Part of the summer lectionary at Nativity has included an emphasis on 1 John. An incredibly complex and sometimes hard to read (because it is condemning) epistle that is tied to the Johanine community that produced the Gospel of John that is so familiar on Palm Sunday and the weeks following Easter.
In 1 John, there is a lot of talk about what it means to be human.
Does it mean to be a sinner? To be in the dark and completely depraved? To continually choose what is good for ourselves over and above what is good for the larger community?
Or does it mean to be a saint? To live in the light? To be forgiven of all sins? To be able to choose what is good for all instead of what is good for one?
In my sermon from July 6th, I posited that it was actually both. That we are, to quote Martin Luther, simul ustus et pecator, that is, that we are simmultaneously saint and sinner.
I even have a tattoo to remind ourselves of this very fact.
But, in a book that I had to read for my Theology class in the Spring of 2013 for Dan Bell, the author posited meant that to be truly human was to be completely saint. That the reason Jesus was fully human was because he was fully in relationship with God. And that by his incarnation, we understand what it means to be human.
This means that human nature isn't greedy or selfish. It would mean that we no longer get to use the excuse "I'm only human, when we make a mistake." Because to be human means to have the capactity for good and altruism.
It also means that there are no saints, in the sense that we have come to understand them. Instead, they are just people who are living into their humanity - the humanity that is made possible through the Incarnation and the gift of the Holy Spirit.
That means, they are, at their core, people like you and me. People who were born into this world, but desired something better. And instead of choking up their failings to "human nature," they realized that they had the capacity to do better.
They had the capactiy to do good.
We have the capactiy to good.
And we don't really have a good reason as to why we continue to make choices that are terrible for us. We can't keep blaming it on "human nature" because in the Incarnation, we see that human nature is actually altruistic and desires to sacrifice itself.
Instead, we continue to make terrible choice after terrible choice. We continue to blame our mistakes on something else. We continue to give ourselves an out for not doing better.
But we can. We are freed in baptism to become truly human.
And when we are truly human, we also know what it means to abide with God (to use the Johanine community's favorite verb).
This sermon was delivered to the people of the Lutheran Church of the Nativity on Sunday, June 1, 2014. The texts for the sermon are Philippians 2:1-13 and Luke 6:27-31.
Before you get too comfortable, I want you to grab a pencil and your bulletins, and jot down some things that make up your definition of “you.” The parts of you that are foundational to your identity. Go ahead, write them down -- because we’re going to come back to this, but it’ll take us a few minutes to get there.
As you’re thinking and writing, I want to share this parable from Peter Rollins with you that I came across while preparing for this week’s sermon:
IN THE CENTER OF A ONCE-GREAT CITY THERE STOOD A MAGNIFICENT CATHEDRAL that was cared for by a kindly old priest who spent his days praying in the vestry and caring for the poor. As a result of the priest’s tireless work, the cathedral was known throughout the land as a true sanctuary. The priest welcomed all who came to his door and gave completely without prejudice or restraint. Each stranger was, to the priest, a neighbor in need and thus the incoming of Christ. His hospitality was famous and his heart was known to be pure. No one could steal from this old man, for he considered no possession his own, and while thieves sometimes left that place with items pillaged from the sanctuary, the priest never grew concerned: he had given everything to God and knew that these people needed such items more than the church did. Early one evening in the middle of winter, while the priest was praying before the cross, there was a loud and ominous knock on the cathedral door. The priest quickly got to his feet and went to the entrance, as he knew it was a terrible night and reasoned that his visitor might be in need of shelter. Upon opening the door he was surprised to find a terrifying demon towering over him with large dead eyes and rotting flesh. “Old man,” the demon hissed, “I have traveled many miles to seek your shelter. Will you welcome me in?” Without hesitation, the priest bid this hideous demon welcome and beckoned him into the church. The evil demon stooped down and stepped across the threshold, spitting venom onto the tiled floor as he went. In full view of the priest, the demon proceeded to tear down the various icons that adorned the walls and rip the fine linens that hung around the sanctuary, while screaming blasphemy and curses. During this time the priest knelt silently on the floor and continued in his devotions until it was time for him to retire for the night. “Old man,” cried the demon, “where are you going now?” “I am returning home to rest, for it has been a long day,” replied the kindly priest. “May I come with you?” spat the demon. “I too am tired and in need of a place to lay my head.” “Why, of course,” replied the priest. “Come, and I will prepare a meal.” On returning to his house, the priest prepared some food while the evil demon mocked the priest and broke the various religious artifacts that adorned his humble dwelling. The demon then ate the meal that was provided and afterward turned his attention to the priest, “Old man, you welcomed me first into your church and then into your house. I have one more request for you: will you now welcome me into your heart?” “Why, of course,” said the priest, “what I have is yours and what I am is yours.” This heartfelt response brought the demon to a standstill, for by giving everything the priest had retained the very thing that the demon sought to take. For the demon was unable to rob him of his kindness and his hospitality, his love and his compassion. And so the great demon left in defeat, never to return. What happened to that demon after this meeting with the elderly priest is anyone’s guess. Some say that although he left that place empty-handed he received more than he could ever have imagined. And the priest? He simply ascended his stairs, got into bed and drifted off to sleep, all the time wondering what guise his Christ would take next. - Peter Rollins, The Orthodox Heretic
And as I was reading this parable, and reading this text, I wondered if I would be able to live as this priest lived. To be open and willing to serve all that came to my door that even in the midst of being taken advantage of, being abused, and even at the risk of letting evil into my heart. Would I be as kind and hospitable as the priest in this story? Would I be able to empty myself of the things that I hold near and dear to my identity and allow Christ’s love and grace to flow through me?
