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"...actually engaging this book, mixed in with our own experiences of life and love, hope and longing, will not leave us content to stay where we are."

2/19/2020

THAT TROUBLESOME BOOK
Sunday, February 16, 2020
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Matthew 5:21-37

“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. “It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.

“Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

OK, wait.  Did Pastor Alison just say, “The word of the Lord?” And did you really just reply, “Thanks be to God?”  Were you kidding?  What part were you thankful for: threats of hell fire, the restrictive teaching about divorce, or a guide to self-mutilation?

This passage makes me think of my good friend Dean. Dean is a Catholic and loves to tease me about what he sees as Protestantism’s overdone devotion to the Bible, which he often refers to as “that troublesome book.”  We Protestants do have the Bible as the centerpiece of our faith.  “Scripture alone” or “Sola Scriptura” is one of the principles of the Protestant Reformation. It’s part of what makes us Protestants.  But after having heard today’s Gospel lesson, you might be tempted to agree with Dean, that the Bible sometimes is a troublesome book.

Believe it or not, these strange words are actually a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount.  Just a few moments before, Jesus had said gracious, marvelous, easy-to-preach-on things like “Blessed are the peacemakers…” and “You are the light of the world.”  But then he says this!

So what is going on here?  And how are we modern people to understand it?  Well, context is everything, as is so often the case.  These strange words are actually introduced and framed by verse 20, which we heard last week.  Jesus said: “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”  What follows is Jesus explaining what it means to be inwardly righteous as opposed to just outwardly religious.

This passage opens with what scholars call “The Antitheses of Jesus.”  Jesus makes a statement based on a thesis of the Law and then provides an antithesis. For example: “You have heard it said, ‘You shall not murder.’  And then the antithesis: “But I say to you, if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.”  “You have heard it said, ‘You shall not commit adultery’ but I say to you if you even look at someone with lust, the adultery already lives in your heart.”

Lots of folks interpret these antitheses as new teachings from Jesus that somehow supersede the Law. But that assumption leads to the slippery slope of assumed Christian superiority over Judaism.  But remember that Jesus said he came to fulfill the Law, not abolish it.  So I think that what’s really going on here was something very common amongst the Jews of Jesus’s day. You see, the use of thesis/antithesis was not outside some forms of rabbinic interpretation and practice.  Jesus was searching for and unearthing the truth that often lives in, under, and around the words on the page.  Jesus engaged in a lively conversation with Scripture, not just because he was Jesus, but because he was a faithful Jew.

But having a conversation with Scripture is not how most of us think of the Bible. When I was a kid there was a popular bumper sticker that my grandparents proudly displayed on the bumper of their Cadillac.  It proclaimed: “God said it.  I believe it.  That settles it!” In other words, the Bible is not a conversation.  It’s an order from headquarters!  Therefore, we did not engage in historical or literary or social criticism.  And we certainly never thought to add anything to the conversation.

But I don’t think that’s how Jesus read the Bible.  Jesus seemed to know that the truth is found in that meeting place between the words and human hearts and imaginations. Jesus’s interpretation of Scripture was very people-focused.

What do I mean?  Well, consider this: Jesus brings up the law that forbids adultery.  But he doesn’t just repeat it and tell the people they should obey it.  Instead Jesus looks for something deeper and more transformative than just keeping your clothes on.  Jesus makes the astute and helpful observation that our deceits actually begin long before the deed is executed.  Jesus names the fact that an unchecked thought often finds a place to nest in our hearts and minds, long before it ever destroys lives.

And then to make sure the people remembered this teaching, Jesus employed a common rhetorical device from his time and place.  It’s called the rhetoric of excess - a purposeful use of irony and humor and exaggeration to drive the point home.  Of course he didn’t really want folks to pluck out their eyes or cut off their hands.  But he did want them to remember what he said.  And his colorful language did the trick.

