Sermon from St. Andrew’s Scotia, 3/23/25 Exodus 3:1-15

 

          Recently the kids and I got our dog a puzzle. We have a four-year-old miniature schnauzer named Jarvis and we think he is smart, so we thought he might like a challenge. The puzzle consists of 4 plastic boxes that open in various ways. The first step is to put a small treat in each box while they are fully open so the dog knows that treats are in there. And slowly and gradually you begin partially closing some of the boxes with treats in them and letting the dog figure out how to get to the treat. So after some time of the boxes fully opened, me and the kids sat down around the puzzle, we put the treats in and we partially closed two of the boxes. Jarvis’s immediate reaction was to stare at the boxes and bark. Occasionally he would kind of kick back his feet and look at us and then bark. I knew what this meant from our puppy training classes … he was frustrated. And it is so hard to not just open the box and give the poor little fluffy guy a treat when he is so clearly distressed. But I also know from puppy training classes, that if I don’t give in, he will figure it out soon after the barking. He will eventually believe he can do it and try.

But it’s hard to wait through the frustration. Partly because he is cute and we love him and partly because we have empathy and we all know what frustration feels like and it does not feel good. Life is full of so many frustrations. Sometimes it is obstacles that interfere with our plans like illness, flat tires or canceled plans. Sometimes it is an inability to understand like hard math problems at school, crises at work or why people think and act the way they do. And sometimes it’s general frustration with life and God- you hear frustration behind questions like why do bad things happen to good people, how could God let this happen and why did this horrible thing have to happen.

It is a feeling common to all of humanity and across time, it can be heard throughout the pages of the Bible. Think of how Jonah felt when he was sent by God to Ninevah, the place of his brutal and destructive enemies, God sent him to proclaim their demise. Jonah begrudgingly does it only to find out that God changed God’s mind. And Jonah is frustrated. Or Job, he did everything he thought was righteous and just and yet catastrophe and suffering pours down on him. Prophet after prophet follows God’s will and does what is right only to be ignored, rejected and sometimes killed. The Old Testament story today is the beginning of the story of Moses freeing the Israelites from Egyptian captivity and on the journey that follows there is a lot of frustration, to the point where many wish they had never followed Moses out of Egypt in the first place.

 And all the while the people do a lot of frustrating things. In today’s reading God calls Moses directly and tells him exactly what to do from a burning bush and still Moses doubts he can do. And on the journey that follows God continually acts on behalf of the Israelites, providing for their needs, rescuing them and giving them guidance and yet they doubt, disobey and outright reject God over and over again. It’s kind of a frustrating story.

 And yet, God sticks with it. God does not give up or abandon, but stays in the relationship. With Moses, God does not give in to the doubt or frustration, knowing that with God, Moses will do what he is called to do. God endures our frustrated barks, cries and doubts, staying by our side, staying with us as we get to the other side of it.

I wonder if Moses felt frustrated when he asked God for a name? Moses says, “if I come to the Israelites and say to them, The God of your ancestors has sent me to you, and they ask me What is his name? What shall I say to them?” and God answers “I AM WHO I AM.” A little vague I would say, and not at all like the tribal gods of that time who had very specific names.

In this passage, God gives three ways of saying God’s name. the first is “I AM WHO I AM” and then right after that God shortens it to simply “I Am.” And then right after that God says, “This you shall say to the Israelites, “The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you.” So, Lord is the third way. In the New Oxford Commentary notes on this it says, “The third name is LORD. In Hebrew the name has four letters, “yhwh” (perhaps pronounced Yahweh), and is thus known as the Tetragrammaton. Like the first two versions of God’s name, it is from a root meaning “to be.” God’s name thus has a verbal rather than a noun form …”[1] So, in other words, the three ways God says God’s name to Moses are all verbs rather than nouns. Nouns would have been typical names for gods at that time, just as we typically use nouns as our names these days.

 I remember a long time ago I read that in Eastern cultures they are more likely to teach children language by using verbs as opposed to in our Western culture where we teach children language by starting with nouns like “mom” “dad” “ball” “milk.” So it’s a different way of thinking for us, God identified not as a noun but rather as a verb.

