Sermon: "The Road Not Taken"

Rev. Maureen Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

May 4, 2014

Luke 24:13-35

“The Road Not Taken”

It had all been one huge, colossal mistake.

We were chasing after a dream, calling ourselves disciples, following yet another Messiah who turned out to not be what he had claimed to be.

Three years ago, Cleopas and I were walking this very road,

between Emmaus and Jerusalem, when we first laid eyes upon him.

A man named Jesus, a carpenter’s son from Nazareth.

He was average height, and a little on the skinny side if you ask me –

and at first glance he didn’t command much of a presence, yet he was surrounded by a crowd of people…and they were hanging on his every word.

Cleopas and I stopped to listen – because we were curious as to what this man could possibly be saying to draw such an attentive crowd.

This was our first mistake.

We never should have stopped.

We should have kept right on walking.

Better yet, we should have chosen an entirely different road to take to Jerusalem that day.

The winding seven-mile road we chose was longer than the main road, but rather than dodge the crowds we decided to take the road less traveled by.

And it had been one huge, colossal mistake.

If we had never taken that road, we would have never run across Jesus.

We wouldn’t have stopped to listen, we wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the tantalizing promises he made of a world in which simple, bottom-of-the-food-chain folks like us would one day be redeemed,

a world where we would be free of oppression and pain, a world where the humble would come to power and the powerful would be humbled.

If we had never taken that road we would not have cast our bags down right then and there - leaving the tools of our trade behind, leaving our families behind - and pledged to follow this man from city to city and to every village in between, to be disciples, to carry forward his message of the coming Kingdom of God.

But we did take that road.

And now, three years later we find ourselves walking that same road, between Jerusalem and Emmaus.

This time with shock and grief etched on our faces.

The only weight we carry on our backs this time is the overwhelming pain of having lost our friend, our teacher, our Messiah…our only hope of obtaining freedom and redemption.

As we walk along and encounter people on the road, the flow of every conversation gravitates towards the events of the last three days.

Did you hear about the man who was executed by the Romans?

The one who claimed to be the King of the Jews?

Did you see how he was impaled up on that cross like a common criminal while they taunted him, daring him to call upon his God to come down and save him?

Did you see how much he suffered, how he cried out in pain, as if the Son of God, the true Messiah would ever meet such a fate.

And did you hear how his followers had run off – out of fear for their lives, and because they were too ashamed to show their faces in public.

Little did these travelers know that WE were two of Jesus’ followers, here walking among them - with our backs turned towards Jerusalem, and our heads hung low in despair…..and dreading the taunting that awaits us when we return home. For we have been proven as fools for giving up all we had, to follow a fallen Messiah.   

   

I don’t blame Jesus.

How could I? 

He was an amazing man, with a good heart, and I loved him so. 

I think he truly believed that he was the Messiah, just as we did.

But something had obviously gone seriously wrong.

But some among us will not let his soul rest in peace, they are determined to squeeze whatever hope they can out his death.

Just this morning, some women in our group went to Jesus’ tomb and discovered that the stone had been rolled away and the body was missing! The women claimed angels had told them that Jesus was alive!

This is just wishful thinking, of course.

Resurrection of the dead is not possible.

But some will not believe this. They want to believe that Jesus still lives.

Because they cannot face the fact that we all have been duped and deceived, whether intentionally or not, and we are now left standing on our own, without a leader to save us, without even hope to sustain us.

And oh how we had hoped… how can I even begin to convey to you how much we had hoped?

We had hoped that he, who lived out his faith openly without fear of persecution, would lead our people to a life of freedom.

We had hoped that he, who spoke of putting away the sword, would lead our people to a life of peace.

We had hoped that he, who healed every kind of disease and deformity, would lead our people to a life of wholeness.

But these hopes were nothing but foolish wishes.

Those in power had shown us what happens to those who dare to dream of freedom, peace and wholeness.

Why do we insist on keeping this fantasy alive with tales of empty tombs and resurrected messiahs? Why must we keep rehashing this story amongst ourselves and with every passerby?

Even now, a stranger has come along side us and has asked what it is that we have been discussing. As Cleopas yet again recounts the events of the last three days, I’m noticing that there is something oddly familiar about this man standing before us, yet I cannot place his face.

The stranger is quoting from scripture, telling us that is was necessary-- necessary--for the Messiah to suffer and die, for this is the only way that the glory of God will truly be revealed.

What does he mean by this?

He reminds us of the words of Isaiah who said the Messiah would be a suffering servant…and by his bruises we will be healed.  [Isaiah 53:4-5]

The man tells us how death holds no power over God, and that our savior still lives, just as the women had said.

As I listen to this stranger speak, my heart begins to heave and burn inside my chest, yet I cannot explain why.

