"Can These Bones Live?" a sermon on John 11:1-45 and Ezekiel 37:1-14

John 11:1-45
Ezekiel 37:1-14
“Can These Bones Live?”
Preached Sunday, March 26, 2023

We have been asking questions this Lent. Questions of ourselves, questions of each other, and questions of God. The point of focusing on questions this Lent is, the hope and prayer is, that through our honest questions, we would draw closer to God. That we would truly live into the purpose of Lent which is to prepare our hearts and minds and souls for the miracle of Easter.

And if that is the case, if Lent is about preparing ourselves for the resurrection, shouldn’t we ask: Can these bones live? Do I believe in the power and possibility of resurrection?

In our “Seeking: Honest Questions for a Deeper Faith” Lenten devotional, the Rev. Danielle Shroyer reminds us that in the story of the Valley of the Dry Bones in Ezekiel, God doesn’t ask about the probability of resurrection, God asks if it is a possibility. CAN these bones live?

And so as we hear this question echoing in our ears and hearts today, let’s turn to these two stories of Resurrection in our Scriptures. Not THE Resurrection of Easter, of Jesus defeating the powers of sin and death - but Resurrection nonetheless. Life where there was death. New Beginnings where there were endings. Flesh where there were bones. Breath where there was none. Resurrection.

In Ezekiel, we have a vision of a valley of dry bones with no flesh left - completely stripped. Now, I recently read a book called “Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? Big Questions about Death from Tiny Mortals.” In it, author and mortician Caitlin Doughty answers questions about death and bodies posed to her by kids. I’ll tell you right now, this book is not for the easily squeamish. And in that book she talks about how long it would take for a body to be completely de-fleshed, to just be bones - and honestly, it has a lot to do with how deep the grave is and what the climate and wildlife is - in a coffin, it could be more than a decade. In other wet climates, weeks. In deserts, much longer - one of the reasons the Egyptians were able to preserve bodies for so long in the desert. But most likely, several years at least. Now, remember - this was a vision Ezekiel had and so likely wasn’t an actual valley of bones - but the dry bones without flesh or sinew, were to represent a place of death - where there had not been life for a long time - no evidence of life remained, just the bones. Like the Israelities that Ezekiel spoke to, having lost any sign of hope, in a long exile…a valley with dry bones…

In John, we have a four day old body, fresh in the grave. In her book, Doughty talks a lot about what happens to the body right after dying…and it’s a lot. Details aren’t necessary but it’s messy. It smells. It's visceral. It’s raw. Being a mortician is not a calling I could ever have. Martha even makes a comment to Jesus, Lord, his body is only four days old, if we remove the stone from the grave, the stench will be unbearable… If the dry bones represent a place or state that has been long without life, long without hope…then then the four day old body of Lazarus can represent a place or state where grief and despair are raw, where the pain is still fresh and the enormity of loss, obscures any way forward for life.

The question in both these stories is: Is Resurrection possible?

Before we answer that question, I want to ask - which story do you relate to most right now? Or perhaps you can relate to them both in different ways.

Have any of you ever had an area of your life where you’ve written off the possibility of new life?
Perhaps a relationship long broken.
Chronic depression or anxiety.
A dream you let go off.

Or what about an area of our world that you’ve long written off?
The dream for peace
For restorative climate justice
For an equitable and inclusive society

Or are any of you in the midst of raw and visceral grief? Where life is just messy? Where you can’t see past whatever is going on…
A recent death of a loved one.
A divorce or separation.
A new diagnosis.

Or what about an area of our world that we are living in the midst of that zaps us of hope?
The war in Ukraine
The visceral and vicious attacks against children of God who are trans
The rise of anti-semitism and related hate crimes?

Where are you letting cynicism, despair, doubt write off the possibility of resurrection in your life or the world? Where does resurrection seem impossible?

…

A valley of dry bones. A four day old body. Your life. The world.

Where is resurrection NOT possible?
The answer for God is, nowhere.
Can these bones live?
Yes!
Is resurrection possible?
Yes!

The Rev. Danielle Shroyer says, “To be quite honest, very few things feel more ridiculous than hope these days.” And, as Christians, as people who worship the Resurrected Jesus, we are called to be people of ridiculous hope!

