Church is like Carrots?

Last week the New York Times ran a story about how attempts to get Americans to eat more vegetables tend to stumble on our cultural habits and fail.

This is my favorite part:

The nation has long had a complicated relationship with vegetables. People know that vegetables can improve health. But they’re a lot of work. In refrigerators all over the country, produce often dies a slow, limp death because life becomes too busy.
“The moment you have something fresh you have to schedule your life around using it,” Mr. Balzer said.
In the wrong hands, vegetables can taste terrible. And compared with a lot of food at the supermarket, they’re a relatively expensive way to fill a belly.

Vegetables are too much work, it turns out.
Fresh food requires planning and commitment
If we don’t already eat them regularly, vegetables can seem to require a set of knowledge and skills that shut us out. 

Carrots are like church.
Or, at least my experience of vegetables is a lot like the way many people experience religion.
You know it’s good for you, but….
The practices of faith: prayer, community, study – all these require planning and commitment – just like a box of CSA veggies.
There are an intimidating array of things you don’t know that other people seem to: Facts, like how long it takes to cook an artichoke, or how many different gospels there are.  Matters of opinion, like the difference between an Episcopalian and a Congregationalist, or the best way to prepare yams (or are they sweet potatoes?)  And mysteries, like what happens after we die, and why some people like okra.

In the wrong hands scripture can be revolting, and compared with a lot of the alternatives, faith can be expensive: in courage and commitment - and yes, occasionally in cash.

It wasn’t a cheerful comparison when the article pointed out that historically, none of the marketing strategies, good advice, or public projects, have made much of a dent in Americans’ aversion to vegetables.

But it made me think, again, about how and why people might come to church.  Marketing, information and advice,  can shape expectations and create “shoulds” or good intentions:
I would love to be healthier; I should eat more vegetables.
I would like to know how to pray: I should go to church.

But that’s not what makes the difference in the practices of faith or dining.

The vegetables I do eat, I eat because I know them.  My parents provided me with enough broccoli and asparagus as a child that I still believe they are easy and delicious.  Every tomato I eat is a yearning to return to the mountaintop of a sun-warmed tomato fresh from the vine.  Salad is a discipline I’m still learning, a study I took up because so many of my friends practice it. 

Vegetables make their way into my life through family, and friends, and the occasional sweet miracle.
And that’s how we get to the practices of faith, too.   Maybe we pray because we can’t remember not praying.  Or get up in the morning and go to church because it brings back a little, each time, of one sweet revelation.  Or read scripture because we have friends to read it with.

Not because we "should," but because we have a guide, a companion, to make the start easier and keep us company in the practices.  Or because, more rarely, one taste was enough to send us yearning for it every day.

Church and carrots do have a lot in common, including this:  they don’t come easy unless you’ve done it all your life (and then there are still challenges and surprises!)  But in the end, it’s worth it. 

I’m going to go see about some sweet potatoes, now. (Or are they yams?)

Rejoice

Luke 15:1-10


I’ve seen a lot of books that offer Jesus’ management principles, but I’ve never been especially tempted to buy them, since I tend to think that anyone who can imagine Jesus as a corporate executive has not met the same Messiah I have.

Today, for instance, we hear Jesus’ reflections on asset management.
Which of you,     having 100 sheep and losing one,
does not leave the other ninety-nine unguarded and at risk in the wilderness to chase down the one that was lost?
And what woman, having lost 10 percent of her household cash does not drop absolutely everything to find it – and once found, invites the neighbors over for a party that more than likely costs at least what she’s just lost and found.

Which of you manage your work or your home like that?  (show of hands?)

It’s a deliberately out of proportion response to a relatively minor problem – not just in the recovery effort, but in the extravagant attention of the neighbors.  The whole community is called to take notice of the loss, the risk, and the recovery.

This week, I couldn’t help but notice the extravagant attention that national and international media, political, and religious organizations paid to the plans of one pastor of a very small church in Florida.
You might have heard about it. 
Pastor Terry Jones of the Dove World Outreach Center – a church of apparently about 30 people – announced a Qur’an burning event.  Demonstrations – in Afghanistan and in the US, effigy-burnings, counter-demonstrations and news stories followed; the President, the commander of US forces in Afghanistan, and most major political and religious figures in the US weighed in.
(with the possible exception of Richard M Daley)

One missing sheep, one missing coin,
claims the complete attention of the shepherd, the woman, and eventually the entire community.
One small church, one offensive action,
has held hostage the attention of our nation, much of our world, and the leadership of several faiths.

