Sermon: "Turn Turn Turn"

Scripture Intro - Luke 13:1-9

In this passage Jesus addresses an assumption about the role God plays in our human suffering that was prevalent in his time, as it is in ours.

The people around him were buzzing about two recent tragic occurrences – one in which a tower collapsed killing 18 people,

and another where a group of Galileans worshiping in the Jerusalem Temple were executed, at the hands of Roman soldiers doing the bidding of their governor, Pilate.

In both cases, the prevailing belief was that the victims had somehow played a part in their own fate, because they had sinned against God and failed to seek repentance.

We have no shortage of religious people in our own time, of all faiths, who believe that God unleashes hurricanes and causes buildings to collapse as punishment for our immoral ways.

Jesus rebukes this belief – asking the people casting judgment around him if they think the ways in which they fall short of God’s expectations are somehow not as egregious as the victims of tragic events.

Jesus reminds the people that they all fall short when it comes to seeking repentance and recognizing the ways in which they turn away from God.

But he doesn’t leave them to stew in this unpleasant reminder.

Instead he tells them a parable.

About a fig tree,

that has failed to produce fruit for three years and is in danger of being cut down for its shortcomings.

Until a gardener steps in to offer it grace.

Luke 13:1-9

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”

The Rev. Maureen R. Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

March 24, 2019 – Third Sunday in Lent

Luke 13:1-9

“Turn Turn Turn”

The word "repent" in Hebrew means to turn or change direction.

In Greek, as we often see it used in the New Testament, it means to change one’s mind.

Quite literally, it means to think differently.

It’s understandable if hearing the word REPENT makes you cringe.

As it conjures up images of televangelists pounding on pulpits and street preachers carrying signs warning us to, “Repent or perish!”

While those are the words that Jesus uses here in the Gospel of Luke there is so much more to his warning then a call to personal morality that is guaranteed to save us from the eternal fire of God’s punishment.

There’s a much larger change  – or turning – that Jesus is calling for here.

A change in perspective.

A change in perception.

A change in how we see God and ourselves moving in the world.

Not just as individuals but as a connected community –

as part of Creation as a whole.

But this is not a change – a turning – that comes easily for us.

Not just because we have trouble conceiving of change on such a grand scale,

but also because we struggle to see the need for a turning in ourselves –

our own need to think differently.

Partly because the faults of others tend to loom larger in our eyes.

It’s so much easier to see and call out the need for repentance in others than see the need for it in ourselves.

And while we may not believe God is doling out death sentences,

we may still believe that bad behavior deserves divine punishment.

Which is why it can be somewhat gratifying when those who lack a repentant heart suffer some sort of consequence in this life for their transgression.

Whether the transgression is large or small. 

Comedienne, Steve Hofstetter, specializes in telling stories about hard hearted people getting their comeuppance.

He tells the story of a woman he encountered in the airport in Los Angeles when he was hurrying to catch a flight to Japan.

The woman had stopped in the middle of the flow of people walking to their gates and was Face-Timing someone on her cell phone,

completely oblivious to the traffic jam she was causing. 

The woman also had a small dog with her, and because she was on her phone she failed to notice that the dog had taken the opportunity to relieve himself right there in the middle of the airport.

When a man stopped to alert the woman by saying,

“Ma’am, your dog just had an accident,”

she glared at him, and then looked back at the person she was speaking to on her phone and said,

“Some people are so rude.”

When the woman finished her call and started to walk away,

leaving her dog’s mess behind her,

someone else stopped her and said, 

“Ma’am, you can’t just leave that there.”

To which the woman flippantly replied, 

“Oh, they have people to take care of that.”

After the woman sauntered away, Hofstetter took it upon himself to guard the mess until a maintenance worker came along to clean it up.

He said,  “I couldn’t just walk away and let someone roll their suitcase through it. I saw it happen, and like it or not, I was now part of the story.”

That wasn’t the end of the story, however, because when Hofstetter arrived at his gate, the woman was there. She was also flying to Japan.

