The Nature and Identity of God

United Church of Christ

Columbus, Ohio

July 13, 1997

Memory Verse: "The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." (Psalm 103:8)

Today's Texts: Genesis 18:22-33, Psalm 103:1-10, and Mark 7:24-30

Opening Prayer: Gracious God, we thank you for being with us in every time and place. Be with us now as we lift our hearts to you. Reveal yourself and your will in the preaching of your word. Amen.

During the past week, we've had lots of company. My daughter has had a friend visiting from the Washington D.C. area. My son came back from the 1997 All Star Game with grandma and grandpa. And my entire family has been hosting my former colleague from the Good News Church in Chicago, who came during General Synod and stayed until yesterday along with her six-year-old twins, Ayo and Issa.

Needless to say, there hasn't been a dull moment. We have been on the go almost constantly. I had almost forgotten how much energy comes along with two young children! On Friday we decided to take the twins to a matinee performance of Disney's latest and greatest creation: Hercules.

Now I may have never seen Hercules at all if it had not been for our visiting young friends, and I certainly would not have thought to watch the movie as part of the preparation for my new sermon series on The Nature and Identity of God, but it turned out to be a very provocative foil indeed. The movie took great liberties with the original Greek myth in order to present the challenges of a man who was at once human and divine.

In the Disney version of the story, Hercules is born on Mount Olympus as the son of Zeus, king of the gods. This boy had everything going for him until Hades, god of the underworld, is given a view of the future which leads him to devise a plan that will bring Hercules to earth and turn him into an ordinary mortal. The plan almost succeeds, but a portion of the Divine Spirit evades Hades' sinister scheme. This scrap of divinity remains in Hercules' mortal body, giving him superhuman strength, even as an infant, and a growing identity crisis, as he goes through adolescence.

Eventually he goes on a vision quest to discover his true identity. While on his knees in prayer, his father Zeus appears to him and tells him the story of his birth and of his abduction by Hades. To return to Mount Olympus as an immortal god, Hercules learns that he must first become a hero on earth. So begins the series of physical challenges or labors which make up the stuff of the Hercules' myth. None of these theatrics prove to be sufficient, however, even though they produce a popularity cult replete with Happy Meal Action Figures and other such 20^th century marks of success. They lack the element of self-sacrifice which alone produces a true hero.

Everything works out in the end, however, thanks to the love of Hercules' life: a beautiful young maiden with maroon hair named Meg who turns out to be one of Hades' indentured servants. When Hercules risks his own life in order to set Meg free from the underworld, he suddenly becomes immortal and lives happily ever after with his beloved.

I've bothered to tell the Disney version of this story in detail because it brings to the surface the question of the hour for a sermon series on The Nature and Identity of God. Disney presents one version of a god-come-to-earth -- with sexy Muses constantly singing about "the gospel truth." It is a jazzed-up, romantic tale that many people will find attractive and easy to remember. But it is a totally different tale from the one you and I have banked our lives upon.

William Easum, a noted parish consultant, argues that a primary task facing the church today is helping people to distinguish fantasy from reality. "Think of those recent commercials," he urges, "that include such deceased stars as Humphrey Bogart and Lucille Ball in the same scenes with current day stars." Or think of the deceased Presidents who nevertheless manage meet Forrest Gump at the White House.

"Remember how real they looked? Video and computer technology makes it hard to tell what is real, unless you already know. As the development of commercially viable virtual reality and holographic imagery provides an alternative version of what is real, concerns about this issue will escalate until they pervade the fabric of our society." What is real? Whom do you trust? Is this a real sheep or a clone? Is this a real videotape or a fake? Easum contends that these are the questions which already preoccupy the generations born after 1964.

To speak to these generations, Easum asserts that pastors must address the question, "'Which faith is real?' Pastors can no longer assume that faith has only one starting point. They are faced with people who actually have interchangeable faiths. They take some from this and some from that. Nothing is sacred or everything is sacred -- and you can't tell by looking anymore." (Preaching in the 21sy Century, Net Results, August 1997).

The Hercules movie raised this question for me in no uncertain terms. It wasn't presented as a fairy tale, even though it was a cartoon. It was presented as an alternative view of reality, with gods and humans interacting according to certain understandings of good and evil, success and failure, possible and impossible. Let's review the salient points:

First, there are good gods and bad gods. In fact, the gods seem to have as many personality flaws and romantic entanglements as the people, exaggerated and complicated by their extraordinary powers.
Second, the god who comes to earth is the victim of a divine power struggle, replete with child abduction and abuse. He certainly doesn't come of his own free will and he never feels at home among mortals.
Third, the presence of the Divine Spirit turns a person into a Superman who leaps tall buildings with a single bound, is stronger than a rushing locomotive, and goes faster than a speeding bullet.
Fourth, the sacrifice of the hero is motivated by his erotic attachment to the woman of his dreams. It has nothing to do with the salvation of the world and everything to do with the rescue of the damsel in distress.

This, you see, is one view of the nature and identity of God. It is a view that Christianity contended with during the first few centuries of its existence, and it is a view that Christianity is contending with again today as people experiment with and try out different theories that make sense of our existence. The Christian victory over paganism has been replaced by a multi-cultural world of competing cosmologies which find expression even in G-rated movies. Today, everything is up for grabs and nothing is taken for granted.

