Twelve Lunch Pails

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Mark 6:30-44; Philippians 4:10-20

November 17, 2013 • Portage First UMC

His mother handed him his lunch pail on his way out. Today was a day he had been looking forward to. He was going to work alongside his father, something every young boy anticipated doing one day. His father was a craftsman, and the boy was expected to learn the trade and one day carry on the family business. That’s pretty much the way it worked here in Galilee. There wasn’t much business, nor was there as much chance for getting wealthy as there was down in Jerusalem, but there were plenty of good, honest, hard-working people here. Galilee was home; always had been, always would be. So he grabbed the lunch pail, gave his mother a quick kiss, and ran out the door. “See you tonight,” he called back, as he hurried to catch up with his dad.

Mid-morning, they heard a call echo through the village. “There he goes! There goes Jesus!” His dad looked in the direction of the sound. There was quite a crowd gathering. Now, Jesus he had heard of. Everyone knew about Jesus. Jesus was a local celebrity, not native to the area right around the Sea of Galilee, but close enough. He was from Nazareth, and though most people thought nothing good could come from Nazareth (cf. John 1:46), Jesus was the apparent exception. He did a lot of good and he told interesting stories. People enjoyed listening to him. His father turned to him, “What do you think, son? Want to go hear Jesus?” As they headed in the direction of the crowd, the boy ran back to get his lunch pail. He might need a snack later!

The crowd watched as Jesus and his disciples crossed the little lake in a boat. The boat was struggling against the headwind on the lake, so the crowd on land was actually able to make better time than those in the boat, even with having to cross the Jordan River at the top of the lake (cf. Wessel, “Mark,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 673). When Jesus’ boat made landfall, in a remote and deserted area, the crowd was already there to meet them. The boy couldn’t wait to see Jesus, and, if he was lucky, maybe he’d even get to talk to one of the disciples. He watched as Jesus got out of the boat, and that’s when he saw it. He saw Jesus’ eyes. They were weary. Jesus was tired. He must have come to this place on purpose, trying to get away from the crowd, to find some rest, and yet here they were. They had chased him down. Suddenly, the boy felt just a little guilty for being part of the crowd, but not enough to go back home. He watched as Jesus’ eyes quickly lost their weariness and took on another emotion: compassion. Jesus, it seemed, loved the people as much as the people loved him.

It was a wonderful day. Jesus told stories and talked to people. He answered questions, and taught them many things (6:34). The boy even got to meet Andrew, who was a brother to Simon Peter, one of the top disciples! The day went by so fast that the sun was starting to go down before he realized he hadn’t eaten his lunch! That’s when he overheard the disciples talking to Jesus. “Hey, Jesus, it’s late. What are we going to do about this crowd? Why don’t you wrap things up and send them away so they can find some food in the towns and villages around here? There’s nothing here. It’s desolate. Send them away, Jesus, so they can get food to eat.” Did he imagine it or did Jesus catch his eye as he told the disciples, “You give them something to eat”? The boy chuckled as the disciples stammered and stuttered, “But, Jesus, we don’t have that much money! It would cost about two hundred denarii—that’s an eight-month salary—just to give each person a small bite! Where are we going to get that kind of money?” (6:37; Wessel 673). Obviously, the disciples had spent the afternoon doing the math; they knew before Jesus asked how much it would cost to feed all the people gathered there!

“What do you have?” Jesus asked. “What’s in your hand? What’s available to you?” The disciples looked around and Andrew caught the boy’s eye this time. “Hey, you have a lunch pail,” Andrew said. “What’s in it?” Now it was the boy’s turn to stutter and stammer. “Uh, well, just five small barley loaves and two small fish,” he said (cf. John 6:9). Andrew was obviously disappointed, but what did he expect a boy from a poor family to have for lunch? Barley loaves—food of the poor. They were small and flat, and you could eat several of them at a single meal (Wessel 673). He usually did, in fact! And the small dried fish—they were cheap but not very filling. Andrew may have been flustered, but Jesus wasn’t. He told the people to sit down, in groups of fifty or a hundred, and he asked the boy if he could use his lunch. “Sure,” the boy said, handing over his lunch pail. And then he listened as Jesus prayed: “Blessed art Thou, Eternal God our Father, King of the Universe, who causes bread to come forth from the earth” (Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 89). Then Jesus gave the bread and fish—his bread and fish—to the disciples and asked them to feed everyone. And they did. They did! How his small meal went so far, he had no idea. But it did. No one else seemed to notice what really happened except the little boy who gave away his lunch.

All four Gospels record this story (Card 88)—usually called the “feeding of the 5,000” because they all tell us there were 5,000 men present, though who knows how many were actually there when you include women and children. But the fact that all four Gospels tell the story—even John, who doesn’t include much from the earlier books—lets us know this is a significant event in the life of Jesus. It’s a story of provision, and so on this Generosity Sunday, when we consider what we have to give to God, we need to hear this story about perfect provision. The message is simply this: when we open our hand and give to God what we have, he will take care of us. That’s the story here. God will provide perfectly.

We have to remember that this story happens in Galilee, a place not known for its wealth. Many if not most of the people who lived in Galilee lived from hand to mouth, from day to day, never knowing if there would be enough for tomorrow. Savings accounts? 501K? Pension plans? Never heard of them. What they had today is what they had. Tomorrow would be a different story. And yet they tended to be people of deep faith. They believed God would take care of them, and more than that, they were people who were constantly looking for a savior, a messiah, one who would come to rescue God’s people. Deep faith. Maybe that’s why Jesus spent most of his ministry in this area.

So they were people of limited resources, and that’s where we step into this story. We don’t know how long Jesus taught, but it was long enough that people were starting to get hungry because apparently no one brought lunch with them when they chased after Jesus. And I don’t know about them, but when I get hungry, I get crabby. I sort of sense that in the disciples, and even more when Jesus tells them to feed the people rather than send them away. When they argue that they can’t afford it, Jesus asks them to open their eyes—and their hands. “How many loaves do you have?” In other words, “What’s in your hand? What’s available to you?” Now, Mark doesn’t tell us about the boy; that’s a detail John includes. But the boy is, maybe, the only one who has food, the only one who brought a lunch. And so he shares it. He gives what he has—his treasure, his resources—to Jesus to use. He has to know it won’t feed very many; it would barely be enough for him. But he gives it anyway.

Now, watch for the miracle here. Jesus prays, breaks the bread, gives the food to the disciples and asks them to distribute it. Did you see it? Did you miss it? There’s no waving of the hands or magical incantation. Jesus prays, and gives (cf. Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 79). He uses what the boy gave and he feeds the crowd. It’s what author Michael Card calls an “unmiraculous miracle.” Jesus simply does with the bread and the fish what any of us do at a dinner table. Pray and give. Does anyone even realize (aside from the boy and the disciples) that a miracle has taken place here? It doesn’t seem so. No one cries out, “It’s a miracle!” No, like good Methodists, they just take their food and eat it. Five thousand men, and not one of them recognize what has happened here. An unmiraculous miracle—Jesus takes what is given and uses it to feed others.

Each and every week, in this place, we have the chance to do what that boy did on the hillside in Galilee. We have the opportunity to give what we have—what’s in our hand—to Jesus and ask him to use it, to multiply it, to make a difference in the lives of others both here and around the world. For the last few weeks, we’ve been looking at what we have to give—our time and our talents—to God’s service. This morning, on this Generosity Sunday, we need to talk about our treasures. We don’t like to talk about money. We don’t want anyone knowing what we give or don’t give, yet we don’t mind posting what we spend our money on on Facebook or other places online. In over twenty years as a pastor, I have come to believe one primary thing about giving, and that is this: we will give to what is important to us. If we consider it vital to our lives, we will give or spend whatever it takes to make it happen. For instance, if we consider a luxury vacation important, we’ll spend whatever we need to in order for it to happen. If we consider a bigger house important, vital to our lives, we’ll find a way to make it happen. New cars, new clothes, new toys—you get the idea. What is important to us, what our priorities are, are most often shown in the way we allot our treasures.

That’s also true in the church. In a little over eight years as your pastor, I’ve been especially proud of the way, when there is a special project presented, or an opportunity to reach out in mission, you all are there. When we started doing “Feed My Lambs,” you all stepped up and, in the last few years, you have continued to do so in extravagant ways. We are, as far as I know, still the largest contributor to feeding children in Portage Township Schools. You’ve supported Red Bird Mission, Royal Family Kids Camp, the Portage Township Food Pantry—and so many others! And you’ve supported the purchase of the Crossroads property; we paid the land off in rapid time, thanks to your extravagant generosity. However, the other thing I know from talking to our financial folks is that we, as a congregation, are not always as faithful at supporting the regular ministries of the church—the Sunday School materials, the worship supplies, the heat and air conditioning, the maintenance, the staff—all of those things that aren’t necessarily exciting, but they are absolutely necessary for ministry to happen in this place, for all of those other, special things to happen here. We’re a little more likely to hold back and keep what we have in our hands when it comes to those things. Even our most recent Crossroads project has evidenced that. Only a few of you have pledged or given funds to help pay off the road.

