Ministries

Forty Days in the Wilderness
Mark 1: 9-15
Belmont UMC—February 26, 2012
Ken Edwards, preaching

(Today’s sermon was inspired by the text, a quote from Frederick Buechner, and the second chapter of Bishop Rueben Job’s book, Three Simple Questions, “Who am I?”)

We begin our Lenten journey with another quick paced passage from Mark’s Gospel. In just 8 verses we have 3 rapid scenarios. Jesus appears at the Jordan River to be baptized by John, the heavens are torn apart and a voice from heaven says, “You are my Son, whom I dearly love; in you I find happiness.” (CEB) Then Jesus is driven out into the wilderness for 40 days where he is tempted by Satan. Mark does not mention fasting or details of the temptation but he adds that there were wild beasts in the wilderness. In the third scenario John the Baptist has been arrested and Jesus begins his ministry in Galilee preaching the good news. Mark’s storytelling leaves us breathless.

Jesus is baptized and hears a voice that affirms him as the beloved child of God. Frederick Buechner writes that “Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.” (Listening to Your life, p. 56)

Jesus’ time in the wilderness is time to come to terms with his identity. That’s a common theme through wilderness experiences. Moses leaves Egypt and finds a new life out in Midian but he cannot leave the truth about himself in Egypt. He is a Hebrew who has been raised as an Egyptian and before fleeing Egypt he came to understand the suffering of his people. In the wilderness of Midian, he comes face to face with God, and face to face with his own identity in a burning bush.

Elijah, the prophet, traveled 40 days and nights to the mountain of God, alone and weary and hungry, he stood out on the edge of the mountain and in the silence he heard God speak, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” The question has in it the idea of purpose and meaning, “Why are you here, Elijah?” “What is your purpose here, Elijah?”

And of course, there is Simba in “The Lion King,” who is in a far country when he sees his father’s face in his reflection in a pool of water and remembers who he is and what he must do.

We join Jesus for forty days in the wilderness to hear God ask, “Who are you and what are you going to do with your life?” We need to spend some time with God coming to terms with our own identity.



I remember being in a Bible study right after coming out of seminary. The church was made up of older folks who had been settled into the community for a long time. There were also lots of new young professionals who had moved to the area and joined the church. It was a lively place where many good things were happening but sometimes there were obvious generational differences between the two groups. One night a young man spoke during the discussion and he said something like this, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about trying to find out who I am. I need to explore that a bit more than I’ve allowed myself to in the past.” Several younger folks nodded in agreement. But an older woman took on a perplexed look and she said, “Well, I don’t understand that at all. I know who I am. I am (and she gave her name). That’s who I’ve been for the last 75 years and I’ll die being who I am.” The young man tried to explain the psychological nuance of self-discovery but she wasn’t buying it. I found the whole thing amusing.

I can’t imagine my practical, farmer Grandfather ever lying awake at 3 AM and asking himself, “Who am I, anyway?” He might have been awake at 3 AM so he could get to the barn to milk the cows, but I doubt he found much time for self-reflection. Self-reflection may be a luxury of a more modern age.

But when I was in my junior year of high school my Grandfather started to have mini-strokes and my Dad was worried about him. Our house didn’t have much extra room but it was obvious that Dad wanted him to move in with us. I offered, “I have a big room and Granddad can room with me.” I loved my Grandfather and I enjoyed being in his presence. So he moved in and we shared the big room and bath in the basement of the house. We would sit on his big sofa and watch TV together in the evenings.

On weekends I would get ready to go out to spend time with friends or go on a date and Granddad would ask me, “Where are you going?” I would respond with something meaningless like, “Just out.” He would often fish around in his billfold for a ten dollar bill to give me and he would always say, “Remember who you are when you are out of this house.” I never asked him what he meant by that but I always assumed he meant, “Remember that your last name is Edwards and that means something.” For my Granddad it meant things like integrity and trustworthiness. He didn’t want me to do anything to dishonor that identity. He knew who he was.

Forty days in the wilderness Jesus was exploring what the voice from heaven meant, “You are my child, whom I dearly love, in you I find happiness.”

There is an interesting statement in the Gospel of John in the story of the Passover Supper when Jesus gets up from the table and begins to wash the disciples’ feet. John writes, “Jesus knew that the Father had given everything into his hands and that he had come from God and was going back to God. So he got up from the table and took off his robes. Picking up a linen towel he tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a washbasin and began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he was wearing.” (John 13:3-5, CEB)

“Jesus knew the Father had given everything into his hands and that he had come from God and was going back to God.” It’s a parenthetical phrase that we usually miss but it means that Jesus knew who he was and what God had given him to do; he knew where he came from and where he was going. This is what it meant for him to be Jesus, the beloved child of God.

