JAMES CAMPBELL
  • Home
  • Sermons
  • Other Writing
  • FIRST CHURCH
  • Photography

"The Christian faith is a rather risky business – but a business that can have incredible returns."

10/20/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
RISKY BUSINESS
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
Sunday, October 20, 2019
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 25:14-30
 
“For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

+++

 
There was no one who was better at squirreling money away than my grandmother.  As a child of the Depression, she remembered what it was like to be hungry.  She told tales of living in a cave for a few months after an eviction.  My grandmother hated antiques her whole life because, as she used to say, “They just remind me of the bad old days.”
 
Later on, life was much better for her.  My grandfather owned a series of businesses and they lived a comfortable life.  But that fear of not having enough always haunted her.  And my grandfather, God love him, would spend money on one hair-brained scheme after another.  And so, my grandmother, fearing a return to poverty, started to bury money – literally – in canning jars – in the back yard.  Later, her operation became more sophisticated and she moved it inside. 
 
She had a lot of bank bags, the cloth kind with the zipper that locks.  She called these her “Biz Bags”, a reference to a laundry detergent commercial popular in the 1970s.  She would stuff them full of cash and then hide them around the house.  One of her favorite hiding places was the forced air heating ducts.  She would lift the grates and push her biz bag down into the vents. And she would hide money in the freezer – calling that stash her “cold, hard cash.” And after each of these secrets was revealed to me, my grandmother would say: “Now don’t you tell your grandfather anything.”  And then to be sure I kept my mouth shut; she would slip me a twenty.
 
At the end of her life, all of that money had run out.  And I used to wonder if my grandmother would have had a lot more money at the end if she had only resisted the temptation to bury it instead of investing it.  But the world is full of uncertainty and she knew that from hard experience.  And so she looked for comfort in a canning jar and a heating duct and a freezer.  We all look for comfort in different ways. 
 
There’s a lot of my grandmother in me. I too like a so-called safe bet.  I am, by nature, rather risk-averse.  I don’t like to live on the edge of anything.  And so stories like the one Jesus tells today makes me a little nervous. 
 
Once upon a time, a rich man decided to go on a journey.  And so, he called three of his most trusted servants and gave them huge sums of money to care for in his absence.  To the one he gave 5 talents (about 4.2 million dollars in our world).  To another he gave 2 talents (about 1.7 million).  And to the other he gave 1 talent (about $840,000).  The first two servants went off to Wall Street and invested all the money they had been given.  But the third servant, fearing the fluctuation of the markets, got out a canning jar, dug a very deep hole under the cover of darkness and buried his master’s money in the back yard.  
 
As luck would have it, the first two servants invested in a bull market.  Over time, they doubled their master’s money.  Servant #1 now had 8.4 million dollars and servant #2 now had 3.4 million dollars.   They took a risk and it paid off handsomely.  Servant #3 had not doubled the money, but he had not lost any either.  And for lots of us risk-averse types, that seems pretty good.  In lots of churches nowadays, which are pretty risk-averse institutions, that seems pretty good.  
 
After a lot of time had passed, the master returned home and called his servants in for an accounting.  Servant #1 proudly announced: “Sir, I have doubled your money!”  “Great job, good and faithful servant, you’re getting a big promotion.  And here’s a key to the Executive Club!”  Servant #2 proudly announced that he too had doubled the money.  “Great job, good and faithful servant, you’re also getting a big promotion.  And here’s you’re key to the Executive Club!”  Then it was #3’s turn.  He was feeling pretty good too.  “Well, sir,” he began, “I had a different plan. I didn’t invest your money.  I decided to be conservative because I was concerned about the risks.  But I didn’t lose any of it either. I buried it in a very safe place and here it is - every single penny you left me.”  
 
Maybe this diligent, honest man expected to be thanked.  But instead, anger swept the master’s face.  And he replied: “You’re wicked and lazy, to boot!” “Why didn’t you at least put it in the bank and make a little interest?”  The master snatched the money out of the hands of servant #3 and gave it to servant #1.  And then Jesus made what seems to be a very unchristian statement: “The one who has a lot will get even more and the one who has very little will lose it all.”  And if that is not upsetting enough, the story ends with the fiscally conservative servant being thrown into something called “the outer darkness” – a metaphor for a place where one feels so far removed from the generosity of God that all you can do is weep and grind your teeth.
 
