Category: Faith

Preaching on Pentecost + 7, semi-continuous readings, specifically the story of Naaman and Elisha.

2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30; Galatians 6:1-16; Luke 10:1-11,16-20

[Note: The text doesn’t match the audio 100%; seems I lost my manuscript where my handwritten corrections were made.]

Audio: listen here or download the file directly

*****

Please be seated.

Six weeks ago, I stood here and introduced our current summer program ‚Äì the reading, and preaching, on the stories of Elijah and Elisha. I opened with Elijah taking on the prophet’s of Ba’al on a mountaintop in Northern Israel. And I also said, quite clearly, that we were going to be looking at Elijah and Elisha for five weeks. Five weeks. We’re now at six weeks. We’re doing something a little unplanned because the stories of Elijah and Elisha ‚Äì well, they’re awesome. We can’t stop talking about them. Our original narrow path of five weeks just didn’t seem long enough. We had to break the boundaries that we setup.

I guess we were just a tad too inspired by these rule breaking prophets to just stick to our rules too.

Last week, Pastor Brown introduced Elisha ‚Äì Elijah’s successor. In that story, Elijah and Elisha are on a journey together ‚Äì and as they walk, they are separated ‚Äì split apart ‚Äì by chariots and horses of fire. Elijah is taken up into the heavens in a whirlwind while Elisha is left here, on earth, to pick up Elijah’s mantle and be Elijah’s heir. And with that inheritance comes responsibilities ‚Äì responsibilities that call for rule breaking.

Our reading today begins with Naaman, the commander of the king of Aram’s army. Aram is a word we don’t use much today but it describes the territory around Damascus in modern day Syria. Aram and Israel were not friends. In fact, throughout the book of kings, we read stories of Aram, Israel, and Judah fighting wars against each other. They’re use to being at war with each other more than being at peace. So we have this commander of Aram’s army ‚Äì this leader of the enemy forces ‚Äì a leader who is a mighty soldier, who’s won victories ‚Äì who’s everything he’s suppose to be as the general of the Aram army – except for one thing; he’s sick. He has leprosy. We have no idea how long he’s had it. He might have fought many battles while suffering through it, maybe even defeated Israel a few times. But we know that this disease is going to catch up to him. And he knows it too. He knows that his great strength will fail him. He knows that the community will start to shun him and push him away as his disease worsens. He’s going to lose battles, lose the respect of his king, lose the army, his wealth, his family, and, eventually, his life. He’s wasting away and he’s on a journey ‚Äì as one commentator put it ‚Äì a journey from health, status, power, and control to one of sickness, weakness, isolation and death. He’s a warrior caught in a battle he knows he’s going to lose ‚Äì and he’s starting to get desperate. And we know he’s desperate because he begins to break some rules and he listens to a nameless young girl.

Now this nameless young girl had no position. She had no wealth, no social status. She didn’t even have control over her own life. She was captured in a military raid on Israel and now serves Naaman’s wife. She is, in the eyes of the world, nothing. But she says something that gets Naaman’s attention. She talks about a prophet who can heal him so he does what any desperate person would do ‚Äì he takes a chance and goes to see this prophet in Israel.

Naaman, in away, has broken the rules. He’s listened to the powerless. He’s listened to someone he shouldn’t have. But… he doesn’t just immediately head to Israel. He doesn’t rally the army for another raid though he probably could have. He might have even been able to capture Elisha and force the prophet to heal him. No, Naaman instead goes back to following the rules. He talks to his king, gets permission to go to Israel, gets a letter of introduction and gathers together all the gold, silver, and fancy clothes he can carry to bribe Elisha to heal him. Naaman listens to the powerless and immediately goes back to following what the powerful do. And it works! Naaman finds himself at the door to Elisha’s house. He brings with him his gold, silver, and gifts, his chariots and an entourage. Naaman arrives, in force, at the door of this prophet. He arrives as a general, as one in charge, as one who isn’t on the journey that he’s truly on. He’s losing his life but he’s acting like he’s not. He’s coming to the door of the prophet as one who expects to be healed, not as one who needs to be healed. So it must have blown Naaman’s mind to come to the front door of Elisha’s house and be met by a messenger rather than the prophet himself.