Lent gives us forty days to ask ourselves who we are. Lent gives us 40 days to consider what it means for us to live as the beloved children of God.

I’ve known people who have struggled with that question. Some have struggled under the weight of personal histories where they have been abused or belittled. In the wilderness of Lent they come face to face with the wild beast of low self-esteem and they struggle to believe that God or anyone could love them.

In the wilderness we will be tempted and our greatest temptation will be to ignore the voice of God that we heard at our baptism, the voice that reminds us that we are God’s beloved children. We will be tempted by our own wounded sense of self, or by our ambition to be something we think is better and grander, or by our inclination toward selfish gain, or those tendencies to exclude God and others from our circle of influence.

Frederick Buechner writes that during Lent you begin “to hear something not only of who you but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end.” (Listening to Your Life, pp. 56-57)

In the wilderness of Lent, among the wild beasts of self-reflection, we will hear God’s call to serve. We must come to terms with our identity as the beloved children of God before we can be truly human and whole. We must come to terms with this identity as beloved children of God before we can hear God’s call go out to Galilee to share God’s good news, or wrap the towel of servanthood around our waist and begin to wash some dirty feet.

ASH WEDNESDAY
JOEL 2: 1-2, 12-17
FEBRUARY 22, 2012
BELMONT UMC, NASHVILLE
Gwen Purushotham, preaching

Prayer . . .
Ash Wednesday-- the beginning of Lent—the season of self-examination and repentance.
In the early church--  a time for preparing new converts for baptism on Easter Day; a time when persons who had separated from the community of faith were reconciled and restored to participation in the church through penitence and forgiveness.  
Today, as then, Lent is observed with practices of fasting, meditation on Scripture, prayers, and self-denial.  In more recent times many Christians observe Lent by “taking up” instead of “giving up”.  All of these disciplines—for the purpose of returning to God from all of the places and ways we have wandered off.
Every year on Ash Wednesday we hear this urgent call from the Prophet Joel:
Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain.
. . . Yet even now, says the Lord,
return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the Lord your God . . .  

Rend your hearts . . . This is the phrase that caught my attention as I read the lectionary texts for Ash Wednesday.  

“Rend your hearts.”  As I made a space for that Word within myself I began to ponder repentance the act of broking open my heart.   


Repentance is typically described as metanoia, as “turning around”— like making a U-turn (which by the way, is something for which I could be listed in the Guinness World Book of Records having been the first, if not the only person, to have made a U-Turn inside a two car garage in a standard shift Toyota Camry; but that’s a story for another time!).  
But to rend, to break open one’s heart . . . What does this mean?
“Breaking open our hearts?” You ask.   This sounds like more of a risk than most of us want to take.  Surely our hearts have been broken-- by circumstances beyond our control; by some tragedy or broken relationship; by betrayal or violence.  No one gets through life without a heart-break of some kind.  
Our hearts are broken not only for ourselves but for people we know-- and sometimes for people we do not know.  Whose heart was not broken for the parents of the 11 year-old boy who took his life because he was bullied for being gay?   Whose heart does not break for those who lose loved ones to war or children to violence on the streets?
But in the prophet Joel the trumpets sound an alarm, and the people are called to rend their hearts intentionally, to break them wide open—not in order to inflict punishment upon themselves, not as an act of self-flagellation or self deprecation.  No!  But rather as a way of opening themselves to the love and forgiveness of God who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  
The more I contemplated broken-open hearts, the more I came to see this as the way of opening ourselves to grace, the way we open ourselves to receive all that God wants to give us.  It is about intimacy not isolation.  It is about vulnerability not safety.  This breaking open is the meaning of true repentance.  
I think this is so because only when our hearts are broken open can we see the world with love.   Only with hearts broken open can we see the world as God sees.  Barbara Brown Taylor describes this way of seeing in this way:  
. . . To learn to look with compassion on everything that is; to see past the terrifying demons outside to the bawling hearts within; to make the first move toward the other, however many times it takes to get close; to open your arms to what is instead of waiting until it is what it should be; to surrender the justice of your own cause for mercy; to surrender the priority of your safety for love—this is to land at God’s breast.”  --Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World, p. 206  
And I would add, in order to land at God’s breast we must break open our hearts.  

