4/2/10 I Cry Out

As any preacher will tell you, the sermon on the page is never exactly the sermon that ends up being preached, but I figured I'd start posting my written sermons anyway. I have some audio and video ones that I'm hoping to post as soon as I stop being lazy too. This was the sermon I preached on Good Friday this year at Wesley UMC in Concord, NH. Enjoy!

In his book The Contemplative Pastor, Eugene Peterson describes three kinds of languages that humans use to communicate. The first language is the language that each child learns. These are the words of relationship, of intimacy, of love. This is the simplest, deepest language that we have. The babbling of an infant can’t be translated, but it communicates deep meaning just the same. The nonsense syllables of a parent talking to a preverbal child have no definition, and yet their meaning cannot be mistaken. The first language we learn is the language of the heart - love language.

Quickly, though, this intimate language is pushed aside by the languages of information and motivation. The first, the language of information, is what we use to name things in the world - tree, box, cat, mother, brother. We define the world in words heavy with information, loaded with description - we speak about the world we see, hear, touch, feel and experience. The language of motivation is the language by which we are moved and the language which we use to move others. A child quickly learns that making a demand for “baba” will result in a quick treat; in most sermons, the pastor is using language of motivation to illuminate a point in scripture, or get the congregation to think about something or do something differently. The languages of information and motivation quickly replace the language of intimacy, of love, of relationship.

Poetry is a form that uses the language of intimacy. A poem can evoke emotions, feelings and sensations that a newspaper article simply cannot. It does this not by using the language of information or motivation, but by using the language of intimacy, of relationship, by placing words together in such a way that deep meaning is produced that goes far beyond words placed on a page or spoken in the air. The language of poetry, then, the language of love, the language of intimacy, is the language that Jesus uses when he cries out on the cross.

In the gospels, we read the story of Holy Week. We listened to the story last night, during the Tenebrae service. We heard about Jesus’ last week, beginning with the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, moving through his time spent teaching in the temple, the last meal with his friends, the despairing solitude in the garden, the betrayal, the trial, the crucifixion, the death. We hear the story in the language of information, and perhaps of motivation - certainly the writers of the gospel emphasized and de-emphasized depending on their particular perspective. But the language we hear most often as we rehearse once more the stories of Jesus in the final week of his life is the language of information - the language of the head, of description, the language that describes and defines. But the story is far more than simply the facts - it is far more than a torturous recitation of a story that began and ended, more than a simple remembering of what happened, more than a series of vignettes that follow one another in sequential order. When the gospel writers introduce Psalm 22 into the story, they are introducing the language of intimacy, the language of love, to deepen and broaden the story that must never become a simple recitation of events. The poem that we read earlier tonight enhances our experience of the story, and uses language that expresses far more than simple description ever could.

Psalm 22 has a typical structure for a Psalm. It alternates between complaining to God and expressing trust in God. It begins with the words that Luke puts in Jesus’ mouth while he hangs from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The word “forsaken” could also be translated as “abandoned” or “left behind.” The poet uses the word אֵלִי, a form which means “my God.” It is a form of the word that is especially intimate, something that is used between people who have close personal attachments. God has a prior relationship with the one who is crying out, and yet the poet feels abandoned, left behind. The psalmist is in the depths of despair; suffering and trials are recited, interspersed with remembering the goodness of God in the past. Even while remembering God’s mighty acts, though, there is a deep feeling of despair. The psalmist - and Jesus - are in a place so dark, they cannot sense the light of God’s love. “Trouble is near, and there is no one to help.”

In verses 12-21, the psalmist’s plight continues, but there is some hope. Danger still surrounds: “Many bulls encircle me;” “dogs are all around me.” The poet is close to death, on the boundary between life and death: “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint...you lay me in the dust of death.” The psalmist cries out, still in suffering but also in awe: “O my help,” the psalmist calls God. “Deliver me!” The sentence at the end of the second section sums it up: “From the horns of the wild oxen you have answered me.” Most translations translate “answered” as “rescued;” but I think “answered” works here. Even though the psalmist is still in the midst of sufferings, God has answered the poet from within the midst of the suffering. God is present in the suffering of the psalmist, and by using Psalm 22, the gospel writers are reminding us in a language deeper than words that God is also present in the suffering of Jesus on the cross - and God is present in our suffering as well.

In the final section of the Psalm, the poet is so moved by encountering God in the midst of suffering that she or he cannot contain their joy; a call is sounded to the people of the congregation, to the people of the community, to come join their voices in praise of the loving God who is present in our pain. This is the story that we tell in descriptive words this holy week - this is the story that we tell with the very living of our lives: the story of a God who loves us so much that God is with us in our suffering, even when we cannot sense God’s presence.

