Category: Preaching Notes
Dwell in . . .
An edited version of my words from Sunday, May 8th, pondering Psalm 23.
This morning let’s think about your dwelling or where you dwell. And in doing so maybe we can touch or absorb a bit of the faith of the Psalmist who proclaimed, “Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”
Where are you dwelling? What do you dwell in?
A dwelling is “a shelter, a house or structure where one resides. Digging a little deeper the word “dwell” is most often used as a verb. “To live or continue in a given condition or state: to dwell in happiness. To linger over, emphasize, or ponder in thought, speech, or writing.”
“Dwelling.” Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/dwelling. Accessed 6 May. 2022. / Dictionary.com Unabridged Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2022.
We live in a country that, since the turn of the century, has gone from wrestling with itself to an all-out fist fight. Each escalation brings a new weapon of choice: real, rhetorical, imagined, and they can all be real and metaphorically, deadly. The cause of the fight is economic and identity driven. Asked by a high school senior why I thought the country was so conflicted I said, “I think . . .”
- It’s over the speed of change in our social contract about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;
- It’s about whose “rights” matter and what do I have to give up for your rights to matter as much as my rights;
- and what ethnicity or religion is allowed to govern in a Nation that has no religious test to hold office and whose motto is “out of many, one.”
It’s been said that art imitates life, but these days it seems like the opposite. When I think about it, to me our society is dwelling in the stories of three movies: “Tombstone,” “Westside Story” and “Gangs of New York.” If you are a reader, the novel The Grapes of Wrath comes to mind. I know all of these are “older” examples. Does that mean I’m dwelling in the past?
Writing to his editor at Viking Press, John Steinbeck said of his novel, The Grapes of Wrath,
“Throughout I’ve tried to make the reader participate in the actuality, what he takes from it will be scaled on his own depth and shallowness. There are five layers in this book, a reader will find as many as he can and he won’t find more than he has in himself.”
Shillinglaw, Susan (2014). On Reading the Grapes of Wrath. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grapes_of_Wrath accessed May 4, 2022.
Though not limited to five layers, the same can be said of the bible. The theological term is hermeneutic. It is the interpretative lens each person brings to the text. It’s always a risk to comment on a portion of scripture that is so well known. It is grafted onto some of us. It’s a risk to comment on well worn scripture and today that is especially so with my spouse, the Hebrew bible biblical scholar, in the sanctuary. Psalm 23 is often thought of as a “Thanksgiving Psalm” perhaps the prayer said on the other side of a lament, like Psalm 22. Talking about Psalm 23 over brunch yesterday, Lisa noted she would classify it as a Psalm of trust. Is the author reflecting on their life, declaring how they follow the Lord, or speaking of the future? We don’t know. I guess it depends on where you dwell.
I grew up primarily in suburban life. The only think I knew about shepherds was that as a child I dressed like one each Christmas, meaning dad’s bathrobe and a fake beard; and they watched sheep. I had never seen a shepherd until I traveled to Israel and saw real live shepherds tending flocks, rounding up sheep or goats, and protecting the flock as best as possible.
My final conclusions on shepherds are these: shepherds do a lot of walking; shepherds seem to be patient, very patient; and shepherds just know which sheep or goat are prone to wander off.
You don’t have to know much about shepherds to dwell in the 23rd Psalm. This is one of those writings in the bible that we listen to not with our ears, but with our being.
Green pastures and still waters . . . we all have that one safe place we can imagine in our mind.
Lead me down right paths . . . doing or standing up for what is right because it is right; not out of fear or pressure or guilt.
I walk through darkest valleys, I fear no evil . . . imagine the one thing that frightens you the most . . . imagine life without that fear. The freedom you would have.
The familiar words of Psalm 23 comfort. We hear them most often at a funeral or memorial service as we reflect on a person’s life; and our own. They are richer than chicken soup for the soul and deeper than “every cloud has a silver lining.”
We think of the house of the Lord as physical, human made structures. While that may be so, it is also true that all creation is the house of the Lord and that includes humanity. We are created in the image of God. Some divine residue exists in us in the breathing, interactive, day to day existence of living. We are embodied houses of the Lord.
