Telling the Story of Faith

Sermon text for June 24:
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16

The grandfather looked lovingly at the beautiful ten month old baby girl in the car seat on the pew beside him. She was such a good baby and sometimes he thought that he loved her more than life itself. This was a special day because he and his wife, the baby’s grandmother, had been given permission to take their grandchild to church.

The baby’s parents were not exactly the church going kind, a fact that caused the grandparents no small amount of heart ache. But this Sunday was special because they had the baby in church. It seemed to the grandfather that the music was especially majestic that morning, the pipe organ particularly beautiful, and even the hymns were the kind that almost made people sing.

Maybe it was the music, or the beautiful gothic architecture, or maybe just the joy of having the baby with them, but it seemed to the grandfather that worship that day was even more meaningful than usual. The whole congregation was singing “Holy, Holy, Holy” when he looked down at his granddaughter. Suddenly, much to his surprise, he was overcome with an emotion that came from somewhere deep inside. It seemed to well up from a place that he was only barely aware existed, and he began to cry softly. Tears of grief filled his eyes and words to the hymn were choked off in his throat. As he stood there confused and embarrassed he heard his own voice in his head and the voice said, “She may never know the joy of a relationship with God. She may never know the comfort and support of the Christian community. I may never get to tell her about how much God loves her.” And a deep sadness settled over his heart for the rest of the worship service.

It is both the joy and the duty of believing parents and grandparents to involve children in the community of faith and to share the story of God’s love. In the Presbyterian Church the congregation joins in the task of interpreting the bible stories in light of what God is doing in our lives. We transmit the faith not just by reading bible stories but by sharing how those stories are formative for us, and how they shape our lives.

I have wondered for many years why so many genuinely faithful parents have children who show none of the outward signs of faith. I do not have the answer, but I have a theory. Faith touches us more deeply and personally than almost any other aspect of life. It seems to emanate from a place that we spend so little time exploring, that when asked to talk about it we often find ourselves at a loss for words. And so we send our children to Sunday School where they hear the stories from others. But what the children really want to know is how the stories have touched our lives. If we cannot share our personal link our children may feel disconnected from the story. They may never understand that God’s story, is our story, is their story, and without that link, church is an exercise in futility.

In our Psalm for this morning there is little doubt that the Psalmist feels a connection to the story. His words are so deeply personal that when he shares the story he is sharing himself. He writes, “Give ear, O my people to my teaching; incline your ears to the words of my mouth.” It is vitally important for the Psalmist that the community hears the story he is going to share. For true believers there is something compelling about the story that almost forces us to share. The prophet Jeremiah expresses this when he says, “If I do not share the story, then within me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones.”

What the writer of the Psalm shares is his absolute and utter amazement at the wonders of God’s power and love. He tells of God’s “glorious deeds and the wonders he has done.” He tells the story of the steadfast love of God that surrounds, nurtures, and protects the Chosen People. Even as he writes he knows that it is an old story, passed down from generation to generation from the time of the Patriarch and Matriarch, Abraham and Sarah.

“Give ear … to my teaching; incline your ears to the words of my mouth. I will utter dark sayings from of old, things that we have heard and known, that our ancestors have told us.” The Psalmist considers the story a sacred trust. It gives definition to his life and it shapes the life of the community. Because God showed steadfast love in the past, the community is assured of God’s love in the present. The community is defined by God’s steadfast love and amazing generosity and glorious deeds.

The Psalmist feels a connection to the story of what God has done in the past and so he lives expectantly, looking for signs of what God is doing in the present. He desperately wants children in the community to feel so connected to the old story that they also live expectantly. He says, “We will not hide the stories from our children; we will tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might, and the wonders that he has done.”

Notice the choice of words that the Psalmist uses. They demonstrate amazement at God’s wonders and glorious deeds. Remembering God’s amazing deeds, they taught the people that God’s grace and power can change lives and redeem even impossible circumstances. The idea of redemption was key to the Hebrew faith. More than once the people found themselves in impossible circumstances. The Psalm looks back to the Exodus from Egypt with utter amazement. “In the sight of their ancestors he worked marvels in the land of Egypt … He divided the sea and made the waters stand in a heap … He split rocks in the wilderness and gave them drink …” These words created a collective memory for the community. Knowing the story made it as if the people whom the Psalmist is addressing were actually there.

I think most of us have some collective memory created by knowing the story. Several years ago my family and I went on a trip to Washington D.C. Along the way we stopped at the battle field at Gettysburg. I am not a very good historian, but walking on the ground where so many had lost their lives, I felt a connection to what had happened there. In a strange way the battle field’s story was my story. I have felt much the same way at various places in Israel – I have an eerie feeling of remembering.

The Hebrews felt a connection to the events of the Exodus just as if they were there and the connection created hope for God’s amazing deeds whenever the people experienced need.

