The Final Word

Sermon preached by Matt Staniz on May 15, 2011.  Sermon refers to predictions that the world would end on May 22 that were publicized via radio and highway billboards.

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So…did you get the message?

Apparently we are headed down the home stretch. The billboards have been warning us for months: Judgment Day - May 21, 2011.

Have summer plans at the shore? Too bad! World Series run for the Phillies this fall? Forget it! God is apparently ready to close the book on the world as we know it, and it’s going to happen this coming Saturday.

Which means, for people in my line of work, today is our last chance to preach--the last sermon. Today is the final word.

That's more than a little bit of pressure, you know? You better pay attention!

Of course, to be honest, it also feels a little bit like the last day of school.

So, what should the sermon on the world’s final Sunday include?

As we face the possibility that we are in the final week of being God’s people on Earth--the final week of being the church--I think it’s appropriate to go back to the first week; to go back to the beginning of God’s mission through the church. We can look to the beginning of the church because, quite simply, our mission as followers of Jesus is the same mission that is was when it began. The world has changed dramatically over the centuries, and continues to change on a day-to-day, moment-by-moment basis, but what it means to be followers of Jesus is still exactly the same.

We hear it in the words of Acts chapter 2:

They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

This is how what we call "the church" began. And, quite frankly, the purpose of people following Jesus has not changed at all in 2000 years. The people we read about in Acts chapter 2 had a purpose and that same purpose belongs to us today.

They became a community driven by God revealed in Jesus. They devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles; the teaching passed along from what Jesus taught. They devoted themselves to fellowship; to being a community. They devoted themselves to breaking bread together. They devoted themselves to prayer. As they gathered together around the gospel and around the breaking of bread, and as athey gathered together to pray--things happened.

There was awe--there wonders and signs, and the community that had formed were driven to turn themselves inside-out as a community in order to participate in what God was doing in the world. They saw everything they had as a means toward God’s mission. They devoted everything God gave them toward meeting needs. No one was abandoned. No one was left behind.

And that community of fellowship and generosity, that community built around profound loving relationship (with each other, with God revealed in Jesus, and with the world God loves) is the very same community--with the very same purpose--that we are a part of today. We are the same church today that was launched in Acts chapter 2.

We are called to be in relationship with God. We are given the same teachings rooted in Jesus Christ. We are invited into a life of prayer as we pay attention to God’s presence with us today.

We are called to be in relationship with each other: to devote ourselves to fellowship. And "fellowship" simply means being together; spending time together (and probably enjoying it, too!). We are called to devote ourselves to breaking bread together. Even as we do that together at the communion table, we also break bread together in the church basement. We also break bread together in each other’s homes. We also break bread at a playground picnic table with a group of children. We also break bread together at a tailgate party outside a Phillies game.

And as we grow in relationship to God and one another, we are also called to be in relationship with the world. We are called to gather all that God has given us and use it to meet the needs of the world God loves--the world God has placed us in to be practitioners of love.

Our relationship with God and each other turns us inside-out as a community because God has brought us together in the world in order to be a part of what God is doing in the world. God did not bring us together in this world in order to bide our time on the way to somewhere else. God did not bring us together in this world in order to wait to go to heaven. God did not bring us together in the world in order to wait for the day that we will all be snatched away.

If that were the case, putting up billboards reminding people to save the date is all we would need to do.

But that’s not what Jesus came to make possible. That is not the kingdom of God described in scripture. Jesus teaches us to pray, "Your kingdom come, your will be done..." where? "On earth as in heaven."

There is a "final word" for us to hear today. I do have a "final word" to proclaim, but that final word has nothing to do with billboards pointing to May 21, 2011. You see, I did my own research this week and, quite frankly, the billboards got the date wrong. I’m sure an adjustment will be announced--probably on May 22--but I expect that the date will still be wrong. The "final word" on God’s work in the world does not point to a billboard on a highway in 2011. God’s "final word" points to a cross on a hill 2000 years ago. God’s "final word" is the cross of Jesus. God’s final word is an endless, sustaining, amazing grace that is ours because of Jesus.