When we reach Emmaus, the stranger turns to go on his way and without hesitation we invite him to eat with us in our family home. It’s getting dark, and this road is not safe for a solitary traveler at night.

As we gather around the table, the stranger picks up the freshly baked bread we’ve placed before him.

With the skill of rabbi he blesses it and breaks it…and suddenly it becomes strikingly clear why this man has seemed so familiar….and why just being in his presence has made our hearts burn with joy from within.

I look across the table, and I am staring into the face of Jesus.

And in an instant he is gone.

And I am suddenly aware how fortunate it is that I chose to be on this road to Emmaus today, and how fortunate it was that I chose to walk this same road three years before.

To have chosen a different road, at either time, would have been a huge, colossal mistake.

***

The story we just heard is of course an embellished version of the gospel account of Jesus appearing on the road to Emmaus. Whenever I hear this gospel story I can’t help but also hear the familiar words of Robert Frost’s poem, The Road Not Taken:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Often when we step off the beaten path to see where the road less traveled by leads we’re left wondering if we’ve made a wise decision.

All the familiar signposts and landmarks that we’ve come to rely on are no longer there.

With no way to tell if we’re headed in the right direction, or if we’re just walking in circles, it’s tempting to want to turn back,

to return to what is familiar and known.

In our Gospel story we find our disciples longing for the lives they once had.

The lives they had given up based on an assurance, a promise, that the world they were living in had the potential to be very different.

This is the same promise that each of us embraces through the act of our baptism, in the moment we become a member of the body of Christ.

As Christians we pledge to change our lives.

To leave our old ways behind.

To embody the love of God and the teachings of Jesus, and in doing so, to change the world…to help build the Kingdom of God.

Now to be honest, the desire to be a trail blazing, world changing, embodiment of God’s radically inclusive love is not what draws many of us to the Christian church.

We come for communal support, for fellowship, for an inspiring message.

We come for the music, for the religious education we want for our children.

We come seeking refuge, respite, and redemption from a world that often beats us up and knocks us down on a regular basis.

The church, the body of Christ, can and does offer all of these things….

but we have to know that when we claim the name of Christian we sign up for all that trail blazing, world changing, embodiment of God’s radically inclusive love stuff as well.

It’s kind of a package deal.

But we know being a trail blazing Christian is not an easy road to walk.

Which is why very few of us do.

Most of us prefer to be over on the main road, along with everyone else…because we like the company, and because it’s less likely that we’re going to get lost or run into the kind of trouble that trail blazers often do.

It’s also much easier to find our way when we have someone directly in front of us to follow.

Which is why the disciples felt so lost when Jesus was taken from them.

They were willing to give up all they had to become disciples, but how could they be disciples of Jesus if Jesus was no longer there to lead the way?

Cleopas and his unnamed friend do have quite a tale to tell, even without the embellishment.

In Luke’s Gospel they are the first to see Jesus after his Resurrection.

They are the first to look into Jesus’ eyes and to feel hope flood back into their parched souls.

Just five minutes before encountering Jesus on the road to Emmaus they were awash in tremendous hopelessness and grief.

And as anyone who has experienced such grief or hopelessness knows,

once you fall into that pit it is easy to convince yourself that you will never find your way out.

The disciple’s feet were carrying them forward, but their minds and their bodies had shifted into autopilot.

They were going through the motions, returning home to get on with their lives, with the rawness of Jesus’ death, just three days before, still tearing them up from the inside out.

The community of believers they had hoped to build was disintegrating around them – everyone was leaving, giving up, returning back to their former lives.

The leader they had hoped would carry them to freedom and redemption turned out to not be the Messiah they believed he would be.

Messiah’s are not supposed to die,

especially not at the hands of mere human beings.

But as we know, Jesus didn’t die.

And he appeared to the disciples just long enough to prove it.

As a stranger he walked with them, he talked with them, and he broke bread with them.    But the moment they recognized him, he disappeared.

Perhaps because it was in that moment that they realized that Jesus would always be with them.  They did not need to have him physically present to continue to live as a community of believers.

They demonstrated this when they invited this stranger in to eat with them. Even in their grief, their concern was with the safety and comfort of others.

Their hope was dying, their community was dying, but their faith - their love of God, and their love for their neighbor - was as strong as ever.

I can almost imagine Jesus casting a knowing smile their way just before he vanished from their sight.

As if to say, you don’t need to see me, you don’t need to touch me, you don’t need to hear me tell you what to do. You already know what to do.

Cleopas and his unnamed friend left Jerusalem on that first Easter Sunday as forlorn disciples, fringe followers of an executed Messiah, and by the time their evening meal had ended back in Emmaus they had been transformed into preachers, teachers, and evangelizers of the Good News of Jesus Christ.

