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|October '09 Pastor's Pen by Chelsea Badeau on Oct 14, 12:53pm|
|October '09 Pastor's Pen|
In the Mission Study that Summit undertook to prepare for a new pastor, membership growth was listed as both a top goal and the biggest challenge facing the congregation in the years ahead. In leadership retreats and congregational surveys, membership growth was seen as a "must" to ensure financial stability, develop programs for children and youth, and to reach out to the community. The report noted the decline in membership over the last century, the plateau in the last 25 years (better than many peer churches, which have seen declines!) and the hope that this could be reversed in the years ahead.
There's no denying the numbers and the facts: we need more people to ensure financial stability if we're to care for our building and develop programs at this corner of Westview and Greene. However, there's also no denying the fact that few people will (or should) join a church to care for the building and develop programs! People will join the church if they hear the good news and are drawn the by Spirit - a joint human and divine effort known as evangelism. Church growth and increased pledging may be happy consequences of evangelism, but - strictly speaking - membership growth is not the church's mission. The church's mission is to share the good news of God's love in Jesus Christ.
Unfortunately, evangelism has a bad name among some of us, much of it deserved. At Session last month we shared our associations with the word and aggressive classmates, threatening sermons and disrespect for other faiths immediately came to mind. But when we recalled positive experiences of evangelism - where we had been on the receiving end of the good news - examples came just as quickly: from classmates who talked about their faith or invited us to worship, to people who offered to pray for us, to Christians who gave a warm welcome when we walked into church, to older neighbors who taught us about Jesus and loved us as children. We are all at Summit because at some point we were "evangelized."
At Session we've begun a year-long process of discussion, study and planning on evangelism. We'll be seeking ways to share the gospel that are true to our understanding of God and neighbor. We'll be talking about it in on committees, and inviting the congregation into the conversation. We'll seek to share the good news wider and farther -- and then see where the Spirit leads us. I believe it will be an exciting adventure, that Summit has “what it takes” to evangelize successfully: a life centered in worship and prayer, and – in Paul’s words to the Ephesians (3:7) – a community rooted and grounded in love. There is so much good news to share about Jesus Christ and Summit Presbyterian Church!
Grace and Peace,
|Ray of Light Blues Band by Monica on Oct 13, 12:40pm|
|Ray of Light Blues Band||Hi - I attended the BBQ this past year - which was delicious! I thought the Ray of Light Blues Band was awesome and would like to know how I can get in touch with them? I have an event that I would like to consider hiring them to play at and I'm wondering if they have a website or something similar? If anyone has any information regarding this group I'd greatly appreciate you sending it my way. Thanks so much, can't wait until next years BBQ.|
|Sept. 09 Pastor's Pen - Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Sep 18, 12:36pm|
|Sept. 09 Pastor's Pen - Cheryl Pyrch|
September: the beginning of a new school year. As a teacher, I always looked forward to setting up my classroom, learning the names of new students, and planning curriculum. I may have been exhausted when we ended in June, but I always began the year excited, optimistic, and curious about what lay ahead. Students were also excited. I taught most of my students two years in a row, and I noticed that even children who had struggled the year before would return eager and hopeful. I was amazed at how often the blessing of a new beginning allowed children (and teachers) to right relationships, blossom academically, or discover a passion. Every September brought new anxieties and challenges, too, but we faced them with energy and creativity.
September is the beginning of a new "program year," at church. Sunday School and Bible study begins; the choirs learn new anthems; the Elder Diner and REACH programs start a year of programming, recipes and outreach; the Deacons plan ways to lead us in caring and service. This year we also have the adventure of celebrating our 125th anniversary, and new officers begin their work. It's an exciting time.
The new school and program year also reminds us that in Christ, every month is September: that at any time of the year (or month or day) we're invited to accept the blessing of a new beginning. We're invited to accept the love and forgiveness offered in Christ so we can let go of that part of the past that weighs us down. We're invited to turn to a life of deeper faith and commitment. That may be as simple as coming to worship every Sunday or saying a prayer of thanksgiving each morning. It may mean coming to a Bible class, joining a committee, welcoming new folks at coffee hour. It may mean volunteering to host a homeless family or bringing in food each month for the crisis ministry. It may mean forgiving someone close to you or asking forgiveness. The possibilities are rich and endless!
As we gather together after summer travels and rest, I hope and pray that we may all feel that back-to-school excitement and hope. I'm looking forward to my second year at Summit, and remain grateful that the Spirit brought us together.
Grace and Peace,
|8/16/09 Sermon: A Listening Heart--Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Aug 18, 6:03pm|
|8/16/09 Sermon: A Listening Heart--Cheryl Pyrch|
Summit Presbyterian Church
August 16, 2009
1 Kings 2:10-12; 3:3-14
A Listening Heart
I have a friend whose daughter graduated from 8th grade this year. Melissa's an intelligent person, but she's always struggled in school and gotten so-so grades. But this year, something clicked. To her surprise and my friend's, she was on the honor roll the first quarter. And the second and the third. My friend, being both amazed and pleased, in an unguarded moment, told Melissa that if she made the honor roll for the fourth quarter she would get her a laptop. So that fourth quarter, Melissa made sure to do her homework and listen to her teacher. She wanted to learn and was enjoying school more, but there's no denying the thought of the laptop spurred her on. She had what we call an ulterior motive.
The country is in the middle of a debate about healthcare. On all sides people are claiming that their plan would be the best one: that it would help the most people, that it would be fiscally responsible, that it would be the most just or efficient. Although some folks are deliberately spreading lies and misinformation, most people sincerely believe the plan they support would be the best for the nation. But everyone also has a personal stake, a personal interest, in the debate: medical care they like or don't; a job in a hospital or with an insurance company; profits or potential profits from the health industry; a good insurance plan or no way to pay a doctor. For all of us, our self-interest - or what we perceive as our self interest - is likely to influence the plan we believe would be best for everyone. That's not necessarily a bad thing - what's best for us could be best for all - but self-interest can also distort our understanding. At the very least, we must confess to mixed motives for supporting one side or another.
And it's not just in school, or in politics, that it gets complicated. Jesus said to make disciples of all nations, and I know that both the Summit and Mount Airy congregations have made evangelism - what we also call church growth - a top mission priority. And for good reason: we believe that Jesus saves. That Jesus Christ saves us from hopelessness and despair. That through Christ we have forgiveness and eternal life. In the church we find purpose, and love, and we want other people to hear this good news and share in our joy. But we also can't help thinking -- and I include myself in this - that if we had more members, we'd have more money to repair the roof. More money to fix the tower More people to teach Sunday school, sing in the choir, make the coffee and help us meet the budget. Now, if you're a visitor, I hope that doesn't scare you. We really are faithful, vital loving communities that want to welcome you. But I'm going to be upfront: if you're looking for purity, you won't find it here. (Or at First Germantown or Chestnut Hill for that matter).
It's complicated in the Bible, too. In our scripture today God appears to Solomon in a dream and and tells him to ask for whatever he wants. Solomon asks for wisdom. He asks for wisdom, he says, so he may govern God's people with an understanding mind, able to discern between good and evil. There's nothing in this passage to suggest that Solomon had any other motive for asking: indeed, God - who would know - is pleased with Solomon's request, and tells Solomon it will be granted. In church teaching this prayer has been held up as a model. Solomon's wisdom is legendary. The riches and honor he also received from God are seen as a consequence of Solomon's upright heart, not something he was angling for.
But if we step back and read what comes before and after this passage, we may wonder. When Solomon makes his humble petition, recognizing that he has been given the throne by God and claiming to be like a little child, he leaves out the part about how he killed his brother and a few other people to consolidate his power. Solomon also makes no mention of the fact that he's been worshipping God in the so-called high places, something he wasn't supposed to do because the ark was in Jerusalem. But then, Solomon had built his own palace before he got around to building the temple. The Biblical historians note other problems: he enslaved people to complete his over-the-top building projects. He made political marriages with hundreds of wives and concubines and later in life he turned his heart to their Gods. Given his mixed record, we may wonder if there wasn't some calculation in this prayer. There was a well-honored teaching that wisdom would bring honor and prosperity. Even if Solomon was sincere, did he think - maybe on some subconscious level - that if he asked for wisdom the riches would follow? They certainly did. The wisdom God gave brought untold wealth to Solomon and his kingdom. You may know the story of the Queen of Sheba, who came to test Solomon with hard questions after she heard of his wisdom. The Bible doesn't say what hard questions this forerunner to the host of Do You Want to be a Millionaire asked, but apparently Solomon answered so well there was no spirit left in the queen. His answers inspired her to a frenzy of gift-giving - gold and more gold, spices, precious stones, almug wood, lyres and harps. (Solomon gave her some stuff, too.) (1 Kings 10:1 ff) Yes, Solomon asked for wisdom so he could rule with discernment -- but did he have other motives? We may well be suspicious.
We can't say what was in Solomon's heart, but we can say this: whatever mixed motives may have been behind that prayer, God responded. God invited Solomon to speak; and when he asked for wisdom, it was granted. As long as Solomon followed God's way and used his God-given wisdom, God blessed Israel and other peoples. The Bible says all the nations came to hear Solomon's proverbs and songs; it says he also spoke of trees and animals, and birds and reptiles and fish - an early scientist. Solomon kept all the tribes of Israel together, and he built a magnificent temple that was the center of Israel's worship for centuries. Solomon's disobedience towards the end of his reign angered God, but his lack of purity - religious and moral - did not stop God from using his reign for good.
And we can be thankful, for that is how God deals with us as well. We're called to purity. We're called to strive for a clean heart and clear conscience. We're called to discern God's will - what is right and good - from other motives that may drive us. But thank God we don't have to achieve purity before God loves us, responds to us, and uses us for God's purpose. Our desire to be a better student or worker may have more to do with getting a reward or a raise then doing God's will, but that doesn't stop us from achieving. Our political commitments may grow more out of self interest than love of neighbor, and we always have to be asking that, but that won't stop God from using us to reform our health system. Our evangelism and other mission is almost always entwined with other motives besides doing God's will. We act out of yearnings for power, or approval, for desires to hold onto the people and buildings that mean so much to us. We need to be vigilant, to try and discern our will from God's. But our mixed motives don't stop us from being Christ's church. God uses us to spread the good news anyhow. Indeed, if Christ had waited for the church to be pure, pure in its desires and actions, it would still be a tiny tiny sect in the Middle East. So as we pray for wisdom: as we pray for a thankful heart and a discerning mind; let us also thank God for loving and using us in the meantime.