There could hardly be a better time than this to raise the question of what our tradition teaches about the nature and identity of God. In four sermons, we can barely scratch the surface -- so do not look for a comprehensive systematic theology. But we can raise some of the critical themes, which are distinctly different from those raised by the myth of Hercules.

We too have our stories, about one God who works and wills that which is good, about one God who creates, sustains, and renews his creation as a mother bears and cares for her children, about one God who loved the world so much that the Divine Spirit took on human flesh in order to demonstrate the abundance of grace. These stories are not without their complications, and not without their theatrics, but they have nevertheless provided people with spiritual sustenance for more than 2,000 years. I will leave it up to you decide whether or not they will continue to do so as we move forward into the 21^st century.

This morning we start with the simple theme of our approachable God. Even though God was known as the holy other, unlike anyone or anything else on earth, the scriptures reveal God as someone who chooses to be in relationship with everyone and everything. This is not a God who gets things started and then walks away. This is a God who gets things started and then comes along for the ride, regardless of the expense and sacrifice. Pure love makes God vulnerable to the heartfelt appeals of people like you and me. Simply put, our God is someone we can talk to.

When Adam was lonely, God created a partner who was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.
When the world was destroyed by a flood, God grieved the loss of life more than the evil inclination of the human heart.
When Jacob anticipated death, God appeared to him in a dream with promises of life.
When Joseph went to Egypt, God blessed him with wisdom and understanding.
When the people cried out under the burden of Egyptian slavery, God heard their cries and freed them from the shackles of Pharaoh.
When the people needed leaders, God lifted up Judges and Prophets in the land.
When the leaders became corrupt, God stood on the side of the poor and the oppressed.
When the people became discouraged, God worked signs and wonders in heaven and on earth.

Listen to those amazing verbs: God created, grieved, appeared, blessed, heard, freed, lifted, stood, and worked. Scott Hoezee observes that the Jewish and Christian scriptures present a consistent picture of God's steadfast love and amazing grace. There is, in God, no mixture of good and evil. There is only good seeking to work itself out in human affairs. What is "unfailing love" in the Old Testament becomes "salvation by grace" in the letters of Paul and "the reign of God" in the preaching of Jesus. (The Riddle of Grace: Applying Grace to the Christian Life, Eerdmans Publishing Co. • Grand Rapids, MI, 1996).

So when Abraham hears of God's intent to punish the wickedness of Sodom, he enters into the now famous negotiating session which is recorded in Genesis 18. Will you destroy the righteous with the wicked? What kind of God is that? Sounds like another player in the Greek pantheon. What if there are 50 righteous people in the city? Will you still destroy it all? What if there are 45? 40? 30? 20? 10? God was not angry that Abraham chose to speak his mind. On the contrary, God agreed to spare the entire city for the sake of 10 righteous souls. Less than that and God would get the innocent out, just in the nick of time.

Or take the equally famous negotiating session between Jesus and the Syrophoenician woman recorded in Mark 7. Jesus had just finished challenging the religious leaders of his day to recognize that God cares about people without regard to ritual purity, when he finds himself confronted with a Gentile woman whose daughter was possessed with an unclean spirit. Jesus was at first reluctant to extend the reign of God beyond the bounds of his own people, the Jews, but when the woman pointed out the inconsistency of his position he came around and offered her the same promise as everyone else. "Go in peace. Your faith has made your daughter well."

These stories reveal two critical pieces about the nature and identity of God.

First, God is not immutable. God is in a dynamic, two-way relationship with the needs of creation. The Spirit adapts from one moment to the next in order to work and to will that which is good. Who can forget the fortunes of Job, which fluctuate from the depths of despair to the heights of hope? Who can forget the story of Jonah, in which God commutes the sentence of judgment on yet another wicked city? Scripture reveals the flow as well as the constancy of God.
Second, God is not immune to our appeals. When we are outraged by the course of life, God wants to hear about it. When we are excluded from the blessings of creation, God wants us to state our case. We should have no fear that God will punish us for raising the deep questions of life. Why do the righteous suffer? Why do the wicked prosper? How can I heal from this pain? How can I recover from this death? Scripture reveals the value of bringing such questions to God in prayer.

Have you given up on talking to God? Does it seem pointless or frustrating? I assure you, it is not. Right now the twins are in the process of learning how to swim. Yesterday at the Bexley pool we went through the exercise of having them jump into the water, toward my outstretched arms. Sometimes they wanted me further away. Other times they wanted me closer. Sometimes I would catch them before they hit the water. Other times I would let them sink, just a bit, before lifting them up to safety. Sometimes they wanted to be where they could touch the bottom. Other times they wanted to push the envelope of their comfort zone.

This is not unlike the relationship of God to us. Our God is standing there, with outstretched arms, encouraging us to jump. In order to do so, we have to overcome our fears and hesitations. We have to talk with God in order to assure ourselves that God won't abandon us at the last moment, allowing us to sink to our death. But sooner or later, if we ever hope to learn how to swim in the saving waters of grace, we have to jump, trusting that God will never abandon or betray us. Our God is always present, always willing, and always able to help. That is the good news of the gospel. That is reason enough to keep the conversation going. Amen.

A God Who Surprises You

Robert K. Tschannen-Moran

The First Congregational Church

United Church of Christ

Columbus, Ohio

July 20, 1997

Memory Verse: "The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." (Psalm 103:8)

Today's Texts: Genesis 18:22-33, Psalm 103:1-10, and Mark 7:24-30

Opening Prayer: God of Mystery and Surprise, you alone are God, unlike any other. You make yourself known in so many different ways. Make yourself known to us now in the preaching of your Word. Amen.