It’s the final word of grace that we hear in the apostles’ teaching. It’s the final word of grace that we experience in community. It’s the final word we experience as we break bread together. It’s the final wordof grace that we experience as we pray together. It’s the final word of God’s grace that turns us inside-out as a community and makes us builders of God’s kingdom and reflections of God’s will--not just in heaven after we die, but starting today, on Earth as in heaven.

If anything, the billboards can remind us that there is an urgency to our mission. We should approach following Jesus as though time is limited, because--judgment day or not--this world needs to experience the love of God now. The world needs to experience grace and love this week. The hungry need to be fed this week. The sick need to be cared for this week. The lonely need to be loved this week. The needs around us (and among us) must be addressed this week.

So, regardless of what we think will happen on Saturday, I pray we embrace our identity and mission as God’s church this week.

And, if it turns out that billboards did miss the date, I figure a ladder and a bucket of paint is all that we need to spread word that we’ll still be proclaiming that final word of God’s grace for as long as we are on this mission!

Be sure to come for 9:30 next Sunday, though. I wouldn’t want to cause any undue panic! [ed. note: this is a change of schedule to begin the summer]

Until then, may we remain constantly surrounded by the final word of God’s grace and be urgently committed to sharing that word of grace in everything that we do.

Amen.

Recognizing Jesus on the Road

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May 8, 2011 sermon by Matt Staniz.  Scripture: Luke 24:13-35.  (May 8, 2011 was the first Sunday after the death of Osama bin Laden was announced)

In these 50 days that make up the season of Easter, we continue to gather around the stories of Jesus--after the resurrection--appearing to the disciples. They are strange and wonderful stories, to say the least. Jesus shows up and, time after time, the people in the story don’t recognize that it is Jesus. At the empty tomb, Mary thinks it’s the gardener. Jesus appears to the disciples in Jerusalem and the disciples think that he’s a ghost.

Today we get the wonderful story of two disciples walking along the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus and talking about all the things that had happened. It had been quite a weekend in Jerusalem and they were walking the seven miles to Emmaus and back into their lives now that Jesus had been killed.
During their 3 hour walk they had plenty to talk about as they tried to make sense of what had happened. And then, we’re told that Jesus himself approaches them. Only they do not know that it is Jesus. It doesn’t occur to them that Jesus is there with them on the road.

Jesus asks them what they are talking about, and it stops them in their tracks. "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place?"

When I hear that moment in the story, it reminds me of a very specific moment in my life. It reminds of a moment on September 11, 2001. I’m sure we all have pretty defined memories of how that day unfolded for us. I imagine that—to some degree—they’ve crossed our minds this past week.

The moment I remember as I hear of this encounter along the road to Emmaus happened late in the morning on September 11. I had been watching the story unfold on TV and passing word along to others on the campus of our seminary in Philadelphia. It was at least 11am--very late in the story of that morning--when I came outside and a classmate came up to me and asked "What’s going on?"
I began to give her the latest update. By that point it amounted to the news that planes that were unaccounted for had been located.

And then she reached out, grasped my arm, and said, "No. Matt, wait. I don’t know what happened. What’s going on?"

And like those disciples on the road to Emmaus, it stopped me in my tracks as the thought flashed through my mind that I actually had to be the one to tell this terrible story.

This past week has brought with it a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings on the news that Osama bin Laden was found and killed. Anger and grief from 9/11 has resurfaced; sadness has resurfaced. Feelings of relief, satisfaction, even excitement, are tempered by uncertainty and the unsettling knowledge that there is nothing nice about this story.

As I’m absorbing the news, I’m reminded that our mission and purpose is the same as it has always been: God calls us to be instruments of love, grace and peace. God wants us to resist every form of evil and to protect each other. Yet, as we seek to be followers of the God revealed in Jesus, we are constantly reminded that our ideas of peace and justice--and our understanding of what God is like--must never be pulled into the same dark places that can lead people of any faith to do the things Osama bin Laden did.
The disciples on the road to Emmaus had a difficult story to tell. But tell it they did—without even knowing that the person in the story was right there with them. Jesus was with them on the road and they didn’t even know it.