There are some biblical scholars who do not believe that Jesus ever told this story.  They find it so unlike some other things that Jesus said that they have banished it to the outer darkness.  They note that Jewish religion during the time of Jesus actually recommended that money be buried as the best way to safe guard it.  But I don’t have any trouble believing that Jesus did tell this story if no other reason than because Jesus was forever turning conventional wisdom on its head, proclaiming things like the last will be first and the first last.  And besides all that, Jesus is not discussing economic policy per se.  Jesus is describing a spiritual principle that can have an economic manifestation.
 
Here is what I mean.  Lots of folks think that faith is primarily about feeling safe and knowing that nothing can separate you from God’s love.  And that’s true.  Nothing can.  But the scandal of modern, lazy American Christianity is the idea that feeling safe and loved is the main point.  The cross of Jesus should permanently divest us of that notion.  The cross as our defining symbol is our constant reminder that our faith is about giving and out-pouring.  That’s how Jesus showed us to live in this world.  And that makes the Christian faith a rather risky business – but a business that can have incredible returns. 
 
Almost two years in as your Senior Minister, this is what I see.  We are a congregation poised for some major changes. But the changes that are coming are not yet defined.  And we are a congregation entrusted with a great many treasures: a rich history, lots of people, position, a gorgeous campus, and a significant amount of good will in this town.  And it seems to me that we must decide anew how it is that we will invest all of this. Are we going to bury it in the yard so that we’re sure we have enough for ourselves in the decades to come?  Or are we going to take what actually belongs to God and invest it back into God’s world?  Are we asking people to give to an institution or to a vision?
 
Now, it’s important to note that the sin of servant #3 was not his prudence.  Prudence can be noble and wise.  Servant #3’s sin was his fear - fear of losing something that was not even his to begin with.  It was only something that he had been entrusted with for just a little while, but told to do the best with that he could while it was in his possession.
 
The late great theologian William Barclay once said that there can be no religion without adventure. And sometimes this life with God makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.  But of this hair-raising adventure of faith, I can tell you this with assurance: never once has this God failed me.  Never once.  And never will God fail you – or this church.  All God asks is that we are faithful with what we have been given, while God multiplies and blesses the work of our hands. 
​

0 Comments

"I walk through this life blind to most of its glories."

10/13/2019

2 Comments

 
Picture
SEEK GOD.  SEE GOD. CHOOSE LIFE
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
October 13, 2019
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
Luke 17:11-19
 
On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
 
From time to time, I go on retreat to the Episcopal Monastery of the Holy Cross.    It’s about 90 miles west of here and sits perched on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River.  Over the years I have participated in various guided retreats.  I’ve studied things like the physicality of prayer (how you use your body to pray) and the feminine aspects of the divine (a particular interest of mine).  But my favorite retreat was the one I did about five years ago on writing an icon - which is how one refers to the process of painting one.  You “write” an icon. 
 
In addition to the history and theology of icons, we learned technique.  I learned that icons are made up of layers and layers of thin, watery paint.  One must be careful not to be too heavy handed.  And because the layers are thin, it takes a long time to write an icon and requires a great deal of patience – which is actually one of the points.  And that repetitious action done over a long period of time is supposed to help you “free your mind and the rest will follow.”  It’s supposed to make space for God. 
 
Well I can tell you that that concept completely eluded me in the beginning.  It felt like I was wasting time.  But eventually, that repetition and that lack of focus began to open something up inside of me.  It did make space, without my realizing that it had.  Something inside of me was shifting.  And here is what I mean by that. I was in the monastery chapel, listening to the monks chant the Psalms, which usually would just bore me, when suddenly and in an unbidden kind of way I conscious of being part of the great sweep of Jewish and Christian history and devotion; a drop in a mighty river that has been flowing for thousands of years.  And then, later when I was sitting quietly in the common room with other pilgrims reading my book, sipping a cup of tea, and minding my own business, I was suddenly quite conscious of the communion of saints that does not need words.  Over delicious meals, I was awake to the taste and smell and feel of the food, and of the food actually becoming fuel in my body.  It was almost mystical.  And all of that consciousness made me feel alive.  And all of that aliveness made me feel one thing above all others: GRATITUDE.  I walked around the monastery grounds giddy with gratitude just for being alive. 
 
