Ash Wednesday at Pasadena Presbyterian Church

We invite our congregation, friends, and neighbors to join us Wednesday, February 13th at Pasadena Presbyterian Church for our Ash Wednesday Service.

A light meal of bread, cheese, and fruit will be held at 6pm before worship in the Fellowship Hall, and worship will begin at 7pm. Our English/Korean service will be held in the sanctuary. Our Spanish service will be held in Freeman Chapel.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, a 40 day contemplative period before Easter. On Ash Wednesday, we turn in repentance and consider God's love toward us, even as we recognize our own fragility and mortality. We invite you to enter deeply into spirituality and community during this season.

Our service on Wednesday will be a Taize Service, a style of worship that includes contemplative singing and meditative prayer. We will also have the imposition of ashes.

Please join us. All are invited.

Sermon: Follow Jesus Down the Mountain

Luke 9:28-43

I wonder what the life of the church would be like if the Christian story ended with the story of the Transfiguration. . . Let’s imagine that for a moment: What if we only had one Gospel – say, the Gospel according to Luke - and what if it ended with this story of Jesus, his disciples, and Moses and Elijah on the mountaintop? What if it ended right there, nothing more?  And what if this was the final story about Jesus? What do you think the life of the church be like?

Perhaps this Sunday would be the high holy day of the Christian calendar. We would invite our friends and relatives to join us in worship, and then we would go home for the annual Transfiguration dinner. Grandma would probably make her cheesy potatoes, and we would dress in our Transfiguration best. Our churches would likely be filled to the brim with guests - filled people who come to worship with us twice a year, you know, at Christmas and Transfiguration.

Pastors and church leaders would be simultaneously filled with energy and exhausted as they worked every day of the week to build up to this story of Jesus and the disciples on the mountaintop. We would all tell the story successively over several days: On one day, we would celebrate Jesus and his disciples climbing the mountain. On another day, we would commemorate that moment when they began to pray. Throughout the course of a week, we would build up to this special Sunday, the day where we would celebrate Jesus being transformed before our very eyes – his face changed and his clothes dazzling. If the Gospel of Luke were our only Gospel, and if it ended here, we would certainly worship Jesus in a triumphant way.  That would make sense.

And if it ended right here, and if this were the only Jesus we knew, Christian life might be primarily concerned with personal triumph.  Mountains would be depicted in our stained-glass windows and on our bulletins. We would wear mountain shaped pennants on necklaces. The mountain would be our primary religious symbol.  And we might become concerned with building ourselves into mountains too as we practiced the triumphant meaning of that symbol.  Maybe we would build our own churches that way, and like Peter on that mountaintop, we might construct them into holy, ever-lasting dwellings to hold and commemorate all that is triumphant.

Triumph could become our primary aim, in fact, and we could spend all kinds of money, energy, and resources to ensure that we stay on top of the mountain.  Like the mountains on our necklaces, we might create an institutional church based on that symbol, determined always to be solid, to stay on the mountaintop, triumphant no matter what.  We might be concerned with our image – after all, we’re mountaintop people -- and we might use all sorts of techniques and marketing to tell our culture that we, the Church, are indeed a mountain and that others can also have a mountaintop experience if they would just climb into our pews and join us.  Who knows?  Even their money and time and talents might ensure that we stay solid and on top.  We might invite people to join the church to ensure that we stay safe, secure, and triumphant.  We could be a mountaintop church with a mountaintop Jesus.

Maybe that’s who we would be if the Christian story ended here, if we had only one Gospel that ends with chapter 9 verse 36.

            But that’s not where it ends.  Jesus is triumphant in this story.  That’s true.  Jesus is triumphant in a story that is strange to us in some ways because it’s filled with symbols and images that were important to a culture and time period so distant from our own.  Jesus meets with Moses and Elijah, two men who were prophets in the stories of the Hebrew Scriptures, people who symbolized the Jewish law and the prophetic writings.  To include Jesus in their company was to convey that Jesus is connected to these figures and to the law and the prophetic writings themselves. To have Moses and Elijah conversing with him about his departure – or as the original language puts it, his upcoming exodus - was to communicate that Jesus was the fulfillment of the law and prophets.  His face shone and his clothes became dazzling.  He was glorified.