I get it; roads aren’t exciting. Light and heat and salaries aren’t exciting. But, folks, this morning, I want to show you a glimpse of our future, and it’s a future we can only get to if we meet our obligations in the here and now. Your Building Committee has been hard at work on dreaming and designing and planning for the next building of Portage First United Methodist Church, and we’re going to show you an idea of what that looks like in just a few moments. But first I want to answer the question, “Why?” Some of you were not here eight and a half years ago when we bought the Crossroads land, but that land was purchased out of a desire in this church to be able to continue to grow. On the four acres we have here, between and around the ditches, we’re land locked. We’re stuck. There was no more room for more parking and no more building space. Those who pursued the land next door did so out of a conviction that God is not done with Portage First yet, that we still have a calling to reach, teach and make disciples of the next generations. We’re not done yet; Portage has not been completely reached. The world has not been completely reached. And so the reality was this: either we chose just to stay like we are, or we needed to find more room. God opened the door for the land next door to be purchased, and we walked through. We paid that land off in just about six years. At the same time, we realized early on we needed a safer and better way to get in and out of the property. I still remember the first Easter Egg Hunt we had over there, as we tried to get 120 cars out of the driveway at the same time—well, it was daunting at best. Jeff King took his life in his hands as he stood in the road to stop traffic coming over the tollroad. And we’ve had concerts and family events over there that faced the same issues. We needed a better solution, and out of those conversations came the road and the new parking lot, which we dedicated just a couple of months ago.

The next piece, then, is beginning to build a permanent church on that land, to make room for more people to come to know the good news of Jesus Christ. You see, that’s what it’s ultimately all about. It’s not about building for the sake of building. This is about our values, about the things we hold dear. It’s about radical hospitality: making room for people to come, providing ministries that warmly welcome the community. It’s about passionate worship: providing even better space for all sorts of worship to take place. It’s about intentional faith development: our Sunday School space is inadequate for today’s demands. We need larger rooms and better-equipped space. Most weeks, our classrooms are full during the 10:00 hour and there’s no room for more children to come and learn about Jesus. Beyond that, our small groups and team meetings often find themselves stuck in a corner somewhere during the week trying to meet or study because there isn’t enough room for them or there aren’t rooms that are appropriate for them. We need better rooms, better space, flexible space, useable space for intentional faith development. It’s about risk-taking mission and service: as we reach more people for Christ, we’re able to do more and impact the community more. How many more “lambs” can we feed as we grow? How many more mission teams can come out of a congregation that’s excited and on fire and alive? What sort of outreach will Congregational Care be able to do as they reach toward the broken and hurting places of our community? And all of that, my friends, relies on all of us embracing our fifth value: extravagant generosity. It relies on us being the one who brings our lunch to Jesus and says, “Take this, Jesus, multiply it so that everyone can be fed.”

That’s our goal and our desire in whatever we do here, including the way we approach buildings. Everything centers on our mission statement: we are “becoming a community where all people encounter Jesus Christ.” It’s never about the building; it’s about being able, the best way we can in today’s world, to reach out with the good news and to do it with excellence. So, what might that look like? Well, here’s a possibility, and at this point it’s only a possibility. We don’t have firm costs or finalized plans. But here’s a glimpse of what the Building Committee has been up to.

VIDEO: Portage First Future

Now, you may be excited by that, you may be frustrated by that, you may be undecided, somewhere in the middle. Whatever you are, we want you to come on Wednesday evening at 7 to a Town Hall meeting specifically to discuss that proposal. That’s when we’ll take questions and give a bit more information. But remember the goal: the future is all about reaching more people for Jesus Christ.

And to do that, we, as the current congregation, have to become passionate about that mission, so passionate that it becomes our priority. What that means in dollars and cents, though, is we have to support the current budget and be able to pay off the road before we can make significant strides toward that future. And even more to the point: we have to become people of extravagant generosity if we’re ever going to be able to fully do what God calls us to do. Our biggest voiced concern is often that we won’t have enough for us. “If I give, I won’t have enough for me.” And that, in many ways, is the real miracle in the story from Mark’s Gospel. Did you catch the “miracle after the miracle?” After the potluck is over, and everyone has had enough to eat, Jesus tells the disciples to go back into the crowd and pick up the pieces that are leftover. In John’s Gospel, he tells them, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted” (6:12). That’s a very Jewish command. To these Galilean Jews, food was sacred, a gift from God. It was considered an insult to God to waste food—which may have something to say to us, in a land where so much food is thrown away. So Jesus instructs his disciples to canvass the whole area—probably several acres—and pick up the pieces that have been dropped, that have been laid aside, that have been put down when someone was full. So they each take a lunch pail and go do that. Now, one question that occurs to me is where did they get the extra lunch pails? If only one boy shared his lunch, where did the others come from? Perhaps from people who brought their lunch but refused to share with others, to give what they had to Jesus. No matter, Jesus uses their empty pails and when the disciples are done, they have exactly twelve lunch pails full of leftovers. Just enough for them to each have lunch for the next day. Not abundance. Perfect provision (Card 90-91). Just enough that they could live out what we pray so often: “Give us this day our daily bread.” This day. Not another day. This day. Perfect provision. So the question that really comes down to us when we face the fear of having “enough” is this: do we trust God to provide perfectly for us? Is God big enough to be able to take care of you and me?

Paul believed he was. You might remember Paul—he had a successful career ahead of him as a persecutor of the church, a destroyer of Christians, until a bright light from heaven literally knocked him off his horse and took away his eyesight. But then, he “saw” better than he ever had. His spiritual sight took over, and he realized Jesus was the savior, the messiah, the Son of God. When his physical sight was healed, Paul left behind a lucrative career to become a traveling preacher. And travel he did, all over Asia Minor and the Holy Land—by foot, by boat, and almost any other way you might imagine. He didn’t have a regular paycheck, and because of that he had to learn to rely on God and God’s people to take care of him. But he believed in the mission so much that when Jesus said, “What do you have, Paul? What’s in your hand?” he said, “Not much, just my life and my pen. I can preach and I can write letters.” And Jesus sent him out to do just that. In one of those letters, he writes to thank some dear friends for supporting him, for sending help when he needed it, even though they didn’t have to. He tells them, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (4:10-12). And then he tells us that secret, in a verse that’s often taken out of context. The secret is simply this: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength” (4:13). Because Jesus is the most important thing in Paul’s world, he’s content no matter what he has because he wants to be spent, used up, everything exhausted for the sake of God’s kingdom.

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, grew up in terrible poverty. His father, Samuel, was pastor of one of the lowest-paying parishes in England, and John even watched his father marched off to debtor’s prison once. He was determined to live better than that, until he met a chamber maid who came to clean his quarters at Oxford. She had nothing to protect herself from the cold winter except a thin gown, so Wesley gave her money to buy a coat. That changed him, and from that day on, he determined to give as much of his money away as he could. He found that, as a single man, he could live on 28 pounds a year; since he made 30 pounds that first year as a fellow at Oxford (about the equivalent of $6,000 in 2013 dollars), he gave away 2 pounds. And as his income increased, he continued to live on 28 pounds. At its highest, Wesley’s income from his books and other activities was a little over 1400 pounds (somewhere around $200,000 in modern currency), and he gave all but about 30 pounds away. It was so strange that the tax commissioners once wrote to him saying, “[We] cannot doubt but you have plate for which you have hitherto neglected to make an entry.” Surely, they thought, a man of his prominence must have some silver in his house that he should be paying taxes on. Wesley wrote back: “I have two silver spoons at London and two at Bristol. This is all the plate I have at present, and I shall not buy any more while so many round me want bread.” At his death, Wesley only had a few coins in his pocket and claimed to have never possessed more than 100 pounds at any one time. Wesley believed in the mission of Jesus Christ so much that he believed not just the first tenth belonged to God, but all of our income. Wesley believed a Christian should spend what they have only at God’s direction. When Jesus asked him, “What’s in your hand?” he gave it all.

Now, I’m not setting up Wesley as the example we must follow to the letter. He had no family to care for, and he did tell the early Methodists they must first take care of those obligations. But the question his example and Paul’s example put before us is this: how important to you is Jesus’ mission in the world and through this church? Is it important enough to give what’s in your hand to him for the sake of his kingdom? Do we believe what Paul wrote to the Philippians, that God will meet all our needs—not necessarily all our wants, but all our needs—in Christ Jesus (4:19)?

