God Can Spin You Around
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
August 27, 1995
Memory Verse: But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1)
Today's Texts: Exodus 3:1-12 and Acts 22
Opening Prayer: Good Shepherd, you have promised to call your sheep by name and to lead them out of the gate. Call out to us now. Lead us with the promise of your Spirit. Heal us with the mystery of grace. We ask this in Christ's name. Amen.
Recently I heard a wonderful anecdote about Pablo Casals, the world's greatest cellist who was distinguished in his field from age 12 until he died in 1973 at age 96. Playing the cello was his life. It was his love.
Apparently Casals was touring in the United States when he had the opportunity to go hiking with his hosts in the mountains of the west. While hiking he fell and hurt rather severely one of his hands. Everyone was very concerned as they raced Casals to the nearest emergency room. But he said, "My first thought, when I looked down at my hand, was 'Oh Boy! Now I don't have to play the cello!'"
I understand exactly that feeling. I think we all do. It doesn't matter how much we love our job, our neighbors, our colleagues, or our church. We come upon times when we've had our fill, even of the very thing we love the most, and we need to get away.
By the end of July, I was ready for such a break. Writing sermons had become a chore. More than once I would come up to Saturday with the thought, "Boy, if I just didn't have to write sermons, this would be a great job." That was a sure sign that my brain needed some time off from the weekly press of newsletter and sermon deadlines. As much as I enjoy what I do, and as gracious and loving as each of you have been with your pastors, there are times when we need to vacate the premises in order to refresh and renew our Spirits.
That is certainly how I feel today. I'm back, I'm revived, and I'm raring to go. After white water rafting in West Virginia, entertaining house guests from Chicago, and spending a week at the Chautauqua Institution in western New York state, I have come back with enough sermon ideas for the next twelve months. One person looked at my outline in the latest newsletter and said, "Well, I guess I'm going to have to keep coming to church."
That's the idea: to keep things interesting, relevant, and intelligible even as we approach the mysteries of God. I am, without a doubt, a contrarian when it comes to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Much that comes under the Christian umbrella seems to me a far cry from the proclamation of grace. Jesus challenged the wisdom of the pack in his day, and I'm afraid he would do much the same in our own. We still have much to learn, and I give thanks for the opportunity to learn it with you.
For the next two weeks we will consider what a difference it makes to hear God call out your name. Not as part of some larger class, like Christian or first grade, but as an individual with a past, present, and future. If the witness of scripture reveals anything at all, it reveals the interest God takes in people like you and me. It has been that way since the beginning of time, when God called out to Adam in the garden of Eden, and it remains that way today. We matter to God, as children matter to loving parents, and God will not rest until each and every one of us has heard our name in the rushing wind of the Spirit.
The inspiration for this series came from one of our own children. Three weeks ago, while our friends were visiting from Chicago, I took everyone to COSI for what must have been one of the busiest days of the summer. There were people everywhere, with lines for all the really cool things. The Mission to Mars was sold out.
As we were waiting for Bryn and Evan to take their turn on the high-wire bicycle, I felt a tug on the back of my shirt. Spinning around, I saw eight-year-old Leon Axt with a quizzical look on his face and a question on his mind. "Do you know my name?" That was all he asked. When I replied, "Of course I do, you're Leon Axt," he grinned from ear to ear and ran off to catch up with his group.
That, I said to myself, will preach. "Do you know my name?" Out of this sea of humanity, with hundreds of children in the crowd, can you call out my name? Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am? Am I that important to you even here, out of place, out of time, out of sync with our lives at First Church? That's all Leon wanted to know, and the answer made all the difference. "Yes! Yes, I know who you are. You're Leon Axt." With that simple acknowledgment, he became a pretty happy camper.
"Do you know my name?" It's not a question limited to eight-year-old children. There are plenty of people, some of whom may be sitting in this room today, who have never heard God call their name. They may doubt, like Leon did at COSI, whether or not God even knows their name. The creator of the universe, the sustainer of life, the architect of history has my name inscribed in the heavens? It's easier to believe that we are highly evolved masses of sentient protoplasm than to think that God might bother to keep each and every one of us in mind, from the beginning to the end of time.
Thank God for this book, filled with one story after another of the things we have forgotten. The day after COSI, we headed off for the Columbus Zoo. Escorting two four-year-olds made the children's petting area an inevitable stop. Inside the pen were scores of sheep and goats, with little children wiggling and giggling all over the place as they reached out with one furtive touch after another. I thought of Leon, when I heard the keeper call out to one of the children, "Don't pet Sammy from behind. He might kick."
Sammy. The animal had a name. What looked to me like COSI revisited, a mob scene of the four-footed variety, apparently looked very different to the keeper. This wasn't just a flock, a rabble of wool, a herd of hooves. This wasn't just a pen of sheep and goats. This was Sammy and Sally and Oscar and Penny. To the keeper, every animal was different with a special face and a distinctive personality. The keeper knew her sheep, and she called them by name.