And in a moment of awe and wonder, Peter just doesn’t know what to say or do.  Awkward words come pouring from his mouth.  They’re actually kind of funny if you imagine him fumbling about: “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”  He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, really.  And in response, the voice of God declares who Jesus is, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”  The disciples are so awestruck by the entire experience that they don’t say anything to anyone about it.  How could they even put it into words?

Whatever it was, they probably wanted to stay longer.  They wanted to build the experience into a structure and dwell in it until the end of time. 

But that’s not the end of Jesus’ story.  And that’s not the end of our story either. 

We value mountains, and our city is surrounded by them. But we don’t have a mountain hanging in front of our stained-glass window.  Instead, we have a cross.  Jesus may be triumphant, but not without cost.  Because in great, unfathomable love, Jesus shows us over and over again in the Gospel stories that he is determined to be with us – determined to be with us where we’re vulnerable and in need, to be with us where life is messy, and to transform us there.  Jesus doesn’t stay enshrined on a mountaintop.  He does the opposite.  Jesus comes down the mountain and leads his disciples in doing the same. 

In this story, Jesus leads his disciples down the mountain, and at the foot of it, they all encounter a man and his son, two people who are suffering greatly. There was nothing neat and clean about this experience.  It involved sickness, pain, injury and uncertainty, and the disciples had no idea how to heal the boy or this difficult situation.  Jesus enters the situation and is troubled himself.  But it is from that place that he heals the boy and restores him to his father.

And the story continues.  Jesus will walk with us, and Jesus will demonstrate such radical love that the powers that be will feel threatened.  Jesus will risk that love even if it leads to a cross.  And a love like that transforms the world.

Jesus will be with us, no matter the cost.  Even when it is messy.  Especially when it is messy. When the diagnosis comes. . . when the loved one dies. . . when we can’t seem to put the bottle down. . . when human beings are reduced to skin color. . . when depression seems to have taken over. . .and when we don’t know where our next meal is coming from.

This is a Jesus who willfully comes down the mountain.  He will love us at great risk.  His love transforms everything.

And is church not also called to follow Jesus down the mountain, to go straight into all those places where life is messy and there is suffering?  Is that not our call?  To go there and to love there?

Michael Jinkins is a mentor of mine.  And he wrote a book that has a provocative title.  It’s called The Church Faces Death: Ecclesiology for a Post-Modern Context.  In the pages of his book, Michael Jinkins proclaims that the church is called to love so greatly that it risks its own death.  And in fact, he would say that the church is only alive when it lets go of its need for safety and institutional survival, when it loves and serves first -- not to gain or to grow but to follow Jesus. That is a church alive, one that will follow Jesus down the mountain and be with others in love.  It changes everything.

Sometimes, the Church does get caught up with mountains and a desire to stay solid.  The church gets caught up in great anxiety to ensure its own survival.  We want to be around for generations.  We want our legacy to continue.  We know it’s easy to get caught up in that frame of mind, but when we do, and when the anxiety takes over, we get sidetracked from what really matters.

David Johnson, a seminary professor of mine, caught my attention last week with a Facebook status of all things.  He writes great ones.  I want to share this one with you:  “In an increasingly secular age (I suppose, although I suspect it is merely increasingly idolatrous) the church's task is not to be palatable. The church's task is to be real. Dressing the body of Christ in clown pants will not save it. Putting it in work clothes just might.”

It’s true.

We’re about to enter the season of Lent, where we journey to and through the cross with Jesus, contemplating God’s mission among us and our call in this city and world.  I wonder what our work clothes ought to be. . . Will they dazzle?  Maybe.  But not like clown pants. Perhaps our work clothes will transform us when we allow ourselves to get messy alongside the needs of this world.  I wonder what our work clothes should be. . . could it involve the immigration conversation that will happen right after worship?  Could it involve renewed energy into our congregation’s food ministry?  Could it involve caring for that coworker?  Could it involve reconciling with that lost friend?  Could it involve mentoring children?

