Thoughts on Phil

OK, here's the deal: I haven't written a blog in forever - like, eight months, literally. But like anybody else with a Facebook account, I was hit this morning with countless images of a haggard, bearded face that belongs to the man who was easily the most talked-about person in America today. Of course, it's not like his face wasn't already ubiquitous; Duck Dynasty pitches everything from coffee cups to sunglasses to feminine hygiene products (probably), in stores ranging from Walmart to Macy's (again, probably - I haven't actually been into a Macy's in many years).

Of course, the news broke today that Duck Dynasty family patriarch Phil Robertson was suspended indefinitely by A&E after GQ posted an article that included an array of, er, incendiary comments by Robertson about topics ranging from homosexuality to race relations. (I couldn't begin to link to all of the material out there about the controversy; typing "Phil Robertson suspended" into Google yielded 193 million hits.)

The responses have been predictable, with social and political conservatives lambasting A&E and rallying around Robertson and those of a more progressive bend (hi there) praising the network and decrying the remarks. The culture war, sadly, has intensified in the last 24 hours, and it's a safe bet that a number of friendships are among the latest casualties.

I simply cannot avoid writing about this. I want to avoid it; I want to hide from it and wait until it goes away. And maybe you're sitting there thinking, That's exactly what you should have done; you're only fanning the flames if you write about it now. But I feel compelled. I can't help it.

I have given the issue a fair amount of thought throughout the day, and I wouldn't say my thoughts are altogether organized. Fair warning: This post will seem random and non-linear; the thoughts expressed below are, for the most part, in no particular order. I might come back to some of them later in another writing if I feel so compelled.

But before I start, a disclosure: I have watched exactly five minutes of Duck Dynasty ... ever. I don't get the appeal. I don't believe these characters are in any way authentic; I believe they are media creations who are getting paid very handsomely to be caricatures. Aside from that, I have zero strong feelings about the show. I don't love it; I don't hate it; I have no interest in it. It's kind of like my feelings about spring in Norway (never been there), or whether you should buy dill pickles or bread and butter (I don't eat any kind of pickles). I'm not interested in defending the show, and I'm not interested in destroying it; I'm simply not interested in it.

I am, however, very interested in the conversation Robertson started - for reasons I can't really explain. I have a fair number of gay friends, but I wouldn't say I've ever really had an in-depth conversation with any of them about their sexuality, and don't really intend to. But over the last few years, this has been become an issue about which I am deeply passionate.

With that said ... let's roll up our sleeves and get to it.

* * *

1. Is this a freedom of speech issue? Absolutely not. I've seen that phrase thrown around a dozen times today, and almost no one seems to understand that a constitutional right to freedom of speech only means that the government can't punish us for something we say. Unless I missed part of the report, Phil isn't in jail; he was only held accountable by his employer after saying some ugly things that reflected badly on that employer. This is not a violation of his freedom of speech; it's simply a consequence of the choice he made to say the things he said.

2. This post on Red Letter Christians stole my thunder, but I had this thought earlier today, even before I read it there: Today was an interesting day for the LGBT community. In one 24-hour period, this whole Phil Robertson fiasco exploded, New Mexico became the 17th state to allow same-sex marriage, a Methodist minister was defrocked for officiating at his gay son's wedding ... and, perhaps least surprisingly, Brian Boitano came out as gay (I know, I know -- I thought this had already happened, too).

The point is this: Today underscores that how big this issue is in our world right now. It's not a marginal issue; it's fairly inaccurate at this point to say it's a growing issue. It is, indisputably, front-and-center. The pendulum has swung; as of July, it was reported that a majority of Americans (again, hi there) are in favor of same-sex marriage being legal. You can like it, you can hate it; but it is inevitable. It is going to happen. Eventually (and I think sooner rather than later), it's going to be a non-issue; just like my generation thinks nothing of white and black people sharing a water fountain, my daughter's generation will not blink at the thought of same-sex couples. To borrow from one of Bob Dylan's very best songs, "The times, they are a-changin'."

3. It will always baffle me why Christians have to be right about this one issue. We can agree to disagree about almost any other biblical topic -- women in ministry, the role of music in worship services, the King James Version vs. newer translations, adult vs. child baptism, et cetera, et cetera -- but there is no room for disagreement here. Anyone who won't say that homosexuality is a sin is labeled a heretic, a relativist, a liberal (hi again).

But Jarrod, you say, the Bible says ... . OK. Depending on who you ask, the Bible has things to say about all those other issues as well, but we don't draw lines in the sand on those? Why must we do that here?

4. And furthermore, if you're convinced it is a sin, why is it necessary for you to tell everyone that? Are you equally compelled to point out gluttony? Pride? I'm guessing no. Pardon me for being so blunt, but this is a classic Pharisee response -- picking an easily identifiable "sin" and using it to draw an easy distinction between who's right and who isn't.

5. Yesterday evening, while driving home from Lexington, I heard a DJ talking about same-sex marriage (I missed the first part of his rant, but I assume it stemmed from the news about Robertson). What I did hear was something like this (obviously, I'm paraphrasing a little): "I will always prefer that people be heterosexual. Now, if you're a homosexual, I'm not throwing rocks at you. I'm not saying that we can't be friends. I'm not saying I won't go to your house for a party, or that you can't come to my house for a party. You're asking me to accept you; why won't you accept me?"

