In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Our story today begins in the middle of the action, with the Word of the LORD coming to Jonah a second time. “Get up,” He says, “go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” Though that last verb really should be in the past tense. Because God had already commanded Jonah to go. He just hadn’t done it. Many, if not most of us here, know this story. We know what God told Jonah. We know what Jonah didn’t do. We know how things worked out in the end. The story is practically old hat. Flannel boards and coloring sheets. And yet we hear it again today, we are given it anew now, and we dare to believe that it is a Word from the Lord and that He has something to say. What will he say to you? When God first spoke to Jonah and said “Go to Nineveh,” it was the worst day of his life. Jonah hated Nineveh. He loathed it. The thought of bringing the Word of the LORD there was reprehensible. Disgusting. What could God possibly want with the Ninevites? Nineveh was the capital city of Assyria, the sworn enemies of Israel, and the most powerful, most murderously evil empire the ancient world had ever seen. They were ruthless. Cruel — and proud of it. There was a lot to hate about Nineveh and the Empire they represented. But Jonah took it a step further. Whereas most people might shudder and curse when the Assyrians came up in conversation, they more or less quickly moved on. But Jonah enjoyed that rush of anger. He cultivated it. And who could blame him? Who would dissuade him? It’s always been socially acceptable to hate someone or something that is textbook deplorable. Jonah cherished his hatred — which made the command of the Lord impossible for him to obey. Hearing what God wanted him to do, Jonah ran in the opposite direction. “I shall flee from the Lord’s presence,” he declares and goes as far away from Nineveh as he can possibly get. He arrives at the sea, hops on the first boat he finds, and sets sail. We can almost imagine him spitting over his shoulder before settling down in the hull of the ship for a nap, thinking, Those Ninevites can die in their sins. They deserve whatever they’re going to get. He falls asleep. Hours pass. The waters are calm — until dark clouds gather on the horizon. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes. The waves grow higher. Everyone (except for Jonah, who is still sleeping) is terrified. The sailors fish out their idols, they pray to their gods, they beseech whatever deity comes to mind, asking them to intervene. But nothing works. The captain of the vessel wakes Jonah up. He asks him if he knows what is going on. If there’s anything he can do to stop what the sailors believe to be their imminent demise. “Cast me overboard,” Jonah says. And eventually the sailors do. As Jonah sinks into the depths, it looks — tragically, ironically — that he’s finally come to a place where the Word of the Lord can’t reach him — though once more, He does. God sends a great fish to swallow up his recalcitrant prophet; and after three days in its belly, the fish spews him right back to where he started. “The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, ‘Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.’” And Jonah obeys, though he begrudges every step of the way. And we know that because we’re told that Nineveh is vast, three days’ travel from end-to-end; but Jonah doesn’t even reach the middle of the city before delivering God’s message — in five Hebrew words, no less — “Come 40 days,” he cries, “Nineveh will be overturned.” Job done, Jonah turned to go — only to find that the Ninevites had listened. Everyone, from the King to the cab drivers to the cows bowed the knee and bewailed their sins. “Have mercy on us, LORD, have mercy,” they cry. And he does. He does. You’d think this would be the moment that Jonah forgives the Ninevites and embraces them. There were once his enemies. Now, they were his brethren! But he doesn’t. Instead, Jonah storms out of the gates, hikes up a mountain, and sits down, glaring at the repentant city. If looks could kill. They do — though not in the way we expect. Our story concludes with a final tableaux: God causes a plant to grow up to shade Jonah; and then God ordains a worm to kill it. Sweaty and sunburnt, Jonah loses his temper. “Kill me now,” he begs. “It is better for me to die than to live.” To which God responds: “Jonah, Jonah, Jonah. Why are you this way? You are concerned over something so small, a vine you didn’t plant or tend. Should I not be concerned about Nineveh? Should I not be concerned about the thousands of people who live there? Don’t you understand who I am?” But the story ends with that exchange. Jonah doesn’t give a reply. Which means we are meant to supply it. And we can — because we all know Jonah, just like we all know the Ninevites. They’re easy to find, easy, even to understand. They live in our hearts. All it takes is a moment of honest