Last week I spent a good deal of time talking about the new Hercules movie because I found it to be a provocative foil for my current sermon series on The Nature and Identity of God. From the looks on a few of your faces, I could tell that some of you were a bit skeptical that anyone could confuse an animated movie with reality or that we could learn very much by comparing and contrasting the Christian story with a Disney version of the Hercules story.

These dynamics are quite subtle, however, as people pick up and assimilate ideas about God from a wide variety of sources. Not all of these ideas are 100% compatible with the Christian gospel. As part of the discernment process, it is a valuable exercise to lay our story alongside other stories, both to clarify our vision of God and to establish our values and patterns of living. We no longer live in a predominantly Christian culture, and the waters look to get even muddier in the decades ahead.

One person who frequently employs the technique of comparing the biblical God to the gods of other religions is Jack Miles, director of the Humanities Center as the Claremont Graduate School near Los Angeles. In his book God: A Biography (Vintage Books • New York, 1995), Miles makes the point that the biblical God is without compare among the ancient divinities. This God does not enter the human scene as just another character. This God creates the human scene, out of nothing, and then proceeds to enter that scene as an eternal protagonist in human affairs.

Human affairs are, in fact, this God's only apparent interest with the stated motive of conforming those affairs to the divine image. Such divine tunnel vision stems, in part, from what might be called the loneliness of God. Who else is God going to spend time with? Or play with? Or work with? Or fight with?

"This," Miles points out, "is the inevitable result of monotheism. Polytheistic Greek mythology includes some stories that tell of intervention by Zeus in human affairs but others that tell of Zeus's life among his fellow gods. In the bible, God, being the only god, does not have the second kind of action through which to present himself. But the peculiarity of God's character does not end there."

God creates the scene, and then appears on the scene, without any preexisting character development. In the beginning there is nothing other than God. God speaks, and everything comes into being. Usually when we meet characters in a novel we learn something about their past in order to understand their present and to anticipate their future. None of this is possible with the biblical God, who brings the universe and the human scene into being and then stays with that scene for good.

This God, Miles concludes, is a "kind of living question mark, a wholly prospective character. He has no history, no genealogy, no past that in the usual way of literature might be progressively introduced into his story to explain his behavior and induce some kind of catharsis in the reader. No human character could be so fully without a past and still be human, yet we may see that by giving this inhuman character words to speak in human language and deeds to do in interaction with human beings, the writers of the bible have created a new literary possibility." (Ibid.)

That possibility was expressed many years ago by my theology professor, Paul Hessert, who used to speak of God as the one who always has the initiative. Someone who always has the initiative makes for a very strange character indeed! It is totally foreign to the human experience, driven as it is by a complicated maze of needs and desires. The biblical God acts without needs or desires, or at least without disclosing any needs or desires, in order to speak and act in the affairs of people with total freedom and impunity. "What is most compelling" about this God, Miles observes, is that he has "an air of power with the absence of any of the usual clues as to how the power might be used."

Two weeks ago I did a funeral in Newark for Jack Kauffman, who died after a thirty-year bout with muscular dystrophy. Through it all he maintained his spirit and nurtured a loving family. At the beginning of the service there was some confusion on the part of the funeral home as to the setup of the chapel. They had to stop the service, after the opening hymn, in order to set up flowers and to make some other adjustments. As I sat in my seat, praying that family would not be too distraught over the circumstances and the interruption, I looked up and saw a visible wave of relief come across the face of Jack's daughter-in-law. It was as though her mourning had been turned into dancing and her sackcloth had been exchanged for garments of joy.

Finally, the funeral service continued with help from the prophet Isaiah: "those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." (Isaiah 40:13). It was a magnificent prophecy and a remarkable moment for someone who had suffered for so long with muscular dystrophy.

After the service, the daughter-in-law came up to me to say that she hoped I was coming to the reception because she wanted to speak with me. At the reception she pulled me aside and told me the story of how she was visited by God, or at least a messenger from God, while she was home alone with her son. Her husband was on a business trip when she sat up in bed, at 2:17 in the morning, to see someone with green eyes looking at her through the front door. Suddenly the room started spinning after which she was filled with a tremendous sense of peace about a problem she'd been struggling with and praying about for many years. Before going back to sleep, she went to the front door to be sure it was locked. Her young son, who was sleeping with her in the same bed, never woke up.

The next morning she knew that a healing had been worked by God and, indeed, the problem has not surfaced again in more than two years. It was a miracle that she credits with saving her life. Ever since that time, she has longed for another vision of God and another taste of God's peace, but that longing went unfulfilled. In spite of her prayers and her heartfelt petitions, she was coming to think that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience -- until that morning, two-weeks ago, in the funeral home. At the very moment I looked up and saw her smile, this woman was having another vision of God. No words were being spoken, no hymn was being sung -- the funeral directors were just scurrying around with their flower baskets in front of her father-in-law's casket when God took the initiative to fill her once again with the same peace she had known two years earlier.

That, my friends, is how God works. When we least expect it, but often when we most need it, God takes the initiative to get us back on track. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever been headed in one direction, when God turned you around in the opposite direction? It's happened to me. Have you ever been ready to give up on a problem, when God made a way out of no way that turned out to be better than anyone thought possible? It's happened to me. Have you ever been discouraged by all the bad news in the world, when God brightened your day with a clear, unmistakable story of grace. It's happened to me.