I think about the grandfather whose story began this sermon. I wonder if by God’s amazing grace he has been able to tell the story of God’s love to his granddaughter. And I wonder about us. I wonder if we will find a way to put words to the deep feelings of faith and “utter sayings as of old” to our children and grandchildren.

Copyright © 2007 by Dwight R. Blackstock

Snake-bit!

Sermon text for June 17:
Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21

Not long ago I was talking with a man who has had more than his share of difficulties in life, beginning with an abusive home as a child. A major issue for him has been simple psychological survival. And the biggest question on his mind was always, “How will I get through this”?

He told me, “as a young boy I was given to flights of fancy. In fact of all of my mental faculties, my imagination was the most developed. I could call on my imagination whenever I wanted, and go any place that I wanted to go, and do anything I wanted to do."

But sometimes my imagination just took over and transported me into a world of its own creation before I knew what was happening. This was especially true on those days when my home became violent. When Dad was hitting Mom, and swearing at her in a drunken rage, I would hide in my room and my imagination would just take over. Sometimes I would find myself in an NFL football game running untouched into the end zone. The piercing screams in the other room became cheers from the crowded stadium, as my team mates lifted me high into the air.”

Then he said, “Those daydreams were wonderful. In some ways they were my salvation. They made me feel strong and important, and very different from my usual feelings of being weak and vulnerable.”

But of course the bubble would always burst, and he would come back to reality. He said he felt a little foolish when he remembered that he wasn’t invincible, that he was still weak and small and vulnerable. He felt like a victim in a world that he neither controlled nor understood.

When he grew up he said that he was still given to imaginative flights of fancy. When money grew tight he imagined how happy he would be to win the lottery. When his family faced problems he imagined himself a part of a perfect family that always made the right decisions, and was always kind and loving to one another.

Throughout his life there was a recurrent, but unspoken question, which was, “How am I going to get through this? How will I survive?” It is a question which occurs to us many times in life, when we face major disappointments, when our health fails, when the people we love hurt us. And when the hurt is deep enough, we can’t imagine living that way. Often our unspoken question is, “How can I ever live through this?”

But it is not only individuals who ask questions of survival, sometimes congregations ask, “How will we ever get through this? Our wounds are so severe, how can we ever heal?” Obviously a congregation cannot speak in the same way that an individual does, but the questions are still there.

Many years ago I was called on to serve a congregation that was in deep trouble. They had a major continuing conflict with their pastor who suddenly walked out during a session meeting and never returned. The congregation was in shock. They felt abandoned and angry and their grief was almost overwhelming. These emotions deepened when no one would come and serve them during their interim time. When I agreed to serve them one of the things I had to do was to help them articulate their pain and to ask the question, “How will we ever survive this?” And, “Can we really become a viable congregation again?”

This question is not new to the people of God. In our Old Testament lesson the Hebrew people almost screamed, “How will we survive this hardship? Let’s remember the context: they were out in the wilderness where life was incredibly hard, and they took a flight of fancy remembering better times in Egypt. There they had enough food and water, and in retrospect Egypt seemed like a wonderful place. With their imaginations working overtime, they forgot that only a little while earlier they had been asking, “How will we survive this forced labor?”, and they fantasized about being free.

One day as they fantasized about a better life, they complained so loudly against Moses and God, that God sent poisonous serpents to punish them. Many were bitten, and many died. In their anguish the people wondered again, “How will we live through this?” And not surprisingly, God had a simple plan for their survival. God directed Moses to sculpt a serpent out of bronze and to hold it high on a staff, so that anyone who was bitten could see it. And by God’s decree, those who looked upon the serpent lived.

It is interesting that God did not remove the serpents. Instead God provided a way for the people to live through the crises. In God’s plan the serpents were still there and the people were still bitten. The bites were still painful but God provided the symbol of the serpent which allowed the people to live when they looked at it. The reality was better than a fantasy, because when all was said and done the symbol of safety was still present while the wishes and daydreams had vanished.

There are still many times in life when we feel snake-bit. These experiences may be personal, within our families, or perhaps even within the church. I wonder how many times in the last few years when some of you have wondered, “How can our congregation ever survive?” Or maybe, “Does God still have a future for us?” Whether our questions about survival are personal or having to do with the church, God has provided a symbol to give us courage.

When we just can’t imagine how we will get through a crisis, that’s when God wants us to remember the living symbol of Jesus, high and lifted up on the cross. It is that image that draws all of humanity to Calvary to kneel in awe and wonder.

The cross does not save us from pain, but it promises that even as Jesus came safely through to the others side – from death into life – so will we find our way safely to the other side and into a future prepared for us by God. The cross is the symbol of our salvation and a reality better than anything our imaginations might create.