The commentaries by Choon-Leong Seow (The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. III, Nashville: Abingdon, 1994) and Kathryn Schifferdecker (www.workingpreacher.org) were use din preparing this sermon.
|8/09/09 Sermon: Words of Grace -- Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Aug 10, 11:38am|
|8/09/09 Sermon: Words of Grace -- Cheryl Pyrch||
Summit Presbyterian Church
August 9, 2009
Words of Grace
I've been here about a year and I don't believe you've ever heard me talk about heaven as a place: what it might be like or who, exactly, would be there. I shy away from such speculation because there's not much about it in scripture. There's talk of judgement and salvation, and there are visions of the end-times -in the book of Revelation especially. But in neither the Old or New Testament is there a detailed description of the place where God dwells we call heaven. Also, in our age of space exploration and Hubble telescopes we can no longer think of heaven simply as a giant playground above the clouds. But today, I'd like to picture, to imagine, just a little corner of heaven. The little corner that contains the water cooler -- you know what I mean, the kind almost every office has. Where folks stand around and talk. Mostly about other people. Mostly about other people they know -- friends and co-workers and family. And this is my question: if Jesus Christ were hanging around the water cooler, not with people but with heavenly colleagues such as cherubim and seraphim and angels and archangels - what might he talk about?
He could talk about the friends and disciples he knew when he walked the earth as Jesus of Nazareth. Peter and James and John, Thomas and Philip and Matthew. He'd have lots of information to share with his heavenly friends. He could talk about how he first met Simon Peter and James and John when they were fishing and how, really - they weren't very good fishermen. They'd put down their nets night after night but they didn't know how to do it right and they kept coming up empty. He could joke that it was a good thing he called them to fish for people instead. (Luke 5: 1-11). He could talk about how, underneath all their piety, the disciples were actually social climbers. Always arguing among themselves about who was the greatest, who would get to sit at Jesus' right hand. Christ could also confide to his friends that for all their arguing over who was at the top of the class, none of the disciples were especially bright: he told them again and again who he was and what was going to happen to him but they just didn't get it. He could also gossip about his women friends. He could tell the story about going to dinner at Mary and Martha's house and how Martha was one of those martyr types -- a cook who wouldn't let anyone else into her kitchen but then would complain that she had to do everything herself. He could also talk about his family. About how his mother and his brothers just didn't appreciate his gifts or vocation. He could tell them how they thought he was crazy and tried to bring him home when he was teaching in the synagogue -- but that he had created his own family, thank you. And if Christ were to regale the cherubim with these entertaining stories -- if they nodded their heads and laughed appreciatively -- Christ might be tempted to even start a few rumors. About Mary Magdalene being a prostitute. Or about the money problems Judas had that led him to betray Jesus for a few pieces of silver.
Yes, Jesus Christ could tell all kinds of stories, stories about his friends and disciples, stories which stretched the truth just a bit and got in a laugh or two. And if he did who could blame him? After all, they abandoned him in his hour of need. They couldn't even stay awake in the garden to pray with him, and Peter -- who promised to stand by him - denied him three times. Who could blame Jesus for being angry, even bitter, over all that was done to him and the cowardice of his friends? And who could begrudge Christ a little fun -- for we know how fun it is to talk about other people - who could begrudge him a little fun around the water cooler when all was said and done.
And of course, the risen Christ wouldn't need to confine himself to talk about people he knew thousands of years ago. He could also talk about us! He knows enough: he's read every e-mail we've written. He's heard everything we've said to our mother, he knows what we've done in bed. He knows everything we've thrown in the trash and exactly what's in our bank account. He knows our daydreams and the way we turn our eyes from homeless people and skip newspaper articles about global warming. If the risen Christ were to talk about us around the water cooler, he'd have lots of material. And if he was critical, or stretched the truth a bit, who could blame him? In Matthew it says that what we do to the least of these we do to Christ -- or not: feeding the hungry (or not), visiting the sick (or not), welcoming the stranger (or not). So who could blame Christ for being angry over our failings? Who could object if he were critical, or talked about us with some bitterness, or at the very least indulged in a bit of fun at our expense?
But Christ doesn't do that. Christ doesn't talk about us that way - at the heavenly water cooler or anywhere else. How do we know? We know because even from the cross, Christ prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." We know because after he was dead and buried, he came to Mary in the garden, called her by name, and asked her gently why she was crying. We know because he came to the other disciples when they were a huddled, frightened mess and rather than berating them, he said, "Peace be with you." And when Thomas came later and said he'd only believe Jesus was alive if he could see the mark of the nails in hands, Jesus came back. He didn't mock Thomas for wanting evidence: he showed him his wounds. We know Jesus doesn't talk about us that way because when Christ rose from the dead he didn't return to punish anyone or seek revenge. Instead, he ate with his friends. He met two disciples on the road to Emmaus and broke bread with them and opened their minds to the scripture. One morning on the beach he made breakfast for Peter and the others, a breakfast of broiled fish and bread. And after he spoke these grace-ful words of peace and forgiveness and wisdom to his disciples, he entrusted them with a mission: to proclaim repentance and the forgiveness of sins. To tell friend and foe alike of God's love. A love we know in the presence of the risen Christ, and in the blessing of his forgiveness. A love that we, too, are called to proclaim.
So, therefore, says Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians: be imitators of God, as beloved children, living in love as Christ loved us. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as Christ has forgiven us. Put away bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice. Put away falsehood, and instead let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of with one another. Be angry, but do not sin, do not let the sun go down on your anger or make room for the devil. Let no evil come out of your mouths, says, Paul, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.
Speaking words that give grace to those who hear. What a challenge of the Christian life! It's challenging because it means speaking the truth. It means taking the time to discern true from false - which is not always be easy - and acknowledging when we're wrong. Speaking the truth may mean challenging someone else and risking their anger. It also hard to speak the truth in a way that builds up and gives grace, especially when we're angry. It’s challenging to speak words of grace because of our anger. Be angry says Paul – and there's plenty of room for anger in the Christian life; we’re called to be angry on behalf of ourselves and others. But do not let that anger become a reason to sin, says Paul: to spread falsehood, to slander, to hurt, whether we're arguing with our spouse, reprimanding our children, or speaking out at a meeting. Choosing words that are grace-full is also challenging because it means letting go of the satisfaction we get from stretching the truth about other people - saying something that's basically accurate but that slanders rather than builds up: gossip at the water cooler often falls into that category. And it’s challenging because we also have to choose words that are truthful and grace-filled in public life -- unlike much of the talk we heard this week from opponents of Obama's healthcare plan.
Speaking words of grace; challenging, but possible, because of Christ’s words of grace to us. His words of love and forgiveness to the disciples and to us despite everything we've done and haven't done. His words of truth - which may be hard to hear - but which are spoken only to build us up. His words of grace and confidence in us, entrusting us with the message of the gospel. So let us be imitators of God, in our lives and as a church, living in love as Christ loves us.
|8/02/09 Sermon: Real Food -- Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Aug 7, 12:43pm|
|8/02/09 Sermon: Real Food -- Cheryl Pyrch|
August 2, 2009
Summit Presbyterian Church
This summer, groups of college students from around the country have been meeting in regional conferences to plan for something they call the "Real Food Challenge." Their goal is to get their college dining halls to start buying and serving "real food"; their hope is that within 10 years 20% of the food on college campuses will be "real." (www.realfoodchallenge.org)
What do they mean by real food? They mean food that at least bears a resemblance, or can trace it's ancestry back, to a living thing found in nature: blueberries, carrots, rice, chicken -- as opposed to, say, twinkies, american process cheese food product spread, skittles or pringles. Unlike those yummy items, real food is healthy. But that's only a beginning. Real food, they say, is food that's ethically produced and fairly traded: food where the farmer who grew it and the workers who brought it to the table, both here and abroad, are treated justly. Food where animals that we milk - or eat - are treated humanely. Real food is sustainably produced and transported: grown without chemical pesticides, leaving as small a carbon footprint as possible. As many of you know, real food is sold at the weaver's way coop on Carpenter's Lane, where you can find coffee that's fairly traded or vegetables that are grown locally without pesticides. (An interesting factoid for visitors: Weaver's Way began at Summit church)
The real food challenge, according to these young activists, is not merely about changing our diets or shopping ethically. It's an organizing focus for bringing about a more just world: a world where tomato pickers have a decent wage and slaughterhouse workers have health care; a world where no one goes hungry, and where people have a say in their government. A world with an economy where all people - as well as animals and plants- can flourish. Increasing the demand for real food, their thinking goes, will encourage and and support these just practices; with other groups, the students also work for change in agricultural policy. I'm sure there are many differences within the movement on strategy, and you or I may have differences with their approach. But as Christians we share their vision of a just world. The students don't use this word, but a world fed by real food would be a world grounded in love. Jesus showed us a glimpse of such a world when he fed the 5,000 and everyone had as much as they wanted. Isaiah speaks of it when he says that on God's holy mountain the Lord will make for all peoples a feast of rich food and well-aged wines, and wipe away tears from all faces.
In our reading this morning, the crowd hunts Jesus down because he had fed them. Five thousand people had followed him up a mountain, and when they were hungry Jesus gave them bread and fish. He started with only five barley loaves and two fish but all had enough, with twelve baskets left over. Those original five loaves and two fish would not have been "real food" by standards of the real food challenge. The loaves and fishes were not artificial or sprayed with pesticides, but the Roman Imperial food system was not just or equitable. The crowd who followed Jesus would have been used to having much of their food taken away to feed soldiers or the wealthy in the cities; those who grew the barley or caught the fish or even baked the bread were likely poorly treated. But Jesus took that food, he gave thanks, and he transformed it: it became a sign of God's abundant love. God's abundant, life-giving love for every person.
But according to John, the people didn't get it. They didn't see the sign: they just knew Jesus had given them enough bread to eat their fill and they wanted to stay close to the source. Who can blame them? Those of us who never go hungry shouldn't cast stones at anyone who misses a sign because of a growling belly. And Jesus knew they had to be fed; it's no accident this sign was done with food. But when they come to him again, he tells them he offers even more: more than the bread they need but which perishes, whether it's a barley loaf or manna in the wilderness. He offers them life that will satisfy their deepest hunger and direst thirst. Tfheir hunger for love and healing and for a purpose guided by God. Their thirst for forgiveness and acceptance. Jesus offers them this life, life nourished by the love that has come down from heaven in him. Come to me, Jesus says, so you may know this love, this love that stretches into eternity because it comes from God.