The Resurrection is meant to have the same effect on us.

It’s meant to lift us out of the fog of grief or fear, the longing we have for what could have been, or what once was. To spur us to dare to imagine another way of being the body of Christ in the world.

But sometimes we get stuck on Good Friday and never get to Easter.

The stone is rolled away, but we choose to stay in the tomb, searching for the body, hoping to breath life back into it. Not realizing that Jesus is out there, alive and well, walking on the road that we are too afraid to take.

I don’t know about you, but I want to meet Jesus walking along that road.

I want to feel my heart burning inside of me like those disciples did.

I want to be able to say that I am a believer in the Resurrection,

not because I have seen the living Christ with my own eyes,

but because I have seen the living Christ reflected in the eyes of others.

 My hope is that one day

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

AMEN

Sermon: Easter Sunrise - "The Gardener"

Rev. Maureen Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

April 20, 2014 – Easter Sunrise Service

John 20:1-18

“The Gardener”

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

Hallelujah means “Praise God.”

The melancholy verses that Leonard Cohen composed for the song we just heard stand in contrast to his chorus of Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

In our pain, in our despair, in our apathy, we all seek to have those moments of Hallelujah -

Those moments that lift us up out of the pit we’ve fallen into and infuse us with so much joy we can’t help but praise God for the relief we’ve found.

This dramatic lifting up from despair to joy is what Easter morning is all about.

In the Easter story – the story of the discovery of the empty tomb – we find the ultimate Hallelujah moment.

We can imagine Mary approaching the tomb where Jesus’ broken body had been laid, willing herself to put one foot in front of the other when all she wanted to do was collapse in her grief.

Her rabbouni, her teacher, her friend, was gone.

Taken from her in one of the most brutal ways imaginable.

Crucified like a common criminal upon a wooden cross.

Now as she walked in the garden surrounding the tombs, feeling the cool earth beneath her feet, she may have imagined the thousands of women who had walked this way before her.

Gathering to weep for those they had lost.

The very soil made sacred by the acts of grief and love broken open upon it.

But as Mary approached Jesus’ tomb and saw the stone had been rolled away her grief quickly turned to shock and confusion.

Her first thought was that Jesus’ body had been taken.

By whom or for what reason she didn’t care to speculate, as she quickly ran and got two of the disciples and brought them to the tomb to confirm what she had seen.

Someone had taken their beloved Jesus away.

When the men looked into the empty tomb they were dumbfounded, but having no answers to give they returned home, leaving Mary alone yet again.

Alone in her grief…feeling like she had lost him all over again.

As Mary sat weeping outside the tomb, she had no idea that she was about to experience one of those Hallelujah moments.

A man approached her and said, “Woman, why are you weeping?”

She assumed he was the gardener.

We know it is Jesus.

We might wonder why Mary did not recognize her dear friend when he was standing right in front of her.

We often see artistic depictions of the risen Christ ablaze in light – His body made whole, his blinding white robes looking cleaned and pressed as a golden halo hovers over his head.

But this is not what Mary saw.

Instead of her friend she saw a gardener.

Perhaps because the light was still low, or she couldn’t imagine who else would be there at the crack of dawn.

Or perhaps as he spoke he reached out his hand and she saw dirt caked beneath his fingernails.

From years of tilling soil, planting seeds, and willing them to grow.

It wasn’t until Jesus called out her name, “Mary!” – that she knew it was him.

And in that moment her spirits soared.

She recognized the timber and warmth of her teacher’s voice as he said her name….Mary.

And all those times he had told her to not despair, that even in death he would not leave her, came rushing back to her.

The seeds of resurrection had been planted within her.

And this gardener with dirt under his fingernails had nurtured new life to grow once again.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah

As we navigate the pain and despair that befalls us, how might we bring about those Easter Hallelujah moments in our own lives?

I invite you all, as you are able, to reach down and grab a bit of dirt – a small clump or just a pinch – Just enough to feel it between your fingers, just enough so when you reach down to pick it up you get a bit lodged underneath your fingernails.

In other words, if you’re wearing gloves, take them off.

As many of you know, the dirt on this village green holds a lot of our own history.

Many people have walked this ground before us.

Hundreds years of 4^th of July celebrations and farmers markets.

Thousands of morning strolls, afternoon runs, and evening walks with the dog.

There was the time that this church – this meeting house - stood on this green, before it was moved to where it is now.

The place where we’re standing now is where Easter preachers once belted out sermons, while children squirmed in the pews, and farmers gazed out the windows, their thoughts wandering to the crops they were anxious to plant, if the frozen ground would ever give way.

Before the church was built, this green served as the training field for the local militia…. and it was a favorite grazing location for cows, pigs, and sheep.   