And as bad as her airport etiquette had been so far, she was in the midst of committing yet another communal faux pas – she was listening to music on her iPad– and wasn’t using headphones, much to the annoyance of those seated around her.

As Hofstetter said, “How inconsiderate can one human being possibly be?

I pictured her car in the airport lot parked diagonally across three spaces.”

The woman was being loud and obnoxious and most people were avoiding her, but Hofstetter chose to sit down right next to her…."to have a little fun,” he said.

After a few minutes he turned to her and said, 

“Are you going to London on business?”

Looking very annoyed at his intrusion, she said, “I’m going to Tokyo.”

To which he replied,

“Oh no, that flight’s moved to gate 53C. This is the flight to London.”

Hofstetter admits that all he wanted to do was give the woman a moment of panic – that sense of dread we all feel when we realize we’re at the wrong gate and need to make a mad dash to the other end of the airport.

He fully expected the woman’s uncertainty would be short lived.

She would get up, check the monitor, and see that the flight information still said "Tokyo," or she would ask the gate agent.

Or she would look around the gate and see everyone except for Hofstetter was Japanese, and perhaps wonder why this redheaded guy from Queens was going to London with all these Japanese people.

But she didn’t do any of that.

She just gathered up her stuff, including her blaring iPad and her dog,

and she left.

Hofstetter was amazed.

He said, “She didn’t even thank me….which I thought was rude.”

There’s one other detail that the woman didn’t catch onto.

At LAX there is no gate 53C.

Hofstetter says he doesn’t know what happened to the woman but she never boarded the plane.

The flight was delayed for about 20 minutes.

He added, “If you don’t fly very often you might think that was the airline waiting for the woman to return to the gate. But airplanes don’t wait for people. It’s not a carpool."

However, safety regulations say they must remove any checked baggage from the plane if the owner fails to make the posted boarding time.

And that process, takes about 20 minutes.

While most people on the flight were upset about the delay,

Hofstetter thought, “If they only know what I had done for them.”

We may feel a secret delight when someone gets their comeuppance like this,

when someone who makes likes life unpleasant for others is met with a little unpleasantness of their own.

The Germans even have a word for it – Schadenfraude.

Schadenfraude is defined as the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of or witnessing the troubles, failures, or humiliation of another.

Schadenfraude is not exactly what Jesus was calling out when the people around him believed the victims of tragedy must have played a part in their own fate.

It’s not as if the people were delighted that the alleged wrongdoers had been killed, but there was a sense that the unrepentant had gotten what they deserved – along with a sense of relief that good behavior must have saved them from a similar fate.

We may not believe that God causes natural disasters or tragic events or accidents or illnesses as a form of punishment for lack of repentance,

but there is a little game that we often play with ourselves when we hear about the misfortune or tragedy that befalls others.

We listen to their story or read about it in the paper and look for the reason why such a thing could have happened – the reason that makes it unlikely that the same thing could happen to us.

They lived in a big city or a foreign country where life is more unpredictable and dangerous.

They didn’t eat properly or they worked too hard or drank too much – it’s no wonder they got sick, or died before their time.

They put themselves at risk by traveling alone or being in an unsafe area after dark.

They didn’t follow police instructions and reached for their wallet –

how could the officer know they weren’t reaching for a gun?

They practice a religion that’s been used to justify violence and the slaughter of innocents, they should expect that others would mistrust and fear them.

It is a bit chilling that in the aftermath of the mass shooting at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, the lectionary for this Sunday presents us with a gospel text that mentions worshipers being killed while gathered in what was supposed to be a sanctuary – a safe haven – a sacred space –

where prayers of peace and mercy are lifted up to God.

In this instance it was Galileans who had come to the Jerusalem Temple to worship when Pilate’s men burst in and slaughtered them.