I invite you in this Lenten season to hear the call to repentance as the call to rend your heart—to tear it wide open to the transforming love of God?  What will that look like for you personally?  I cannot say.  But I encourage you to open your heart, to let down the barriers that prevent you from loving and being loved.
I wonder what it would mean for the church’s heart to be broken open. In particular, what would it mean for United Methodists to rend their hearts, to open them wide as an act of repentance?  

These days I hear and read the phrase “Methodist ethos” quite often.  I haven’t heard a definition of “Methodist ethos”, but I infer from the way in which the phrase is used that it has something to do with becoming serious about being UM—of reclaiming our distinctive marks; of fervently preaching and teaching United Methodist history and beliefs.  
But the expression of this seriousness about claiming our identity as United Methodists, while well intended, sometimes seems to contradict who Wesley was and what Wesley preached.  When we close in, close up, close down we are not true to our Wesleyan heritage. Wesley’s own faith was formed by several faith traditions—Puritan, Anglican, Eastern Orthodox, Catholic Mystics, and the Moravians.  Wesley never intended to begin a new denomination.  He was an ecumenical spirit.  He held the belief that God’s grace was available to all and able to work in the lives of all persons including persons of other faiths.  It is quite clear that for Wesley God’s love was not limited or restricted.  So to be true to Wesley, to promote “Methodist ethos” is not to defend or to draw smaller circles around our beliefs or our denomination, but to break open our hearts to the transforming love of God who is “over all and in all and through all.” --Eph. 4:6
I don’t know exactly what rending our hearts will look like individually or collectively, but what I can say with more certainty is that repentance will involve breaking open our hearts.  Rending our hearts and not our garments is an act of radical trust in God’s mercy and grace.
In closing, I share this blessing for Ash Wednesday written by Jan Richardson:
Rend Your Heart
A Blessing for Ash Wednesday
To receive this blessing,
all you have to do
is let your heart break.
Let it crack open.
Let it fall apart
so that you can see
its secret chambers,
the hidden spaces
where you have hesitated
to go.
Your entire life
is here, inscribed whole
upon your heart’s walls:
every path taken
or left behind,
every face you turned toward
or turned away,
every word spoken in love
or in rage,
every line of your life
you would prefer to leave
in shadow,
every story that shimmers
with treasures known
and those you have yet
to find.
It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty, at least.
And so let this be
a season for wandering
for trusting the breaking
for tracing the tear
that will return you
to the One who waits
who watches
who works within
the rending
to make your heart
whole. –Jan Richardson

May we rend our hearts that God may make us whole.
Let us observe a holy Lent.  

On the Mountain with Jesus
Transfiguration Sunday--Mark 9:2-9
Belmont UMC—February 19, 2012
Ken Edwards, preaching

Audio - MP3

When I was 18 years old I had an experience of spiritual renewal. I was a college student at the time in the early months of my freshman year. The nation was in an uproar, people my age were being drafted and heading to a war in Viet Nam. We had witnessed the assassinations of a president, his brother, and a beloved civil rights leader. There were riots and sit-ins on college campuses and at the seats of government. In hindsight it seemed to be an odd time for me to find a way back into the faith of my childhood. It was an unsettling time and it may be that my soul longed for a peaceful refuge in a new relationship with Jesus Christ.    

There was a place on the college campus where I would go to get away and be alone. There was one hill on campus and on top of that hill was a deserted old brick house. In front of the house was a huge old oak tree that appeared to have weathered many storms. I’d sit on the steps of the house and read, pray and reflect. One sunny, warm day as I was sitting on the steps, I looked down the hill. The limbs from the tree formed a shadow in the shape of the cross and a wonderful sense of peace and assurance flooded me. It was quite stunning and I sat there for a long time basking in the sense that God was very much with me.

I share this story so that you will pause and remember those times when you were surprised by a sense of God’s presence. Those experiences can be filled with wonder and awe or they can be a bit unsettling as well.

Frederick Buechner describes his own experience as he writes of surprising tears that came to him in a Presbyterian church one day, tears that came after a passionate search to know God and put a face with the mystery that seemed to seek him out. That face was the face of Christ. He writes, “I wanted learn more about those tears and the object of that astonishment. I wanted to know, and be known by, people who knew greatly more about Christ than I did, were greatly closer to him than I was, greatly more aware of what they were about and of what he was about in them.”  (Listening to Your Life, pp. 30-31)

Jesus took three of his disciples up a high mountain to be by themselves, apart from the others. It was not unusual for Jesus to retreat to a quiet place to pray, but on this day something quite remarkable happened. Jesus was changed in front of them and his clothes became extraordinarily white and there appeared with him 2 prominent characters in Hebrew history, Moses and Elijah, persons who had had their own mountain top experiences with God.