In a word that has been long without hope. In a world that is so messy…we are called to proclaim resurrection. That new beginnings and new life is ALWAYS possible.

In the beginning of the sermon I said, in order to prepare ourselves for the resurrection, we should ask ourselves: Can these bones live? Do I believe in the power and possibility of resurrection?

The power of the resurrection comes from the fact that to preach and hope and believe in resurrection in this world of death and despair IS ridiculous. Our world thinks resurrection is ridiculous. We say in our Communion liturgy:

“By the baptism of his suffering, death, and resurrection
you gave birth to your Church,
delivered us from slavery to sin and death,
and made with us a new covenant by water and the Spirit.”

Without Jesus, without the resurrection, we are enslaved to sin and death. Much of our world still is under the powers of sin and death and despair - devoid of the hope of resurrection. To proclaim resurrection is to claim that we are under God, a new covenant, through baptism and the resurrection… We are people who, through Jesus and the resurrection, are set free from sin and death and are given the ridiculous hope of new life, of resurrection.

To end this sermon where we have asked “Can These Bones Live? Do I believe in the power and possibility of resurrection?” I’d like to read a poem by The Rev. Sarah Speed entitled “The Answer is Yes”:

“It’s the question we ask at the end of our rope,
when the storm is raging,
when the monsters under the bed have introduced themselves.

When everything around us seems to be on fire.

It’s the question we ask when hope slips through like sand in a bottle,
when the mockingbirds stop singing,
when the news reporter leads with another mass shooting.

It’s the question we ask when the depression moves in,
making herself at home, making a mess of it all.

It’s the question we ask
when we’re not sure if Easter will come.
Will it be Lent forever?
Will the sun ever rise?
Will this hope lead to something?
Can these bones ever live?”

Can these bones live? Do I believe in the power and possibility of resurrection?

I pray our answer is yes.

Amen.

"Who Sinned?" a sermon on John 9:1-41

John 9:1-41
“Who Sinned?”
Preached Sunday, March 19, 2023

“His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned? This man or his parents?’”

Have you ever heard the phrase “There are no stupid questions”? Perhaps I’d agree with that saying if the questions are truly asked out of a desire for knowledge and to gain a deeper understanding. But when questions are asked as a way to cast blame, to judge, and to drive wedges in between people - then yes, there are stupid questions. And “Who sinned?” is one of them.

In our “Seeking” Lenten devotional, The Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow says this about the disciples’ question of “Who sinned?”: “The disciples' first reaction is to debate the blindness and not deal at all with the human. Intellectualizing and theologizing outside of seeing the created being right in front of them led them to ask the wrong questions. Rather than ask, ‘How can we heal and help?’ they ask, ‘Whose fault is it?’”

The question by the disciples is misguided, at best, and despite intention, is downright harmful. And even though Jesus gives this man sight through an intimate act of healing, involving spit and dirt, he suffers continued harm by those around him. The Pharisees are stuck in their assumption that this man must have done something wrong to be blind. They are convinced that Jesus should not have healed him. They are so sure that there are fingers to be pointed and blame to be cast.

After the initial question of “Who sinned?” a lot of, well, stupid, questions are asked in this Scripture passage:

"Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?"
"Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?"
"What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?"

They ask this man who Jesus gave sight to over and over, “Who are you? How did this happen? Who was it that did it to you?” But we know they are not asking because of a quest for knowledge. We know this because the healed man says to them: "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?"

I’ve told you - and you’re not listening to me! You’re not listening because my answers don’t fit your assumptions - assumptions that I deserved this, assumptions that Jesus, this man who healed me, did something wrong. And they refuse to have their mind changed. This exchange between the man and the Pharisees ends with this: “‘You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?’ And they drove him out.”

This piece of art by The Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity really drives home this point. There is the man, his eyes opened and seeing, and all around him are pointed fingers, trying to find blame and answers that meet their assumptions. In her artist statement on this piece she says, “I wonder what this story would look like had better questions been asked. What if his neighbors had instead asked the blind man, ‘How do you feel?’ What if the man had asked the crowd, ‘What are you afraid of?’ What if the Pharisees had asked one another, ‘What if it’s time to change?’”

