Indiana Jones and Naaman

Proper 23C / Ordinary 28C / Pentecost +21

This is a sermon I preached at the Lutheran Theological Seminary this fall. It is always a daunting experience to have to preach before your peers and professors and yet God is faithful and I always seem to survive :) 

As another year of Seminary is off to a racing start I am left with nothing but thanks. Thanks for my ability to be here in this place, to learn and grown, and be supported by an amazing group of peers, faculty, and staff. There will always be hardships, but even in the midst of the darkness there is light, good, and hope. I am blessed to be here and I know the adventure isn't over yet! 

Thanks for the support and the love friends! 

Skakes 

2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable to you O Lord our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

As any good child of the 1980’s I was raised by the thrilling world of adventure George Lucas created on the big screen. Through the sound of light sabers clashing, Ewok's scampering, and the trademark crack of a whip I learned about heroes who would fuel the fire of many a back yard adventure at my home. Armed with an old brown fedora my father let me permanently borrow, and a length of  unraveling yellow twine, I became Indiana Jones, saving the neighborhood from evildoers, while preserving precious artifacts from reaching the wrong hands.

In my nine year old mind Jones was the ultimate real life hero, armed with no power other then his brute force and intellect, he was somehow able to go anywhere, do anything, and managed to look so utterly cool while he was doing it. Well unless there was a snake, and in that case I would have to agree with his very rational fear as well. 

But beyond all of this, Jones stood for something far more then just another name in lights for me, for in his own way he was not just a hero, or another action junkie leaping across the silver screen, he was the good crusader. Bending the arms of the enemy to the forfeit what they had taken from the everyday people. Overturning the powers of evil with good. And while he may have always seemed to take the longest and most complicated road to save the day, at the end of it all, covered by the marks and scars of his journey, he was still the good crusader, who in the midst of his lack of faith always seeming to have God on his side.  

And as I was reading the text from Second Kings this past week I couldn't help but think how much Naaman reminded me the good crusader from my childhood. Naaman was a man above men, a victorious general held in a great esteem by his master, and yet more impressively, he as an Aramean, a sworn political enemy of Israel, had even achieved a degree of favor with the Lord. However, unlike other biblical heroes like Samson, Naaman had not been prescribed any special physical powers from on high. In fact in Naaman’s case the exact opposite seemed to be true, while his mind was poised for any battle, his body suffered from a war raging within the very surface of his skin, tearing him apart, and leaving him a man marked by the deep pain and shame this disease left upon him for all to see.

As Naaman was a man of great power and prestige, he had likely tried every treatment within his grasp to cure his worsening condition, and by all accounts none of them had even shown promise. Like anyone facing a seemingly incurable disease, Naaman began to get desperate. So desperate that he listened to a story his wife’s Israelite maid had shared. A story that told of a prophet in Samaria who could in fact cure him. For Naaman to even entertain this idea, was for him to be utterly vulnerable in the midst of his control. Listening to, and acting on his wife's maid’s advice was admitting that a servant, the lowest of the low, a foreign girl who by only the spoils of war had come into his presence, knew better then he. And this was to admit the ultimate defeat. For the powerful had stooped to the utter powerless for help. 

So on this advice, armed with a letter from his king, and an entourage Harrison Ford would be jealous of, Naaman took off for Samaria with the will to finally find the healing he had so deeply desired. Little did he know he would be finding it in the least likely of places.

On his arrival Naaman presented the King of Israel with an impressive cargo of gifts and riches that his entourage had been carrying along with the letter asking for the generals healing. While Naaman was expecting to receive a warm welcome and healing in receipt for this transaction, he was not expecting to get the run around he was about to experience. Before he knew it, the King of Israel had torn his clothing, called the Aramaean’s out for attempting to start a war, and sent Naaman and his entire entourage of horses, gifts, and soldiers out from his presence, and to the house of the Prophet so he could deal with this situation. And just when Naaman though his holy moment of healing was about to occur in all its splendor, the servant of Elisha appeared from the house, rather then the prophet himself, telling Naaman to go wash in the Jordan seven times to be fully healed. 