What’s in your hand? Now is the time to answer that question, and the rest of the question as well: what will you give? I’m going to ask the ushers to distribute the commitment cards at this time, and while they’re doing that, let me answer a question I often get asked. Why should I pledge? Why should I turn in a commitment card? Isn’t it enough that I give when I’m here? Let me give you two reasons why my family fills out a pledge card, and neither one of them have to do with me being the pastor. First of all, I want my church to know they can count on me. I wrote in the Friday e-note this week that not filling out a pledge card would be like your employer saying, “We’re going to pay you, but I’m not going to tell you how much.” It would be difficult-to-impossible for you to plan your household budget with that lack of certainty. The same is true in the church; from a practical standpoint, the church needs to know how much to budget for ministries in 2014, and we only know that by what you pledge. So that has to do with the church; the second reason has to do with me. Pledging is a way of holding myself accountable. When some purchase seems to be important to me, I am reminded that I made a commitment first to this place and to this mission. It causes me to stop and re-examine my priorities, and that causes me to remember that what we do here is not a passing thing. It’s a matter of reaching people for Jesus Christ and helping them, as Wesley said, “flee the wrath to come.” We're calling people to salvation, to being saved from eternal darkness, from separation from God. Isn’t that a mission worth giving all we can to? That’s why I pledge: to make a promise that helps the church and holds me accountable. My pledge says, “This is important, above all else.”

So, now, let me ask you to prayerfully consider what God is calling you give for the coming year—time, talents, treasure. What do you have that you can give for the sake of God’s kingdom?

What Jesus Never Said

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Ephesians 5:8-20; Matthew 9:18-26

November 3, 2013 • Portage First UMC

We live in a culture obsessed with and addicted to hurry. Hurry is not just a part of life anymore; hurry is life. You see it everywhere. Watch how people drive. Cars zip in and out of lanes on Willowcreek Road, and I’m not a slow driver by any stretch of the imagination, but recently I’ve had people honk at me on Central Avenue because I’m apparently not going the style of hurry they prefer. “Road rage” comes sometimes because the world is not moving fast enough for some people. I experienced that a bit myself this week when I had to go to Indianapolis for a meeting and found myself several times in the passing lane, caught behind two semis who were determined to drive 10 miles an hour below the speed limit and one was trying to pass the other. Have you ever felt that, where the frustration is just growing because the traffic isn’t moving fast enough for you?

Think about the language we use, and how it conveys our addiction to hurry. I’m going as fast as I can. Hope you have a speedy recovery. Hurry up. Get a move on. ASAP. Step on it. I’ve got to run. I don’t have much time; wait a minute. How soon can I expect it? Express delivery. I’m running out of time. I’m going to grab a bite—not a meal, a bite. And the whole idea of “fast food” contributes to our hurry addiction. One study indicates that some fast food restaurants get 65% or more of their income from the drive-through. The average American drive-through takes 3.16 minutes—and a recent article in USA Today calls that “too slow.” We are addicted to hurry. Think about the technology we use. The newest gadgets don’t often change much in terms of form factor or even in what they can do. The biggest changes come in terms of speed. This new computer is 3 times faster than last year’s model; this new smartphone will run 5 hours longer and 6 times faster than the previous one. And on it goes. We buy the newest and latest often because it’s faster. It enables us to hurry better.

Hurry also affects the way we treat each other because one of the first sacrifices we make to the god of hurry is patience. The way we communicate is affected; we’re impatient if someone doesn’t respond right away to our text, our e-mail, our Facebook message, or our Tweet. And it gets even worse when you talk about family communication. We rush past those we claim to love most. As one person has put it, “Proximity breeds familiarity; familiarity breeds assumption; assumption breeds impatience” (Jones, Addicted to Hurry, pg. 8).

Because of our addiction to hurry, a whole industry has developed around the concept of “time management.” No matter how much we might wish we had more time, we only get 24 hours a day. No more, no less. Even “falling backward” really doesn’t give us more time in the day. How do we spend the time we have? Research indicates that, in today’s world, on average, we spend 5,508 minutes a year talking on cell phones. In our lifetimes, we will spend 9 years watching television, we will work 122,400 hours and we will spend 2 weeks of our life kissing another person. A survey from 2012 revealed that women, on average, sleep about 15 minutes more than men each day and they get about half an hour less leisure time, while men work an hour longer than women and both genders spend more time now than they did ten years ago watching television. On top of that, Americans ages 18-64 report spending an average of 3.2 hours a day on social media—and women spend 40% more time than men do in such interactions.

We say there’s never enough time, and yet, you have to wonder. Every day has the same amount. Maybe the issue is how we choose to “spend” our time, because it is a resource, and it is a nonrenewable resource. We only get so much, and ultimately we don’t know how much we actually have. So in the midst of a culture addicted to hurry, to moving along faster, how do we decide the best ways to use the resource of time? This month, we’re asking the question not just from a cultural standpoint, but more importantly from a spiritual standpoint. We’re asking, “What’s in your hand,” and looking at the resources we have—time, talents, and treasure—and how we can best use those for the sake of the kingdom of God. That’s not often a question we ask when it comes to our time, is it? More often, we “fit God in” if we have…time. Or, stated more clearly, if we have leftover time. Are we in such a hurry that we don’t make time to connect with God? Very often, the answer is “yes.”

There’s a marvelous story in the Gospel of Matthew about two healings  Jesus did. First, he gets a request from a synagogue leader. Mark and Luke tell us his name—Jairus—and we know that his daughter was sick. In fact, she’s dying, and like any good father, he’s desperate to do something. He’s heard about this miracle worker who is in the area, and when the girl dies, while the rest of his family prepares for the funeral by hiring professional mourners (as was the custom in those days), Jairus goes to find Jesus. “Please, Jesus, come. If you just touch her, I know she will live” (9:18). Jesus, who has been having dinner at Matthew’s house, gets up without saying a word and goes with Jairus (cf. Card, Matthew: The Gospel of Identity, pg. 92).

As always seems to be the case with Jesus, there is a crowd around, and as he makes his way to Jairus’ house, one woman edges her way up to touch him. She is unclean, which means she shouldn’t even be there. She’s not supposed to be anywhere around other people, because if they touch her, they’ll become unclean, too. And what that means is that she can’t worship, she can’t fellowship, she’s not really part of the community. For twelve years—which is how long she’s had this bleeding disease—she has been an outsider. And yet, she, too, has heard about Jesus, and she's got this idea that if she can just touch the edge of his clothing—the fringe of his prayer shawl—she will be healed. If she can just get close enough. And though Matthew sort of tells the story in a hurry, Luke tells us (8:43-48) that’s just what she did. Immediately as she touched the hem of his robe, she was healed. But it wasn’t because of the shawl Jesus was wearing. In fact, Jesus tells her, “Your faith has healed you” (9:22). Not her faith in the garment, or even her faith in faith. It was her faith in Jesus that healed her. Then Jesus goes on and follows Jairus the rest of the way to his house, where he brings the little girl back to life.

Now, what I want us to notice for our purpose this morning is what Jesus didn’t do and what Jesus didn’t say. Jesus only had three years to accomplish everything he needed to accomplish in order to save the world. He had disciples to teach, people to reach out to, sermons to preach. He had very limited time from when he began his ministry to when he was crucified and resurrected. Even assuming a full three years—which is by no means certain—that’s only 1,095 days Jesus had to do all that he came to do. Why would he bother with a little girl who is already dead? And, beyond that, why would he bother with a woman who touched his garment? The Gospels all tell us he took time out to speak to her, to encourage her. He didn’t need to; the woman was healed. She got what she wanted. Well, we might say, maybe he wasn’t in a hurry all that much. After all, the little girl was already dead. And yet, he lived in a culture that believed there was a certain amount of time you had to bring back the dead. Three days—after that, the spirit had departed this world and the body couldn't be brought back to life. Do you remember how long Jesus waited before he went to raise his friend Lazarus from the dead? Four days (cf. John 11:17), just to make the point that he really was in control of life and death. So even if Jesus isn’t in a hurry here—again, an assumption that isn’t certain—Jairus had to be in a bit of a hurry. Can you see him when Jesus stops to talk to the woman? “Come on, Jesus, we’ve got to go. Let’s keep moving. Forget about her—we have to take care of my daughter!” If I were Jairus, I know that’s how I’d be feeling. “Let’s move it, Jesus!” But Jesus doesn’t do that. Jesus takes the time he needs with the woman. In fact, there is never an occasion in the Gospels where Jesus tells someone, “I’m too busy for you. Come back later. I can’t begin to deal with you today.” Jesus never said, “I’m too busy.” Jesus was always fully present with whomever needed him at that moment.

How often do we tell people we’re too busy? Maybe we don’t use the words (maybe we do). Maybe just through our actions we let our kids or our spouse know that we’re “too busy” to pay attention to them. Now, this is a not a sermon to try to get you or me to do more. That’s not the point at all. Here’s the point: we only have so much time. It is a limited resource, and what we do with what we have demonstrates what our priorities are. All too often, even Christian people not only let our kids or grandkids or spouse know we’re too busy for them, we also let God know that. The message this morning is not about trying to do more. The message this morning is really learning to pray the words of Psalm 90: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (90:12). Or, as Paul put it in this morning’s reading, “Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil” (5:15-16).