You're not saying you can't be friends with a gay person? Um, yeah ... you kind of are. It's hard to be friends with someone you view as less human than you.

This is where the comparison breaks down. Conservatives are fond of accusing liberals of hypocrisy when it comes to issues of tolerance. The problem with this is that there is a fundamental difference between criticizing what somebody says and criticizing who somebody is. To take exception with this DJ's remarks, or Phil's, isn't damaging to them; it's simply disagreeing, which we're allowed to do in this country. A person's sexuality is an intrinsic part of who they are -- far more so than a belief they espouse -- so to indicate that a person's "lifestyle" is wrong is to say that there is something wrong with them, something less than human. (Phil Robertson, incidentally, took this to a disgusting level with his homosexuality-to-bestiality connection.)

I can hear the response already: But who I am is a Christian who believes what the Bible says about homosexuality. You cannot possibly think that a belief is intrinsically who you are. If Christianity is a set of beliefs -- you're doing it wrong. If the core issue of your faith is whether or not homosexuality is wrong, you have a problem. Really: Take a deep breath, sit back and think about that for a minute.

6. I look forward to a few days from now, when all of this has disappeared from our news cycle and we're on to the next media firestorm. But at the same time, I dread that moment because I fear that my confession of faith will cause me to be lumped into Team Phil. I love Phil Robertson as a person (while maintaining that I couldn't care less about his show), and I accept him as a brother in Christ who is just as flawed as I am, and whose theology has as many holes as mine does (and yours -- sorry to be the one to tell you). But I must reject his words, and I must apologize on behalf of Phil and the rest of the Christian community for the immense hurt that has been inflicted on the LGBT community. We don't all share the same opinion. We don't all share the same beliefs about this particular issue (or many others, for that matter). To my friends in the LGBT community: Please know that you are loved and affirmed and accepted -- by me, and by many others who strive to follow the way of Jesus.

* * *

Post script: I've read no less than eight or 10 blog posts on this controversy today. The best ones can be found here and here.

Rights

"This may not work, and I don't guarantee that it will

But I've got no choice unless you tell me who Jesus would kill."

-- Derek Webb, I for an I

Nothing has sparked as much intensely passionate debate over the last four months as gun safety measures, or gun control (you might call it either, depending on your political leanings).

All of the hoopla culminated earlier this week with the U.S. Senate rejecting a bill that would've required tougher background checks -- a measure that recent polls have found was supported by 86 percent of Americans, according to CNN. The Senate's decision prompted a loud outcry from many, including President Obama and former congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, who was a victim of gun violence at a public appearance in Tuscon, Arizona, back in 2011.

I have largely been silent on this issue for a number of reasons. For one, I tend not to be as outspoken as I used to be; my inner activist is tired, and perhaps a bit disillusioned. For another, I don't have particularly strong views on guns. I've never owned one; I've never fired one; and I see no reason to change that. For me to get my hackles up about whether I'll be able to purchase a semiautomatic weapon would be about as silly as me getting in an uproar if Jheri curl were unavailable.

But in the wake of yesterday's decision, I would like to offer a couple of thoughts: One common-sense, and one spiritual.

* * *

Most reasonable people would agree that, at face value, the proposed measures were good ones -- although some would argue they didn't go far enough. People who cannot pass a background check and buy a gun through a licensed dealer should not be able to bypass that background check by purchasing a gun online or elsewhere; this is not a difficult concept to understand. I haven't heard too many people dispute this; to be honest, I don't know how anyone could.

In fact, most of the opposition I've seen has been based on "slippery slope" arguments: The completely unfounded ideas, primarily put forth by people and corporations with something to gain (I'm looking at you, NRA), that background checks will ultimately lead to Big Brother confiscating our guns -- or a zombie outbreak, or a Billy Ray Cyrus resurgence, or something similarly ridiculous.

Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned in how easily otherwise sensible people have swallowed such hogwash. Perhaps it's a commentary on how woefully ineffective our government has become; as someone opined on NPR one day this week, if Americans can't trust the government to do something like agreeing on a budget, why should we trust the government to properly handle something like gun safety? Perhaps it simply highlights how polarizing President Obama is; sometimes, one gets the impression that many Republicans would insist that the moon is made of cheese if the president publicly stated otherwise.

But, whatever the reasons, some people bought the hype. Throughout the debate, my Facebook news feed has been littered with lies, half-truths, and quotes taken out of context. In the last 48 hours, it has been filled with posts about "victory" and "defeat" -- this from a country that takes such great pride in a system that is all about the will of the people.

In a blind test, with no identification of the issue in question, everyone would agree that something supported by an overwhelming majority of Americans should be put in place by the people we elect to govern on our behalf. Everyone would agree that our leaders failed us miserably Wednesday, and that they deserve to be held accountable.

We can only hope.

* * *

I was considering whether or not to weigh in on this topic when a Facebook post caught my eye this morning that stirred up enough anger that I could no longer keep silent. It seems that Bob Davis, a conservative talk radio host in Minnesota, recently offered the following rant directed at the families who lost children in the Sandy Hook school massacre -- unconscionable even by conservative talk radio standards:

"Just because a bad thing happened to you doesn't mean that you get to put a king in charge of my life. I'm sorry that you suffered a tragedy, but you know what? Deal with it, and don't force me to lose my liberty, which is a greater tragedy than your loss. ... I would stand in front of them and tell them, 'Go to hell.'"

