Rogue Reverend

A Tale of Two Idols (a sermon)

Exodus 32:1-34; Luke 18:18-27

Our gospel lesson is the story known as the rich young ruler. This young man has wealth and power, and thinks that he is faithful. He’s followed all the commandments, or at least the ones that Jesus has listed here. Did you note the ones that Jesus listed? He listed adultery, murder, stealing, honoring parents, and lying. That’s important because it makes us ask why did Jesus leave out the others? Can you remember them? According to the Jewish understanding, it would be no other gods, no images, honor the name, and the Sabbath. So the commandments that the Rich Young Ruler was good at was the relational ones, but not the ones about his relationship with God.

But what does Jesus ask him to give up? Jesus asks him to give up all he owns, and the security and power that go along with wealth.

The sin of the rich young ruler is idolatry, putting something in front of his relationship with God.

Idolatry is a sin we don’t talk much about. What is it exactly? The dictionary says that it is extreme adoration, love or reverence for something. Maimonides, the great Jewish physician, scientist and philosopher, who lived from 1135-1204, holds that idolatry is the worst sin, partly because it is the first in the 10 Commandments (You shall have no gods other than me), and that idolatry is another name for ignorance. And ignorance is the prime source of evil.

Let’s look at our Hebrew text a little more deeply.

The Jews are in the wilderness, eating manna everyday. They hate the austerity measures under which they are living. Moses is on the mountain, ostensibly receiving the 10 Commandments, and the people are grumbling. Moses is late returning home. Talmudic response says that Moses had told them he would be away for 40 days, but they counted the day he left. The idea is that he may only be one day late. But their assumption is that they have lost their leader. So they go to Aaron. And they ask him to lead.

One thing that Jewish scholars believe is that there were only about 1,000 people who gather their gold, who worship the golden calf, and who move from there to the partying afterwards.

They beg Aaron, make a god for them. And as soon as he fashions one out of their gold, they exclaim, “It’s this god who has lead us out of Israel.”

Talk about revisionist historians! They don’t even remember that just a few months prior to this, their God was Jehovah, God above all Gods!

I’d like for you to note something about this 1% of the population—they have wealth, and they are easily swayed into idolatry. Perhaps we can even make the argument that they were worshipers of the Egyptian gods back in Egypt, which may have helped them accrue their wealth.

So these Hebrew people have traded in the God in a whirlwind, the column behind them, that split the Red Sea, set them free, gave them manna, and has promised a promised land for a golden calf. A golden calf. According to scholars, though, this may not be a “trading in” of their god, at all. It may be a summoning of God. The Egyptian gods always had an animal to sit upon, and perhaps these few people are building an animal for God where God can sit.

Ultimately, though, the Hebrew people were looking for a quick fix. They were scared, tired of eating manna, worried about their leadership, and crying out for God to fix everything. Or for Aaron to fix everything. So they made for themselves an idol.

And where are the 99%?

When Moses returns, this is what the text tells us:

When Moses approached the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, his anger burned and he threw the tablets out of his hands, breaking them to pieces at the foot of the mountain. And he took the calf the people had made and burned it in the fire; then he ground it to powder, scattered it on the water and made the Israelites drink it.

He said to Aaron, “What did these people do to you, that you led them into such great sin?”

“Do not be angry, my lord,” Aaron answered. “You know how prone these people are to evil. They said to me, ‘Make us gods who will go before us. As for this fellow Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him.’ So I told them, ‘Whoever has any gold jewelry, take it off.’ Then they gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!”

Moses saw that the people were running wild and that Aaron had let them get out of control and so become a laughingstock to their enemies. So he stood at the entrance to the camp and said, “Whoever is for the LORD, come to me.” And all the Levites rallied to him.

Then he said to them, “This is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘Each man strap a sword to his side. Go back and forth through the camp from one end to the other, each killing his brother and friend and neighbor.’” The Levites did as Moses commanded, and that day about three thousand of the people died. Then Moses said, “You have been set apart to the LORD today, for you were against your own sons and brothers, and he has blessed you this day.”

The next day Moses said to the people, “You have committed a great sin. But now I will go up to the LORD; perhaps I can make atonement for your sin.”

So Moses went back to the LORD and said, “Oh, what a great sin these people have committed! They have made themselves gods of gold. 32 But now, please forgive their sin—but if not, then blot me out of the book you have written.”

The LORD replied to Moses, “Whoever has sinned against me I will blot out of my book. Now go, lead the people to the place I spoke of, and my angel will go before you. However, when the time comes for me to punish, I will punish them for their sin.”

And the LORD struck the people with a plague because of what they did with the calf Aaron had made.

The 99% suffered because of the 1%.

I think that the 99% suffered because they really wanted a share of the idol. Even though they didn’t have gold to help make the calf, or get to join in the bacchanalian revelries, I think they wanted to. Because it’s fun to be part of the 1%. Now the Hebrew people are not nearly as sophisticated as we are. So when they reach for an idol, they’re happy with a little golden calf and a party. What about us?

We want a computer screen that’s tiny, a million songs in our pocket, a new car, a brand-spanking new house. And we’re not happy with manna either. We want boutique foods, boutique brands, boutique entertainment.