We don’t know if there were simmering prejudices against Galileans because they were different in some way from the Jews in Jerusalem,

or if they were targeted because of their connection with Jesus,

but while some pointed the finger of blame at the Galileans themselves,

and others placed the blame on the soldiers who carried out the killing,

and others placed the blame on the one in power, Pilate himself,

Jesus urged them all to stop looking for and naming the ways that others were in need of repentance,

and instead recognize that all of them, collectively, were in need of a change in perception -  a change in their way of thinking.

Jesus was effectively saying,

“Don’t you see that God is calling all of us to do and be something different in this world? That God is in the midst of re-creating this world anew?”

Jesus gave us glimpses of God’s world –

in the healing that he brought to those who’d been broken,

in the forgiveness he offered to those who were thought to be unforgivable,

in the way he reached out to those on the margins and brought them into the center,

in the way he pulled in those in power and those who lacked power,

showing them that they both had much to gain by standing together.

God’s world is built on love and expressed through our ability to build loving relationships with one another.

Anything less than that is not of God’s world.

Perhaps the repentance – the change in thinking that is needed for us as individuals and for us a species –

is a letting go of the belief that we exist in this world as separate beings who are only connected by blood, geography, or circumstance -

and therefore it only matters what happens to us, and those we deem worthy in our own immediate circle, and every one and every thing else is separate, foreign, alien, not of us.

What if we could see that we’re all connected – on a physical, emotional, and spiritual level – to each other and to every part of creation?

Can you imagine how different our world would be if we could see the connecting threads that bind us all together?

The threads that bind us regardless of the clear separations that we’re convinced exist between us?

The threads that bind a Christian worshiping in South Carolina to a Muslim worshiping in New Zealand.

That bind the billionaire CEO to the single mom living on food stamps.

That bind the white supremacist to the Black Lives Matter activist.

That bind the one trying to build a wall to the one trying to tear it down.

That bind all of humanity to nature and the changing climate and every living thing on this earth.

Repent or perish.

This is not a warning that we are destined to die at the hands of God unless we change our ways.

It’s an invitation – to a new life – a new world – a new way of thinking –

that is rooted in love rather than fear.

Like the fig tree that will inevitably bear fruit once it is placed in fertile ground, we too will flourish –

when we release our hold on the fears that divide us

and instead turn our hearts towards the love that connects us.

Love is God’s fertilizer.

If we thought of it that way,

Just imagine the fruit we would bear.

Thanks be to God, and Amen.

 

Sermon: "Thin Places"

Luke 9:28-36 - Intro

In this week's gospel reading, we encounter one of the most remarkable events in Jesus' life - the Transfiguration.

It is an experience that three out of the four gospel writers record,

with the details in each of their stories being nearly exactly the same.

Additionally, each of these gospel writers places the Transfiguration immediately after Jesus makes his first prediction of his impending death

and before he and the disciples begin winding their way to Jerusalem and the events that await them there during Holy Week.

But for all its drama and power, the transfiguration seems to play a very limited role in the rest of Jesus' ministry or in the disciples' immediate understanding of who Jesus is.

Even today, the church seems less comfortable talking about the miracle of the Transfiguration than it does other events in Jesus' life.

Perhaps this is because we, like Peter, James and John, have trouble comprehending the meaning of this event.

It’s confusing, it’s unexpected, and it has super natural overtones that we can’t easily explain or relate to an experience that we might have today.

If we place ourselves in the story, we might try to capture the moment that Jesus transforms before our eyes, just as Peter did.

Peter suggests they build dwelling places for the prophets – we might whip out our smart phone and record it all on video so we can relive the experience over and over again – so we might better understand it.

The gospel writers have done that for us – recording the events for posterity so we can read about it thousands of years after the fact.

But perhaps this is one of those experiences that we must have for ourselves.

A direct encounter with God – and with Christ –

that inspires us, strengthens us, and leaves us in awe –

so we’re better prepared to carry God’s presence into the world.

Luke 9:28-36

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.

And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him.

They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.

Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing what he said.

While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. 

The Rev. Maureen R. Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

March 3, 2019 – Last Sunday of Epiphany – Transfiguration

Luke 9:28-36

“Thin Places”

If you wanted to be or feel closer to God, where would you go?