self-reflection, a look inside that reveals the truth: We’ve all had knee-jerk reactions that pop out and hurt someone we love from time to time. And we’ve all been hurt and then cherished our resentment to the point of thinking that maybe God should skip his mercy this time around. Does that sound familiar? It does to me. That’s the beauty and the genius and the humor of this story. It shows us in no uncertain terms that we are all repulsive pagans. We are all reluctant prophets. We are all sinners in the hands of a merciful God — a God who was out to save not just the Ninevites, but also Jonah. He would not be satisfied with anything less. And he is not satisfied with anything less. God does not want any part of his creation or any person in it to be overturned by Sin or destroyed by the hatred and the fear and the selfishness that run rampant in this fallen world. To allow that to happen would be against God’s nature, a death-sentence for the universe he has made. And so it is that just as God spoke to a people who were not his people and just as he rescued his prophet from the depths of the sea, so too, does He pursue us, to save us, not fleeing his enemies, but casting himself into the sea for our sake, so that the storms of this world and the storms in our hearts might be calmed with the power of his grace. Such is his boundless love, love that does not wait or hold back until we’re “good enough” or until we “get wise” or until we respond to his commands with perfect humility. He comes now: Once, twice, three, four times, on and on, again and again, saying, “Follow me, and I will make you who you are meant to be.” That is our hope, our promise, our present reality. The Kingdom of God is nearer than we think. It’s on our lips and in our hearts. And the King says, “Turn away from your wickedness and live.” For true life, everlasting life, begins when we take him at his word and let His Word be the last. AMEN.
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In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
What do you want to be when you grow up? I don’t remember the exact age I was when I first heard that question — and as far as I know my daughter hasn’t heard it yet. (Though she might after service.) What do you want to be when you grow up? A firefighter. A ballerina. A nuclear physicist. That was mine — turns out I’m bad at math. You could hear almost any answer to that question. Except for one. “I don’t want to. I want to remain a child.” No one says that. We’re all trained from the earliest age to think ahead, to plan for the future, to make it our goal to become independent, self-sufficient, law-abiding, tax-paying citizens of our modern world. That’s what life is all about: growing up, getting a job, buying a house — or at least a couch. To say otherwise is a non-starter, a cop-out, a fantasy. After all, Peter Pan doesn’t look so good when the dishwasher breaks or the rent comes due. And yet there’s a certain wistfulness about that desire — to remain a child or, really, to remain childlike — that dances through each of our hearts from time to time. We catch ourselves thinking, Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just sit like my one-year-old son does and gaze out the window, cooing with delight, content with nothing more than a cool stone floor and a wooden spoon. Wouldn’t it be nice to be still in such a way, to be quiet, to be unaware of all the trials and tragedies that are going on in the world? Too bad life isn’t like that, we think, and then shake our heads and sigh and turn back to what a friend of mine recently described as “the daily grind.” That doesn’t sound so good, does it? Life these days can feel like that though, like we are pressed between bad news and bad news. Tumultuous times are upon us, and the months ahead don’t look like they’re going to be much different. Which begs the question: How will we meet them? Like a child. When the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli, the word of the LORD was rare. It was the time of the Judges — a period in Israel’s history marked by some serious growing pains. The Israelites had come up out of the desert from 40 years of wandering. They had entered the Promised Land. And yet the promised rest did not come; not because God couldn’t give it to them, but because the Israelites didn’t want it. Looking around at their neighbors, the Israelites began mimicking them. They worshiped pagan gods. They followed foreign ideals. To quote a phrase that is repeated many times in the OT book describing this period: “Everyone did what was right in their own eyes.” Everyone did what was right in their own eyes, so you can imagine what society was like. The rich oppressed the poor, the poor stole to survive, and the enemies of the people of God sounded their trumpets and sharpened their swords for battle. And yet, even amidst the darkness, the lamp of God had not gone out, and the bright lights of righteous men