Leaning Into The Future

Posted on April 3, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 6.10

Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Matthew 22.2-10

The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, “Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.” But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, maltreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, “The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.” Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.https://open.spotify.com/embed/episode/0witHZzJ5Te8lxO7mV8mEs

Don’t mix politics and religion.

That’s the etiquette maxim for church, dinner parties, and just about every other part of our lives. We’re told, again and again, to keep these seemingly incompatible things as far away from one another as possible. Whatever political proclivities we hold and whatever it is we believe, they are meant to remain in the private sphere and no one has any right to interfere with either.

Except, we confuse them all the time!

We blur the line between church and state with such reckless abandon that we don’t even notice that we’re doing it. We view (and judge) one another through the names on our bumper stickers rather than the name that is above all names, we act as if what happens on a certain Tuesday in November is more important and more determinative than what happen in church every Sunday, and we tend to get all worked up over who sits behind the desk in the oval office rather than rejoicing over the one who rules from the arms of the cross.

Oddly, the so-called Separation of Church and State actually looks more like an extremely tumultuous marriage in which neither partner knows why they are still together.

And, honestly, it’s not even our fault.

We get to blame this on Jesus.

“Listen,” Jesus says, “when you pray, pray like this: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.”

That’s good and fine and tame. No one is going to squirm around in their pews or lose sleep over words like those. But then listen to what Jesus prays next:

“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Woah, woah, woah. Politics have crept into the Lord’s Prayer!

Here we are, minding our own business, talking about God and heaven and holiness and then boom – we arrive in the middle of a political argument about a kingdom, transferred from one place to another, that calls into question all the things we think rule the world.

That’s the great wonder, and the great challenge, of the Lord’s Prayer – we’ve said it so many times in so many places with so many people that we no longer think about what it is we are praying for when we pray.

Let your kingdom come Lord, let your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Notice: we don’t pray, “Lord, let my political party finally be in charge for a little bit.” “Lord, watch over this nice little church so that we can knock out the competition across and down the street.” “Lord, please bless this country so that everyone else in the world will start acting like us.”

No, we pray, “Lord, let your kingdom come! Let your will be done!”

brown wooden cross against wall — Photo by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash

We live in a time in which there is a growing industry for all things spiritual. You can book a spiritual retreat at a spa for the weekend, you can download an app on your phone to connect you with the spiritual realm, you can hire a spiritual guru to guide you in the practices of meditation and transcendence. And all of that’s fine, some of it might even be Christian.

But, this prayer is a ringing reminder that Christianity is inherently materialistic.

In other words, physical and tactile things matter. Jesus will shortly tell us to pray for bread, not spiritual bliss.

Following the Lord, taking up our crosses, is not simply adhering to a sets of ideas or doctrines. Discipleship is as much about our bellies and our hearts and our politics as it is about our brains. Being Christian is a concrete reality, we might call it an adventure, that has implications for the way we live our lives from what we eat to who we eat with.

But we can save more of the bread talk for next week.

Suffice it to say, this petition in the Lord’s Prayer is what the whole prayer hinges on. Or, as Hauerwas and Willimon put it, calling for God’s kingdom is the reminder that this prayer is not for getting what we want but rather for bending our wants toward what God wants.

It’s about praying for God’s kingdom, rather than our own.

But what does this kingdom we pray for look like? What, exactly, are we praying for?

Jesus, thankfully, talks a lot about the kingdom of God, in fact he talks about it more than anything else. And when he does, he does so with hints and hidden glimpses, parables and puzzles, rather than with definitions and exposition.

Jesus proclaims the kingdom instead of explaining it.

Subscribed

The Kingdom of God is like… a mustard seed, a fig tree in need of manure, a field of wheat and weeds.

The Kingdom of God is like a wealthy man who gives away all his wealth to his slaves and then abruptly leaves town.

The Kingdom of God is like a farmer who starts throwing seed every which way without caring, at all, whether it lands on soil, among the thorns, or even on the sidewalk.

The Kingdom of God is like a Vacation Bible School volunteer who, when responsible for 15 kids, lost 1 and left behind the 14 in order to go find the one who was lost.

But the Kingdom of God is also more than the stories Jesus told, the kingdom is visible in him and the way he lived. Jesus is forever reaching out to the last, least, lost, little, and dead, bringing hope to the hopeless, offering mercy to the wretched, and grace to those in disgrace.

We know about the kingdom we pray for because we know Jesus Christ.

And, of course, Jesus’ kingdom looks nothing like the kingdoms of the world.

For, the kingdoms of the world are run by power and fear, constantly deciding who is in and who is out, and they crumble with the arrival of every new kingdom.

But God’s kingdom obliterates all of the world’s means of deciding who is in and who is out. When we say something like, the kingdom of God is for all, we mean it. We mean it because the kingdom is the most inclusive thing in the cosmos. It is inclusive because Christ draws all into himself when he mounts the hard wood of the cross, it is inclusive because Christ comes not to condemn the world but to save the world, it is inclusive because Christ brings the Good News to those who need it: namely, everyone.

All the divisions in life that cause us grief – rich and poor, Republican and Democrat, UVA and VA Tech, those divisions are overcome in the kingdom of God. That’s not to say that those distinctions don’t have meaning, they merely lose their power over us in the reckless inclusivity of the Kingdom.

To pray “Your kingdom come” is to be willing to become part of a rather weird gathering of motley, mediocre, and messy people who were once considered outsiders but who have discovered their insiderness in Jesus.

And yet, we pray for God’s kingdom to come because it is not yet here in its fullness. It’s the whole “already but not yet” thing. To be Christian is to be unsatisfied with the status quo, with how things are.

We are unsatisfied because our faith is eschatological. That is, we are a people who insist on leaning into God’s future.

However, that’s doesn’t mean we’re just standing around on our tiptops hoping to catch a glimpse of the ever arriving day after tomorrow – to pray this prayer means we are already participating in that strange and wondrous future.

We Christians are a people who live outside of time. We gather together to read words from the past that give us an assurance of a future that allows us to live differently now.

We know how the story ends which means we are clued in to how God’s future, what we call the kingdom, is already in-breaking with the present.

That’s why we do such wild and wondrous things like loving our enemies, and befriending the friendless, and feeding the hungry. We live that way because each of those things are foretastes of the kingdom made possible and manifest in Jesus. And, at the same time, we can do the wild and wondrous thing we are doing right now: worship.

Do you see? In a world as broken and backward as ours, we can take the time to have a party, a party we call worship. Part of our faith is the gift of grace to let loose and celebrate each Sunday.

Listen – The Kingdom of God is like a king who gave a banquet for his son. He sent his slaves out to go collect the invited guests with descriptions of all the lavish preparations for the party. But each of the invitees had an excuse for missing out on the party, they were either too busy, too indifferent, or too agitated to take the time to let loose and have fun.

But this king was no ordinary king. Nothing could stop his party. So he sent his slaves back out again, and this time he ordered them to drag in people off the street, the nobodies and the lowly, bring them all in, the good and the bad, so long as the place was packed to the brim.

Therefore, the kingdom we pray for every time we pray as Jesus taught us, it is both political and it is a party. It has ramifications for how we live and move and have our being. But it’s also fun.

Last weekend our church was decked out for Winter Vacation Bible School where we were out to solve the mysteries of the kingdom. We had Rec in Memorial Hall, Science upstairs along with Crafts, we had Music with Mr. D, and story time with the Reverend Detective here in the sanctuary. The kids would saunter in with their little magnifying glasses and we would always start with finding a story in the altar bible but, of course, the Bible was missing every time they walked in so the kids would have to run around the sanctuary in search of the scriptures.

After doing it three different times, one of our Preschool age kids said, “Pastor Taylor, you have got to be more careful with that Bible!”

It was a great and riotous weekend with the kids running all over this building. But for me, above all the stations and even the scripture stories, my favorite moment came when, on Saturday, it was all said and done, a set of parents came in to pick up their kids and they asked, “How was it?” And their son shouted, “I HAD SO MUCH FUN!”

