Sunday, June 18, 2017

The Imperative of Compassion (Sermon)


“The Imperative of Compassion”
Matthew 9:35-10:8
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
6/18/17

         Listen again to Matthew 9:36. “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”
When Jesus sees the crowds, when he gazes at them, listens to them, when he physically, emotionally, and spiritually enters their “harassed and helpless” world, he has “compassion for them.” In The Message, that line reads, “his heart broke.”
         Matthew 9:36 doesn’t just chronicle one moment in Jesus’ life. It reveals the very heart of God. To me, that one particular verse is For God so loved the world…, I have come that you might have life…, and Father forgive them all rolled into one.
         Jesus reveals that God’s heart overflows with compassion for the Creation. Compassion means to suffer with. True compassion permeates and surrounds suffering. And that’s what Jesus does. It’s who he is as God Incarnate. In Jesus of Nazareth, God enters the nitty-gritty of the Creation, the dullness, the joy, the suffering – all of it – just to say, I see you. I love you. And I am always with you, in your suffering as well as your celebration.
         Now, the compassion of God in Christ has a caveat. And that caveat does nothing at all to limit or diminish grace. Indeed, that caveat invites us to experience and to participate in the fullness of God’s grace.
         After looking at all these folks who suffer, whose needs for healing and hope far outweigh their resources and abilities, Jesus speaks to his disciples. And I would paraphrase is comment this way:
The time is at hand! There is deep readiness in the world to see and hear what God is revealing. But right now, there aren’t enough folks who are driven by compassion. Too many are motivated by greed and fear. They’re driven by a desire to conquer and control. The wealthy and powerful of the world view suffering as weakness, so they thoughtlessly overlook and abuse those who suffer. So, pray with me, says Jesus. Let’s ask God to send people of compassion into the world to be with those who suffer, to feed them, to clothe them, to heal them, to cry and to laugh with them, to love them.
         Maybe the disciples see it coming. Maybe they don’t. But when Jesus asks them to pray for laborers in the harvest, he expects them to do more than sit still and shut their eyes while they “have a prayer.” Disciples don’t just pray for help. Disciples don’t just entertain thoughts about how much need exists. Disciples are those who live as answers to those prayers. That’s the caveat. When Jesus tells the disciples to pray for laborers, he is calling them into the harvest. He is challenging them to embrace the knee-buckling burden of discipleship by going out and embodying God’s compassion and Love for the Creation.
         At the end of the Prayers of the People, I often ask God to help us not only to acknowledge people and situations in need of prayer, but to go and be with those folks, to enter those situations personally. Sure, we often pray for people who are far away, for people already well-attended by family, or for situations beyond our immediate influence. The extent of our involvement in many of those individual lives and wider circumstances is often limited. But remember the historical Jesus. He lived in one very specific and long-ago place. Given his temporal limitations, he did all he could possibly do. As Jesus’ disciples, we are the expansion of those limits. As people shaped by the gifts of Easter and Pentecost, we have the authority of Jesus’ fearless compassion and his eternal Spirit. His work is God’s work. So, our work is his work.
         A North Carolina friend of mine recently shared the story of a brief encounter she had while sitting in a waiting room. In that waiting room, a talking head on TV delivered a news report. A woman sitting next to my friend became agitated, even angry. She began to talk with my friend. The two quickly realized that they had very different political opinions.
         “Maybe we should pick another subject,” my friend said. The other woman agreed. They talked about kids and grandkids, instead. In that conversation, my friend learned that this woman had a grandson who had been killed in a car accident. Just one year ago. On the day he graduated from high school.
         My friend said that the conversation “ended with a hug.”
“I know this doesn’t address political differences,” she said, “but it certainly made us both feel better toward one another.”
Isn’t that the point? To see a human being and not an opinion?
         More and more in our culture, we are nurturing and even depending on a kind of pathological need to win, to be “right,” to gain some ideological upper hand. In an age of suspicion and vengeance, when meeting someone for the first time, we tend to wonder, “What are this person’s political views? What’s his or her theology?” A relationship that begins with those questions has the chance of becoming a friendship only if the two people discover that they’re on the same side of some aisle.
When relationships start with the humanizing question, “What’s your story?”, they can begin with compassion and understanding. Even if it’s one-sided, the people involved have a greater chance to move toward gratitude and generosity and away from judgment and competition.
         I think that’s what discipleship is all about. Jesus calls and empowers us to be instigators of compassion. That means taking the initiative to be people of grace with and for the people around us. That’s not easy. It takes practice. It takes discipline to live according to the ways and means of grace. That’s why people who do so are called disciples. They practice the disciplines of compassion, patience, forgiveness, justice, gratitude, and generosity.
         It sounds strange, but when Jesus sends his disciples out, he tells then not to go to the Gentiles or Samaritans. “Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” he says. I hear Jesus saying not to venture too far from home – not just yet. Speak first to those who share your history, who speak your faith language. Practice with them. Some of them may even join you in spreading compassion.
         Friends, a “harassed and helpless” creation cries out for disciplined, heart-broken voices. Suffering and compassion are being dismissed as weaknesses to be exploited by those who hold power, and by those who are fearful of and angry at those who do. Jesus is calling us to be different, to live in our particular place and time according to the imperative of compassion. It really doesn’t matter what side of an aisle we’re on. Wherever we are, disciples are called to be guided not by platforms and party lines, but by empathic Love for all humankind and for the earth itself.
Whenever we feel pressured to act without compassion, or to justify words that tear down rather than build up, as disciples of Jesus, we must acknowledge that we are being tempted to follow something other than Jesus. We must learn the humbling discipline of sucking up our pride, of reining in our egos, of resisting the craving for any victory that comes at the expense of Love.
“The kingdom of heaven has come near,” says Jesus. For the sake of others, live in God’s kingdom of compassion. If you do, you will find fellow travelers to keep you company, to keep you motivated.
And if you don’t – if we don’t – who will?