So it is with God. God sees no crowds and knows no strangers. To God every face is a special child with a special name. Thus saith the Lord: "I have inscribed your name on the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:16). It's an amazing thought, when you get up close.
The God of heaven and earth has inscribed your name on his hands. You may have seen your name inscribed on a trophy, a diploma, or a certificate. You may have heard your name spoken by a coach, a teacher, or a friend. It feels good to be chosen to play on a baseball team. I know, as one who was usually chosen last, how good it sounds to finally hear your name. But being found worthy by your playmates and peers does not compare to being tapped by God to play on God's team.
I wonder how many times Moses had walked past that bush in the wilderness. He wasn't always called "Moses," you know. A man from the house of Levi married a Levite woman and they had a son. Scripture doesn't tell us what they called him for the first three months of life (Exodus 2:1-3), but you can bet they called him something. Perhaps it was Amram, Izhar, Hebron, or Uzziel. Good Jewish names from the house of Kohath like Eleazar or Eliasaph.
Whatever they called him, you can bet it wasn't Moses, that strange name given to him by the daughter of an Egyptian Pharaoh after she drew him out of the Nile river (Exodus 2:10). "Drawn out" is an odd thing to call a child. "Plucked" from a basket in a river. From the time of his birth Moses was a stranger in a strange land (Exodus 2:22), and he was given a strange name that served as a constant reminder of his odd beginnings.
Perhaps he wasn't very proud of his name. Or perhaps he had changed his name yet again, in a frantic attempt to hide from the wrath of Pharaoh. He was, after all, on the run from a murder rap. Perhaps he had gone to one of those places where they give you a new name and a fake I.D. All we know, at the point we pick up the story, is that Moses had spent decades in the wilderness, keeping the flocks of his father-in-law Jethro. He had probably walked past that bush a thousand times, only this time was different.
This time he took his eyes off the flock and turned aside to look at the bush. When the Lord saw that Moses had turned aside, when God saw Moses had inclined his ear, when the Holy Spirit saw that an opening had been provided, a voice called out from the bush, "Moses, Moses!" A name that he had perhaps tried to forget was spoken once again, and he could deny it no longer. "Here I am!" The one drawn out from the river was about to be drawn out again from the stream of life, only this time with an even higher calling and purpose.
"I have heard the cry of my people who are in Egypt, and I have decided to send you to set them free." "Plucked" from a flock in Midian. "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" You are Moses! That's your name. Drawn out. Called out. Plucked. You have been spared for a time such as this. Do not be afraid for I will be with you, and you shall worship me again, with your people, on the mountain of God. Take that as a promise. Take that as a sign. For I have called you by name. Remember who you are. Remember where you've come from. Remember where you're going.
The voice of God spun Moses around in his tracks. He left it all. Job. Family. Friends. Home. He picked up stakes and went to face his destiny in Egypt. That can happen when we finally acknowledge God's call in our lives. It's easier to pass by the bush on the way to office, without ever turning aside. It's easier to pretend as though God has never spoken to you. To hear God call your name is to ask whether or not you're doing what God wants you to be doing with your life. It's to open yourself to the possibility of transformation and hope and crucifixion.
Saul of Tarsus had such an experience more than a thousand years later. He had been persecuting the Christians, to the point of death, binding both men and women and putting them in prison. On the road to Damascus, the capital of Syria, Saul was challenged about the righteousness of his cause. He saw a blinding light and fell to the ground when he heard a voice calling out his name.
"Saul, Saul! Why are you persecuting me?" Why are you obsessed with the extermination of this Way? Is this what it means to follow the law and the prophets? To conduct one holy witch-hunt after another, leaving a trail of blood in your wake? I don't think so. Now go to Damascus where you will be told everything I want you to do. In Damascus a man named Ananias came to Saul, restored his sight, and charged him to be a witness for the Righteous One to all the world.
Do not be deceived by the singular circumstances of these stories. Burning bushes and blinding lights are not all God has to work with. For Augustine of Hippo it was the face of a child, for John Wesley it was the reading of Luther's Preface to the Romans, for Frederick Buechner it was the thought of God's laughter in the cross of Christ. Surely you must have walked past that bush a few times yourselves.
Perhaps it was the touch of your first love, or the birth of your first child, or the death of your first friend, or the contemplation of your first sunset. Perhaps it was hearing an impassioned sermon that moved throngs, or perhaps it was hearing a dull sermon that moved none but you. Whatever the circumstances, they do not matter. What matters is God in the circumstances, stirring your heart, spinning you around, and setting your course. What matters is turning aside and taking the time to hear the voice of God calling out your name.