That’s the kingdom of God that we pray for.

And it’s not out there somewhere else waiting for the right moment to finally show up. That raucous kingdom is already here, in ways seen and unseen, and it is worth our celebration.

Or, as Robert Capon so wonderfully put it…

“God is not our mother-in-law, come to see whether her wedding-present china has been chipped. God is a funny Old Uncle who shows up, unannounced, and uninvited, with a salami under one arm and a bottle of wine under the other.”

The Lord comes to start the party we call the Supper of the Lamb, the party we catch glimpses of every week, the party to which we are invited even though we don’t deserve it.

And so, every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer, every time we eat and drink the Lord’s Supper with Jesus, we live into the reality of Jesus’ kingdom we pray for.

God’s kingdom is a bunch of people like us, good and bad and everything in between, eating and drinking and having fun with Jesus.

That’s the future we lean into whenever we pray the Lord’s Prayer. Amen.

An Example

Posted on March 6, 2023 by taylormertins

I preached the following sermon on 8/7/16 at St. John’s UMC in Staunton. I was struck that week by the lack of faithful Christian examples and felt moved to talk about Wilford Kirby who, in so many ways, talked the talked AND walked the walk of discipleship. Wilford died this week and I am reposting this in his honor – my life is better for having had him in it. Well done, good and faithful servant.

–

Luke 12.32-34

Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Meanwhile, when the crowds gathered by the thousands to hear him talk, so many in fact that they began to trample on one another, Jesus rose to speak. He warned his disciples against hypocrisy – live honest lives. He instructed them to confess fearlessly – all who earnestly repent will be forgiven. He shared the parable of the rich fool – you can’t take your money to heaven. And then he gave them some final instructions:

“Do not be afraid little sheep! For it is God’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give away your money, use your gifts to bless others here and now. For where your treasure it, there your heart will be also.”

Sometimes Christians drive me crazy. You know, the super pious ones who are forever wearing their faith on their sleeves; the ones who stand on the street corners of life blasting off about some passage or another; the ones who come knocking on your door and try to sell you on the gift of eternal life instead of the fires of hell.

Have you ever met or encountered a Christian like that? I can’t help but feel like they are the kinds of Christians that are giving the rest of us Christians a bad name. Jesus never instructed his disciples to act like the people from Westboro Baptist church who are forever picketing the funerals of people whom they believe did not live up to Christ’s expectations. Jesus never called his disciples to be racist or bigoted toward peoples of different nationalities, or race, or creed, or sexual orientation. Jesus never implored the disciples to use fear mongering to convince people to come to church or otherwise be threatened with the fires of eternal punishment. Yet, if you turn on the news, or get online, those are the kinds of Christians we hear about the most; the ones who give the rest of us Christians a bad name.

Just once I would like a good Christian to be featured for all to see; someone who has absorbed the Word throughout his or her life and has lived accordingly; someone who believes the good news is so good, that is worth sharing not to fill the pews, but to fill hearts; someone who could stand like an earthly example for the rest of us to catch a glimpse of the ways Jesus calls us to behave.

I was asked this winter to be a guest preacher at Augusta Street UMC in Staunton. We had a midweek and midday service and I decided to preach about how good it is when we dwell together in unity. The service was well received and we gathered in the social hall after worship for a light lunch. I walked around for a couple minutes until I found an empty chair next to a man named Wilford Kirby who was deeply engrossed in a conversation with someone else.

Wilford was “one of mine.”

Elsewhere in the room, United Methodists from all of the churches in our town were sitting with their friends from their churches. Like cliques in a high school, the Central folk were at one table, the Cherryvale folk at another, and so on. But Wilford refused to be subject to this paradigm. He was sitting with the preacher from Augusta Street, though I don’t think he knew that he was the preacher. Because I eavesdropped on the end of their conversation, and the last thing Wilford said to the preacher was: “You should come try out our church on Sundays.”

Anyway, I sat with Wilford and he was quick to make a couple comments about their church facility in comparison with ours, offered a few critiques on how my sermon could have been better, and continued to eat his soup and sandwiches. I had other things to get done that afternoon, so after I finished eating I excused myself and told Wilford that I’d see him in church on Sunday and left.

Not fifteen minutes later was my phone ringing. When I answered all I heard was: “Wilford fell, broke some ribs, on his way to the hospital.”

I immediately turned my car toward the direction of Augusta Health and beat the ambulance to the Emergency Department. But because they needed to do some x-rays and have him checked out I wasn’t able to get back, and he didn’t want me to anyway.

The next day I showed up at his house and banged on his door until he slowly made his way to the front of the house and let me in. I should have been a little more compassionate and patient regarding the fact that he was walking around with a few broken ribs, but I wanted to know what happened. I wanted to make sure he was okay. I wanted to pray for him.

And as we sat down in his basement, before I could even open my mouth, he asked me how I was doing, and then went through the list of everyone he had been praying for and wanted updates since he had been out of the loop for a whole day.

Wilford Kirby is the kind of Christian that makes the rest of us Christians look better.

Wilford Kirby is an example to us all about what it means to follow Christ in this life.

Luke, in this passage about our treasures and our hearts, calls for us to put first things first. The things of the Lord are to be the most urgent and pressing priority in every Christian’s life. We are not to be afraid nor are we to succumb to the worldly distractions of wealth that constantly distract us from God’s love and care. There are no wallets, or stock portfolios, or bonds that will not wear out in time. God promises not to fill us with earthly wealth and material possessions, but instead surprises us with the gift of the kingdom.

Receiving this gift, the kingdom, makes us rich beyond our ability to comprehend. But being rich toward God is not about putting sizable sums in the offering plate during worship. What Jesus rejoices in, is our reorientation toward the whole of life as an abundant gift from a generous God – a gift that can be given away with abandon.

Wilford Kirby has given his life to the kingdom, because the kingdom was first given to him.

He has easily attended more worship services than anyone in this church over the last three years, including me (and I’m the pastor!). On Sunday mornings Wilford is the first layperson to enter the sanctuary making sure our heat is pumping in the winter, and the AC is on during the summer. He checks the lights for optimum worship participation, and he checks through the bulletins to make sure everything will go smoothly.

Every winter he sits out in his truck for hours on end waiting for people to come take a peek at our Christmas trees and offer them his assistance. Even though we have a giant sign advertising the times the lot will be open, Wilford believes in being present for the kind of people who ignore signs like those.

He is here an hour before our special services throughout the year like Ash Wednesday, and Good Friday, and Christmas Eve just in case anyone arrives extra early.

He is almost always the first person to show up in my office to find out how someone from our church is doing and how he can be praying for him or her.

For years he has mowed the lawn of our church and cared for the property as a volunteer. He never complained; he never sought recognition; he never wanted praise. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been sitting in the comfort of my air-conditioned office day-dreaming about God when I’d see Wilford come flying past my window on the lawn mower with a smile hidden underneath his dust-mask.

Wilford has been here for every funeral since I arrived. Even for people he never knew. Yet he always stands in the back greeting people as they walk in, not because he was asked to, not because he was told to, be because he believes it’s the right thing to do.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

The greatest treasure that Wilford Kirby has offered this church has been his very life, and he has given it with abandon.

But why? Wilford could be spending his precious time working with other civic organizations trying to make the world better. He could be spending his afternoons on the golf course or relaxing in the comfort of his home. He could use his life to do any number of things, but instead he has given it to this church.

My suspicion is that Wilford has given his life to the church because he knows and has experienced how the kingdom was given to him, and he wants to share that gift with others. He trusts that the Lord will provide. He humbly obeys the commands to love even the unlovable. He has seen first-hand how the kingdom of God can become manifest in other peoples’ lives. He put his treasure in this place because his heart has always been here. He wants other people to be blessed in the ways that he has been blessed. So he shows up. He prays. He cares. He loves. And he is an example to us all.