In Jesus Christ we endure a lifetime of difficulties, and come safely to the other side because, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son .... "

Copyright © 2007 by Dwight R. Blackstock

Do Not Be Afraid - God is Near

Sermon text for June 10:
Psalm 139

That night in the hospital room while I waited for Mom to die, I decided I wanted nothing to do with God anymore. My mom was a good person, she never hurt no one, and more often than not if she could help she would. But that night she lay there dyin'. It seemed to me that the drugs weren’t workin' and she was in a lot of pain. Mom wasn’t much for complaining, but I saw the tear that ran down her cheek.

If God could allow someone like mom to suffer like this before she died, what good is he? I remembered the words to the old hymn, “Be not dismayed, what’re betide God will take care of you. Beneath his wings of love abide, God will take care of you.” It didn’t seem to me that God was doing much “taking care of” that night. Mom was hurtin'. Her breath was getting more and more shallow, and her chest was heavin' with the effort. I made up my mind right then that I was through with God … forever.

I had never felt so guilty in my whole life. What I did was completely out of character and I was deeply ashamed. I had a bottle of Jack with me in the room and I took a long pull on it – maybe enough booze would easy my guilt, but it didn’t help, instead it kind of made me sick. My head ached, my stomach felt queasy, the room was spinning around, and I still felt guilty. And then I got mad. Why should God make me feel so guilty because of one little transgression? If that’s the way it going to be, God and I were going to have a serious parting of the ways. And that was the last time I went to church. Church – my church or anyone else’s. From time to time my wife would nag me to join her for worship and I would tell her I no longer believed and did not want to be around all those hypocrites anyway. It’s been that way ever since.

Once in a while I felt kind of guilty ignoring God that way and pretending he doesn’t exist but that’s the way it is with God and me these days. I don’t bother God and he doesn’t bother me.

I have been very busy lately, with family and work and all. Sometimes I feel like I am going a thousand miles an hour and getting no where. There’s study group at church, and teaching Sunday School. I drive carpool for the kids one week a month and also once a month for my work. The other day Tommy came home and said he needed cookies or a cake or something for the cub scout bake sale, and O yea he had signed me up to stand outside the super market and sell baked goods for three hours on Saturday.

You know lately I’ve had this nagging feeling like maybe I’m missing something spiritually. It’s like God and I aren’t as close as we used to be. In fact sometimes I can’t seem to find God at all. I can’t talk to God the way I used to. Sometimes I wonder if I should be teaching Sunday School anymore because I feel as if God is lost, as if God can’t find me anymore. I don’t know what to do.

Each of us has a story to tell about our relationship with God, a time when God seemed near or far away. Maybe you are in the middle of one of those scenarios right now where God seems distant or lost.

The writer of Psalm139 is amazed by the constant presence of God. No matter what he does or where he goes, he knows God is with him. He writes “O Lord you have searched me and known me. You know when I rise up and when I sit down.” The image is of a God who is actively involved in our lives, who is impossible to hide from, and who knows us completely and intimately. The Psalmist’s God is concerned about things as simple as when we stand up or sit down.

“O Lord you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up. You discern my thoughts from afar .… Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord you know it completely.” Sometimes we like to think that our thoughts and feelings are private and we only need to be concerned about our words and deeds. But in our relationship with God, nothing is hidden – everything is known, so everything is important. “Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord you already know it. You discern my thoughts from far away.” There can be no pretending in our relationship with God.

When we understand that we can’t pretend to be something we are not; when we understand that there is no place to hide from God; when we believe that God will follow us no matter where we go; that’s when we finally surrender, and a real relationship with God becomes possible.

Sometimes we get angry at God because of something that happens like in one of the scenarios that began this sermon. Sometimes we decide not to be in relationship with God because we feel ashamed. Sometimes we just seem to get lost in the busy-ness of life and it is hard to sense God’s presence. But in all of these experiences God is with us, even when we choose not to be with God.

The English Poet, Francis Thompson spent years of his life trying to avoid God. He was a drunk and a drug abuser and he thought that the further he sunk into moral poverty, the further he was able to run from God. He writes about his journey away from God in his poem “The Hound of Heaven”:

I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled him down the arches of the years
I fled him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot precipitated
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fear
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat – and a voice beat
More instant than the feet –
All things betray thee, who betrayest me.

The God described in Psalm 139 could be the “Hound of Heaven”, pursuing us wherever we go. If we are running or hiding from God, perhaps this is the day we stop, and allow ourselves to be caught by the One who has loved us forever.

Copyright © 2007 by Dwight R. Blackstock

I Hear You Calling, Lord

Sermon text for June 3:
Matthew 4:18-22; Jeremiah 1:4-10

He was just a kid spending the summer working in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. This job certainly wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to become a millionaire and already had the rudiments of a business plan down on paper. But this job working in a mission for the summer came open and since he didn’t have another job lined up he packed a bag and headed for the mission in the mountains.