The experience was surprising and terrifying for the disciples. Peter says, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make 3 shrines—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” The next sentence is quite human. “He said this because he didn’t know how to respond, for the three of them were terrified.” (verses 5-6; CEB) Peter feels a need to speak, to fill the void, to distract them from their fear, to take control of the situation, to make sense of what has happening, or . . .  How like us to feel a need to control that which we cannot explain!

When I shared my experience on the hillside with my friends, they all wanted to know what the experience meant. Was it a sign? What are you supposed to do with the experience? Their questions puzzled me. I had been so caught up in the wonder and awe of the experience it had not occurred to me to look for a reason and try to define the experience in any way. When I look back on that day I’m grateful to have moments when I sense God’s reassuring presence and that alone is good enough for me. I suspect our best response to those moments of surprising grace is one of awe and wonder.

Peter’s words on the mountain remind me of something my seminary history professor said once. He said that most of the great spiritual awakenings began among the laity. The clergy and the theologians always came along later and tried to tidy everything up. We seem to have a need to explain these theophanies, to codify them, to control them, to tone them down. Like Peter we fill the silence and the wonder with our talk, because we find the silence disconcerting. Or maybe we are afraid of where they will call us; maybe we know that the Transfiguration story means that the journey to Lent is near.

I remember a Father’s Day weekend when the three sons went with me to Six Flags in Atlanta. It was our youngest son’s first time at a big amusement park. He had been on small rides at the county fair but he’s never seen a roller coaster like the one we boarded as our first ride that day. As the cars made their slow grinding ascent up the first mountainous hill, he said, “But Dad, it’s so slow.”  I replied, “Just wait.” He was frustrated by the ascent. But at the top of the hill, the brakes were released and we felt like we were flying downward. I looked over at the little boy’s face to see the look of joy and fear.

We have been making the slow, but steady ascent up the mountain of the Transfiguration, and we are reluctant because we know on the other side of the mountain is the journey to Lent, a journey that can be one of wonder and maybe a little fear—especially if we allow the Lenten journey to speak to us of a closer walk with God.

The Continental Divide is the great watershed divide where all the waters on the west flow toward the Pacific Ocean and the waters on the east flow toward the Atlantic Ocean. The Mount of Transfiguration is that great divide, after which, the activities of Jesus and the disciples flow toward Jerusalem, the cross, and the resurrection. After today we begin our descent to begin the journey of Lent.

In the Gospel story Peter’s suggestion of building shrines is silenced by a cloud and a clear voice from the cloud. The voice is the same voice we heard at the beginning of Epiphany at the baptism of Jesus. The voice says, “This is my son, my beloved, listen to him!” This mountain top experience is about Jesus, about listening to him, about focusing on who he is and what he is saying to us about God.


It is clear throughout this section of the Gospel of Mark that the disciples do not fully understand who Jesus is. Those who are on the margins understand who Jesus is. A man who is blind can see who Jesus is. A woman who is a Gentile understands. The demons understand. Over and over Jesus keeps asking the disciples why they don’t yet understand who he is and God’s purpose for him in this world. The disciples’ understanding is blinded by their ambition and their reluctance to hear Jesus teachings about the ultimate journey to Jerusalem.

Many of us are reading Bishop Rueben Job’s new book, Three Simple Questions. The book focuses on these questions: Who is God? Who am I? Who are we together? These questions formed the outline of Rueben’s sermon here on our Centennial Sunday in July of 2010. We have invited members of the Administrative Board to join in reading and reflecting on this book. And we invite all of you to study and reflect on this book during Lent and at our Wednesday night studies.

Bishop Rueben Job offers some insight into who this Jesus is and why we need to listen to him.  He writes, “The God Jesus reveals shatters all our little ideas about God and reveals a God who is author and creator of all there is. In Jesus we see a God who reverses the values of our culture and turns upside down our scheme of priorities, leaving us gasping at the sight of such bone-deep love, justice and mercy. In Jesus we see such bold and radical truth that we tremble in awe and then cry out for help as we try to practice the faithful way of living he demonstrated so splendidly.” (p. 21)

Today we spend a little time on the mountain with Jesus. Today we hear a clear voice that bids us to “Listen to him.” On Wednesday night we will gather here to begin our journey through Lent. On Wednesday we will be reminded that we are human, and always will be, and God is God, and always will be. On that journey we will be invited to trust God and God’s leading. On that journey, during a time when many voices will compete for our allegiance and following, we will be invited to listen to Jesus! As we listen we will be filled with wonder!