On Friday I was reading The Columbus Dispatch when a headline caught my eye: "India gets its first president from Hinduism's lowest caste." K. R. Narayanan, a of the caste once considered untouchable, was elected this past week by an overwhelming majority of the state and national legislatures. At one time, even glancing at or brushing up against a person such as Narayanan was considered enough to defile a Hindu of status. Today, however, the Dalits, or "oppressed people," have found a 76-year-old champion in their continuing struggle for justice and peace. "I am feeling very humble," the new president said with a smile, "but I will represent the whole country." (AP, July 18, 1997)

Now I don't know about you, but that story caught me by surprise. It has all the marks of our sovereign God. Oppression giving way to freedom. Fear giving way to trust. Condemnation giving way to affirmation. It's just that I didn't expect it to come out of Hinduism -- which may reveal as much about my own provincialism as anything else. It's not as though we've ever elected anyone other than an European American male to be president of this country! With a flair for the dramatic, God has once again taken the initiative in human affairs to work and to will that which is good.

This morning's scripture lessons are two other classic examples of divine initiative. The first story may appear to be nothing more than a fairy tale, replete with a talking donkey and an angel standing in the middle of the road with a drawn sword in his hand. But such literal objections would miss the larger, theological point.

Balaam was a hired gun. He was a fortune teller whose services could be purchased for a price. Balaam didn't just tell the future, Balaam influenced the future by using his powers of divination to utter blessings and curses. This time was different, however. This time God influenced Balaam by unveiling a vision of the special relationship between God and Israel. When the emissaries of Balak, king of Moab, came to Balaam with lots of money and a favor to ask, God spoke to Balaam in a vision of the night with unmistakable clarity. "Do not go with these men and do not curse the Israelites, for they are blessed." (Numbers 22:12).

The emissaries went back to the king, told them of Balaam's refusal to cooperate, who promptly increased his offer to the point where Balaam could hardly say, "No!" In a late twentieth-century approach to the Spirit world, you can almost see Balak jumping up and down, raving to his assistants, "Show him the money. Show him the money!" So back they went with the authorization to spare no expense in their effort to retain the services of this professional prophet from the banks of the river Euphrates. One might say that Balaam's ship had just come in and he agreed to go with them in order to see what he could do.

That is the point at which we pick up the story in today's lesson from the book of Numbers. Balaam is on his way to see what he can do for Balak, when God makes it very clear who's in charge. The donkey goes off the road, and Balaam beats him. The donkey scrapes his foot against the vineyard wall, and Balaam beats him again. Finally, the donkey just lays down, and Balaam beats the living daylights out of him. That's when he finally figures out what's going on. That's when he finally sees what's been spooking the donkey.

No one ever makes a move on the unmoved mover! No one ever takes the initiative away from God. Whatever the king may do to intimidate or cajole, Balaam is to say and do nothing which is not revealed to him by the High God of heaven. Whatever the cost, Balaam is to listen and submit to the word God puts in his mouth. This is the sign and seal of a true prophet.

Have you ever had an experience like that, of being turned around in your tracks by the Holy Spirit of God? It was on a different road, to a different city, when Saul -- better known as the apostle Paul -- had his own encounter with the living God. He too had tried to make a move on God, with the audacity that can only come from impeccable religious credentials. (Philippians 3:4-7). Kill the Christians. Persecute the church. Bring this heresy down before it gets out of hand.

But God had a different idea, and God once again took the initiative to chart a different course for this zealous young man. On the road to Damascus, he saw a bright light and heard a loud voice, saying, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" He asked, "Who are you, Lord?" And the reply came, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting." One of our new members made the observation that God took this all very personally. Saul wasn't just persecuting a group of people. Saul was persecuting Jesus, the crucified but risen Lord. Saul was trying to out maneuver, out think, and out do the very mind of God.

Perhaps, by now, you have come to appreciate the impossibility of such a task. The nature and identity of the biblical God is one who always has the initiative. At the very point we think we have things all figured out, or we have God on a string, or we set our course in a wrong-headed direction, or we suffer the brunt of oppression, or we find ourselves overwhelmed by life -- that is the very point when God may choose to act. It can be dramatic, such as our friend's vision of God, or subtle, such as reading the morning newspaper, but it always has an element of surprise.

God likes to sneak up from behind, as it were, in order to meet us at the point of our greatest need. We may not always understand what God is doing. We may not always like what God is doing. We may not always trust what God is doing. But the biblical God remains in all, through all, and above all. (Ephesians 4:6). From this perspective, God sees the past, present, and future at a glance. It is entirely different from anything you or I will ever know. But it is all designed for our benefit, that we might reflect the full image of God.

We who seek to know God would do well to remember this simple fact: God transcends life in order to surprise life with meaning and purpose, comfort and strength. The last survivors of Robert F. Scott's ill-fated expedition to the South Pole in 1912 left records that they were aware of an additional "person" who had joined them, though there was none of the usual physical signs of such a person's presence. Many can relate similar stories of being surprised by the presence of God. It is, indeed, the essence of the God we have chosen to follow in Jesus Christ. Amen.

