JAMES CAMPBELL
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"Jesus is the crisis of my world, because he will not leave me with a false sense of peace."

8/18/2019

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A GOSPEL OF CRISIS
Sunday, August 18, 2019
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 Luke 12:49-56
 
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”
 
He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain’; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat’; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?
 
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A few years ago, Marcos and I attended a family reunion in Indiana.  It was predicated on the fact that both my parents were turning 80.  And so, on the appointed day, in a restaurant banquet room, fifty relatives from both sides of the family gathered.  While on one hand I was excited to renew ties with folks I hadn’t seen in decades.  On the other hand, there are some folks you shouldn’tsee for decades! 
I had a handful of concerns about how it all might go, but among the biggest was the fear that conversations about the good old days might turn into conversations about these political days in America.  I knew that tempers would flare if that happened, and so I had a prepared a response in the event that anyone tried to engage me in a political conversation I didn’t want to have.  I would simply say:  “Today is about my parents.  Let’s focus on them.”  And if that didn’t work, then I would excuse myself and walk away.
 
I came up with this plan in advance because I am, by nature, conflict averse.  I may have opinions about all sorts of things, but I would prefer not to discuss most of them.  It just doesn’t seem worth it to me, knowing how entrenched most of us are; how much we don’t really listen to each other; how much we prefer preaching to the choir. 
 
So, you can imagine my relief and delight when on the morning of the big event, my mother announced (as only my mother can) that there would be no discussion of politics… or religion.  My father, the retired Baptist minister, was flabbergasted by my mother’s edict.  “What are all the preachers in this family supposed to talk about if even religion is off the table?” he wanted to know.  “Pop,” I replied, “there’s a lot more to talk about than religion... or politics.”
 
And that’s the truth.  There is so much more to talk about.  We’ve just gotten out of the habit.  We have so taken to yelling at one another and judging one another that we’ve actually come to enjoy it.  One of the wonderful things about a church like ours, with folks who have all kinds of opinions about all kinds of things, is that we learn to be community with people different from ourselves, and to talk about other important things.  That is one of your gifts to me.
 
So I delighted by my mother’s decision because I didn’t want to have an uncomfortable conversation with anyone that day. Truth is, I don’t want to have an uncomfortable conversation with anyone on any day.  -- But the unintended consequence of this unwillingness to discuss anything controversial is that society’s problems, so often tied to one’s religious or political points of view, are left unchallenged.  Harmony at all costs can exact a very high societal price. 
 
And it was a price Jesus was not willing to pay. Jesus was alwaystalking about politics and money and religion – all the things that really honk people off.  He did it so often and so provocatively that it was considered dangerous by those who ran the show.  In the end, they killed him just to shut him up. 
 
Today’s lesson is an excerpt of a long-running argument about religion and politics between Jesus and the religious establishment.  And in order to understand them, you really have to understand the setting. Jesus had begun his last ever journey ever into Jerusalem. So he must have felt fear and dread, and a sense of inevitable destiny.  So there was that pressure.  And Luke says that the Pharisees, who were never friendly to Jesus, began to be even more hostile.  They were cross-examining him at every turn, lying in wait to catch him in something he might say, intent on twisting his words and destroying his influence.  So there was that pressure too.  In addition to this, Luke says that the crowd that day numbered in the thousands.  People pressed against him and demanded his attention and made it difficult for him to move.  And worse yet, the crowd had trampled some folks trying to get close to Jesus.  And all of these pressures seemed to converge in this one moment, pushing Jesus right over the edge. 
 
Suddenly, he raised his voice and no doubt stunned everyone into silence by shouting: “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!  I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division!”  
 
This portrait of the Savior shakes me up because it is so different from the way he is usually portrayed. Didn’t the angels sing ‘Peace on Earth’ as they heralded his birth?  Didn’t he promise to leave us a peace that no one can ever take away from us?  Don’t we call him ‘The Prince of Peace?’   So yes, Jesus, I do expect you to bring peace.  I don’t want to hear Jesus say that he came to bring us division. We’re very good at that on our own. 
 
So what could this all mean?  
 
Well, it is clear in Scripture that Jesus didspeak lots of words of peace.  He mended broken bodies and relationships. He taught.  He touched.  He loved.  But he also confronted - because his message was too important to get lost in a sea of sentimentality.  The peace that Jesus preached is not some warm, fuzzy feeling.  It is peace based in human justice and dignity. And maybe on this day, with so little time left on the earth, he wanted to make sure that we actually heard what he had to say.
 
The late theologian Fred Craddock once said,  “Jesus is the crisis of the world.”  And what Dr. Craddock meant by that is that Jesus calls us all to moments of decision. And sometimes those moments are uncomfortable because the Gospel of Jesus stands in judgment over allthe systems that rule the world. And he asks us to choose his way – the way of loving our neighbors just exactly as we love ourselves – over every other way. 
 