But that’s not to say that Wilford is perfect; he’s not. There are plenty of Sunday mornings when I finish a service and walk down the center aisle only to see Wilford standing in the back with his arm outstretched and his finger pulling me in as if to say, “Let me offer a suggestion.” Or there have been plenty of times that I’ve heard his footsteps walking down the hallway and I know from the texture of his tempo that he’s coming not to congratulate me on something but to complain about something that has happened in the church. But the thing is, even when Wilford is frustrated or upset it is because he believes our church can be better. He believes that we are part of the kingdom and we can’t be just like any other church. He expects excellence precisely because that’s what God expects from all of us.

Being rich toward God involves a generosity of spirit that opens our perceptions toward God’s generosity. Wilford knows how blessed he is, for the kind of life that he has had, and therefore he knows no other way to live than the way that he does.

Theses words from Jesus first meant for the crowd, and now meant for us, decisively interrupt our lives in this place and on this day calling us to focus not on the demands of the overly scheduled life, but on the Lord who comes in surprising ways to offer comfort, assurance, and love. Through these words we hear Jesus telling us that the time is now to start living a new life, not dictated by the past, but defined by God’s belief in our future. God uses people like us, people like Wilford, to make the kingdom manifest so that lasting joy will come to God’s little flock we call the church.

At this table, where Wilford has come time and time again, we receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ. In this profound moment we are offered the kingdom again even though we do not deserve it. We come forward with hands outstretched remembering this incredible gift that has been given without cost. And by receiving this gift, we cannot help ourselves but live transformed lives.

So come and see that the Lord is good. Feast at this table where heaven and earth are bound together. Join together with Wilford Kirby as he walks to the front to receive the gift of the kingdom once again. And let it change your life like it has changed his. Amen.

A Peculiar Prayer

Posted on March 1, 2023 by taylormertins

What makes a sermon, a sermon?

I’ve long held that the mere writing of a sermon, words on a page, don’t actually make it much of anything. A sermon is only a sermon when it is proclaimed among and for God’s people within the context of worship. The prayers, music, and even presence of individuals make the sermon what it is because the Holy Spirit delights in making the words proclaimed from the pulpit God’s words for us.

And so, I have a sermon that is not really a sermon. I prayed over these words and put them together for the first Sunday of Lent, but became sick prior to Sunday morning and asked Eric Anderson, the Director of Next Gen Ministries at Raleigh Court UMC to preach it on my behalf. I am thankful to serve a church that is willing to pivot when necessary and to work alongside Eric who, admittedly, probably did a better job preaching “my” sermon than I would have had I been well enough to do it.

Here’s the sermon I wrote and that he preached…

–

Matthew 6.9

Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed by your name.

John 15.13-17

No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name.

people inside room — Photo by Pedro Lima on Unsplash

When we pray, if we pray at all, we usually do so because circumstances have convinced us that we are completely and totally alone, and that we have to navigate and figure out our circumstances alone.

This is my fault and I have to fix it.

No one knows what this feels likes, which is why no one else will understand it.

If I just pretend this isn’t happening, maybe it will all go away.

And all of those lies begin to unravel with the words, “Our Father.”

Jesus is in the middle of his Sermon on the Mount. It begins with blessings, and talk of salt and light and law. Jesus warns his disciples about practicing their piety publicly. And then, without much warning, he teaches them (and us) how to pray.

When you are praying, Jesus says (notice, Jesus assumes they/we are already a praying people. What’s important is not that we ought to pray, but that we ought to pray a certain way).

When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words.

In other words, don’t puff your prayers up with all sorts of adjectives and adverbs. You don’t need to sprinkle all that fancy stuff on top because, Jesus says, your Father already knows what you need before you ask.

And yet, when you pray, pray this way:

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, and we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trail, but rescue us from the evil one.

What a peculiar prayer.

Subscribed

Notably, this isn’t the only prayer in the Bible. The psalms are filled with prayers. Any speech toward God is a prayer, so when Peter is encountered by Jesus and says, “Go away from me Lord for I am a sinful man,” he is praying. Jesus tells stories about prayer, and rebukes others for the way they pray. And, in Luke’s telling of the Gospel, Jesus teaches this prayer, though the words are a little different, not in the middle of a sermon, but because the disciples ask Jesus to teach them how to pray.

Among the many things that might describe what it means to be Christian, to be disciples of Jesus Christ, at the very least we are people who pray. We understand prayer to be important, whether we can articulate it or not. We speak to God and we listen to God.

Contrary to how we might imagine it, living a life of faith isn’t about adhering to a certain set of beliefs as much as it is learning how to pray.

Karl Barth once wrote, “To be a Christian and to pray are one and the same thing; it is a matter that cannot be left to our caprice. It is a need, a kind of breathing necessary to life.”

And yet, among all the prayers in scripture, both the Old and the New Testaments, and among all the prayers we might discover in something like The Book of Common Prayer, even our own extemporaneous prayers, this prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, is what makes prayer possible.

It is, admittedly, a bit strange to pray to God as Father. For, even since the beginning of the church, Christians have understood that God is beyond our human understandings of gender. God is neither male nor female. God is God.

And yet, for as strange as it is to refer to God as Father, it is far stranger that we begin the Lord’s prayer with the word, “Our.”

brown wooden cross on brown wooden wall — Photo by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash

Our, of course, is often understood as a plural possessive pronoun, but when we say, “Our Father,” we are not communicating that God belongs to us. Rather, the our in the Our Father is a bewildering claim that God, the author of the cosmos, the One in whom we live and move and have our being, has determined to become our God. That is, God doesn’t belong to us, but we belong to God, together.

In other words, long before any of us reached out to God, God reached toward us, claimed us, and promised to make us God’s people.

It is never because of what we do or have done, but because of what God in Christ has done that we are able to pray, “Our Father.”

And it’s not just that we are able to pray those words, we are bold to pray them.

Does it feel bold to you to pray the Lord’s Prayer? I’ll be the first to confess that, as a liturgical moment in our worship every week, it can feel a little boring rather than bold, just another thing we have to do.

Hence this sermon series.

But there is a boldness to this peculiar prayer. We do well to not pray it lightly, or treat it as one more thing we have to do. It takes guts to pray this prayer.

It takes courage to address the great I AM who can make the impossible possible. As Buechner put it, “We can do nothing without God and without God we are nothing.”

And yet, we can boldly pray this prayer because we belong to God. God has intruded into our lives in spectacularly weird and peculiar ways in the person of Jesus… who teaches us this prayer. And the us is important.

Being Christian isn’t something that comes naturally, and its not something we can figure out on our own. Being Christian is a result of being initiated (through baptism) into a group of people called church who are shaped by this prayer.

Therefore, the our in the Our Father is admission that we are not alone. Even if we pray this prayer away from other people, the “our” is a stark declaration that there is no such thing as a solitary Christian.

We are bound to one another, and we are bound to God.

Can you imagine how different the faith would be if Jesus taught us to pray, My Father who art in heaven, give me my daily bread?

Our faith is a communal one where we cannot know what we are doing unless there is a we.

In other words, The Beatles were right, We get by with a little help from our friends!

Thomas Aquinas, the great Catholic thinker from the 13th century, is famous for quipping that we are created for no greater purpose than friendship with God. The our in the Our Father reminds us that we cannot pray without friends. This is why you can tell if someone is a Christian by who their friends are.

And, oddly enough, Jesus chooses us to be his friends.

It would be one thing if Jesus called us his servants, serving the Lord is a worthy task. But, instead, Jesus befriends the disciples and all of us.

And what is the surest sign of a deep friendship? Listening.

Do you have someone in your life who is a good listener? I hope so. I wouldn’t be where I am were it not for those who have been willing to listen.

And that’s exactly what Jesus does for us. But not just that, Jesus listens to our prayers, and Jesus responds to them.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be they name.