Okay - let’s take a step back here. I’ve been pretty harsh on the disciples and the Pharisees - even going as far as to use the ‘s’ word (stupid) to describe their questions that are asked out of assumptions…and, I also think it is very much a part of human nature. And as we call out the behavior of those in this Scripture passage…instead of pointing fingers at them… we need to turn and look at ourselves.

The disciples’ first reaction was to debate, to intellectualize with “Who Sinned?” rather than looking at the full human man in front of them. How often is OUR first reaction to debate, to intellectualize, to ask questions that don’t look at the people who were made in the image of God that are suffering in front of us? Perhaps questions like this sound familiar to our ears:

“What was she wearing?”
“Where they here legally?”
“Why didn’t he just do what he was told?”

Consider immigration, the UMC split, rights of minorities and LGBTQ folks, disability rights…often, like the Disciples we move straight to debate and intellectualize. And like the Pharisees, we ask questions based off of our assumptions and finger pointing, dead set on our minds not being changed.

How could these conversations go, if, instead of asking questions that blame or finger point or are steeped in our assumptions, we asked questions with gentleness and curiosity? The Rev. Reyes-Chow uses the phrase “empathetic inquiry.” These are open questions of curiosity that center the person or persons we are asking them off as children of God, made in the image of God, who deserve love and support as much as any other person in this world.

What if, as a community, as a country, as a world, instead of saying to one another “You’re wrong” we said, “I don’t understand you…yet.” And then we asked questions of each other and listened well, seeking understanding and clarity.

Think right now of a hot button issue in the church. Consider any issue of disagreement in our church and our world… What if, instead of saying to each other, “How could you believe THAT?” and instead of having conversations that do immense harm, seek to prove our own points, and cast people out…what if we asked questions like, “How did you reach that conclusion?” “How do you understand the Bible?” “What experiences of yours inform you of believing this way?” “How could we show love for one another?” “How do we show love for all people?” “How can I walk with you?”

The Pharisees threw the blind man out… Instead of changing their perspective, instead of being open to what he had to say and what Jesus did, they dug in heels and threw him out. Casting out someone who disagrees with you is much easier than opening ourselves up to questions of empathetic inquiry… so let us hear this passage as a cautionary tale and a convicting challenge, for us to do the inner and relational work so we don’t get bogged down in the wrong questions, the finger pointing, and digging our heels in… Let us learn from this passage that we can do better, we can let empathy and compassion and a recognition of the image of God in every single person guide our questions…until our first reaction stops being asking “Who sinned?” and instead meeting people in compassion and empathy, with ears and hearts ready to listen and to learn.

May it be so.

Amen.

"Will You Give Me A Drink?" a sermon based on John 4:5-42 and Exodus 17:1-7

John 4:5-42
Exodus 17:1-7
“Will You Give Me A Drink?”
Preached Sunday, March 12, 2023

How are you?
Good! And you?
Oh, I’m doing alright!

How many of us have interactions like this every day? In the midwest we use “How are you?” as interchangeable with “hello!” And often, we don’t expect an honest answer, we keep it surface level to be socially acceptable. Common and acceptable answers are:

Good.
I’m well!
Fine.
And even, hanging in there.
Oh, you know…
Or the ever acceptable: Keepin’ busy!

Now, I once heard of a clergy colleague who, for Lent, decided to practice vulnerability. So every time the question was asked, “How are you?” She would answer honestly. And it was hard. People were often so surprised and taken aback and they didn’t know how to respond. Can you imagine when the grocery cashier asked you how you were and you said “Overwhelmed.” Uhhh… how are they going to reply? “Paper or plastic?” There were times where she really didn’t want to answer honestly. When a parishioner asked her how she was doing and it would be so much easier and quicker to say “Fine!” when she was anything but… Of course, I would imagine there were moments where, when she said “Great!” “Grateful.” “Feeling loved.” - the words had more meaning because for her, she knew it was true. And, she found, it gave her a better self awareness of how she was doing. To be able to stop and check in with herself before answering - and it opened up doors for people to be vulnerable and open in return.

Of course, there are times when the reverse is true as well. Just as when we ask “How are you?” and expect a non-vulnerable, surface level answer…there are times we want to ask someone a deeply personal question but are afraid to do so - so we ask them another question that is a softer blow or easier ask.