The crux of his argument is beyond appalling: His rights are more important than someone's life.

The truth is, we often extol this attitude as a virtue. Braveheart, the story of William Wallace's bloody quest to lead Scotland to "freeeeeeeedoooooom!," is on many a list of favorite films.

But I think there are some additional thoughts that must be considered, particularly by those of us who are followers of Christ. (By the way, the rest of this piece is directed solely at Christ-followers, who have an extra level of responsibility in how we deal with this and any other issue. We must look through the lens of the kingdom of God -- God's dream and design for how our world is meant to operate.)

The first is the issue of guns in general. Somehow, a piece of metal has taken on inordinate importance for many. The argument over gun rights has, at least temporarily, surpassed even the old standbys -- abortion and gay marriage -- as a flashpoint for those on the right.

Meanwhile, even a cursory search of the scriptures finds the psalmist proclaiming, "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God" (Psalm 20:7); Isaiah envisioning a day in which the nations will beat their swords into plowshares (Isaiah 2:4); and Jesus himself admonishing his followers that "all who draw the sword will die by the sword" (Matthew 26:52).

Certainly these scriptures, and others like them, do not mean that it's sinful to own a gun; that is not what I am suggesting. But in light of these passages, can those of us who follow the way of Jesus not agree that, if guns aren't the world's greatest evil, they also aren't a virtue?

The recent gun rights controversy is only symptomatic of a larger problem in the American church: Entirely too much focus on our rights.

We vehemently assert our right to public prayer. Our right to post the Ten Commandments in schools and courtrooms. Our right not to be contaminated by the sinful world we live in. Our right to say things that others might take as hateful or bigoted -- after all, we're only telling them what the Bible says ... and besides, we really love them, we just hate their sin.

All the while, we profess to follow Jesus, who laid down his rights -- "made himself nothing by taking on the form of a servant," as Paul described it (Philippians 2:6). We profess to follow Jesus, who was executed willingly because he didn't fight back when he was the victim of injustice.

Am I saying that our rights do not matter? Of course not. Even Paul invoked his rights as a Roman citizen to ensure that his trial was conducted properly when he was jailed.

But I am saying this -- and prepare yourself, it's strong:

When our rights as Americans take a place of preeminence in our lives, we have made ourselves Americans first and Christ-followers second. We have made our flag, or perhaps our Constitution, a graven image to which we bow. We have become idolaters.

We should discuss, and even debate, issues. We should question our government's decisions when we disagree with them. Dialogue is healthy. Disagreeing on issues is OK. I believe there are gun-toting, flag-waving, right-leaning members of the NRA who are sincere in their commitment to the way of Jesus; I would hope that those people believe the same about me.

I don't want to pretend that I know exactly where the line should be drawn; but I think it's clear we have crossed it. That seems obvious when Bob Davis can claim that his own personal liberty matters more than the lives that were lost in Connecticut in December. People of faith from all across the political spectrum should condemn Davis' comments for the vile, rotting garbage they are.

I think it's important to make a distinction here. I haven't heard anyone make an argument against gun safety measures on the basis of how they affect someone else; the argument is always about my rights or our rights. As followers of Jesus, we are called to advocate for justice for others. We are required, in Micah's words, to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God" (Micah 6:8). Our mandate is to be others-centered; Paul, again, admonishes us, "In humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others" (Philippians 2:3-4).

What if we could take all of the energy that's been exhausted on the gun debate -- and the money the gun lobby has spent to buy senators -- and apply them to advocating for the rights of someone who is the victim of injustice? What if we pushed that hard for something that would change the world for the better? Heck, what if we just loved our neighbor as much as we love ourselves?

Doesn't that seem like a better way forward?

Honesty and Healing

Better late than never: Here's my sermon from last month. Our pastor has taken some vacation time each of the last two months, and I've been blessed with the opportunity to fill in a couple of times. The lectionary readings for my October sermon were Psalm 22:1-8, 19-31; Job 23:1-12; Hebrews 4:12-16; and Mark 10:17-31.

* * * *

Probably my favorite new TV show this season has been a sitcom on NBC called “Go On.” Matthew Perry plays Ryan King, a sports radio talk show host. As the season began, Ryan was returning to work after the death of his wife in a car accident. He insisted that he was ready to move on, but his bosses required him to attend a support group for people dealing with loss.

At first, Ryan was skeptical. He tried to manipulate his way through the required sessions, but later realized that he actually was in need of help. As the season has progressed, he has become more and more aware of the depth of his grief and the fact that he can’t deal with it alone.

In our gospel reading this morning, we find Jesus having a conversation with a man who’s very much like Ryan King. The rich, young ruler, as he is known in the King James Version, is a wealthy, successful man, a man who seems to have it all together – and he thinks so, too. So he comes to Jesus with a simple question: “What do I need to do to have eternal life?” In other words, he’s asking, “What do I need to do to be pleasing to God? What makes God happy?”