At this moment I am sure you could have heard a pin drop as the shock of what had just happened washed over Naaman. 

Did the prophet not take me seriously? 

Did he not realize the severity of my case? 

Who does this Elisha think he is to send his servant down to deal with a man of my position? 

I thought he would surely come down here and lay his hands upon me himself.

Does he not think I have tried to wash myself clean before? 

Isn't there something else I can do?

How could a simple washing cure such a disease?

What’s so great about your water anyway?!

I would like to admit that I have never had a moment like this before. That questions similar to these have never crossed my mind. Thats what I would like to be able to say. But both you and I know that this isn't the true. 

Life happens, our bodies become heavy with the weight of our own struggles against the world in which we live. Against the cancer that just wont go away in our loved ones flesh, flashing the mirror of our own mortality before our very eyes. Against the words of others that settle in our hearts, telling us that we are not good enough, or strong enough, to do what is required of us. Day in and day out stealing pieces of our soul as we sink into a depression. Against the battles we wage against one another in relationships. Creating brokenness where there should be new life.    

Sadly, when faced with struggles like these I would rather dig out my fathers old worn-out brown fedora, find a whip, and go drudging through the jungles of my own crisis, attempting to find and wrangle down the golden miracle of my own salvation. And I doubt I am alone in this. As followers of Christ I think we can all become fascinated with the working out of our journey. With finding those experiences that take our breath away and bring the immediate proof of our healing before our eyes, while ignoring the everyday miracles that pass us by. Or perhaps we have come to like the feeling of climbing up the mountain to God rather then letting God come down to us. Choosing to think that we can somehow tuck Jesus in our back pocket for when we need him most and then continuing on with the rest of our day working out our own salvation. Or maybe its more simply then that, maybe we don’t actually want to get involved at all. 

I think in this way we can be like that story of the old woman who gets caught in a flood. As the waters came she escaped up onto her roof, where she prayed for God to save her from the perils of the storm. Person after person passed by her in a rowboat, offering to take her to safety. No, thanks, she said. I know God’s going to save me. Inevitably the waters rose and over came the woman and her house, and she died. When she reached heaven, she complained to God, I prayed and prayed, but you didn’t save me! And God answered, I sent four rowboats and you didn’t get into a single one! 

We want to believe that we are different and special. And maybe at some level we want to believe as followers of Christ we deserve more then the rest of creation. That just like Naaman, we may believe our suffering should be absolved in a grand and affirming moment of faith, or earned by some method greater then simply hopping in a life boat or washing ourselves in the river. But the hard matter of truth is, that it isn't about us or about what we can do. And at the very heart of it all is that water is all we truly need. 

Because it is through these very waters that we are named and claimed as children of God. In our weakest and most vulnerable state, God choose us, as we are. Continually wrapping and enveloping us in the waters of baptism, calling us to die to our sin, and be born again in Christ. In this way it is not about us, nor about what we can do to reach up to God, as through the waters God continually reaches down to us, washing us clean and sealing us with the mark of Christ that can never be removed. A mark that reminds us that it is Christ that chooses to justify us in grace, not by anything we can do or accomplish. And when we have forgotten this the Spirit draws us back the the waters to lovingly remind us that we have been washed and made clean, breathing new life within us once again, and sending us back out into the world to walk wet.

And in this way God calls us to the River, just as God called Naaman long ago:

To wash us clean from the wounds of this world that tell us that we are not good enough. Flowing waters that reminding us through Christ’s claim that we are more then enough, and that God will never let us go.

To wash us of our selfish ambitions that turn us in on ourselves. Rushing waters that turn us again to Christ’s outstretched arms, reminding us that we are never outside of God’s loving and forgiving embrace.

To wash us with waves of Christ’s healing grace and mercy, that overcome the suffering in our lives, reminding us that in the midst of our pain we are never alone as it is Christ who has suffered for us and suffers with us.

