Turn! Turn! Turn! (8/28/16)
This is the sermon from my final Sunday in worship at First United Presbyterian Church, Houston. To say that I am sad to leave is an understatement. To say that I am happy for the time I spent in Houston would be an even greater understatement. On this day, my heart is filled with joy and gratitude!
Sermon
Good
morning! I won’t lie; this is a bittersweet day. My ministry here at Houston is
drawing to a close. I knew this day would come, but that doesn’t make it any
easier. Today is very different from every other Sunday that I’ve been in this
pulpit, so our service of worship is going to be a little bit different, too.
As you can see in your bulletins, there will be several scripture readings and
I will offer some thoughts after each reading. Our first reading is from the
Book of Exodus, Chapter 13, verses 3 and 8.
Exodus
13:3, 8
Moses
said to the people, “Remember this day on which you came out of Egypt, out of
the house of slavery, because the Lord brought you out from there by strength
of hand; no leavened bread shall be eaten…. You shall tell your child on that
day, ‘It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.’”
Sermon
This
is from the Passover story and it may seem very odd that this is one of the
scriptures that I chose for this morning. As I’ve been saying over the last few
weeks, journeys are very important in the Bible. One of the most important
journeys in the Bible is the Exodus, the story of the Israelites leaving
slavery in Egypt, wandering through the wilderness in the Sinai, and finally
entering Canaan, the Promised Land.
The
Exodus is celebrated by Jews every year when they observe Passover. Those
celebrations occur in every household as people gather around the table for a
meal called a Seder. The story of the Exodus is retold every year at the Seder
meal, according to Moses’ instructions. During that meal, the youngest child at
the table asks the question: “Why is this night different from all other
nights?” The answer is the story of the Exodus and the Passover meal. So before
I explain the rest of this morning’s service, I’d like to invite the children
to come forward.
Jr.
Sermon
[Before
the worship service I decorated the chancel with several items that I kept in the
pastor’s study: a coat rack that held my robe and stoles, some commentaries, and
pictures of my mother and dad. I also placed an empty suitcase in front of the pulpit.
I invited
the children to come forward and then I asked them what was different about this
Sunday. Eventually, one of them said that it was my last day and I was leaving.
I said, “That’s right,” and then I asked them to help me pack everything in my suitcase.
I thanked them for their help and for listening to all my children’s messages throughout
the year. I left the full suitcase in front of the chancel and I wheeled it out
when I left the sanctuary at the end of worship.]
Sermon
So
today is different because it’s my last Sunday as your pastor; it’s my last
time in this pulpit. Journeys are important in the Bible and they’re important
in our lives of faith. We have been together on this journey for the last year,
but after today, my journey will take me in a different direction. That’s why I
chose these verses from Exodus to frame my sermon this morning—they’ve been
very important to me on my faith journey. I thought it might be nice to leave
you with some memories and some scriptures that have formed me along my faith
journey. I’ve enlisted the help of a few extra liturgists in this task. The
next reading is probably my very favorite story from the gospels. It comes from
the Gospel of Matthew and it’s a really long story. I’ve been picking on Dan
Coppola all year, so Dan, I’m gonna ask you to read this really long scripture.
I’m
not sure how many of you know this, but I spent a lot of years outside the
church. I drifted away from church when I went away for college and by the time
I was in my mid twenties, I was out and I didn’t think I was missing anything.
This is, in fact, a very common experience for people of my generation. And
yet, for all the years I spent outside of church, this story from the Gospel of
Matthew stayed with me; Jesus’ words stayed with me: “Whatsoever you do to the
least of these, my brothers and sisters, so you have done to me.”
I
came back to church after some turbulent times in my life. It was 2005, and in
the space of about three months, I lost both of my grandmothers and my aunt—my
mom’s younger sister. These women had been such an important part of my life:
they were there for every birthday and graduation; they helped shape my world. When
they died, it felt like my world was unraveling. I couldn’t hold it together at
my job, and about three months after my aunt died, I was fired from my job. I
decided that I needed a change of scenery. I moved in with my mother in
suburban Philadelphia.
I
returned to church while I was in Philly. That was a major turning point in my
life. I found a new job while I was there. I worked as a customer service rep
for a company called Labor Ready. Worst. Job. Ever. Labor Ready provides
temporary laborers to companies that are short staffed. Most of it is
unskilled, manual labor. To be frank, a large number of the temporary workers
are addicts or alcoholics who can’t really hold a steady job. As you can imagine,
managing this pool of dysfunctional workers could be rather challenging.
Those
challenges were magnified by Fred, the branch manager. Fred was a volatile guy.
He didn’t want to be there. In theory, he should have spent 10-15 hours each
week at the branch office, supervising the morning shift when workers were sent
out to jobs, and then doing whatever paperwork and managerial duties he had.
The rest of the time, he should’ve been out drumming up business. In theory.
In
practice, Fred spent most of his time at the gym. He’d lift weights for two,
three, four hours a day. He was ripped; he was huge, sort of. Imagine someone
like Bo, and then put another fifty or sixty pounds of muscle on him, from the
waist up. But Fred was also a short man, with a short fuse. When he was in the
branch office it usually meant that he had to put out a fire, created by one of
the temporary workers. Maybe the worker showed up drunk, or got into a fight,
or broke a piece of equipment, whatever. If Fred had to come in to fix a situation,
it was always bad.
Fred
never got mad at the customer service reps, but he’d get furious at the
workers. When he was really mad, he’d lock the doors to the branch office, so
no workers could come in—only the branch staff witnessed his tantrums. Fred
would start fuming about how awful and stupid the workers were. Then he would
storm around the area where the workers would wait before they were sent out on
jobs. That waiting area was lined with plastic lawn chairs. Fred would scream
about the workers and then start kicking the chairs. Then he’d throw the
chairs. Finally, after the tantrum subsided, Fred would laugh hysterically,
like his tantrum was the funniest thing in the world.
