You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught

Al Bustan neighborhood, Silwan, Jerusalem

Sermon preached at the
Monroe Congregational Church, UCC
On May 7, 2017

Acts 8:26-39
This is my first Sunday back with you after a sabbatical as a short-term missionary with the World Council of Churches in the Holy Land, and my head is still fresh with memories. I hope you’ll indulge me in sharing a moment that reminds me of the scripture story Gary just read for us.

One of our daily routines was to provide protective presence for Palestinian high school students attending the Al Bustan Municipal School in a village outside of Jerusalem known as Silwan. It sounds like something grand, but our work was really just to stand there with our vests on, greet the children and watch them walk up the hill to school.

That doesn’t seem hard, does it? Why travel halfway across the world to become a glorified babysitter? Why did our presence there matter?

Studies show that non-violent protective presence decreases the level of violence; people behave better when other people are watching.

And there had been a lot of acts of violence lately… teens throwing rocks at soldiers, soldiers throwing tear gas canisters and shooting rubber bullets in return. If you are a teenager who regularly walks past soldiers who you consider to be foreign occupiers you might be tempted to tell them to get the hell out. And on the flip side, if you are an inexperienced young Israeli soldier just a few years older than the students, you might retaliate in any number of violent ways.

So our non-violent, international presence was supposed to help everyone within this system of violence and retribution be a little less reactionary. That was the goal, at least.

So there we are in this village, we’re kind of new and the teens don’t know us yet. For all they know we could be Israeli settlers, come to take control of their land. We didn’t do a great job introducing ourselves, because none of us spoke much Arabic at the time. And that’s on us.

The morning started off pretty quiet, soldiers had not yet arrived. A group of teens began to gather about 20 feet away from us, whispering, laughing and looking sideways at each other. That’s when an older boy, probably about my son’s age, picked up a small stone and threw it in our direction. His friend picked up another and followed his example. The first thrower missed. The second one hit my right foot (not hard enough to hurt).

Right in that moment is when I heard the still, small voice within me say “go talk to them”.

“Hey!” I called out. “Saba Ilher” (which is Arabic for good morning)…

And I began walking up the hill towards the group of kids. When I reached them, told them what my name was “Isme, Jennifer”, that I was from America. I asked them who they were, and they responded with laughter and smiles at my faulty Arabic.

Most importantly, they put the stones down.

Now, I could have left the moment that boy aimed the stone at us, hopped on a municipal bus and returned in safety to our placement house. But listening to that inner voice, going to talk with them, was exactly what was needed to break the cycle of violence and fear.

Not forever, mind you, but at least in that moment.

In order to follow that inner voice, I had to put away my fear. Maybe that’s easier for me because I work with youth. For some reason, most middle-aged people like me usually get a little nervous around teens. Maybe that fear ramps up when the teens are Muslim and come from a rough neighborhood that has seen too much violence and poverty.

Fear fuels prejudice.

There are many kinds of prejudices that mess up the world. There is nationalist prejudice. Today there are children who will be carefully taught to hate Israelis, to hate the Palestinians, to hate the Arabs, to hate the Iraqis, to hate the Iranians, to hate the Russians, to hate the Japanese, to hate the North or South Koreans.

There is racial prejudice. People have been taught that blacks are inferior to whites, that First Nations people are lazy, that Mexicans are dirty, that Asians are taking our jobs. There are religious prejudices too.

From the time he was a little baby, Philip had been taught to be prejudiced against Gentiles like the Ethiopian Eunuch.

Just like the classic Roger’s & Hammerstein song from the musical South Pacific…

You've got to be taught to hate and fear,
You've got to be taught from year to year,
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!

Philip was carefully taught by his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. He was carefully taught by his friends and classmates. He was carefully taught by his rabbis who quoted selected scripture that made it seem as if his prejudice was God’s will.

But all those little tiny boxes that we keep trying to separate ourselves with, God continually tries to pull us from. Philip is led by God into relationships with people who don’t know Jesus Christ, and he winds up sharing his faith. I was led into friendship by God with a group of scared Muslim teens, and we wound up sharing laughter and joy.

In the Bible reading for today, we don’t discover yet that Philip had four daughters who become prophets. Imagine their family dinners… four preachers! My poor parents just have the one, that’s more than enough suffering for one family.