I think this story of the road to Emmaus is wonderfully important to us today, because the same thing happens to us as we walk the roads that make up our lives. Like those disciples, We don’t quite expect the resurrected Jesus to show up. We don’t quite expect resurrection to actually be true. We don’t quite expect light to shine from darkness. We don’t quite expect our sins to be forgiven. We don’t quite expect to be given new life; to be reborn. We don’t quite expect that love will actually win. We don’t quite expect the resurrected Jesus to show up.

Like the disciples, it’s easy for us to walk along the roads that make up our lives, and be consumed by the stories and circumstances that make up our lives, and not even notice that Jesus is right there walking the road with us.

When have you not noticed God walking beside you?

When the disciples finally recognize that it was indeed Jesus, they said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road?"

"Were not our hearts burning within us?"

I’m pretty certain that they weren’t talking about acid reflux.

They finally realized that they knew, deep in their hearts, that something was happening along that road. I pray that we can pay attention to the moments when our hearts are burning--those moments when we sense that something more is happening than just another walk up the road or another story that is hard to deal with. I pray that we notice the resurrected Jesus walking with us. Jesus might be a neighbor, a friend, co-worker, or family member. Jesus might even be a stranger along the road. I pray we can sense the nudges that something more is happening, and that it might be Jesus.

Even in this moment, as we gather in community and worship, I pray that our hearts will burn within us while the risen Jesus opens the scriptures to us and is revealed to us in the breaking of the bread.

May our hearts burn with knowledge that Christ is with us. May our hearts burn with joy because Jesus walks with us. May our hearts burn with hope for the road that lies ahead. May our hearts burn with the good news of the gospel. Amen.

Show Me Your Scars

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Sermon preached May 1, 2011 at Temple Lutheran Church.  Based on John 20:19-31.


Been thinking about scars this week. We all have scars. Every one of us. Every scar brings with it a story, and those stories become a part of who we are. Every single one of us is scarred from the moment we are born. Each one of us carries at least one scar so universal that we consider it a body part: a belly button. A reminder that, even in the moment of birth, we had to adjust to a whole new reality. A whole new life during which we will pick up more scars along the way.

Each scar comes with a story. We could probably spend the rest of the day telling, and listening to, the stories that have left us with scars.

Some of the stories make us laugh as we look back. They make us laugh at our own foolishness. If I lose my hair, I will surely have to explain to people the 2.5-inch scar that barely remains hidden today on the top of my forehead. They will hear a story about a group of 19-year old males (so many scar stories probably begin with such a group!), and all the wonderful ideas we came up with to entertain ourselves. In fact, when we put our minds together, we always managed to come up with even dumber ideas.

One of those ideas was a game we called "Izzy Dizzy". You've probably seen or played this game at some point. It involves standing a baseball bat up and bending over, placing your forehead on the top of the bat and spinning around the bat as many times as you can. When you stop spinning, you then try to walk a straight line.

We came up with the great idea that this was a game we should play in our dormitory hallway. Our dormitory was like a big brick shoebox with a hallway straight up the middle with doorways on both sides every few feet. We decided to place a pile of matresses in the hallway with one matress standing on end like a wall in front of them. We wanted to see who could spin around the bat and then proceed down the hall and jump over the wall and land in the luxourious pile of soft matresses.

Of course, I got to go first.

I bent down, spun around the bat as many times as I could. I started up the hallway, leaning on the wall until my shoulder bumped into a doorway. I stopped and focused on the matresses, which were right in front of me. So I positioned myself and leapt with all my might.

As soon as my feet left the floor, the whole world spun. The matresses flew away in one direction, and into my path came the concrete and steel doorway that I had just bumped into. I bumped into again, much harder and head first.

We laughed all the way to the emergency room as the others described to me what they witnessed, which was that I bumped into the doorway, stared at it, and then jumped as hard as I could straight into it.
　
Some of the stories make us laugh. Some of the stories are routine and mundane. I spent my college years working in food service collecting scars almost weekly—from burns, knives, and industrial fans to go with the hockey stick scars I collected on my brow.