I’ll
admit it was kinda funny the first time I saw it. But after the second or third
tantrum, it really wasn’t funny. It was sad. And it made the job that much more
unpleasant. The tantrums happened at least once or twice a month. Somewhere in
the middle of one of these tantrums, I heard Jesus’ words: “Whatsoever you do
to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, so you have done to me.”
Instead of falling into the trap of bitterness and anger, I learned to see the
humanity in those workers. I began to see in them the face of the suffering
Christ. This was a major reorientation in my thinking, and it was a shift that
I needed to make—and live—before I went into ministry. Of course I only came to
realize that many years after the fact. I should add that I have also learned
to see the face of the suffering Christ in Fred, even in the midst of one of
his tantrums.
When
I went away to college some twenty-seven years ago, I thought I wanted to be a
lawyer. I guess God had other plans for me, and I’m good with that. Yet my
interest in the law never completely went away—and it informs my call to
ministry. Bible scholars refer to this passage from the prophet Micah as a
covenant lawsuit. That is, God is suing the people of Israel, through the voice
of the prophet Micah. In verses 3-4, God says:
3 “O
my people, what have I done to you?
In what have I wearied you? Answer me!
4 For
I brought you up from the land of Egypt,
and redeemed you from the house of slavery;
and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.
Verse 4 is a clear reference to Exodus 20:2, when
God spoke to Moses; it is the verse that introduces the Ten Commandments. The Commandments are the starting point in an
ongoing dialogue between God and Israel about the principles and actions of
faithfulness; the Commandments are the first set of explicit instructions to
Israel on how to live in relationship with God and with neighbors.[1]
Through Micah, God is reminding Israel of this relationship. By invoking the
Ten Commandments, God is reminding Israel that they are acting outside the
bounds of covenant faithfulness.
One
of the takeaways from this piece of scripture is that it is not enough to
simply live our lives according to the letter of God’s law. Yes, we must obey
the law, but we must also act in accordance with the spirit of the law. As we
attempt to follow the law, we must always seek God’s justice; we must act with
mercy and compassion; and we must always do these things with a spirit of
humility. Following the law is hard enough. But doing all those things without
boasting or without shaming others is even more difficult. Yet that is what it
takes to follow Christ’s call.
In
this reading from the Gospel of Mark, a scribe asks Jesus which commandment is
the greatest of all. This story also appears in the Gospels of Matthew and
Luke, where the man who questions Jesus is identified as a lawyer. Scribe and
lawyer are essentially the same profession. The priests and the scribes were
just about the only people who could read. At most, three per cent of the
population could read. That was all.
To
become a lawyer, a young Jewish man would first become a scribe. He would spend
years copying the scriptures, by hand. Day after day after day, he would write
out the Law of Moses. Over the years, he would likely memorize the law. I
imagine the scribes and lawyers were quite proud of themselves. They were the
ones who knew the law; Jewish society could not function without them.
There
was a great debate in Jesus’ time over the importance of the voices of the
prophets of the Old Testament. There were many who argued that only the Law of
Moses was important—the prophets were of a lesser order than the law. Time
after time, Jesus argued with religious authorities and in those arguments, he
frequently quoted the Old Testament. In fact, Jesus quotes the prophet Isaiah
more than any other book of the Hebrew Bible.
So
when the scribe asks Jesus which commandment is the greatest of all, Jesus
responds by quoting Deuteronomy 6:4-5 and Leviticus 19:18—love God with every
fiber of your being and love your neighbor as you love yourself; these are the
greatest and most important commandments. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus adds
that all of the Law and all of the voices of the prophets are distilled in
those two commandments. Nothing is more important.
As
you may remember, the first sermon that I preached here at Houston was based on
that scripture from Deuteronomy. I wanted to remind you, as Jesus reminds us
all, that we have no higher duty than to love God and love one another. When
you hear those words, you should also hear the words of the prophet Micah. Love
is an active verb, and when we love God and love one another as God loves us,
we do so with a concern for justice, an abundance of mercy and compassion, and
always, with a spirit of humility. It is not easy to do all these things, but
Christ doesn’t call us to be comfortable; he simply calls us to follow him.
The
title of my sermon this morning comes from a song written by Pete Seeger in
1959. You may be more familiar with the version of the song that was recorded
by The Byrds in 1965, either because you heard it back in the Sixties or
because it was used in the television show, The
Wonder Years. It’s a wonderful song. It’s a musical setting of this
scripture from Ecclesiastes.
I
usually read this at funerals—some of you have heard me read it before. I read
it to remind people that death is a part of life; it’s natural, just like the
turning of the seasons. Today is NOT a funeral. When I began my ministry here,
I said I would be with you, but only for a season. Today is the end of that
season in the life of this congregation and in my faith journey. I leave you today
with a deep sense of appreciation and gratitude. You have loved me deeply and I
hope that I have returned the love to you. I am truly humbled by all that
you’ve done for me. I will cherish this time, this season that I spent with you
for the rest of my days. Thanks be to God. Amen!
BENEDICTION
Now, Beloved,
as you depart from this place, remember that love is the highest duty—love for
God and love for your neighbor. Remember, too, that pastors come and go;
seasons change, but love remains. Live in that love. Go forth and be
instruments of God’s peace and reconciliation. Do not return evil for evil to
any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called to
reflect that love to everyone we meet. This is the truth and the love in which
we were created. Go forth and live fully and abundantly into that love. In the
name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, let all God’s children say, Amen!
[1] Patrick D. Miller. The Ten Commandments. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press,
2009), p. 3.
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