          And then right after this, God tells Moses to gather all the elders of Israel and tell them what God has done and what will happen next. And after that God tells Moses to go to the King of Egypt and when the King of Egypt does not listen, God tells Moses the plan for what will happen after that. God has plans and is taking action.

          The message is clear, God is not a statue that will be put in one place and stared at admiringly. God is a presence; God is an active part of this relationship with humans. God is moving and doing and being.

     As a hospital chaplain, I have found that when I ask someone if they believe in God, it may bring a short answer or explanation, maybe an uncomfortable confession about no longer going to church or a defensive reaction against religion or even a shrug, but when I ask “how have you experienced God’s presence in your life?” It usually brings a beautiful conversation filled with powerful stories, moving experiences and personally sacred moments shared with emotion. Of course creeds, beliefs and artistic depictions are meaningful, beautiful and enduring, but God as presence is felt, experienced and witnessed. God as I am. God as being.

          You can hear this same form of experiential testimony in the Psalm we read today, especially the last two lines, “For you have been my helper,

and under the shadow of your wings I will rejoice. My soul clings to you;

your right hand holds me fast.” It is an experience of God as being, a very real and near presence.

          I think there is something really powerful that happens when we can accept God as “I am who I am”. When we can pause from trying to solve, explain, identify and label. When we can accept God is who God is and rest in God’s presence. When our soul can cling to God and we can rest under the shadow of God’s wings.

          It takes trust to follow a God who goes by “I am who I am.” The call to discipleship is an invitation into a journey, that we may not always understand and we may not always predict. It requires acceptance and trust.

          And sometimes the not knowing and the not understanding can be frustrating. I feel frustrated when I see things happening in the world that are unjust. I am frustrated when I see people being treated without dignity. I am frustrated when people are hurting or suffering and there is no solution. I am frustrated when I see bad things happening that I cannot control. And I am frustrated by normal life things. Like when our ceiling leaks every time we get a heavy rain even after we have the roof patched. Or when the kids keep leaving their shoes in the hallway. Or when a computer doesn’t work or traffic is slow or the things I can’t control just keep stacking up. I feel like my poor little dog barking with frustration and bewilderment as he smells a treat he can’t figure out how to get. He’s probably thinking, why are they making this hard, just give me the treat!? And I get it because sometimes it feels like, why is life so hard, why can’t we just know why things are the way they are, what will happen next and how to fix everything. Why can’t God do what we want God to do, why can’t we figure out the why’s and the how’s?

          And to this God says, “I am who I am.” And that can be incredibly freeing. We can give it up. We don’t have to understand it all or solve it all or carry the weight of the world on our shoulder. God is who God is and there is nothing we can do about that but trust. Not a helpless kind of giving up that leaves us sitting around with nothing to do- but rather, a kind of acceptance that opens our hearts to hearing and seeing and feeling God’s presence in the world. A kind of acceptance that releases us to see the beauty of God’s presence in our lives and the lives of others. The kind of acceptance that brings us to our knees in worship as we recognize that we are not God and we don’t have to pretend to be because our God is present and active and real.

 

          I hope that as we journey toward the cross this Lent, it can be a time of release. Release from the things that block our vision of who God is around us. Release from the frustrations that keep us pretending we can control things we can’t. Release from an inability to see the very real presence of God in others, especially in those we may not expect. And trust, knowing that God is who God is and that is something our souls can cling to.

         

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[1] The New Oxford Annotated Bible. 2010 Oxford University Press, 2010, pp 86-86.

Sermon from First UMC Delmar, 3/9/25 Luke 4:1-13 “Grounded”

 

    One summer when I was young, one of my neighborhood friends suggested we walk up the street and enter the high school and watch my sister’s dress rehearsal for her dance recital. I can’t remember if I questioned this idea, but I do remember that I went. We often ran around on the block through neighbor’s back yards and the school was just at the top of the street so it probably seemed ok. Until … we came out of the rehearsal and saw the whole neighborhood frantically looking for us. Remember, this is before cell phones so no one knew where we were. My mom was so worried and I was in so much trouble. I received my punishment … I was grounded. Right in the middle of summer, the best days for playing, particularly in Northeast Ohio where I lived. Instead of running around with the neighborhood friends, I would have lots of time to think, reflect and wallow. Lots of time to think about my decision-making, who it effects and how I would do it differently. And, honestly, I don’t know that I was ever grounded again … so I guess you could say it was effective.