And then I wondered what are those things that I hold near and dear to my identity? Is it my name? My job? My gender? My relationships? What were those things that you hold near and dear to your identity -- what did you put on your list?
Does your list read something along the lines of: I’m Jared, a 25 year old male vicar, who is the first born son, and an older brother. I’m a student and a teacher. I am a bookworm, tv junkie, and movie buff. I’m a best friend. I own a dog, and am comfortably middle class. I’m an American of Norwegian descent. I’m a little ADD and a little OCD. I’m a Lutheran.
All of these are ways that I identify myself. All of these are things that I hold near and dear to my heart. All of these things are things I would be terrified to give up. I hold on to these things to measure my success and place in the world. They are how I know where I stand compared to other people.
Except, Paul calls me, and us, to emulate Christ in all things, to be in the same mind as Christ. To be of the same love as Christ. To:
“empty ourselves,
take the form of a slave,
humble ourselves
and become obedient to the point of death”
That’s terrifying. To empty ourselves of all of these pieces of our identity. To let go of the ways that we measure success. To stand back and let God work in our lives. To live as the priest lived in the parable I told at the beginning did, giving away everything, holding on to nothing. Not being afraid, even in the presence of evil and threat of harm. To have nothing inside his heart but love and grace and forgiveness and joy. To have so much love to be willing “go the extra mile” so to speak. To have so much forgiveness that we can turn the other cheek. To have so much grace, that everything we do is a reflection of what God does for us.
I know it sounds impossible. It sounds like I (and Paul and Jesus) are talking about something that is ideal, but not realistic. I mean, what happens when we offer grace? We get taken advantage of, right? Or our identities get in the way. I can’t do this, because of x, y, or z. I know this, because I do it all the time. I think that I’m “too busy” to go out and help someone build a house. Or that I’m “too afraid” for my life to help the homeless person with the cardboard sign because he might be crazy. Or whatever...we all have our reasons, our identities that we cling so tightly to, and impact how we are able to love one another.
And still, Paul - who wasn’t exactly the most charitable person at times, writes again and again that we need to emulate Christ. He even writes at one point that we “lose our identities” in the waters of Baptism. That we aren’t “ Jew nor Greek” - national identities, “slave or free” - occupational identities, or “male and female” - that one’s a little obvious. That these incredibly powerful cultural, occupational, and gender identities are no longer the things that define us. That we can let them go, we empty ourselves of them because they get in the way of the work of God flowing through us. That instead, we are children of God.
And we see this happen. We’ve seen people who have let go of their identities to bring love and grace to those they meet. They aren’t just found in parables, like the one I just read from Peter Rollins. Instead they are people like Maya Angelou, Mother Teresa, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Pope Francis. They are the nurses who work at free clinics, the teachers who stay after school to tutor those who struggle, the veterans who worked to build relationships with those who differ from us, the construction workers who dedicate their time to Habitat for Humanity, the people who would rather go unnamed and unrecognized as they offer up their gifts and service. We all know these people. These women and men who emptied themselves of their identities and allowed themselves to be vessels of God’s grace. Women and men, who truly were of the same mind as Christ. Who weren’t afraid of anything to live into God’s kingdom. And more importantly, they were just ordinary women and men.
Women and men, like you and me. They just emptied themselves of their identities and became instruments of God’s grace. And in the emptying, the humility, the service, the love, the being taken advantage of, the threat of death, they lifted up Christ. They showed all the world how the power of sin was broken and that God’s kingdom is with us here and now. Thanks be to God.
This sermon was delivered to the people of the Lutheran Church of the Nativity on December 8, 2013. The text for the sermon was Ezekiel 37:1-14.
They say, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God:I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live.”
- Ezekiel 37:11b-12a, 14a
It’s hard to read our passage from Ezekiel and not think about zombies. It’s even harder to do this now, when zombies have captured the popular imagination of America over the past 5 years or so. Zombies have popped up all over the pop culture board recently. We’ve always been zombie horror movies, but over the past few years, it zombies have branched out. We’ve seen a zombie romantic comedy, in Warm Bodies, and this past summer we saw World War Z, a zombie action blockbuster starring none other than Brad Pitt. There are books about how to survive the zombie apocalypse, and entire websites dedicated to the feasibility of a zombie outbreak. And then, there’s the show that, I think, really kicked off America’s fascination with zombies: The Walking Dead.