This Psalm is filled with expansive and explosive imagery. The images are graphic: the poet feels like a worm, dehumanized, degraded; the psalmist is surrounded by strong bulls that open their mouths wide as they roar; the poet’s heart is like wax, melted within her or his breast. Although it is composed of typical elements, it also pushes the boundaries of the form. Its movement from the depths of despair, through the hope found in suffering, to the exuberant call to the congregation to join in celebration runs the gamut of emotions that one encounters in one’s life story - the emotions we encounter in the stories of Holy Week. Psalm 22 is not unique because it’s used in the New Testament; Psalm 22 is used in the New Testament because it is unique.

I’ve had more people ask me this year, I suppose because they assume I’m in seminary and a pastor and so I must know, just what is so good about Good Friday. Because when we look at just the “facts”, there’s not much good on Good Friday. Jesus is on the cross; Jesus is suffering in a way that many of us have never witnessed unless we’re fans of horror films. Jesus is in the same depths that the psalmist is in, and Jesus cries out as the psalmist does, as we do when we find ourselves in the pit: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why have you abandoned me? Why have you left me behind, when you promised to be with me through everything? Jesus uses intimate language to address God - not the dry language of description, or the cajoling language of motivation, but the deep, heart-felt, spirit-driven language of love and loss, bliss and pain, joy and sorrow.

But remember, the Psalm does not end with a lament, the psalmist does not end in despair. This Psalm ends in rejoicing; and this story ends, we know, in the joy of Easter, the defeat of death, the way of love that defines the story, that defines our story. The psalmist rejoices because God is found in the suffering; even in the midst of pain, even in the depths of despair, God is present, God is with us, God loves us. That is what is so good about Good Friday: Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us, cries out in pain and sorrow from the cross, and God is there. Our Savior, the Christ, the Anointed One, dies on a cross tonight, but on Sunday morning he will be absent from the tomb. God is with us in the person of Jesus, and God is with us even in the deepest, darkest moments when darkness overwhelms the light.

Tonight, we remember the death of a person who did not deserve to die. His death was ugly, it was harsh, it was violent and brutal and would most certainly be rated R if it were to be shown on screen today. We like to forget that part; we clean it up, maybe have some artfully drawn blood dripping from his hands in the more realistic paintings, but generally we prefer to remember our Jesus as we will remember him on Sunday - with jubilation, and singing, and rejoicing. But before the joy of Easter, we remember his death: the embodiment of cruelty and injustice, physical pain almost unimaginable, emotional pain equally indescribable, a death from which our Savior cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

As Jesus cried out from the cross, so too we cry out from our places of darkness, from our own pain and suffering. We encounter our own deaths, our own trials, and we cry out “My God, why have you forsaken me? Why am I so alone?” The good news, sisters and brothers, spoken to us in the words of intimacy, of poetry, of love, is that God is with us in the depths. God who loves so much that God died on a cross; that is the God who is with us in our suffering. Even when we cannot see or hear or feel that presence, it is there. We are never alone. We are not forsaken.

Changing Directions

After this weekend's incredible conference on emerging Christianity (sponsored by the CAC), I'm going to try and take this blog in a slightly different direction. Which shouldn't be difficult, given the fact that I've only been updating once a month. I'll still try and talk about interesting intersections of pop culture and Christianity, but I'm also going to start posting some of my sermons and papers for my brothers and sisters for whom Concord, NH is just too far to go. I'm hoping this will let me stay in touch with all the amazing people I'm encountering on this journey, and will also keep me on my toes in terms of my own theological development.

Everything I post does come from the heart, but that doesn't mean I don't want feedback. Even if you disagree - especially if you disagree - please drop a comment or an observation. That's what helps me grow. Of course, if you have an encouraging word, I'll take that too.

~peace&blessings~

Sin of Sodom

So whenever a newspaper headline has the word "Sodom" in it, I'll admit, I'm probably going to read it. Here's an interesting article by Nick Kristof about evangelicalism in the U.S. and how it might deviate from some of the stereotypes held by those outside of the church. I don't identify as a conservative evangelical, but I do think that far too often the good work done by the church is overlooked thanks to the media's focus on the more strident voices coming out of Christianity in the U.S. today.

While I appreciated the overall tone of the article, this part did leave me a little cringe-y:

In one striking passage, Mr. Stearns quotes the prophet Ezekiel as saying that the great sin of the people of Sodom wasn’t so much that they were promiscuous or gay as that they were “arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” (Ezekiel 16:49.)

If I'm not mistaken, many Biblical scholars been saying for years that Sodom is not about homosexuality but about hospitality. This was something we learned in Intro to Hebrew Bible, in our first semester of seminary. It's something I've heard preached on. It makes me sad that Mr. Kristof finds this so striking. If those of us in the church want to let people know that not all of us interpret what the Bible has to say about homosexuality literally, we need to speak up about it. This is a basic text used by many who blindly quote the Bible's prohibitions against homosexuality without doing the contextual work necessary for thorough exegesis.