Can you think of examples from your own personal life?

Perhaps you’ve asked a spouse if they took out the trash when you really want to ask, “Are you still mad at me?” Or asked them if they vacuumed or picked up like you asked them to but really wanted to know if they see how hard you work. Or, “Will you eat dinner with me?” instead of, “Do you still love me?”
Or for parents of teenagers, asking them how their school day was when you really want to ask them if they are depressed and suicidal. “Do you make any new friends today?” when you really want to ask “Are you gay?”
Or for parents of adult children, “What are you doing tonight?” instead of “Is your partner abusive?” Or “How’s the job going?” instead of “Are you really happy?”
Or for those who have older parents - we may ask “How are you?” but unlike when we expect a shallow answer we really want to know, “Are you forgetting things?” “How is your heart?” “How much time do I have left with you?”

I think you get that point and you probably have examples running through your minds - questions you’ve been asked, questions you want to ask, questions you’re too afraid to ask. We ask the easier question because we’re afraid of the real answers, the vulnerable answers. We want to know but we also don’t want to know…and so we ask…without really asking. We skirt around the questions, skirt around being vulnerable with each other.

Let’s take this concept from our lives and look at how it plays out in our Scriptures from this morning. In our reading from Exodus, the Israelites ask for a drink, they ask for water. They even become defensive against Moses - getting angry at him saying he brought them out of Egypt to kill them. But their anger is a shield for asking the question they’re too afraid to ask. They ask for water…because what they really want to ask is, “God, have you abandoned us?” “God, do you still love us? Will you still care for us?” “Are you still our God even now?”

Rev. Danielle Shroyer says this about this Scripture passage in our Seeking Lenten Devotional: “What would it have looked like, I wonder, if the Israelites had instead cried out for God’s assurance? ‘Show us you’re still with us, God,’ they could have prayed with open hearts. ‘We feel alone and unmoored.’ Where could the water have come from, if the question had come from a softer place than the rock of our human defenses?”

God still gave them water - and through the gift of water answered the question they were really asking, “God, do you still love us? Will you still care for us?” And God answers with water: Yes. And still, what could this exchange have looked like if the Israelites were open and honest, vulnerable with God, if they poured their hearts out and God was able to meet them tenderly and lovingly in that desert space…

The Israelites' words are mirrored in Jesus’s words to the Samaritan woman at the well. “Give me a drink.” Unlike the Israelites, who ask for a drink as a way to avoid the questions they really want to ask, when Jesus is asking for a drink, it is an invitation to the Samaritan woman to enter deeper into the conversation, to practice vulnerability, as she draws a drink from the deep well.

Rev. Shroyer continues in our Lenten devotional by saying, “Everything he risks by speaking with her—crossing cultural, religious, and social lines—demonstrates his willingness to be vulnerable. When he asks for what he needs, he shows that even he cannot make it alone. What a risk for the Son of God to be so openly human. And yet, it is this question—and his willingness—that leads to this woman’s transformation. Despite a long list of good reasons why she shouldn’t be vulnerable to anyone, she boldly asks Jesus for living water instead. And she did so fully trusting he would give it.”

Indeed, everything about Jesus’s interaction with this woman exposed vulnerability, his willingness to be open and honest with her, and in doing so, extending an invitation to be real and honest with him.

Jesus offers the same opportunity for us today - for us to meet Jesus in his vulnerability.

Let me say that again: Jesus offers the same opportunity for us today - for us to meet Jesus in his vulnerability.

How does that sentence sit with you? How does the idea of Jesus being vulnerable make you feel? Of God being vulnerable? I think many of us may be initially uncomfortable with this idea of God being vulnerable - we do so much to shore ourselves up from vulnerability - and to shore up our God from vulnerability. Well thought up arguments and comebacks to justify our theology, our participation in church and religion… Not to mention the physical and emotional walls we put up around ourselves. What do you mean that God invites us to meet Jesus in his vulnerability?

That God is vulnerable is the Scandal of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

That God came in the form of a baby, a vulnerable tiny baby. That God submitted to a human woman: for her to say yes to grow the child of God in her womb, and for that child - for God - to be nurtured, fed, cared for and taught about love - by humans.
And then that vulnerable God child would grow into a God man - who was still vulnerable. Who had vulnerable flesh that could bleed. Vulnerable breath that could stop. A vulnerable body that could be tortured and killed.