Elisha doesn’t come to the door because, I think, he’s not playing the game that Naaman is. Elisha has seen power. He’s conversed with kings. But he’s also seen a different power ‚Äì a power with a different agenda that doesn’t seem to follow the same rules. A power that seems willing to break the rules that get in its way. Elisha has seen Elijah being taken up in a whirlwind. He’s picked up the mantle. He’s parted the waters of the Jordan and performed his own series of miracles ‚Äì miracle stories we don’t read in worship but that are there in the chapters before our reading today. He’s stopped children from being sold to cancel a debt, he’s caused an older woman to give birth to a son, and he’s even provided food in the midst of a famine. He’s witnessed God’s power breaking into the world to restore relationships that should, by the world’s definition, end. He’s witnessed God’s power stretching beyond the borders of Israel. And he’s seen the commander of the enemy army march to his front door, wield his gold and silver and chariots, and seen this commander ignore just how powerless he is. Naaman, like the captive young girl, is powerless in the face of his disease. He is marching towards brokenness but acting like he isn’t. So Elisha gives him a simple task ‚Äì to go to a local river and wash seven times. To go into the river of the enemy, to remove his armor, his shield, to step off his chariot, and wash seven times, in the wide open, powerless. Vulnerable. Unsafe. He’s told to be naked and weak in the face of his enemy. Only then, when his rules are blown open and he’s no longer in control, will healing take place.

Now, in reality, Naaman never stops being powerful. He never stops being the general of Aram’s army. Even in the middle of the river, his chariots are still under his orders and his wealth that he brought into Israel still belongs to him. He’s in a much different place than the captive young girl who started his journey into Israel. He has a level of control over his life that she never will have. He will always be named while she’ll always be the nameless. Naaman comes to God in the only way he knows how ‚Äì he walks up to Elisha’s front door using the only rules he knows ‚Äì the rule of power, force, wealth, and might. And that’s where God meets him ‚Äì right where Naaman is. That’s where God’s messenger met him. God doesn’t wait to begin the conversation with Naaman until he repents or renounces the gods of Aram. God begins the conversation in the heart of Naaman’s strength and control ‚Äì by having that captive young girl, deep in the heart of Naaman’s family, begin the conversation. God doesn’t wait for Naaman to follow God’s rules before God reaches out to him. God acts first ‚Äì setting in motion the breaking down of Naaman’s expectations ‚Äì and only then does healing take place ‚Äì because God isn’t afraid of meeting Naaman in Naaman’s strength; talking with Naaman where Naaman believes himself to be most powerful. God isn’t afraid of meeting Naaman’s chariots and wealth and military might. And God isn’t afraid of meeting our strengths either.

Naaman is an outsider. He follows other gods, he’s not an Israelite, and he’s even defeated Israel in battle a few times. He’s not suppose to get healed. But he is healed because God isn’t afraid of being bigger than our expectations. That’s part of our invitation in Naaman’s story. Imagine bringing to God all of who we are, beyond just our weakness ‚Äì of laying at the foot of the cross what gives us strength as well as what shows our brokenness. A good job with nice benefits and security; a great family where everyone communicates with everyone else; even our own faith life ‚Äì from our prayers to our attending worship, even during a long 4 day weekend in honor of the 4th of July. Because God’s call to us isn’t for just a part of us. God didn’t ask Naaman to wear a sackcloth and to enter the court of the king of Israel with dirt on his face. No, God met Naaman where Naaman saw himself. And, it was there, that Naaman was changed.