So what about what Jesus said regarding divorce?  Where is the people focus there?  It seems like he’s just being a hardliner.  --The Law of Moses taught that all a man had to do was give his wife a certificate of divorce and he could be done with her.  In a patriarchal society, this left all the power in the hands of the men.  And since divorced women were damaged goods, unable to support themselves, they were often driven into prostitution just to survive.  So when Jesus said that divorce should be avoided at all costs, it was the vulnerable members of society that he had in mind. In 2020, his words might strike us a restrictive and unenlightened, without nuance or understanding.  But if you were a woman in the crowd that day, knowing that destitution might be just around the corner when your husband was having a bad day, you probably heard those words as life giving and life preserving.

These are just a few examples of how Jesus read the Bible in conversation with it.  But for the most part, we don’t do that.  We have been taught to respect this book, but we haven’t been taught to engage it with our whole selves. We’ve been taught not to question it and therefore, when life seems to contradict it,  we have been forced to ignore it. But it doesn’t have to be that way.  A lively conversation with this book can transform your understandings of God and the world and even yourself.

So how can you get started? Well, let me offer some quick bits of advice for anyone who needs them. First of all, don’t start at the beginning.  This is not a novel.  It’s a collection of 66 books, in many different literary genres, written over thousands of years by multiple authors.  So instead, start small. Read one of the Gospels.  Mark is the shortest and the earliest.  Or read one of St. Paul’s letters.  Or read the Psalms.  But only bite off as much as you can chew on any given day.  If that’s only one verse, that’s fine.

Number two: follow Jesus by reading the Bible as a conversation.  In other words, don’t discount your own thoughts and questions. If something strikes you as odd or untrue, make a note of it.  If you don’t like it, argue with it.  Arguing with Scripture is an old and holy tradition through which the truth can emerge. And don’t worry - there won’t be any lightening bolts aimed at your head because you question or dislike what you read.

Number three: take your own interpretations seriously.  Don’t discount your own experience of life as you read about the lives of others in the pages of this book.  The Bible is largely about how humans just like us experienced God.  But you have experienced God too.  How does your experience help you understand what you’re reading?

And finally – and this one is really important - always read Scripture through the lens of love because God is love. When you read something strange or difficult, ask yourself: how does this passage help me to understand the greatest commandment - to love God and your neighbor as yourself?  How does this passage make me a more loving and generous and kind person?  And if it doesn’t, then just move on, and come back to it later.

So, back to my friend Dean and his comment that the Bible is a troublesome book.  He’s right, you know, because actually engaging the words on the pages of this book, mixed in with our own experiences of life and love, hope and longing, will not leave us content to stay where we are.  The living Word of God will call us toward the transformation of ourselves and the world.  And that is troublesome, but in the best possible way I know.

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So give us a little shake, Jesus. Wake us up. And then send out to be bright and briny, loving and kind, merciful and just.

2/9/2020

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BRIGHT, BRINY PEOPLE
Sunday, February 9, 2020
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Matthew 5:13-20

“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Her name was Patricia Walter and she was my seventh grade English teacher.  I loved her, but she terrified many of my classmates.  Mrs. Walter demanded strict order in her classroom.  Her academic expectations were exceedingly high for our grade level.  She had us seventh graders diagraming Shakespeare.  She made us memorize the rules of grammar and the parts of speech.  And she was famous for her pop quizzes.  She would say things like: “Take out a sheet of paper and list the common prepositions.  You have three minutes.”  And to show you how effective her method was, allow me to demonstrate, lo these many years later: “of, in, by, to, for, with, at, on, from, into, under, toward, between, down, among, over, across, against.”

One day, my father announced that he had taken a new church assignment and that we would be moving.  I still remember the morning I walked into Mrs. Walter’s classroom before school started to tell her the news.  Her response was to organize a going away party for me.  And I vowed to never forget her.

And I didn’t.  We stayed in touch for years, exchanging letters and enjoying the occasional visit.  Fifteen years after that initial goodbye, I invited Mrs. Walter and her husband Ray to my ordination.  They did not RSVP, but sure enough there they stood in the receiving line when it was all over.  They had driven four hours one way just to be there.  I was so overcome at the sight of her in that receiving line that at first I was speechless and then I burst into tears, sort of humiliating myself.  She hugged me and then she took me by both shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes and in her voice of English teacher authority, announced: “You can be anything you want to be.  You can go as far as you want to go.”  And I knew that she meant every word of it.