Today we rejoice in the baptisms of Lance and Logan.  But even in midst of that joyous moment, did you hear the Gospel of Crisis referenced in the liturgy?  We asked the boys’ parents an ancient question that the church has used in baptismal liturgies since the beginning: “Do you renounce the powers of evil and desire the freedom of new life in Christ?”  In other words, there is a decision to make about the way you will live in relation to everyone else on this planet.  Choose wisely. 
 
I don’t like conflict, but sometimes a conflict is exactly what I need to move me off center and to snap me to attention. And that means that a conflict can create a greater good. A conflict can be a tool of reconciliation.  But what a conflict can never, ever be is a goal. And that, it seems to me, is where we are stuck today.  We’ve come to enjoy the conflict far too much.  We’re not even on the lookout for what comes afterward the conflict is over. 
 
On this day, and others, Jesus stirred up trouble.  He preached a Gospel of Crisis.  And he did that because he was remaking the world.  And then he gave us the Holy Spirit, so that we could keep on remaking it.
 
We all long for harmony and unity and peace. But staying quiet because we are uncomfortable; turning a blind eye to injustice and cruelty, is not how you get there.
 
Jesus is the crisis of my world, because he will not leave me with a false sense of peace.  Instead he calls me and you to a life a meaning and purpose, not just for ourselves, but for the world that he so loved that he gave his life. 


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"No matter how many mistakes we make or people we hurt or sins we commit or doubts we have, in the end: All shall be well."

8/11/2019

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TRAVELING WITHOUT A MAP
Sunday, August 11, 2019
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
 
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible. By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.” All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.
 
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When I lived in New York City, I loved the color and the movement and yes, even the noise.  But the noise I liked most of all was the clang of the deadbolts on my apartment door at the end of the day.  It meant that I was in and the world was out.  And that nightly ritual gave me a feeling of control over my environment. I needed those deadbolts in order to make sense of and to live successfully with whatever was on the other side of that door the next day. 
 
Over the years I’ve realized that those deadbolts were a metaphor for the way I have lived much of my life.  I do love the world in all of its glorious unpredictability.  And I do love a good adventure.  But I also want some order and guarantees.
 
I think we all want that – we just reach for it in different ways: some of us through money, others through power or position or education. For me, it was religion. It was the amassing correct doctrine and the believing of all the right things through which I endeavored to exercise control over my environment.  A sure faith was as good as a deadbolt. If I had enough of that faith; if it was the right kind of faith, then nothing bad could really happen to me.
 
Was I delusional?  Maybe.  But then again, so were all the people around me.  Back when I was a teenager and a young adult, my family was involved in what is now commonly called “the Prosperity Gospel.”  The basic idea behind the Prosperity Gospel is that with a proper belief system, one can, by faith and sheer determination, control one’s environment.  You can literally stave off sickness.  You can literally bring on riches.  All of this is possible, the teaching goes, because you possess the Truth – with a capital T.  And it’s a very popular message because it promises to save us from our fears.  With the right kind of faith, we will not lose our jobs.  We will not get a serious illness.  A hate-filled gunman in Walmart will not snatch our life away. 
 
Now maybe this way of believing sounds like craziness to you.  Maybe you don’t think of your faith as magic.  Perhaps.  But over the years, I have seen a bit of magical thinking in most religion.  We may not be looking for wealth or fame, but we still think that if we have the right intellectual beliefs, that this will save us.  Believing all the right things is what will get us into heaven.  
 
But is that what faith really is? This year I had to ask that question again and again as I led the Confirmation class.  Each time we met, I wondered: what is it that I am supposed to be teaching these young people? Should I be articulating the details of the Apostle’s Creed?  Should I be teaching them Congregationalist history and theology and polity? Or should I be trying to teach them a way of life?  Should I be helping them to see God, especially when there are no easy answers? 
 
The patriarch Abraham is called the Father of our faith.  And in this fractured world of ours, it is so vitally important to remember that Abraham is also father to the Jews and to the Muslims.  He binds us all together as siblings.  But what do we mean when we call him the father of our faith?  What kind of faith did he practice?  And how does that relate to our own experiences of faith in the world today? 
 
Abraham, we are told, was a rich man from the land of Ur of the Chaldees.  He was, like all his neighbors, a pagan and a polytheist, meaning that he worshipped false gods.  But one day, when old Abe was just minding his own business, he heard a voice.  He heard a voice that, for whatever reason, he came to believe was the voice of the One True God.  And this voice told him to set out for a place he had never been before and to settle there.  And this voice told him that he would be a father, despite the fact that his wife Sarah could not have any children, and they were both already too old. And furthermore, this voice told him that he and Sarah wouldn’t have just children, but that their descendants would be as numerous as the stars of the sky or grains of sand on a thousand beaches.  So Abraham, with only an inner voice to guide him, set out on this journey.  
 