When I read that, I begin to feel a little bit guilty for those times when I stop and attempt to do nothing, to rest. I hear Bishop Woodie White reading John Wesley’s words at my ordination: “Do not be triflingly employed.” And those of us who grew up in this hurry, hurry, hurry culture are well-trained to not “waste time.” But that’s not what Paul is saying here. The Greek language has two words for time. There is “chronos,” which refers to seconds, minutes, hours—the time that is measured by a clock. You can hear how it’s the root of our word “chronology.” And then there is “kairos,” which is the word Paul uses here in Ephesians. Kairos has to do with “the right moment,” the prime opportunity to do something. It’s a matter of “the right season,” sort like you don’t plant crops in January. You plant them when they will most likely grow. The Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes puts it this way: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Paul is saying we need to be discerning, knowing what “time” it is, what “season” we are in. Are we paying attention, he wonders, and figuring out what is most important to do right now, in this place. The “days are evil,” Paul says, so we must live as people who stand against that evil, as children of light (5:8). Maybe it’s not a matter of needing more time. Maybe it’s a matter of being better stewards of the time we have, of the days we have been given.

The next few verses in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, then, aren’t about random commands or advice. It’s all about making the most of this season of life. Find out what pleases God, and to the best of your ability, do God’s will. Don’t get drunk, he says, which for Paul in this setting is simply an example of wasting your life, wasting the gift of time you have been given. So don’t do that, he says. Instead, be filled with the Spirit—which is another way of saying we should be connected to what God is up to. Worship—sing hymns, songs and spiritual songs. And be thankful. These are the sorts of things, according to Paul, that we should be about, living God’s kingdom life in the world (cf. Dunnam, Communicator’s Commentary: Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Philemon, pg. 224), shining a light to those around us. It’s a different way of living in the midst of a dark culture, a different way of seeing life, of living life: grabbing ahold of the “kairos” moment and making the most of it.

Several years ago, in a dollar book sale, I picked up a copy of a journal, really, by Catholic priest Henri Nouwen. Nouwen was well known for many books, including perhaps his most famous, The Wounded Healer, but even more astounding was when this priest who taught at Harvard gave up that prestigious position to work with mentally and physically handicapped persons at a community called L’Arche in Toronto, Canada. One year, Nouwen was given a sabbatical. A whole year during which his goal was to travel, connect with friends, and do some writing. The journal he kept during that time became this book, A Sabbatical Journey. So I bought it for a dollar, and then put it on my shelf and sort of forgot about it. Last year, I came across it again, realized I hadn’t read it, and so I began to page through it. What struck me hard was how difficult it was for Nouwen to disconnect. Several times in the year, he either wanted to or actually did go back to L’Arche, to his place of work. It was also hard for him to stay focused, even though he relished the unhurried time he had with so many friends. The other thing that struck me hard was the historical fact that Nouwen, shortly after returning to work from his sabbatical, died of a heart attack. Sabbatical Journey became his final work. His story reminded me again of the fragility of life, and of taking advantage of the “kairos” moment, of making the most of every opportunity.

Sometimes, very often perhaps, in our hurry, hurry, hurry culture—we miss the “kairos” moment. I know I do, way too often. We miss what we should be doing while we’re pursuing what we think we ought to do. But, at the same time, we don’t know how to slow down and be better stewards of the time God has given us. Here’s the hard truth, whether we accept it or not: we have the power to un-choose hurry. We really do. I learned that the hard way on a mountain in Georgia. Our family was at Stone Mountain, which is basically what it sounds like, a big, tall outcropping of rock that has a park built up around it. And one of the activities we decided on was walking up the mountain. There is a path along the easiest slope, so we started out, in the morning, water bottles in hand, and we were headed to the top. We passed lots of folks, and were feeling pretty good about ourselves—we were making great time. The kids, especially. They did, in fact, beat me to the top by a whole lot because there was one turn, about 2/3 of the way up, where the incline suddenly took a steeper turn. I know I’m not in the best of shape, but I’m in better shape than some, and so I believed I could keep up the same pace I had been keeping. The mountain, however, had other ideas, and I pretty quickly learned that I couldn’t hurry up the mountain. I had to sit down—or lay down—and rest or I wasn’t going to make it at all. Life is like that sometimes, and when difficult things come into our lives, we just try to charge ahead. I’m going up the mountain, one way or the other! Life has a way of slowing us down, or bringing us at least to the point where we have to un-choose hurry. The biggest enemy we have as we move toward making the most of every opportunity is not our boss, not our calendars, not even the culture. Our biggest enemy is ourselves.

So how do we choose to un-hurry? Very quickly this morning, there are three things we can actively do (or attempt) that will slow us down and help us to un-hurry our lives, to become better stewards of the time we have been given. You can think of it in terms of eyes, ears and mind. The first thing is to see slowly. By that I mean we look at things longer and choose to see fewer things. In our hurried world, we try to see everything and we end up seeing nothing. What if we took some moments to look at something beautiful, something moving, something spectacular? A couple of months ago, Cathy and I were out for a walk at the Lakeshore Park late in the evening, and the sun was just starting to drop behind the horizon as we were ready to leave. We were headed up the hill toward our car when I stopped, for some reason, and turned around. Rather than hurry out (and beat the crowd), we walked down to the end of the sidewalk and, silently, watched the whole time as the sun slipped below the horizon. It was absolutely wonderful, and I can’t begin to describe what that did for my soul as well—taking the time, making the most of the opportunity. Now, that’s a simple example, but seeing slowly is one way we can choose to un-hurry.

Another way is by real listening—a lost art in our hurry culture. We hear music in the background but we don’t listen to what it’s saying. We hear the wind blowing but we don’t take time to appreciate the natural world. And we come to church to hear the word of the Lord, but they say most sermons never get more than about 18 inches past the pulpit because we aren’t really listening. You may not be listening now! Words are perhaps the hardest thing for us to listen to because we hear and read so many and we use them so casually. Real listening requires patience and hard work as we seek to tune out everything else around us. In Congregational Care, we spend a whole session just talking about listening because it’s so important. We have so much noise that our ears need to be retuned to listen for what is most important.

The third piece has to do with our mind: deep thinking. That means we have a searching soul, continually on the lookout for new understanding and insight, never afraid to ask questions. Some people in the Christian tradition actively discourage questions, and I think that’s dangerous. Our faith is not so fragile nor is God so weak that neither can stand up to questions. We may not find clear-cut answers, but I believe God is big enough to handle our questioning. As I get older, I probably have more questions than I’ve ever had about faith and the world and God, and yet at the same time, I’m more certain than I’ve ever been about my faith and God. Deep thinkers refuse to settle for easy answers, but thinking deeply requires time. We have to slow down, un-hurry, so that we can honestly reflect, and that’s hard to do. We live in a world that would rather settle for quick answers than good ones. Look at the popularity of sites like Wikipedia and others. We do a quick Google search on anything and then accept what’s there as truth. If it’s on the internet, it must be true, right? Or maybe not. Deep thinkers will look beyond quick answers and choose to un-hurry so that our faith can adequately respond to the issues of our world.

In reality, when Paul says we should “make the most of every opportunity,” he’s talking about our priorities. What we do with the time we have shows what is most important to us. We can say, “Jesus is the most important thing in my life,” but if we never spend time with him, or if we only worship when we have nothing better to do, or we never get involved with a study group, or we never pray, or we wait to read our Bible until everything else is done (if then), what does that say about our priorities? I’ve had to ask myself that question very recently. I get up every morning to get the kids up for school, and then I sit down on the living room couch, and my routine used to be to check e-mail first, then check Facebook (to see what you all have been up to while I slept), and then I’d get around to reading my Bible and my Disciple assignment if there wasn’t anything else pulling at my attention. And one morning, I happened to get quiet enough that God could whisper to me, “What do your kids see as the most important thing that you turn to it first in the morning?” Uh…well, God, you’re in there somewhere. So now I leave the e-mail and the Facebook until later, and I’m making an attempt to leave those things alone as well in the evenings when we’re home as a family, because I want my family to know that Scripture is important to me, and that they are important to me. Talk about a season—we’re dealing with the reality that Christopher is a senior! Where did those years go? We’re only a family of four for a season, a “kairos” moment. So what does your use of time say about your priorities?

The reality is this: time is a spiritual resource that is too often squandered. I want to challenge you this week to do a time inventory. Don’t make any changes in your schedule this week. Just map out how you spend your time, in general terms. Maybe at the end of the day, jot down something like, “8 hours at work, 2 hours vegging in front of the TV, 1 hour at the dinner table…” and so on. Then, at the end of the week, total it up, and you’ll see what your priorities are. Now, if you have a job outside the home, that’s probably going to be the biggest block of time. So set that aside; that’s a given. In the time that belongs to you, what are your priorities? How are you making the most of every opportunity? In what areas are you saying things that Jesus never said: “I’m too busy”? This will require some hard questions of yourself: if my faith is important, what kind of time am I investing in developing my faith and sharing that faith with others? When is the last time took a moment to invite someone to come to church with me? Do others even know I am a Christian, or that I attend Portage First? If my family is a priority, why don’t they show up on my time usage more often? These are hard questions, but again, time is a resource given to us by God, so how are we being good stewards of what we have?