And it serves as yet another reminder that no matter how loudly we shout from the doors of the church that not all of us use the Bible as a weapon, there is little we can do to change people's opinions of the church and of our faith unless we go out into the world and show them what being a follower of Christ is all about.

I've struggled to articulate why I think it is so important that pop culture and theology are brought into dialogue. I still haven't quite gotten there, but this quotation from Vincent Van Gogh struck a chord for me:

...modern reality has got such a hold on us that, even when we attempt to reconstruct the ancient days in our thoughts abstractly, the minor events of our lives tear us away from our meditations, and our own adventures thrust us back into our personal sensations - joy, boredom, suffering, anger or a smile.

Just made me think.

Tattoo & Sacrament

I've been meaning to post this ever since my last tattoo session, but well, December = finals + Christmas working at a church, so this is the first time I've gotten around to it. First, the tattoo. Remember, it's not done, but people have been asking for pics, so here it is.

The tree at the bottom is in cool colors - blue, green, and purple; but as you follow the tree up, it bursts into red, orange and yellow flames, and the phoenix erupts. The part that has yet to be finished includes the top, where blue and purple will dominate, a starry universe sky. When I first described what I wanted to my artist (Sean Ambrose), I explained that I wanted something that would express how our lives are filled with both love and loss, how there will always be things that disrupt and transform our lives, but in the end, all will be for the best. I've had the phoenix for six years now, and I wanted to work it into the half-sleeve as a symbol of change and rebirth. I can't wait to get it finished, and I'm thrilled with how it's turned out so far.

(By the way, if you're in New England and looking for an artist, I can't say enough about Sean at Midnight Moon in Meredith, NH. I'd drive four hours to see him...probably more. If you're looking for highly realistic work, amazing colors, and/or an artist who will truly work with you to create a piece of art that you'll carry for the rest of your life, he's your guy. Check out his portfolio here.)

In Worship class this semester, we talked about sacrament an awful lot. There are a lot of definitions, and they vary from tradition to tradition, but Augustine's "visible sign of an invisible reality" resonates with me a lot. The United Methodist Church's Articles of Religion call the sacraments "means of grace by which God works invisibly in us."

As you might guess from my description of my half-sleeve above, my spirituality has everything to do with my body modifications (see previous post about lip rings...) As we were talking about tattoos and spirituality, I said "For me, my tattoos are an external expression of an internal reality...a visible physical manifestation of an invisible truth." At which point I instantly flashed back to Worship class, and realized that for me, my ink is most definitely the visible sign of an invisible reality.

Although many don't know it, Christianity and tattoos go way back. The following is excerpted from a paper I wrote about tattoos and the gospel last spring:

"Although the practice was banned by Constantine in the 3rd century, only 150 years later there's a report in a commentary on Isaiah that Christians were being tattooed on their arms with the cross or the name of Jesus. In 787 an edict by the Council of Northumberland distinguished between sacred and secular tattooing, encouraging the first and condemning the second. The practice was banned by the Roman Catholic church at the beginning of the middle ages as "a form of deviltry," but picked up by Crusaders traveling to the Holy Land. For several centuries, pilgrims to Jerusalem were by and large the only ones in Western Europe to receive tattoos. That changed in the 1700s, when explorers began to encounter various tribal cultures and their tattooing practices. From that point on, tattooing virtually exploded among sailors, soldiers, and the aristocratic elite, leading up to the present day." (citations available upon request)

So I know that an external sign of my internal reality isn't what Augustine was talking about when he defined sacrament; and I know that my tattoos aren't sacraments the way communion and baptism are. But there's something in this whole visible manifestation of the invisible thing. I also know that a lot of Christians still feel nervous when someone who looks like me with tattoos and piercings walks into a church; I'm pretty grateful that I serve a congregation that's willing to stretch itself and move beyond its comfort zone as far as that's concerned.

But in this post-modern, post-Christian or at least post-church world, body modification doesn't need to be something that separates those who follow Christ from those who don't. I argue that it can be a point of connection - a place where we can acknowledge that there is a deep, human need to recognize the spiritual physically, to express with words and ritual and art the deep spiritual truths that we know individually and collectively. In a 2005 survey, 24% of Americans had one or more tattoos; in the 18-29 age range, that number jumped to 36%. Tattoos are not fringe or a fad; they are a part of our culture, and a way that a generation disillusioned with the church's take on spirituality is using to connect with the internal and external divine. If the church doesn't recognize and embrace these new-old ways of being in communion with others and with God, it has no one to blame for its death but itself.