Jesus is the essence of God’s vulnerability - that God fully submitted God’s self to our human vulnerability - for God to place the whole life of God’s self in Jesus into the hands of humanity - there is nothing more vulnerable than God in Jesus.

This is the scandal of the Good News - as Jesus talking to the Samaritan woman was a scandal - vulnerability often is scandalous. We want our God to be a strong tower, a fortress, unbreakable… But God in Jesus invites us to be fully human with God, and to be fully human means to be vulnerable with each other.

The God who made God’s self vulnerable with us and for us, *wants* our vulnerability, our openness, our whole messy human selves in return. I am going to say that sentence one more time too: The God who made God’s self vulnerable with us and for us, *wants* our vulnerability, our openness, our whole messy human selves in return.

And, God’s omniscience, that’s the idea that God already knows everything about me - is not an excuse to not be vulnerable with God. God wants us to talk to God. To ask our questions - our real questions. To open our hearts to God, to pour our hearts out, to give God every bit of ourselves - messy vulnerability and all.

As Christians who follow Jesus, we are called to vulnerable lives. To be vulnerable with God, that is, to give our whole selves to God, to hold nothing back from God - and to be vulnerable with each other - and that is, place our lives in each other’s hands. To ask questions that show care and love for another. To allow others into your life, to allow yourself to ask for help and to be helped. To realize that our mutual thriving is in the hands of our neighbor….

The work of vulnerability is hard. Let’s start this practice by focusing our attention onto our vulnerable God and starting there, asking God our questions, the real questions, the ones we’ve been too afraid to ask, even of God. Ask those questions because our God can handle them - and God will meet us in our vulnerability.

May it be so.

Amen.

Call to Worship for Good Friday

Call to Worship for Good Friday

L: Tonight we gather,
P: to tell the story
L: Tonight we gather,
P: to remember.
L:Tonight we gather,
P: to weep.
L: Tonight we gather,
P: at the foot of the cross.
L: Tonight we gather,
P: to worship our Crucified Lord.

"How Do We Begin Again?" a sermon on John 3:1-17

John 3:1-17
“How Do We Begin Again?”
Preached Sunday, March 5, 2023

This Lent we have embarked on a sermon series called “Seeking: Honest Questions for a Deeper Faith” - every Sunday the worship theme will be a question that we ask of God and of ourselves.

We are in good company today as we ask our questions, that’s all Nicodemus does of Jesus in our Gospel lesson:

How can anyone be born after having grown old?
Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?
How can these things be?

Even when he first approaches Jesus, he gives a statement but it’s really a question: He came to Jesus by night and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." It sounds like a statement but the text says “Jesus answered him…” And this could be the back and forth of conversation, but to me, it sounds like Jesus is hearing the unasked question in Nicodemus’s statement and answering it.

Nicodemus is asking: If you are who you say you are, if you are from God, if, if, if…then it changes everything, right? And if it changes everything…How do I change? The course of life I am on, the theology and beliefs I live by, how I interact with others, my friends and my support system…if what you say is true…How does everything change for me? …How do I begin again?

That’s why Jesus answers and talks about being born again, about starting anew. It is what Nicodemus is asking. Because “How do I begin again?” is also “How do I leave behind everything I’ve ever known and start anew so radically, that it is as if I am a completely new person, having been born again?” How do I begin again when beginning again means everything is going to change?

Have you ever asked yourself the question, “How do I begin again?” Odds are, you have. And, for many of you, you have asked yourself this question in multiple major turning points of your life, maybe you are even asking it now.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night. There has been a lot of ink spilled and words preached over why the inclusion of this detail is important. For me, for this sermon, I think it represents the liminal space that Nicodemus is in. Do you know what I mean by liminal space? It means you are at a threshold. Think of where the water meets the shore. Think of the 9 months of pregnancy. Think of the time in-between diagnosis and making a treatment plan. Think of the time between separating and the divorce being finalized. Think of in-between it being announced your pastor is moving and not knowing who the next pastor will be. Think about deciding to change career paths but not yet having made the switch. Think about anytime you’ve resolved to do something to change your life…and yet you haven’t made a move on it yet or are waiting for the pieces to fall into place - this is living in liminal space.