One more word: God sets before us opportunities, and sometimes we see them and sometimes we miss them. I don’t believe that if we miss them, we’re done. God is bigger than that. God works in and through our lives. I believe there are many times, in my own life, where I’ve missed an opportunity that, looking back, I can see God placed right in front of me. But I can spend my time looking back and regretting that missed opportunity, or I can move ahead and seek to become more aware of what God might put in front of me in the days, months and years to come, by his grace. When we spend all of our time regretting the missed opportunities in the past, we’re unable to the make the most of the opportunities we have yet ahead. So the question for us is this: from this moment on, what will you do with the time God gives you? How will you choose to un-hurry and instead live out your real priorities? Or, as Mike is going to sing, what will you do with the time you have left?

The Most Powerful Position

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Luke 12:42-46

October 27, 2013 • Portage First UMC

My Uncle Carl could fix anything. If something was broken, my Dad and I would push, pull or wheel it down to Uncle Carl’s garage, tell him what wasn’t working, and leave it with him. In a few days, he’d come down the street, and whatever we had left with him would be fixed. Now, Uncle Carl had some natural “fix-it” abilities, but he also had a great garage. His garage was a wonderland that, as a kid, I always wanted to explore. Two stories—well, really, a ground level and a mezzanine (though I doubt Uncle Carl ever used the word “mezzanine”), and it was crammed full of junk. You see, Uncle Carl would go to auctions all over the area, and he’d buy that last box of stuff no one else wanted, the mystery box, the one that had bits and pieces of this and that. And he would bring it home, clean it up, and file all the stuff away, because some day, my Dad and I would likely come down the road with something that needed fixing and the part he would need just might be in that box somewhere. Uncle Carl’s garage was packed full of resources—not junk, resources—and whenever someone asked him, he was more than willing to give of what he had in order to help. When Uncle Carl died, we not only lost our master repairman—we also lost access to all the treasures in his garage!

Everyone needs an Uncle Carl in their life, someone you can turn to to help fix things when life gets broken. Uncle Carl never wanted anything for the work he did. Actually, it was a joy for him because he loved tinkering around in his garage. And we weren’t the only ones who brought broken things to him; he was the master repairman of Sedalia because he was simply able and willing to use what he had in order to help someone else. He did what he could to help others—often my family—along the way. We could all use an Uncle Carl in our lives.

Unfortunately, the Uncle Carls often get overlooked because, as we discussed a few weeks ago, those we look up to, those we talk about, those we—dare we say—idolize are the powerful, the important, the significant. We want the attention of the boss, or the CEO, or the Bishop. We admire power and influence. We aspire to rise to such heights. Soon after I became a pastor, I remember people asking me if I ever wanted to be a District Superintendent, or if I wanted to be a Bishop. (The answer, by the way, is “no.”) We’re told from early on to “aim for the top,” to aspire to be the one who makes the decisions, who has the influence, who has the power. But the way of power way is not the way of Jesus. When Jesus talks about those who follow him, the most common image is not of the rich and powerful, but of one who serves, who gives of what he has for the sake of others. In fact, in the New Testament, there is no word used more frequently to describe a believer in Jesus then “slave.”

Paul knew that. Paul taught that, and he sought to live that out as much as possible. You may remember from our discussion a couple of weeks ago that Paul had a difficult relationship with the Corinthian church. Scholars think he may have written as many as four letters to them, only two of which are preserved in the Bible. One of the letters that seems to have been lost is what is called the “severe letter,” written after a very painful visit (2 Corinthians 2:1-4) and even though our passage this morning happens chronologically before that, it does give us a sense of the love and the struggle Paul had with the Corinthians. Yes, Paul loved these people. He had started this church in the important city of Corinth some twenty years after Jesus’ resurrection (cf. Green, To Corinth With Love, pg. 9, 11), but when he left, problems quickly developed. Struggle. There was gross immorality, for one thing, and there were also these teachers who came in and sought to discredit Paul. He calls them “super-apostles” (2 Corinthians 11:5), and these were folks who claimed to have special knowledge or experience or credentials that put them ahead of Paul, made them spiritually superior to Paul. Such knowledge supposedly made them more important or more powerful than Paul. It was a struggle, but it was a struggle with love. Paul loved them so much he wasn’t willing to just give up on them.

The Corinthians seemed to have constantly struggled over leadership, whose teaching they should follow. Some followed Paul. Some followed Apollos, another lesser-known preacher. Some followed Peter. And some arrogantly said, “We just follow Jesus” (1:10-17), not in a good way, but in an attempt to claim spiritual superiority. (That same struggle still exists in the church today, by the way!) And so Paul finds it important to point them back to the actual example of Jesus. After all, Paul says, I didn’t die for you. “I appeal to you, brothers and sisters,” he writes, “in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you” (1:10). I wonder how much his heart would break if he were to see the state of the Christian faith today, shattered into thousands of pieces (or denominations) that only rarely agree with each other or get along. Perhaps some of the reason we’re ignored in the world at large is because we can’t even get along with each other.

So, then, in this letter, Paul uses four words to describe himself and those with him: servants, fellow workers, assistants, and stewards. Let’s look at each of these, but realize that Paul doesn’t mean to have clear boundaries between each one. They’re all really different facets of the same job description, different sides of the same story. It’s not really four different categories. So in 3:5, Paul asks, “What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe.” Some Bibles translate that as “ministers,” but the word he uses actually means “errand boy,” someone that those in power give very little thought to until they need something from them. It’s hard to think of Paul as an “errand boy,” but that’s part of the image he had for himself. He was simply a servant assigned by God, sent by God to do a task: to preach the good news. That’s not meant to downgrade the task or the one who does the task. It’s important; it’s vital. In fact, the image he uses is of planting a seed. He planted, he says, and Apollos watered, but neither one of them could make the seed grow. Only God could do that. They have done they task assigned to them; they have fulfilled their purpose. But ultimately, the results are up to God because he’s the one they serve—not the church, not even the Corinthians. They serve God.

That leads to the second image he uses in 3:9: “We are co-workers in God’s service.” Fellow workers. Ones who work alongside each other to accomplish a greater task. “Co-workers” implies an equality. One task is not greater than another. Just think about that in terms of the church today. People come here and maybe see me up front or the choir/worship team/praise team leading the music, and sometimes I hear, “Well, I could never do that. I can’t get up in front of people. I can’t do the important things.” But, you know what? If there weren’t people greeting, people making the coffee, people running the sound and video, people cleaning up after every service, or any other number of countless tasks that happen each and every week—what we do here on Sunday morning would simply not be possible. We are co-workers together for the sake of Jesus, our Master and Lord. We are servants and fellow laborers. Every task is important; every task is necessary. There are no “super-apostles,” Paul says.

Then, in chapter four, which we read the first part of this morning, Paul gives two more words, two additional images. “This, then, is how you ought to regard us: as servants of Christ” (4:1). Even though it reads the same in the English, it’s a different word in the Greek from what he said in chapter 3. It could be translated as “assistants.” We are “assistants” of Christ. The original word referred to a physician’s assistant, or to one who helps the priest—an assistant in the Temple in Jerusalem. It also was used to describe a rower on a large boat, as if Jesus is giving the direction and we are the ones who help steer the boat to the place it needs to go (cf. Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 36). This is someone’s “right hand person,” the one who is ready to do whatever is asked and who has obtained the trust of the head, of the master—again, in this case, Jesus. Paul is not lifting himself up above others. We are all Christ’s assistants. Those who are committed to following him are his assistants that he trusts to call upon at any moment to help him in the world.

And, as Christ’s assistants, Paul says he is and we are “entrusted with the mysteries God has revealed” (4:1). The better translation there would be: we are “stewards” of what God has revealed (cf. Bailey, Paul Through Mediterranean Eyes, pg. 142). The word Paul uses originally referred to a household manager, one who was responsible for the whole household. This person controlled the staff, issued the supplies, did all the administration, and enjoyed a great amount of independence, probably more than other slaves in the household. But he was still a slave. The reason he had so much independence is because of one trait that had to be present for someone to become a steward in a first century household: faithfulness. Biblical languages have no word for “honesty.” Honesty was a Roman concept, introduced into a culture that was ripe with political corruption. What the ancient Hebrews and early Christians valued above everything else was faithfulness. Was the servant faithful to serve the master? Is the Christian faithful to serve Jesus? Notice Paul doesn’t talk about success, either. We talk a lot about it; Paul doesn’t. The Bible doesn’t. The Bible talks about faithfulness. In fact, in Luke 12, Jesus equates wisdom with faithfulness as he describes the “faithful and wise steward.” He says the one who is faithful to the master will receive a reward when the master returns, and he contrasts that with a servant who gives up on believing that the master will ever return, who begins to beat the other servants, abusing his power. That servant will also receive the consequences of his actions, and those consequences aren’t good. It’s faithfulness that is most needed to be a steward of what God has given us.