To wash us of our deepest fears, that turn us away from embracing the world around us. Comforting waters that bring us strength through the Spirit in the midst of the chaos, and calm in the storms of our everyday life.

Washed and made clean, healed and restored, we are sent out from this place an into the world. Walk wet with Christ. 

May this be so among us. Amen. 

My Grandfathers hands

I am taking homiletics this term, which is a class on the study of preaching. It has been a great experience so far, nerve wracking but great. This past weekend I preached my first sermon here in Saskatoon at Redeemer Lutheran Church. Pastor Jay was an awesome person to work with and to learn from. I am grateful for his listening ear, advice, and excellent feed back durning the process of writing. Writing a sermon is no little or night task but I survived with the help of the Holy Spirit and my very supportive colleagues and friends! Thanks to everyone who came and listened and offered support and encouragement while I was writing it. I truly appreciate it! 

Below you will find the Sermon I preached at the Seminary today. It is based on the doubling Thomas message found in John 20:19-31.

Skakes

_________________________________________________________

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord our Strength and our redeemer. Amen. 

My grandfathers hands trace the earliest memories of my faith. Wrinkled by the passage of time, I would trace the lines of his palms as I sat in church each Sunday morning. His hands easily cupping mine, any ones would have as I was 5, but my grandfathers hands were different.They were larger then life. 

He was a hard working man who had spent his entire career working as a carpenter. Joining the profession long before the use of many power tools, my grandfather knew how to work with his hands. With the span of a baseball glove and the strength of a vice his hands could hold and wield any tool with limitless power. Making hammers look like children's toys as he completed task after task on his work site. 

By the time I came along he had been retired for years, his hands once callused by hard labor were now tender and soft, carrying on them the faintest of scars to remind him of days long ago. Instead of grasping tools and wood,his hands now reached out to greeting congregational members as they came through the church door. Ushering them in with a reassuring hand shake, peaceful smile, and a caring eye, rarely forgetting a name. As I studied my grandfathers hands on those Sunday mornings, greeting and welcoming, I came to see them as I did him. Not only as a carpenter or my grandfather but also as Christ. It was through my grandfather that I first remember experiencing the love, grace, and acceptance of God, and all through the simple act of a hand shake. 

Thinking about my grandfather and todays gospel this past week I began to wonder if this is how the disciples came to know Christ as well? 

The disciples understood what it was to work with their hands and likely their hands told the stories of their lives as well.  As many of the disciples were sons of fishermen they had grown up with the toil of using nets, casting them out and pulling them back in. Hard work turing young men into old as they worked to earn their family a supported living. Perhaps this is why they jumped at the chance to become disciples. Surely following this teacher would beat dragging nets in and out of the water every day. And how much harder could it be to become fishers of all humanity anyway? they had already conquered the sea. 

Maybe what the disciples didn't realize in that moment was that while they were leaving their nets behind to follow Jesus, they were still taking up a mission and a calling to work with their hands, just in a new and different way then they could ever have expected. For Jesus ministry was woven through the working of his hands in people lives leaving a marked impression on all those whom he had met. And the gospels are filled with such stories. 

When the disciples said it was a waste, Jesus chose to reach out his hands lovingly to embrace and welcoming the little children to come to him. Choosing who many would consider the be the least in society to of the greatest importance. 

And again when confronted by a sea of 5000 hungry followers, Jesus took bread and fish in hand, breaking them and blessing them, then instructing the disciples to hand out this amazing feast. Feeding thousands of hungry followers on just a few fish and loaves. 

And when Jarius had come to Jesus, broken and distraught over his dying child, Jesus came to their home, reaching out his hand in a healing embrace, raising the girl from death to new life.  

Walking with Jesus day in and day out, seeing and experiencing such signs of wonder, witnessing Jesus hands working within the lives of those they had been called to serve, you might think the disciples would have known without a doubt that Jesus was not just their teacher but was there lord.  