In Scripture, Nicodemus coming to visit Jesus under cover of darkness represents this liminal space. The dark before dawn. The questions asked before the answer. The weighing of options before a choice is made… While I thought of this week’s sermon and the question. “How do we begin again?” I kept on imagining the scene of standing on a cliff’s edge and the waters below.

Sometimes change, sometimes beginning again, can feel like that big momentous jump off the edge of the cliff - a big leap of faith into something new and exciting and promising new life for us. We know that even if it hurts or even if it will be hard or even if there is a risk - that the jump will be worth it. That the leap will, hopefully, pay off - and so we take it.

This may be something like the decision to be married. The decision to have a child. The decision to choose a career path or change careers. The decision to leave a relationship that isn’t safe or fulfilling. The decision to make a change so that our lives will be better, so that we can live into better love of God and neighbor… and even then, even when these are good things or things we choose, the decision can be hard. The leap of faith can be scary.

But other times…we might not even know we are on a cliff’s edge. And instead of a leap of faith, it can feel like we are pushed off the cliff and into the water below. Dawn shared a story with me that I have permission to share with you this morning. Some years ago, her husband, Dale, was walking through the woods and took a step forward and suddenly, under the weight of his body, the ground fell out beneath him and he fell, going 20 feet down, landing in a standing position, and breaking some bones in the process. I wouldn’t call that a leap of faith so much as a painful fall… Perhaps as a kid someone pushed you into the pool, a feeling of weightlessness and panic before the water hits you, hoping you have time to hold your breath before you take in water.

Some change and new beginnings come in this way, a more scary, unsure, and not by-our-choice way. This can be when a spouse or child or loved one dies. When we get a diagnosis. When we’re fired or laid off from a job. When a disaster happens and our whole world changes. The ground falls out from beneath us - we are pushed off a cliff - pushed into the deep end - and we wonder - “How do I begin again…when it wasn’t my choice to begin again? When I don’t want to begin again?” You might give anything to not have to begin again - to have things back the way they were. You might pray to God not only - “How do I begin again?” but “Where are you in all this?”

Let’s take a moment here and pivot to our reading from Genesis today: “Now the LORD said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.’”

Now, in the 11th chapter of Genesis, the chapter before this, there is a long genealogy - the kind of genealogy we read and our eyes glaze over. But what we learn from it at the end is this: “Terah took his son Abram and his grandson Lot son of Haran and his daughter-in-law Sarai, his son Abram’s wife, and they went out together from Ur of the Chaldeans to go into the land of Canaan, but when they came to Haran, they settled there. The days of Terah were two hundred five years, and Terah died in Haran.”

The genealogy tells us that for Terah, Abram’s father, and for Abram and Sarai, their homeland was a place marked with death and childlessness so they left it with a goal in mind, a new destination, a new beginning, they took a big leap of faith…but they never quite got there. They settled along the way. Perhaps enough for Haran to feel like home to Abram and Sarai when God told them…”pack up and move, I have bigger and better plans for you, begin again. And I will always be with you and your descendants - from this time forward, you are blessed. I have a vision of the future where you are flourishing - and I will always be with you.”

Sometimes when we ask, “How do I begin again?” - when we finally begin to ask that question - we realize we’ve been changing for a long time, we’ve been inching ourselves closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, we’ve been moving along slowly but steadily, moving towards a new beginning at a speed where it is almost unnoticed until we stop and reflect on how far we’ve come. Maybe a better metaphor, instead of jumping (or being pushed) off a cliff - would be chrysalis. The day the butterfly breaks out, the day of a new beginning, wasn’t the start of that change, the change began long before. The day you started thinking that something needed to give, the day you started planning, the day you started dreaming, the first time you thought: “How do I begin again?” Just by asking that question, you already have.

Many preachers have said that we don’t see an immediate change in Nicodemus from his conversation with Jesus - but that’s not entirely true. Yes, he is confused in the conversation and he goes away…but for him to have come to Jesus at all, in the night, in that liminal space, and ask him, “How do I begin again?” God was already beginning something new within him - allowing him to step out in faith and start a new beginning.