I find Jesus’ first response interesting. You see, Jesus is asked this same question, or very similar questions, in other parts of scripture. Sometimes he answers by telling a story. Sometimes he condenses a complex idea down to one simple concept, as when he said the greatest commandments were to love God and love others. But when the rich, young ruler asks the question, Jesus gives an answer that’s sort of out of character for him: He quotes from the Ten Commandments.

He says, “You know what makes God happy: Don’t murder. Don’t commit adultery. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Honor your parents.” It’s one of the very rare times in his ministry that we find Jesus really seeming to endorse the law.

But I would argue that Jesus said this because he was anticipating the man’s response. He’s setting the man up for one of his life’s most pivotal moments.

When I envision this conversation, I imagine the man doing this Barney Fife kind of thing – trying to look modest, sort of sticking his hands in his pockets and looking down and kicking a rock and saying, “Well, I’ve … done that.” And I imagine that his pride was still shining through, despite his best efforts; and he stood there, waiting for some affirmation or a pat on the back from Jesus.

And he was shocked when Jesus said, “Great! Then give all of your possessions to the poor, and come follow me.”

Now, I’ve heard this passage interpreted as sort of a universal command for those who are wealthy. I’ve heard it used to suggest that everyone should live simply and give more away – and I don’t really disagree. But I don’t think that’s really the point here.

I think Jesus’ words to the rich, young ruler are not so much a commentary about wealth or greed or materialism; they’re about highlighting a dysfunction in this man’s heart.

There’s a great scene in “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s after Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion have defeated the Wicked Witch and returned to the Emerald City to give the Witch’s broom to the Wizard. Instead of sending Dorothy back to Kansas and giving the Scarecrow a brain and the Tin Man a heart and the Cowardly Lion some courage, the Wizard tries to intimidate them – until Toto runs in and pulls back the curtain, revealing that the Wizard is really just a man.

This is what Jesus does to the rich, young ruler. With one sentence, Jesus pulls back the curtain and exposes who he really is: A man who thought himself good and holy, but whose heart really belonged to his stuff. And the man walked away, sad because he was unwilling to let go.

Jesus later told the story of a self-inflated Pharisee, who offered a public prayer boasting of all his goodness, and a broken tax collector who humbly admitted his brokenness. In Jesus’ judgment, the tax collector was the one who went home made right with God. I think maybe, as he was telling this story, Jesus thought sadly of his encounter with the rich, young ruler who thought he had it all together.

On the other hand, we find a completely different attitude reflected in our Old Testament and responsive readings. Both Job and David came to God, not with boasting about their goodness, but with an acknowledgment of their desperate need for grace.

I have never spent a minute in seminary, so I don’t know much Hebrew. But the one word of Hebrew I know is “Tsa’aq.” It means to cry out, to call for help. It’s the cry of a victim, the desperate plea of one who demands justice. “Tsa’aq” is exactly what we find Job and David doing.

They come to God with their hearts ripped open, with their emotions laid bare. They don’t mince words; they cry out for rescue.

The writer of Hebrews urges us to “come boldly to the throne,” promising “that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Job and David are proof of this.

See, what I really love about these passages is that they don’t end with “Tsa’aq.” The desperation, the need, the frustration – they don’t have the last word.

Over the past few months, I’ve spent quite a bit of my driving time listening to Bruce Springsteen’s latest album. “Wrecking Ball” is very much a theme album – it‘s primarily about the economic problems American people have faced over the last four years or so, and the factors that caused this. The album follows a pretty clear emotional pattern: The first several songs are expressions of anger or sadness or frustration; then, the album begins to give way to clarity and, finally, unbridled hope. And the emotional hinge, right in the middle of the album, is a song called “This Depression.”

Like the passages from Job and Psalms, the song begins with an honest cry for help, as Springsteen sings, “I’ve been down, but never this down; I’ve been lost, but never this lost; This is my confession, I need your heart; In this depression, I need your heart.”

But by the last verse, something has changed; something starts to shift, and he sings, “I’ve been without love, but never forsaken; now the morning sun, the morning sun is breaking.”

This is exactly what we find in the Job and Psalm readings. After their pleas for help, after their cries of desperation, after their “Tsa’aq,” both Job and David find that “the morning sun is breaking.”

Listen to how instant David’s transition is – literally from one verse to the next. In one passage, in The Message paraphrase, he says, “You, God – don’t put off my rescue! Hurry and help me! Don’t let those mongrels devour me. If you don’t show up soon, I’m done for – gored by the bulls, meat for the lions.”

In the very next passage – in the next breath – this is what he says (again, from The Message):

“Here’s the story I’ll tell my friends when they come to worship, and punctuate it with Hallelujahs: Shout Hallelujah, you God-worshipers; give glory, you sons of Jacob; adore him, you daughters of Israel. He has never let you down, never looked the other way when you were being kicked around. He has never wandered off to do his own thing; he has been right there, listening.”

David apparently has this instant moment of clarity, this reminder that God is present – that God has always been present. And it changes his entire perspective.

So, by acknowledging who they really are and what they really need, David and Job are able to move past their desperation to a point at which they find sufficient grace. And by refusing to acknowledge his need, the rich, young ruler remained unchanged.

I was asked back in the summer to serve as an assistant coach for the Harlan County High School cross country team. Our course has a big hill, and one of the things that we have tried to instill in the kids is the importance of coming down the hill at full speed. It’s normal to want to hold back and tiptoe down the hill. But the fact is, getting down the hill fast is a great opportunity to gain some ground, and the momentum you have when you come off the hill can make all the difference in how you get to the finish line.