The God we worship, the God we pray to, our God, rules from heaven. That we pray to God in heaven is important. For, it is the reminder that God is placed, located, and active. Our God is somewhere and that somewhere is different than where we are. But it’s only because of God’s location, that God is able to do far more than we could ever ask or imagine. From the throne of the cosmos God acts and it made known to us in ways seen and unseen.

Therefore, we pray not because it’s good for us, though it may be. Prayer is not self-help. Rather, prayer is the recognition that we need help from outside of ourselves. For, if it were all up to us, things would remain the same. We need others to enter and act in our lives just as we need the acting and enacting Lord of heaven and earth to make a way where there is no way.

We hallow God’s name, we call it holy, out of recognition that God is God and we are not. We pray to the Holy One because only the Holy One can make us holy. Otherwise, prayer is just empty words offered to no one but ourselves.

But the Gospel is a stark reminder that we are not alone. Our Father will not let us remain isolated and abandoned. Whenever we lift these words up, words straight from the lips of Jesus, the connections between us, one another, and the Lord are reconstituted and there’s nothing we can do about it.

Our Father reigns from heaven, God’s name is holy, and because of such, we can pray the rest of the prayer. Ultimately, we learn how to pray by following Jesus, who is God’s prayer for us. Amen.

Cut To The Heart

Posted on March 1, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21

Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Where does this day come from?

Well, it’s a bit of a mystery. We can point to these definitive moments in church history when certain leaders in the church decided we needed certain days on the liturgical calendar, but the habit of Ash Wednesday, and Lent for that matter, is a little more complicated.

As best as we can tell there was a one to two day fast leading up to Easter in the early church. Fasting, of course, is about preparing one’s body and focusing on the Lord. And, at some point, this extended backward to a week’s worth of fasting and was marked as Holy Week – Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday. Eventually one week grew to three, and then forty days.

We do know that once the church adopted this forty day season leading up to Easter, it was primary about preparing baptismal candidates to be received into the church on Easter.

Now, the forty days has all sorts of biblical connections – the 40 days and nights with Noah on the ark, the 40 years of wandering through the wilderness with Moses, and Jesus’ 40 days of temptation.

Today, the season of Lent exists for three main reasons – it is still a time of preparation for baptism, it is a time for reconciliation for those estranged from the church, and it is a time of repentance for the whole church as we renew out commitment to following Jesus.

No matter how it started, and no matter how it transitioned into what it is today, Lent is a season of introspection. Looking inwardly. And it begins in the most introspective way of all, by confronting our mortality and sinfulness.

In other words, Ash Wednesday is not for the faint of heart. It requires a community to hold us up at a time like this when we are told the deepest truth that we otherwise avoid at all costs. No one makes it out of this life alive.

black powder on white surface — Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

And yet, there’s this strange temptation to receive such a difficult truth but then we wear it proudly and piously when we leave church. It’s a bit odd that the ashes on our foreheads have become a marker of faithfulness.

I remember a few years ago, after presiding over a service just like this one, I got on my phone and saw all these people posting selfies with ashes smeared across their foreheads. Only they didn’t call them selfies, they call them #ashies.

Nothing could be further from the text we read today.

Jesus’ rebuke against those who go around piously comes in the midst of his Sermon on the Mount and is admittedly a bit ironic. At the beginning of the sermon he lists off blessings and then he commands his followers to be salty and shine their light so that others might know the light of Christ.

And then, just a few paragraphs later, he tells his followers to pray in secret away from others, and he warns them against practicing their piety in public.

Public piety is but another form of self-justification – it’s the Pharisee in the Jesus’ parable who does all the right things so well that he’s wrong. “Well, at least I’m not like that person,” is a projection of our righteousness over and against others.

Ash Wednesday refuses to let us have any of that.

Lent is a season of accusation, and ever ringing reminder that we are not as we ought to be. We can’t even practice our piety publicly because we do so not because of our commitment to God, but because we want to be seen by others.

Ash Wednesday, the irony of making our foreheads notwithstanding, has nothing to do with our goodness or our piety, it has nothing to do with how many bad habits we’re going to try to drop, or how many good ones we try to adopt.

Ash Wednesday, oddly enough, is about grace.

Subscribed

The ashes in the sanctuary point us toward the strange and devious links between sin, death, and even rebellion. The words I say, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” come from Genesis when Adam and Eve receive punishment for their sin. Judgment, Peter reminds us, comes first for the household of God. The ashes remind us of our fragility and finitude.

But more important than the ashes themselves is the fact that we receive them in the form and shape of the cross.

Therefore, the ashes are both a reminder of our failure, and Christ’s victory, all at once.

This is the day that we are bold to confess our truth, we are sinners, we are failures, we are not righteous.

We have not loved God with our whole hearts, we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves, we have failed to be an obedient church, all of that.

And yet, Christ dies for us while we are yet sinners, and that proves God’s love toward us.

Which means, despite how hard the words are for me to say, or even for you to receive, the crosses on our foreheads are the great declaration of God that there is nothing we can do or leave undone that will ever separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus.

Lent, contrary to how we might imagine it, is not about how angry God is with us for our sins. Even though God has every right to be angry with us. Lent is actually all about how God, in Christ, intervenes on our behalf to make a way where there is no way. We, therefore, don’t practice our piety publicly or privately in order to appease God. We instead receive these ashes as a sign of the great gift of grace that comes to us no matter what.

Jesus’ rebuke against practicing our piety publicly, particularly as we enter the season of Lent, they cut straight to the heart. But sometimes that’s exactly what we need. Our hard-heartedness often renders us convinced that we have to earn our ticket to heaven whereas the crosses on our foreheads reminds us that heaven has already come to us.

In the end, we are not called to be good, or virtuous, or even pious. We are called to be disciples. And discipleship is often nothing more than following Jesus toward the cross.

The cross reminds us that we can’t fix ourselves. In any other place and any other institution that is unmitigated bad news. But here, in the church, it’s the Gospel. It’s good news because nobody, not the devil, not the world, not even ourselves can take us away from the love that refuses to let us go.

Or, as Paul put it, “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” Amen.

A Better Hope

Posted on February 22, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 17.1-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

There’s a story I heard once about a church that decided they were going to finally make Easter memorable one year. As if the raising of Jesus from the dead wasn’t memorable enough.

Anyway, they enrolled the Children’s ministry, because that’s what churches do, and they made all these costumes and taught all the children their lines and they made these first century like tapestries to set the scenes. All of it. Weeks of preparation. Programs were printed. The whole town came out for this unforgettable Easter performance.

And all went well, until it didn’t. A few kids showed up too late to put on their costumes so they wore their blue jeans and tee shirts along side Roman centurions. One kid plum forgot his lines so he had to hold the script and squint at it every time he had to speak. On and on.

And then, this pivotal scene arrived: the Crucifixion. The little boy playing Jesus was supposed to lifted up and triumphantly declare, “Father forgive them.” But the centurions who were supposed to strap Jesus to the cross got into an unscripted fight about how to actually tie him down before lifting him up. Their voices grew and they started pushing one another until other kids jumped into the gray and the whole thing started coming apart.

Until a little girl, perhaps the smallest in the cast, shouted louder than everyone else, “Let Jesus speak!”

Let Jesus speak.https://open.spotify.com/embed/episode/3ImmHw3N2yCjRGgImtDOES

It was Jesus’ words and voice that first called Peter. He went from fishing for fish to fishing for people. It was Jesus’ teaching and healings that started the whole ministry – these little miracles that defied understanding. It was Jesus’ preaching on top of the mountain that dwelt deep in Peter’s soul, the blessings, and the salt, and the light, and the law. It was Jesus’ parables that Peter clung to in the moments of uncertainty, the stories of mustard seeds and prodigals and publicans.

And so, when Jesus asked about the truth, who he really was, it was Peter who said, “You’re the Christ, the Messiah.”

Jesus, apparently pleased with Peter’s proclamation, pulled back the curtain of the cosmos for a moment and spoke some more truth about the coming days, and his predicted passion – death and resurrection.