Whatever our work clothing we be, I hope we will follow Jesus down the mountain.  I hope Pasadena Presbyterian Church will risk its own institutional survival to do ministry in this place.  After all, we know that the story of Jesus doesn’t end on a mountaintop.  It continues on to a cross.  And it doesn’t even end there!  Even death is transformed by Christ’s love. 

May God’s great risk to us call forth our own risk, and may God’s great resurrection call forth our own resurrection.  May it be. Amen.

-Pastor Renee Roederer and the Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church

New

Isaiah 43:1-21

". . . Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.  I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"

So I've been thinking about the word ‘new.’  It's a really simple word, one that we use all the time. And of course, seven days ago, we celebrated a new year so we've been hearing that word even more lately.

In one sense, it's a really basic word.  We use it all the time.  But in another sense, I'm realizing that the word itself can be hard to describe. When something is new, and we want to describe it in that way, there aren't a lot of alternative adjectives that we use. 

There are a lot of alternative ways to describe 'happy' or 'sad' or 'hot' or 'cold' - other basic experiences that we have.  But there aren't a lot of alternative ways to describe something as ‘new.' We just say it’s new.  I know this, because I went to a thesaurus, and virtually all of the synonyms for ‘new’ tend to be bigger words that only capture one aspect of what 'new' means - words like ‘inexperienced,’ ‘uncontaminated,’ or ‘modernistic.’ Those are words we understand, but they're not good, catch-all,stand-ins for the word ‘new’ and what it means to us.

Even the dictionary gives awkward sounding definitions of the word! Here are some examples from dictionary.com. They were awkward enough to make me laugh a little:

1. of recent origin, production, purchase, etc.; having but lately come or been brought into being

Awkward sounding!

2. of a kind now existing or appearing for the first time; novel

Also awkward!

3. having but lately or but now come into knowledge

The most awkward sounding!

How is it that we use the word ‘new’ so often because it's so basic to us, and yet, it's so hard to describe when we need to define it precisely?

Well, so far we're just talking about a word – a simple adjective. So what happens when we start to talk about something more complex and vibrant and hope filled – something like new life?

Well, here’s the interesting thing: It does get more complex. We need more words to do that.  But I actually think it actually gets easier. We might not have a wealth of words to use when we describe something as new. But we have experienced it. We have lived it.  And we have ways of hoping for it, longing for newness when that experience is hard to find.

We don't define new life as something out of a dictionary. We do it with stories - our stories and the stories of others and the stories of faith communities who existed long before we were born. In this community, we can say that new life is born when God's story (which is so much bigger than us) sweeps us up and really includes us. New life is when God's story enters our story and utterly transforms it so that we become full persons and we all become a full community.

New life can't be captured on a page or in a dictionary's definition. It has flesh and bone and love and service and belonging. New life is something tangible. It involves God in us. It involves God in you. It involves God in this world.

 Now of course, the other simple way to define 'new' is to say it’s 'not old.'  It stands in contrast to something that preceded it.

In the Scripture story at the top of this post, a prophet is speaking new and powerful words to a community that needs a different reality. The Kingdom of Judah was the southern portion of the land Israel, and in 586 BC the world was turned upside down for the people who were living there.  Babylon was the ruling power of the day, and the Babylonians invaded Judah and Jerusalem and took the people captive.  The people were forced out of their land and became exiles in the land of Babylon, living in a new land away from everything they had known and loved.  But God had not forgotten them.  In this passage, we hear that God is going to make all things new and bring them back home into a better reality. 

God was making something new out of something old – a 70 year period of exile.

So as this new year begins, our hope and prayer for our community and for all people is that God will make something new out of the old, that God’s story will enter our story, and that we will begin to define ‘new’-ness, not from a Dictionary, but from how we live our lives.  We are part of that definition!  We get to embody newness!

May it be.  Welcome, 2013.

--Pastor Renee Roederer and the Evening Worship Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church

Sermon: Praise for the Unfolding Story

 

Praise for the Unfolding Story

Luke 1:57-80

It's been nine months since Zechariah has made a sound. No words. No singing. No liturgical chanting of the Torah in the Temple. No talking in his sleep in the middle of the night. And no advice (which was probably convenient for his wife Elizabeth, since his silence lined up precisely with her entire pregnancy.)