The story doesn’t end with Naaman being clean. Our reading skips the last few verses where Naaman returns to Elisha for a final conversation. Naaman’s mind and heart have been open. He converts. Hebecomes a follower of God. And he asks Elisha to pray for him because Naaman’s job puts him in a bind. As commander of the army, he is required to escort the king to worship other gods. Naaman will bow towards other gods when his king bows ‚Äì and Naaman asks for pardon. He asks for forgiveness. He asks for help because what caused him his strength ‚Äì his military might, status, and power ‚Äì is now going to cause him to stumble. His chariots, silver, and gold, cannot help him in that situation. Naaman’s sense of strength is really powerless in the situation with his king. He’s not in control because the king of Aram is. Naaman asks for forgiveness from God. And, like in the bathing in the river, when Naaman was exposed, God meets him as well. God has taken and accepted all of Naaman for who Naaman is ‚Äì even Naaman’s weakness within Naaman’s powerfulness. Elisha does what we are all invited to do when we come to that place ‚Äì when we ask for God’s pardon ‚Äì ask for God’s help ‚Äì ask for God’s clarity in light of a difficult situtation; Elisha turns to Naaman and reaffirms God’s promises to him ‚Äì that God loves him, will not give up on him, and has accepted who he is but won’t leave him there. Naaman isn’t alone. He’s healing has brought him into the community of God. So Elisha affirms that promise and says to the commander of the enemy’s army ‚Äì Go in Peace.
Amen.

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I just came home from an evening out with the misses where we saw the wonderful Buyer & Celler staring Michael Urie. I can’t say enough good things about this show. Michael is fantastic in this one-man show that’s a fictional take on the mall that exists in Barbra Streisand’s basement. The show asks what it would be like to be the employee that worked there – a wonderful premise that’s hilarious. I loved seeing it and I can’t recommend it enough.

There’s a part in the story where Michael (who plays a character named Alex) talks about the concept of utopias and how, maybe, that’s part of what actors, directors, producers, and people-in-general try to do: they try to create these perfect little worlds, letting the right people in, and setting the place just right, so that the world we live in is a world of our own creation. It’s an interesting scene and an interesting view on how people interact and build their own worlds. And as the words were coming out of Michael’s mouth, I couldn’t help but think about ministry (I know, I know) and how that…that just doesn’t work. The problem with ministry, from my limited experience at least, is that the most effective and functional ministry work is done when the people we don’t expect show up into the room. And I’m not just talking about the drunks, or homeless, or poor, or whatnot – the groups of people that my previous comment typically brings to mind. No, the most effective ministry happens when the difference walks through the door. That means a church full of the unchurched is going to have a heck of a problem when someone’s middle age dad or young family walks into the door. The church that ministers to the poor and homeless is going to struggle to integrate the upper middle class empty nesters that want to join. And the church that is upper middle class is going to struggle when the projects behind the church building starts to enter the church. That’s the problem with the Holy Spirit – it keeps shoving difference into our midst. And that’s really hard to deal with, plan for, or facilitate. It’s kinda like parenting, to some degree. Once you get a routine, everything changes. Ministry keeps feeling like that to me – and is probably why I’m having so much fun, and being so exhausted, while being a part of it.

So here’s some Good Friday learning for ya.

After the noon service, I noticed that the paschal candle was melting; melting too much. I needed to move the candle to help setup the 3 pm service – and I didn’t want to keep burning myself on the hot wax (which, well, I did – a lot). Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. I took the follower – the crystal thing that goes on top of the candle to keep the candle looking flat, pretty, and not-too-melted – and put it on the candle. A colleague of mine agreed that this should work. I squished it on, avoided lighting my jacket on fire, and it worked. Success! I patted myself on the back for a job well done.

Two hours later, in the middle of our 3pm Stations of the Cross service, the follower exploded. Literally, exploded. Pieces covered the entire front of the sanctuary. The heat and melted wax overheated the crystal. Everyone heard it but the service kept going – because we’re hardcore like that.

So, for future reference, when using a follower on a paschal candle, put it on an unlit and well cleaned candle. Don’t do what I did – and destroy the only follower we have the day before the new candle, for 2013, needs it. Vicar fail 🙁

Worship as Repentance: Lutheran Liturgical Tradition and Catholic Consensus

That’s a great title, isn’t it?

