when she was only fifteen, verbally, spiritually and emotionally abused by him, his mother and others, often beaten with a brush and told she was forbidden to pray, Guyon found a way to make her heart an altar, to find God’s presence even in the worst of circumstances. She said the key to that was to abandon ourselves and give everything over to God. Her life challenges me, because she gives witness to the truth that every situation can become a Bethel, even when you think life can’t get any worse. Jacob’s life says that to us, too. Every ordinary place can become a Bethel, if we’re open and ready to hear from God.

The second thing Jacob's story tells is that once God transforms those ordinary places and things, he will give us a vision as big as the world. Listen to the promise God makes to Jacob: “All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring” (28:14). Notice two things there. The vision is not limited to just his local area. All people on earth will be blessed when Jacob gets ahold of God’s vision for his life. And it’s not just about Jacob. It’s about him and his offspring, which God has already promised would be “like the dust of the earth” (28:14). Can you count the dust? Of course not, and Jacob’s offspring will be so numerous that they will bless the entire earth. So God gives Jacob a vision that’s not just about him, his happiness, his health and wealth. In fact, it’s about none of that. It’s not about Jacob. It’s about having a vision as big as the world, a vision to bless not just “me and mine,” but all people on earth.

That is, after all, the vision God wants us to have and it's the vision he came to put in place in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. In what is, most likely, the best-known Bible verse in the world, John tells us that God so loved—who? You? Me? Our neighbors? Yes, and No. God so loved the world—that’s why Jesus came, to show God’s love not just for you, not just for me, not just for people whom we like, but for the world. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (3:16). You may know that verse, but does it inform your everyday living? Does that sort of vision guide your life? And what about the next verse? “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (3:17). Now, scholars are divided as to where Jesus’ words end in this chapter and where John’s sermon begins, but they all agree that these words in verses 16 and 17 are most likely John’s (Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 60). He’s reminding us of his vision, of his purpose, the one he received by being a disciple of Jesus. It’s not about the individual. It’s about the world. Yes, we need a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, but it’s not enough to just have that. God wants to give us a vision as big as the world, a dream as big as the world he loves.

Today is World Communion Sunday. It’s the one time each year where brothers and sisters around the world all join together at the communion table, to remember Jesus’ death for our sake. Communion ought to be something that unites us across denominational and fellowship lines, because this bread and the cup remind us that Jesus died for the sins of all, not just some. When Jesus went to the cross, it was not just for a select few. It was for all. “For God so loved the world…” But even on this day, we sometimes look at it as what communion can do for me, how it makes me feel. That’s not what it's about. Communion reminds us there is something bigger going on here than just my own personal faith or how I feel. Communion is a time when our eyes can be opened to the call to be a blessing to the whole world. It's a time when we’re reminded that God’s heart is big enough to love the entire world. Is ours?

I wonder if our dreams are big enough? Are we so stuck on what we want to “do” that we forget life is about “being”? Remember, when God gives you a vision or a dream it will first of all honor him, second it will bless other people and finally it will bring you joy. If those three things are not happening, I can guarantee you that you don’t have a vision as big as the world. God longs to give you a life that will satisfy you, and maybe today can be the day when you slow down long enough to allow him to do that. This place and this time can be your own personal Bethel. So this morning, as we come to the table with brothers and sisters all around the world, ask God for a vision as big as the world, and then be ready to follow where he leads, knowing that wherever he leads, he goes with you. Jesus promised, “Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).