Jesus offers us this life, too. Jesus calls us to trust in him so we may be fed with the love of God that goes beyond our need for barley loaves or fish and other food that we eat. Jesus invites us to the table, where he transforms this bread and wine so it becomes a sign of his love and indeed his very presence. What theologians, coincidentally, call his "real" presence.
Now it would be easy to take a wrong turn here and say that because Jesus is the true bread from heaven, the other kind isn't that important: we shouldn't be chasing after it. It would be easy to draw the lesson that believing in Jesus is spiritual, and eating or worrying about the bread that perishes is not. It would be easy to see communion as a time for us to receive the love of Jesus the bread that we eat simply as a means to this end. But we would be wrong. When Christ transforms this bread and this wine, he does so no only so we may enjoy his presence and feel in love. He also transforms this bread and wine so that we may go out and share that love. We're invited to partake of Christ's real presence in the bread and wine so we can be strengthened to go out and accept the real food challenge. The challenge to work for a world where workers and farmers are treated fairly and animals humanely; where everyone has enough; where we live respectfully with creation; a world that is just and sustainable. We may do it in ways other than joining the real food movement, but we're all called. We're called to repair the world so that the bread we grow and share with one another may be as "real" as the bread we eat today. Bread that reflects the love and justice of God in Jesus Christ. So now let us come to that table.
|07/09 Pastor's Pen by Chelsea Badeau on Jul 10, 10:47pm|
|07/09 Pastor's Pen||June is a month of transitions and rites of passage–graduations, leaving home, getting married. Christians my age and older may remember another June (or May) rite of passage - that of first communion. Those raised in the Roman Catholic church may have gone to reli- gious education classes on weekday afternoons, and remember get- ting a pretty white dress or first suit before taking communion at age six or seven at a special mass. Those of us raised as Protestants are more likely to have had our first communion at the time of confirmation and profession of faith at twelve or thirteen – after completing a class where we tried our best to drive the teacher bananas.
There was wisdom to this approach. Taking our first communion at a special service after lengthy preparation helped us come to the sacrament with reverence. By having first communion as the endpoint of a class we could focus on the biblical stories, prayers and teachings that help make it meaningful. And for those of us who were older, we could begin to wrestle with the questions related to communion that theologians have asked for centuries: what does it mean that Christ died for us? How exactly is Christ with us in the Lord’s Supper?
But there were also problems with that practice. There was the danger of believing communion was something we “earned” after graduating from class. Those of us who took communion at thirteen had no time to let the sacrament shape and nurture us before the siren songs of adolescent rebellion and the freedom to sleep in (since confirmation meant we were adult members who could decide not to go to church) drew us away from Sunday worship. And it could lead to the misunderstanding that communion was not really “effective” until one could explain Christ’s atonement or presence in the bread and the wine. For these and other reasons, over the past 40 years most Protestant churches who baptize infants have begun welcoming even young children to the table.
I admit to having been skeptical of childhood communion, however, until my first year out of seminary. I was sitting with Sarah, age five, in the first row. Sarah had not been attending church long, and as the bread and wine was passed down the aisle she turned and watched intently over the back of the pew. She then whispered to me, in an awed voice, “Everybody gets some.” Sarah was years away from being able to explain the Lord’s Supper but she understood one central truth: everyone gets fed. Of every race and clan, the stuffed and the hungry, Harvard graduates and the developmentally delayed, gay and straight, men and women, the homeless and the rich, grown-ups and children —Christ’s grace comes to all.
Not every five or even seven year old is ready for communion. Some show no interest and are best left to draw on the pew cards snuggled next to their parents, or to receive a blessing by coming forward. But for those who are, we’re called to welcome and prepare them: by bringing them to worship, teaching them stories of Jesus, answering questions, praying for and with them. This fall, by decision of the Session, Summit will begin a more intentional invitation of children to the table. We’ll prepare them (and us) through children’s sermons and Sunday School, books and discussions with families. Children will stay in worship so they may watch and learn, be with us in community, and – when parents feel they’re ready – partake of bread and wine. And we will all be fed.
|6/21/09 Sermon: Do You Not Care? -- Cheryl Prych by Chelsea Badeau on Jul 2, 9:26pm|
|6/21/09 Sermon: Do You Not Care? -- Cheryl Prych|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
June 21, 2009
Do You Not Care?
Simon and Andrew, John and James had not known Jesus long. But after he passed by their boats and called them to follow - and they had, they still weren't sure why - it had been a whirlwind. Their first stop had been the synagogue where he astounded everyone with his teaching; for he taught with authority, not as one of the scribes. While they were there a man with an unclean spirit came in -that always made everyone nervous - and the demon had cried from out of the man and named Jesus as a holy one of God. When Jesus said, "Be silent and come out of him," and the demon left, with a loud cry and convulsion, they were amazed. Everyone began spreading the word: here was someone who taught with authority. Someone who had power over unclean spirits. Someone who could set the possessed free.
Right after that visit to the synagogue they had retreated to Simon and Andrew's house. There they found that Simon's mother in law was in bed with a fever. Fevers were dangerous, very frightening. They told Jesus at once - this teacher with authority and power over the unclean spirits. Could he also heal? Heal someone they loved? Jesus came and took her by her hand and lifted her up -- and the fever left her. [And she immediately started serving them. After all, there was company in the house].
And so it went. He continued throughout Galilee, preaching the message and casting out demons. Everyone was searching for him. The disciples remembered when a man with leprosy, who came begging on his knees, said to Jesus, "if you choose, you can make me clean." They saw how moved Jesus was. He stretched out his hand and said, "I do choose. Be made clean!" And the man was healed. After that they had no rest. Jesus went home to Capernaum but the word got out and so many gathered around there wasn't even any room for them near the front door. At that point some people came carrying a paralyzed man, and let him down through the roof so he could reach Jesus. Jesus had assured the man his sins were forgiven and to take up his mat, and walk. And he did. Never had they seen anything like that.
And then there was the man with the withered hand - the one who Jesus saw in the synagogue on the sabbath. Everyone was looking at Jesus to see what he would do. Would he heal the man that day, breaking the law about work on the sabbath, or would he wait? No one cared about the man with the withered hand. They just wanted to watch the show-down between Jesus and the Pharisees. And Jesus had looked around at them with anger. He was grieved at their hardness of heart. He restored the man's hand. He would get in trouble for that.
But he didn't just heal people, and free them from demons: he cared about folks that everyone else disliked or avoided. He invited Levi, the tax collector, to follow him. The others weren't so sure about that but Jesus went to Levi's home, and ate with other tax collectors and sinners. Later he chose them, the twelve, and named them apostles, to be with him, to proclaim the message and to also have authority to cast out demons. He taught them in parables and explained what they meant. He called them - and his other followers - his mother and his brothers. They were family.
So what was it with his sleeping in the middle of this great windstorm? The boat was swamped, they were terrified. Did he not care that they were perishing?? Everyone, everyone, knew what to do when a storm came up. You bailed for your life. All hands on deck. But Jesus was sleeping in the midst of this noise and this chaos. On a cushion. In the back of the boat. Did he not care for his own life, or for theirs? Was he really the compassionate healer they thought him to be, the teacher with authority, their friend and brother, or was he some kind of imposter -- in cahoots with demonic forces, ready to let them them all perish in the sea? So they woke him, they woke him and said, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" And he did wake up. He rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" Then the wind ceased and there was a dead calm. They weren't expecting that. They were filled with great awe and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" For he had said to them, "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?"
Why are you afraid . . . . . . We all have our personal, customized list of phobias, from natural disasters to more psychologically-based terrors. And we should. The world's a dangerous place and we're vulnerable creatures. We fear physical pain, illness and death. We fear financial hardship; loss of a spouse or job; public shame. We fear for ourselves and for those we love. Millions in this world know daily the fear that comes with hunger, violence, homelessness. The windstorms keep coming. God doesn't stop those - at least not consistently - and no amount of faith can change that.
We also fear that no one cares. Or that there will come a point in our life when no one cares. That no one will help us bail when our boat starts sinking or that we could go overboard with no one noticing. That "no one" includes God; for most of us, even the most faith-filled, there are times when God seems absent, when Jesus seems to be sleeping if he's even on the boat at all. Times when we ask, "Do you not care that I am perishing?"
When Jesus stilled the storm, he showed them who he was; one whom even the wind and sea obeyed, sent from the one who brought order to the watery chaos at the beginning of creation. And when he rebuked the wind and calmed the sea he also answered their question: yes, I do care.
The faith Jesus calls us to is not a faith that God will calm every storm: cure us of every illness, vanquish every evil or fix all that is wrong in the world right now. The faith Jesus calls us to is the faith that God cares. The faith that God's grace and healing and justice surround us, even though now we see only in part. The faith that - in the words of the Psalm Henry just read - God does not forsake those who seek God; that God does not forget the cry of the afflicted; that the needy shall not always be forgotten nor the hope of the poor perish forever. Yes, Jesus assures us, the Jesus that calmed the storm and rose from the dead, God cares. It may seem that we are perishing, but we are being saved. That is the faith we are called to.
And as people who are being saved, we're called to witness to God's care: by caring for each other, and for brothers and sisters around the world. Through prayer and preaching, through ministries of hospitality, through speaking out for what is right and just. God cares for
|6/14/09 Sermon: Ambassadors of Christ -- Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Jul 2, 9:24pm|
|6/14/09 Sermon: Ambassadors of Christ -- Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
June 14, 2009
2 Corinthians 5:14-21
Ambassadors of Christ
We all keep them. Those lists of grievances: things people have done to us, ways we have been hurt, beginning in childhood and ending this morning. Some of the items on those lists may be grave hurts: abuse in childhood, a partner's unfaithfulness, being kicked out of a home or being fired unjustly from a job. We may struggle all our lives with damage from those traumas. Our anger may be a constant companion and we may not find it possible to forgive, no matter how much we pray or read the Bible. Other things on that list may be minor irritations, but still worth noting. Those lists can come in handy. For example, when we're arguing with a spouse or a parent and it looks like they may be right, that we may need to do something differently or even apologize, that's a good time to pull out the list. To find something on it they did to us that's totally unrelated, but for which they still feel guilty, and to quietly mention it. It's a pretty reliable way to paralyze your opponent and to avoid change, problem solving or reconciliation. (At least until they catch on).