and women and girls and boys continued to burn. We meet one of those people today, asleep beside the Ark of the Covenant. He is a child, and he does not yet know the LORD. Still, the LORD speaks to him. “Samuel, Samuel!” he says. And the boy thinks his master is calling. Samuel gets up and runs to his side. “Here I am, for you called me,” Samuel says. But Eli sends him back to bed. The same exchange happens again. And again. Three times the LORD speaks. Three times Samuel runs to his master. Until Eli finally understands. “The LORD is calling you,” he says. “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.’” Samuel does just that. He lays down. He closes his eyes. He waits. And just as his breathing slows and his mind begins to drift, the Word of the Lord appears and stands beside him, calling his name. And Samuel says: “Speak, for your servant is listening.” For all Eli’s faults — which were many — there is great wisdom in the counsel he gave. What other statement could convey the disposition one must adopt in the presence of Almighty God? “Speak, for your servant is listening.” There are no demands in those words, no preconceived notions of who or what God is or can be. There is just openness and trust and humility. Whatever message the LORD bears, whatever word he has to say, the servant listens, ready to do whatever his master commands. In our world of constant noise and incessant stimulation, how often do we find ourselves in such a posture? How often do we pause and look around and listen for the Word of the Lord? How often do we slow down long enough to behold the glory that is all around us? We don’t — though that’s not for lack of trying or because we don’t want to. Now more than ever before we are engaged with forces that are designed to diminish our ability to behold, to gaze, to listen. We are presented with an image of happiness, one that is beautiful and tantalizing but ultimately empty, unable to touch the hunger at the center of our being. It can’t be said enough that there is a God-shaped hole in each of our lives, a restlessness in our hearts that will continue unsatisfied until we realize that only the One God of Israel, the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, can fill it. Can fill us. And he will. He does. Think of the stories we’ve heard today, of the stories we’ve heard at so many other times — of Moses and Samuel and Jonah and St. Peter and St. Paul: God’s presence and power doesn’t rely on us. God works. God speaks. God acts, even when our eyesight is dim and our hearing is poor and our hearts are hard. That behavior that doesn’t even surprise him. As the psalmist said, “Lord, you have searched me out and known me; you know my sitting down and my rising up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You trace my journeys and my resting-places and are acquainted with all my ways. Indeed, there is not a word on my lips, but you, O Lord, know it altogether. You press upon me behind and before and lay your hand upon me." How wonderful! And it is. For what does he conclude after that admission? David says: I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. What a miracle! God knows us, knows the fears that keep us up at night, the petty insults we let slide, the secret lusts we all cherish. He knows us, and still he loves us. Each one of us is fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God. Each one of us is fearfully and wonderfully made and learning to be like Him. This is what God is doing, guiding us, guarding us, so that we might grow into the full stature he intends for us. Only God knows what each of us will be when we grow up: His child. This is a gift and a grace that human words will forever fail to describe, though we can and should keep trying. Each one of us is known by God and loved by God, and we will come to know God and love God in our own way, learning to walk with him much like a child does — with a lot of falling down and crying and then getting back up. This is the work of our life, the growing up we have to do, traveling the way everlasting with the One who has promised to dwell with us, who chose us and called us, even when we were asleep in the Temple or sitting under the fig tree. Even when we did not yet know the Lord. He is with us, never tiring of our frailty but rejoicing, rejoicing every time we take a step on our own. In every moment and every day, may we continue to take those steps, looking again and again for God, our benevolent Father, who would teach us how to walk and how to speak and how to act so that his glory might shine and his lamp might burn in our lives and in the world AMEN. Let me tell you about a young couple. He’s in his mid-twenties; she’s around the same age. He’s from an upper-class family, accustomed to everything money can buy (which he believes is about everything), reared with conservative values, Harvard-educated, and now a lawyer in a prestigious firm. His name is Greg.