Would you seek out a church or a chapel –

where light trickles through stained glass windows,

the smell of burning candles or incense fills the air,

and a crucifix or a simple empty cross holds your attention,

helping you to focus on being in the presence of the Divine?

Would you hike out into the woods –

where sunlight filters down through a canopy of branches,

the sound of calling birds and buzzing insects fills the air,

and the smell of fresh pine needles and decaying leaves both grounds you and heightens your sense of connection to the earth and its Creator?

Or would you climb a mountain –

in much the same way that Moses, Elijah, and Jesus once did –

seeking to move closer to God by ascending upwards,

where the air is thinner, the trees huddle safely below the summit,

and nothing but the sound of the wind, the damp mist of the clouds, and a glorious view of the distant horizon, stands between you and the heavens?

These places where we encounter the Divine – or feel a sense of closeness to something greater than ourselves are often called THIN PLACES.

Thin places are described as geographical or physical locations where the veil between this world and the eternal world is thinner or more permeable.

They’re places where people may describe having a heightened sense of spiritual awareness, where the energy is palpable or even visible,

where the feeling that one is moving between or simultaneously occupying two worlds leads to a sense of awe, clarity, and connection that is difficult to duplicate or describe once the moment has passed.

Thin places are often described as being magical or mystical or sacred in nature. 

In June of 2017, when I was on sabbatical, I had the opportunity to travel to the island of Iona, which lies off the western coast of Scotland.

If any of you have ever traveled to Scotland or Ireland, then you may have visited some of these thin places.

Places that often have their roots in ancient spiritualities:

Pagan burial mounds that rise up from the earth,

Celtic crosses standing in the midst of ruined abbeys,

deliberate arrangements of primeval stones standing alone in grassy fields,

their original meaning and purpose having been lost to time.

The tiny Island of Iona has become a pilgrimage of sorts for those in search of thin places.

The island is only 3 miles long and 1 mile wide, and can only be reached by taking two ferries and enduring a sketchy drive across the Isle of Mull.

I say sketchy because the road between the ferry ports is essentially 35 miles of single-track.

Meaning its only wide enough to fit one car.

At varying points along the road there are passing places where one vehicle can pull over to allow another coming in the other direction to pass.

It’s a 50 mph dance that the natives have down pat –

but when you’re fresh off the plane, and still getting used to the steering wheel being on the other side of your rental car,

navigating the road to Iona can be an other worldly experience in itself.

There were several times where I was sure I would soon be in the literal presence of God.

Iona is a magical place.

It’s best known for its historic Abbey and monastery,

which stand upon the ruins of the original buildings built by the Christian monks who landed on the island in the year 563.

That particular community of monks has been credited with bringing Christianity to Scotland - and the Abbey at Iona, despite its remoteness,

was known to be a center of learning in its time, producing some of the worlds most beautiful and intricate illuminated manuscripts.

Today, thousands of people flock to the tiny island every year in search of a mystical experience – including Christians – both Catholic and Protestant - and those who might call themselves “spiritual but not religious” –

in particular, those who embrace a more new age interpretation of Celtic spirituality, where nature itself is the source of the divine.

But while Iona’s reputation as a divine and scared place has come to be romanticized – the story of its origin is decidedly more human.

The twelve missionaries who founded the monastery at Iona were led by St. Columba, an Irish monk, who it turns out had less than mystical motives for establishing such a remote community.

Columba fled his native Ireland after he was accused of copying the Gospels – which monks did all the time, in fact that was their job –

but Columba allegedly made a copy for his own personal use instead of sending it off to be kept in an official library or church. A huge no-no.

Rather than face punishment for this crime, Columba piled 12 of his closest colleagues into a round boat made of whicker and rawhide known as a coracle, and let the currents carry them across the sea to the coast of Scotland.   

According to historians, the first island the monks encountered was deemed unacceptable by Columba because he could still see Ireland in the distance.