I first experienced that at church camp. Our counselor, John, told a bunch of seventh and eighth grade boys, “You have the image of God within you that goes with you, that shepherds you, in all the highs and lows of life. Can you recognize that in others and in yourself?” The ego can make that self-centered idolatry or a humble recognition of something greater than ourselves.
Every time I go to camp it is an opportunity to do some maintenance, sometimes some deferred maintenance, on myself with the help of explorers or seekers of God. A church camp experience is where the biblical story can come alive. The daily sharing of meals, chores, listening to someone snore during rest time, the silly games, and the conversations in small group. All this helps bring the biblical stories to life. Outdoor sanctuaries provide the space not to simply memorize the story (chapter and verse), but to understand the story, to imagine, to re-imagine, to engage the spirit of the writers. When we study and listen, we can hear what the biblical stories have to say: to the people of ancient times, to the historic traditions of the Church, to me, to you in our time. And then we are challenged to put those lessons, that maintenance, into practice. Isn’t that what a church is supposed to sound like?
I guess it depends on where you dwell.
You can dwell in fear;
in anger;
in love;
in grievance;
in hate;
in joy;
in grief;
in the unknown;
in the past;
in a future not yet realized.
You can dwell in suspicion;
in superiority;
in jealousy;
in exclusive truth;
in gratitude;
in the idea that God has a plan for it all and for you; or
in the randomness of life and creation that was set into motion; or
any number of other perspectives or emotions.
I like to think our little movement for wholeness in a fragmented world still dwells in what the Disciples theologian Ronald Osborn, calls the Disciples mind.
It is a way of approaching the scriptures with a reverent intelligence. This style of professing Christian faith has accepted the reproach of advocating a ‘head religion’ hurled by those who profess a ‘heart religion’. Emphasizing faith with understanding, the Disciples mind puts the highest premium on rationality and faithfulness in action.
Ronald E. Osborn, Chalice Hymnal, Chalice Press (St Louis) 1995.
A slight translation difference noted in the New Interpreters Study Bible has stuck with me. Verse 6 can also be translated, “Surely, goodness and kindness shall pursue me, all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for my length of days.”
The image of being pursued by goodness and kindness, God’s goodness and kindness when looking back at verse 5. That’s a different kind of image of God than what is portrayed as popular national Christianity right now. As a walking, talking house of the Lord, I’m a reflection of that goodness and kindness. As a walking, talking house of the Lord, you are a reflection of that goodness and kindness.
It takes maintenance. Some of our systems have lots of deferred maintenance.
Someone watching you might person discover that for God’s own name sake, God leads, God shines a light down right paths, but we still have to choose to take that path. Those paths might help you dream God’s dream . . . remember, and put it into practice: abundance, equality, justice, forgiveness, and love.
To choose those paths, you’ve got to be aware of your surroundings and where you dwell.
You want me to do what?
A sermon exploring John 21:1-19
We come to worship seeking to hear and experience the good news:
that the Lord’s mercies never cease;
that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning;
and the Lord’s faithfulness extends beyond our ability to see in a mirror dimly, or recognize the image of God in others as well as in our own face.
As you are willing and able, please join me in prayer:
Open our ears and our hearts, O God, that our meditations, words, and living are a reflection of our faith in You, who creates, who redeems, and who sustains creation and our lives. Amen.
Buckle up church, here we go.
Today, the Gospel of John asks, “do you love Jesus.”
John’s gospel is not for the newly initiated believer or novice follower of Jesus. It is more like a theological reader for experienced followers of the way rather than another story about the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth. The language invites theological conversation that requires you to have spent some time personally wrestling with God, or intimately struggling with Jesus in relationship with others; and risk.
Risk disagreeing with someone you’ve known your whole life. That someone may be, a family member, co-worker, neighbor, or the face you see everyday in the mirror. Risk disagreeing with Christian tradition’s presentation of Jesus or its presentation of God.
So, there are times in John’s gospel when it sounds like Jesus responds to our questions, even rhetorical questions with, “I set for you an example. The rest you are going to have to figure that out for yourself.”
Oh, and one more thing. That phrase, “and one more thing,” is missing in the greek text, but it seems to fit story today. The Gospel According to John has this in common with the Gospel According to Mark. They both have an ending. Then a longer ending, an epilogue, a PS, and “and one more thing.”