Most of us keep another kind of list as well. That's a list of things we've done to others, little things and big things, things done in anger or ignorance, with malicious intent or without meaning to. Things we've done in the privacy of our home, as well as things we've collectively allowed to happen, like wars of aggression or a dangerous change in the climate. The guilt and shame we feel in looking at that list can paralyze us. It can keep us from reaching out to others or making things right or living our life with joy and gratitude. That list can haunt us even more than that other list we keep.
In this dense and even confusing passage I just read from Paul's letter, he has good news for the world: God is not keeping any list. Of course, God knows and remembers the wrongs we have done and the wrongs done to us. God is not indifferent to evil and on judgement day a merciful God will in some loving way hold us all accountable. But God is not keeping a list to use against us: to punish or shame us or to keep us from being reconciled with God. And this is how we know, says Paul (I'm interpreting): God came to us Christ. Jesus lived among us and suffered terrible wrongs: betrayal, abandonment and denial from friends; torture, public humiliation and death from his enemies. But Christ rose from that death. Christ came back - alive! - and ate and drank with his disciples, as well as with strangers. Christ chooses to be with us still, through the Holy Spirit. His resurrection and his continued presence with us are the assurance that his suffering and death have not been put on a list to be flung back in our faces. On the contrary, says Paul: in Christ God was reconciling the world to God's self, not counting their trespasses against them. And Christ died for all, says Paul. Not just for the soldiers who nailed him on the cross, or for Judas and Peter; not just for the chief priests and scribes, or for Pontius Pilate -- and not just for Christians. But for each and every one of us who have done wrong, in big ways or small. For all of us who have been complicit in evil. For let's face it: what happened to Jesus was not an isolated incident. The suffering he knew was terrible, but commonplace: thousands of others were crucified. If anything, in the past two thousand years we've perfected methods of torture. We now have weapons of mass destruction. God mourns our sin, but none of that is being put on a list to be used against us, to bar us from reconciliation with God: as Paul says elsewhere, nothing - hardship, distress, death nor life, height nor depth nor anything else in all creation -- including any thing that we have done - can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
As ambassadors for Christ, we're entrusted with this message. This message of reconciliation in Jesus Christ, this good news that God is not counting our wrongdoing against us. But ambassadors do more than bring messages. Ambassadors also do the work of diplomacy. And so we have been entrusted not just with the message, but with the ministry of reconciliation. Reconciliation in our homes and neighborhoods and workplaces; reconciliation in the world. Reconciliation that heals divisions, restores relationships, and brings peace. Reconciliation does not mean shutting up to keep the peace, or saying sorry but carrying on business as usual. It doesn't mean letting oppression stand or being naive in the face of evil. Reconciliation means truth telling and doing justice; it's the fruit of those things, the end goal. But our goal it must be.
The United Nations has declared 2009 the International Year of Reconciliation [2009 is also the International Year of Natural Fibres; since they can have an important place in the economy of poor people. 2008 was the International Year of the Potato, as well as the International Year of planet earth. I like that the UN has international years of reconciliation for multiple intelligences: for concrete, practical, types, the potato; for abstract and big-pictures types, reconciliation and the planet earth!] This year, the UN General Assembly also elected Daniel D'Escoto Brockmann as its President this year. D'Escoto was the foreign minister in the Sandinista Government in Nicaragua, from 79 to 91; he's also a Jesuit priest. This is from his acceptance speech:
The United Nations has officially designated 2009 as the International Year of Reconciliation. Let us fully heed that call. Reconciliation does not oblige us to forget the past; that would be impossible. What reconciliation obliges us to do is prevent memories of past outrages from becoming obstacles to our unity from now on. We must there- fore be careful not to wear each other down through futile recriminations.
In other words, we have to let go of our lists. We have to let go of those lists we use against families and friends, co-workers and neighbors. We have to let go of those lists we use against ourselves and those lists we use against nations -- such as the list that has 9/11 on it. That doesn't mean we forget 9/11. It doesn't mean we say "that's OK" to Al Queda and do nothing, or that we don't try and stop terrorism and bring the perpetrators to justice (and I know that's complicated). But it does mean we stop using 9/11 against the people of Afghanistan, and it certainly means we stop using it against the people of Iraq. It means we stop using 9/11 against those in the Muslim world with grievances against us, refusing even to listen. It means we stop using 9/11 as the reason to build even more guns and bombs, while ignoring those who are hungry. God, who is a God of justice, does not use our many sins against us; as ambassadors for Christ we must do likewise. Then we'll be preaching and doing the work of reconciliation.
I'd like to end by praying the words of Paul
Gracious and Eternal God,
We are grateful for your reconciling work through Jesus Christ and that you do not count our trespasses against us. We are grateful that you have entrusted us with the message and ministry of reconciliation; give us the grace to be ambassadors for Christ. We ask these things in his name, Amen.
|Sermon: Mission Impossible -- June 7, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Jun 10, 8:49pm|
|Sermon: Mission Impossible -- June 7, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
June 7, 2009
Matthew 28: 16-20
Matthew ends his gospel with these words. They've become famous: we call this passage "the great commission" and people quote it when talking about the importance of evangelism or of sending missionaries overseas. This scripture is also read on Trinity Sunday because of Jesus' instructions to baptize in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and his statement that all authority on heaven and earth has been given to him. It's a passage that points to the triune God - even though that doctrine developed later - so we read it often.
It's for these reasons that this passage can make some Christians uncomfortable. Jesus said to make disciples of all nations. We're all Christians because of that - and grateful - but we also know the dark side of that history: the crusades, missionaries paving the way for imperial armies who killed people and destroyed their cultures, certain televangelists. We may wonder: in this pluralistic world, is God calling us to make disciples of ALL nations? And then there's the Trinity. We worship the Father, Son and Holy Ghost - or Creator, Christ and Holy Spirit - but even those of us who've been to seminary are hard put to explain how the three are one God. As people who value reason we may wonder - does it makes sense? These are very interesting questions. I'm not going to talk about them today. But I raise them to point out that when we hear these words, we hear them with 2000 years of church history behind us: two thousand years of church councils, missionaries, Christian states, Holy wars and theological debates.
How might these words have fallen on the ears of those eleven raggedy men? The last time they had seen Jesus he was dead: killed like so many others by Roman soldiers, a painful and degrading death. According to Matthew, the whole crowd had turned against Jesus as the eleven had drawn back into the shadows, with Peter denying him three times. A Roman soldier and a few others saw miraculous signs when Jesus died thought he must have been a son of God, but nearly everyone else was hostile. The eleven disciples must have been frightened and discouraged, certain it was all over. So who knows what they thought when two of the women - Mary and Mary - ran up to them and said that they had seen Jesus, that he had been raised from the dead and met them on the road, and told them he wanted to meet the eleven in Galilee. I'll bet those men were skeptical - two thousand years later we're still fighting the stereotype of hysterical women - - but they went. They went to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. And they saw him; and fell down and worshipped. Jesus told them that all authority in heaven and on earth -- the full authority of God - had been given to him. And then - then - he gave them their task: go make disciples of all nations. Baptize them. And then tell those disciples you've baptized everything I've commanded you.
Did the disciples quake when they heard these words? How could they possibly make disciples of all nations? They were eleven among millions. They were Galileans, country boys, fisherman and unpopular tax collectors. Illiterate. They only spoke Aramaic - they neither read not wrote Greek, the language of the educated, international, cosmopolitan class. They had no cash reserves, no travel allowance. All nations? How could they even make disciples of their friends and neighbors? They had no "proof." To all appearances, Jesus was a failure, he had few fans among the Romans or religious leaders. And even for those who might believe, who might want to be baptized, how could they tell them everything that Jesus had commanded -- he had said so much, and they hadn't been taking notes. They had each other, but that was a mixed blessing, given how much time they spent bickering over who was the greatest. They had no house of worship. And they had their own doubts to wrestle with - for even when they worshipped him on that mountain, some doubted. It was an impossible mission: an impossible mission, what was Jesus thinking. But the risen Christ promised those disciples he would be with them to the end of the age. And here we are. Disciples of Christ in the nation of the United States of America, in the city of Philadelphia, over 2000 years later.
Yesterday the officers of the church met for a retreat. We spent time in Bible study. We did an exercise where we listed all the assets of Summit - the people and talents and skills we have, the building and money, assets in the community - and we thought of how they might work together for good. We also talked about the challenge of tending to a beautiful but aging building and different ways we might meet that challenge. We learned a lot, we have more to talk about, and we had fun - but there's no question, the work of the church can feel overwhelming. The paths ahead of us can seem daunting. And that's true for every church: big or small, urban or suburban, Presbyterian or Roman Catholic. But the risen Christ promises to be with us, to the end of the age.
Those eleven disciples probably died before Matthew's gospel was written 40 or 50 years after these events took place. When the eleven evangelized the good news was spread person by person or through letters. The eleven would have heard about people in different cities of the Roman Empire who were baptized; they may have done some traveling. They would have passed on the teachings of Jesus as best they could. They would have felt the power of the Holy Spirit and maybe even seen crowds of people convert. But the numbers of Christians would still have been small in the many and diverse peoples of the Roman Empire. The disciples also would have seen people fall away from the faith, and been in fights over money and worship -- even in Luke's idealized account of the early church in the book of Acts we hear of those fights. And at the end of their lives did they wonder - not knowing what would come after - if they fulfilled their mission? But we can hope they remembered that Jesus said he would be with them until the end of the age -- not just the end of their lives, but the end of the age, when he would come again. And hopefully they would have known that was enough.
For it is enough. Christ is with us and with those who came before and come after us -- leading, guiding, caring for his church of every age, helping us to fulfill that mission impossible. We can't do it all and we can't always do what we want. We'll make mistakes, we'll be wrong, we won't always demonstrate the reign of God in our life together. We definitely won't see the fruits of all that we do. But with Christ, who is always with us, we dare not set limits on our mission as the church, not only here at Summit but also as the holy catholic church. Those first disciples didn't, nor have the saints before us.
|Sermon: Witness in Action -- May 31, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Jun 10, 8:47pm|
|Sermon: Witness in Action -- May 31, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
May 31, 2009 - Pentecost
Acts 2: 1-21, etc.