Nothing. No sound at all for nine months.

And then, at a circumcision naming ceremony, these holy and miraculous words just pour out. They suddenly burst forth in the presence of the people, like they've been stored inside Zechariah, like they've been forming inside him with cells and sinews and life of their own.

This song of praise is suddenly born among the people in Zechariah and Elizabeth's own living room. And everything large, cosmic, and magnificent about God breaks into this particular moment. This song of praise at once large and expansive, and at the same time, particular and specific to these people, this party, and this child who is indeed to be named John.

It's a song of great praise.

And, you know, that's a big deal because up until this point, Luke, the author, has pretty much depicted Zechariah as an Old Grump! Yep, a really Old Grump.*

But Zechariah also had a few reasons to be in that place. Zechariah and Elizabeth had known great pain. They longed to be parents, but for many years, their hopes led to nothing but disappointment. And as their pains are told in Luke's story, Elizabeth even says that she has endured disgrace among her people simply because she remains childless. But suddenly, all of that is about to change when Zechariah receives an unexpected visitor. Zechariah was a priest, and when he was serving in the sanctuary, a messenger from God appeared to him. That messenger's name was Gabriel, and he said, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. . . Even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God."

Incredible news, right? But like us, Zechariah was not quick to believe everything he hears, especially something that would be so miraculous, especially something that would speak to his disappointment. Sometimes, we prefer the certainty of misery to the misery of uncertainty.** How could he possibly trust this incredible announcement? Zechariah said to Gabriel, "How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years." An Old Grump. But I think we can understand his reservations.

And he was about to have reason to become grumpier. Gabriel replied, "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur." And there you have it. Grumpyville for nine months. Maybe this wouldn't be so great for Elizabeth after all…

Who knows what happened during those nine months? What we do know is that Elizabeth did conceive a child who would be named John, a child in fact, who would grow up to become famous as John the Baptist, issuing cries for repentance along the River Jordan, teaching that the Kingdom of God is about to come near, and preparing the way of the Lord Jesus. This child was with Elizabeth for nine months, and as he remained silent, words of praise were forming inside Zechariah too.

So they were all in the living room. Simple enough. Maybe Elizabeth and Zechariah had argued as they were in a rush to get their place ready for a party. (In that case, the silence would be helpful for Elizabeth). They were tired, new parents at an old age. And to bring some modern sensibilities into the moment, maybe party favors were strewn all over the place. And friends were gathered alongside that really annoying uncle who regularly embarrasses himself.

In such a simple and mundane moment, Zechariah was about to be freed. When he wrote down the name of his newborn son - JOHN - his tongue was freed and he began to sing words of great praise – words about God's large, unfolding story with the people of Israel and ways that this large story was sweeping into the present moment in the life of this child.

A new child was before them with great promise, and Zechariah was newly born too.

I love moments like these. I love the moments when God's large story of love, commitment, and new life, breaks into the present moment, and we are restored and sent forward as new people. I love those moments because they happen all the time!  And perhaps what I love most of all, is that every single moment - no matter how mundane - is ripe with the possibility of significance. Martin Luther trekked off to his bathroom of all places and read the Book of Romans there (I'm not making this up) and in the process, he has a Life Aha big enough to ignite a church reformation. A woman gets on a bus on a mundane Thursday, but this time, Rosa Parks won't sit in the back. In another living room 13 years ago, a question is raised that will eventually change our life and witness as a church: "What are we going to do to become a multicultural congregation?" Our lives are filled with moments like these - moments pregnant with possibility, and in this season of Advent, we remind one another to wait and watch for them. That is what we do together.

So here we are in our living room, the place where we gather weekly, and whether we've been expecting much or whether we're fixated on distractions this morning, God is in this place among us. God's large story breaks into this sanctuary every Sunday, and we are new people because of it.  Now sometimes we’re like Zechariah and Elizabeth’s friends.  “You can’t name him John!  You need to choose a family name!  We’ve always done it that way. . .”  Sometimes we’re like that. But at other times, we are made free by God’s Spirit, and we are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of our lives.  We are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of this congregation.