And for generations before that, this land was home to the indigenous people who worshiped this soil and found shade beneath these trees.

If we can, imagine the ghosts of our past wandering amongst us now.

Farmers, soldiers, church goers, people of all ages and times gathering on this very soil to celebrate, to worship, to live their everyday lives.

The soil you hold in your hand is sacred ground.

It is our connection to the past and those who came before us.

And it is our connection to the future and those who will come after us.

Our Hallelujah moment is found in the understanding that although Jesus no longer walks on this earth as our Rabounni, our teacher, his teachings live on in each of us.

In the values we instill in our children.

In the love we show towards others, even those who’ve wronged us.

In the radical welcome and hospitality we offer to those who are different from us – these are the seeds the gardener has planted within us and that we continue to plant in his name.

We all have dirt underneath our fingernails.

And as you go through this Easter Sunday I encourage you to resist the urge to wash this dirt off your hands.

Keep it as a reminder of this resurrection morning.

As a reminder of empty tombs and halleluiah moments.

As a reminder that suffering, despair, and death do not have the last word.

Because, praise God, Christ has risen again.

Say it with me -  Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Amen

Senior High Youth Group at the Sunrise Service

Sermon: "Thirst"

Scripture Intro – John 4:5-42

Today’s gospel reading is the story of Jesus and the woman at the well.

The key thing to know about this story is that it takes place in Samaria. 

Samaria is the territory that lies between Judea and Galilee. Jesus and his disciples would need to pass through Samaria or go around it every time they traveled from Galilee to Jerusalem. The reason they might consider taking the long way around is because Jews and Samaritans were not on friendly terms.

The Samaritans were a mix of decedents from the original Northern Kingdom tribes and foreign colonists from Babylonia. When the Jews returned from exile and rebuilt the Temple in Jerusalem in Judea, the Samaritan objected, because they believed God now resided in their territory on the top of Mount Gerizim. Because there could be only one true place to worship God, and the Jews and the Samaritans disagreed on where that was, the two groups reviled each other and built up numerous cultural walls to keep from interacting with one another.

Into this setting walks Jesus and the woman from Samaria.

It’s worth noting that she stands in stark contrast to the story of Nicodemus that we heard last week.   

Nicodemus is a Jew. She is a Samaritan.

He is a man. She is a woman.

He is righteous moral leader. She has a questionable past and is an outcast.

Nicodemus visited Jesus at midnight

Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman at noon.

Possibly because when the sun is high overhead it is much harder to hide in the shadows…and this encounter was one that Jesus wanted everyone to see.

Rev. Maureen Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

March 23, 2014

Exodus 17:1-7; John 4:5-42

“Thirst”

At daybreak on April 26, 2003, 27-year-old adventurist Aron Ralston set off on a solo hike into the remote canyonlands of Utah. It was meant to be a fast day hike, one that he had done many times before, so he carried only a limited amount of food and water, and he didn’t feel it was necessary to tell anyone where he was going.

You can probably guess where this story is heading.

Just after noon, Ralston met two young women who walked with him for a while. When he told them how far he intended to hike and where, they were skeptical that he would finish before dark. When they reached a fork in the trail they urged him to hike out with them, but he insisted on going it alone and completing the hike he had set out to do.

At 2:40 in the afternoon, Ralston lowered himself into a narrow slot canyon, which is essentially a crevice in the ground, where the walls are so close together you can touch both sides without straightening your arms, and the canyon floor is so far down the sky is reduced to a narrow band of blue and white above.

As he shimmied down into the narrow opening, navigating around the fallen rocks that had wedged themselves between the canyon walls, Ralston inadvertently dislodged an 800-pound boulder. He fell, landing on his feet on the canyon floor below…but the boulder came tumbling down after him, trapping and pinning his right hand and wrist against the canyon wall.

Aron Ralston spent six long tortuous days at the bottom of that canyon, desperately trying to wrench his arm free of the rock that held him in place.

I will spare you the gory details of how he eventually broke free.

You can read about it in the book that Ralston wrote about his experience, which he titled “Between a Rock and a Hard Place,” or you can watch the movie version of his story, starring actor James Franco, which was renamed, 127 hours.

One hundred and twenty seven hours is how long Aaron Ralston managed to survive in that narrow desert canyon without food, and more importantly, without water.

We often hear that the human body can function for weeks without food, but without water, we will die in 3 to 5 days.

The survival time is reduced even further if we’re exposed to heat, cold, and the elements, like Aron Ralston was in the Utah desert.

Over the course of six days, Ralston felt his skin shrivel, his blood pressure drop, and his organs deteriorate as he lost 4 to 5 pounds per day.

But what he remembers most about the experience is his unrelenting thirst. In his book, he writes:

For all the physical signs of my body’s dire need for hydration, nothing, nothing compares to the anguish of my thirst: unshakable…unquenchable….insuppressible…inextinguishable. I find myself wishing to get this all over with simply to bring relief to the thirst.