A God You Can Count On

Robert K. Tschannen-Moran

The First Congregational Church

United Church of Christ

Columbus, Ohio

July 27, 1997

Memory Verse: "The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." (Psalm 103:8)

Today's Texts: Genesis 18:22-33, Psalm 103:1-10, and Mark 7:24-30

Opening Prayer: God of Promise and Fulfillment, you have promised to be with us, even to the end of the age. Be with us now. Speak to us. Give us the blessing of your Holy Spirit. Amen.

This morning's scripture lessons include some of our favorite stories about God. Exodus 14 tells the story of Israel's escape from Egyptian slavery. It is the defining story upon which Judaism is based. The God who seeks to create humankind in the divine image decides to develop a special relationship with a particular people. God observes their misery, these descendants of Abraham and Sarah, and proceeds to orchestrate their deliverance.

You remember the story. God appears to Moses in the wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula through a burning bush and a thundering voice. Despite Moses' objections, God persuades him to leave his job and his family in order to return to Egypt and to confront the Egyptian King with those memorable words: "Let my people go."

"Let my people go, so that they may celebrate a festival in the wilderness." (Exodus 5:1)
"Let my people go, so that they may sacrifice to the Lord." (Exodus 8:8)

"Let my people go, so that they may worship God." (Exodus 8:20

The King refused to cooperate with such an impudent demand from a lowly serf, resulting in a series of increasingly debilitating and dramatic plagues including pests, disease, and natural disasters. All of the things the insurance companies refuse to cover as "acts of God." When the final plague brought death to the firstborn of Egypt, including the King's own house, there was a dramatic reversal in the middle of the night: "Rise up, go away from my people, both you and the Israelites! Go, worship the LORD, as you said."

And so we pick up the story in Exodus 14. The people have escaped from Egypt, with their unleavened bread and their borrowed objects of silver and gold, when the King changes his mind about letting them go. "What have we done!" The King proclaims in dismay over the loss of his indentured servants. "Bring them back!" Six hundred chariots come bearing down on the ragtag caravan of Israelites, with their backs to the Sea.

"What have you done to us," the people cry out to Moses! "Were there no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? Is this not exactly what we told you in Egypt. It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness!" But Moses said to the people: "Have no fear! Stand firm, and witness the deliverance which the Lord will work for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you -- just hold your peace."

After the people escaped through the Sea, and their pursuers lay dead on the shore, Israel saw the great work, the wondrous power, the mighty hand which God had wielded against the Egyptians. As a result, the people had faith in God and in their leader, Moses.

This was the upshot of the whole experience. People who had been accustomed to trusting in other gods were now inclined to trust in Yahweh, the great I AM. Their Egyptian masters may have been tyrants, but they were also providers: providers of shelter and food, providers of culture and class, providers of education and medicine, providers of order and security. Theirs may have been a painful and oppressive lot in life, but it was their lot and, after more than 400 years, it had grown as comfortable as an old shoe. All this was set aside, in one fell swoop, at the urging of Moses and the stirring of God.

Perhaps you have some experience with this dynamic. Egyptian slavery is not the only God-forsaken rut into which people have managed to settle.

People's fears have kept them in abusive and violent relationships, even when they know those relationships will only get worse over time. There's always the hope that things will get better, that this time will be the last time, that promises made will be promises kept. Those old, familiar ruts are easier to negotiate than the uncharted waters of new relationships, new livelihoods, and new ambitions.
People's fears have kept them addicted to substances and activities which destroy, rather than construct, life. Joe Camel may have been eliminated from the marketing strategy, but every year more and more people succumb to the diversions of tobacco, alcohol, drugs, gambling, fornication, and violence. These diversions may not be exactly what God had in mind for our lives, but we go back to them, over and over again, because they help us relax, or give us a buzz, or distract us from the emptiness inside.
People's fears have kept them from realizing their dreams and exercising their God-given gifts and talents. How many times have you heard someone play the "If only" game? "If only I hadn't gotten pregnant..." "If only I had worked harder in school..." "If only I wasn't so old...." "If only I didn't have so many responsibilities..." "If only I wasn't so sick..." "If only I could exercise..." "If only, if only, if only!" Our excuses serve as a powerful counterweight to the promises of God.
People's fears have kept them from trusting each other and working together as a team. We are inclined to carve out and defend our turf rather than to compromise and cooperate on behalf of the common good. Our distrust of others provokes distrust of us, leaving us isolated and trapped in prisons of our own making. Until we take the risk that trust entails, trust never has a chance to grow. Trust breeds trust while distrust fosters a vicious cycle of distrust.
People's fears have kept them back from heroic deeds of sacrifice and courage. Think of the rich, young ruler who could not bear to part with his wealth in order to follow Jesus. Think of the times when we have passed by or failed to notice someone in need, like the religious leaders in the story of the Good Samaritan. We go on our way, we stay in our groove, only to be later filled with regret. We end up plagued by thoughts of what we could've, should've, or would've done.

What lies at the root of all these fears is the anxiety which overcame the Israelites on the day of their liberation from Egypt. What if God doesn't take care of us in the wilderness? What if we leave our fleshpots in Egypt, our everyday relationships, addictions, excuses, rivalries, and selfishness, only to find that we're all alone in the desert? What if we can't count on God to be there when we really need a helping hand?