I wish I didn’t need a monastery and an icon writing class to hook into this incredible blessing we call LIFE. But the truth is that our lives are so full of busyness and franticness and constant three alarm fires that we needsomething out of the ordinary to make us slow down long enough to be open to gratitude.  And even then, most of us don’t pause long enough to experience it.
 
Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, where he would be tried and executed unjustly.  On his way, Luke says that Jesus passed through the region between Samaria and Galilee, which is strange because that wasn’t on his way to Jerusalem.  On this circuitous route, Jesus entered a village where he encountered ten lepers.  And from a distance they began to cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”
 
And mercy is exactly what they needed.  They lived lives of desperation, sequestered on the outskirts of town.  Everyone was afraid of catching what they had.  Everyone despised them because everyone believed they deserved exactly what they had.  Their illness was a punishment from God. 
 
Luke does not describe the moment of their dramatic healing.  Instead, Luke says that Jesus simply told them to go show themselves to the priest to verify their healing.  And Luke writes that as they went they were made clean.  It was in their movement, putting feet on their faith, that they were transformed. 
 
Now I imagine that when they realized that their diseased skin was now smooth and soft that they were overcome.  And so adrenaline kicked in and they ran as fast as they could toward their restored lives.  You see, once the priest checked them out, they could go back home for the first time in years.  They could embrace their children, perhaps now grown.  They could sit down to a meal with their extended families. They could sleep tangled with a spouse. Oh, I would have run toward that life too.  I would have never looked back.  But one did.  One of them actually stopped and paused.
 
This one, when he realized that he was healed, turned around and looked for Jesus.  And Luke says that he began to praise God with a loud voice and prostrated himself at Jesus’s feet and thanked him.  And then Luke adds this explosive throwaway line, completely lost on us: “And he was a Samaritan.”
 
And here the story becomes dangerous and subversive, worthy of our pausing for a moment.  In a modern retelling, Jesus might say that the one who returned to give thanks was a Muslim Uber driver or an undocumented restaurant worker or a bullied transgender teen.  Samaritans were despised because like Muslims and the undocumented and transgender folks, they were the wrong kind of people.  But Luke makes this double outcast – a Samaritan and a leper – the hero of the faith.  
 
Then Jesus says something rather odd.  Maybe it was tongue in cheek; said with a twinkle in his eye: “Where are the other nine?  Is it only this foreigner who has returned to give thanks and praise?”  Then he looked at the man and said: “Get up sir.  Go on about your life, sir.  Your faith has made you well, sir.”
 
“Your faith has made you well.”  And at this point, Jesus was no longer talking about the man’s physical healing from leprosy because the Greek verb has changed to “sozo” implying not just physical health, but wholeness, completion, salvation. So it is not an exaggeration in the least to say that it was the man’s gratitude that made him whole.  And he was grateful because he made the space to be grateful.  He stopped and paused and returned.  
 
I walk through this life blind to most of its glories.  Maybe you find that shocking.  Maybe you think Alison and I just float around on glory clouds all day long.  I wish.  I can’t speak for my friend Pastor Alison, but the truth for me is, I’m just too busy and distracted and angry and frustrated to really pay attention to the glory that surrounds my every day, let alone to be thankful.  I am most naturally one of the other nine lepers.  I receive blessing upon blessing, but just keep on about my business, never even slowing down.  But what would my life be like; what would your life be like if we were more like number ten?  And why must it take something so dramatic to get us there?  
 
In a personal essay, the Rev. Barbara Sholis writes of the moment she learned she had been diagnosed with cancer.  She says she cried for days, but hid that pain from her congregation.  Finally, she went to see her spiritual director who invited her to open herself to all the ways that she was not walking this path alone; to all the ways God was still present; to all the ways that she was still alive.  And driving home from that appointment, she formed this prayer: “Seek God, see God, choose life.”  And that focused, conscious choice for gratitude guided her throughout her journey of treatment and recovery.  “Seek God, see God, choose life.”    
 