In the same way, by not holding back – by letting go and being honest about their need – Job and David were able to come through their pain into a place of clarity and healing and wholeness.

I said earlier that maybe Jesus had the rich, young ruler in mind when he told the story of the boastful Pharisee. But maybe he thought of us, too. It’s so easy for us to think ourselves stronger than we really are. Being honest about our need for grace is not easy; but until we do it, we’ll never be who we were meant to be.

So, what is the dysfunction of your heart? Is there something you can’t let go of? Is there a person or group of people you are unable or unwilling to accept? Is there pain that hasn’t been acknowledged?

We have an amazing opportunity. We have a friend who knows what we’re going through. We can come to him just as we are, and we can find the help we need.

This is also the hope that our world has – the hope that the way things are isn’t the way things will always be. I’d like to close with the words of a song by Andrew Peterson, titled “After the Last Tear Falls.”

                After the last tear falls, after the last secret’s told

                After the last bullet tears through flesh and bone

                After the last child starves, and the last girl walks the boulevard

                After the last year that’s just too hard, there is love

                After the last disgrace, after the last lie to save some face

                After the last cruel jab from a poison tongue

                After the last dirty politician, after the last meal down at the mission

                After the last lonely night in prison, there is love

                After the last plan fails, after the last siren wails

                After the last young husband sails off to join the war

                After the last “this marriage is over,” after the last young girl’s innocence is stolen

                After the last years of silence that won’t let a heart open, there is love

                And in the end, the end is oceans and oceans of love and love again

                We’ll see how the tears that have fallen were caught in the palms

                Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all

                And we’ll look back on these tears as old tales

So let us come boldly to the throne of grace, that we obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. May we acknowledge our need for help and discover the healing that lies on the other side of that acknowledgment.  And may we cling to the hope that after the last tear falls, there is love – for us, and for the world.

Boaz, Ruth, and So-and-So

Wow. I suck. This is my first blog post since June. That's just awful.

And, with that little bit of self-loathing out of the way...I offer the text of my sermon from last Sunday. The lectionary passages were Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17; Psalm 127; Hebrews 9:24-28; and Mark 12:28-34. I chose to focus on the story of Ruth. Enjoy!

* * *

It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve become familiar with the story of Ruth. I’ve been attending church since I was 2 years old, but, for whatever reason, you don’t hear that one in Sunday school very often. I got a lot of Adam and Eve, a little Noah and the Ark, some Abraham and Joseph and Moses and Joshua and Samson, some David and Goliath, and a whole lot of Jesus, but no Ruth. All I remember about Ruth from my childhood is that I thought Boaz was a funny name.

Now that I’ve studied it a bit, I find it to be a very compelling story. And I still think Boaz is a funny name.

I want to spend some time this morning focusing on the story of Ruth, and especially on the part between the two passages we read.

In chapter 3, we find Naomi advising Ruth to go to Boaz’s party, and – without going into too much detail – to offer herself to him, to let him that she’s available for marriage and that she’s interested. Ruth follows Naomi’s instructions, and the story tells us that Boaz is overwhelmed by Ruth’s love. He tells her he wants to marry her, but there’s another relative who has the first option.

So the next day, Boaz arranges a meeting with the closer relative and the elders of the town. I think Boaz’s approach is interesting: He first presents an opportunity to buy a piece of land. He tells the man, “There’s this piece of land, and it’s yours if you want it.” The guy says, “Sure, I’ll take it.” Then Boaz introduces Ruth; he says, “Oh, by the way, you also get to marry Ruth.”

That makes the man pause. He already has wives and children, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize their inheritance by fathering more children with another wife. So he declines, and then Boaz marries Ruth. As the story ends, we find Boaz and Ruth having a son, Obed, and we learn that, just a couple of generations later, David comes from this line.

It’s a really beautiful story, one of the more romantic stories you’ll find in the Bible, and I’d like to share a couple of thoughts about it.

First, let me point out that the closer relative isn’t named in the story. Everybody else’s name is mentioned. We learn the name of Ruth’s sister-in-law, Orpah, even though she’s gone from the story before the first chapter ends. We learn the names of Naomi’s husband and sons, even though they’re gone before the story even begins. But the language used to introduce to introduce this closer relative is basically the Hebrew equivalent of “old so-and-so.”

Here’s why I find that interesting: When Boaz presented him with the opportunity to marry Ruth, this closer relative decided that Ruth just wasn’t worth his time and trouble. He stripped Ruth of her worth; he made his assessment, and found her to be insignificant. But then the writer of the story turns the tables and says, “You don’t need to worry about who this guy is – he’s nobody. That’s just old so-and-so.”

Now, we can all relate to Ruth in this story. Sometimes we’re the ones being sized up by so-and-so. Sometimes we hear voices that define us by our failures, voices that deny us our value, voices that strip us of any worth or significance.

The writer of the story of Ruth teaches us that those voices just don’t matter – when it’s all said and done, they’re the ones who are insignificant and not worth our time. It doesn’t matter what package they come in. Maybe it’s a parent or teacher or other authority figure who has belittled us. Maybe it’s a self-righteous relative or neighbor who points out all the things we do wrong. The voice of so-and-so might come from the fancy suit and slick hair of a politician or a televangelist.