I finished the book a week ago, returned it to General’s library, and I’m not sure how much sticking power this book has. The introduction, and conclusion, are mostly screens against the author, Walter Sundberg’s, view of eucharistic piety as practiced in the ELCA. He blames the 20th century liturgical movement as turning the worship service into a ritual centered on mysticism. The Lord’s table is where one is invited to “participate” in the divine. There is no need for self-reflection, self-examination, repentance, or any individual’s need to seek forgiveness. Rather, the Lord’s Table is treated as a dispensary of little bits of Godliness – like some kind of giant holy pez dispenser. Show up, hit the right button, and POOF, you get your little bit of God. There’s no need for personal change.

I get what Sundberg is trying to do. He’s trying to reconcile a couple of traditions in the Lutheran church with the problem of what a Christian looks like, how they behave, etc. Throughout The Book of Concord, there are many passages describing the Lord’s supper and what happens when the “unworthy” receive it. It’s not just a means of grace – for those who are unworthy to receive the bread and the wine, the Lord’s supper is actually dangerous. The Lord’s Supper might be the focus of a worship service, but the worship service has a wider purpose. It isn’t merely to meet people where they are at and keep them there. Rather, through worship, Word, and Sacrament, individuals are actually changed by the Spirit to go out and serve their neighbors. So, the question remains, how that change is manifest. And if the life of a Christian is to be one of continual worship (in a sense), how does that change manifest in a life beyond Sunday mornings. That’s where confession, forgiveness, and the “office of the keys” come in.

I actually think Sundberg does a great job tracing the use of Confession & Forgiveness since the Reformation. He traces its history through American Lutheranism as well – but his love of the 1917 Service Book and Hymnal leaves me wanting. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to combat the churches who don’t include Confession & Forgiveness in their services every week. He’s trying to raise up that the Word, and the need for daily repentance, is worth something. He’s trying to point out that inclusion of others doesn’t mean we believe that everyone who comes to the Table is left in the same place as when they came. I get it, and I buy some of it. But Sundberg comes off as an angry old man while doing it because he relies on outdated data to make his point. He’s advocating the point of view that sociologist Rodney Stark has made that religious groups grow when they require, and give, individuals something tangible for their membership. But Sundberg, while relying on current data for the decline in ELCA churches, uses old data pointing to the continued rise in membership in Evangelical/Pentecostal churches (pre-2000 shows growth; post-2000 shows decline). Sundberg is advocating some form of “rigorousness” to ELCA membership and worship life. He’s trying, in his way, to say that worship matters and that this is serious business. But he does it in a way that comes off as…stuffy, old fashioned, and cranky. And, even though I don’t wholly disagree with his premise and ideas – his approach towards worship, I believe, wouldn’t allow me into it. I can’t really say why I think that, but I do. I, who grew up non-Lutheran, border atheist, and Latino – well – I wouldn’t be welcomed in his worship space. And I can’t advocate an approach to worship that wouldn’t let me into it.

Yesterday, I finished conducting my first type teaching a First Communion course. The ages of students ranged from 6 to 13. We used an old First Communion course but out by the ELCA in 1989. The pictures of students were…well… denim jackets were very popular back then. I’m amazed we, as a people, survived most of the eighties. But I was impressed with the engagement of the kids. Unlike me, they think much more concretely. They aren’t lost in an abstract point of view and they don’t see symbols, metaphors, or patterns like I do. They are, well, themselves. And all of them seemed to inherently put a form of rigorousness towards their approach to the Lord’s Table. They just got that it was the body and blood of Christ. They weren’t afraid of our conversations about death, forgiveness, and new life. And they saw, in the eucharist, not a ritual or any kind of mysticism. They know they need to believe it what is being offered there. There is a strictness inherent in their understanding of the Lord’s Supper. And I get that. It’s not merely a ritual participation in the divine and it’s no magic pez dispenser. There’s a wider perspective that’s required – a perspective that is self-reflective, includes self-examination, and sees, through the entire church service, including the Lord’s Supper, a give-and-take; a movement. It’s fluid. There is a fluidness towards worship, and faith, that shouldn’t be lost. In fact, it should be highlighted as a big part of the Lutheran tradition. I don’t think Sundberg, in his book, is pointing out what I’m noticing – but maybe his book is helping to frame my look at it. So, I’ll give him a thanks for that.