Those words took root in my heart, as words so often do.  Words are living things, and so what we say to each other and about each other have the power to give life or to destroy it.  Psychologists suggest that for every negative message elementary aged children hear about themselves, they will need to hear ten positive ones to restore their self-image. So, words can hurt.  But words can also heal and empower.

The Gospel lesson today is a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount – a beautiful collection of the kinds of words that heal.  Jesus had just finished telling that crowd of common folk about how blessed they were even when they didn’t feel like it.  He said, “Blessed are you poor in spirit, for yours is the kingdom of heaven.” “Blessed are you who mourn, for you will be comforted.”  “Blessed are you meek, for you will inherit the earth.”

But then Jesus shifts gears dramatically.  Instead of referencing the people primarily by their frailties and pain (poor, mourning, and meek), he talks instead about what else is also true about them; something not quite as evident to most as our weaknesses.  Jesus speaks of their innate gifts and their potential, proclaiming: “You are the salt of the earth…  You are the light of the world…”

Do those words surprise you?  They’re a bit shocking in that they don’t fit so easily with the dominant theological narratives most often proclaimed by the church. “Jesus is the light of the world, but people certainly aren’t,” we are told.  Or, we make these words proscriptive as opposed to descriptive. In other words, this is Jesus telling us to be better – to become salt and to become light.  But that is not what he said.  He simply announces an identity that most of us are hesitant to acknowledge: “You are the salt of the earth.”  “You are the light of the world.”

Now it’s also true that Jesus warns us in this passage about loosing our saltiness and hiding our light.  And lots of preachers focus on that.  But consider this: in order to loose saltiness, you had to be salty in the first place.  And in order to hide your light, you had to be light in the first place.  And that starting point is a radically different take on the human condition than most of us are used to hearing.

But this idea about innate human potential as a by-product of being made in the image of God is actually a very old idea in Christianity.  The Celtic Christians and the Roman Catholic Franciscans and Eastern Orthodoxies and others begin their theology with an idea called Original Blessing as opposed to Original Sin.  Original Blessing, taken from the Creation account in Genesis in which God pronounces the whole creation “GOOD!”, teaches that before we are anything else we might be; before any of our weaknesses and sins, we are made in the divine image and likeness.  And that is our primary identity.

But it’s a hard sell. We simply accept the notion that we are hopelessly tainted and incapable of goodness. And so when a thundering preacher labels us as sinners in the hands of an angry God, we believe it.  And we don’t just believe it about ourselves.  We believe it about everyone else.  We see the world through the lens of the negative.  For example: statistics consistently show that violent crime has been on the decrease in this country for some years now. And yet, more people than before think of this world as a fearful and dangerous place.  We are suspicious of strangers.  We will give up our freedoms for the mere promise of safety.  It’s a world defined by a very dim view of others.  And yet, Jesus said to all those others: “You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.”

So what was Jesus actually saying? Well, it was a mouthful.  In the ancient world, salt was a very precious commodity.  Entire empires were built out of the exportation of salt.  Salt was sometimes used as money.  The word salary comes from the Latin word “salarium” meaning salt money.  Salt was also used to preserve food.  It was sprinkled on sacrifices and understood as a metaphor for wisdom.  Salt was rubbed on newborn children as a blessing.  So, when Jesus proclaimed, “You are the salt of the earth” it was a declaration of our God-given ability to preserve and to bless creation.

The light metaphor is a little easier for us to understand.  Without light, everything dies.  Turning on a light can banish our fears.  Light helps us to see a way forward.  So, when Jesus said, “You are the light of the world” it was a declaration of our God-given ability to facilitate growth and banish fear and bring understanding.

But can we believe that about ourselves?  After decades of practiced and self-protective cynicism, can we believe it?  And knowing what we do about the human capacity for evil, can we believe it?