"Moses, Moses!" "Saul, Saul!" Herb, Jane, Gil, Evalyn, Dorinda. God is calling out your name. It would be harder for God to forget you than for a woman to forget the offspring of her womb, or the child nursing at her breast. Your names are written in the palms of God's hands. Like a Good Shepherd who knows the flock, God calls the sheep by name and leads them through the gate. We have but to listen to the Voice.
"Do you know my name?" That's all Leon wanted to know, and the answer made all the difference. When you get right down to it, that's all we want to know as well. Does God know my name? As impossible and improbable as it may seem, the scriptures answer that question with an emphatic, "Yes! Yes I know your name. And I have been calling out that name from the burning bush and the shining stars of heaven. I have been singing out that name through the whispering wind and blistering sun. Listen! Listen for the voice of God calling out your name."
Since the beginning of time, God has been calling. Adam, where are you? Moses, who are you? Saul, why are you?. Listen to the questions of your life. You are not just another birth in the ever flowing stream of time; you are a child of God with a special story and a special calling and a special name. You matter to God. God knows who you are, where you've been, and where you're going. Let us then rejoice, give thanks, and sing. Amen.
God Can Set You Free
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
September 3, 1995
Memory Verse: But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1)
Today's Texts: Joshua 2:1-12 and Matthew 1:1-17
Opening Prayer: God of Grace and God of Glory, on thy people pour thy power. Set us free with a word of approbation. Renew our Spirits with a touch of approval. Speak to us of love. We ask this in Jesus' name. Amen.
This morning, I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is that Rev. Carolyn just had to read and you just had to hear the genealogy of Jesus. All forty-two generations of it, from Abraham to the Christ of God. The good news is that you probably won't have to listen to it again, since most pastors can only come up with one sermon on the first seventeen verses of the gospel according to Matthew. For the next decade or two, you're pretty safe!
A few months ago I had a most unusual experience. A man rang the office bell wanting to talk to one of the pastors. Because this happens so often in search of nothing more than cash, the office manager tried to steer him in the direction of the COMPASS office. We make referrals to them for emergency assistance. The man was insistent, however, that he had not come for cash and that a social worker just wouldn't do. He needed to talk to a pastor, and he needed to talk right now.
I stopped what I was doing and sat down on the sofa in the office with a 40-something man whose name we'll call Tom. He didn't look much different than most of us in this room. Tom was a white, somewhat overweight, well-groomed, middle-aged, male. He had on a T-Shirt and was carrying a duffle bag. For the past sixteen years Tom had been a truck-driver, but the Maryland trucking company he worked for had suspended him pending an investigation into a felony charge of sexual assault.
The alleged incident happened here in Columbus, while Tom was making a delivery for the trucking company. A man who fit Tom's description had assaulted a woman in a public parking lot. Tom had come to town by bus, since he no longer had a truck to drive, to face his accusers. He headed the wrong direction on Broad Street, on his way to the Columbus Police Department. When he got as far as our church he decided to come in, get directions and have a heart-to-heart talk with one of the pastors. Seeing the building, he told me, made him think about God.
The problem, Tom confessed with genuine remorse and bewilderment, was that he had actually committed the crime. He had never done anything like that before in his life. He had a clean record. Back home in Maryland he had a wife and two daughters in high-school. They were an active church family, in a Baptist church, going on both Sunday morning and Wednesday night. Without any knowledge of why he did it, Tom confessed to me that something just made him reach out and grab that woman in the parking lot.
The two of us went upstairs to my office, where Tom broke down and cried. He was certain that he could be identified by the woman, and the trucking company could document that his truck had been in the vicinity of the assault at the time in question. Still, he had not decided whether to plead "Guilty" or "Not Guilty." He would be disgraced back home. He risked losing his family. He might have to spend time in jail. He would certainly lose his job. His actions in the parking lot took less than a minute, but they were already having life-long consequences.
Perhaps worst of all, Tom no longer trusted himself. The character he thought he possessed had been contaminated, spoiled, and defiled. He had always prided himself on resisting the temptation to take advantage of the frequent knocks on his cab while parked at truck stops around the country. "Prostitutes come to you," he informed me, "when you're a trucker parked in a cab; but I would turn them away, as any good Christian man should do." Now Tom had destroyed all that. He didn't who he was, or where he was headed. He was certain that God's judgment was upon him and that God no longer had any use for him.
I talked with Tom about the possibilities for forgiveness and restoration. We reviewed one Bible story after another, like the woman caught in adultery and the prodigal son. But in the end, like an alcoholic or a drug addict, Tom was not ready to come clean. "Heart-felt forgiveness presupposes an honest confession," I told the man, "and the healing won't begin until you're ready to own up to your crime." I pushed the telephone in his direction. "If I were you," I concluded, "I would call your wife before going down to that police station."