In your bulletin is a piece of paper with those words on it.  And we’re going to pause now for you to reflect on those words. We’re going to pause long enough for us all to think about what we can do today or this week to create some space for gratitude?  Can you be specific in your plans?  Can you pick a time or a place.  You can write whatever you want on that paper.  It is for your eyes only.  And if you don’t want to write anything, you don’t have to.  You can just sit quietly.  While we do this, music will begin to play.  It’s a Taizé song of gratitude called “In the Lord I’ll Be Ever Thankful.”  So, first Joe will play while we think and write.  That will get us familiar with the music.  Then some singers will start to sing the simple words, which are in your bulletins. And finally we will all sing the words together.  And we will sing this song until it feels like we are done.  And this whole exercise will conclude with the words of the Lord’s Prayer, offered in a spirit of gratitude.
 
Seek God, see God, choose life.  Amen.

2 Comments

"Every story we tell about Communion comes to this inevitable conclusion: there is something holy here."

10/6/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
COMMUNION STORIES
Sunday, October 6, 2019 – World Communion Sunday
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 26:17-30
 
On the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Where do you want us to make the preparations for you to eat the Passover?” He said, “Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’” So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them, and they prepared the Passover meal. When it was evening, he took his place with the twelve; and while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” He replied, “You have said so.”
 
While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” When they had sung the hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.
 
 
It was one of my first Communion Sundays as Senior Minister of Broadway United Church of Christ in Manhattan. And I really wanted it to be special. And so, I polished the church’s silver, embossed with the words “Broadway Tabernacle, 1859.”  I laid the communion table with flowers and fruit and an antique lace tablecloth.  I prepared those who would assist me, with how to serve and what to say.  And then the moment arrived.  And then they came down the aisle – the beloved people of that congregation who had trusted their future to me.  They came, to receive the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.  And it was all so beautiful and so moving that I was on the verge of tears the whole time.  One of that congregation’s most venerable members approached me.  And as I prepared to hand her the bread, she leaned in, looked me dead in the eye, and said: “I find this whole thing distracting!”  To which I replied, “The body of Christ, given for you.”  Communion stories.
 
Here’s another.  About six years ago, Marcos and I were in Cuzco, Peru preparing for a trip to Machu Picchu. One evening, we wondered into the Cuzco cathedral, the oldest part of which was constructed 60 years before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.  We were there to see the architecture.  But suddenly people started to gather and it was clear that Mass was about to begin.  And so, we sat down in the back of that cavernous sanctuary and listened to the service.  When it came time for the Eucharist, I started to stand to go forward.  But Marcos touched my arm. “You’re not Catholic!” he whispered.  “I know that!” I replied.  “But the priest doesn’t know that and I don’t think Jesus cares!”  And so up the aisle we went.  Now Marcos, having been raised a Catholic in Brazil, knew exactly how to receive the body of Christ in a Catholic Church and how to cross himself and be reverential.  And I, having been raised a Baptist in the Midwest, tried to fake it, and did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.  Even so, that priest gave me a sideways glance that let me know he was on to me.  Communion stories.
 
And one more.  There were lots of things I did as a young minister that I wouldn’t do today.  For example, one Pentecost Sunday during a Children’s Sermon, wanting to make the Upper Room a reality, I set a bowl of newspapers on fire to demonstrate the flame of the spirit and then turned a fan on that flame to demonstrate the rush of a mighty wind – sending acrid smoke and burning embers wafting through that great church! I would definitely never do that again.  But this I might: I worked with the youth groups, among my other duties, and I was teaching them about Communion and trying to get them to understand it in its original context. You know, we make the bread and wine so special, so out of the ordinary - but the truth is that for Jesus and his friends, that was their everyday food, the most common things imaginable. And so, to make that point – that Jesus made common things holy and ask us to remember him in the midst of our common, everyday lives - we celebrated Communion using potato chips and Coca-Cola.  And those kids, now in their 40s and my Facebook friends, have never forgotten that.  And their parents, now in theirs 70s and 80s, and my Facebook friends, have forgiven me, and have never forgotten that. 
 