So let’s have a time of praise this morning in our own living room.  This can become a pep rally moment, and even God’s Presbyterian Frozen Chosen might join in with an Amen or two.  Amen?

For a church filled to capacity last night with guests who have so much to teach us, and for the resounding music of hope and praise that happened here, Amen?

For children who are singing with spirit and. . . sunglasses. . . who teach what it means to be a person of trust and joy in this world, Amen?

For a vibrant Spanish Language Ministry that is growing and unfolding with strength in the midst shared meals, empowerment, and a new tradition of posadas that will happen here next Saturday night, Amen?

For doors of a Chapel that are flung wide open to our city in a new Sunday Evening Worship service, where bread is broken every week and the “Spiritually Hungry but Institutionally Suspicious” are invited into community and love, Amen?

For people who struggle through this season because memories and losses are difficult, but who know in their gut, that when they come here, they are loved to their core and provided with deep purpose, Amen?

For a congregation that is growing with strength as God’s Spirit gets inside our bones invites us to take risks and live our lives on behalf of this neighborhood and this world, Amen?

For God’s story sweeping up our own story, Amen!  Amen!  Amen!

-Associate Pastor Renee Roederer and the Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church

*   I owe Robin Gallaher Branch for this observation and description which I found in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C Volume 1.
** This powerful phrase and observation comes from The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog and Other Stories from a Child Psychologist's Notebook: What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love and Healing by Dr. Bruce Perry.

The Worst Sermon

Mark 12:38-44

This morning, all across the country, pastors of various backgrounds woke up with determination, energy, and joy.  They hopped out of bed.   They may have even bypassed the coffee!  And they sped off in their cars, making a beeline for their churches, knowing that something had lined up favorably in the universe.  That’s right: It’s Year B in the Revised Common Lectionary, and that means that the scripture lesson today is about the widow who gave everything she had.  Yes!  That’s the text that the universe placed smack dab in the middle of Stewardship Seasons all across our nation.  Thank you, universe! (And parenthetically, thank you creators of the Revised Common Lectionary!) Slam dunk!

Pastors will stand in their various pulpits today, and they’ll uplift Jesus’ observations about this poor widow.  They’ll call attention to the great sacrifice that she made.  And putting my humor and sarcasm aside for a moment, let me say there will be something great to learn and experience in those sermons.  Those sermons will remind the people in the pews that we too are called to give deeply of ourselves and to trust God with all that we have and all that we are.  Those sermons will be convicting and meaningful.

And thanks to the universe, many pastors will draw parallels to the Stewardship Season.  They’ll say that these rich leaders gave so much, but it cost them so little.  Meanwhile, this poor widow gave everything she had.  They’ll tell their parishioners that we too should give deeply and sacrificially to the Stewardship Campaign and the ministries of the church.  Now let’s be honest: We do know that some of these sermons will be terribly manipulative.  But not all of them.  Some will draw great parallels and inspire church members to greater giving, ministry, and vision.

Thanks to the universe, those sermons will be happening all across our country today.  A lot of pastors are grateful for such favorable synchronicity.

I’ve heard those Year B sermons, and I’m grateful for them.   I’ve even preached in that direction myself.  But this time, I’m thinking a bit differently because I also think that there might be a problem here.  Maybe this text doesn’t line up in the way that some might hope, at least, not in the exact way I’ve outlined.  Maybe Jesus’ observations about the widow aren’t really celebratory at all.  I imagine that Jesus is moved by the widow’s commitment and sacrifice, but I wonder if his observations are really about a tragedy that is taking place in front of his very eyes.