Tom looked at me with red eyes that burst forth once again with a flood of tears. He didn't say a word. And I still don't know, I may never know, what came of the man. "I'm just not ready for that," he cried as he pushed the phone away. We shared a time of prayer together, and he went on his way. After showing the man to the door, I stood at the office window and watched him head west on Broad Street, wondering whether he would plead guilty or not.
It had been, as I said, a most unusual experience; I have not often been a father confessor to a felony. But I have often been a pastor to the people of God. And Tom's problem was not as unusual as you may suspect. There is probably not a week that goes by in which someone doesn't express to me a regret about something. You name it, people regret it.
What's your regret? Chances are there's not a person here who has any trouble answering that question. It has something to do with original sin and the fact that we are all ensnared in a less-than-perfect world. St. Paul put it quite simply when he lamented, "The good that I want to do, I do not do, and the evil that I do not want to do, I do." (Romans 7:19). For years the man struggled with the knowledge of God's requirements and of his own shortcomings. "If we are to be justified by the Law," he concluded, "then there is no hope for anyone, since we have all fallen short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:20, 23)
But on the road to Damascus, in the familiar story we read last week, Paul was struck by a very different thought. When the light bulb finally went off, it was bright enough to blind him for days. "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" And his first question was, "Lord, who are you?" "I am Jesus of Nazareth."
So reads the not-so-great genealogy of Jesus. His handlers were apparently not too worried about what the people might say, naming characters who had broken every one of the Ten Commandments. The tabloids could have had a field day. This Jesus of Nazareth, with anything but impeccable credentials, is now called the Messiah, the Christ, the Anointed One of God.
I wonder why Matthew started things out that way. He didn't have to, you know. Mark started out with Jesus' baptism in the river Jordan, Luke started out with his birth and a host of angels, John started out by ascending the mountain of God. "In the beginning was the Word...." But Matthew started out with a registry of Jesus' ancestors, according to the flesh. He could have just laid the Savior on a doorstep, avoiding all these messy stories. But no, he goes out of his way to say that the promise of the Messiah threaded its way through forty-two generations of rough-cut stones. (Cf. Max Lucado, When God Whispers Your Name, Word Publishing • Dallas, 1994).
Perhaps Matthew knew that people like you and me would be filled with regret. Perhaps he knew that we'd worry about what's happening to the world. Perhaps he wanted to remind us, with something so simple as a family tree, that God often has to work in spite of us (rather than with us) since even our best efforts and our greatest heroes too often fall short of the mark.
Surely this thought must have passed through Paul's mind when he heard the word on the road to Damascus. "I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom you are persecuting, and I can't believe what I see. You are a Jew, trained at the feet of Gamaliel, educated strictly according to the ancestral law of Moses, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, and yet you persecute these Jews who now call me the Messiah. You know the stories of our ancestors in faith. You know what God had to go through in order to keep the promise alive. You know what sins the people committed. You know what grace the Lord extended. And yet you persecute me. What's wrong with you?"
Saul, we are told, fell out over the revelation of God's word. The history of Israel was a story of grace, not law. The people had not earned God's respect, but God's wrath. Nevertheless, God had cared for them. God had honored the promise to Abraham. (Genesis 12:2-3). Now this unlikely Messiah from the town of Nazareth has been raised up, on the third day, making it clear once and for all that there is no sin too great for God.
"What am I to do?" was Paul's only other question. And God laid it upon his heart to become the greatest apostle of all time, spreading the good news to Jew and Gentile, male and female, slave and free, straight and gay, African and Asian and European. God loves you. Whatever evil you may have done, whatever regrets you may have accumulated, they do not matter to me. In my blood I have washed you clean. My promise shall be sufficient for you.
So now thus says the LORD: "Saul! Saul! I call you by name. You are mine. I set you free. I wipe away your guilt and release your sin. I have overcome every obstacle. Just look me in the eye, face your accuser, and hear my sentence of forgiveness. Then go and proclaim that sentence to all the world. Forgive one another, even as I have forgiven you. (Colossians 3:13). If anyone asks my name, tell them Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary, descended from David according to the flesh and declared the Son of God according to the Spirit. (Romans 1:3f)."
That, my friends, is good news. It was the news Tom needed to hear so desperately that day in my office, and it is the news each of us needs to hear so desperately today. You too are a rough-cut stone? Fine. It is no matter to God. Let go of your regrets. They will serve only to block your road. You can rock forever in the rocking chair of regret, but it won't get you anywhere.
Instead, give it over to God. The sin of the world has been washed away by the blood of the Lamb. When we come to this table and drink from this cup we are reminded of God's power to save. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." We are new creatures in Christ, and we have been called by name. Called to serve. Called to love. Called to rise up and live out our creed. "For I am convinced that nothing -- neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation -- will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38f). Amen.