So they set off again and landed on the much more remote Iona.

Columba’s uneasy relationship with his homeland is reflected in the name for first hill he climbed on Iona, which is called “The Hill with its Back to Ireland.”

As a monk, Columba displayed some other eccentric idiosyncrasies.

He banished women and cows from Iona,

claiming that “where there is a cow there is a woman, and where there is a woman there is mischief.”

He also reportedly banished snakes and frogs from the island.

How he accomplished this feat is not known.     (historic.uk.com)

Ultimately St. Columba chose Iona as the home for his monastery not because it was a place of mystical beauty, as we see it today,

but rather because it was a harsh and barren island –

windswept and rainy and frigidly cold for most of the year,

where even the sturdiest of seeds struggled to take root.

The howling gale force winds, the crashing sea, and the frequent lightening storms reportedly terrified Columba and his monks.

To them this was a thin place.

A place where the unpredictable and chaotic nature of God and God’s Creation had you quaking in your boots in fear and awe.

Peter, James, and John had a similar experience on top of the mountain where they witnessed Jesus’ transfiguration.

Just a few days before, they had listened to Jesus telling them that he was destined to suffer and die in service to God.

Everything they understood about the promised Messiah from their faith,

and everything they had hoped and dreamed would happen under the leadership of this master teacher and healer was in the process of crashing down around their feet.

Yet as they struggled to comprehend what Jesus had told them,

he unsettled their minds even further, by inviting them to come with him up the mountain, where they would see him transformed before their eyes.

The disciple’s first instinct was to claim this as a thin place – a sacred space – as Peter suggested building dwelling places for each of the prophets,

perhaps so they could hold onto this image of Jesus – alive and glowing –

and not descend down the mountain into the world where their teacher was destined to suffer and die.

But in this thin place they then had a very close encounter with God.

Who spoke to them saying, “This my son, my Chosen, Listen to him”.

After being jolted by this glimpse behind the Divine veil, they followed Jesus down the mountain, where he continued to teach and heal,

and continued to teach them how to do the same in his absence. 

When we come off the mountain, or leave the island,

or step out of the woods, or the sanctuary,

we leave the thin places behind, and move into the thicker places –

the places where it’s not as easy to see or hear or feel God’s presence. 

But hopefully the encounter we have with God – on the mountain, or in the woods, or in the sanctuary – is transformative enough to stay with us –

 to allow us to see and hear and feel God everywhere we go.

John Harvey, who served as the leader of the Iona Christian community from 1988-1995, ended up following in St. Columba’s footsteps,

in that he did not seek to reside permanently in the thin place where he encountered the closeness of God.

Just as Columba left the island to bring the Christian faith into the hills and valleys of Scotland, John Harvey left Iona and established Christian communal homes in some of the poorest communities in Scotland’s inner cities. 

Not to convert people but to serve them. 

Harvey says,  “Jesus didn’t come to set up a church when he said ‘Follow Me’. He didn’t say ‘Worship me.’ The point is you’re not supposed to stay in one place; you’re supposed to be on the move.”

In the same vein, UCC minister and theologian, Walter Brueggemann urges God in Christ to move off the mountain and move off the pages of scripture - and move through us, with the follow prayer:

“Listen up, you Majestic Sovereign, and move off the page to the trouble of the world, move to the peace negotiations, and cancer diagnoses, and burning churches, and lynched blacks, and abused children. Listen to the groans and moans, and see and hear and know and remember, and come down! Be your Friday self, so that your world may be Eastered.”

We may not fully comprehend the Transfiguration, 

but one way to make this story relevant is to move it off the page –

bring it down from the mountain - 

and take it with us into the world.

Look for the thin places, 

even in the thick places.

Look for signs of God in the world.

And where God is not easy to find,

be the presence of God that others desperately need to see.

Thanks be to God, and Amen. 

 

 

 John Harvey quote is from Love of Country: A Journey through the Hebrides by Madeleine Bunting. 