Communion stories.  Everybody has them.  Everybody struggles to attach some kind of meaning to this thing we are about to do. So what does it mean for you?  What are we really about to do here? And what is it that we actually believe about this thing called Holy Communion, or the Lord’s Supper, or the Eucharist? 
 
Well, ask  couple of hundred people in a Congregational Church and get a couple of hundred answers!  That story is as varied as we are – because we’re a varied lot!  -- In the United Church of Christ, it is estimated that 40% of our members come to us from the Catholic tradition. And people from that tradition bring one kind of story to this table.  There are folks in this church from the Orthodox tradition.  And that’s another story, another angle.  And then there are you Episcopalians and Lutherans and Presbyterians and Unitarians and Pentecostals and Baptists and Methodist and cradle Congregationalists.  And don’t forget those among us who don’t come from any religious tradition - each and all coming to this Table telling a story about what it all means, shaped either by a religious tradition or popular culture or literature or art or history.  And the marvelous thing about a church like ours is that all of those opinions live side by side without any one of them taking preeminence.  
 
So, whose communion story is the right story? Who knows?  Probably the best we can do is to look for the truth in the midst of all of the stories by looking for some common denominators; those things that bob to the surface in all our stories.  That’s usually how we find the truth, you know.  
 
So what is it that we can know about this mystery we call Holy Communion or the Lord’s Supper or the Eucharist?  Well, first of all, we need to get comfortable with the idea that we can’t really know much about it at all.  And that’s OK.  Think about it: those first disciples, who were actually there, understood little to nothing about Jesus or his plans or what he was even talking about at the Last Supper.  And one would deny him, and one would betray, and they would all desert him before that night was over.  And still, Jesus sat down and ate with them.  So the idea that we need to understand this meal or have the right theology about this meal before we partake of this meal is all backwards.  This meal itself is the teacher.
 
The great founder of Methodism, John Wesley, once said the sacrament of Communion was not only a confirming sacrament, but it was a converting sacrament.  In other words, it not only warms the hearts of the saved, it saves the hearts of the sinners.  And that’s the best reason I have ever heard to practice an Open Table, where absolutely everyone, without exception, is welcome! 
 
Secondly, whatever else might be happening up here, receiving communion is one of the few ways we actually use our bodies intimately in worship.  Last Sunday when I met with the children in Church School, among the many other things we talked about, we talked about the words we use during Communion.  And when I asked them if they thought it was weird that Jesus talked about the bread being his body and the cup being his blood, one of the boys said, “Yeah, like Zombies!”  He’s right, you know.  It is weird. And it’s shocking.  And it’s all on purpose because it’s meant to get our attention about this: Christ desires intimacy with us.  That flesh and blood talk – it’s about incarnation- which is the unique message of Christianity.  It’s about God, in our flesh and bones.  In Communion we invite Jesus into our very selves. It’s corporal and earthy.  And if you get just a glimpse of that, it will shake your world.  
 
So, we don’t need to understand it.  In fact, we can’t.  And, it’s a way for us to use our beautiful human bodies to worship God intimately.  And finally, I think we can all agree that no matter what stories about it we tell, every story we tell about it comes to this inevitable conclusion: there is something holy here – something beyond words.  We may not ring a bell.  We may not bow down before the bread and cup.  We may not cross ourselves.  But there is something holy here.  
 
I have often wondered exactly what it is.  Maybe it’s the power community – a group of people concentrated toward God and one another.  Maybe.  Or maybe it’s the presence of the Holy Spirit as Alison and I invite her to come and bless this simple bread and common cup.  Maybe.  Or maybe it’s the promise of Jesus, that wherever two or more are gathered in his name, there he is in the midst of them – not as some esoteric idea – but actually here, now. As the great theologian David Lowes Watson once put it: at this table “…we are as close to Jesus Christ as ever we can be.”  And that, it seems to me, is the best communion story of all.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.
​
0 Comments

    Archives

    November 2024
    October 2024
    September 2024
    July 2024
    June 2024
    May 2024
    April 2024
    March 2024
    February 2024
    January 2024
    December 2023
    November 2023
    October 2023
    September 2023
    August 2023
    July 2023
    June 2023
    May 2023
    April 2023
    March 2023
    August 2022
    July 2022
    March 2022
    November 2021
    February 2021
    July 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

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