Ralston survived for six long days by rationing the two sips of water he had left in his bottle and recycling the water that trickled out of his body.

Again, I will spare you the unpleasant details about how he did that.

While he was trapped, with his mind and his body straining to function, Ralston did what many of us would have done. He came to terms with the fact that he was going to die.  He thought of what he might say to his family and friends if he had one last chance to tell them how much he appreciated and loved them, he looked back over his life and felt regret for all the selfish and stupid things he had done, and he promised himself that if by some miraculous chance he made it through this experience alive, he would be a better person, and no longer believe that he had to go it alone in the world.

The combined predicament of feeling trapped and decimated by thirst, is one that would bring most of us to our knees.

When we can’t move or escape from a situation that is slowly killing us, when our lips and throat are cracking from lack of life giving moisture, when our head is pounding as our blood desperately tries to force itself through our veins…..there’s not much that we can do except resign ourselves to our fate and wait to die, or wait for someone to save us, because we no longer have the strength to save ourselves.

The woman Jesus encountered at the well was in a similar predicament.  

She was thirsty, and she was trapped, and she was desperate for someone to save her.

As a Samaritan woman with five marriages under her belt she was trapped by her social and religious standing, her gender, and her reputation.

We don’t know if she has been divorced 5 times, widowed 5 times, or if the relationship she was currently in was actually what the Jews would call a “Levirate Marriage” – one where the brother of her deceased husband is obliged to take her in out of duty and pity.

What we do know is that she came to the well at noon, in the heat of the day and hours after all of the other women would have come and gone,

most likely because drawing water in the morning with the rest of her community brought on judgmental stares and hurtful comments, and it was just not worth the effort.

She would endure her thirst.

It was easier than enduring disdain.

When the woman approached the well and saw Jesus sitting there, I imagine that she hesitated just for a moment.

She knew he was not a Samaritan, perhaps because she had heard that a group of Jewish men had arrived in town, but she didn’t know him so there was a good chance that he had no knowledge of her….and thus she would just be some anonymous woman who just happened to be late drawing her family’s water for the day.

So she swallowed her fear and brought her empty jar to the well.

When Jesus spoke to her, he must have startled her.

Men rarely spoke to women at the well.

Not because it was taboo for men and women to speak to each other, but to do so at the well was seen as a sign of marital interest and intended courtship.

Talking to a woman at a well in first century Palestine was the modern day equivalent of approaching a woman in a bar and asking if you could buy her a drink.   

Only in this instance, it is Jesus who asks for a drink.

The woman responded with confusion, as expected.

“How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

In her mind this was wrong on so many levels.

He was a man, he was not a Samaritan, and he was asking her to provide something to him that she had access to but he did not.

She could see that he had no bucket to quench his own thirst.

Which made it all the more strange when he started talking about giving living water to her.

She asked him, “What is this living water, that you speak of?” And how do you get it when you have no bucket?”

But Jesus was not talking about giving her a literal drink of water that would quench her physical thirst.

We know that.

He was talking about the eternal, life giving love and grace of God.

The love and grace that sustains us and redeems us and is offered freely and unconditionally to us all, regardless of the circumstances of our lives.

This is the living water that the Samaritan woman was thirsting for.

She was desperate to drink from this cup of acceptance and love.

And this is the cup that Jesus offered to her.

He looked her in the eye and said, ‘I know who you are – I know you’ve had 5 husbands. I know you are living with a man who is not your husband. And I know that as a Samaritan you believe that God is to be worshiped on this mountain and not in Jerusalem as the Jews believe…but in the end, none of that will matter. The living water that will flow through God’s Kingdom is offered to you, right here, right now.’

What Jesus doesn’t say to the woman is that to receive this water she must first ask for forgiveness….for being a Samaritan, for having a questionable past.

And Jesus doesn’t offer her forgiveness.

He never says, “Go, and sin no more.”

Because the living, eternally sustaining love and grace that he’s offering to her is not contingent upon her ability to be perfect and sinless.

How many of us have been thirsting to hear this message in our lives?

Many of us grew up in religious traditions where we were taught that we’re unworthy.

Unworthy of forgiveness, unworthy of receiving the graciousness of God’s gifts, unworthy of being in God’s presence unless we’ve first knelt down with our heads hung in shame, and confessed that we are inherently defective, and will always be deserving of God’s judgment and wrath.

This story of the woman at the well is for anyone who has ever been told, “You’re not good enough to be welcomed into the Kingdom of God.”

“You’re not good enough to be in the presence of Christ.”

What Jesus shows us here is that this nameless woman at the well has just as much right to be in his presence as the respected and righteous Nicodemus.