Philip had been carefully taught what the role and position of women was to be. Women were property, like farm animals that were to be obedient. He was taught that women should know their position in life and accept it, that they should not speak unless they were spoken to – except in church when they should be silent. But his daughters had been anointed to spread the gospel in public.

In the Book of Acts, we find stories about men and women whose hearts are filled listening to the indwelling Still-Speaking Spirit of God inside of them. Being filled with the Holy Spirit, Philip was sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s voice inside of him: “Get up and go Philip. Philip, go to Samaria. Philip, go to Gaza. Philip, go to the black man. Philip, go to the eunuch. Philip, go to your four daughters who are prophets.”

And he listened to that inner guiding voice, too. It wasn’t merely his conscience. It wasn’t an angel with flapping feathery wings; it wasn’t an auditory hallucination; a dream or a nightmare. It was the inner guiding voice of God, the Spirit of Jesus.

Like Philip, we too can listen to the inner guiding voice as God talks with us about our marriage, our kids, changing careers, or being on the swim team. Listen. What do you hear? Amen.

Spirit for All

I Corinthians 12:1-13, Acts 2:1-21
There is something about open flame in church that makes me a little nervous. On Christmas Eve, when we burn hand held candles together and sing Silent Night my pulse quickens. Yes, it is a beautiful but there is something more to it than that. I feel, in that moment, so aware of the sacred wildness of the flame.
Clark and I were married in 1992 in my home church, which had a little white sanctuary with big open windows. The wedding too place in mid-October when the leaves on the trees were fiery red and bold yellow. I remember looking at the sky and thinking that the sky had never been bluer.

My family has always teased me a bit on my ability to over plan. I’ve been that way all my life. It was a skill that came into good use as I prepared for the wedding. The joke of that day was that I had planned so thoroughly that even God had received the memo in time to send the good weather! (which is really horrible theology, if you think about it!)

On my wedding day I really tried to set all that aside and live in the moment. The planning was over, and the time to celebrate had begun. To signal the beginning of the ceremony, I arranged for a string quartet of my high school friends to play Vivaldi’s “Spring” as first Clark’s mother then my mother lit a taper candle on the communion table.

The plan was that from these two taper candles, Clark and I would light one large candle in the center in a Unity Candle ceremony. This moment would symbolize the coming together of our families. But there was a problem when my mother tried to light her candle. The fancy lighter we had purchased for just this occasion would not work. She tried and tried to light that candle, to no avail. My dad, standing in the back of the church with me, whispered in my ear “Why did we think your mom would be able to work a lighter?” and we laughed.
 
My soon-to-be mother in law was kind enough to jump out of her seat and give her a hand. Now, that would have been a funny, sweet moment to capture on film, if only my uncle had remembered his video camera like he was supposed to. We carried on with the service, said our vows, lit our unity candle, and exchanged the rings.

At the end of the service, we bowed our heads and prayed with Pastor Jim as he said the benediction. Suddenly, one of our groomsmen Kevin rushed towards us, screamed “Excuse me, Father!” dropped our minister to the floor and quickly removed his preaching robe. The acrid smell of burnt polyester filled the room. My heart was struck with terror as I turned around and clutched my best friend’s hand in a tight grip. “What do I do?” I asked her. “Just breathe!” she said.

I don’t believe that any amount of preparation and planning for the day could have prepared me for my minister catching on fire at my wedding.  Fortunately, the quick thinking and vigilance of our friend Kevin (who was also a volunteer fireman) saved Pastor Jim from serious injury. Polyester preaching robes are pretty flammable, but they are also replaceable. I have learned to be very cautious around Unity candles when I am involved in a wedding ceremony. And to keep a bucket of water handy!

On a day like Pentecost, when we are celebrating the birthday of the church in the upper room and imagining tongues of flames over all of the disciples  heads I remember that moment in the little white church. While fire, as a metaphor for the Holy Spirit, can be sacred and meaningful it can also be somewhat dangerous.
Earlier in this service we welcomed seven new people into our congregation as members. All of them were baptized at some moment in their lives in the name of the Trinity, God in three persons. A great metaphor for thinking about the Trinity is considering the three states of water. Water can be solid (as ice). It can be liquid, and it can be a vapor. Just as we have three ways of knowing water, we have three ways of knowing God: there is the one who created us, whom Jesus called Father. There is the God known to us as Jesus Christ, our teacher and redeemer. And there’s the God we know as Holy Spirit.