So let’s take our own eyes to that scene, and let’s try to imagine what Jesus and his disciples observed on that day.  First, Jesus observed the scribes, and he saw great hubris, enormous self-pride that surrounded them in all they were doing.  The scribes were experts and teachers of the Jewish Law, but it’s clear that these scribes weren’t practicing the same laws they were teaching.  I wonder what caught Jesus’ attention first.  What moved him so strongly that he shared words of warning when he voiced his observations to his disciples?  Was it how the scribes were dressed?  Was it how they interacted with others?   Jesus was deeply affected by what he saw: He said, “Beware of the scribes who like to walk around in long robes, and be greeted with respect in the market places and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!”  Jesus saw something so dangerous that he warned his disciples.  But it wasn’t just the scribes’ robes or their desire to have others fawning all over them.  It was more than that. “They devour widows’ houses,” Jesus said.  And their prayers weren’t ultimately for widows, the poor, or others who were struggling.  Jesus said these particular scribes gave long prayers for the sake of appearance.  “They will receive the greater condemnation,” Jesus tells his disciples.  They’re in the wrong here.

And then Jesus and his disciples sat down opposite the treasury and watched.  Let’s imagine the scene together along with them: Some rich people came and put in enormous sums of money, and these enormous sums didn’t go unnoticed.  The sound of them clamored through the air.  The treasury of the temple had long, metallic receptacles that were shaped like trumpets, and people placed their offerings inside.  Sometimes, they flung their offerings inside these receptacles, and when all those metallic coins made contact, the sound went before the givers, and all took notice.  So what happened when Jesus saw the rich, the powerful, and the leaders of this religious institution making spectacles of themselves only to be followed by the little tinkle of two copper coins given by a vulnerable widow?

Jesus saw her.  He called attention to her and voiced his observations perhaps because the others said nothing and noticed nothing.  They were too busy making spectacles of themselves.  Why would they value the great sacrifice of this widow?  But the tragedy is actually greater than ignoring her: These were the people who had the resources to help her and come alongside her and yet, they were spending their time “devouring widows’ houses.”  This woman – this child of God – was giving all she had to live on to the very people who were willing to destroy her.  And this is the tragedy of this text.

And that’s why I’m unsure if those universe-favoring, Year B sermons are most authentic to what’s happening in this story.  But let me be clear: They aren’t “The Worst Sermon” as my sermon title indicates today.  No, “The Worst Sermon” is the one that I preach too often – the one that we all preach too often with our very lives – the one that bypasses those who are poor and suffering, sometimes because we ignore them and we ignore their great contributions, but other times it’s even worse.  “The Worst Sermon” we preach as the Church of Jesus Christ is the one where our lives fortify and serve the very institutions and situations that are devouring and destroying those who are most vulnerable.  That is our very worst sermon.

And it’s a tragedy.  It’s one that should give us pause, and it’s one that should provoke our prayers.  How can we repent?  How can we turn around from living this way?

It’s not easy, but good news today is that this doesn’t have to be our sermon.  And it doesn’t have to be our church.  We have a grace-filled opportunity right here to be a place and a community of faith that lives differently in the face of need.  First of all, we can’t ignore it anymore.  Do you know that 30% -- 1/3 – of children in this zip code live in poverty?  I live in this zip code.  I live in this neighborhood, and I am almost completely insulated from that reality.  And you know other needs and other struggles that you observe in your lives, in this city, in this nation, and around this globe.  The fact that you know them is in and of itself a grace-filled opportunity, and you yourselves are a grace-filled opportunity when you bring these concerns into our sanctuary and into the life of our community through your prayers, your voice, and your actions.  You do that here.  I see it, and it is a grace-filled gift of God.  Thank you.

Our doors and the buildings of our campus don’t have to be an edifice – certainly not a fortress of power, might, and tribute to ourselves.  You know, of the most important ministries of this church will happen in just a few minutes actually.  We need to pay greater attention to it.  When we walk out of these sanctuary doors, and when our Spanish Language service finishes in the chapel, some of its members will go into the Fellowship Hall to faithfully serve people who are struggling: There will be a hot meal, and the God Loves You Food Ministry will distribute groceries to individuals and families who are in a tough place in this economy.  That is a vibrant ministry of this church, and yet, it can only be our Best Sermon when you and I become personally involved with it – yes, that means bringing food and contributing funds – but even more, it coming to know those who are receiving and even more than that, coming to realize their strengths and leadership and great sacrifice.  You and I can do that.