Compared to Nicodemus, she’s a nobody.

An outsider among outsiders. History didn’t even see fit to record her name.

But Jesus speaks to her and trusts her to carry his message back to her city, and he spends two days in her city talking to other Samaritans because they too are nobodies and nobodies matter.

That is the good news that Jesus has to offer the woman on that day, and it’s the good news he has to offer to us as well.

In the bright light of the noonday sun, Jesus and the Samaritan woman looked at each other and fully saw who and what the other was.

She looked at Jesus and saw a prophet – the Messiah – a man who knew her past and loved her anyway.

And Jesus looked at her and saw a human being, a woman trapped by her thirst and her pain yet she was still willing to leave her precious water jar behind and return to her people to tell them the “good news” –

because this time she carried with her news of living water…water that would quench their thirst for eternity.

I particularly like the ending of this story because it says, “Many Samaritans believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.” 

This woman who came to the well alone at noon because she was shamed by her past was now welcomed into her community, and she was believed.

We don’t know if it was because people began to see her in a different light or if it was because she had let go of her own feelings of shame and unworthiness that led her to believe that she had no choice but to go it alone.

Aron Ralston walked into the Utah canyonlands believing that he was meant to go it alone. All he did was disappoint people, and let them down, and do one stupid thing after another to the point where it was just easier to keep people at a distance, rather than deal with trying to repair what gets broken over and over again.

In the final scene of the movie 127 hours, Ralston drags himself out of the canyon, having freed himself from the boulder that trapped him.

He’s bleeding, severely dehydrated, and on the brink of death.

Off in the distance he sees three people, a couple with their young boy, who just happened to be taking a walk in this remote canyon on that day.

Ralstan falls to his knees and cries out weakly, “I need help. Someone, please help me.” 

And without hesitation, all three turn in unison and run towards this fellow human being in need.

Aaron Ralston is the first one to say that he survived his ordeal not because he found an inner reserve of strength to save himself. He says he survived because of love. In his darkest hour, he saw the faces of his family and friends all gathered together around him, and he longed to see them again. He writes, “God is love, and love is what kept me alive and that love is what got me out of there.”

God has a habit of drawing us out when we’re trapped by our pain.

Sauntering up to us in the light of day and saying, “I know who you are.”

You are a beloved child of God.

You are loved even when others say you are unlovable.

You have value even when you say you are worthless.

And you are an indispensible member of this community, even when they say they don’t need you, and you say don’t need them.

Love and grace is the living water that sustains us.

And as we allow that water to flow in us, and through us,

May we see to it that no one ever goes thirsty again.

Amen. 

Sermon: "Choose Life, Choose Love"

Scripture Intro

Matthew 5:21-37

Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount occupies three full chapters of the Gospel of Matthew. It is the longest piece of teaching from Jesus in the New Testament.

In February, during this season of Epiphany, we hear snippets from the Sermon on the Mount over the course of four Sundays.

Two weeks ago we heard the beautiful and familiar words of the Beatitudes.

Last week we heard the inspiring and timeless teachings that encourage us to be the salt of the earth and to not hide our light under a bushel.

This week we get to a much more difficult part of Jesus’ sermon.

This is the part of the sermon where Jesus takes the Ten Commandments and ratchets them up a notch. This is where he says it’s not enough to refrain from committing murder or bearing false witness, because simply having anger or deceit in our heart is an affront to God as well.

This is where Jesus talks about relationship issues that we wrestle with in our time – like adultery and divorce – and speaks out against them in what we might call very unforgiving and un-Jesus-like terms.

In other words, this is the part of the Sermon on the Mount that we may prefer to skip over or dismiss as a relic of an ancient time.

Taken at face value this is a very difficult passage to listen to.

But if we know anything about scripture, and Jesus, we know that taking either one out of their context, and out of their time, opens up the possibility for misinterpretation and misunderstanding.

So as we listen to this passage from the Sermon on the Mount, and hear words that may stir up painful emotions in our own hearts, I encourage you to pay attention to the call to change behind the words. Keep in mind that Jesus’ focus was always on healing relationships.  And here, once again, he urges us to choose life by choosing love.

Rev. Maureen Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst UCC, NH

February 16, 2014

Deuteronomy 30:15-20;  Mathew 5:21-37

“Choose Life, Choose Love”

Before we get to unpacking this difficult passage from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount I want to tell you a Valentine’s Day story.

It’s not a story about romantic love but it is a story about choosing love.

Which is what Jesus’ sermon is all about.

So let’s start there.

Let’s start with what it means to choose love.

This is a story shared by Dr. Josh Misner, an author and professor who writes an online blog called Mindful Dad. Misner is the father of two children and on a recent plane trip from Chicago to their home in Washington state he and his children had an experience that will sound frustratingly familiar to many of us. Yet the outcome may surprise us all.