Paul’s clear call to us is toward faithfulness, toward being good stewards, good managers of what God has given us. But there’s one other thing I want us to hear from Paul before we think about the implications of what he tells us in this chapter, and that’s who gets to judge. There are a lot of ways we are judged in our world. Sometimes we are judged by others, even our fellow workers, or at least those in the world around us. Paul was quite blunt to the Corinthians. He knew some had been passing judgment on his ministry, on his ability to be a good steward, and so he says, “I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court” (4:3). Now, that’s not saying we should ignore all criticism that comes our way, or any honest evaluation. But we know whom we can trust with that sort of activity and who we can’t. We know who will give us life-giving correction and who won’t (cf. Groeschel, Soul Detox, pg. 32). We need to listen to honest evaluation, because there is most likely some truth in that which will help. None of us are above that. But, Paul says, that’s not the ultimate standard by which he lives his life. He isn’t living to make every Corinthian happy. He isn’t even living to fulfill all of their desires and wishes. He is Christ’s steward.

Another source of judgment comes from within. We judge ourselves. In Paul’s day, one of the basic Greek ethical guidelines was to “know yourself” (Barclay 37). But Paul also knows we can judge ourselves much too harshly. Centuries before Paul, the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” (17:9). It’s also true, however, that no one on earth knows better than we do whether or not we have been faithful. And yet, as Pastor Craig Groeschel puts it, “We have an unlimited capacity to deceive ourselves” (27). There are times we need to engage in what Groeschel calls “ruthless self-examination.” That’s different than judgment, and so Paul says, “I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent” (4:3-4).

No, Paul says, there is only one judgment that matters. There is only one who knows the true extent of our faithfulness, and that is because he is the master. He is the one we serve. He is the one who has given us the commands, and so only he can fully judge that faithfulness. “It is the Lord who judges me,” Paul says (4:4), and if I am faithful to him, that’s all that really matters. If I am a good steward of the tasks and the message and the gospel he has given me, then I expect to hear one day, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (cf. Matthew 25:21, 23). “At that time,” he says, “each will receive their praise from God” (4:5). So, taking all of that together, the call for the follower of Jesus is to be a servant, a co-worker, an assistant, and a faithful steward. In other words, from the Bible’s viewpoint, from the Christian faith’s viewpoint, the most powerful position in the world is not the wealthy: Donald Trump or Bill Gates. The most powerful position in the world is not the politically powerful: the president or the members of Congress or even the CEO of your company. The most powerful position in the world is not the one who trades the stocks, not the one who has the most toys, not the one who drives the fastest car or sings that hit song. The most powerful position in the world is the good and faithful steward, the one who is willing to serve at God’s command, the one who uses what they have for the sake of God’s kingdom.

I said earlier we all need an Uncle Carl in our lives, but in reality, we all need to be Uncle Carl—not in terms of fixing things, necessarily, but in terms of being willing to use whatever we have for the sake of our master and for those in need. You all did that just a couple of weeks ago, on our Faith in Action Sunday. 162 of you came that day, ready to work and serve, and as a result of just a couple of hours of work, here’s what you did. You sang to many nursing home residents and visited with them, bringing joy into what is often a joyless and sometimes depressing place. You made 60 scarves that will be distributed through our school system to keep kids warm this winter—and, from the weather we’ve had this past week, I think those were made just in the nick of time! You wrote and sent over a hundred cards to remind people that they are being prayed for and that they are loved in Jesus’ name. You donated 5,220 pounds of food to the Portage Township Food Pantry, and many of you spent time sorting that food, packing it up, loading it in your cars and driving it over to the pantry, where you also carried it in. How many families will eat in the next few weeks because of your generosity and your time?

There’s more. Some of you worked on dresses made out of pillowcases for children in Guatemala and Haiti, children for whom a dress like that may be the nicest thing they will ever own. Some of you really got dirty and replaced a door on a mobile home in the community, allowing for a single mother with disabilities to enjoy a much warmer winter and to be able to cut down on heating costs. Several others of you went and tore the shingles off a roof to prepare it for replacement. Some of the rest of you prayed for our country, for our community, and for families who are grieving. You walked and you prayed. And some others prepared a luncheon that fed those who went out to work—and I know I was hungry when I got back, so thank you! But, now, just think about that. Together, just a little over half of our usual worshipping congregation spent just a couple of hours and look how much was accomplished in the name of Jesus in that short time! Think what could happen if we dedicate ourselves to being full-time faithful stewards of the all that God has given us. What might happen in our community and in our world? What might happen if we open our hands and allow God to use what is there for the sake of his kingdom and for the glory of his name?

For the next three weeks, that’s the question we’re going to be asking. The Bible talks about three main resources we have that we can employ in the service of Jesus Christ and his kingdom: our time, our talents (or gifts) and our treasure. So, for the next three weeks, we’re going to be asking a simple question: what’s in your hand? And we’re asking it that way because of our tendency to grasp onto those things that we think we own. We grab onto our time, our talents, our treasure, and we hold tight. Sometimes we do to God what I would often do to the kids when they were younger. I would put a piece of candy in my hand, clench both hands into fists, and then ask the kids to guess which hand the candy was in. If they could guess the hand, they would get the candy. Now, of course, they were going to get it anyway, but we treat God like that. Here’s what I have, God. If you can guess which hand it’s in, you can have it. The problem with that is two-fold. One, we tend to switch hands and try to keep what we have hidden from God. But beyond that, when our hands our clenched—either in reality or metaphorically—we can’t receive anything. Whatever blessing God might want to give us, we can’t receive because we’re so clenched up, holding so tight onto what we already have. And very often, because we won’t let go, we miss God’s very best for us.

Five-year-old Jenny saw a pearl necklace at a dime store one day and asked her mom to buy it for her. Her mom told her she could do some extra chores and earn the money to buy it if she wanted. It didn’t cost that much, because the pearls were fake. But Jenny wanted it and so when she got home, she broke open her piggy bank, did some lawn work and saved her birthday money until finally she could buy the necklace. And when she got it, she was very proud of it. She wore it everywhere, even to bed at night.

Every night, Jenny’s dad would read a story to her, and then one night, after the story, he asked Jenny, “Do you love me?” “Yes, Daddy, you know I love you,” she said. “Then give me your pearls,” her dad said. Jenny teared up a bit. “No, Daddy, not my pearls. You can have my favorite stuffed horse, the one with the pink tail, but not my pearls. Anything but that.” Her dad leaned over and kissed her forehead. “That’s okay, honey. Sleep well, I love you.” About a week later, Jenny’s dad repeated the same request after story time. And again, Jenny held back. “No, Daddy, not my pearls. How about my baby doll, you know the one that I got for my birthday. You can even have the blanket that goes with her.” Daddy smiled. “That’s okay, honey, you sleep well. I love you.” A few nights later, when Jenny’s dad came into her room to read a story, Jenny was sitting cross-legged on her bed, with tears in her eyes. “What is it, Jenny?” her dad asked. “What’s wrong?” Without saying anything, Jenny held up her pearls. “You can have my pearls, Daddy.” Now it was Dad’s turn to tear up, as he took the fake pearls from her with one hand, and with the other hand, he pulled out of his pocket a blue velvet box. Inside the box was a genuine pearl necklace, something he had picked out just for Jenny several weeks before. He had the real pearls all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up her fake pearls in order to have the real thing.

How often do we pass up the good things God wants to give us—the really real things—because we’re so busy holding onto what we already have? Remember, you can’t receive anything if your hands remain clenched. Time, talents, and treasure—God has given us only a limited amount of each, so the question really is: what’s in your hand, and how will you use it for God’s sake? Remember, Paul reminds us that we are not owners. We are stewards. Everything we have came from God; it doesn’t belong to us in the first place. We think it does. We think we have earned it, earned everything we have and we should be able to use it the way we want to. But what would we have been able to earn had God not given us life, had God not given us talents and abilities? That’s why, just a few verses down from what we read this morning, Paul says, “What did you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?” (4:7).

Now, I realize underneath all of this is the Biblical viewpoint that there are only two choices. You can describe them as believer or nonbeliever, follower of self or follower of Jesus, the way of the super-apostles or the way of the servant, clenched hands or open hands. But here’s Paul’s point: if you want to follow Jesus fully, not just in name only, you have to live the way he showed us to live. Jesus knelt at the feet of those he loved and washed their dirty, stinking feet. He served, and he told us to do likewise (John 13:15). If he is our master, then he owns our stuff—he owns us. What we have is not our own. So the question we’re going to wrestle with in the next few weeks is this: what do we have that God can use? In what ways can our time, talents, and treasure be used in service to Christ rather than simply in service to ourselves?