A Heart for Healing
Belmont UMC—February 2-5-12, 10:30am service
Heather Harriss, preaching

Audio - MP3

Over and over again, God’s work is accomplished through people that society sees as powerless.

Our reading from 2 Kings introduces us to Naaman.  Naaman is a commander in the army of King Aram.  We are told he is a great man and a mighty warrior.  A powerful man, when Naaman speaks, people listen, he says, “Jump!” and people jump.  But for all his wealth and prestige, still he suffers from a terrible skin disease.  He has sought every healing money can buy, explored every possible option and still he suffers.

Now Naaman’s army, on one of their raids had kidnapped a young girl from Israel. This young girl now works as a servant for Naaman’s wife.
This young girl says to Naaman’s wife, “If only Naaman could see the prophet in my land, then he would be healed.”  Naaman, willing to grab at any shred of hope, makes plans to go.  He takes with him 10 talents of silver, 6,000 shekels of gold, 10 sets of garments and a letter from his king to the king of Israel.
When the king of Israel receives Naaman, he is very distressed; he knows he can’t cure Naaman, what will this mighty warrior do?

Lucky for the king, the prophet Elisha hears about what is going on and sends a message to the king, telling him to send Naaman his way, so now, Naaman sets out for Elisha’s house.  When he arrives, Elisha sends out a messenger with this prescription:
“Go and wash 7 times in the Jordan River.  There your skin will be restored and become clean.”

So, here in the story, we might assume Naaman is going to take off running for the Jordan River, shouting his thanks as he goes, maybe even lifting that messenger up in an exuberant bear hug before he takes off at a sprint.  

This is not what Naaman does.  No, he is furious.  He bellows at the messenger, “Elisha can’t even bother to come out of his house!!?  Doesn’t he know who I am?  I am somebody.  I am important! Doesn’t he know I am brave and courageous?  Why would he suggest something so easy? Any can take a bath in a river!  I am special.  And for that matter, I am from a big city, not some back water, we have rivers that are far more glorious than the Jordan River!”

Naaman stomps off in a rage.  Cautiously, his servants approach, “My Lord, don’t be too hasty.  Let’s think this through.  If he had told you something difficult, we know you would have done it with ease.  He has just said, ‘Wash and be clean.’ After everything else you have done, after how far we have traveled, you might as well...”  Naaman eventually listens to his servants, goes down to the Jordan, washes, and lo and behold, he is healed.  

Healing comes to Naaman through the initiative of a young girl and the calming words of reason from Naaman’s servants.  God’s work is accomplished through people society all too often ignores and discounts.

Naaman accustomed to the trappings of wealth and power almost walks away from the very thing he yearns for the most.  Reading Naaman’s story this week, I found myself thinking about the Wizard of Oz.  He wanted to encounter what Dorothy, the tin man, the lion and the scarecrow saw when they were ushered in to see the wizard.  They were terrified, speechless, something big was going to happen if they weren’t all first scared to death.

And then the curtain is pulled back.  There is no all-powerful wizard; there is no magic, just a man.  Crushed and filled with despair they believe all hope is lost.  Naaman wanted the lights, the dazzle, the spectacle-- Outward signs to match both how he perceives himself, and also to equal the struggle he has endured with this terrible illness.  

When all he gets is a regular man telling him to go take a  jump in the river, like our visitors to Oz, he is crushed.

Hopefully, most of you are familiar with the movie the Wizard of Oz and I am not spoiling the ending.  Dorothy, the Tin Man, The Lion and the scarecrow discover they already have within them what they need to have what it is they yearn for the most.

Naaman’s servants help him to see that this simple prescription is worth a go.  There is no Oz,  no wizard, no magic wand, but here, right here, there is healing.  Here is the path you must take to discover healing; will you take this unexpected path?  Will you trust God’s actions coming how you least expect it?