Last year Patti LaBelle, the Grammy Award winning Rhythm and Blues performer, released her autobiography entitled Don't Block the Blessings: Revelations of a Lifetime (Riverhead Books • New York, 1996). The book is a rags-to-riches story of a young girl, born into a working-class neighborhood near the Philadelphia airport, who managed to overcome a legion of fears with a nub of faith.

Her book is as much confession as it is autobiography. She candidly reviews her fifty plus years of life, openly acknowledging her struggles and failures, in the stated hope that others might learn from her mistakes. She wants to people to know how precious life can be when you don't allow your self-image, your heartbreaks, your abuse, your attitudes, or anything else to block the blessings of God.

LaBelle writes about the big break which launched her professional singing career: an audition before a man with strong connections in the local club circuit. The audition came about through a rapid-fire series of chance events, one thing leading to another, and before they knew what was happening the man had agreed to become her group's manager and coach.

"Lying in bed that night," she writes, "all I could think about was how lucky we were. After all, we weren't even supposed to be at Jean's house the day we met Mr. Overbee who wasn't supposed to be there, either. I fell asleep thinking, 'What a lucky coincidence.' Now, I know that what happened that day wasn't a coincidence at all. I believe it was something much more meaningful, much more mystical, much more magical."

"I had to live almost fifty years before I learned that there are events in life that are so extraordinary and so unlikely, that they can't be chalked up to chance alone. Like when you think about a friend you haven't talked to in twenty years and -- bam! -- out of the blue, she phones you. Or when you're struggling to find the solution to a problem and -- bam! -- you pick up the paper or click on the TV and there it is -- the answer.

"I've heard all kinds of stories like these. I've had the experiences myself. There are some stories I could tell you that sound too incredible to be real. Like the one about this man -- and I know him personally -- whose date stood him up on his twenty-first birthday. Distraught, he decided to visit a neighbor, a woman he had been secretly in love with for years. He knew she was usually at home, but on this night she wasn't home alone. Her date was there with her. Her sister was rarely at home, but on this night, she was. And though she always had a date, on this night she didn't. The man had never paid much attention to the sister and she didn't think much of him, either. But on this night they both paid attention. They connected. And they've been happily married now for more than twenty-five years."

"Whenever events like these occur, I see them now as Divine Guidance. A cosmic reminder of a Higher Power. Evidence that God is always watching us, steering us, sending us messages. I have heard that scientists and scholars have all kinds of terms for these events. Synchronicity. Fortuity. (Nonlocality.) Happenstance. I don't have some fancy name for it. Sixty-dollar words aren't my style. But, I do have an explanation. 'Coincidences' are the everyday miracles of our lives. Everyday blessings. 'Coincidences' are just God's way of staying invisible.'"

This is the "new attitude" which LaBelle says took her a lifetime to develop, and which didn't come to full flower until after her fiftieth birthday. It is the same attitude which the Israelites developed following their dramatic escape from the Egyptians at the Sea of Reeds. Suddenly they realized, as Amos White has told me on more than one occasion, that although we may not always like God's timing, God's always on time.

The story of Jairus' daughter, and the woman with an issue of blood, are two other cases in point. Jairus was a leader of the synagogue in Capernaum, a town on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The man's daughter was very sick. When Jesus pushed ashore in a boat, Jairus came up and begged Jesus to heal his daughter. Jesus agreed.

It took a long time to get to the girl, due to the crowds pressing in on Jesus. One woman, who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years, reached out and touched Jesus' clothes believing that he had the power to make her well. Sure enough, after twelve long years of suffering during which time she had spent all that she had under many physicians, the woman was healed. "Go in peace," Jesus said, "your faith has healed you of your disease."

By the time they got to Jairus' home, the girl had already died. "Do not trouble the teacher any further," some people said, "since it is already too late." But Jesus was not to be denied. Taking with him her parents and his three closest disciples, he took the girl by the hand and said to her, "Talitha cum," which means, "Little girl, get up."

Now the woman had suffered for twelve years, and the daughter had died, but in the end God proved to be a reliable source of saving grace for both of them. James Baldwin has observed that "nothing is more desirable than to be released from an affliction, but nothing is more frightening than to be divested of a crutch." (Nobody Knows My Name). These dynamics are at work in each and every one of us. We want to be set free from our fears, but we can hardly imagine staking our lives on the promises of God.

The story is told of a weary traveler, in the early days of our country, who came to the banks of the Mississippi River for the first time. There was no bridge. It was early winter, and the surface of the mighty stream was covered with ice. Could he dare cross over? Would the uncertain ice be able to bear his weight? Night was falling, and it was urgent that he reach the other side. Finally, after much hesitation and with many fears, he began to creep cautiously across the surface of the ice on his hands and knees.

About half way over he heard the sound of singing behind him. Out of the dusk there came a man, driving a horse-drawn load of coal across the ice and singing merrily as he went his way. Here he was -- on his hands and knees, trembling lest the ice be not strong enough to bear him up! And there, as if whisked away by the winter's wind, went the man, his horses, his sleigh, and his load of coal -- upheld by the same ice on which he was creeping!

Like this weary traveler, some of us have learned only to creep upon the promises of God. Cautiously, timidly, hesitantly we venture forth, as though the lightness of our step could make God's promises more secure. Others of us, like the man in the sleigh, have learned to ride those promises for all they're worth. Either way, if we manage to get beyond our fears and to strike out in faith, we will have managed a great deal in deed. Our God is someone we can count on, no matter how difficult the situation may appear. This is truth I want you to hear this morning, and every morning, of your lives. Amen.