Or do we? Ask the average churchgoer (who isn’t Pentecostal) to talk about God and you might hear a lot about the Creator and Jesus, but probably not as much about the Holy Spirit. I think a lot of Christians are really not Trinitarian, but effectively Dualitarians: we’re good with God and Jesus but we’re not really sure about the Holy Spirit. Well, friends, today is all about the Holy Spirit, both because it is Pentecost and because we are celebrating new members. So I want to offer you another image for us to work with to try to better understand the Holy Spirit. The image is Fire Water.

Paul talks about us all drinking of one Spirit, a Spirit which refreshes us like water on a hot day. This Spirit gives us the energy and compassion to bring refreshment to others. When someone says to me that in the midst of a trauma or difficulty that they had a strong sense that God was with them, then they have known the Holy Spirit and been strengthened by living waters. When we are thirsty in life, thirsty for love or hope or joy or reconciliation or peace or justice, we cry out to the Spirit, trusting that a drop of water will fall into our dryness and bring us life.

But that’s not the only way to describe the Holy Spirit; the Pentecost story brings us another image: Fire. As in getting “all fired up” like the disciples did that day. They got fired up to tell the good news of Jesus’ message of love and forgiveness. They got fired up and insisted that God intended to shake the world up a bit. They got so fired up they left the room in which they had been safe and secure and went out to the streets to make some holy trouble.

The Spirit’s presence in our lives can make us feel “all fired up”. We are called out of comfortable ruts and pushed and prodded into speaking or acting as God’s servants when things are not right around us. The Spirit forces our eyes and ears open to see the pain of those who suffer or are persecuted or face injustice. The Spirit gives us words of truth to speak to the powerful. The Spirit moves our voices to sing, our feet to dance, and even pushes our lives in directions we don’t think we wanted to go.

When fire existed all on its own on my wedding day it was a little destructive. But the fire and water of the Holy Spirit has a different end effect. Their purpose is to construct the world as God has dreamt it, as God created it to be: just, loving, whole.

Sometimes in a construction project there is some demolition that needs to happen. Sometimes in our lives and in our world change comes painfully, even change with love at its base. The Spirit is involved in that, like when someone struggles to cast out an addiction that controls their lives. Ultimately, the Spirit is in the business of building up people and communities. Soothing waters and powerful fire come together in miraculous ways, and we are the vessels for that melding of elements. That’s what the Holy Spirit is all about.

So today, to remind us that the Spirit is not just about cleansing, refreshing water, or uncontrollable, dangerous fire I’m going to put some fire in the baptismal font. For our new members, and for all of us as we remember our baptism, this is the day to claim the Spirit not just as a character in a story from the Bible, but as a presence in our lives. This is a day to remember that there is Spirit for All. Amen.

...and the Holy Spigot!

An eight year old girl with pigtails used to wander through the woods behind her parent’s house, down to a bubbling stream. This stream was one of her favorite places in the whole wide world. She would bring a book with her sometimes, and sit upon a large boulder just on the other side. There she had the chance to think about many things, and sometimes even dream. In the late summer, sunlight flickered through the trees in an almost-magical sparkly way. Bullfrogs chanted a loud chorus as she hopped from stone to stone, water sloshing into her sneakers. After sunset, the fireflies would come out and coax her towards home.

The girl had a brother, a roly-poly little imp of five. The boy was loud, and always running around the house, which set the girl’s nerves on edge. Her mother, bless her heart, called the boy “hyperactive”.  The girl? Well she had other names for him which I won’t share in polite company. Suffice it to say that the children’s parents spent much time of their day refereeing their squabbles.

The girl would daydream from time to time about who this child, her brother might really be. “Maybe he is a gypsy, left on our doorstep” she would say, “and his real family will come back for him soon”. Or, “perhaps he belongs in a circus, and it is my job to train him to do tricks so he can go back to the big top!” But no, her mother and father insisted that the boy really did belong to them and whether she liked him or not she was his sister and was responsible for him!

That morning in church the girl heard words like “Jesus” and “baptism” and “water” and in her 8 year old heart she really wanted to love her brother as herself. But she struggled, mightily. So on that clear spring Sunday afternoon the girl and the boy held each other’s hand and walked down to the stream behind the house together. They stood on a river rock and the girl bent down and cupped her hands full of icy cold water. “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spigot – Amen” and with a dramatic flourish she dumped the water on his head and turned her face to the sky, waiting for a dove to land on his shoulder like it showed in her children’s Bible. But the dove never came.