Here’s the deal, folks. I’m going to put it as clearly as I think I can.

We, as a nation, have become the rich young ruler, unwilling to give up our creature comforts, our greed and our desire for things. We have become the Hebrew people, seeking a quick fix to a much larger problem. If we build an idol, God will come and save us. If we have a new computer, we won’t feel so bad.

Stuff is our new idol.

All week I’ve been thinking about this. All week I’ve been thinking about myself as POOR. And trust me, I’m poor. At least cash poor. But really? I live in a very nice home. I drive a very nice car (if it has a bit of mileage on it). I have new clothes. I eat very well, perhaps even too well. And I, too, am looking to Aaron, my government, to help me deal with this little bit of discomfort.

What am I willing to give up? What am I willing to do without?

As I sifted through this tale of two idols, what do they have in common? The rich young ruler? First, is to quiet the insecurity and fear that they both feel. The rich young ruler fears that he won’t have a relationship with God, The Hebrew people fear, too, that their God has gone away. They both are missing their security.

Going back to the the Jewish scholar Maimonades, who explains that idolatry is, at its heart, ignorance, and out of ignorance comes evil. The rich young ruler was ignorant of his relationship with God, and so therefore enthralled with his money. We have seen what happens with people who are enthralled with money. The Hebrew people were ignorant of who their God was, so they abandon God, and worship a golden calf—with no power and no strength, what would a golden calf do? And out of that golden calf, the people start to “eat and drink and revel,” meaning they turn from their work and their centeredness to party instead.

And we? We turn to government to fix all our problems, to help us avoid austerity, and instead to keep our fancy things. We look to corporations to make us happy, to help us avoid suffering.

What I would tell the rich young ruler and the Hebrew people? That suffering is part of life, and avoiding suffering always causes more pain. That although things are not what they were before, they may still be good, in a different way, again.

Trust the process. The Hebrew people face a much leaner life for 40 years after the golden calf incident. And while we don’t know what happened to the rich young ruler, we can bet that he felt more loneliness and worry about his life. But the process eventually wins out. Things may be bad for a while, but they will get better.

And mostly, to trust God, even when it seems as if God isn’t there. God was still with the Hebrew people. They just didn’t notice, because there weren’t any big lights, miracles or loud crashes. God was still with the rich young ruler. He just couldn’t see it for the objects of desire around him. And God is still with us.

May it ever be.

Preach Christ, a sermon

A couple of weeks ago, I was stressing about this sermon, wondering what to preach on next, and walking around the track. I heard a word. Don’t think I’m crazy, but it just came to me, in the voice of my preaching professor, Robert L. Smith. “Preach Christ.”

Preach Christ? What does that mean?

I have to tell you a little about Dr. Smith. He’s a large black man, a preacher who hoops (which means that he gets a certain cadence to his voice, a sing-song-like rhythm), who sings amazing songs at the end of sermons. His voice is deep, like James Earl Jones.

And he said, “Preach Christ.”

Preach Christ? What does that mean?

I heard his voice. “It means Christ crucified.” Christ crucified? What is that? Why does that matter? “Because it’s Christ resurrected.” Ah, the resurrection. Now what difference does that make? And then I hear Dr. Smith. “It means Christ is alive.”

So, today, I’m going to preach Christ. More »

It Was All Saints’ Day

Yesterday, November 1, was All Saints’ Day. We celebrated at Richmond Mennonite Fellowship by bringing a memento of one of our Saints to the service.

The sermon was rather different (surprise, surprise!), and I quoted from one Ted talk by Sir Ken Robinson, starting at minute 15.09. Robinson tells the story of Gillian Lynne, a choreographer whose grade school teachers (in the 1930′s) thought that she had a learning disorder. Gillian’s mother took her to a doctor, who listened to the symptoms, and asked Mrs. Lynne to talk with him privately. Instead of talking, they turned to watch Gillian, who got up to dance to a radio that was on in the room.

“Gillian isn’t sick,” the doctor said, “she’s a dancer.” Gillian’s mother took her to dance class, where Gillian proclaims, “We walked into this room and it was full of people like me. People who couldn’t sit still. People who had to move to think.”

I believe the church should be like the doctor: noticing. And like the mother: fostering passion.

Then we listened to 5 minutes of another Ted talk. Eve Ensler spoke on happiness. Go to minute 15:41. Really. Go listen. I’ll wait.

Eve says that the Vagina Monologues “has taught me this really simple thing, which is that happiness exists in action, it exists in telling the truth and saying what your truth is, and it exists in giving away what you want the most.”

We have to work to identify our passion, the thing we want the most, that we have to give away.

We then talked about our saints. sharing our mementos, and thinking about them, “What was the thing they gave away?”

I talked about my saint, Barbara Watts, during this time. The memento I shared was a hymnal from Southside Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, and hymn number 398, “In the Garden.” Barbara sang this favorite hymn at my ordination.

The refrain is, “And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own; and the joy we share, as we tary there, none other have ever known.” Sure, it’s bad theology, but it’s one of my favorites.