Like last week with Thomas, this story about Simon Peter returns during Eastertide as the disciples then, and now, wrestle with grief and the mystery of what “resurrection” means. Is it bodily, spiritual, or something else? Is is metaphorical? And, just like Indiana Jones in his last crusade, at some point in life we all look across a chasm that takes a leap of faith.
The Christ you meet this Easter season has entrusted Jesus’ story and Jesus’ way with you, just like Mary Magdalene was entrusted with it, and the disciples that followed, and Simon Peter. We tell the story’s lessons and wisdom through our living. That helps shape our “identity.” I think this is what today’s fish story is all about.
Long before James Fowler developed his Stages of Faith, John’s gospel shows us different journey’s in faith. Particularly, in Jesus’ last week and in his resurrection appearances we get a glimpse of four journeys.
Mary Magdalene did the things that needed to be done behind the scenes or in public for all to see. That is what women named and unnamed do in the biblical text and throughout all history. Some stories, Nations, religions or movements wouldn’t exist today without women like Mary Magdalene who was the first to proclaim that she had seen her risen Lord.
Thomas is a believer, but also a precocious skeptic. He is willing to ask questions no one else is asking and consider possibilities no one is considering. He’s the kid who asks during pastor’s class, “What was the first thing Jesus said when he came out of the tomb?” As the minister talks about tradition and history they get to the words, “we don’t really know.” That same kid says, “I know what he said, ‘Tada!’”
The disciple whom Jesus loved. That person is not named, but is a constant, consistent presence. A person who listens more than they speak. Maybe they are ascetic or contemplative. It’s that person in today’s story that recognizes Jesus and says to Simon Peter, “It is the Lord.” We presume they must have told everyone else the same thing after Simon jumps into the sea and they stay with the disciples to finish pulling in the overloaded nets.
Simon Peter is quick to act on new information or insight. Sometimes he acts before he thinks. He’s what companies call “an early adopter.” When new gadgets or apps hit the market, even unproven ones, there is a group that grabs them up. They are the public beta testers, who help companies and communities shake the bugs out of a something when it first comes out. It applies to all kinds of products and politics, theories and theologies, ideas and religion. It’s on “this rock” Jesus will build a church?
Even though Jesus has appeared to the disciples at least two time since his crucifixion, Simon, son of John, returns to the life he knew before meeting Jesus of Nazareth. It’s what you do in grief, at least what some of us do, try to find something that feels normal, routine, or busy. It might keep one or help one from fixating on feelings or allowing our feelings to control us or our actions. And, maybe in the busy, routine, or normal one eventually makes peace, finds peace, or manages to not be controlled by strong emotion any longer.
I don’t know which it is for Simon, son of John, but fishing sounds like the right thing to do and a few of the disciples go along. I’ve always wondered where the boat came from. Did they rent the boat, steal it, find it abandoned? Did they lease their boat to someone and reclaim it? And what about the nets? Maybe they borrowed a boat and nets from someone who had finished up early promising some of their catch as collateral. We don’t know.
But they are out there, a hundred yards or so, in the darkness and it’s bad fishing. You can imagine the conversation is laced with tones of anger “what’s next?” or depression, “what’s next?” A stranger, a neighbor, comes walking along the shore and suggests a different fishing spot. From one side of the boat to the other. From bad to overflowing. I know this fish story. And now, this third time Simon Peter, “the rock” needs someone else to recognize Jesus for him.
With little thought of the others in the boat, Simon belly flops into the sea and swims to shore. He’s got to have answers for his dark night of the soul experience and this neighbor, that the disciple whom Jesus loved recognized as “the Lord,” might have them. The rest of the disciples do the hard work of pulling up the overflowing nets and rowing the boat ashore. When we get ashore there is something familiar about this fireside breakfast on the beach. We wonder, “who is this?” Is this Jesus? The disciple whom Jesus loved has gone silent and so has Simon Peter. There is bread broken, fish, and enough to share.
Does this seem familiar?
Three times this neighbor, who we all think is Jesus, asks Simon Peter,
“do you love me.”
Three times Simon answers, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.”
Traditional interpretation suggests that this is Jesus’ way of forgiving, reconciling, or restoring Simon, son of John, in the eyes of the disciples and in Simon’s own understanding of himself. But, the text doesn’t mention forgiveness. Simon doesn’t ask for it. Jesus never offers it.