Witness in Action
Earlier this month I was called for jury duty here in Philadelphia (they found me very fast). I was picked to be a juror at the trial of a young man for aggravated assault and attempted murder. The jury selection was on Friday, and when we reported on Monday we were brought to the courtroom, sat in the jury box, but then told we could go home. The judge explained that the case had been dismissed without prejudice because the witness could not be located. When we heard that we shifted in our seats. Someone asked if the witness was in danger. The prosecuting attorney immediately barked out "we don't know" but the judge said only that he could not be located and they thought he had just decided not to participate. The judge reminded us that everyone was to be considered innocent until proven guilty.
According to Luke, when Jesus rose from the tomb on Easter morning he came to his disciples and spent 40 days among them: eating and drinking, instructing them in the scriptures, speaking about the Kingdom of God. He told the eleven and those with them that they would be witnesses: witnesses to his resurrection and all he said and did. Witnesses sent to proclaim repentance and the forgiveness of sins: in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth. (Luke 24:44-49; Acts 1:1-8). After he left them and ascended into heaven, they were in the temple continually praising God. When they were gathered together on the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came upon them and they began to witness. They witnessed first in words: speaking in languages they didn't even know so people from all nations could understand the good news. Peter gave his first sermon. Later, they witnessed in action. They witnessed as they broke bread together and said prayers, as they shared possessions, healed the sick and brought food to the hungry. They began their proclamation in Jerusalem, and then traveled to towns and cities throughout the Roman Empire - the end of their known earth - proclaiming the message even when threatened or thrown in jail. They began to change the world. They were witnesses that could be located.
As the church, we're also called to be witnesses to Christ, sent out to proclaim God's love fearlessly to all. Can we be located? The literal answer is: easily. We have a building with a tower you can see from far away. We have an address, 6757 Greene St. at the corner of Westview; we have a sign; we have a phone number. Anyone even a little familiar with church life knows they can find us here on Sunday mornings, shake our hands, sing hymns, hear a sermon and talk to us. We can also be located on the web; we have a homepage, we can be emailed. But a church doesn't have to own a building or be on the internet to be located: for thousands of years congregations have gathered in houses and tents, at town squares or rented auditoriums. The disciples at Pentecost met at the temple; it was many years before Christians built houses of worship. We can also be located in what's called the church dispersed: as Christians in schools and offices, at homes and in malls, on juries and on facebook. But whether as the church gathered or the church dispersed, it's not hard to find us: we can be located.
So maybe the real question is: are we witnesses? Of course, we are: we're witnesses when we worship, when we teach our children Bible stories and show the love of God with teenagers who come play basketball on Friday nights. We're witnesses when we share a meal at Elder Diner and invite others into the fellowship; we're witnesses when we visit one another in the hospital, bring food to the pantry and offer our space to neighborhood groups. We're also witnesses when we try to follow Christ in our daily lives, when we treat the people we know with kindness and love. But - either as the Church gathered or the church dispersed, are we the witnesses we could be?
Our families and friends may know we come to church, but do we talk with them about Jesus or invite them to worship? God calls us to do justice, to speak truth to power, to seek liberation for the oppressed. But how often - as the church gathered or dispersed - do we write letters to congress, take to the streets, organize with our neighbors or even vote? Christ calls us to share from our abundance, but how much do we give to others, through the church or otherwise -- is it anywhere near a tenth of our income? We're here because we know, or have glimpsed the risen Christ: but are we disciplined in prayer and study so we may grow in faith?
I'm not taking us through this Pentecost litany to make us feel inadequate. Any congregation would have to confess it's not the church it could be. It's hard to witness: it takes courage to talk with others about faith or take a political stand; it takes time and energy to do the work of the church; it takes discipline and humility to always keep Christ in front of us as we live out our vocations. We have doubts to struggle with and millions of other things vying for our attention. If it were totally up to us, we'd be lame witnesses indeed -- known more for inaction than action, missing in action rather than witnesses in action.
But today we thank God that it's not all up to us. Christ has given Christ's church the gift of the Holy Spirit: the same Spirit that filled those first disciples with joy and allowed them to speak across barriers of language. The same Spirit that helps us to discern where we're called and what we're called to do - as the church gathered, or the church dispersed. The same Spirit that opens our eyes to possibilities we couldn't have imagined, the same Spirit that opens the words of scripture to us. The same Spirit that comforts us when we're discouraged, that makes God's grace known to us in difficult times. The Spirit that gives us courage to witness to the risen Christ, in word and deed especially on difficult, or controversial issues like the war in Iraq, sexuality, the destruction of the environment. The Spirit that allows us to be witnesses who can be located, so that when it's time to do justice, work for reconciliation, and preach hope, we will be there.
|Sermon: Not What We Think -- April 12, 2009, Easter Sunday-Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Jun 10, 8:42pm|
|Sermon: Not What We Think -- April 12, 2009, Easter Sunday-Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
April 12, 2009 (Easter Sunday)
John 20: 1-18; 1 Cor. 15: 3-11
Not What We Think
When Mary Magdalene arrived at the tomb, while it was still dark, she saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. She didn't go in to inspect. There could only be one explanation: grave robbers. Grave robbers strong enough to roll aside the stone and carry away the body. Grave robbers who might have known that Jesus had been wrapped in a hundred pounds worth of precious burial spices. Grave robbers who could still be lurking in the dark morning. So she ran. She ran to Simon Peter and the other disciple, and she told them what she saw - or thought she saw: They had taken the Lord out of the tomb. She didn't know who "they," were, but their intentions could only be evil. They had violated Jesus's grave - something right in keeping with the terrible events of the past three days. A desecrated tomb was only the final insult to their teacher who had been arrested, tried, tortured and killed in a most public and gruesome way. Not knowing where the body of Jesus lay - not knowing the condition it was in - was only one more layer of grief for Mary and all who loved Jesus. But Mary knew that's how the world was. Pain, grief, death.
When we're depressed - whether it's a matter of feeling temporarily blue or something more serious - it's easy to fall into a negative thinking pattern, a pessimism about the past as well as the future. When we're depressed we may think: I've never really been a success at anything - I probably never will be. Or I've never really been in love, I'll bet I won't find it. Or, I've never actually been happy - I don't think I can be. Friends may point out our successes, our periods of happiness and the people who love us, but confronting someone who's depressed with the facts - the linen wrappings - usually doesn't help. Depression is powerful, even more so if it's a clinical depression. It colors a person's perceptions. When we're depressed, the world can seem a dark and hopeless place despite evidence to the contrary. Professional intervention may be needed: medication, therapy, a combination of the two. The good news is that treatment can be effective: people emerge from depressions and perceive themselves and their world in a more hopeful light.
One final note. The resurrection appearances as we have them in the gospels are personal, intimate, encounters. The risen Christ does not appear to national assemblies or royal courts: he appears to Mary and Thomas and Peter and Cleopas. So Christians can be forgiven, perhaps, for often acting as though the salvation Christ offers is purely personal. That it's about each one of us being with God in heaven after our death. That it's about having hope and finding love in our personal circle of family and friends and church; that it's about our personal relationship with Jesus Christ.
On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines,
of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.
And God will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
the sheet that is spread over all nations;
God will swallow up death forever.
Then then Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces,
and the disgrace of the people God will take away from all the
For the Lord has spoken.
This is the living word of God. Thanks be to God.
|Pastor's Pen June 2009 -- Chery Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Jun 8, 11:16pm|
|Pastor's Pen June 2009 -- Chery Pyrch||One Holy Catholic Church|
Every first Sunday of the month, when we celebrate communion and recite the Apostles Creed, you may puzzled by the line "I believe in . . . . the holy catholic church." Aren't we Presbyterians? And does it make sense to say we "believe" in the church? Don't we believe in God in Christ, with church being the way we live out that belief?
The answer is both yes and no. Yes, we are Presbyterians - the Presbyterian Church (USA) branch of Presbyterians, to be precise. That makes us distinct from Roman Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Mennonites, African Methodist Episcopalians, and Lutherans -- to name just a few of the churches we find in this small corner of the globe.
As the Summit Presbyterian Church, on the corner of Westview and Greene, we are also distinct from other churches of the Presbyterian Church (USA). But in the Apostles Creed, we confess there is a catholic (in the sense of universal) church called together by Christ. A church that - for all the differences in theology, worship, and ministries among particular congregations and denominations - is one body. One body of Christ, one church, stretching across time and space with one call: to proclaim the gospel in word and deed.
We must confess that as Christians we've always had trouble believing and living out this creed. Most denominations teach that Christ cannot be "divided," that there is indeed one catholic church. But most churches (including Protestants) disagree on who belongs to that church! Arguments over theology and politics, and differences arising from historical circumstances, have led most Christians to draw a line around the "true" church, declaring some self-professing Christians inside and others outside. (This may seem like simple intolerance until we remember the state-sponsored churches of Nazi Germany). The ecumenical movement has sought to bridge these differences through dialogue and joint mission projects, with limited but important success.
It's also hard to live out that creed for more practical reasons. Like people in most congregations (including pastors), when we think of "church" we think of a particular church - in our case, Summit: the people we care about, the building, the history that we're celebrating this year. I imagine that most people of Summit think of themselves as members of Summit, first; members of the Presbyterian Church (USA) a distant second; and members of the church universal (another way to speak of the holy catholic church) third.
That hierarchy is understandable - we are concrete creatures, and what makes Summit unique is important. But the Apostles Creed challenges us to reverse the order: to think of ourselves first and foremost as part of the holy catholic church, sent into the world to bring the good news of God's love and forgiveness, concern for the poor, and desire for justice -- with Summit being a particular expression of that church universal, but always in service to it.
This Sunday, we will celebrate Pentecost, also known as the "birthday" of the church. We celebrate the giving of Christ's Holy Spirit to it, which enabled people divided by nation and language to understand each other and share the good news. We'll also be holding our Annual Congregational Meeting, when we'll be discussing the work and the joys of our particular congregation. It's fitting that we should celebrate both together: remembering and confessing that through the Spirit we are one holy catholic church, bound together in Christ (appearances sometimes to the contrary!) while committing ourselves to "be church" as faithfully as we can in our particular time and place, here at Summit Presbyterian.