Well, maybe it’s not a matter of belief.  The Christian faith is not primarily about a set of beliefs or dogma or creeds.  Christian faith is a living experience, a transformation that Christ works in us.  It’s a way of living in the world that makes the truth  self-evident.  As they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, “It works if you work it.”  And the same is true of our Christian faith – it works if you work it.  So maybe friends, these unbelievable words of Jesus would be more believable to us if we thought about them less and acted on them more.

I’m sure the first folks who heard this didn’t believe it either.  “What did he say,” they asked one another.  “We are the salt of the earth… we are the light of the world?”  “Yeah, that’s what he said.”  And with those shocking and life-giving words, Jesus took those meek, poor, sad people by their shoulders, looked them in the eye, gave them a little shake and simply reminded them of their true identity as children of the Most High God. And if they could dare to believe it, they could change their world.  And many of them did.  If we could dare to believe it, we could change our world too.

So give us a little shake, Jesus.  Wake us up.  Set us straight.  Help us to see what you do. And then send out to be bright and briny, loving and kind, merciful and just.

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Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly. That’s a beautiful, spiritual idea. And religion, done right, can actually help to get us there.

2/2/2020

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RELIGIOUS, BUT NOT SPIRITUAL
Sunday, February 2, 2020
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Micah 6:1-8

Hear what the Lord says: Rise, plead your case before the mountains, and let the hills hear your voice. Hear, you mountains, the controversy of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the earth; for the Lord has a controversy with his people, and he will contend with Israel. “O my people, what have I done to you? In what have I wearied you? Answer me! For I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and redeemed you from the house of slavery; and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. O my people, remember now what King Balak of Moab devised, what Balaam son of Beor answered him, and what happened from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the saving acts of the Lord.”

“With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

It was at this moment that I understood the world had truly shifted: Marcos and I were at a very fashionable garden party up in the Catskills, hosted by some friends of ours.  It was a beautiful summer evening, and we had gathered on the large deck as the sun dipped behind the mountains and a sudden coolness came to the air.  As one does at these kinds of things, we mingled.  I’m not the most natural “mingler” in the world, but I’ve learned to fake it.

As I was mingling, I suddenly came face to face with a very elegant woman.  We chatted for a moment about the view and the delicious food and our mutual friends.  She told me a little about herself.  And then she asked me the dreaded question: “So James, what do you do for a living?”  There was a pause, as there always is when I’m asked this question, as I tried to get the lay of the land.  After a few seconds, I replied: “Well, I’m a Congregational minister.”  For a split second, her polite smile vanished before she managed a recovery. “What’s that?” she asked - just like that.  And so I gave her the user-friendly answer that I have perfected over the years.  But about three sentences into my perfect explanation of what a Congregational minister is, she mumbled, “Excuse me” and walked away, leaving me in mid-sentence.

It wasn’t always like that, you know.  When I first started in ministry back in late 80s, there was still a general respect for the clergy.  I was treated with some deference in the grocery store and at the barbershop and the gas station.  But those days are long gone.  With each passing year, American society is less and less religious, and experts see no slowing in that trend. With each passing clergy scandal, ministers and priests and rabbis and imams are more and more distrusted.  Nowadays, I don’t often tell people what I do for a living unless I just have to.  Why would I invite that kind of discomfort when I’m only trying to get my haircut?

Now despite this decrease in religion in America, spirituality is said to be on the increase.  People now proudly declare themselves “spiritual, but not religious.”  Maybe that describes you or someone you love.  Frankly, it describes sometimes me, when I feel fed up with religion but am still inextricably drawn to the spiritual life.

To declare oneself “spiritual, but not religious” implies that these two things are somehow opposed to one another or at least organically unrelated.  And while this may feel like a new thing happening in the world, it’s actually a very old thing.  There has always been a tension between religion and spirituality.  There has always been the temptation for religion to try to codify and control the things of the spirit, followed by an inevitable pushback.  And we see that tension in this passage from Micah.