But that didn’t sit well with St. Pete – “Hey JC, I don’t think you understand. the Messiah can’t die! The Messiah is here to fix everything!”

And do you know what Jesus’ said in response? “Get behind me Satan, for your head is stuck on human things, but I’m here for heavenly things!” And then he started preaching about a call to self-denial, and taking up the cross (whatever that means), and the taste of death, again.

And now, six days later, six days after the confession and rebuke, Jesus asks Peter, along with James and John, to travel to the top of mountain by themselves.

They arrive at the top and immediately Jesus is transfigured – his face is shining like the sun and his clothes are dazzling white.

Suddenly two figures appear on either side of Jesus, Moses and Elijah, and they begin talking to one another.

Peter speaks for the first time and says, “Lord, it is good and right for us to be here! Let’s make tabernacle right here on the mountain, one for yo, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!”

But Jesus doesn’t respond. Instead a cloud overshadows all of them on the mountain and from the cloud comes a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased, listen to him!”

When they hear the voice the disciples, Peter included, fall to the ground in abject terror. But then Jesus reaches out, touches them, and says, “Don’t be afraid.” And when they look around Moses and Elijah are gone.

Subscribed

The Transfiguration changes things. It is the turning point in the Gospel from the Galilean mission to the journey toward Jerusalem. And, for us, it is the turning point from the season after the Epiphany toward the season of Lent.

The Transfiguration is strange. And, every year we proclaim this story as God’s Word for the people of God, I have more questions.

Did Jesus know this was going to happen, hence inviting the disciples up to the mountain?

What did Jesus, Moses, and Elijah talk about?

How did the disciples know the figures were Moses and Elijah to begin with? It’s not like they had Google to look up their pictures!

The Transfiguration is part of what makes the strange new world of the Bible so new and so strange.

Jesus has just rebuked his chief disciple, told all of his followers to take up their own crosses (before they even have an inkling that he will die on one), and then, a week later, they travel up to the top of a mountain and Jesus turns into a walking talking lighthouse with two of the most important figures from Israel’s history flanking him on either side, only to have it end just as soon as it starts.

And, notably, this is the only instance in any of the Gospels when Jesus doesn’t respond, at all, to something that someone has said to him. Namely, Peter’s request to start a motel franchise on top of the mountain.

The Transfiguration shows up once a year, every year, as this transitional moment for the church. And, usually, it goes one of two ways.

A preacher like me will stand and rebuke Peter for his foolishness and then make the strange, but true, connection between Peter and all of you. It’s okay to not have all the answers, it’s perfectly fine to be imperfect. Jesus loves Peter even when he messes up just like Jesus loves you.

Or, using Peter again, a preacher like me will make comments about Peter’s strange desire to stay up on the mountain and how the life of faith isn’t just about mountaintop experiences, but going down the mountain, back to reality, where we get to do all the churchy stuff we’re supposed to do like help people in need. The sermon ends with a call to discipleship or mission with a reminder that the mountaintop moment motivates us toward movement.

It’s either: Peter’s just like you, or we’ve got work to do.

Preaching is strange. I know of a preacher who received a grant to go around listening to other preacher so that he could write a book about preaching. And, when asked about the experience of listening to all these other preachers he said, “If anyone hears anything in a sermon, it’s a miracle.”

Woof.

Now, on one level, his comment is a critique about the sorry state of preaching in the church today – yours truly included. I never know what’s going to happen when I sit down to write a sermon, let alone what will happen when I stand up here to preach it.

Preaching is, inherently, a foolish endeavor. We all know that. It is foolish because preachers preach, week after week, with the hope that, miraculously, God’s people will hear a revelation from God.

And yet, divine revelation is not something within the control of the preacher. God speaks however God wants. Sometimes God does actually speak through a preacher, I’ll let you be the judge of whether or not that happens here. And sometimes, more than preachers would like to admit, God speaks in spite of preachers.

Only God can speak for God.

Which means, oddly enough, that that other preacher is right – if anyone hears anything in a sermon, it is a miracle.

Preaching God’s word and hearing God speak is miraculous.

As is the Transfiguration.

Peter and company experience a miracle – they get to witness a peak behind the curtain of the cosmos. In one brilliantly beautiful moment they see the real truth in front of them, what Paul will later intone with the words, “In Jesus the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.”

For some reason, we (that is preachers) like to take this miracle, and instead of focusing on it, we focus on Peter. We make our theology into anthropology. Focusing on Peter makes this extraordinary story ordinary, which undermines the miracle that is the Transfiguration!

The Gospel isn’t found in Peter and friends cowering on the mountain, and it’s certainly not in the idea of doing good works which we all know we’re supposed to do whether or not we know the Christ on the mountaintop.

The Gospel is Jesus Christ and him transfigured.

Notice, the light that radiates in and through Jesus’ flesh is the same light that was the result of the One who said let there be light. It is the same light that that spoke to Moses through a burning bush and eventually permeated Moses’ face on top of another mountain, the same light that blazed in the whirlwind that took up Elijah into the sky.

If the point of the Transfiguration is to merely give us a little encouragement when we’re afraid, or a call to more do-goodery, then it is not sufficient for the sin-sick world we live in.

It doesn’t give us any hope. Or, if it does, it only puts our hope in us.

Again, that’s anthropology, not theology.

If the hope we need is in us, then we should’ve fixed all the worlds problems by now.

The great, and staggering, truth of the strange new world of the Bible is that we need all the help and all the hope we can get because all is not as it ought to be.

And yet, Christ beckons us to the mountaintop even when we, like Peter get it all wrong. We are called to worship and adore the transfigured Christ and, in so doing, to be transfigured ourselves. Take it from Peter, the more time you spend with Jesus, the more he invades your life filling it with impossible possibilities.

The more time you spend with Jesus, the more you hear what he has to say.

If you leave from church today, or any day for that matter, with even the slightest inkling that you heard something from the Lord, it’s a miracle. It’s certainly not a testament to my preaching ability, or even our gifted musicians. It’s an ordinary experience of the miraculous work of God.

Did you notice that, when Peter starts getting all these funny ideas up on the mountaintop, Jesus doesn’t light into him like he did the week before? Instead, a cloud arrives, overshadowing all of them.

Its as if the Lord is saying, “Pete, shhhh. Just, for a moment, please, listen.”

The rest of the Gospel story will remind us that Jesus was crucified in our vain attempt to stop his talking. But not even the grave could stop of the Word of God made flesh from speaking. Lo, I am with you, even to the end of the age.

Despite all the reasons God should’ve left us behind, abandoned us in the valleys and mountains of our own making, God is with us, speaking to us.

Therefore, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, listening to him, we begin, thank God, to look and sound more and more like Jesus. To move as he moves, to see as we are seen and to hear as we are heard. That hope, the hope of our transfiguration, the hope of holding what we behold is what the book of Hebrews calls the better hope.

Behold the Transfigured Christ, bask in his light that is light eternal, and listen to him. Amen.

Everyone Has A But

Posted on February 13, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 5.21-37

You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not murder”; and “whoever murder shall be liable to judgment.” But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or a sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or a sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, “You fool,” you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your bother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny. You have heard that it was said, “You shall not commit adultery.” But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your member than for your whole body to go into hell. It was also said, “Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.” But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, cause her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery. Again you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.” But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let you words be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

The narthex is buzzing at First Church Galilee.

A young seminarian, the son of a construction worker is the rumor, just finished preaching a sermon and the amount of responses was staggering.

It started with oohs and ahhh. A scattering of amens. But then there was silence, and head scratching, and even a few audible “Excuse Mes?”.

Mrs. Smith, the dedicated Sunday school teacher has amassed a crowd by the coffee decanter. “The nerve!” she begins, “Can you believe what we just witnessed? Don’t you think that boy would’ve had the good sense to know that we don’t come here to be told what to do, but instead to hear about who God is?”

Parishioners shake their heads in affirmation.

Mr. Cline, the head usher, then steps in, “Well now. He is young and so full of the Spirit. Maybe he didn’t really mean it.”