A God Who Loves You

Robert K. Tschannen-Moran

The First Congregational Church

United Church of Christ

Columbus, Ohio

August 3, 1997

Memory Verse: "The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." (Psalm 103:8)

Today's Texts: 1 Samuel 1:1-18, Psalm 34:1-8, John 11:1-7, 17-22, 28-37

Opening Prayer: Loving God, you have come to us and shared our common lot in life. Come to us now and refresh us with your grace. Strengthen us with the power of your Spirit. Speak to us with the wisdom of your word. Amen.

Some of you have heard me tell the story of my recent experience with Hedwig and Alma Volp. For more than 90 years, these two women have lived together in a relationship that reminds me very much of the relationship between Ruth and Naomi. You may, perhaps, remember the Old Testament story:

Naomi and her husband Elimelech, from the tribe of Ephraim, moved to the land of Moab in order to escape a famine in the land of Judah. Naomi and Elimelech had two sons. While in Moab, their two sons married local Moabite women: Ruth and Orpah. Eventually the father and the two sons died, leaving Naomi alone in Moab with her two daughters-in-law. Naomi decides to return to her hometown of Bethlehem, since the famine was over and she wanted to be with her family.

Ruth and Orpah offer to go with her. When Naomi discourages them from leaving their people, Orpah turns around and goes back home. Ruth, on the other hand, makes a moving speech, saying: "Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die -- there will I be buried. May the LORD do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!" (Ruth 1:16-17)

So begins the tale of Ruth and Naomi: a same-gender household which, in their undaunted devotion to each other, bore witness the steadfast love of God. Hedwig and Alma Volp are a modern day example of this same spirit and devotion. Alma was born in 1900, Hedwig three years later. It took the family a while to discover, but Heddy, as they preferred to call her, was born deaf. Heddy became Alma's life project, for the next 94 years.

Neither woman married, both women lived together and worked in various capacities here in Columbus. Heddy was the first deaf woman to work at Nationwide Insurance, which she did for more than 25 years. In recent decades the two of them lived together in the same small room at Columbus Colony Elderly Care, a nursing home which specializes in care for the deaf. When I went to visit them, Hedwig, who had suffered a stroke, communicated with the slightest of hand motions, interpreted by Alma. Sometimes the interpretations became so elaborate that I started to wonder whether or not Alma was making some of it up. But Hedwig never seemed to mind; the two of them had become one.

A few weeks ago, Hedwig died in her sleep just a few moments before I arrived in the room. No one had called the church to say that Hedwig had died; it was just another one of those coincidences which Patti LaBelle says are designed to keep God invisible. At the time of dying, Alma was inconsolable. The problem was not that Heddy had died; the problem was that Alma had not been able to keep her from dying, that she had not been there to say goodbye, and that she would not available to take care of Hedwig in heaven.

The latter was the theme of my conversation with Alma last week: how can she be sure that Heddy is well taken care of in heaven? "No one could love sister more than I have," Alma pointed out on multiple occasions, "not even God. So why did God take her? Why didn't God leave her here with me, where she was so dearly loved? Was God so lonely that he needed to take Hedwig? Sister always had me to take care of her. Now who's taking care of her? How can I be sure that she's not being neglected in heaven? Why doesn't God take me so I can keep taking care of her?"

There's no end to questions like these, at a time like this. And there's often little comfort in the answers. But one answer I've tried to get across to Alma, in our conversations and in our prayers, is that no one, absolutely no one, gets neglected in heaven. However much Alma and Hedwig loved each other, so too has God loved them. God, indeed, is the source and substance of their love. Whatever love we muster for another derives from and participates in God's love for us. This is the heart and soul of our religion.

"We love because God first loved us," writes John in his first pastoral letter (1 John 4:19). "No one has ever seen God, but when we love one another, we live in God and God lives in us. God's love is perfected in us." (1 John 4:12). "God is love. This was revealed when God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him." (1 John 4:9). "Love gives us boldness in the day of judgment and freedom from the fear of punishment." (1 John 4:17f). "Love cleanses us from all unrighteousness and makes our joy complete." (1 John 1:4, 9). "Love never ends." (1 Corinthians 13:8).

After 97 years of life, Alma Volp still needs to be reminded of this fundamental truth. I want to tell her, in no uncertain terms, "God loves you. God loves your sister. God is as devoted to the two of you, as the two of you are to each other. You can trust God's love to see you through life and death and life after death. You can trust God's love to transform and transcend the limitations of your existence. You can trust God's love to hold you whenever difficulties and dangers come your way."

The problem is finding the right words and actions to make such promises come alive. There is so much evidence to the contrary. With Alma it has amounted to little more than sitting with her, listening to her, holding her hand, telling her what she already knows, and taking the time to pray.

"How can I know for sure?" "You can listen for the still, small voice of God." This past week Alma and I sat together, in total silence, for more than five minutes. It was a silence such as Hedwig had known all her life. And when we finally said "Amen," I couldn't help but notice that the tears had stopped flowing down Alma's cheeks. "Please come again," she said, "don't leave me alone."