So-and-so might determine we’re worthless based on where we live, what we look like, what we have, what we don’t have. It doesn’t matter, because so-and-so does not have the last word.

Ruth’s story doesn’t end with so-and-so’s rejection. That only opened the door for her to be redeemed by Boaz. Ruth was loved by Boaz, and that is what mattered. It’s the same for us. Whenever so-and-so tries to strip us of our value, we can reject that rejection and cling to the reality that we are redeemed by the Lover of our souls. God calls us valuable, and that trumps any and every voice that would say otherwise.

A few years ago, a great independent film called “Little Miss Sunshine” got a lot of Oscar buzz. The movie was about a seven-year-old beauty pageant contestant named Olive. Olive was not exactly pageant material; she was kind of plain and a little chubby, and wore glasses. There’s a moment in the movie, after Olive’s dad tells her she shouldn’t have any ice cream because of her weight, when she starts to doubt herself. She asks her grandfather if she is pretty, and he assures her, “You are the most beautiful girl in the world.” It’s a really touching moment that propels her through some very difficult times as she and her family travel to the pageant.

One of my best friends in the world is a guy who lives in Lexington. He’s visited here with me before. His name is Caleb. I met him a few years ago when he was spending the summer in the Tri-Cities as a missionary, and we’ve been friends ever since.

Caleb is probably the least pretentious person I’ve ever met; I don’t know anyone else so comfortable in their own skin. Caleb wears thrift store clothes; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him buy a new article of clothing in all the years I’ve known him. He walks around in flip-flops and an old, red toboggan pretty much year-round. He has a big, long beard. And people seem to automatically gravitate to Caleb; I’ve never introduced him to anyone who didn’t feel immediately comfortable around him.

I think this is because Caleb has a strong sense of who he is and where his worth comes from – and I wish I could be more like that.

So, sometimes we’re Ruth in this story. But if we’re honest, I think we have to admit that we sometimes play the part of so-and-so. We make judgments about the people around us based on any number of differences. Maybe, like Ruth, they are foreigners. Maybe they just don’t look like us.

Maybe we define them by their struggles. In a song called “I Repent,” Derek Webb once wrote, “I repent … for the way I believe that I’m living right by trading sins for others that are easier to hide.” I wonder, how often do we define people by their sins just because their sins are more obvious than ours? How quick are we to define a drug addict by his addiction?

I know I have done this, even recently. We have had some trouble with theft in our neighborhood recently, and several elderly neighbors have been victimized. It was no secret who was responsible, although it took a while for the police to build enough of a case to make an arrest. I would occasionally see the person responsible, and – to be perfectly honest with you – I can’t tell you some of the things I said to myself about that person, because they’re not appropriate words to share up here.

I forgot that the God who loves me and calls me valuable, also loves him and calls him valuable. I forgot to see him through God’s eyes. Instead, I devalued him; I wrote him up as an addict and a thief. For that, I have had to repent.

I mentioned my friend Caleb a few minutes ago. Caleb is currently in the process of publishing his first book, also called “I Repent,” which I had the privilege of proofreading. The book recounts a summer road trip he took with friend a few years ago and the correlating spiritual lessons he learned in the cities he visited.

During one of his stops – I think it was in Baltimore – Caleb says he saw a young African-American guy on a bus. Caleb admits that he made a number of judgments about the man and his lifestyle, simply based on the clothes he was wearing. Just before the guy stepped off the bus, Caleb noticed what he had in his hand. The guy was carrying a Bible.

If we are going to be the representatives of Jesus that we are meant to be, we must learn to reject our inner so-and-so.

We have just come through a political campaign season that was probably the most bitter and polarizing in our country’s history. Depending on your politics, your inner so-and-so might make unloving judgments about those receiving government assistance, or about corporate CEOs; about the gay community, or about the tea party; about those who watch Fox News, or about those who watch MSNBC.

Whatever our politics, we must remember that our first allegiance isn’t to a president or a challenger, but to a King; not to a nation, even, but to a Kingdom – and in that Kingdom, everyone matters, and there is room for us all.

And finally, as we prepare to head into Advent in a couple of weeks, let us reflect on our calling to be like Boaz.

Earlier in the Ruth story, we see that Boaz was generous to Ruth from the first time he met her. The law stipulated that the edges of a field of grain were to be left unharvested so that the poor could collect the grain to survive. This is what Ruth was doing when she first met Boaz. He instructed his workers not only to leave plenty for her to glean, but to actually drop some of the good grain on the ground for her to pick up. He welcomed her to glean in his field for the entire season so that she would be safe. All of this went far beyond what the law required. And we might think that Boaz was trying to impress Ruth and win her affection, but the story doesn’t suggest that at all. All we see in the story is someone with plenty showing kindness to someone in need.

You know, a lot of the rhetoric in the presidential campaign was about government assistance – about how much responsibility the government should bear in providing for the people versus how much responsibility people have to take care of themselves. I’m not interested in having that debate, but this much I do know: It would be a moot point if we, as the body of Christ, were living out our calling to love and to serve – if we took seriously our responsibility to “the least of these.”