Grace and Peace,
|Sermon: Our Hearts and Our Treasure -- May 17, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on May 18, 9:33pm|
|Sermon: Our Hearts and Our Treasure -- May 17, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
May 17, 2008
Luke 12: 22-34
"Our Hearts and Our Treasure"
This is the third - and last, for now- sermon in a series on money. On the first Sunday, our text was the first commandment: the call to worship God alone, and it's warning against idolatry. I preached that we're called to be grateful for the material blessings of this world - both God's creation and the stuff we make from it - without crossing the line into idolatry, into trusting money (and what it can buy) to give our lives meaning and value. That sermon was a bit on the abstract side. Last Sunday, our scripture was life among the early believers in the book of Acts, where all who had land and possessions sold them and shared the proceeds, so none were in need. I preached that God is calling us to work towards such a world. That was a macroeconomic sermon, looking at the big picture. This Sunday the rubber hits the road. I'm going to talk about us and our money: the money in our wallets and bank accounts and coming (we hope) in the next paycheck. As disciples of Christ, what should we do with it?
My first suggestion, of course, is "give it to Summit." We'll put it to good use! We have a youth program to run and a building to heat and a preacher to pay. (I know that last item gives me a little credibility problem when asking for money). But you know and I know the answer is not that simple. We also have to save for retirement and car repairs, go to the dentist, buy school supplies, pay the mortgage. We have family members who need help, toys of various kinds for children and grown-ups, a trip to the beach, our morning coffee, the cell phone bill and other good causes asking for support. How do we manage, and choose, among all these different demands and enticements?
I'm going to, first, describe how most of us do choose - not how we should. Most of us, when we're being vigilant, our getting and spending tends to be what I'd call semi-conscious: we look at price tags, record deposits and count change without understanding how all those transactions add up or fit together. Other times, we spend as though we're sleepwalking, waking up to wonder where in the world did it all go. I know there are exceptions and I admire you. But I think most of us don't have an accurate, reality-based understanding of how much we spend each month or year on food and clothing, movies and phones, gas and pet care. Few of us could say with precision how much we're worth financially. We may know the parameters: our gross annual salary, monthly rent, child support, the money in a savings account. But we don't necessarily stay within them or know the details. I say this with confidence, first, from personal experience: on months when I've carefully tracked my earning and spending I've always been shocked! (Who knew I could have bought a Manhattan co-op with all the money I spent on orders of General Tso's Chicken?) But I look at friends and acquaintances and see I'm not unique. I read the statistics on credit card debt and bankruptcies and know I'm one among millions.
In the New York Times Magazine today there's an article called, "My Personal Credit Crisis." (It's been on the internet since Wednesday. I didn't write my sermon this morning). It's written by a financial reporter for the Times, and in it he recounts his personal journey to financial ruin by way of sub-prime mortgages and credit card debt. By his own admission, he's the last one that should have gotten caught up in the madness: As a Times reporter, he covered financial crises around the world. He wrote stories on the rise in what he calls the go-go mortgages. But, as he put it, the money was there and he was in love. Newly divorced and remarried, he and his wife bought a half-million dollar house with a loan that would never have been approved under the old rules, as over half his income went to alimony and child support and his wife was unemployed. He chronicles how they were soon broke, then amassed huge credit card debts, then headed for foreclosure. Stunned, even this financial expert had trouble explaining how the train wreck happened. But a wreck it was, and reading his story one can sense how excitement and anxiety about a new marriage -- and a wish to continue living an upper-middle class suburban life - led to it. His story is unusual for the depth and speed into which they got into trouble. His story is unusual in that he wasn't duped by lenders -- he knew exactly what a "liar's mortgage" was. His story is unusual in that the sales from his new book might help them recover. But his story was typical when it came to decision-making around money. He wasn't guided by reason or an informed weighing of the options. He wasn't guided by his stated values. His spending wasn't calculated, tracked or even understood. It was driven by deep and primal feelings: Anxiety. Being in love. Anxiety.
We all know something about that, especially the anxiety. Around money, it may be the anxiety about retirement or getting ill that makes us feel we can never save enough. Anxiety combined with love that wants the "best" for our children, even when we can't afford it. Anxiety about losing a job or health insurance - a reality-based worry for all of us. Anxiety about any number of things that lead us to go shopping as a way to self-soothe. The anxiety that leads us to put off paying our bills or opening our bank statements. Our anxiety doesn't necessarily get us into debt. It can also lead to a supersized retirement fund or denial of our wealth. But when we're anxious, it's hard to look at the truth of how we live and what we spend. It's hard to discern what God is calling us to do with our money because we're too frightened to listen.
Jesus knew nothing of sub-prime mortgages, credit cards, the thousands of temptations to spend that we face each day, or the complex financial instruments of our mature capitalist economy. But he understood anxiety, including the anxiety that fuels greed. So he tells the crowd a parable. A rich man had land that produced abundantly. It produced so abundantly he ran out of storage space. So he built bigger barns in order keep all the grain for himself. Then he planned to relax - to eat, drink and be merry. That may not seem like such an evil or foolish plan, but Jesus says that night his life was demanded of him. The grain was no longer his. And because he had been so busy storing up treasure for himself he hadn't been rich towards God. Jesus doesn't say exactly what he meant by that but we can guess: the man didn't share with neighbors. He didn't give his workers a raise. He didn't contribute to earthquake relief or give to the synagoguge. So therefore, Jesus, says, do not worry about your life, about what you will eat or what you will wear. Consider the ravens and the lilies who neither toil nor spin, but even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. God takes care of them; will God not also take care of you?
But what does it mean to consider the lilies, to trust in God's providence? I don't think it means that that we kick back and let God take care of everything, waiting for money to fall from the sky. We can consider what we'll eat and wear. We have to work and plan for how we'll take care of our children, our parents, ourselves. But it does mean letting go of the worry that makes us want to hedge against every possible disaster, storing up all we can for ourselves. It mean trusting that if the economy goes even further south, God will be with us and we'll find a way somehow. It also doesn't mean: stop worrying, put it on the mastercard, it will all work out. God will intercede with the collection agencies. It does mean letting go of the fear that if we take an honest look at our finances we won't be able to bear the shame of past mistakes or present debt. It means letting go of the belief - and the anxiety that comes with it - that our worth can be measured by our salaries, our portfolios, our houses, our possessions. It means trusting in God's love and care for us no matter what we've done, no matter what's happened to us, now matter how much wealth we have or don't have.
When we trust God, when we let go of our anxiety and take an honest, clear-headed look at our financial lives, we open up room. Room for healing and change or maybe even starting over. Room to share more with others. Room to live more simply, so we can sustain human life on this earth and care for creation. Room to direct our money, our hearts, our actions, and our prayers all to the same place: to the worship and glory of God. To the building of a just and peaceful world, where we can worry less because there's more security and care in our common life. We're called to be rich towards God in all ways: in our words and our actions, with our hearts and our minds, our whole lives -- and also, yes, with our money. May God give us the peace, and the courage, to do so.
|Sermon: Making the World Go Round -- May 2, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on May 6, 10:05pm|
|Sermon: Making the World Go Round -- May 2, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch||Cheryl Pyrch |
Summit Presbyterian Church
May 2, 2009
Exodus 20:1-6; Isaiah 55: 1-3
Making the World Go RoundToday begins a three-week sermon series on money and faith. I thought of preaching this series for a few reasons. The Bible talks a lot about money, or - if not money per se - wealth and poverty. The prophets prophesize about it, almost every parable Jesus tells has something to do with it, it's an underlying theme in Old Testament stories, and the apostles lecture us about it in their letters. God must think it's important. I also know that money is on our minds. Some of us think about it more obsessively than others, but in a culture where we see or hear about 3500 advertisements a day,* it's hard not to think about it - or about the things it can buy. And, of course, nearly everyone's worried about it in this economic crisis. (Finally, I had preached on money before and hoped one of my old sermons would be good enough to use again. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case!) It's hard to talk about money. First of all, it's a vast and slippery subject. Money is concrete: we can count it and hold it in our hands - but when you try and figure out what those bills and coins stand for, it gets complicated. When we talk about money, are we really talking about the stuff it can buy, the power it can wield, or the consumer society it greases and runs? It's also hard to talk about money because it's such a sensitive subject. Few of us are at peace with it: we may be anxious about having enough. We may be ashamed of having less than most people we know, or more. We may have credit card debts or medical bills we're scared to even think about. We may long for it so we can have more security, or vacations, or stuff in our house or things for our children. We may be angry or resentful of folks who have more. We may feel guilty when we think of people who have less, especially people in dire poverty. And most of us just don't seem to understand where it goes! We're confused. It's no wonder we talk so little about it, in church or outside of it, even though it's so important in our lives. So I thought I'd start by chiseling away at a very broad and basic question: what relationship is God calling us to have with money, with our stuff, with wealth? Around the time Jesus was born there was a movement, or school of thought, we call gnostiicism - some early Christians were influenced by them. Gnostics believed that all matter was evil: our bodies, the world of nature, stuff. They looked around and saw that all living things died. They saw that people did terrible things to each other, that the world was full of pain. This messy, painful, evil world, they believed, must not be God's intention -- and they had an elaborate cosmology, or mythology which explained how an evil, lesser god had taken over from the true God and created the world as we knew it. Money, and the stuff it could buy, couldn't be "good" or desireable -- the goal of the gnostic was to transcend this physical world through a special, secret knowledge, and to enter the purely spiritual realm. (I'm giving you the Reader's Digest version of gnosticism). This mistrust of the physical world is not something exclusive to gnostics: even today, many believe that the physical world, especially money and sex, is dirty, and that being spiritual means separating yourself from it as much as possible. When we look around at the evil and pain in the world, we can understand why such a viewpoint is attractive. But that's not what the church has taught. The church has always taught that God created the world, and called it Good -- we heard that scripture last week. Jesus came to us in flesh and blood, showing that we can't separate the material from the spiritual world, with one being evil and the other being good. Jesus enjoyed this world: he ate and drank with his friends, he attended wedding receptions where he turned water to wine. He even chose bread and wine as a way to be present with us today, as special vehicles of God's grace. We don't need to separate ourselves from the material world, including money, and the stuff it can buy: there's nothing fundamentally evil about it. Indeed, we can be - and should be - grateful for the material blessings that we enjoy. Material blessings of food, clothing, shelter. The material blessing of enough money and the stuff