It matters.
And it’s ridiculous.

It’s always dangerous to believe you know who the lost sheep is in one of Jesus’ parables.  But my own response to the 24-hour news coverage of a small stunt in Florida is probably not unlike the reaction of the Pharisees or the 99 sheep.

"That idiot. 
It’s his own poor choices that have gotten him in trouble. 
What a waste of attention and effort, when there is so much good going on in the world – churches and mosques and synagogues that are sheltering the poor and lonely, feeding the hungry, and proclaiming truly good news of God’s call to us are being ignored for the sake of this one guy."
99 righteous sheep, ignored for one lost fool.

It’s the reaction I think Jesus is expecting when he presents this parable.         
But it’s not the response that God is looking for.

Rejoice is what the prodigal shepherd says to his neighbors – with no reference to the fate of the 99 sheep.
Rejoice is what the woman says to her neighbors as she blows her newly-re-found savings on a party.
Rejoice with me is what Jesus says to the Pharisees and what God says to us.
The Pharisees, and you and I, are invited by Jesus to see as God sees: Rejoice with me, because what was lost was found.

If you find it hard to imagine your way into the mind of God, it may be easier to imagine the joy of the lost sheep on being found and restored to the community.
Many of us have had an experience of being found by God, or by one of God’s people, when we were lost, or alone, or in danger of our health, our life, our sanity, or our relationships. 
Many of us know, and I believe all of us can imagine, the extraordinary gift of being found, and even more, of being restored to wholeness, to our relationship with God and our community, in spite of how we had lost ourselves.

That experience leaves us full of the mercy of God – the mercy that Paul proclaims, that Jesus demonstrates, that the prophet Jeremiah begs Israel to accept.  Mercy that is extravagant in and of itself.

But Jesus invites us to an even more extravagant joy: to see that mercy as God sees it – as no risk or effort ever wasted,
even on the most hopeless and lost.
And Jesus invites us to share in God’s joy – a joy that cannot be contained, that will never stop inviting others to rejoice.

Because if we share God’s perspective, then neither Pastor Terry Jones nor anyone else looks like a threat to our self and salvation, no matter how misguided, mistaken, or just strange that other sheep may be.

I’m still horrified that anyone who knows that Jesus taught us to love our neighbor as ourself, and even to love our enemies, could plan to burn the Qur’an with the intent to destroy a faith. 
And at 9 years and counting, I remember other smoke, and I’m still sick that anyone could so distort faith in God to lead to terrorism and the death of thousands. 

I can’t love those neighbors and those enemies by my own will power.

So Jesus offers us a chance to see from God’s perspective; to see without fear and without contempt.
To see the idiots and the strangers and the sinners in our life with God’s overwhelming, extravagant commitment that not one of them will be lost. 
To see, with God’s love, the unrestrained joy and celebration when one of us is found.

Jesus offers us a lens to see Pastor Terry Jones,
or the idiot whose mistake means everyone else works overtime,
or even sheep from God’s other flocks like Muslims praying near “ground zero” as a cause of joy to God.

Not because of what they do – or don’t do – but because God will break the bank for anyone, seek them out, and celebrate that they are found.

Jesus invites us to see such extravagant attention to one sheep, one man, one small community, as a sign of God’s commitment that not one of us will be lost to God.

It’s messy, it’s not fair.  It flies in the face of common sense.
And those management principles are a lousy way to get ahead in business or to manage your retirement savings.

But it is an invitation to extravagant joy.
And to love as God loves; to rejoice because God rejoices, are the founding principles of the kingdom of God,
and that is where all God’s sheep, where you and I, belong.

Budgeting for the Kingdom

Luke 14:25-33

I’m not a real home improver – but I watch them on TV.

And what I’ve learned so far is that there are two kinds of renovation:
In the first kind, a professional designer and contractor come to your house with a crew of handypersons.  They perform a wide variety of tasks that look so easy you could certainly do them on a Saturday afternoon, and a beautiful new kitchen appears in 47 minutes plus commercial breaks.
Then there’s the other kind of renovation, in which homeowners begin by removing a major chunk of the house’s fixtures or walls, and five weeks later the kitchen is still missing a wall and an oven, and several thousand dollars over budget.