We have so much. Did you know that half of the people on the planet live on less than $2.50 a day? I handed over that much for a bottle of water and a pack of gum on my way to work the other day. Did you know that about 80 percent of our neighbors around the world live on less than $10 a day? I paid more than that for my lunch yesterday.

What if, like Boaz, we did more than the minimum? What if I stopped focusing on myself and what I want, and practiced regular generosity? What kind of difference could you make in the world simply by being kind?

May we embrace the truth that we are loved, valued and accepted by our Redeemer. May we see others through our Redeemer’s eyes and realize how deeply they, too, are loved, valued and accepted. And may we be the hands and feet of Christ extended to help those in need. Amen.

Magic Nails: Embracing Mystery

Good afternoon! As you might know, during 2011 I had the opportunity to speak at my then-pastorless church on pretty much a monthly basis. We got a new pastor in January, and she's wonderful. However, she had to be out of town today, so I got the call in the bullpen. Below is the text of my sermon. The lectionary readings today were Psalm 29; Isaiah 6:1-8; Romans 8:12-17; and John 3:1-17. Enjoy!

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I’ve mentioned before that I grew up in a couple of church traditions that were very different from this one. One thing they shared in common with each other, but not with this church, was that they were both big proponents of “the altar call” or “the invitation.” I attended those churches for almost 20 years, and I don’t think I ever went to a service when the preacher didn’t invite people to come to the altar and make a commitment to Christ.

I remember what those invitations were like. They involved a lot of scare tactics – I remember a lot of talk about hell; I remember stories about people who decided to make a commitment later but died before they had the chance. There was some begging and pleading. But I don’t recall ever hearing an invitation like the one Paul offers to the Romans in the passage we just read.

Paul’s invitation is not to have all our questions answered, and it’s not to try to be better people. It’s a soul-stirring call to live an adventure. Paul invited the Romans, and us, to enter a new life that’s better than our old one. It’s an invitation to step into a mystery.

Now, when I say “mystery,” it probably brings up a specific idea in your mind. You probably think of detective stories. Maybe you think of Sherlock Holmes or Mike Hammer, or books by Agatha Christie or James Patterson. That’s now our common understanding of the word; over the last few centuries, we have come to think of mysteries as things that require solving, or questions that demand answers.

But there’s another way we can understand the word. It still has to do with the unknown, but we might think of it as synonymous with adventure. Think of The Lord of the Rings or The Chronicles of Narnia or The Hunger Games. These are not mysteries as we usually define the word, but the characters in these books are constantly dealing with the unknown as they make their way through the plot.

In his book The Orthodox Way, Greek Orthodox theologian Kallistos Ware writes, “We see that it is not the task of Christianity to provide easy answers to every question, but to make us progressively aware of a mystery. God is not so much the object of our knowledge as the cause of our wonder.”

This is the kind of mystery Paul is inviting his audience to step into – not a mystery to be solved, but a mystery to be lived. It’s an invitation to be part of a great adventure. We are invited, like Lucy Pevensie in The Chronicles of Narnia, to enter the wardrobe and discover a world we never knew existed.

I love how our readings this morning connect, with Paul’s invitation as the centerpiece. I think the story of Isaiah’s encounter with God and the story of Nicodemus and his nighttime meeting with Jesus offer us contrasting examples of how we can respond to the invitation.

First, let’s look at Isaiah. Whatever is going on here, it’s incredible; whether it’s a dream or a vision, or if even if he’s taking some poetic license, it’s clear that Isaiah is having a profound experience. He sees this tremendous display of God’s glory, with a throne and angels and smoke filling the temple.

Isaiah’s first response, understandably, is fear. But he isn’t really afraid of what he’s seeing; he’s afraid of himself, he’s afraid that he’s not worthy to be having this experience. So an angel comes to Isaiah and symbolically touches his lips with a hot coal, signifying that Isaiah is clean and pure and worthy. Then he hears the voice of God asking, “Who will go? Whom can I send?”

Now, here we might expect Isaiah to want some answers. It would make sense for him to ask, “Well, where do you need to send someone? What’s on the agenda? I might know somebody.” But he doesn’t ask any questions; he just says, “I’ll go – send me.”

I think of Frodo Baggins in The Lord of the Rings, bravely volunteering to take the ring back to Mount Doom to destroy it. Frodo didn’t know how to get there, and he knew that the journey was going to be difficult. He knew it would be painful, and he knew he would suffer. But he stepped forward and found himself living an adventure that changed him forever.

We can safely say that Isaiah had an idea of what he was getting himself into. Prophets had a track record of finding themselves at odds with those in power. But like Frodo, Isaiah was willing to enter the unknown.

Isaiah’s response to this experience is very childlike – which, we learn in the gospels, is a good thing. This is an important theme in our readings today. Paul also uses children as a metaphor for our participation in this adventure; he says that we are like children who can’t wait to see what our Father will do with us next.

Now, we all know that kids love to ask “Why?” They want to know how things work; they want to know how life works. But I’m a parent, and I can remember being a kid myself, and I also know that kids are very receptive to the unknown.

I remember one night when I was about 6 years old. I shared a room with my brother; we had bunk beds, and I got to sleep in the top bunk since I was older. So I was lying in bed one night and happened to look over at the bedroom door, and I saw something odd: About three-quarters of the way up the door, right in the center – right where you’d hang a sign – there was something glowing. I watched it for a minute, and then I called for my dad. It wasn’t that late, and he wasn’t in bed yet, so he came in and said, “What is it?”