it can buy so that we don't need to be preoccupied with mere survival, with our next meal. Material blessings that give us time and space to create art, to have parties, to enjoy baseball games, to take walks in the woods. Material blessings that we should wish for all people. We're called to be grateful, not to despise money and the things it can buy. We're called to be grateful for material blessings - but not to worship them. Here's where our scripture comes in, and here's where it gets especially tricky for us. It's easy for us not to worship money in the sense of creating a money tree that we would bow down before and sing hymns to. But if we define worship more broadly and more accurately: as placing ultimate trust in the one we worship, we're in trouble when it comes to money. It may say "in God we trust" on a dollar bill, but that's an example of protesting too much. Recently Citibank had a "live richly" campaign. You may remember those billboards - they were at every bus stop in New York - that advertised everything money couldn't buy, and the dangers of thinking otherwise: People with fat wallets are not necessarily more jolly. Holding shares shouldn't be your only form of affection. He who dies with the most toys is still dead. Funny how nobody every calls it warm, soft, cash. Be independently happy. People make money, not the other way around. Don't wait until someone says, "Your money or your life," to remember that they are two different things. Those were the billboards: but, of course, citibank was selling money. It was trying to get us to buy their financial services: credit cards, savings accounts, loans of various kinds. The real message was something like this: if you give your money to us, you will be jolly, and happy, and have someone with whom to share you affection. If you give your money to us - you'll be showing that you know your money and your life are two different things. You'll be the kind of person that doesn't try to buy happiness. Trust us. Open a checking account. This is the scary part: they got away with it. It was considered a successful campaign, and even won various awards. They got away with it because even when we know better, even when we say the opposite, it's so easy for us to believe that money can make us whole and happy. That what we wear or have in our house, what we do with our disposable income really does express or define who we are. That financial success or failure is a reflection of our character. That if we're able to purchase a certain house, or buy a certain car, or go to certain places we'll be the person all those advertisements say we will be. It's so easy for us to believe that we can find meaning in shopping. After all, that's what we're told - or tell ourselves - 3500 times a day. So that is our challenge: to accept with gratitude money and what it can buy, and to use it for good without trusting in it. It's a lifelong challenge that we need to face together, for the temptation to idolize it is so powerful in our world where money is so powerful. For when we trust in money and what it can buy, it brings trouble. We begin to crave it, which blinds us to the needs of others and to the destruction of creation. We let it dictate how we feel about ourselves, so that the loss of a job or money in an account does demoralize us. We become so invested in it it becomes the sensitive subject that brings ups such intense feelings we can barely talk about it. It brings trouble, because it is a false God. The words of scripture are God's response to our idol worship. The first commandment frames it more as a warning combined with a promise: worship only me - I'm a jealous God - but I will also show you steadfast love, to the thousandth generation. And the words of Isaiah are a compassionate invitation. After all, God knows how hard it is to resist such idol worship, especially in this day and age. Why do you spend your money on that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Incline your ear, and come to me; listen so that you may live. You that have no money, come, buy an eat. I am the one who will give you rich food. And so we come to the table of Christ. To be reminded that it is God who satisfies our hunger, it is the Word of God that satisfies our thirst. (Rodney Clapp, "Why the Devil Takes Visa," Christianity Today 40, Oct 7, 1996: 20)
|Deacon's Corner -- May 2009 by Chelsea Badeau on Apr 27, 10:18pm|
|Deacon's Corner -- May 2009||Every month, the Deacon’s Benevolence Committee meets and decides where to award the monies. We give you a report each year, but that just tells you organizational names and dollar
amounts. This month, we thought we’d give you an idea, from the thank you letters we receive, what our recent dollars have accomplished.
“Thanks to your generosity, the Presbyterian Disaster Relief fund was able to bring hope to people who were in need of food, shelter and safety in 20 countries and 40 presbyteries that experienced earthquakes, flooding, hurricanes, wildfires, tornadoes and warfare.”
The Good Shepherd Mediation Program tells us that “your generosity helps strengthen our Victim-Offender conferencing and our Juvenile Offender Diversion Program.”
The HMS school for Children with Cerebral Palsy used our gift to assist in providing equipment and services not available through tuition reimbursement.
The C.W. Henry school principal says “we are greatly moved by your generosity considering the times. The gift will be used for a variety of things that directly affect our students including help covering the cost of class trips for those who can’t afford them, graduation costs, and additional practice books our students need.”
Our gift to the Whosoever Gospel Mission helped it reopen the dormitory and restart the New Life Rehabilitation and job Readiness Program for homeless men.
Our donation to the Friends of the Free Library “will help to engage citizens and draft solutions to save the entire library system that.”
Summit’s gift will help the Boys and Girls Clubs of Philadelphia “provide pre-and after-school child care programs and a variety of activities in the arts, recreation and sports.”
These are just some of the good works done with Summit dollars for the greater glory of God. Know that one tenth of the Summit pledge budget is tithed to Benevolences and the Deacons take seriously the responsibility of managing it-- through the work of our Committee chair Michelle Emery. If you want to help in the decision making—please join us at 7pm the third Thursday of each month.
|Pastor's Pen May 2009 -- Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Apr 27, 10:00pm|
|Pastor's Pen May 2009 -- Cheryl Pyrch|| As I sit at my desk on a beautiful April Day, I’m looking at the May preaching schedule with both excitement and trepidation. Rather than following the lectionary, for the first three weeks I’ve promised a series on the subject of money – or, more broadly – money and possessions, poverty and wealth, giving and spending. My excitement comes from my conviction that exploring our relationship to money and the biblical witness on it is a path of spiritual growth and challenge – as well as comfort and joy. My trepidation comes from knowing that money is a source of anxiety, shame and confusion for all of us, especially in these tough times. So I wonder: will anyone come to church in May, especially when the beautiful weather beckons? Or will we (I) set a record low for attendance.
I’m hoping an outline of my thinking will reassure you and perhaps encourage you to invite friends. Please know that my fascination with this subject stems from the fact it’s an “area of growth” (to put it euphemistically) in my own life, so I have no intention of haranguing anyone. I also believe that Christian teaching on money – as diverse and contradictory as it can be – is good news that can bring us closer to God.
May 3: “Making the World Go Round.” Exodus: 20: 1-6; Isaiah 55: 1-3. In our culture, money is a powerful force. We’re both tempted and pressured to define ourselves and find meaning in life through what we earn and own. What relationship are we called to have with everything money can buy?
May 10: “Neither Poverty nor Riches.” Proverbs 30: 7-9; Acts 2: 43-47. The biblical writers celebrated the blessings of wealth, but also saw danger and suffering in having too much or too little. In a world that’s still divided between the haves and have-nots, what vision does God have for us?
May 17: “Our Hearts and our Treasure.” Mark 10: 17-22; Luke 12: 22-34. Every dollar we receive has claims upon it – to spend, to give, to save. How can we follow Christ in the way we handle money?
After worship, I’ll invite all who are interested to pick up coffee and snacks and join me in the parlor for a conversation about the sermon. I’m looking forward to your thoughts and questions as we explore this topic together.
Grace and Peace,
P.S. I haven’t forgotten that May 10 is Mother’s Day – this month we’ll be celebrating and speaking of subjects other than money as well!
|Sermon: Everything of Every Kind -- April 26, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Apr 26, 9:49pm|
|Sermon: Everything of Every Kind -- April 26, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch||Cheryl Pyrch |
Summit Presbyterian Church
April 26, 2009
Earth Day Sunday
Psalm 148; Genesis 1:1 - 2:3
Everything of Every KindWhen I taught fourth grade, we often studied animals. As part of that study we'd ask what certain animals had in common with each other. Some animals had feathers: we call them birds. Some animals, produce milk: we call them mammals. Some animals have gills: we call them fish, and so on. We'd then broaden it to ask what all animals had in common -- what made an animal an animal? All animals breathe in their way, all animals eat plants or other animals; animals move. We'd then ask what did animals have in common with other living things - what made them living things? They needed oxygen, they depended on the sun. We could go further: what did living and non-living things - water, rocks, coal - have in common? Atoms and molecules: ultimately all are made of the same "stuff." But it never occurred to me - and not just because we can't preach religion in public schools - it never occurred to me that what we all had in common - all things now living and not - was a call to worship God.
That's what the psalm claims and does: it calls not only human beings, kings and peoples, men and women, young and old, but heavenly beings; not only the earth, but the sun and the moon and the stars; not only sea monsters, wild animals and cattle, creeping things and flying birds, but mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! It calls to worship not only every thing of every kind but also weather phenomena: fire and hail, snow and frost and stormy wind. And it's not only in this pslam we hear this universal call: in others oceans are called to roar, the floods to clap their hands, the fields to exult and the hills to sing together for joy. (96:11-12). All creatures of our God and King, with us lift up your voice and sing.
But how, we may ask - being a rational, inquiring people - do creatures - especially non-living ones - lift up their voice and sing? We're the only creatures who can open a hymnal, we're the only ones who can pray, read the Bible, preach and bring our offerings to God. Even if we take a broad view of worship to include service to God and love of neighbor, that's a human prerogative: as far as we know, no other creatures are conscious of their creator or know what it means to be a neighbor. (Not that all humans do!).
Thomas Merton says that a tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it's obeying God, . . "consenting" to God's creative love. It's expressing an idea in God so a tree imitates God by being a tree. My words now: a tree praises God, a tree worships God, by being a tree. The poet Christopher Smart, in the 18th century, wrote this about his cat: (there are some odd words in the poem but I think you'll get the gist).
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
A cat worships God by being a cat and brisking about the life.
We're called to care for creation not only as a matter of survival. Not only as a matter of justice. Not only for our grandchildren and not only in gratitude for the beauty, food and other blessings of God. We're called to care for creation - if I may put it in secular terms - under the First Amendment. For the sake of freedom of worship: so trees can be trees and cats can be cats and fish can be fish and rocks can be rocks and mountains can be mountains. And all can give glory to God.
Now you may be thinking: that can't simply mean live and let live. After all, isn't part of being a mouse being prey for a cat? Isn't part of being a plant being food for other creatures? Isn't part of being a tree being cut down so people can build houses or keep warm by the fire? And the answer is yes: death and change and even violence - creatures forcibly serving other creatures - is part of God's creation. But there's a difference between creatures serving and even dying for one another as part of God's created order and the way we size up each and every kind of God's creatures to see how we may use them: not only for our survival, but to give us pleasure or make us money. There's a difference between being a o-creator with God and working within creation to support and better human life -- and exploiting and destroying that creation. It's not an easy line to draw. But I have another poem! (You know I don't often read poems or quote extensively from other people in my sermons. But on Earth Day Sunday I thought I'd model "reusing.")