 

         I don’t know if kids still get “grounded.” I know that my husband and I don’t really ground our kids, we typically use screen time as the currency for consequences- taking it away when needed and adding more when earned. But when I hear the word “grounded” it still conjures up memories of punishment, consequence and dread. I’m not sure where the term comes from, perhaps it’s like when there is bad weather and all planes are “grounded.” You have to stay put, no taking off, not until you are ready. But I wonder if there is another meaning, perhaps one that involves a spiritual component. Sometimes when people are looking for stability or calm or peace they will say “I need to feel grounded.” It’s like when emotions, worry, anxiety, and stress are pulling us up into a whirlwind of chaos until we are spinning and can’t remember which way is up and which way is down and so we look for a way to get our feet back on the ground. To be grounded and steady even while everything else is swirling around us. It’s like finding our spiritual center to keep us from falling apart. Or connecting with the presence of the Holy Spirit that is within us, rather than chasing other things for fulfillment, bringing ourselves back to peace and steadiness, while also, like something our parents might have said to us as children, “thinking about what you have done and how you will do it differently next time.”

 

           In the reading from Deuteronomy, there is grounding instructions for the nomadic people of Israel. They have been wandering, searching, following, looking for a steady place to rest their feet, trusting that the path they are following will lead them to the promised land and they get these instructions about what to do when they come into the promised land. They are to make an offering and with it, tell their story. The story of their people- the whole story about Jacob and Moses and oppression and wandering and God’s steadfast presence. Then, even in this new land, they will remember who they are, they will remember that it was God who brought them there, they will remember their story of being oppressed, afraid … lost. They will be grounded in that reality, and it will shape their actions and words, it will center their hearts around the heart of God.

 

          In the Gospel reading we also find Jesus “led by the Spirit in the wilderness.” He too is taken away from all that is familiar and comfortable and brought to a wilderness filled with temptation and risk. In a sense, it’s like he is grounded as a child would be- sent away from all pleasures, alone with his thoughts. But he is quickly met with temptation. It says that “for forty days he was tempted by the devil.” The first temptation is to turn the stone into bread. Remember that Jesus is fasting and has eaten nothing. This goes beyond mental temptation, this is physical temptation, going against the strong urge the body has to survive. The next temptation is authority over “all the kingdoms of the world.” This could certainly have been a more efficient way of Jesus influencing people- rather than all the relational/preaching/praying/healing- just outright authority, demands and power- with none of the messy stuff like touching hurting people, threats against you and unending arguments with religious officials. The last temptation is to throw himself from the pinnacle of the temple and test that he will be caught by angels. This is putting God to the test, demonstrating glory. It must have been a dizzying offer- standing at the pinnacle, looking down, lightheaded from lack of food and the potential for a moment of dazzling power.

 

          In his commentary on this passage, Luke Timothy Johnson says, “the tests would suggest to the Hellenistic reader the threefold categories of vice: love of pleasure, love of possessions, love of glory. Jesus’ refusal of these lures would identify him as a righteous person, a sage truly capable of teaching virtue.” (Sacra Pagina: Luke, pg 76). It seems that some things are timeless- like temptations. We are still in a world fraught with temptations pulling as hard as they can to bring us down the path of love of pleasure, love of possessions and love of glory.

 

          And here he is, out in the wilderness, away from everyone, where no one can see, hungry, faced with a path of suffering and pain … and all that anyone could desire is presented to him. And he walks away. He walks right out of that wilderness and right into preaching. He immediately begins his ministry. He reads from Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free.” And just as he immediately begins his ministry, he immediately is rejected. He instantly goes from being offered power and glory at the pinnacle of the temple to being run out of town by an angry mob and being offered death and pain as they try to push him off a cliff. His ministry begins with rejection.