Now, this popular show on AMC is based on a just as popular graphic novel series by the same name. And for those of who you might be unfamiliar with either of these works, the story follows a group of humans who have banded together in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse. As the series progresses, it becomes clearer and clearer that the zombies are not the only walking dead from the title - it also refers to the ragtag group of survivors as well. These normal humans lose bits and pieces of their humanity in their struggle to survive. They too become like Walking Dead.
Now, like most good science fiction, our popular zombie literature satirizes how many people in America live day to day. There’s a sense that we’re just “going through the motions,” or just working to get by. There are people that just walk through life without any hope, or without any sense of life. We feel disconnected from each other and from God. People might blame social media, technology, or those kids today, but we cannot deny that it’s a feeling that encompasses most of the Western world. The culture we live in is full of people who might not realize that they are eerily similar to the walking dead of the popular zombie movies that they watch.
This is not unlike the Exiles that Ezekiel is called to share this bizarre message of hope we see in our text this morning. The people are complaining that their bones are dried up, that they are cut off - that they are dead. Zombies. Creatures just going through the motions because they feel dead inside. These people are eerily similar to our walking dead
But this isn’t the end of the story.
God comes to Ezekiel and shares with him this message of hope for a future filled with life. God brings Ezekiel to a valley - one of the lowest points in the desert of Israel and shows him the bones of fallen warriors. These men, and quite possibly women and children, who fought to defend their homeland and lost. It’s a horrific sight - reminiscent of some of our scarier zombie movies today.
God doesn’t leave it at that. God commands Ezekiel to prophesy to these bones that they might live, to share with them God’s active and living Word, that even these bones might experience a fullness of life. This powerful image is one that brings hope in the valley of death that Ezekiel where he finds himself. The bones come together as Ezekiel shares God’s word with them. Bit by bit, the bones become connected. Eventually they can stand and move as if they were alive.
Something is missing. These people are what we would traditionally think of as zombies. There’s no life, there’s no spirit. They might be able to move, but they aren’t alive. They might be put together but they aren’t whole.
This is where the exiles find themselves and it’s where too many of us find ourselves today. We are put together. We can move. We can work. We can go through the motions. But there’s no spirit in it. There’s no life. There’s no wholeness.
And yet, this isn’t the end of the story.
Ezekiel is commanded to prophesy once more. To share again, the living Word of God, and again Ezekiel obeys. This time, the spirit enters the bodies. The spirit creates life. The spirit creates meaningfulness in the people that have been resurrected by God working through Ezekiel. And it’s here, in the valley of death, that God brings forth a newness of life. It’s here, that God promises to do these things and more for the whole people of Israel. To bring them life, so that they might no longer feel like members of the walking dead and instead rejoice because they are once more joined to one another, to their homeland, and to God. It’s here, in this valley, that God sends Ezekiel once more to share with the people in Exile God’s living Word, and restore their hope, and give them life even when it feels far removed from them.
And Ezekiel does, the Israelites hear this message of hope, and share it with one another, time and time again as they continue to spend their time in exile. Trusting in God’s promises. Sharing in the prophesy, the living Word of God that brings hope. And in that hope, a renewed life for these people appears.
And still, that’s not the end of the story.
Because Jesus Christ, the Word made Flesh, comes down to earth. Jesus Christ - God’s living Word dwelling and living among us. Breathing with us, talking with us, eating with us, teaching us, creating a newness of life in us. Jesus’ desire to heal all peoples, so that they might have life, not just go through the motions as a member of the walking dead even though this ultimately leads to his death on the cross. And even there, Jesus comes back, not as a zombie, but as a person who has life through his relationship with God and with all of creation.
And still that’s not the end of the story.
Because of Jesus, we get to participate in those relationships now. We are baptized by God’s Spirit - the one that gives us life by joining us to Christ and the Creator of all things. We gather around to share in the messages of God’s living Word, as we teach and learn from one another. We eat and drink the holy meal with the Word made flesh. And through God’s power, we are given life because we gain and develop relationships with God, and with one another.
Someone who models what it means to truly live this kind of life is Nelson Mandela. He was a man, who sought out the life in those who are oppressed and struggling to get by. He went to these people that many might shy away from as the walking dead and embraced them as Children of God. Mandela worked hard to show all of creation that God’s life is present - he shared the message of God’s living Word through his words, through his deeds, and through his suffering. He eagerly waited for the coming of the Kingdom of God by trying to embody Christ everywhere he went.
So this Advent, we take comfort in the fact that we are not zombies, that God is present in our deep, dark valleys, and that Christ has been there to bring forth life. And we celebrate our status as living, breathing Children of God, not as the nameless walking dead we see reflected in contemporary culture. And we wait like Mandela waited, by eagerly working to bring forth the Kingdom of God in all we say and do. We can share God’s Living Words with others like Ezekiel and Mandela did, allowing our actions to speak louder than our words. And in our work, we join thousands of God’s children around the world as we all wait to hear the end of the story. Amen.