“Give me a break Jim,” Mrs. Smith retorts, “You know he meant it! You don’t get up in the pulpit and say things like that if you don’t mean it!”

And right then the preacher stops shaking hands at the door and walks up to the small but rather agitated crowd. Before he has a chance to speak, Mrs. Smith lights into him, “You’ve got a lot of nerve you son of a carpenter! It’s not responsible to tell people to pluck out their eyes and cut off their arms! There were children present during your message! You know, I have half a mind to send a note to the bishop about you!”

And, oddly enough, the preacher closes his mouth into a smile and says nothing. In the oddity of his silence, the congregation awkwardly begins to disperse, and they leave amazed and astounded at his teaching.

It is a strange sermon that our Lord preaches, a sermon we call the Sermon on the Mount. I think we can agree to an extent with my fictional parishioners who witnessed his proclamation – it is a bit weird to hear such word from the Word made flesh.

It’s one thing to tell people their blessed when they’re grieving and mourning. It’s still yet another thing to talk about being salty and shining your light into the world. But it’s another thing entirely when Jesus takes the law and cranks it up to eleven.

You have heard that it was said that you shall not murder, but I say that if you are angry with a brother or sister you’ve committed just as bad of a crime.

You have heard that it was said you shall not commit adultery, but I say that if your eye lingers just a second too long on someone other than your spouse, you’ve become an adulterer.

You have heard it was said that you shall worship the Lord your God, but I say to you that if you miss even one Sunday at church you are liable to the H E double hockeys sticks of fire.

Geez Jesus. What’s the deal? What happened to loving our neighbors as ourselves and doing a nice thing for someone else every once in a while?

And that’s not even mentioning the abject craziness of being told, by the Lord, that it would be better to rip out our eyes and cut off our hands than to continue living in the sins of our imaginations!

Now, we all know that Jesus spoke in parables. It’s important, of course, to note that Jesus also spoke in hyperbole, exaggerated speech, what Stephen Webb calls, “blessed excess.”

Though, it doesn’t sound very blessed, even when Jesus does it.

Hyperbole – overstating something in order to underscore. We do it all the time do, we add for emphasis. We spice up our stories for effect, we exaggerate in order to drive something home, we give ourselves over to hyperbole.

Even in the church we do it. Have you ever heard the hymn “O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing”? I don’t see 1,000 people here today…

I mean, it would be irresponsible for us to take Jesus at his word, to take him literally. If we did, this congregation would turn into a bunch of one-armed cyclopses. And that’s just the verses we read today. He keeps going!

And yet… and yet…

Might it be that we don’t feel comfortable with these words from Jesus not just because of how graphic he is, but also because of how close it hits to home?

I suspect that only a very small selection of Christians enjoy this part of Jesus’ sermon. Honestly, this preacher didn’t want to have to preach a sermon on Jesus’ sermon on the mount this week. It’s a lot. But there are some out there for whom this sermon, these words of Jesus taking the people to task, it rings of truth because they know there is more at stake in the Kingdom of God than merely being accepted.

Acceptance is a passive reality that actually runs counter to God’s nature.

God doesn’t just accept us otherwise God, in Christ, would never heave preached this sermon. Acceptance isn’t enough. Neither is tolerance.

Nobody wants to be accepted or tolerated.

We want to be loved.

And Jesus does love us, even me and you, but his love is intense, frightening, and overwhelming. In fact, Jesus loves us so much, he’s willing to do something most of us avoid at all costs – he tells the truth.

But there’s a reason we avoid the truth – that we run from it whenever it rears its ugly head. No one wants to be told they are a sinner, let alone admit it themselves.

We all have our “buts,” our excuses, when it comes to Jesus’ sermon.

Just because I looked it doesn’t mean I acted on it.

C’mon, what’s a little grudge got to do with me being able to come forward to the altar?

So what if I get a little judgmental every once in awhile, it’s not like its hurting anyone!

Sure, maybe I went a little too far but I’m not as bad as some other people!

Okay, I’ll admit that I said some thing that I shouldn’t have, but words are not the same things as actions.

Yeah, it was a mistake, but I won’t do it again.

Everyone has a but, and each of those buts is just a further reminder that, at the end of the day, we’re all sinners! And, to be honest, the sermon only gets worse. Jesus will shortly command his followers to turn the other cheek, love and pray for their enemies, and more!

The whole thing builds and builds with a crescendo, like many good sermons, until Jesus hammers it all home with this: “Do Not Judge lest ye be judged. Why do you seek the speck in your neighbors’s eye and neglect to see the log in your own?”

In other words, the sermon functions to help us see that we can’t judge anyone else for what they’ve done or left undone because, according to Jesus, all of us are incompatible with Christian teaching.

Any straight reading of scripture, Jesus’ sermon included, shows us that the Law is inflexible and total. Do your best and God will do the rest is not the message of the Bible.

The Law functions to drive us out of our propensity toward sinful self-sufficiency. That’s why Jesus preaches his offensive sermon. Otherwise, we are doomed to remain exactly as we are. And the Lord doesn’t arrive to keep things the same – the Lord arrives to make all things new. Including us.

But there is no resurrection without crucifixion. Hence the expression: The Gospel can only make alive those whom the Law has killed.

Jesus’ sermon accuses us – you are dead in your sins – and it also promises us new life – for the One who preaches these words is the same one who mounts the hard wood of the cross for people like us – people who don’t deserve it according to the words of his sermon.

It’s a bit odd to claim Good News in the midst of the sermon on the mount that sounds like such terribly bad news. But there is Good News because God in Christ does for us that which we cannot do on our own.

We can’t live up to the expectations of Jesus’ sermon, but that’s kind of the point. Again, it reminds us that we are no better than anyone else. In fact, it helps us to see that we’re all in the same boat. Therefore, like Peter who jumps out of the boat, Jesus’ sermon give us the strength to call out, “Lord, save me.”

And that’s exactly what Jesus does.

A Theory of Change

Posted on February 5, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 5.13-20

You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under a bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven. Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches other to do the same, will be called the least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be call great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus is in the middle of his proclamation. He is preaching his sermon on the mount. And whenever Jesus teaches there are fireworks, in large part because what he has to say runs counter to everything we think we know.

The sermon begins, innocuously enough, with a bunch of blessings. Albeit, a bunch of blessings don’t make sent according to the convictions of the world. Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the last, least, lost, little, and dead.

And then Jesus turns the discourse over to a reflection on salt and light.

Ya’ll, Jesus says, are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

In other words, ya’ll bring the flavor and people are going to see me through you. It’s a beautiful bit of metaphoric reflection. Jesus takes these simple images and symbols and uses them to help us see who we are and whose we are.

But they come with warnings – the salt that provides zero flavor is worthless and the light that is hidden is nothing but more darkness.

And then comes the new teaching. It’s actually all new, but this is the beginning of the end for us. This is when Jesus’ sermon starts to make us squirm in our pews.

I have come not to abolish the law and the prophets. I’m not here to destroy the past or leave it behind. In fact, I have come to fulfill it.

What in the world does that mean?

We, the people of God, have always had plenty of trouble observing God’s commandments from the ten handed down on Sinai to the other six hundred or so from the Old Testament. And yet, Jesus says, if any of us break any of these commandments, or if we teach anyone to relax them, we will be called the lowest in the kingdom of heaven.

And that would be enough to cause us pause. But Jesus doesn’t stop there. Listen – unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

What if we tried to distill it a little more? What’s really at stake?

In another part of the Gospel, while not in the middle of a sermon, some do-goodery religious types try to trap Jesus with those questions: Which commandment Jesus is the most important?

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, with all your strength, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Thanks JC! Sounds easy!

But, of course, we can’t even do those two commandments. We all worship other things, thereby not loving God. And, when push comes to shove, we generally look out for ourselves at the expense of our neighbors.

Even John Wesley, founder of what became the Methodist movement tried to whittle it all down to three simple rules: Do no harm, do good, and observe the ordnances of God.