Walter Brueggemann quote is from Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann

Sermon: "What's In It For Me?"

Luke 6:27-38

“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you. “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

 

The Rev. Maureen R. Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

February 24, 2019 – Seventh Sunday after Epiphany

Luke 6:27-38

“What’s In It For Me?”

So, which part of this reading from Jesus’ sermon on the plain is not sitting right with you?

Which part had you saying silently to yourself,

“Ehhh, I don’t know about that.”

Which part had you forming a counter argument in your head,

to the point where you stopped listening to the rest of the reading?

Is it the part about turning the other cheek after someone strikes you?

Is it the part about giving to everyone who begs from you?

Is it the part about loving those who hate you – and praying for those who’ve abused you?

This passage is full of provocative statements that may have us saying,

“Yeah that may have been doable for Jesus  – considering who he was – but the rest of us….we have live in the real world.” 

The world where turning the other cheek, and giving to all who beg from us, and praying for those who abuse us – may leave us bloody, broke, or dead. 

And all things considered, that’s exactly what happened to Jesus.

And all things considered, we’re not Jesus.

We don’t have the power to turn water into wine.

We don’t have the power to heal the sick.

And as resilient as we may be, we don’t have the power lay ourselves at the feet of those who would gladly walk all over us – while we lift up a prayer of forgiveness and invite them to do so again and again.

If you find yourself wanting to offer a rebuttal to Jesus after listening to his sermon, you’re not alone.

A pastor friend of mine shared that one Sunday, instead of reading a sermon that she wrote, she stood up and read Jesus’ entire sermon as it appears in Matthew’s gospel – all 110 verses.

The she sat down, without adding any commentary of her own,

letting the sermon speak for itself.

Afterward, during coffee hour, she had several parishioners who came up to her in a huff, saying - “That part where you talked about giving our shirt to someone who takes our coat – I don’t agree with that.”

Or,  “That part where you said we should not resist an evil person – how can you say that? What kind of pastor preaches a sermon like that?

All she could do was hold up her hands and say,

“Hey, I didn’t say it….Jesus did – take it up with him.”

It might help us to know that Jesus delivered his sermon with one overarching theme in mind –

the theme we might say was Jesus’ favorite to preach –

that is, what is this Kingdom of God that we all want to be a part of supposed to look like?

In what way does God’s world look different from our world?

We live in a world that values reciprocal relationships.

When we’re asked to give of ourselves we often want to know,
“What’s in it for us?”

What we give, we expect to get in return.

If we think we’re unlikely to get what we seek in return,

we’re less likely to give.

Even if what we’re seeking is just a “thank you” or some other sign of appreciation of our generosity.

And if what we are given causes us pain –

we want to return that pain to the one who has given it to us. 

But Jesus tells us this is not the WAY of God’s world.

 

God’s world is where we give of ourselves and of our bounty without thinking about what we might receive in return –

because the gift of God’s love and grace is all we need to sustain us.

God’s world is where the hate and abuse that others have heaped upon us can no longer harm us,

and because we understand the pain that causes others to lash out,

we offer them love instead of judgment in return.

God’s world is where we offer one another mercy and forgiveness,

even to those who’ve hurt us in this world,

because God offers mercy and forgiveness to us.

The Kingdom (or Reign) of God is not of this world.

Yet it is THIS world that will one day become THAT world.

And we see glimpses of it whenever we help the spirit of Jesus’ sermon come to life.

But are we meant to live into everything that Jesus asks of us here –

in a very real and literal way?

As we keep saying, context matters.

While we may be tempted to read the gospels as a “How To” manual – in an effort to understand how we’re supposed to live as followers of Christ,

Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain was not directed at the general masses gathered around him.

It was directed at the twelve who pledged to give up their lives to follow him.

Luke tells us Jesus looked up at his disciples when he said,

“Blessed are you who are poor, Blessed are you who are hungry, Blessed are you who weep, for the Kingdom of God is yours.”

Jesus’ disciples for the most part came from the ranks of the poor and the marginalized.