She’s from a vastly different background. Her parents, while they have a long-time relationship, never married. They made a conscious effort never to do anything simply because their parents did it or because it was a convention of society. They never saw a tradition that they didn’t break and they never heard a new-age idea they didn't embrace. They were your original flower children, and she was thoroughly immersed in their value system. Her name is Dharma. Dharma and Greg are married. Their life together is a constant meeting and clashing of value systems. Both sets of parents are thoroughly involved in their children's lives, which further complicates the picture. It’s the stuff of which situation comedies are made. In fact, it was a situation comedy 20 years ago or so entitled "Dharma and Greg." In one episode they’ve adopted a baby and everybody’s making plans. Greg feels the baby should be baptized — in the church in which he had been baptized. Dharma, open to all ideas, said, "Fine, where's the church?" Greg said he didn't know street names, but he could drive to it. So they drove around and around, but couldn’t find the church. Dharma suggested that perhaps she could drive and Greg could get in the back seat, since he would have been sitting in the back seat of his parents' car the last time he went to church, which it turns out was when he was around seven years old. They never found the church. Later, in discussing the situation with Greg's parents, his mother said, "Oh yes. That was the Presbyterian Church." His father corrected her, "No, dear, the Episcopal Church." They did end up having the baby baptized. They also had him circumcised by a rabbi and blessed by an Indian shaman. Then they had a reception in which Dharma was heard to say, "We want our son to be brought up knowing all religions and ideas so he can choose for himself." The rabbi said to the priest, "That's going to be one mixed up kid!" Dharma and Greg represent a large number of people today. The Church isn’t a "given" entity in people's lives. And those who have church backgrounds often were so poorly indoctrinated in the faith that it’s easy to move to an entirely different religion without being bothered by the difficulty of changing to a completely different belief system. Greg had been baptized. Is he a Christian? Yes. The seed of baptism has been planted. He’s a member of the Body of Christ, and marked as Christ's own forever. I believe it was St. Augustine who said that the marks of baptism are distinguishable even in hell. But if we mean by Christian, "Is he leading a Christian life?' the answer’s no, for to be able to be a part of a worshiping body of believers, and to be able to receive the Sacrament, yet to choose not to do so, is to choose not to lead a Christian life. Worship isn’t the only response called for in the Christian life, but it’s essential. Another problem in Greg's Christian understanding is in his and Dharma's decision to allow their son to choose what he’ll believe. Christian parents, when they present a child for baptism, vow to do the opposite. They vow to nurture that seed that’s planted in baptism, so that as the child matures, she’ll be thoroughly indoctrinated in the Christian faith and life. She may choose not to be faithful, but it shouldn’t be because the parents were "hands off” regarding religion. We must do everything in our power to stay healthy members of the Body of Christ. We do that by being in as close communion as possible with our Lord Jesus and by following his example. The purpose of his life and the way he lived his earthly life can be seen in his baptism. When Jesus went to the river Jordan to be baptized by John, John asked the question that many today ask. Why was one who was perfect baptized? When John protested, saying that Jesus should baptize him, Jesus responded, "Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness." Jesus was beginning his ministry. That ministry was to suffer and die for the sins of the whole world. He begins his ministry by identifying with us so completely as to submit to baptism for the repentance of sin. Then, in going down into the water his death was prefigured and coming out of the water so was his resurrection. The seed of baptism has been planted within most of us here today. Like Jesus at his baptism, we’ve been given the gift of the Holy Spirit. Our whole being has been changed, for we’re members of Christ's Body, enabled to meet the challenges and possibilities of life with the strength of Christ. The old nature is still a part of us, for we still tend to be self-centered, and so we must continually strive, by the grace of God, to die to self that Christ might have full reign in our lives. It’s never been easy to live a Christian life. Now, more than at any other time in the history of our nation, Christianity is at odds with the culture, as Dharma and Greg illustrate beautifully. And so it’s all the more important for us to immerse ourselves in the things of faith, that we may know God's will to the best of our ability and have the strength and courage to do his will. How do we immerse ourselves in the things of faith? Our Baptismal Covenant is the place to start.