We don’t know much about Micah except that he was a small-town boy from a place called Moresheth, about 20 miles southwest of Jerusalem.  He was a younger contemporary of other prophets you may have heard of like Isaiah, Amos, and Hosea.  Interestingly enough, scholars note that there are some striking similarities between the writings of Micah and Isaiah, implying that there may have been collaboration between the prophets, or maybe even a prophetic school from which they all borrowed.

Micah’s prophecy is presented as a courtroom drama.  God is the plaintiff and the people are the defendants.  And in the closing argument, God makes a striking case against the people, particularly the upper echelons of society, the intelligentsia, and the cultural elite, accusing them of being particularly hypocritical.  God also laces into the clergy, declaring them all false prophets.  And the rich, God says, are the most violent of them all.  Yet all of those accused were religious.

Well, apparently, Micah was a pretty good preacher, because the people saw the error of their ways and responded with fervent repentance.  And as a way to show their repentance, they did what they knew best.  They became more religious!  Instead of sacrificing three or four rams to show how sorry they were, they would sacrifice a thousand! Instead of one hundred gallons of their best olive oil, they would offer ten thousand of rivers of oil.  They even went so far as to offer their first-born children.  They were sorry for what they had done and they thought that more religious observance was the cure.

They were not so unlike many of us.  Sometime we feel sorry for our selfishness or dishonesty, and decide that the cure is more piety.  We will go to church every Sunday! We’ll make a bigger pledge!  We’ll say our prayers every night!   But those things don’t necessarily get us what we need.  And according to Micah, God doesn’t want more religion.  What God wanted is more spirit.  God wants personal transformation that results in societal transformation.

So, how does Micah describe that?  Well, his answer is one of the best-known verses of the Bible: “God has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

If you Google that verse, you will find scores of beautiful images that you can post on Facebook and Instagram.  It will make you seem “woke” and enlightened.  But what does it actually mean, from God’s point of view, to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with God?

In our current state of political division and entrenchment, the word justice has become a bomb we lob at one another.  Each side lays claim to its true meaning.  But the biblical notion of justice, to which we are all called whatever our political opinions, is enshrined in what we call the Golden Rule.  To do justice is to do unto others exactly as you would like them to do to you.  The great theologian Cornel West puts it this way: “Justice is (simply) what love looks like in public.”

And what about kindness?  Aren’t we kind already?  Well, we might be nice, but kind is something far deeper. The Hebrew word translated here are kindness is “chesed” – a very rich word that references the idea of holy covenant and obligation between people.  This is not about smiling at the cashier at Big Y.  Chesed is about trust and vulnerability as an essential building block of human relationships.  In this way, justice (doing to others as you would want done to you) and kindness (vulnerability and trust) are cousins.

And humility?  Well, is there any more precious commodity in our world today?  In a culture in which we are regularly encouraged to think of ourselves as the best or #1, cultivating humility as a spiritual discipline is about as counter-cultural as you can get.  So, what is it?  Well, here’s a very simple definition of humility: to be humble to remember that God is God… and you are not.

The prophet Micah proclaimed that the religious life is not necessarily a spiritual life. Micah preached that religion cannot make one just and kind and humble.  But here’s the thing.  It sure can help.

And that’s the truth that some “spiritual, but not religious” folks don’t quite understand about what we do in this room – that religion practice can serve an essential purpose in our spiritual quest – because justice and loving kindness and walking humbly is hard work, and best done in community, with others who will hold us accountable and pray for us and laugh with us and cry with us.

Do justice.  Love kindness.  Walk humbly.  That’s a beautiful, spiritual idea.  It will make this world a better place.  And religion, done right, can actually help to get us there.

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"...actually engaging this book, mixed in with our own experiences of life and love, hope and longing, will not leave us content to stay where we are."

So give us a little shake, Jesus. Wake us up. And then send out to be bright and briny, loving and kind, merciful and just.

Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly. That’s a beautiful, spiritual idea. And religion, done right, can actually help to get us there.

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