So we return to the question, whether we’re taking big leaps of faith, getting pushed into the deep end, or slowly moving toward a new beginning - How do we begin again? And where is God in all this?

Genesis 12 says: We begin again with God’s blessing.
John 3:16 says: We begin again with God’s love through Jesus - love for us, and love for the whole world.

Whenever you find yourself asking, “How do I begin again?” The Holy Spirit is right there, whispering to you, “With my help and blessing.”
Wherever life has taken you where you realize there is no going back, the Holy Spirit is right there saying, “I will guide you to a new beginning.”

However you got there - a leap of faith, a push into the deep end, in a chrysalis, slowly changing, the Holy Spirit is right there with you saying, “I will never leave. I will walk with you on this journey - leap with you, fall with you, hold you close.”

Every Lent is an opportunity for us to look at our lives and ask: How do I begin again? Our God is a God of new beginnings, who had the ultimate new beginning in his death and resurrection - talk about big leaps (or pushes) of faith…Jesus died and rose again so that we too could have new life, so that we too could have a new beginning.

I am going to close with a poem prayer by the Rev. Sarah Speed entitled, “How Do We Begin Again?”

“Do we slide into something new?
Do we make a formal announcement? Dearest reader,
I have decided to begin again. Do we turn gradually, a gentle yield
in a new direction; or like a wave,
do we crash onto the shore of a new day?
Do we grieve the change? Are there breadcrumbs on the path?
Will Nicodemus be there?
Will it ever be easy?

I’m not sure exactly how we begin again,
but I know that moths wrap themselves in silk,
and after quite some time,
after many long nights,
after days spent alone,
they break out of their shell.
They pull themselves out under open sky,
and they spend the rest of their days chasing the light.

Maybe it’s always that way with beginnings.
Maybe it feels like the protective layer falling away.
Maybe we have to go it alone at first.
Maybe it feels like pulling and dragging yourself into something new.
Maybe there’s always open sky at the other end.”

Amen.

"Who Will You Listen To?" a sermon on Matthew 4:1-11

Matthew 4:1-11
“Who Will You Listen To?”
Preached Sunday, February 26, 2023

“Can I ask you a question?”

If there are any Taylor Swift “Midnights” fans out there - no, I’m not referencing her latest album - I’m talking about our new Lenten sermon series called “Seeking: Honest Questions for a Deeper Faith.” Every week’s sermon title and theme will be shaped around a question. This is fitting for Lent, a season of seeking God, of listening for God, of asking ourselves questions, and self-reflection so that we might go deeper in our walk with God.

And - if we are going to be asking questions over the next six weeks, questions of ourselves and questions from God - we have to first consider if we expect those questions to be answered. And how will we open the ears of our souls to hear the still, small voice of God speaking to us? And perhaps, there will be other voices that aren’t the voice of God, shouting over, trying to drown out the voice of God, so we hear those voices first. And so today as we embark on this Lenten journey of questioning and of seeking God, we first have to ask: Who will you listen to?

In the womb, babies start developing the ability to hear around 18 weeks. They can hear their mother’s heartbeat and the gurgle of the stomach and other sounds we are generally oblivious to. At about 27 to 29 weeks, they can start hearing sounds outside the womb. And by the time they are full term, 38 weeks, their hearing is at about the same level as an adult’s. Studies have been done that show that babies recognize voices that regularly talk to them in utero, the voices of their parents and even other loved ones. They recognize these voices in and out of the womb - something instinctual within them reacts to their mother’s voice - their parents’ voices, the voices that spoke to them before they were born.

One of my favorite images from Scripture is the God who knit us together and knew us intimately in our mother’s wombs. I imagine God whispering to us in that space that we are beloved. And this fits with our Methodist theology of prevenient grace, that God offers us grace before we even know that there is grace to be had - including as infants - one of the reasons we baptize babies in the UMC. And so, using my spiritual imagination, I began to wonder, do babies instinctively know the voice of God that spoke to them before they were even born? Are all of us born with the ability to discern the voice of God in the world? Perhaps that is what it means to have a childlike faith, to be able to easily hear and see and know God in this world.

So at what point in our lives do we lose that ability? Do we ever truly lose the ability or do we just start focusing on other things, listening to other voices, and losing the voice of God in the din of our world?