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Claim the Voice, Share the Gift (Sermon)


“Claim the Voice, Share the Gift”
Numbers 11:24-30
Acts 2:1-13
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
6/4/17

          The stories we just read from Numbers and Acts are stories of God’s people in crisis. They reveal displaced groups at cross roads struggling to discern identity and purpose. And the particular leaders involved – Moses in the wilderness and the Apostles in Jerusalem – come to God confessing their emptiness and vulnerability. As creative, diligent, and even faithful as they may be, they know that, on their own, they cannot overcome the height, depth, and breadth of their crises. They need help.
         Leadership in the household of faith, leadership of any kind for that matter, can be an intensely demanding obligation. It requires gifts of discernment, courage, and decisiveness. Because leadership is fundamentally an act of service, it also requires mature sensibilities of compassion, humility, and justice. Perhaps most challenging to individualistic cultures like ours, effective leadership requires a commitment to the well-being of others before one’s own well-being.
Without these attributes, leaders may become like Pharaoh, for whom neither slavery nor genocide is too high a price for wealth and power; or like the sons of Eli who are spoiled, selfish, and deaf to wisdom and holiness; or like King Saul who, lacking all gifts for leadership, goes insane before everyone’s eyes; or like Jezebel, who holds the reins of power by the force and fury of cruelty, and does so long enough that eventually the eunuchs who are supposed to protect the queen throw her to her death from a high window.
All of these key figures face crises, and all of them, ignoring higher virtues, seek the guidance of flatterers and the security of violence. Their stories live on in scripture, and we read them and heed them as cautionary tales.
Moses and the Apostles face their crises differently.
In Numbers, the Israelites are newly-freed slaves. They’re on the run and complaining about how tired, hungry, and afraid they are. Their escape from Egypt has become a desert pilgrimage that seems crueler than Pharaoh’s taskmasters. Their story illustrates that when something gets the best of us, only the worst remains. And when the emotional dam bursts, the Hebrews project all their fear and anxiety onto Moses, whose own frustration grows.
         In Acts, the disciples feel all alone in the world. They had expected Jesus to return Israel to a power and a glory that would last forever. And after Resurrection, all Jesus does is vanish in the mist. Sure, the disciples have been praying and eating together, but they find themselves mired in a kind of static wandering. Their only accomplishment seems to be choosing Matthias as Judas’ replacement at the table. But to what end? What do their rituals accomplish? Whom do they follow?
         While Moses and the Apostles often prove flawed and fumbling, they are servants of God. During their crises, they find themselves filled with something mysterious and moving. They open themselves to the Spirit, who comes not to resolve every problem, but to help shoulder the burden of leadership. The Spirit reveals itself as a gift being offered not simply to people like Moses and the disciples. The Spirit proves to be a gift who offers itself to all people through the likes of Moses (who murdered), and Peter (who denied), and Matthew (who swindled), and Bartholomew (who did nothing memorable at all). Leaders of God’s people are those who, having embraced their giftedness, seek to evoke, celebrate, and trust the giftedness of others.
         Remember the stories: Some of Moses’ spirit leaks out beyond the designated seventy to a couple of nobodies named Eldad and Medad. When they prophesy, Joshua cries out, “My lord Moses, stop them!”
         And Moses, who is learning more by the moment, scolds his reactionary young assistant, who will eventually succeed Moses and lead Israel. “Are you jealous for my sake?” says Moses. I wish every one of God’s people were prophets! I wish God’s spirit would fall on all of you!
         Isn’t that what happens in Jerusalem?
“Are not all these who are speaking Galileans?” ask the observers of Pentecost, “And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own language?” Luke goes on to name sixteen different nationalities and ethnicities who hear God’s deeds of holiness and power being proclaimed in their own languages. Add the Galileans, and it’s seventeen.
Those who watch all of this happen are bewildered. And who wouldn’t be? To learn that God’s Holy Spirit dwells inherently in all of Creation, that it really is written on human hearts, and that no one and no thing lies outside the loving desire and redeeming reach of God – such revelations challenge the comfortable but mistaken notions of redemptive violence and of God’s household as a place for deserving members only.
In both the wilderness and Jerusalem, the Spirit of God makes itself known through an outpouring of prophetic speech, through gracious words uttered by folks who are ordinary, fallible, hesitant human beings. Many different voices in our world claim holy authority. And many of those voices seem diametrically opposed to each other. While we’re not called to judge, we are called to discern. And we each have to do that. When I hear a voice claiming cry in the wilderness status, I listen for accents of Love, of peace, of forgiveness, of promise, and of grateful openness to all of God’s creation. To me, such things declare the presence of the Holy Spirit. By contrast, when a voice claiming prophetic authority provokes fear and division, envy and vengeance, and creates barriers to relationships and healing, I cannot trust that voice.
It seems to me that right now, many of the voices screaming at the extremes are really quite close together in effect. Both poles tear at the wounded, fragile body of the Creation. So, whether a voice drives into crowds of people on a bridge, or stirs the chaos of ignorance and hate, or jeopardizes the well-being of the future for profit in the present, or brutalizes an effigy for laughs, such a voice does not declare the Holy Spirit of God.
         Brothers and sisters, we are called to claim our spiritual gifts and to speak so confidently of redeeming Love and reuniting Shalom that we sound drunk to those who fear both the moment and the days to come.
This is our prophecy, our Pentecostal gift to share – to speak and live the resurrecting grace of God.