~peace&blessings~

Celebrity Voyeurism

I don't know about you, but I am tired of this whole Tiger Woods thing. Although I'm loathe to admit this, I get US Weekly mailed to my house. I never signed up for this gossip magazine, and yet every week it arrives, and every week I read it cover to cover. I know all about who's dating who, who's wearing what, and how much money I need to spend in order to be pretty and popular. I hate it, but I can't put it down. This week, the cover story was about Tiger and his mistresses. If you want to hear about the dirty details, just Google it...

I feel dirty when I read about these things. I couldn't even make it through the whole Tiger story. Other recent scandals that have made me feel the same way are the whole Jon and Kate divorce, and reaching further back, poor Michael Phelps and his choice of herbal inhalants. Nationally, and even globally, our society feeds on the perceived moral failings of its god-celebrities. Somehow we think that if someone is worthy of our attention, that their sins are fair game for judgment, criticism and dissection. Something about this socially condoned and encouraged hunger feels fundamentally wrong to me, and I'm trying to figure out exactly what it is.

As Christians, we are indeed called to be holy - to be set apart. Historically this has been tied most clearly to our bodies - who we choose to sleep with, what we choose to ingest, where we choose to go and with whom we associate. But the kingdom of God is about relationship - how we interact in all our brokenness with all the other broken people in the world, and how together we can choose love over hate, peace over violence, acceptance over judgment. Too often, however, Christians have been at the forefront of the judgment parade, chastising anyone who doesn't adhere to "The Rules" as unholy, unworthy, undeserving of forgiveness unless they seem appropriately sorry.

Being called to holiness doesn't give us the right to demand the same of others. Being called to follow Christ means rejecting the wisdom of this world, it means choosing to be in relationship with others based on love, not self-interest. Should Christians read US Weekly? Why am I so drawn to this gossip, and why does it make me feel so dirty after I've partaken? What if anything should the church say about celebrities' infidelities and poor choices? And why does the whole world seem to take pleasure when one of its created gods falls so far?

Theology of a Lip Ring

I had to take my lip ring out. It never healed quite right, and so I went to get it looked at on Monday. The guy said, "Oh, your jewelry's just too small. I'll switch it out for you." But when he went to switch it out, it was too swollen to put it in. So he said, very apologetically, that he would repierce it for me once it healed. I had been somewhat prepared for this possibility, but was disappointed nonetheless. While I'm having fun being able to drink from both sides of my mouth again, I do miss my lip ring a whole bunch. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get it done again, once this one heals. There are plenty of people who understand why, but also a large number of people who don't. I run into this a lot.

I have seven tattoos in addition to my dearly departed lip ring. I didn't modify my body in order to shock, or to be different, or to be cool. Granted, sometimes it's fun to shock and be different, but it can also sometimes be detrimental when trying to establish relationships. I got my piercings and tattoos because they're an expression of who I am and where I've been. They are a physical expression of the spiritual, emotional and mental journey I've been on my whole life; as I continue that journey, I expect that I will continue to change on the outside, continue to reflect how I'm changing on the inside.

The mods do make some people uncomfortable, though, especially when it comes to publicly performing the duties of a mainline church pastor. Although I know it does make some uncomfortable, I will not hide or change my modifications in order to participate in or lead worship in my church. When asked to consider whether I would take the lip ring out in order to lead worship, my answer must definitively be no. I've thought a lot about that answer, practically and theologically.

I believe that worship should be a place and time where we can come as we are. If I change who I am (and a visible piercing or tattoo definitely says something about who I am) in order to lead worship, then I'm saying there's something wrong with the way I am. That somehow, I'm not acceptable to talk to and about God in front of people unless I look more like them; that I have to change in order to become suitable.

One argument against this could be the same one used to prevent me from wearing my cap backwards when I played softball in sixth grade. When you do a certain job, or perform a certain function, there's a certain outfit you wear. For softball, it was a uniform, and everyone was supposed to look the same. Some may argue that leading worship is like any other job - there's certain clothing and apparel that are appropriate, and others that are not. I don't have a problem wearing a skirt to worship, although the heels can be a bit much. As much as I'd like to wear jeans, I don't have a problem wearing slacks instead; I understand that for many people, Sunday morning is still a time to "bring your best", and if I wore jeans it would distract them so much I wouldn't be able to lead well. I totally hear that argument, and think it has validity.

But my point is that for me, at least, body modification isn't something that I do casually, like I choose my clothing. While piercings are less permanent than tattoos, both are at least semi-permanent outward expressions of inward truths. While I do appreciate the aesthetics of the lip ring and of my tats, they also do a whole lot more than look good. They start conversations, identify me with a number of cultural groups, and serve as outward reminders of certain places on my journey that have transformed me. The process of choosing and getting a piercing or tattoo serves as a significant spiritual ritual for me.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, and I also know a lot of people don't feel this way. Let me hear from you either way.

~peace&blessings~