I told him there was a magic nail glowing on the door. He looked at the door, and he removed the nail – which was really just a lightning bug.

Now, I thought it was strange that there was a magic nail on my door that I’d never noticed before. But, as a child, I didn’t question that there could be a magic nail on my door. I couldn’t explain it, but that didn’t stop me from believing it.

Then there’s Nicodemus. If Isaiah’s response to the invitation was childlike, we might say that Nicodemus’ response was very adult.

One of the movies in Abby’s regular rotation is “Peter Pan.” The central theme of the story of Peter Pan is the celebration of childhood and imagination. At the end of the movie, we find that George, the father of Wendy and John and Michael, also believed in Peter Pan when he was a child, but somewhere along the way, he lost that ability. Earlier in the movie, Peter warns Wendy that if she leaves Neverland and goes back to London to grow up, she can never return. That isn’t because Neverland doesn’t welcome grown-ups; it’s simply because grown-ups are unable to believe in the existence of Neverland.

See, as adults, life gets in the way of our ability to embrace mystery. We have important questions to deal with, and our questions demand answers. It’s important that we know what’s going on in our workplaces. We have to know what’s going on in our bank accounts and our investments. We need to solve the mystery of that knocking sound we’re hearing under the hood – or, to use an experience from my own life this week, that screeching sound the dryer’s been making. Answering these questions is necessary, and even healthy. The problem is that this need for answers tends to spill over into other areas of our lives, including the way we approach our faith.

This is where we find Nicodemus. He arranges a nighttime meeting with Jesus because he is a respected teacher of the law and doesn’t want to risk his reputation. By the way, that’s another adult characteristic. Kids play and dance and sing and imagine with total abandon; they don’t worry about things like reputations.

But Nicodemus sits down with Jesus, and right away starts trying to get his questions answered. Jesus speaks of rebirth, and Nicodemus says, “I’m a grown man; how can I be born again?” Jesus tries again, and Nicodemus still has questions.

It seems that Nicodemus had a genuine interest in hearing what Jesus had to say; he just couldn’t get past his need for answers. At this point in the story, Nicodemus disappears. Jesus doesn’t satisfy his need for answers; he doesn’t offer a three-point sermon or a catchy formula. He speaks in the language of metaphors about rebirth and wind and a snake, and Nicodemus finds himself unable to embrace the unknown.

All three of our readings today are about stepping into a mystery that changes us. Paul’s invitation is an invitation to see life differently, to understand that life is not drudgery, but an adventure to be reveled in. Our “resurrection life,” as Paul calls it, is “adventurously expectant,” a life in which God is up to something amazing and we’re invited to take part.

We don’t often see that God is up to something when we look at the world around us. We don’t have to look very hard to find suffering and selfishness and strife. But accepting Paul’s invitation means we can embrace the unknown; we can look beyond what we see and know that God is, in fact, up to something; and we can live with a sense of adventurous expectation to see what happens next.

Isaiah’s change was in the way he viewed himself. After he embraced the mystery, he no longer saw himself as someone who was unworthy and unclean. His experience changed him, and he became a powerful messenger of God.

Nicodemus’ invitation was an invitation to rebirth, which I think is a metaphor that sometimes loses its significance because it’s so overused. Having our sins forgiven is part of the rebirth, and is important; we take time every week in our worship service to celebrate this. But being born again is not just having the slate wiped clean; it’s taking on a new identity. Just as a baby has to learn how to be a person, we are called to learn a new way to be in the world. Rebirth means learning a new and better way to live in relationship with people, with creation, and with the Creator. It’s not something that can be fully explained; there’s no outline or manual that sufficiently prepares us – just as Frodo could only know the way to Mordor by going, and just as Isaiah could only enter his new life by saying, “Here I am,” we find out by taking a first step into the unknown.

Understanding the rebirth metaphor in this way, it’s ironic that Jesus uses those words to explain this to a teacher of the law. Nicodemus was supposed to be the guy who had the answers. People came to him for advice, and they respected his opinion. Yet, here’s Jesus, telling Nicodemus that he needs to learn a new way to follow God, a new way to be the kind of person he was meant to be.

Our readings also teach us that accepting the invitation will cost us something. Isaiah did indeed find himself in hot water with those in power. He endured much suffering during the course of his ministry and was ultimately sawed in half. Tradition teaches that Nicodemus later professed faith in Christ and paid a high price. Some say that he died a martyr’s death. Others say that he was stripped of his office, beaten and driven from Jerusalem, and that he died in poverty. Paul acknowledges that hard times will be a reality for those who embrace the mystery. But he promises that if we endure those hard times, we can be assured that we will also enjoy the good times that are part of the mystery.

I’d like to close with some words from a song by David Wilcox. The song is called “Out of the Question.” He wrote:

Out of the question

Catch the wind inside my fist? No, it’s

Out of the question

Try to trap you and I know I’ve missed

Out of the question

The place you will always be is

Out of the question

And into the mystery

Truth is there for finding

But the logic that’s involved

Is a mystery unwinding

Not a problem to be solved

So let us embrace the mystery and live the adventure. May we believe that God is up to something, even when we can’t see it. And may we seek to be part of what happens next.