Some of the stories that come with the scars we carry remind us every day why we call them "scars".  Some of the stories go back to the darkest moments we’ve experienced. Some of the stories we would never laugh at or forget. Some of the stories we don’t want to remember or re-open. They're stories we wish had never happened. Even though scars are proof that we have survived--that our bodies have been mended--they still leave us forever marked, reminding us that there are things that irreversibly change us.
And the scars that mark our skin are really just the first layer of scars. They barely scratch the surface, don’t they? Because it’s not just physical scars that we carry through life. Often, the scars that hurt us the most are the ones we can’t point to on our elbow or forehead.

As we gather together this morning, we gather around a story about scars. We hear the story of Jesus appearing to the disciples. A story that particularly draws attention to Thomas and his desire, or perhaps need, to see the scars.

I imagine it’s pretty natural for each of us to relate to Thomas and the doubts he had.  I suspect that the reason Thomas is included in the story is because his story reflects a piece of our own story. The Bible never refers to Thomas as a doubter. Thomas is always called "the twin", although we never hear about the other twin (the brother or sister). Some of the other siblings among the disciples get mentioned, but not this time. It’s been suggested that Thomas is called "the twin" because he is our twin; that Thomas resembles our own struggle to believe. I find that possibility very encouraging and interesting.

As I thought about the story of Thomas this week and prayed, it occurred to me that Thomas would not have struggled with the idea that Jesus had risen from the dead. Thomas was there just a few pages earlier in the story when Jesus told the disciples that his friend Lazarus had died. It was Thomas that told the other disciples to go with Jesus to Lazarus’ tomb. Thomas wouldn’t have struggled with resurrection because he saw Lazarus come out of the tomb. Thomas did not need to see that Jesus was risen. What Thomas needed to see was the scars. Thomas needed to see where the nails marked Jesus’ hands. Thomas needed to see where the spear pierced Jesus’ side.

It would be reasonable to think this was simply because Thomas wanted proof that this was really Jesus. Maybe so. But I suspect that there was something more that Thomas was seeking. He needed to see the scars, touch them even. Because the good news of Easter was not simply that Jesus was alive, but that the scars were real. The scars tell the story of Jesus. They are permanent reminders of what had happened. Thomas needs to see the scars because we need to see the scars and know that they are real.

Because of Thomas, we are reminded that God has scars. God has scars just like us. Scars that, even after the resurrection, take us right back to that darkest moment and the reality that Jesus suffered the unthinkable.

The gospel of John tells us that the word of God is not a book. The gospel of John begins by telling us that the word of God became flesh and lived among us. The word of God entered into our skin, even the parts with scars.

God has scars, just like you. God knows every one of your scars, and every detail of every story behind them: the funny ones, the boring ones, and the ones that hurt more every day. In Jesus, God has come into our skin. God bears every one of our scars with us. It's why we are invited, again and again, to this table to receive the presence of Jesus broken for us, poured out for us. God dwelt in our too-easily-scarred skin, so that we could be nourished as we continue to heal.

Our scars do serve as a sign of healing. They are proof that our bodies can mend themselves. But they are also complicated lingering reminders that we have been irreversibly changed. And God doesn’t take away those scars. Instead, we hear the words of Jesus. We hear the words of God in our skin. We hear the words of God with scars: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you."  Jesus sends us, scars and all, to be the hands and feet of God in the world today. We are the wounded hands and feet of Jesus.

And our scars may be just what the world needs to see. The world doesn’t need people who have it all figured out to tell them how to live and what to believe. The world needs to see scars that look just like theirs and feel just like theirs. The world needs to meet wounded broken people who have encountered a wounded broken God who has made possible a love that is unbreakable and goes beyond every scar’s damage.

"As the Father has sent me, so I send you."  Jesus sends us, scars and all.  And there is no length that Jesus not already gone to meet you in the midst of your scars. Jesus is already there. Jesus already bears the same scars, and invites you to come and see, come and touch, come and believe.

It is in the scars of the living Christ that we meet the depth of God’s love for us.

It is in the scars of the living Christ that we meet the word of God in our skin.

It is in the scars of the living Christ that God meets us right where we are. Even the parts of ourselves that we try so hard to keep hidden.

It is in the scars of the living Christ that we meet the good news of the Gospel. Amen.