It's not always so easy and so intangible as sitting in the quietness of God. The same day I went to see Alma, I was in the church office when a man came in with a long story about how he had come to town to help set up for the Ohio State Fair and how he had gotten his bag stolen with his identification, his money, and his teeth. Sure enough, he was toothless. He apologized profusely for being unshaved and unkempt, even though he looked and smelled far better than a lot of people who walk through our doors in need of assistance. Finally, after circling around like an airplane over a busy airport, the man came in for a landing: Could we let him work around the church for a few hours in order to earn $16.75 to replace his birth certificate and lost identification?

As crazy as it sounded, I actually believed the man. A passage from the book of James kept coming to mind: "What good is it if you say you have faith but then you do nothing about it? For instance, you come upon someone dressed in rags and half-starved and say, 'Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!' and then walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup. What is the good of that? Isn't it obvious that God-talk without God-acts, faith without works, liberty without love is utter nonsense?" (James 2:14-17).

I wanted to say to the man, in no uncertain terms, "God loves you. God is devoted to you even in this time of need. You can trust God's love to contend with a world where people have their meager belongings stolen right out from under them. You can trust God's love to repair the rift and set things right. You can trust God's love to find a way to deal with injustice and violence and loss."

The problem is finding the right words and actions to make such promises come alive. There is so much evidence to the contrary. With this man it amounted to standing there, listening to his story, and then giving him $20 without making him work for it. "After everything you've been through," I told him, "you don't need to sweep floors in order to make $20. You need to know that somebody has heard your cry and trusted your story. You need to get busy replacing your identification. You need to experience God's love as something real, tangible, and productive."

"I've been to a dozen other places, and they couldn't help me." "Then your search ends right here." We scrounged $20 together and gave it away with a hope and a prayer that our kindness would be more than just a handout to another beggar. Perhaps this time it would be a hand up to God. And as we got some information from the man I could almost see a tear that flowing down his cheek. "Please come again," we told the man, "let us know how things are going."

While writing this sermon I received a telephone call from a church member who was agitated about the condition of her life and the absence of God. "I've gotten so far away from God," she told me, "that I'm afraid to pray. I don't want to come into God's presence because I'm scared of what God will do once I get there."

The words of Jesus came flooding back to me all over again. "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners." (Mark 2:17). Jesus was constantly being criticized for spending time with sinners. Remember the three parables in Luke 15: one about the lost sheep who wanders off from the flock, two about the lost coin that gets separated from the rest, and three about the lost son who goes to a foreign land and squanders his inheritance in dissolute living. In every instance, when the lost was found, a great celebration ensued in which the sin was forgotten and the sinner was brought back into the fold.

I wanted to say to this woman, in no uncertain terms, "God loves you. God is devoted to you even when you are not devoted to God. You can trust God's love to get beyond the petty bookkeeping of who did what to whom. You can trust God's love to exercise judgment with mercy and grace. You can trust God's love to welcome you home with open arms -- saying, with Jesus, "Does no one condemn you? Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more."

The problem is finding the right words and actions to make such promises come alive. There is so much evidence to the contrary. People beat themselves and others up without relief. With this woman it amounted to staying on the phone, listening to her story, praying with her, and making an appointment to see her next week. "Confessing your sins is a start," I told her, "perhaps we can take them one at a time."

These three stories are classic illustrations of the gospel truth. The Creator of the universe, the Power which was big enough to bang out the heavens and the earth, the Transcendent One above whom there is no other, has nevertheless bothered to call each and every one of us by name. God knows who we are, where we've come from, and where we're going. God knows the decisions we need to make and the temptations we're about to face. God knows and God cares.

When Hannah went to the temple, pouring out her heart to God with the problem of infertility, the priest thought she was drunk. Her husband thought she was crazy. "What more could you want -- you have me!" But Hannah wanted a child, and she knew that God alone held the key to life. She rocked back and forth. Her lips moved without any sound. She closed her eyes and opened her heart to God. When the priest understood the source of her anxiety and vexation, he said to her: "Go in peace. May God grant the petition you have made." And immediately her countenance lifted and she was sad no longer.

When Jesus went to Bethany, after hearing that his good friend Lazarus was about to die, he did so at considerable risk to himself and the disciples. The authorities there had already tried to stone him once. But Jesus' friendship with Lazarus was more important than the safety of his movement. Back they went into hostile territory. Martha came crying to Jesus. "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Then Mary came crying to Jesus. Finally Jesus came crying at the tomb. Everyone was beside themselves with grief, as though they had loved and cared for each other for more than 90 years.

The only way to account for all these stories, ancient and modern, is to understand that our God takes a personal interest in the lives of each and every one of us. Our God is neither an impersonal Spirit nor a mechanical Prime Mover. Our God is a lover of human company, destiny, and life. Our God is concerned about the course of history and the crucible of individuality. Our God is a mix of justice and mercy, pushing and pulling us along in the direction that we should go.

With a God like this, it's no wonder that we are urged to talk with God each and every day. What could separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord! There is no sin nor problem too great for the gracious presence of our God.
With a God like this, it's no wonder that we are surprised by God each and every day. Who can predict what the love of God will do next! The Spirit hovers and moves where it will, even as the wind blows, without human agency or design.
With a God like this, it's no wonder that we are urged to count on God each and every day. When everything else seems out of reach, the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord is as close as ever. This is the promise of the gospel.

I want you to hear this promise in no uncertain terms: God loves you! Love -- pure, unmitigated, indiscriminate, unconditional love -- is the only hope we've ever really had. Love is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last. In love we trust -- yesterday, today, and tomorrow -- now and forever. Amen.