That’s  the kind of project Jesus is talking about today.
… which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it?   Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him…

Maybe the neighbors don’t really make fun of the half-finished kitchen (especially if they’ve done some work on their own house), but Jesus expects that we can all imagine the despair, embarrassment, exhaustion and chaos of that half-finished, out-of-resources experience.

And Jesus is pretty confident that we don’t want to go there. 
That’s why he’s very careful to outline exactly what following him is going to cost.

Open up your mental ledger or spreadsheet, and count along:
ONE Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.
Hate is not something I recommend to make everyday life easier.  And it’s not entirely consistent with what Jesus teaches about loving others as yourself.  But Jesus uses that very strong language of hate to be sure that we hear that the call of discipleship is so strong it challenges even the strongest of our ties,
it’s stronger than the blood which is thicker than water.

TWO  Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
That’s all about accepting that your death and your life are someone else’s to control – not our own.

THREE  none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.
Easier to say than do, by a long shot, but clear.

Jesus does not say you have to do these things to be a good person, or to be a holy person, or to be a member of the church.
But being a disciple, a person who has truly absorbed the life of Jesus into one’s own life, is that expensive.

And Jesus doesn’t list these things to encourage either atheism or despair.  He lists them for the crowd because his teaching and his healing are so attractive and appealing that people have begun to give up family ties and material goods to follow him around.

Jesus knows that – if we don’t first count the cost and know we can pay it – there will come that time when we’ve run out of resources and the joy of following Christ will turn into despair, embarrassment, exhaustion and chaos, just like the half-finished walls of a tower or a new kitchen.

And the kingdom of God can’t be abandoned half finished.

The work of the Church and the life of discipleship aren’t actually the same thing.  Related, yes – and that relationship has been making me think:  I’ve been recruiting a lot of volunteers lately, and I’m very aware of the temptation to tell prospective Sunday School teachers and Vestry Members that the work I’m asking them to consider will be easy.

Doable, yes.  Fun, often. Sometimes it's simple, and sometimes it doesn’t take all that much time – make this decision on Monday night, share this Bible story with the kids on Sunday morning – but it’s not always easy.
And, just as with towers and kitchen remodels, it can be hard to tell just what will be difficult, even if you’re already started on the job.

So I try, as best I can, to be honest about the cost.
And to offer not a cheap experience, but the resources we will need to do the job right.

Because what we do here – in our classrooms and our parish hall, our sanctuary and our homes – might not require that we hate our families or sell everything we own.
But the work of building the kingdom of God and of nurturing Jesus’ disciples always demands our heart.  Sometimes more heart than we thought we had when we started.

It's worth it.

We don’t want a cheap church – one in which all the volunteer jobs are easy and take less than an hour a month. 
Because with those resources, we’d never get the material bought or the foundations laid.

We don’t really want a cheap relationship with Jesus.  Because, as experience has taught many of us, the cheap stuff breaks the quickest. 
We want the quality stuff – the church and the relationship with God that will endure, even beyond our family, or our possessions, or our lives,
and especially when we stand to lose those things.

That’s what Jesus is talking about,
reminding the crowds who’ve delighted in his healing and teaching that the easy part of our relationship with the Messiah will barely scratch the surface of the relationship God invites us to.
It’s expensive.
And Jesus wants us to count the cost, because we need to carry it through, and we need to know it’s worth it.

And there’s something else to hear, if we are listening.
Jesus says these things to the crowds who have been following him on the road to Jerusalem.  The road that literally ends at a cross on a hill and a tomb in a garden.
And when Jesus says that we cannot join him on that road without counting the cost, we know that he has counted the cost.
That on that road to Jerusalem, Jesus has counted the extraordinary cost of death and resurrection, and knows that he will finish the task.

And even more, God has counted the cost of our salvation, beginning to end,
and God will complete it.

Its expensive.
And it definitely takes longer than 47 minutes plus commercials.

But knowing the cost, in time and effort, in pain and loss, in love and the depth of our hearts,
God has counted us worth it.
Worth the gift of Godself, and worth giving ourselves to God.

God is not cheap.
Neither are we.
But the budget of the kingdom of God is abundant, and it will be completed.
Amen.