He set out with only his inner experience to guide him.  There was no Bible for him to consult. There were no temples or priests or traditions. There was no one in authority to tell him that he was right.  All he had was the voice and his own convictions that he had been called. The book of Hebrews says: “(Abraham) set out, not knowing where he was going.” That is an astonishing statement. And Abraham is the father of our faith. 
 
Abraham’s experience is so different from what most people think of as strong faith.  Strong faith is usually defined as propositional truths, as doctrine, as tradition.  But Abraham’s faith is defined as restlessness and “in betweenness.”  This is faith as inspired intuition. And it requires trust that one day you will arrive where you are supposed to be.    
 
Recently I’ve been having trouble with my iPhone.  You see my phone doesn’t always switch between a Wi-Fi connection and the network connection automatically.  And what that means is that sometimes when I get in my car after having been indoors, I can’t connect to the network. And that means I cannot get a GPS signal.   And that means that I feel lost and frustrated and angry.  The only way I can reconnect to the network is to restart my phone.  I usually know how to get from point A to point B, but I want to hear Siri’s reassuring voice of authority that I am headed in the right direction.  I don’t want to just depend upon my instincts and experience.  
 
Abraham set on, not knowing (exactly) where he was going.  And since we are his children, that means that, in order for us to grow in our faith, we have to set out.  We have to move.  And we very often do not know where we shall end up.  
 
The medieval mystic, Julian of Norwich, was the first woman to write a book in the English language.  And that book entitled Revelations of Divine Love is a record of the mystical visions she had as she lay dying.  Well she didn’t die, even though they gave her the last rights.  Instead she recovered and wrote about all that she saw in her fevered state.  This little book is a little strange, as so many mystical things are.  But the reason it spoke so powerfully to me is that its underlying message is that there is no place in this universe where the love of God is not present.  And there is nothing that we can do to make God not love us.  And that assurance gives us the courage to set out, even though we do not know where we’re going.  As Julian put it:  “All shall be well.   And all shall be well.  And all manner of things shall be well.”
 
And that is the essence of true faith. That is the truth that allowed our Father Abraham and our Mother Sarah to set out on their great adventure.  And that is the truth that accompanies us every step of the way.  No matter where the voice calls us to go, no matter how implausible it may all seem, no matter how many mistakes we make or people we hurt or sins we commit or doubts we have, in the end: “All shall be well.   And all shall be well.  And all manner of things shall be well.”
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
 
 
 

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Eat, drink, and be merry. Just make sure to do whatever you can so that others may have those same joys.

8/4/2019

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RICH TOWARD GOD
Sunday, August 4, 2019
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Luke 12:13-21
 
Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”
 
In my church in New Jersey, there was a widow named Jo Hook.  Jo took a liking to me and I to her, and one day she invited me over to her house for dinner.  She was an incredible cook, but I can’t tell you what I ate that day.  What I can tell you, however; what I will never forget, is what her house was like.  Jo lived in this incredibly charming Colonia-era stone house that was chocked full of the treasures that she and her late husband had collected over a lifetime of travel and adventures.  And I was enthralled.
 
A few years later, Jo became ill and died. Since everyone loved her, the church was packed for her funeral.  Once we had laid her to rest, her family did what all families do when the parents are gone: they closed the house.  None of Jo’s children lived close by.  All of them led busy lives.  And so they hired a company to come in to that charming house and sell everything. I was curious, so I went to the sale. Strange people met me at the door and asked me to come in and look around, having no sense of who I was or who I had been to Jo.  And what I saw that day has never left me: literally everything in her house – from the furniture to the knick-knacks to the rugs and drapes and dishes and clothing had price tags on them.  Everything she had collected and purchased and been given and loved and held a precious memory was for sale.  
 
A friend of mine once told a similar story about his friend, the heiress Alice Tully, of Lincoln Center fame.  When Alice died, all of her valuable things went to Christie’s Auction House in New York.  But the rest of it, photographs, dishes, even things like stockings went to another auction house where it was pawed over by strangers.  My friend told me that seeing that shook him so deeply that he wept uncontrollably.  He said: “No one’s life should be reduced to people groveling over stockings.”
 
We spend our lives collecting things that we love and that have meaning for us.  If you come to our house, you will soon learn that there is a story for every painting and vase and rug and knickknack.  We love it all.  But the hard truth is that one day, when are no more, people will take our things and divide them and sell them and fight over them and throw them away.  
 