Misner shared his story in the form of a letter, which he titled:

To the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter.

Here is Dr. Misner’s story:*

In Chicago, we watched the snow fall on the tarmac.

Our flight was delayed.

But I refused to let it bother me, as I was intentionally trying to demonstrate patience to both my teenage daughter and 6-year-old son on our trip home.  This was remarkably hard to do, considering that, in the last three days, I had only four hours of sleep.

We finally took off but 30 minutes before landing panic set in.

The flight attendant announced that we would arrive at 11:00.

Looking at the boarding pass for my connecting flight, I realized it was scheduled to take off at 11:02.

We had two minutes.

Knowing there was no way I would de-plane in time from the back row with two children in tow, I gave up and prepared for the worst.

But to my surprise, the flight attendant, overhearing me discuss with the kids that we would miss our connection, announced to the rest of the passengers to remain seated when we landed and allow us to leave the plane first.

Two minutes. It was going to be close.

When we landed the sound of seat belts unlatching broke the silence.

The flight attendant announced one more time for everyone to remain seated and let us off first. But the ding from the seat belt light going off might as well have been a starting pistol. As soon as we stood up so did everyone else.

The other passengers ignored the attendant's instructions and spilled into the aisle, taking their time to gather bags, put on coats and perform other menial tasks. We were the last ones off the plane.

I was enraged at seeing this outpouring of selfishness.

With my determination to make the connection growing by the millisecond, the three of us sprinted as soon as we were out of the gate.

Well, as fast as a 6-year-old’s legs can sprint.

Reaching the terminal my hope dissipated when I saw that the jetway door was closed and the gate was empty. Two minutes.

We missed our flight because of the two minutes we lost because of the selfishness of others. My outrage turned into an outright grown-man-tantrum.

I spotted a ticket agent at the desk in front of our gate and shouted in his direction. He ignored me so I shouted again, “Excuse me, can you help us?” He responded, "Sorry, I can't help you right now," as he turned his back and walked away from the gate.

This was the last straw. My temper boiled over and I lost it, shouting a string of curse words and angry accusations at the retreating agent.

That's when I looked down.

There was my 6-year-old, looking up at me.

He was looking at me because he had never encountered a situation like this before in his young life. The problem was, I was giving him a precedent.

My childish tirade presented him with a solution to his future conflicts when dealing with difficult situations and difficult people.

I tried to regain my composure, and found a self-service kiosk and booked us on another flight, leaving four hours later. This gave me time to ponder how I was going to reconcile what I had just instilled in my children.

I needed redemption, and it had to be something they would remember.

Roughly 30 minutes before boarding our new flight I spotted the original ticket agent, who was working the desk at our gate…and I chose to do something daring.

I took my son's hand and said, "Come with me. I need you to watch and listen."  He got up, held my hand, and walked with me to the desk.

My heart was pounding out of my chest.

When it was our turn, the agent looked up at me and asked, "Can I help you?"

I said, "Sir, I don't know if you recognize me, but about three hours ago, I did something inappropriate. I cursed at you because you didn't help us find a new flight after we missed our connection, and that wasn't right.

I took my frustration out on you and set a poor example for my children.

I want to apologize to you and ask your forgiveness."

He looked stunned, and after a long period of silence, he said,

"I don't know what to say.  I do remember you. I was trying to locate a medical kit for a woman over at the next gate, and I was in a hurry. I wanted to help you, but I was rushing to help someone else. I'm sorry."

Now I was even more ashamed of my actions. I responded, "You have nothing to apologize for. I was in the wrong, and I need to ask forgiveness to show my son that the way I behaved was not right."

Again, in disbelief, he said. "It's OK. I forgive you, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your apology. Trust me, we get yelled at a lot in this job and no one ever apologizes. You just made my day, and I thank you for that."

I looked down at my son, who was still gripping my hand tightly.

He was staring up at me again, with the beginnings of a smile.

I smiled back at him, tears brimming in my eyes, and said, "That, my son, is doing the right thing. Always do the right thing, no matter what."

Dr. Misnar’s story is a modern day tale of someone who has come to understand the value of letting go of the anger in one’s heart and making amends to those who may have been hurt by that anger.

This is what Jesus was referring to when he said, “Leave your gift before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift to God.”

Coming before God and asking for forgiveness for the many ways that we fail one another is important.

But it’s just as important to take a step towards healing by actively letting go of the anger, resentment, and pain that we carry from those failings, and by doing what we can to repair the relationships that are strained as a result.

Relationships are very important to God.

The passage we heard today from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount focused on just a few of the ways that we might heal strained relationships, and prevent them from becoming strained in the first place.