Because while we believe that God is always talking to us, always offering us grace and love, always trying to get our attention - whether we know it or not - we also know that there are lots of other voices and forces in this world vying for our attention - and that attention then shapes how we vote, how we use our money, how we treat one another, how we live our lives.

Have you ever seen an image like this? Of course you have. An angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. It’s kind of a trite, cliché image but it has staying power for a reason.

There is the constant voice of God in this world which is the voice of love. Scripture calls it the still, small voice. It may come to you in prayer, in music, through a loved one or a stranger - whatever voices in our lives compel us to better love God and love neighbor as self - that is the voice of God speaking to you. But there is also the voice of, well, Satan, the voice of the Tempter, the voice of lies - whatever voices in our lives push us away from God, drive wedges between us and our neighbors, and cause us to question our worth. That is the voice of the tempter speaking to you.

The bad and hard news is: those voices that represent that little Devil on your shoulder? Those voices are often louder, more persistent, more appealing than that still small voice of God. And they come very well disguised. Not as a snake as in Genesis, but in your own voice, many of us have a voice that sounds like your own voice that is constantly saying things to us like “You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never amount to anything. Who do you think YOU are?” Or they are the glamorous voices of celebrities and commercials that tell us things like: own enough, amass enough, buy THIS product, have THIS much wealth or fame or likes, or finally be THIS size, shrink yourself as much as you can, whittle away at your body… and you’ll finally be happy. They are also often the voices of our go-to network news channels acting as the bogeyman - making us afraid of people who aren’t like us.

As the snake in Genesis led Adam and Eve away from God, what voices in your life are leading you away from God and neighbor and love? And what are those voices disguised as? What voices are lying to you?

In the musical Hadestown based on the Greek myth, Orpheus goes down to Hell to rescue his love, Eurydice. But there is a catch. He has to trust her and himself, walking the long dangerous journey back without checking if his love is following him. And if he turns back she will be sent back to Hell, never to return. And this is where the Fates come in. Throughout the musical there are 3 women who are the Fates. And they are the voices of doubt and fear and lies throughout the musical.

They sing things that cause the characters to question themselves and what they know. And when they sing, things get slightly out of tune. As Orpheus is guiding Eurydice out of Hades, the Fates sing, bringing dissonance into the music and doubts into his mind, as they sing, “Where is she?” Orpehsus is flooded with doubts “Who do I think I am? Who am I to think that she would follow me into the cold and dark again?” Eurydice sings, “Orpheus, are you listening? I am right here…I will be with you to the end.” But over the dissonant voices of the Fates, the voices of lies and doubts, he can’t hear his Love, even though she is right there….he turns, and she is sent back to Hades forever.

I’d play the song for you but then our live streaming would get flagged for copyright infringement - so I urge all of you to listen to the musical, it’s online and on Spotify, and the song that I’m referencing is called, “Doubt Comes In.”

(Listen to "Doubt Comes In" here)

I reference it to ask: What voices do we listen to that bring the world out of tune? That bring dissonance into the world? Dissonance between what God wants and what we do? What voices lie to us and obscure the voice of God that is right there with us - but we can’t hear it?

The Good News of today’s Gospel lessons is that Jesus also knows this distortion. He’s heard the voice of the Tempter, of lies. He knows what it’s like to have that figurative devil on your shoulder saying:

Aren’t you hungry for more?
Don’t you want power and prestige?
Don’t you want riches?
Don’t you want….

And Jesus knows that voice and he says, “No. I will not listen to the voice of lies.” And Jesus helps us to tune out those voices of lies and tune in to the voices of Love, tune out voices that would lead us astray, and tune in to voices that draw us nearer to God.

My prayer for us this Lent is that we can ask God to make God’s voice known to us. That as we seek God together, as we ask questions, we would also be training our hearts and our hearts to hear and see and know God and follow the voice of Love.

This Lent, my prayer for us is that as we seek God, we will then find God, and listen to the voice of God. Find God in worship together. Find God in Holy Communion. Find God in prayer. Find God in each other. Find God in service to others. Find God in friends and family and loved ones. Find God in strangers. Because God is all around us, just waiting for us to come seeking, and to listen to God’s voice of Love.

Who will you listen to?

Amen.