Our doors and the buildings of our campus don’t have to be an edifice at all.  We can open them up.  In fact, we do open them up to a large number of support groups and anonymous groups throughout the week.  A large number of people come to these meetings, looking for direction and support as they make some of the most important and empowering decisions of their lives.  We can pray for them.  We can greet them and welcome them when we see them here at our church.

Our doors and the buildings of our campus don’t have to be an edifice, but to many of the young residents who live in these nearby apartment buildings, the church has seemed like nothing else but an edifice to them.  People of the millennial generation often believe that the institutional church hates those who are outside its doors – that it hates those who don’t have Christian commitments and that it certainly hates those who are gay and lesbian as our nation battles so called “culture wars.”  But this church doesn’t hate.  It has great love.  We believe differently than that.  And now, a ministry team at PPC has started a weekly Evening Worship Service in the hopes that we can connect with these residents, that we can build relationships with them and welcome their gifts and talents here.  You can support that ministry as well.

There are so many ways that Pasadena Presbyterian Church can preach and live its Best Sermon – a sermon of welcome, love, and empowerment.  There are so many ways right here.

So guess what?  This turned out to be a Stewardship sermon after all!  It is true that your money and contributions help us preach our Best Sermon here.  But I actually want to say something deeper than that today: You help us preach our Best Sermon through these ministries.  Your yourselves are the resource.  And so this week, I pray that God will give us the stewardship of good eyes to see the value and contributions of those who are in vulnerable places.  And I pray that God will give us love and strength to come alongside those very people.  We don’t want to preach our Worst Sermon.  We want to preach our Best Sermon.  And we do that when we serve those that Jesus notices and loves.  How will you contribute to this great proclamation in the days ahead with your very lives? 

I can’t wait to find out.

So let’s start now with proclaiming what the Christian Church believes.  I invite us to stand and speak the Affirmation of Faith together. . .

-Renee Roederer, Associate Pastor of Pasadena Presbyterian Church



Love Looks Like This. . .

 

And it goes forth to also include others. 

The 'Very True' Life

John 6:51-58

The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh. . .

I know a little girl whose name is Sylvia.  She’s eight years old now, but I’d like to share something that she said when she was just four years old.  I’ve never really forgotten it because it was at once, wildly silly and beautifully childlike and at the same time, pretty observant with language that was wise beyond her years.

One day, out of nowhere, Sylvia suddenly brought up a topic with an intriguing introductory sentence.  She said, “I’m going to tell you something that isn’t true, but it’s also Very True.”  Hmm. . . what an interesting way to introduce something. . .  It isn’t true, but it’s also Very True. . . Sounds like some kind of metaphysical riddle, like something of absolute depth was about to come out of her mouth. . .  “Well, what is it, Sylvia?”

“Did you know that Tweety Bird can fly AND hold things because she has wings AND arms?!?”

Yep, there it it is.  At once, wildly silly and beautifully childlike and at the same time, observant with language that was wise beyond her years.  It really was.  She had observed that most birds don’t have wings and arms, but the cartoon Tweety Bird did.  And since Tweety Bird is a cartoon, she isn’t real, so this observation “isn’t true,” but at the same time, according to four-year old Sylvia, somehow wings and arms both get to the crux of who Tweety Bird is and what she can do (fly and hold things at the same time!) so the observation is also Very True.  It isn’t true but it’s also Very True.

Well, that language has stuck with me over the years, and I find myself thinking about it from time to time.  Not True but also Very True.  And I found myself thinking of it again this week when I began to study the passage we just heard from the Gospel of John.  Jesus tells his followers what they must do in this passage, and let’s just be honest here.  The language is pretty graphic.  It involves eating his flesh and drinking his blood, and that sounds kind of cannibalistic.  Now of course, we know that isn’t really what he meant, and we might not want to admit in church that our minds kind of moved in this direction.  But we can be honest: Some of us went there.  Thank goodness we don’t have to take this command to eat flesh and drink blood at face value. 

I’m going to insert something here that theologian John Dominic Crossan says, that no one actually takes the Bible completely literally.  He says, “When the Bible tells that Jesus is the Lamb of God, no one says that Mary had a little lamb!”  (I love that).