Barbara’s gift, her passion, was attention. She paid attention to all the people she loved in such a complete way: cards, letters, calls. Remembrances, birthday wishes, gifts, Barbara paid attention. I’m so grateful for her model in my love, and for being the object of some of that love.

After sharing our saints, without a dry eye in sight, we shared communion. We communed with our saints who are gone, but also with those who will someday consider us saints. What would be the passion they would see?

Jesus took the wine and the bread, very common elements, and made them holy. The saints in our lives, who were very human, shed the light of sacredness in our lives. How would we do the same in others’ lives?

If I Were the Architect of the Church. A sermon.

This sermon was inspired by a spoken word poem at Ted.com, called Rives Controls the Internet. The sermon, which was done at a rapid pace like spoken word, was followed by communion where the communicants took the phrase, “If I were the architect of the Church” and said how they would make it theirs.

If I were the architect of the new Church, not the old church, we’d have no tired old Sunday school and Training Union and Wednesday night suppers and Stewardship Sundays and Deacons meetings and church councils and capital campaigns and mission trips,

But it’s new church, with love and care and hope and more love and care and hope and then a little more love and care and hope mixed in. The only thing I’d take from the old model is worship and a lot of fried chicken.

If I were the architect of the new Church, no one would get God wrong. In fact, Church wouldn’t tell about God. You would instead tell the Church about the kind of God you serve. And your God would overlap with my God, in some very lovely ways, but it would be okay if your God was different from my God.

If I were the architect of the new Church, the Pastor would no longer be the holder of secrets. You’d never keep to yourself that you’re going to lose your house, that you’d had an abortion, that you’re going through a rough patch in your marriage, that you’re gay, that you’ve lost your job, that you’re waiting on test results, that you’re sad, or lonely. The pastor’s job would be to help you share your secrets. Because the pastor knows that you’re not the only person going through what you’re going through.

If I were the architect of the church, you would know that the balance in your checking account doesn’t determine your worth as a human being.

If I were the architect of the new Church, the budget would read so differently. We’d pay for salaries and space, then we’d have a budget line where everybody wrote about all the wonderful things they were doing with their money so that we would know that our church was making a difference in the world. One person would be feeding the hungry, one person would be digging water wells, one person would be buying cows, and another fixing the ozone layer. Our missions budget would be through the roof, but it would be through your roof, not ours, because it would come out of your budget, not ours, and we’d be changing the world through our actions.

If I were the architect of the church, we wouldn’t mess up our children. We would understand that our kids are going to grow up with some gaps, but as a community, we would help fill those gaps. And when our children became different than us, we’d get to see how great they are, through the eyes of the community, because communities see better than individuals. And when our children grew up and turned back to us, saying, “You messed me up!” we’d smile, know that they needed to say it, apologize, because they need to hear it, and offer ourselves compassion. And we’d extend compassion to our kids.

If I were the architect of the church, we wouldn’t have marketing campaigns, we wouldn’t target people, we wouldn’t need to pay for advertising. There’d be no us and them.

If I were the architect of the new Church, you’d be the expert on theology, on life, and on God.

Oh! Wait!

You already are! But that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m not the architect of the church. You are!

Passion with Compassion. A Sermon

Mark 10:2-16

78.
Nothing is softer
or more yielding
than water.
Yet, given time,
it can erode even the hardest stone.
That’s how the weak
can defeat the strong,
and the supple
can win out over the stiff.
Everybody knows it.
So why don’t we apply it to our own lives?

Lao Tzu used to say:
“Take on people’s problems,
and you can be their leader.
Deal with the world’s problems,
and you’ll be a Master.”
Sometimes the truth makes no sense.

~Tao Te Ching, translated by Ron Hogan

As you’ll (no doubt) remember, we started a few weeks ago with the idea that the job of the church is to ONLY NOTICE, to notice pain, sorrow and joy in people and to be WITNESSES to that. Then last week, we talked about the radical restructuring of many aspects of our culture, all based in this concept of open source, and the implications of open source on religion is just stunning. First, it’s a move towards decentralization and away from hierarchies. Second, it is open for anyone to create and innovate and share, if they want to which means it’s more inclusive, less dogmatic. Third, we share in the capitalization of it, but we don’t gain monetarily like we would if we capitalize it, we probably let go of property. Fourth, we have no control over it, and we give up the illusion of control, too. And fifth, we do our part and let the spirit go from there.

I’ve been mostly struck with the role of the church in society, if church is indeed open source, and if indeed, these changes are on the horizon. And, truth be told, I’ve been thinking about the role of clergy, too. If there is this radical decentralization, and this real sense of inclusion, what do pastors do? And if we let go of property, do we really need pastors, if they’re not going to be the executive directors of non-profit organizations?

So let me just tell you. I have come upon the reason for the church this week, and it’s two-fold. The first reason for the church? To foster passion. And what’s our church’s theological word for passion? It’s calling.

I tweeted a question, “What would it mean if the church’s job was to foster passion. One minister friend texted back, “we’d better become a lot more tolerant of mistakes!” And in this new vision of church, we’ve covered that! We are more tolerant, even celebrating our differences. More »