As we enter into this time, I know I need to learn to unclench my hands, and the way we do that is through worship, praise, and specifically, through thanksgiving—not the holiday, necessarily, but the practice of giving thanks to God for everything. Some of us probably do at least a quick prayer before our meals to give thanks, but how much of our time with God, our prayer time, involves saying “thank you” for all that we have been given? If you’re like me, not much, though our founder, John Wesley, believed that true prayer is thanksgiving, that you can’t separate giving thanks from what he called true prayer. I tend to rush into the things I want to ask for. So this month, I’m going to unclench my hands by giving thanks. My plan is to use Facebook to do this, to post something different every day that I am thankful for through the month of November. You might choose to do the same, or you could keep a list and share it with a friend or a family member. I read this week about a woman who kept a notebook by her bed and every night, before she went to sleep, she would write down five things that happened that day that were “either fun or delicious or uplifting or entertaining.” She said that, as she made that the last thing she did each day, she began to see every day as a gift rather than as a curse (Smith, Hidden in Christ, pg. 161-162). So whatever other way you can think of, find a way to demonstrate thankfulness, because as we begin to give thanks on a regular basis, we will find our hearts changed and our hands begin to unclench, because we’ll be reminded how much we have that God has given us. Now, again, I don’t know about you, but I need a place to start, and so this morning, we’re going to give you a card on the way out that has a printed prayer I want to encourage you to use for the next month to begin your prayer time. It’s an adapted version of John Wesley’s thanksgiving prayer, so I invite you to allow this prayer to direct and challenge and encourage your own practice of thankfulness, of becoming more and more a steward of God’s good gifts. Because the most powerful position is kneeling before God as we serve out of gratitude.

Wesley's Thanksgiving Prayer (adapted)

Eternal and merciful Father, I give you humble thanks for all the blessings which you have given me because of your mercy and your love. They are poured down around me, and I don’t even realize it. Increase my thankfulness, I pray. Amen.

Perfect Weakness

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

2 Corinthians 12:1-10; John 19:28-30

October 6, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

Well, it happened as we were told it might. Tuesday morning, we all woke up to find out that the government had shut down. To be honest, I couldn’t tell that much of a difference! But the news from overnight was that Democrats and Republicans had failed to come to a compromise on a new budget, were continuing to argue over several issues, and therefore, the government did not have funding to operate. Now, what that meant is that many federal workers were suddenly without a job—not Congress or the President, mind you. They will still get paid. But people who work at the Washington Zoo, for instance, were sent home. NASA was mostly closed, as were many research projects and Congressional perks like the barber shop, dining room and shoe shine. Even our own Portage Lakefront was closed because it’s owned by the National Parks System. All of this is because there’s an ongoing power struggle, and despite the media’s attempt to blame one side or the other, most of us recognize that there is plenty of blame to go around on both sides. Neither side wants to compromise their position in any way, and so because each side wants to be seen as the side with power, we are left with a mess. Power does that. We have probably all heard the famous statement from Lord Acton, a British politician of the late 1800’s, who wrote to Bishop Michael Creighton, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

Now, it’s easy to point fingers, especially this week, at the politicians and the business leaders and all those we think of as having “power.” But we all want power in one form or another. A child who throws a tantrum because he didn’t get his way wants power. An adult who bullies their way through a situation wants power. A spouse who demands that everything be done her way wants power. “We want to drive fast and get mad at cars blocking the lane. We want a promotion and don’t get it and begin hating on the person who did get it. We want to be married and get angry at God because we’re still single. And we especially want to beat out everybody else for the prizes in life” (Wilson, Empty Promises, pg. 68). C. S. Lewis put it this way: “What we call ambition usually means the wish to be more conspicuous or more successful than someone else” (qtd. in Wilson 68). Power is a sin of comparison, and it becomes an idol when we insist on having to be the absolute best every time. It’s not enough to have a good position at work; we have to have the best position. It’s not enough to be a good mom; we have to be super mom. It’s not enough to be a good pastor; we have to be the best pastor. It’s not enough to be on the road making progress toward our destination; we have to be out in front, and woe to the person who gets in front of us or cuts us off in traffic! After all, in every situation, we are more deserving than anyone else. And on it goes. Power tends to corrupt, and that’s why it’s one of the most seductive idols on the market today.

This morning, we’re wrapping up our series of sermons on “Empty Promises.” Over these last six weeks, we’ve been looking at the various idols that confront us every day: things like success and achievement, affirmation and approval, money, beauty and appearance. But there is probably no more potent or addictive idol than power, the desire to have control over others or over situations, the desire to be in charge. Lord Acton was right—power corrupts, for it promises us that we can be “god” ourselves. The idol of power was at the heart of the first sin in the Bible. Adam and Eve were in a perfect garden, and they were given one, only one, prohibition: don’t eat from the tree in the center of the garden. Then along comes the serpent, who tells them that if they eat from that tree, they will become like God, knowing good and evil. In other words, they would have power, maybe even power over God. It’s too tempting, too alluring to resist (Genesis 3:1-7). They eat—and the history of the human race from that moment on has been one of grasping for power and control.

The Apostle Paul certainly understood power, for he lived in a world where people spent a lot of time grasping and straining for power. The Roman Empire was in a period of flux when Paul lived, and everyone wanted to be on the emperor’s “friends” list. And that attitude carried over into the church, because after all, these folks were brand new to the whole idea of Christianity. Not that long ago, many if not most of them had been a huge part of this power-driven society. When they became Christians, like many of us, they just brought their old habits into the church. And so Paul writes this letter to the church in Corinth to address several issues, including that of power. Paul has had a difficult relationship with the Corinthian church, brought on at least in large part by some “false teachers” who had tried to discredit him. They said he was “timid” when he was preaching, that he was only “bold” when he was away (2 Corinthians 10:1). They said he was “unimpressive” when he preached, and that his speaking “amounted to nothing” (10:10). Then, it seems, they would boast about their own spiritual experiences, to prove that they and their teaching were superior to Paul. They were “super-apostles,” super spiritual, people whom God had especially blessed (11:5). They would say these things in such a way that “ordinary” Christians would be in awe of them, would look up to them in some way (Wright, Paul for Everyone: 2 Corinthians, pg. 131). It’s a power struggle, pure and simple. The super-apostles are determined to be in charge of the church, and they believe they have to discredit Paul to attain that.

So Paul writes to the Corinthians, but surprisingly he doesn’t insist on his own power. In fact, while he does remind them of his credentials, he says, “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (11:30). And then, in chapter 12 which we read the first part of this morning, he reminds them there is nothing to be gained by boasting (12:1). In the church, as Christians, boasting does not get us anywhere, and to explain or demonstrate why, Paul tells a strange story. “I know a man in Christ,” he says, “who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven…And I know that this man…was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell. I will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself” (12:2-5). Now, scholars pretty much agree across the board that this “man” Paul is talking about is, in fact, himself, and he’s recounting an experience he had fourteen years before but apparently has never told anyone about until now. In fact, this is the only time he ever talks about any sort of vision (Hafemann, NIV Application Commentary: 2 Corinthians, pg. 457). And he’s frustratingly sparse on details; in fact, he says he can’t really talk about it. Whether that means he’s been forbidden to talk about (as if God told him not to say anything [cf. Hafemann 460]) or he simply can’t find the words, we don’t know. Basically, he’s saying, “I’ve had spiritual experiences like these super-apostles claim to have had, but I haven’t talked about it, because such experiences are not the point of the Christian faith and they are not the source of my authority.” So what is the source of Paul’s authority, then? He says it in verse 5: “I will not boast about myself, except about my weaknesses.”

By “weaknesses,” Paul is referring to things he can’t do well, feebleness—not necessarily of body, though we’ll talk about that in a moment—but he’s referring to his own inability, in his own strength, to resist desires, idols, things that tempt him. He’s talking about boasting of the trouble his life has had. Why would he boast about that? Most of us much prefer boast about the successes, the good things we’ve done. You don’t take a resume in today’s world and fill it with your failures. You write down every success you can think of. Unless you’re looking for attention, you generally write most about your successes than your failures when you post on Facebook or Twitter. Why would Paul think he should boast about his weakness? That doesn’t make any sense to us today. And that’s just the point. It didn’t make sense in Paul’s day, either. But for Paul it was a conscious choice, learned in a lesson from God, to focus on his weakness, on those places where he couldn’t do it alone. And the way he learned that was through what he calls a “thorn” in his flesh.

“In order to keep me from becoming conceited,” Paul says, “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me” (12:7). Now, there is a lot of discussion as to what this “thorn” is. The word itself indicates something that caused great pain, an almost savage pain, so we’re at least talking about physical suffering. And it seems, from the language he uses, to have been intermittent. In other words, it wasn’t all the time, but when it came, it was bad (Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 257). There have been a lot of suggestions about what this was, from epilepsy to a malarial fever that was frequently present along the coast of the Mediterranean in those days. Others suggest he might be referring to the ways he suffered at the hands of others, those who would persecute him, and still others say it might have been migraine headaches. But the most agreed-upon description of this “thorn” is severe problems with his eyes, most likely stemming from his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus Road (Acts 9:1-9) when he was struck blind by a bright light from heaven. Many suggest he never quite regained his vision. In fact, we know he dictated his letters and others actually wrote them down, and eye problems such as this could also include debilitating headaches (Barclay 258). But Paul doesn’t tell us explicitly what the “thorn” was, so anything is really a guess. Paul’s point is much larger. The “thorn” was given to him to keep him humble, to remind him that he was not sufficient on his own. Whatever he accomplished was only because God was working in him. In fact, he asked God three times to take this thorn away, but instead he received this word from God: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (12:9).