 

          I don’t know about you, but I can say that in my own life, the times when I most need grounding, when I most need my heart steadily set on God, when I most need to be sure of who I am, is when I am facing rejection. Whether that is rejection from others or rejection from the way I hoped things would be. And watching those we love get rejected can be especially painful. We do our best to give children a strong sense of their belovedness so that when the rejection comes- when we send them off to the tough world of socialization, they will stay grounded, remembering that they are loved, remembering there is more to life than the painful feelings rejection brings and assured that they are precious in God’s sight. Jesus was grounded, he has been through the wilderness, he was sure of his relationship with God, he knew who he was and so he passes through the angry crowd and keeps at it.

 

          Perhaps you are feeling like your feet have come off the ground, like you are caught spinning in a whirlwind, unable to find the ground, reaching out and longing for peace, for stability but not sure where it went. There is certainly much in this world to leave us spinning. I don’t need to tell you that we live in a divisive and heated climate, where emotions run high and grace seems in short supply. We live in a fast paced world that is constantly pushing us toward those vices of love of possessions, love of power and love of glory. Where the road of peace is messy and hard but we are surrounded by superficial promises of an easier, more efficient path. Where morals and values are often exchanged for money and power. A world where there are endless things on our phones to distract us from our own thoughts. And perhaps, you are looking for grounding- solid footing on the solid rock that is Christ.

 

          Today is the first Sunday of Lent. It is a time when we reflect on what tempts us, what distracts us and what pulls us away from walking the deeper path with Christ. It is a set apart time when we can look at the things in our life that leave us spinning and the things that ground us. When we are called to root out that which is fleeting, selfish and shallow and dig our feet into that which is steady, loving and deep. Practices like prayer, journaling, walks, scripture reading, regular worship and deep breathing are not hard to do but are so very valuable and needed. Things that give our hearts space to feel the heart of God, quiet to hear the Spirit’s guidance and clarity to think about decisions we have made and how we want to make decisions in the future. It’s like we are being grounded. Told to step away from the things that are not life-giving and make room for the things that are life-giving. A chance to be reminded that beyond all the felt urgency and chaos and stress, we are part of a much larger story. A story of God’s unending love, of Jesus’ journey of salvation and the continual relationship God calls us into.

 

          I work as a hospital chaplain and last Wednesday I was scheduled to be there at 7 am to help distribute ashes for Ash Wednesday. If you think about it, Ash Wednesday is kind of an odd thing we do. We pray prayers of repentance, we are told we will die and then we walk away with dirt smeared on our heads. I’ve always loved it for all of its oddness and the way it takes us out of our normal routines and calls us into this special Lenten journey. But at the hospital it took on a different context that I couldn’t help but reflect on as my thumb wiped across forehead after forehead. Foreheads of family members trying to appear steady as they walked their loved one to surgery, foreheads of those who were sick and in pain, foreheads of nurses leaving an overnight shift of medicines, messes and trying their best to bring comfort, foreheads that could only be reached by slightly lifting the surgical caps of surgeons who quickly headed back for the next procedure and foreheads of fellow chaplains who will go and look into the eyes of those who are afraid, alone and facing death.

 

As I repeatedly placed my thumb into the small cup of ashes I thought about how the words I was saying, “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return” were not shocking or unusual for these people. The reminder of death’s reality is part of their life. They do remember that they are dust and to dust they shall return because death is all around them. And as I thought of this, I felt deeply moved at how this simple practice put their experience in a larger story. A reminder for them not of a cold hard reality of death, but rather a much larger salvation story that death is but a part of. A reminder of the peaceful and loving reality of death and that not even death can separate us from the love of God. A reminder that we are not alone. We are all in this life and death together, it is something that we all continually learn to accept. And as I watched the dark bits of ash circle down the drain when I washed my hands in the hospital bathroom, I felt grounded. I knew the Holy Spirit was in that place, in the people whose eyes met mine when I touched their foreheads and in me- and the swirling chaos of the world felt quieter even with all the beeping of machines and the beds being pushed down hallways. God’s love was there, God’s love is here, let us ground ourselves in that love and a peace that passes all understanding. Amen