Yet when the time came for Jesus to face the cross it was as if the disciples had all but forgotten the Christ they had come to see.Beginning to doubt in their own security and role.The disciples choose to leave Jesus, their teacher, their friend, to suffer a brutal death on the cross alone. Choosing to forget about the ministry they had shared and upon Jesus death opting to hide in fear in an upper room where no one could remind them what they had lost. 

And I think this is why this gospel lesson can be hard for us to hear. For within it we come face to face with ourselves. We have all experienced periods of fear and doubt. 

When we lose hope for our selves and in God’s promises for us as well. When we deeply betray others leaving them to shoulder their own crosses as we refuse to take up our own. We expect the worst just as those disciples did then. That all was lost, and that there was nothing they could do to right their wrongs.

Often society tells us that we should expect to be held accountable to the fullest extent of the law. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, forcing us to try to buy back what we have lost, heal who we have hurt, and undo what we have done to harm our neighbors, family, and friends. But as we all know this is not always possible. As hard as we try, our actions never seem to be enough. 

Much like those disciples hiding in shame and fear, we become fearful, living out of a sense of indebtedness to others and at times we even try to work our way back to a right place with God. But no matter who we have hurt, who we have come to betray, the works of our hands will never be enough to take the sting of that sin away. 

And like Thomas, doubt begins to overtake us.

We doubt that Christ will come to meet us in the midst of our failure and our sin. 

We doubt that in the mess and pain of our lives, that Christ actually wants to meet us bringing forgiveness.

And maybe, just maybe, we doubt that we are worthy for such a meeting at all. 

Yet it is in the midst of these very doubts that Christ finds us. Surprising us by meeting us exactly where we are. Breaking through the walls we put up to shelter our fears. Tearing down what has come to separate us from God. Christ extends his hands towards us offering us peace. Calling us each forward in our state of disbelief to place our hands within his, and to touch his side. To trace the scars of his crucifixion, to see and feel the very forgiveness of our sins. 

This is what Christ has done for us and what Christ continues to do for us. Coming and finding us, when we refuse to be found. Offering us grace and peace even when we have yet to ask for it at all. Christ chooses us just as he chose those disciples in that upper room. Sending us out with the power of the Holy spirit to bring healing and wholeness to a broken world. Knowing full well that we are not perfect, and that in our words and actions we will fall short. But asking us to trust that like Thomas we come to witness that he is the resurrected Lord.

Its not what we expect. 

Nor possibly what we think we deserve. 

But yet it is offered to us freely. 

Redemption and Peace as we are sent out into the world. 

Amen. 

The first year class is alive I swear...

Wow! I have almost survived my first year of seminary! The end of my first year is less then 3 weeks away and I am having a hard time believing this is in fact true. It has been a crazy ride these last few month and that is why I have not updated this blog in such a long time. I was blessed to have the opportunity to go on a cross cultural trip to Madagascar this January and I will blog about that experience this summer when I get a chance. It was the trip of a life time with more experiences and stories then any blog could ever hope to contain. That having been said I will try to give a few highlights now: rocks in rice, lemurs, 800 sunday school children in church, singing, sunshine, visiting tobys, and the beautiful people of Madagascar. Things I did not see in Madagascar: penguins.

I was also given the chance to play in the first ever Roller Derby Canadian National Championships in the West Edmonton Mall Ice palace! My team the Saskatoon Mindfox was one of the 6 teams to represent their regions and while we were an underdog we ended up winning the national championships! As the president of the seminary said upon my return, "You are a ground breaker in many ways but I believe we now lay claim to having the only Lutheran Seminary Student who is a Roller Derby National Champion." If you wish to check out our game you can watch it by following the link below!

http://new.livestream.com/accounts/2904082/events/1930234

While much has changed in my life this last term, one thing remains a constant and that is God. It has been an amazing experience coming to seminary. I would describe it almost like coming home. I know that I will be excited to begin summer holidays but I know I will miss the seminary, the professors, students, staff, and friends I have made here in Saskatoon. It will be good to return home but I will miss the new life I have made here.