What did come was a big cold splash to her face, and a squeal of giggles as the boy returned the favor. Many, many more splashes came from that first volley and soon they were both trudging towards home, fully dressed, covered in mud, wet and happy.

I think that Peter and his community held that same kind of joy with one another in the story we just read. They were just beginning to “get it”. After the baptism of a Roman Centurion named Cornelius, the movement continued to struggle a little bit with the idea of who was in and who was out.

But the apostle Peter, like the little girl at the stream, understood that nothing could get in the way of God’s abundant love through the waters of baptism. God’s grace, like water, is free-flowing and abundant and no one – not me, not you, not anyone, can get in the way of that. The problem is that people try to get in the way of that all the time.

We live in a world of boundaries which can mean different things to different people. Boundaries can be helpful, like when they keep the Huns from invading China (think of the Great Wall). But there is also an ugly wall dividing Palestine and Israel. Israelis argue this wall is to keep people safe. Palestinians argue that this wall keeps them from their jobs, their ancestral lands, their families.

Some boundaries are more subtle. They are a part of our identity and help us know who we are in relation to other people. If you see someone wearing a Red Sox shirt, you’ll know that they are not a Yankee fan, and vice versa. For Peter and that earliest community, boundaries protected them and helped them understand their world. The Jews and Gentiles who were joining the movement each came from cultures with clearly defined boundaries and expectations. The earliest practices of the Jesus movement was to keep the boundaries, the distinctions in place. If you were a Jew who followed Christ, you hung out with other Jews who followed Christ. If you were a gentile, you hung out with other gentile converts.

Are we that different today? We tend to gather with people with whom we can identify. So, when we think of this story, don’t just think of it as history. Think of this story as here and now. Our text has Peter preaching, and the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. Then, (catch the prejudice embedded in the text). "The circumcised believers (translation: Jewish Jesus followers) who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles."
How often do we do that? Invite people to join us, but then assume that we are still the only ones with the gifts? They believed Jesus when he said to take his gospel to the whole world. But they seemed to operate as if those new converts had to act exactly like them to belong.

Back at the turn of the 20th century there was a church in Tucson, Arizona that sent money to many Native American Reservations in their area. The gospel told them to take care of the poor. So they did. They sent money, clothing, and food. But then, people started leaving the Reservation and came to the cities, including Tucson. Where did they go? They went to the church that had so faithfully supported them.

But the white congregation in Tucson wasn’t quite ready for integration. Sending money and support to the Reservation was one thing but having those people show up to worship was something else entirely. So the Tucson congregation started a new congregation so the Native Americans would have their own place to worship. While that story makes me sad on many levels, it is not all bad news.
The Holy Spirit was not to be deterred. This new congregation became a beacon for social justice, a place where all are welcomed and a reminder that God’s ways are not in our control. Nor will they be held back by our boundaries and walls.

The Spirit challenges our assumptions. She keeps putting us in situations where we are not comfortable. Listening to the voice of the Spirit is not without risks. It will certainly put you in uncomfortable situations. It will cause you to reconsider, maybe even get you in trouble. But it will also help you break down the boundaries that either you have built for yourself or your society has built for you.

The question for you is this: where is the Holy Spirit calling you to break down your boundaries? Who is out there in the community, or in this very congregation, that might be waiting for an invitation from you before they can cross their own borders and live into what God is dreaming for them?
How do we listen for the voice of the Holy Spirit and live into the future God is dreaming for us? Because if we listen to the voice of the Spirit, we need to be ready to be disrupted. We need to be ready to give up control of the outcome. We need to be ready for things to change and to be different.
When boundaries seem too hard to overcome, when the walls that divide seem to be too great for us to break down, take heart! God’s Spirit will not be limited by them as we are. Lizards can scale a wall without a thought. Butterflies will float right over the top, riding on the wind currents. These walls that seem so insurmountable to us are not so to the Holy Spirit.

In the final verses of our text this morning, the narrator makes an interesting comment. "Then they invited Peter to stay for several more days". The Spirit brings people together for relationship, where healing and grace can happen.

Even in the lives of two children like my brother Mike and myself. I know deep in my heart that it was the Spirit that led the two of us to the stream that day. As adults, the road hasn’t always been smooth for us, but at least we are still on it together. I am thankful that the voice of the Spirit brought us together here today. May we continue to be surprised by the directions she would have us go. Amen.