But we don’t do those either!

Jesus says, unless our righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and the Pharisees, we will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Oddly, within a few years of Jesus crucifixion and resurrection, St. Paul will write to the church in Rome, “None of us is righteous, no not one.”

What then, are we to do?

Christians have, from the very beginning, struggled with this part of Jesus’ sermon. And, to be completely honest, it will only get harder next week as Jesus goes on his rant about “You have heard it was said, but I say to you…”

Maybe we can feel a little better about our meager righteousness, if we have any at all, because the scribes and the Pharisees, whom we are supposed to compare ourselves, weren’t very righteous to begin with. Sure, they had all the outward signs, they obeyed the law and they showed up for worship and they knew all the rules. But they followed the law at the expense of others, leaving behind the widowed and the orphaned to fend for themselves.

And yet, if Paul is right that none of us is righteous, what in the world are we doing?

Every organization, and every church, subscribes to its own theory of change. We human beings are not static creatures, and there is always a gulf between where we are and where we can be. The theory of change that an institution embodies shows what they think works.

For instance, the self-help industry believes that we can help ourselves. We merely need to read the right books with the right tips and we will finally become the best version of ourselves. And yet, if those books worked, there would no longer be a self-help section in book stores.

And the church has a similar theory of change, or at least we do without knowing it or acknowledging it. We assume that if people read their bibles, or pay attention to sermons, or show up for the right small groups, they will begin to move in the right direction.

The great challenge with this theory of change is that it doesn’t work.

Have you ever tried to have a rational argument with someone of a different political persuasion about why they’re wrong? Or have you ever tried to convince a smoker to stop smoking?

Have you ever tired to tell a bunch of sinners to start being more righteous?

We can’t will ourselves, or anyone else for that matter, into better behavior. We can’t get rid of our sin on our own. Only God can do that.

Therefore there is a difference between what we call the Law and the Gospel.

Jesus is hammering his listeners with the Law – there is no leniency whatsoever. Which should leave us shaking in our boots or, to put a more liturgical spin on it, it should bring us to our knees. Which, incidentally, is kind of the point.

The primary purpose of the Law, the call to righteousness, isn’t so much what the Law says. The primary purpose of the Law is what the Law does to us.

It reveals the truth of who we are – that no matter how many books we consume, or sermons we receive, we will forever be sinners in need of grace.

Basically, the function of the Law is to get each of us to see ourselves with enough clarity that we will ask the question, “How could God love someone like me?”

When we are in a space to ask that question, we are not far from the Kingdom of God.

We are not far from the Gospel – the Good News.

The Good News is that Jesus makes us righteous because we cannot do it on our own.

But there is a question that lingers: How?

I mean, I recognize the irony in preaching a sermon about how sermons can’t and don’t make us change. But if you’ll bear with me for a just a bit… The sermon on the mount, this proclamation from the Lord, is what begins to constitute the community we call church. The sermon is not about giving us tips on how to be better people, instead it functions to help us see that we’re not very good to begin with and yet we are welcome in a place, this place, despite our inability to be good.

The law, the call to righteousness, drives us and downright forces us to the gospel. It requires us to rest in and trust Jesus’ amazing grace to do for us that which we cannot do for ourselves.

In other words, the only way we can ever change is through our hearts, and not our minds.

Change is only ever possible through relationships, not requirements.

But even that is almost impossible. Its so difficult that only God can really do it.

Change, transformation, occurs through the gift of the Holy Spirit such that our desires, not our minds, start to shift.

Or, as Paul says “Our hope does not disappoint because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

People are changed not through their will, their choices and actions. And neither are people changed through their minds and the consumption of knowledge. People are changed through their hearts, through love.

And judgment kills love. When we feel judged, ie when we are told what to do, we hide our love away and we put up walls and we resist.

St. Augustine says, “The law commands rather than helps. It teaches us what is wrong without healing it. In fact, it increases what it does not heal, that we might seek the gift of grace with even greater attention.”

The church, then, exists not to judge the world, but to proclaim the gift of God’s unending power and love in the person of Jesus Christ. We do what we do to help others encounter the profound wonder of Jesus. The experience of being met by God in our need is the heart of our faith.

Basically, guilt only ever produces more guilt. Love, on the other hand, is full of impossible possibility.

Love actually changes things.

A few years ago I was listening to the radio when I was bombarded by a story of grace, a story of love, a story about a man named Daryl Davis.

– Daryl Davis Picture –

Davis is a black blues musician and, for the past 30 years, he has spent his free time doing something outrageous – befriending members of the Ku Klux Klan. And, a result of those friendships, 200 Klansmen have given up their robes.

How did he do it?

Did he go to Klan meetings with pamphlets about their racism? Did he encourage them to read certain books that would help reframe their thinking?

No.

He did something much harder and much more dangerous.

He befriended them.

It all started in a bar call the Silver Dollar Lounge when, after playing a set of music, a white man walked up to thank him for his performance and told him that he couldn’t believe a black man could play the blues so well. Davis was so confused by the comment that he asked if he could buy the man a drink and they sat down to talk. And talk they did. They talked about music and musicians, about how the blues originated with black musicians, and after offering a set of recommended records to buy the white man said to Davis, “You know, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever had a beer with a black man.”

Again, Davis pushed to find out why, and the man pulled out his KKK membership card from his wallet.

However, that conversation led to a friendship that led to the man leaving the KKK behind forever. Not because Davis judged him, but because he befriended him. The man’s heart, to put it one way, was strangely warmed and he was never the same.

Why do we give ourselves over to wondrous music? Why do we make friends and invite them over for dinner? Why do we ooh and ahh over various sunrises and sunsets?

We do so out of the simple delight in the goodness of creation but also because half of the planet’s gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become.

In short, we fill our lives with loves out of a delight for what they point us toward: the kingdom of heaven.

But make no mistake: love, the kind of radical love that leaves to KKK members turning in their robes, the kind of delight that actually leads to any change is downright dangerous.

And yet, ultimately that’s the kind of radical love that God has for us, a people completely undeserving. But God keeps showing up, even to the point of the cross, with nothing but the Gospel.

In the bread and cup, in the singing of our faith, through the hard wood of the cross, we all receive a righteousness that far exceeds anything the scribes or Pharisees could ever hope to accomplish – the righteousness of God.

The Gospel does not promise the possible – it deliver the impossible.

The Good News of Jesus Christ gives what the law demands.

That’s why the love of God is strong enough to change things, even us.

Or, as Luther put it: God accepts none except the abandoned, makes no one healthy but the sick, gives sight to none but the blind, brings life to none but the dead, and makes no one righteous except sinners.

Sinners like you and me. Amen.

#Blessed

Posted on January 23, 2023 by taylormertins

This week on the Strangely Warmed podcast I speak with the youth of Raleigh Court United Methodist Church about the readings for the Fourth Sunday After the Epiphany [A] (Micah 6.1-8, Psalm 15, 1 Corinthians 1.18-31, Matthew 5.1-12). Our conversation covers a range of topics including youthful church members, confirmation, divine requirements, humility, the outward signs of a Christian, foolishness, sanctuary signage, preaching, Karl Barth, and blessings. If you would like to listen to the episode or subscribe to the podcast you can do so here: #Blessed

Wading for Jesus

Posted on January 22, 2023 by taylormertins

Matthew 4.12-23

Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

We have a new bishop in the Virginia Annual Conference, her name is Sue Haupert-Johnson. She was interviewed this week by the Conference office in order to introduce to the people called Methodist in this place. And, among all the interesting and theological bits from the interview, she was asked about our vision.

Those without vision are doomed to perish, the scriptures say. So it was a worthy question. And this was her response: “Vision doesn’t come from the top, but rather from the people. However, the heart of the vision of the church always contains this question: How do we introduce people to Jesus?”

John the Baptist is arrested.

That’s how our scripture starts today. It’s an odd beginning, and one that is all too easy to breeze over without realizing the implications of such an introduction.