And that reminder might be helpful for us today.  This language might not be the first set of words we would use to describe our relationship with Jesus.  But it has something to say to us.  We don’t have to take it at face value, but that also means we also don’t have to dismiss it.  We now get to enter one of those wonderful situations of faith where something isn’t true, but is at the same time, Very True.

Jesus says, “The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”   When we think of Jesus giving his flesh, we might think of what we know to be true:  That Jesus was eventually crucified, killed unjustly on a cross.  And around here, we say that that Jesus died for a reason.  It wasn’t in order to offer up some kind blood and gore on our account.  No, Jesus died because he lived a life of such radical love that he threatened those who were in power.  Do you know why radical love can threaten those in power?  Radical love does that because it goes to those who have no power.  Radical love sits with the powerless and loves them through and through as the people they are -- people worth love, value, and attention.  People who love radically like Jesus did, naturally challenge structures of power because they love the powerless, and by choosing to be with them, they tear down the very barriers that have made them excluded.  That’s how Jesus lived.  That’s Very True.  And we believe that Jesus modeled that love – love for the powerless and love for you and me – even unto death if that’s what it took to show God’s love, even unto death on a cross.  He never stopped loving all the way there.

            “The bread I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”  Jesus didn’t say, “The bread I will give for the life of the world is a bunch of ideas.”  Or “The bread I will give for the life of the world is bunch of really good theological propositions.”  Or even, “The bread I will give for the life of the world is a blueprint to implement forms of charity that help people, but keep them at arms’ length so that they remain anonymous.”  No.  Jesus is the Bread that has come down from heaven. He aims to give himself to us.  He aims to live on our behalf.  He does it now.  He gives himself. 

And what are we to do?  We are to focus our energy and attention so deeply on him that we take this kind of life in.  We take it to be within ourselves.  He is the bread, and he is the life-blood that is to be in our bones.  Eating flesh and drinking blood?  Not true.  But consuming this great love and putting it into action?  That is Very True.  That’s the Very True life to which are called.

            We have people in this church who know what it’s like to feel powerless.

            We have people who know what the cancer wing of the hospital is like. 

            We have people who know the deep and abiding fear that someday they might lose their mental faculties or memories, and we have spouses and adult children and grandchildren in this church who have painfully watched this happen to people they love.

            We have people who are bright, intelligent, and gifted in various ways, but who have struggled deeply to know whether they’ll have a job and enough money to pay the bills.

            And we have people in this church who come here weekly for food assistance.  It feels as though this economy has eaten them and spit them out.  Many of them speak Spanish. Some of them are fearful about discrimination and deportation.  All of them have great gifts and abilities, great hope and dreams for themselves and their children.

            Some of us give food and money to help them.  And this is a great start.  But I ask myself some tough questions and wonder if Jesus would do something differently if he walked in this church.  I wonder he would stand in the food line with them.  I’m certain he would know their names.  I am a pastor of this church, and I am ashamed to tell you that I only know a handful of names of the people from Spanish Language Ministry.  Isn’t that sad?

I know some people, and that’s good.  I say hello to them on Sunday mornings, and that’s a start.  But it’s just a start.  I bet the Very True life calls you and me to know these people by name and to love them, to go over and sit with them sometime, to even work really hard to learn their language.  After all, so many of them have worked hard and are working hard now to learn ours.  What if we learned theirs too?  I bet we wouldn’t just learn vocabulary words.  I bet we would learn about human lives – stories, passions, dreams, struggles.  Maybe those are the kinds of things we need to eat.  Maybe we need to eat the Bread from heaven of being together and loving.  Maybe we need to eat the Life-Blood that says, “I’m not just going to do things anonymously for you.  I’m going to enter kinship with you and let you change my life.”

That is the Very True kind of life.  That is the kind of life where people eat around the same table and consume who Jesus is and how he lived.  I wonder, how will you live the Very True kind of life, loving most deeply and living for that which matters most?  How will you do it, and how will this church do it?  I can’t wait to discover this feast.  I can’t wait.  Let’s find out.  Amen.

Renee Roederer, Associate Pastor, and the Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church