By the grace of God, as we, day after day, do the things of faith, we will reflect more clearly the presence of God in our lives. Yes, our society is increasingly non-Christian, as Dharma and Greg illustrate, but that makes our calling all the more important. Happy New Year! Here are some ideas concerning New Year’s Resolutions:
“My New Year’s resolution, says Jim Gaffigan: I will be less laz.” “Now there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people, Jay Leno said. So overweight people are now average. Which means you’ve met your New Year’s resolution.” My New Year’s resolution is to be less prefect. Also, remember: A New Year's resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other. My name is Fredrick Arthur Robinson. I was named, kind of, for my two grandfathers. My maternal grandfather was Ferdinand, but my parents thought Ferdinand was too old-fashioned a name, and since my grandfather went by Fred, they decided to call me Fredrick. My paternal grandfather was named Arthur. We had absolutely no choice in the name we were given, to state the obvious. I remember that I went through a brief period in my adolescence when I didn't like my name very much. My friends called me Fred, but my family called me Fredrick, except when I was in trouble. Then I was Fredrick Arthur Robinson! At one point I thought it might be nice to change my “goes by” name to Rick, but that didn't last very long. I thought there might be a David here this morning, so I looked up the meaning of the name David, and it means beloved. James means supplanter—it comes from the original Hebrew word Jacob. Lori means Laurel. Elizabeth: God is my oath. Abraham: Father of many. Stephen: Wreath or Crown Everybody's name means something. My wife Linda's name means “pretty.” She certainly lives up to her name! My name means peaceful ruler. I'm not a ruler, but I hope as the leader of this parish that I do lead it in a peaceful way. Names are very important in our Judeo Christian tradition. When Abram was led by God into a new land, God gave him a new name—Abraham. When God appeared to Moses in the burning bush, Moses asked God what his name was. God said his name is I am that I am. God told Moses, "Tell the Hebrew people that I Am sent you." From then on, God's name was considered to be so holy that it could never be uttered. Thus, when reading the Hebrew text of what we call our Old Testament aloud, when Jews come to the name for God they substitute a different word for him, rather than to say his name aloud. That tradition is followed in our own English text from the Old Testament today. If you look at the Old Testament reading in your bulletins, you will notice the word LORD is spelled in all capital letters. That means that in the Hebrew text God's name appears. That name we believe is pronounced Yahweh, but no one really knows for sure because it was never uttered aloud. Instead of printing Yahweh, the New Revised Standard Version substitutes the word LORD, and signifies the substitution by printing the word LORD in all capital letters. Why did they treat the name of God in such a fashion? It was thought that to know a being's name was to have some control over the one named. Thus, when God gave Adam the job of naming all of the animals in creation, he was giving Adam power over the animals. In trying to sell you something, the sales person wants to know your name right away, and he or she uses your name not once but probably several times. Using your name draws you in and so it does indeed give the salesperson a bit of control. At any rate, the Hebrew people believed that a name contained something of the essence of a person's being. They had an almost magical understanding of knowing someone's name. It would be totally inappropriate to believe that one had some kind of control over the being of Almighty God. Thus, his name was never said aloud. Therefore, when a person underwent a change in being, it was significant that the person be given a new name. Abram became Abraham; Jacob became Israel; in the New Testament Saul became Paul. In the early Church, when a person was baptized that person was given a new name, signifying a change in the person’s being. On the eighth day after Jesus's birth, he was circumcised and given the name Jesus. It means Savior. Not only is his name known, but it is also utterable, and he could be seen and touched. He is in the weakness of human flesh. Through Jesus, Almighty God indeed has become familiar to those who know him. The best way to know God is to know Jesus. In fact, since Jesus entered this world he is the only way to the Father. As his name reveals, Jesus is the Savior and it is only through him that humanity can be saved. St. Luke proclaims, "There is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved." St. Paul, in his Letter to the Philippians, elaborates: "God has highly exalted Jesus and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." In knowing the name Jesus, however, we certainly do not have any power or control over him. In fact, it’s just the opposite. When we utter the name Jesus we proclaim that he has power over us, that he is our Lord and Savior, that it is he through whom we dare approach God as Father. And yet, we realize that there is power in his name, just as the apostles realized in the New Testament, and so we pray in his name, we heal in his name, we preach in his name. One resolution we should all make this day is to be more thankful for the grace given us through Jesus, our Savior and Lord. |
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