One day, someone in a crowd called out to Jesus: “Rabbi, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”  This was probably a younger brother who was unhappy with the unequal distribution of assets based on ancient Judaic inheritance practices.  In that day, it was customary for the oldest male child to receive 2/3s of the entire estate, leaving 1/3 to be divided between however many other males there were. Maybe the man in the crowd that day hoped that this rabbi with his radical new ideas would say something fresh about dividing inheritance money more equitably.  If Jesus had ideas about that, we don’t hear them here.  Instead, Jesus used the moment as a jumping off point to tell a story about the true measure of our lives.  
 
Once upon a time there was a very rich farmer who had a bumper crop.  The harvest was so great that he didn’t have any place to store it all.  So he decided that he would tear down the barns he had and build much bigger ones to store the tremendous surplus.  Then he would kick back for the rest of his life, take an early retirement, and enjoy the fruits of his labor.  Sounds pretty good, right?  But the party ended before it ever began.  God spoke and said: “You fool!  This very night your life is demanded of you.  And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”  Jesus ends this unsettling story by saying: “So it is with everyone who stores up treasures for himself or herself, but is not rich toward God.” 
 
This is not an easy passage to preach because it seems to fly in the face of ideas we hold dear – ideas like pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps; like saving for a rainy day.  That’s certainly how my folks raised me. From the time I was a little kid, I was taught to work hard and save my money – the more saved, the better because you didn’t know what the future would hold.  My mother canned an abundance of food – hundreds of jars of green beans and tomatoes and corn and pickles and jam for those long Indiana winters.  Jesus certainly can’t be disparaging being prepared, can he? What was so wrong with the rich farmer building new barns to hold the surplus grain? 
 
Well, as with so many stories in the Bible, in order to really understand them, you have to know the setting and culture.  To begin with, this man was no ordinary farmer. He was a major landowner.  This was an agri-business.  And that made him significantly different from almost everyone else in that society.  Most everyone worked the land, but the land they worked was not their own.  They worked for “the man.” And all of those non-land owners bought their daily bread, their staples, from “the man.”  His success or failure was essential to the entire community’s success or failure. He was, quite literally, his brother’s and sister’s keeper. 
 
So, what he might have done with all that surplus grain was sell it to his neighbors at a reduced rate – meaning abundance for everyone.  He still would have made a profit just by the sheer volume of his sales. But instead he hoarded the daily bread of others.  One commentator has suggested that by doing so, he could dole that food out bit by bit, creating a demand that wasn’t really there and thus driving the price up.  
 
In addition to that, the rich man completely removed God from the equation of his life and his success.  He speaks in the first person (“I” and “my”) eleven times in this short story.  Not once is there a mention of the God who created the seed and soil and sun.  There is no prayer of thanksgiving for the blessings of a bumper crop.  Instead there is a singular attention to what this wealth will mean for him and him alone. 
 
But then God speaks.  And this is the only time in any of the parables of Jesus that God actually says anything.  And what God says should give us all pause: “You fool, your time’s up.  You’re planning for your future at just the moment that your life is over.  And all these things you have accumulated, whose will they be once you’re gone?”  As the writer of Ecclesiastes put it: “one who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill must leave all to be enjoyed by another who did not toil for it.”
 
The rich farmer died.  And one day, we will too.  And all those things we have collected and loved and treasured – and maybe hoarded – will be left behind. And that singular truth, which our whole culture is poised to ignore, Jesus calls us to pay special attention to.  He tells us this story so that we will never forget.
 
Now, that being said, it’s also foolish to pretend as if our comfort and well-being is not important.  It’s foolish to pretend that having enough doesn’t matter.  It’s foolish to pretend that we don’t need to plan for our retirement. I certainly do!  But according to Jesus, what’s more important than that is to plan for one’s “expirement.”  
 
So how do we do that?  Should we give all our money away?  I don’t think that’s what Jesus was saying.  That implies that the rich farmer’s main problem was that he was rich.  But there are lots of rich and faithful people in the stories of the Bible.  So money wasn’t his problem.  Fear was his problem.  He was afraid of not having enough.  And it was his fear of lack that drove him in his selfishness.  It is my fear of lack that drives me in my selfishness.
 
But the challengeof the Gospel (and I underline that word “challenge”) is the call to live by faith, and not by fear.  And we have to exercise that faith muscle because our whole world is driven by fear. But in this world of fear, we are called to a counter-cultural lifestyle – something Jesus called being rich toward God.  Well, how do you do that? It’s actually pretty simple.  It was the same thing the rich farmer in the parable was called to.  We are rich toward God by being rich toward all those who bear the image of God.  And that’s everyone.
 
So friends, by all means, enjoy your lives. I do.  Eat, drink, and be merry. I do.  Just make sure that you also do whatever you can so that others may have those same joys.  Be rich toward God.
 

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"The glory of God is the human person fully alive."
Saint Irenaeus of Lyon, 2nd century