Power—the word in Greek is related to our word “dynamite,” so we’re talking very powerful, explosively powerful. And that kind of power, God’s power, is oddly seen when we are weak. When we can’t do it on our own. When we can’t make it on our own. That’s when God’s power is seen. That’s when we are most complete, perfect, when we realize we can only rely on God and nothing and no one else. My grace, God says, is enough. It’s enough for you. Paul goes on to put it quite bluntly: “When I am weak, then I am strong” (12:10).

Nearly fourteen years ago, I didn’t have a vision like Paul’s, but I did have an experience that taught me a lot about grace. Many of you know I was born with a heart defect, and when it was first diagnosed, my power mentality, control mentality, said to just fix it right then. I remember, at the ripe old age of 17, telling the doctor that. I think I would have gone into the hospital that day if they’d have let me. But the doctor patiently explained to me that my condition wasn’t problematic enough yet to repair. And so I was left with a truth I didn’t like: I couldn’t fix it. In fact, in the years to come, I did a lot to try to deny that I even had a problem. I was still strong. I was young. I could do anything—except I couldn’t. There were things I couldn’t do because of the issue with my heart. But I was raised to be self-sufficient, like most of us were, and so I tried. And I prayed. I prayed God would take it away, fix it supernaturally. But God didn’t. “My grace is sufficient for even you, Dennis.” Did I really believe that? It was hard to grab onto. And so we waited, for many years, until what technology could do was finally better than what I had, so that on January 12, 1999 (some dates you never forget), we went to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis and I allowed a skilled surgeon to repair my heart. That was an act of grace. I could not fix myself. I did not have the power to overcome my weakness. Only someone outside of me could do that. The same is true with our worship of power. We want to boast of what we can do. God wants us to boast instead of what he can do, even if it shows off our own weakness.

Now, there are a couple of indicators that tell us if power might be an idol we are worshipping. The first is when we avoid failure at any cost. That indicates power has become our identity. Avoiding failure looks like this: how would you rate yourself on a scale of 1-10 with these statements?

• I feel the need to win every argument.
• I lose my temper when situations or conversations don’t go my way.

If power is an idol, we’ll do most anything we can to cover up our mistakes and our weakness so that no one can see or realize we might have failed. The other way we might approach this is that we always set ourselves up to succeed. We never enter a situation where we might fail, and so sometimes worshipping power even looks like holding back, not taking that new job because you might not be able to do it, not asking that person out because they might reject you. We tend to fear failure because when we fail, we perceive a loss of power and influence, and that’s a bad thing for the power worshipper. One of the things I always admired about Mother Teresa was her refusal to back down from what she believed, no matter who she was talking to. It didn’t matter if she was speaking to someone on the streets of Calcutta or the President of the United States, fear of power did not control her. There is a rather famous story of Mother Teresa speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. and boldly speaking out on her beliefs about life, despite the fact that President Clinton, whose policies often disagreed with hers, was sitting at the same table. Power held no attraction for Mother Teresa, and therefore fear was not a factor. What is it in your life? What holds you back from maybe doing something God calls you to do because you’re afraid you’ll lose power?

The second “red flag” when it comes to worshipping power is when we refuse correction. Again, how would you rank yourself 1-10 on these statements?

• I get very upset when people don’t specifically do things the way I want them to be done.
• I have a hard time following the rules other people establish.
• I always know a better way.
•  When things go wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault.

In other words, refusing correction means we seek to live without accountability. Power is very closely related to pride. In fact, Proverbs 15:12 puts it this way: “Mockers resent correction, so they avoid the wise.” Now, nobody likes to be told they’re doing something wrong, but there are times when we need to hear an outside voice in our life—in our jobs, in our homes, even in our church. Our staff here loves the evaluation time each year! Okay, not really, and not because our Staff-Parish Committee is cruel. Nobody likes evaluation all that much, because that implies correction. We like to think we’re doing it all right, but if we’re unwilling to listen to others (even if they’re wrong), then power is most likely an idol in our lives.

There’s a story in the Old Testament about the time wise King Solomon dies and his son Rehoboam is put on the throne. People come to him asking for relief from the taxes and such that Solomon had put on them, and Rehoboam asks for some time to think it over. He consults the wise men, who advise him to make himself a “servant” to the people. Then he asks his young friends, who advise him to tell the people he will be even harsher on them, to just deal with it. Rehoboam goes with his friends’ advice, and the kingdom collapses (1 Kings 12:1-17). What if he had accepted correction, given up power and become a servant?

That’s the example we have of Paul, and ultimately of Jesus, the one Paul modeled his life after. How do we conquer the idol of power? By living in perfect weakness, as Paul described it and as Jesus lived it. In the Gospel lesson this morning, we have just one example of Jesus’ perfect weakness: he gave his life for the sake of the whole world. He who was God incarnate, who could have taken power and set up an earthly kingdom, who could have called, as the song says, 10,000 angels to defend him—he willingly gave his life. He gave up his spirit; it was not taken from him (19:30). Before that, just a night before, he had gathered his closest friends in an upper room for dinner, and before they ate, he washed their feet. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:12-15). I have set you an example—we’re to do like Jesus did. The cure for the power idol is engaging in servanthood. What would the world look like if people grasped that idea? What would it mean if people sought to serve one another rather than rule one another? What if public service really meant that again? And what if the church, Jesus’ people, took that example seriously, serving one another rather than always seeking to get our own way?

Last Sunday, some of you stepped up to do just that. Eleven of you responded “yes” to Jeff’s plea for folks to deliver pies, to reach out to newcomers and to seek to connect them with Christ and the church. That’s an act of servanthood that not only puts your own desires for a relaxing Sunday afternoon aside for a least a brief time, but it will make a huge difference in someone’s life. Well done! Next Sunday, we all have a chance to do that. Next Sunday is our second “Faith in Action” Sunday, and we’re going to seek to serve others in a wide variety of ways. We’re only going to have one service, at 10:00, and that will be brief. Then we’ll head out in and around the area to serve others. Pastor Deb has a complete list of projects at the Connection Center, and she would really like for you to sign up so we know how many to anticipate. As preparation for next Sunday, we’re also going to be collecting food items this week, to step out and stop hunger. You’ll get a bag or several when you leave this week, and you’re encouraged to ask your neighbors to contribute, to help. Don’t let this just be a “Portage First thing.” For some of us, that’s frightening, and some of you are probably already planning to stay home next week and planning to not collect food this week. I wonder why that is? You know your neighbors, or at least you recognize them, and as for next Sunday, there are projects for everyone’s skill level, and some of the projects don’t require you to go anywhere. They’ll be done right here. Is it because it’s new and different, not the “normal” way of doing church? Well, that’s sort of the goal! Or is it because you might not be in control of what happens? Are you planning to stay home because of a tendency to worship the power idol? If that is you, I hope you won’t. Even if you are afraid you’re going to end up doing something you’re not entirely comfortable doing, that’s okay. God’s grace is sufficient for you. Paul said it, and Christians through the centuries have proven it to be true. When we serve, when we seek to break the power of power over our lives, God’s grace will be there to catch us and then, through us, others will see his strength. And that’s what it’s all about.

Just after he washed the disciples’ feet, Jesus gathered at the table with them. Twelve men, one of whom would betray him that night in a grab for power, and yet Jesus shared the Passover meal with all of them. A meal that was, for the Jews, almost as old as time, and filled with deep meaning. A night that reminded them of a time when they were powerless, and yet God rescued them (cf. Exodus 12). But that night, Jesus changed the words, the meaning, the liturgy. He told them the bread and the wine from that night on would remind them of him, of what he was about to do in the ultimate act of servanthood. And he told them to do it often, to remember him, to remember the cross, to remember what he did to save them when they were powerless to save themselves (cf. Romans 5:6). So today, on this World Communion Sunday, we gather with brothers and sisters around the world to remember Jesus’ sacrifice, his love, his willingness to give up power so that he could serve. There are places in our world today where Christians gather in fear rather than in freedom. Some never know if the next sound outside might be the powers of this world coming to arrest them because what they are doing is illegal. And yet, they gather just the same and seek to live this servanthood life that Jesus set before us all. This morning, we remember them even as we gather here in safety.

You know, sometimes I get asked how we should approach the communion table. And there’s no set Biblical pattern or example. But, you know, when I offer you the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, some of you thank me, and I always want to respond, “I didn’t die for you. Thank Jesus for that.” And some of you want to grab it rather than receive it, even though the grace and the gift it represents is never something we can grab onto. It’s something given to us. So this morning, this World Communion Sunday, I’m going to invite you to come to the table in a particular way. Come with your hands open, ready to receive whatever God has for you. Come with your hands open, which in many places is a symbol of surrender. Come with your hands open, as a reminder that we are called to be servants, not rulers. Come with your hands open, remembering that God’s grace is sufficient for you, for when we are perfectly weak, then we are strong.