Sometimes when he thought about it he cracked a smile that was so wide it ended in a laugh. He wasn’t at all sure that he even believed in God anymore, and there he was working for the Church in a mission. The joke was definitely on them! On those who pursued him and hired him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care enough to do a good job. He liked the people and he could definitely do the job. It’s just that there wasn’t any money in it.

Almost every afternoon at about 2:30 a thunderstorm rumbled up the canyon. Often the noise was so loud that everything vibrated with the sound. Sometimes he was pretty sure that he could see where the lightening struck an instant before the thunder exploded. He loved the intensity and power of the storms, and as often as he could he sat on the porch with his back to the adobe walls just to watch and listen. And one day in the midst of the storm, he heard the most amazing, ridiculous sound. It wasn’t really words, but he knew what the sound meant. “I want you to go into the ministry.” The voice was both powerful and gentle at the same time. “This is the work I want you to do. This is where you will find fulfillment.”

The thought was startling. He didn’t know any millionaire ministers. And he had other plans. Ministry was okay for other people, so let them do it. Besides didn’t one have to believe in God to be a minister? “I want you to go into the ministry” the voice said, every time he thought of an objection.

For the next few years he argued with the voice. He honed his business acumen and dreamed of money. But at the same time the God he had tried to stop believing in became more real. “I want you to go into the ministry” said the voice.

Jeremiah was a young man when he heard the voice – the same voice that has been heard by countless people down through the ages. “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. And before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nation.” Jeremiah knew whose voice it was, but it was hard to believe that the words which the voice spoke applied to him. Jeremiah certainly wasn’t equipped to be a prophet to the nations. “Ah Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak for I am only a boy.”

In Jeremiah’s mind, prophets were older men, probably with gray hair and long beards. Certainly they were men with more life experience than Jeremiah. And Jeremiah was ready with an excuse to avoid God’s call. “Ah Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak for I am only a boy.” It seemed as if God was asking a boy to do a man’s job. And it was a dangerous job as well. The winds of war were blowing over the nation as marauding armies from the north were gathering momentum and were devouring small city states on the way to Israel. The Chosen People were experiencing feelings similar to what we experienced right after September 11, 2001. They are angry and so sad that their grief is inexpressible. And God said to the boy, “I have appointed you a prophet to the nations.”

We each have images of the aftermath of September 11 burned into our psyches. Personally I am haunted by the image of women and men walking around carrying pictures of loved ones, showing them to anyone who will look, hoping that someone has seen them. And with each passing day they become more and more hopeless.

By the time God called Jeremiah the wars had already begun, Jerusalem fell while Jeremiah was in jail for being God’s messenger. When he began to preach, the armies of Babylon were knocking on the gates of the great cities in Israel and Judah. People were angry and sad and full of grief. They walked the streets looking for loved ones and they needed someone who will speak a word from God. This is the context for Jeremiah when he heard the words, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you. Before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you prophet to the nations.”

“God there must be some mistake. You need a real pro here; someone with wisdom born of age and experience. I am just a boy, why I’ve never even given a speech.” “Do not say ‘I am only a boy’ for you shall go to all whom I send you. And you shall speak whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.”

Jeremiah was about to discover that a miracle happened when he offered his boyish voice to God. Jeremiah and God could do anything. “Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth, and the Lord said to me, ‘Now I have put my words in your mouth. See today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms’”.

I believe that each of us has heard God’s call. That is one reason we love to sing, “Here I am Lord. Is it I Lord? I have heard you calling in the night.” The hymn touches us deeply because we know in our hearts that God has called us and touched us. Maybe our call is not to something big and public like Jeremiah. Maybe it is simply to be more faithful at prayer or more ready to share the love of God with a family member or someone at work. If we find the call frightening we might find ourselves with an excuse like Jeremiah’s. “I can’t do what you are asking me to do Lord. I don’t know enough. I’m not good enough. I am retired now let others do it. I’m too busy with my family.” Or maybe it is simply, “Sorry God, but I don’t want to do it now.”

One of the things I am discovering is that our calling can change along with our personal circumstances. Ten years ago I was the pastor of one of the larger churches in Denver Presbytery. Today all that I can do is preach, moderate a session and make hospital calls. The specifics of our calls change, the One who calls us doesn’t.

If you are struggling with the nature of your call, listen to these words in Jeremiah and believe that God says them to you and me as well: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you. And before you were born I consecrated you.”

God had a purpose in mind for us when God made us. Long before we were born God set us aside to do God’s will. Now is our time to answer God’s call and to trust God to help us accomplish whatever we have been called to do or to be. Let the words to the hymn be our prayer for this morning. “Here I am Lord. Is it I Lord? I have heard you calling in the night. I will go Lord if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart.”

Copyright © 2007 by Dwight R. Blackstock