Why is John arrested? The last we heard of him in Matthew’s Gospel he was out in the wilderness, far removed from the movers and the shakers, proclaiming a baptism for the repentance of sins. That doesn’t sound like much rabble-rousing, let alone enough to warrant being thrown behind bars. But, of course, he did call the Pharisees and the Sadducees “a brood of vipers!” Even still, it’s not like he was committing a crime.

However, whenever the power that be are called into question, they’re going to do whatever it takes to stop those questions.

John has a sense, a glimpse, of what the world could be. As the herald of the One to come, he stands squarely between the times and beckons the gaze of those with eyes to see that not all is at it seems. Something is on the way. And that something has a name: Jesus.

The drama begins.

John is arrested and how does Jesus react? He retreats to Galilee. That’s a bit odd when you take a step back from the strange new world of the Bible… I mean, we’re talking about the incarnate God! Perhaps we would prefer it if Jesus called the people to arms, if he stormed the gates of the prison to free his cousin, or any other number of reactive activities.

But, instead, Jesus responds to John’s arrest by preaching.

Words are powerful things, more powerful than we often give them credit for. John’s words were so powerful that they put a target on his back. Jesus’ words wind up sending him to the cross. And today, our words are just as powerful, they can build up and they can destroy.

Jesus’ mission and ministry in Galilee is for a purpose, one that Matthew begs us to see. Jesus preaches in order to fulfill Isaiah’s prophecy.

“Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”

That text might sound familiar, and if it does it’s because we read those words every Christmas Eve – the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. The great light, now, happens to be the One who preaches in Galilee.

And then the text moves to the call of the first disciples.

Jesus is preaching, but he’s also searching. He’s looking for those who can help manifest and live according to the strange new world we call the kingdom of God. Notably, Jesus does not call his disciples from the powerful or the elite, he doesn’t create a big board of draft prospects for kingdom work, rather he calls those who are ordinary knowing that, with the power of the Spirit, they can do extraordinary things.

There are no crowds yet waiting to see what the hope of the world can do, the Pharisees and the scribes haven’t started their plot to get rid of him, because this is still the beginning. And one day, while walking by the Sea of Galilee, Jesus saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and Andrew, casting a net into the lake. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets behind and followed him.

That’s it.

Luke’s Gospel adds some flavor and flourish to the story with some drama out on the water, but according to the Matthew the call of the first disciples was as quick as “Follow me.”

Much has been made about this moment in scripture and what it means for us today as followers of Jesus.

In other words, this is the story of the first call and what we, in turn, are called to do.

Life, today, often feels a lot like U2’s song, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” We on the search for something. Some of us are looking for fulfillment, or purpose, or belonging. We look for it in people, jobs, vocations.

I have a friend from seminary who embodied this searching perfectly. Every few months there was a new fad that dominated his existence. At first it was the desire to eat in a more local and healthy manner. He cultivated a backyard garden, read recipes book, even interned with a local farmer in between his classes. And, for a while, it took. Until it didn’t. At some point the garden was overrun by weeds, but by then he was on to the next thing: Barefoot running. He listened to some podcast about how our modern shoes are bad for our posture, and he became convinced that he needed to start running, every day, without shoes. So he did. He adopted a running calendar based on his class schedule and figured out the optimal times and places to run barefoot. And, for a while, it took. Until it didn’t. At some point the weather started to change and running sans shoes was starting to take a toll on his feet, but by then he was on to the next thing: Reading a book every three days. He encountered some article online about the devolution of our minds and the necessity to read as much as possible as quickly as possible. So he did. He set up timed alerts on his phone that told him when and what he was supposed to read. Every moment of the day was calculated down his average page per minute so that he could finish a book every three days. And, for awhile it took, until it didn’t.

I could go on. He certainly did.

He still hasn’t found what he was looking for.

And though curiosity is good, and frankly we could do well to have more of it in some ways, when it comes to the realm of the kingdom, we’ve got it backward. The Bible is not so much a long record of our search for God; rather, it is the amazing account of the extraordinary lengths to which God will go to search for us.

Perhaps that’s why the reference to Isaiah before the call of the disciples is so important: The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. In the darkness of our lives, when we least expect it, God shows up.

The disciples weren’t looking for a teacher to follow, or a barefoot running regimen to adopt, or a spiritual guru who could help bring fulfillment to their lives. If they were looking for anything, it was fish. And then Jesus shows up with the nerve to flip their vocation completely upside down.

Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.

God in Christ shows up, and then gives us something to do. Though, how we respond to that call is as varied as the people who Jesus delights in calling. What comes to your mind when you hear the commission?

Evangelism can sound like a dirty word in United Methodist circles. It is often manipulative and preys on individual fears in order to get people in the pews.

Some will take evangelism as our responsibility to save souls, or win people for Jesus, or knock on doors until we find someone who is willing to accept Jesus as their Lord and savior. Some will stand on street corners shouting about the end times, while others (a few blocks away) will hand out tracts with 3 simple steps to make sure you go to the right place when you die.

On and on.

Fishing for people. It’s the Lord’s metaphor, so we’ve got to work with it. Though, I’m always a bit fearful of the language since fishing is inherently a coercive endeavor. We try to trick fish into eating something fake in order to reel them in.

Maybe that’s not the best metaphor for evangelism. Except for the fact that fishing requires us to go where the fish are.

Therefore, perhaps we are called to wade for Jesus just as much as we are called to fish for Jesus. The earliest Christians weren’t converted to Christianity because they were looking for something, or because they were convinced or duped by the disciples. The earliest Christians were encountered by the living God and they couldn’t help but follow.

Wading into the muck and mire of a stream to catch a fish is inherently a messy and frustrating endeavor. The same is true of wading into someone’s mess. But that’s exactly what God did and does for us.

Each of us here are here because, somehow, God showed up in our lives. And, more often than not, God shows up through someone else.

There’s a big difference, a huge difference, between trying to convince someone of the Gospel, and living according to the Gospel. For, living according to the Gospel, puts us in relationships with people we would otherwise ignore and, because God has a sense of humor, it usually results in someone seeing how we live and then asking, “Why are you the way you are?”

And the answer, of course, is Jesus.

Notably, the word evangelism just means, bearing the Good News. After Jesus called the first disciples he went through Galilee proclaiming the Good News and great crowds began to follow.

He didn’t try to coerce them, or frighten them, or even convince them. He just preached the Good News.

Hear the Good News: You are loved by God. There is a place for you in God’s church. There is nothing in your life, no matter what you do or leave undone, that can ever separate you from God’s love.

Introducing people to Jesus is at the heart of what it means to follow. How we introduce people to Jesus is actually quite easy. It’s the why we introduce people to Jesus that we often overlook. We, of course, do it because Jesus tells us to. But also because our lives have been changed by God and we want that for others. My life is fundamentally better because of the church’s willingness to relentlessly wade into the muck of my life reminding me of the Good News when everything else sounds like bad news.

I am who I am because God waded into my life.

Following the Lord will bring us places and to people we would never have picked on our own. Living according to the Gospel will make us appear strange to those who have not heard it. Strange enough that they might wonder what happened to us.

And, of course, it’s not what happened to us, but who: Jesus.

The Best Laid Plans

Posted on January 17, 2023 by taylormertins

This week on the Strangely Warmed podcast I speak with Teer Hardy about the readings for the Third Sunday After the Epiphany [A] (Isaiah 9.1-4, Psalm 27.1, 4-9, 1 Corinthians 1.10-18, Matthew 4.12-23). Teer is one of the pastors serving Mt. Olivet UMC in Arlington, VA. Our conversation covers a range of topics including church insurance, false backgrounds, repeating readings, the great light, fire, prayer, divisions, ecclesial growth, Sinners In The Hands Of A Loving God, the foolishness of the Cross, and podcast reviews. If you would like to listen to the episode or subscribe to the podcast you can do so here: The Best Laid Plans