In John’s gospel, when Jesus is arrested Simon Peter does’t deny knowing Jesus, he denies being a disciple of Jesus. “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” “I am not.” (John 18:17)
Have you ever had one of those moments when words are exiting your mouth that you wish you could grab out of the air, shove them back in so they couldn’t be heard, and you could choose different words? Do you suppose Simon Peter, the rock, wished he could take his denial back?
If Jesus isn’t forgiving Simon, then what is he doing?
Rev. Dr. Karoline Lewis, a professor and chair of Biblical Preaching at Luther Seminary writes:
Jesus does not blame or shame Peter. Jesus does not ask for Peter’s repentance. Jesus does not ask three times, “Peter, do you love me?” to remind Peter of his three-fold denial, to test him or to trip him. If any of that is true, that’s not the Jesus I know, I love, or in whom I believe. Instead, Jesus reaffirms who Peter needs to be; the disciple Jesus needs him to be. And the disciple Jesus needs Peter to be is the shepherd now. No wonder Peter responded with, “I am not.”
Rev. Dr. Karoline Lewis, “Do You Love Me?” April 28, 2019.
https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/do-you-love-m
In the musical and movie, “Jesus Christ Superstar,” Mary Magdalene and Simon Peter sing a duet after Jesus is arrested and Peter has denied knowing Jesus. They sing, “Could We Start Again Please?” Simon Peter’s part is:
I think you’ve made your point now
You’ve even gone a bit too far to get the message home
Before it gets to frightening
We ought to call a halt
So, could we start again, please?
Tim Rice, Andrew Loyd Webber, Jesus Christ Superstar, “Could We Start Again Please?” 1971. Click here to watch the duet.
Do you love me?
“Yes, Lord. You know I do.”
Jesus responds: Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep. Follow me.
In this part of the Johns gospel it is not believe me or believe in me. Follow me.
We don’t hear from Simon Peter again until you begin reading Acts, but if it were me, had I been there with the disciples I would have said to Jesus, “You want me to do what?” I wish that was in the text so I could feel better about the times I’ve denied being a follower of Jesus with my actions or with my words.
Sell all you have and give it to the poor.
You want me to do what?
Forgive seventy times seven.
You want me to do what?
Take up your cross and follow me.
You want me to do what?
Love my neighbor as myself.
You want me to do what?
Could we start again, please?
We are a culture awash in identities. They are personal and they are corporate.
Some help. Some hurt. Some harm.
Some divide and conquer.
Some identities are ideals: “Out of Many One.”
The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ): “A movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.”
Some are promises not yet fulfilled.
Some make us feel superior.
Some identities are only about power, wealth, status and the status quo.
Some identities are used against us, or against our neighbors, or against all of us.
Some identities say, “you are either with us or against us.”
Some identities are transformational, “They’ll Know We Are Christians By Our Love.”
Who gets to see the real you? Who gets to see your consistent moral compass? Jesus doesn’t say to Simon Peter, “If you love me, then . . .” It would be so much easier if Jesus gave a simple checklist.
He just said, “follow me.”
Followers of Jesus do Jesus like things.
They feed people, in real embodied community building ways and metaphorically,
when they are young.
The tend people, in real embodied community building ways and metaphorically,
as they age.
They feed people, in real embodied community building ways and metaphorically as they mature and pass from this life to the next.
In doing that, God is seen. God is glorified.
And people don’t have to ask if you are a disciple of Jesus.
Followers of Jesus do Jesus like things.
When congregations like this one comfort, challenge, and nurture believers of all ages, and people wounded by other denominations, and people seeking God, and people of no faith at all because you practice the messy work of koinonia at a table where you don’t need a reservation, you just pull up a chair.
In doing that, God is seen. God is glorified.
And people don’t have to ask if you are a disciple of Jesus.
It’s not easy. But the one we call Christ never said it would be.
Jesus believed his followers could do Jesus like things even when we don’t believe in ourselves.
Remember, the Christ you meet this Easter season has entrusted Jesus’ story and Jesus’ way with you, just like Mary Magdalene was entrusted with it, and the disciples that followed, and Simon Peter. We tell the story’s lessons and wisdom through our living. We trust, we pray, that God is seen and that God is glorified.