He recruited a handful of fisherman who struggled to feed their families,

an ostracized tax collector despised for his work,

and a fringe dwelling zealot who clung to a narrowly focused interpretation of the faith that left him suspicious and accusing of those who failed to live up to his standards.

Jesus’ sermon on the plain was intended to prepare them for what was to come.

He said, “I say to you that listen…”

Meaning those who stuck with him, and sat at his feet listening and questioning and challenging themselves to grow.

Jesus was not speaking to the fickle ones who wandered off when he said things not to their liking.

He was not speaking to the trend seekers who hovered at the edges waiting to see who else was committing to THIS messiah,  

and who else might emerge as the one to follow next.

And he was not speaking to the powerful and the privileged.

Who were listening – but only to gather further evidence and gauge just how dangerous this carpenter turned preacher from Nazareth might be.

Jesus says, “I say to you that listen…” and then he paints a picture of the Kingdom of God that he’s inviting his disciples to be a part of -

and help build, in his name. 

Then he lays out a lengthy list of verbs that are very hard to live into.

Loving.

Turning.

Praying.

Lending.

Giving.

Forgiving. 

Some of these things – done in THIS world, are nearly impossible to do.

And others, while sounding noble and righteous on paper,

would serve to only further harm and endanger those most in need of healing and restitution.

Advising someone who has been emotionally, physically, or sexually abused to pray for and forgive their abuser – because Jesus said so –

is just one example of what not to do.

Approaching that level of forgiveness is Kingdom of God kind of living that only a few of us will ever hope to obtain in this world.

But there are some things that Jesus asks of us here –

such as loving our enemies and doing good to those who hate us - 

while seeming impossible may just appear that way, because we’ve talked ourselves into believing they’re just too difficult for us to do.  

Because they push against our limitations as human beings.

There was a time when it was believed that human beings were not capable of running a mile in under four minutes.

In the early part of the twentieth century a few people steadily moved under the 4 minute 10 second mark, and in 1945, a runner from Sweden hit 4 minutes and one second  – but THAT it was believed – was the absolute limit.

For the next 10 years, that record stood as a barrier of human limitation.

Then in May of 1954, Roger Bannister of Great Britain broke the

4-minute mark, running the mile in 3:59.4.

And within three years, 17 other men did the same.

There was a time when it was believed women should not run more than 800 meters.

Then Katherine Switzer jumped into the field of the 1967 Boston Marathon and now some 50 years later women’s marathon times are inching closer to the men’s.

And when it comes to ultra-endurance marathons of 100 miles or more, the women are actually surpassing the men.

And then we have long-distance cyclist, Mark Beaumont, of Scotland,

who recently set the record for riding a bicycle around the world –

completing the trip it in just over 78 days - by riding 240 miles per day.

Beaumont held the previous record, which he set 10 years before,

when he completed the same route in 194 days.

Keeping to a more conservative 100 miles a day.

Because it was believed that a pace greater than that would be impossible maintain day after day for months at a time.

When asked if his ability to ride an extra 140 miles a day over what was previously thought humanly possible was aided by advances in bike technology, or what we now know about training and nutrition -

Beaumont responded:

 “Bikes haven’t changed, we haven’t changed, what has changed is what we believe we can do.”

If we want to live in God’s world –

where love is heaped upon those who lash out in pain,

where mercy is offered to those who fail even in the worse way,

where grace rains down upon those who seem to least deserve it –

Then we have to believe that creating such a world is not beyond our capabilities.

And we have to want it and believe it because at any given time we could be the one in need of such unconditional love, mercy, and grace.

Dorothy Day, the Catholic activist and champion of the poor, once said, “I really only love God as much as the person I love the least.”

Jesus’ sermon to his disciples sets this challenge before us.

To love as God calls us to love – and as we wish to be loved in return.

So when we ask, “What’s in it for us?”

Jesus’ response is a resounding,

“The Kingdom of God will be yours.”

Thanks be to God, and Amen.