Our lectionary now takes us to another time and place.  Introduces us to someone else who yearns to be healed.  This man’s disease has resulted in him being separated.  In the eyes of the religious community people with this skin disease are impure, unclean, a source of danger and contamination.  For these reasons, when a priest discovers someone with this impurity, he must expel them from the civil and religious society.  They can’t pray in the temple, go to the synagogue or live with their family in their house.  This illness converts the people who have it into solitary persons, a separated species.

As I was reading different articles on these verses from the gospel of Mark, the writings of theologian Ofelia Ortega really captured my imagination.  Jesus is in a deserted place, desolate, devoid of warmth, a place set apart, as he wanders here, this man with the skin disease, sees Jesus and comes to him, falling on his knees, he begs, “If you want, you can make me clean.”  Then the scripture reads, “Incensed, Jesus reached out his hand, touched him and said, “I do want to.  Be clean.”  Incensed??  Was Jesus mad at this man?  Annoyed at being interrupted from a prayerful reverie?  Ortega suggests Jesus was filled with rage at the laws that resulted in this man being kicked out; isolated, cut off from the very people he needs the most.  Enraged at a social system that demonized and excluded an entire group of human beings.  The Rev. Jon Walton preached “this is a healing story with passion in it.  Jesus is frustrated and upset when he heals the man; and in the process of healing him, Jesus breaks down walls that have been carefully built and tirelessly preserved by well-meaning people, when Jesus touches the man with the skin disease he dares to do the unconventional, in fact he does what is unlawful, so that he may accomplish the unlikely, what until then was inconceivable.  

This healing set things in motion!  Because Jesus has healed the man, the man can now return to his community, he can again be a part of his family, he can participate in the rituals of his faith, he can worship God with his community.  As United Methodists, we would say, he is now again a member in good standing.

This is why Jesus wants this man restored to the household of God.  Jesus tells him, “Go, and show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifice for your cleansing that Moses commanded.  This will be a testimony to them.”  But will they trust God’s action coming how they least expect it?

The healed man returns, people are amazed.  How could God have worked through this man we had declared beyond the bounds?  Why would God act through this person? And in this way?  Isn’t this healing contrary to everything we know?  The people want to know and the healed man can’t help himself, he cannot quit talking about the liberating action of Jesus.  Through the healing love of Jesus the seeds of our church are being planted, a church that begins with outcasts, a church that seeks to overcome the exclusion system that currently reigns.  Jesus’ radical invitation to the kingdom of God invades all social order and changes everything.  The scripture tells us, “Jesus stayed in the country.”  This no-mans land, this place beyond the boundary people only cross when they have no choice, when every option has been closed off to them, this is where Jesus stays.
There has been a reversal, the man with the skin disease is clean, and Jesus has touched what is considered unclean.  What is going to happen?  We know what happens, the people come to Jesus.  The boundary that could not be crossed is now sought after, the social order disrupted.  The place of exile has become the place of welcome; the place of separation the place of restoration, the place of brokenness, now the place of healing.  Jesus is making things on earth as they are in heaven, where God’s household is big enough for everyone, where there is a place at the table for each and every one of us.

Naaman discovers healing when he heeds the words of those whom society values the least.  The man with the skin disease, one whom society reviles and rejects, devotes his life to sharing about the liberating love of Jesus Christ, to being a part of God’s vision for us where none are reviled, none are rejected.

Some time this week on NPR I caught the tail end of an interview.  They were talking with a man, he is a professional coach of some sport at a high level and he has two daughters who, while growing up, played on a lot of sports teams.  He has written a book of essays and the interviewer asked the coach about watching his daughters play on a team.  I was totally struck by his comment, he said, “watching my child play is like everything is in black in white, except my child, everything they do is in Technicolor.”  I loved that he said this.  One because it captures so well something that is so true, but also because I like to think this is how God sees each one of us.  

How somehow in God’s economy God sees and loves Naaman, sees and loves the servant girl, Elisha, the servants.  God sees and loves those who are cast out and those who seek justice and truth.  God sees us all as our best and brightest selves and sets to work working through us.  Through Jesus, God hoped that we each would know this, that we each would walk this path to healing and wholeness, emboldened to follow new ways, to go on unexpected journeys, to live boldly, knowing that the more we seek Christ in the faces of each person we encounter, the closer we come to being the household of God.  We don’t get there by clicking our heels and saying, “There’s no place like home”, we get there by actively participating in God’s work, by believing in what seems not only unlikely but even inconceivable, Jesus Christ came that each of us will know we have healing hearts, that when we follow on the path where Jesus leads, we find we are on the way to God’s household and discover that after all we are already Home.

Amen!