In his sermon, Jesus took the clear violations of God’s law that would have been familiar to his Jewish brothers and sisters – murder, adultery, bearing false witness -  and he broadened them to include the smaller actions that get us there…starting with what we carry in our heart.

It’s not enough just to refrain from murder. We should also treat each other with respect and not speak hateful words in anger.

It is not enough to refrain from swearing falsely when under oath.

We should speak and act truthfully at all times so there’s no need for oaths in the first place.

It is not enough to refrain from committing adultery.

We should also not allow lust to linger in our heart, because it objectifies the person we desire, and devalues the person we’ve committed ourselves too.

Jesus’ teaching here is that we don’t need to go to the extreme of breaking a commandment to cause damage to ourselves and our relationships with others.

What starts out as a small anger, a tiny deception, or a burgeoning desire in our heart has the power to propel us headlong into dangerous territory. 

And before we know it, we’ve said something or done something that has caused pain to another, and to ourselves.

Which is why Jesus said that honoring God’s Commandments isn’t enough.

Allowing anger, desire, or deception to take root in our hearts leaves little room for anything else to grow.

And like weeds left unchecked, they can choke the life right out of us.

This is a good time to remind ourselves that honoring God’s commandments and seeking redemption and reconciliation when we fail is not for God’s benefit.  God does not require our obedience in exchange for love and grace.

God offers us love and grace unconditionally and will continue to do so no matter how many times we trip up and land flat on our face.

Honoring God’s commandments and seeking redemption and reconciliation is for our benefit.

Because living in this world is much easier for us all when we choose love, compassion, and openness in our relationships with one another.

Choosing love results in a better life for us all.

So if Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount is about choosing life by choosing love, what do we do with his statements about divorce?

Even in his time, Jesus had to know that some relationships are more damaging than life giving, and that sometimes choosing life involves letting go of what is killing us.  

I believe that Jesus did know this.

Thou shalt not divorce is NOT one of the Ten Commandments.

In fact, divorce was a legal way to dissolve a marriage according to Jewish law. It is here where scholars disagree about Jesus’ motive for expressing a restrictive view of divorce.

Some say that his intention was to protect women and children.

In his time, only men had the power to file for divorce and in some Jewish sects they could do so for the flimsiest of reasons - because the man had grown tired of his wife, or had his eye on another.

Thus Jesus was speaking out against a legal practice that treated human beings as if they were disposable and victimized those who were already the most vulnerable in society.

Other scholars disagree, saying that this is an inaccurate representation of first century Judaism. These scholars point out that women in Jesus’ time owned property, had marriage contracts that made divorce costly to their husbands, and were not as vulnerable as we often make them out to be.

Perhaps Jesus spoke out against divorce because he truly did believe in the sanctity of marriage, and that what God joined together should only be separated in the most extreme cases. Such as when the marriage is deemed unlawful or when one partner is unfaithful to another.

But as we know, there are many ways that partners in a marriage can be unfaithful to one another -  physically, emotionally, by not honoring the vow to be a loving and compassionate presence to one another in all ways.

When we place Jesus’ words about divorce in their time we realize that regardless of the situation he was addressing when he spoke, his underlying motive was to promote healing by urging us to choose love.

Sometimes choosing love involves working together to heal the damage in our relationships.

And sometimes choosing love, choosing life, involves walking away from each other, because healing cannot happen otherwise.

In many ways, Jesus offered 1st century responses to 1st century problems, but he also offered ageless solutions to human problems.

On this Valentines Day weekend, I invite you to celebrate the relationships in your life that are most important to you. Think about what makes these relationships healthy and whole and sustaining to you, and take a moment to thank God for the gifts that they bring.

I also invite to you call to mind the relationships in your life that have suffered damage. Don’t dwell on who is to blame or who has been hurt more, but rather spend some time holding that relationship in prayer. Offer it up to God and ask for help, and think about what action you might take to move that relationship towards greater healing.

Reconciliation is not always possible in our relationships, but redemption is. We redeem ourselves whenever we choose love and seek healing in our hearts.

We can’t change the heart of another, we don’t have that kind of power,

but we can change what we cultivate in our own hearts.

And as Dr. Misner learned from his 6-year-old son, when we choose love we give others permission to do the same.

You have heard it said that God rejects us in our brokenness,

But I say to you that it is our brokenness that invites God into our hearts to make us whole.

May we do the same for one another…..always.

Amen. 

*Thank you to Dr. Josh Misner for granting me permission to share his story. I’ve adapted his story for use in this sermon, sometimes sharing his own words and sometimes paraphrasing. You can find the story in its entirety on Dr. Misner’s blog here: http://www.mindful-dad.org/2014/02/to-ticket-agent-at-delta-counter.html