This is a song. It was written by an Australian named Leon Rosselson although I heard it through a recording by the singer Charlie King, who Americanized the lyrics (and I've adapted too). I will admit there's an undertone of vengeance in the song, but we're not to take it literally. And some Earth Day Trivia: Australians call Fish Sticks Fish Fingers. And a confession: I enjoy fish sticks.'
Whoever Invented the [Fish Stick] (Leon Rosselson) Whoever invented the [fish stick] ought to be transmogrified. Skinned mashed and boxed, into uniform blocks, then covered all over, from collar to socks, and frozen and finally fried. Because who'd do that to a fish, finning its way through the seas, Colours in harmony, perfectly poised, riding its flying trapeze. Whoever invented the National Enquirer, ought to be cut down to size. Pulped and reduced to a nauseous juice, and dried out and flattened 'til ready for use, Then covered in newsprint and lies. Because who'd do that to a tree raising its head to the sky Rooted in centuries, telling tall tales, breathing a green lullaby. Whoever invented the [soldier or terrorist], ought to be licked into shape. Toughened and trained, 'til the body's a cane 'til the arms are a chain, 'til the nerves feel no pain, 'til obedience rules and encircles the brain, With walls so he'll never escape.
Because who'd do that to a child, jumping with joy and desire. Floating in fantasies, drowning in dreams, Brimming with feelings of fire. It's one thing to catch a few fish and cook them for breakfast with your disciples on the beach. It's one thing to fish wisely and judiciously to fry fish for the many: it's another thing to empty the oceans of cod to make fish sticks. It's one thing to cut down a tree to make worship bulletins (although we may want to consider how many trees we've been cutting down); it's another thing to cut down a tree to write a torture memo. It's one thing to take the bones of our ancestors and the ancestors of all living creatures - that's what oil and coal are - to bring light and warmth and food and books to all - and quite another to lop off the tops of mountains - in mountaintop removal mining that they do in Appalachia - to fuel every desire of the wealthy and relatively wealthy, so we threaten death to the planet entrusted to our care. And it's one thing to take a young person, and train and toughen and discipline them and order their lives so they may learn to read and do math and create beauty, build houses and lift boxes: it's another to train and toughen them so they can kill and be killed. So this is our task: to celebrate and care for God's creation so trees may be trees, fish may be fish, mountains may be mountains, cats may be cats oceans may be oceans: and people may be the people God has intended us to be. So that all creatures - everything of every kind - can lift up their voices and sing: Alleluia.
*From New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton (Abbey of Gethsemani, Inc., 1961); cited in Gabe Huck, Gail Ramshaw, et al., An Easter Sourcebook: The Fifty Days (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1988).
|Sermon: The Coming Kingdom -- April 5, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Apr 8, 7:09pm|
|Sermon: The Coming Kingdom -- April 5, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch|| Cheryl Pyrch
Summit Presbyterian Church
April 5, 2009 - Palm Sunday
Mark 11: 1-11
The Coming Kingdom
What was the crowd thinking? The many people who threw their cloaks on the road, and the others who spread leafy branches they had cut in the fields. They went ahead and behind Jesus as he rode on a colt, shouting "Hosanna," which means, "save us," or "help us!" They also shouted, "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David, Hosanna in the highest heaven." These words they shouted were scripture, a few words from a psalm that we echoed in our call to worship this morning. Who did they think Jesus was? What did they expect him to do? What was their hope?
I can tell you the answer I learned in Sunday School and other various and sundry places. The crowds hoped that Jesus was the Messiah who would liberate them from Roman rule. That he would lead a military revolt, get rid of Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, and restore the House of David over the kingdom of Israel. The crowds were disappointed, this theory goes, when Jesus failed to do this. They were ready to turn on him when he was brought before Pilate, shouting "crucify him!" The crowds didn't get it, this theory goes: Jesus was not that kind of messiah. They didn't understand what it meant when Jesus rode in on a young, unbroken, colt. This was not the triumphant entrance of a military leader, but the humble entrance of a different kind of king. A king who would save through his death on a cross, through his teaching and healing, through his hospitality to sinners and outcasts. They couldn't see the new thing that God was doing.
This explanation has been popular for many reasons. It's true that Jesus didn't fit many people's idea of a Messiah: although there were so many schools of thought and competing groups among Jews of that time we really can't say there was a common understanding of the Messiah. It's also true that some people were fighting the Romans; perhaps some in the crowd and were disappointed when Jesus didn't join them. And it's true that Jesus was a different kind of king. But it's also true this theory about the crowd - who became identified with non-believers -makes followers of Jesus look good. They could see that Jesus came as the prince of peace, loving and non-violent, whereas "the crowd" placed their faith in futile, armed resistance. There are variations on this theme. I'm not going to go into the harm it has often done. But one problem with this theory is it doesn't fit the story as Mark tells it.
In Mark's gospel, the crowd who greeted Jesus was not looking for a military hero. They would only have heard this about him: that he was a teacher. A teacher who told parables, who interpreted scriptures, and who got into heated arguments with other teachers, such as scribes and pharisees. They would have also heard that he healed sick people, exorcised demons, and fed thousands from a few loaves of bread. They would have heard that he had stilled a storm and proclaimed the kingdom of God was at hand. They would have heard nothing about his organizing the masses - because he didn't. They would have heard nothing about his military exploits - because he didn't have any. They greeted a teacher and a healer. It's to this person they shouted "save us!" It's to this person they shouted: "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord." It was a teacher of the scriptures who inspired them to cry, "Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!" A kingdom, we can suppose, where Rome no longer ruled. A kingdom where the poor did not serve the rich, where children did not die from hunger, where people were not crucified. A kingdom where the sick were healed, the grieving were comforted, where wisdom was honored. What faith, what hope, those crowds must have had in the proper teaching of the word of God - and in the one who taught it! And when Jesus taught in the temple, said Mark, the crowds were spellbound. They delighted in his teaching. They delighted in his teaching and must have hoped that the kingdom was coming soon.
But then Jesus was killed at the hands of the Romans. Crucified, as were many other Jews and non-Romans, often for political offenses. According to Mark and the other gospel writers, the religious leaders also played a part, although we have to take this with a grain of salt, as they're not objective historical accounts. At his death, those who greeted him as he entered Jerusalem were doubtless disappointed, grieved and angry. Their hopes in the teacher were dashed. Most among the crowd doubtless moved on, accepting his death and remaining faithful to the God of Israel through Torah and synagogue. But there were others who experienced the Risen Christ. Appearances said it was all over, but they encountered the living Christ so they proclaimed otherwise! They continued to look to this teacher from Galilee, now the Risen Christ, for help and for salvation. They looked to the Risen Christ, through the holy spirit, to interpret the word of God in Scripture. They looked to the Risen Christ to bring about God's reign: partially, now, when justice is done and mercy practiced; and ultimately, in the future, when Christ will come again. They continued to insist, "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord."
We are the heirs of those followers, and it is to the Risen Christ that we look. But we must first travel the road that they did. Today, we greet Jesus as he enters Jerusalem. But in the days ahead we will follow him through his suffering, through his trial, through his last supper with the disciples and through the betrayal of his friends. We will have to face his death, to see that to all appearances, the hopes that he raised when he entered Jerusalem were dashed. And it is then that we will be prepared to hear of the miracle of the resurrection, and to go greet Jesus again, as the crowds did so long ago.
|Sermon: Drawn to God -- March 29, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch by Chelsea Badeau on Mar 30, 6:33pm|
|Sermon: Drawn to God -- March 29, 2009, Cheryl Pyrch|| Summit Presbyterian Church
March 29, 2009
Jeremiah 31: 31-34; John 12: 20-33
Drawn to God
Our reading today begins just after Jesus entered Jerusalem. It was the festival of the passover and a great crowd was there. In those days, before the city was destroyed, people came to Jerusalem to worship in the temple on the high holy days. And when the crowd heard that Jesus was coming, they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord - the King of Israel." Jesus got this welcome, John tells us, because the people heard that he had raised a person from the dead. Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days when Jesus called him out. The crowd that had seen that sign continued to testify. And the Pharisees had to admit to one another, "Look, the world has gone after him!"
Among those from the world who went after him were some Greeks. John didn't mean Greek Jews, but rather Greek gentiles, outsiders - although they may have been seekers who went to synagogue, studied Torah and worshipped at the temple. These Greeks wanted to see Jesus. So they went to the disciple with a Greek name - Philip - who then went to Andrew, and then Andrew and Philip went to Jesus and told him.
Jesus might have responded in an ordinary way that everyone could understand. He might have said: tell them to meet me at the southwest corner of the temple at 4:30. He might have said, tell them to come to my Bible study tomorrow morning. He might have said, tell them I'm sorry, but I don't have time to see them. My mission is to the people of Israel. He might have said, sure. Philip, bring me to them.
But he didn't respond in an ordinary way that everyone could understand. (He does that often in the gospel of John). Instead, he started talking about death. His death and the death of others. First he says the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified -- which might have sounded like great news, until he started talking about that grain of wheat needing to fall into the earth and die. He then said some will lose their life -- all those who love it. Others, he says, will gain eternal life -- but only after losing their life by hating it. Jesus confesses that his soul is troubled as he approaches the hour; but that when his hour comes, when he is lifted from the earth, he will draw all people to himself. Just in case we didn't get it, Johns spells it out: He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.
The Greeks said, "Sir, we wish to see Jesus" -- and Jesus said "When I die, I will draw all people to myself." Jesus did die. In the weeks ahead we'll remember his death. We'll remember his last meal with the disciples, his arrest, his trial before the religious authorities and the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. We'll remember how the imperial soldiers beat him. We'll remember how he was raised on a cross and buried in a tomb. On Easter we'll celebrate his rising from the dead. For the 50 days of Easter tide, we'll tell stories of the early church, stories of how the death and resurrection of Jesus drew people to him, drew people to God. On Pentecost we'll celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit to the church, when people from all the world could hear the good news in their own language. Indeed: when Jesus died and rose from the grave he drew people to himself, and still draws people to himself. Lost people, suffering people, confused people. People like us. The single grain that fell to the earth has born much fruit.
But we may have a question about something Jesus said. He said he would draw "all" people to himself. But has he? First, there are the millions - billions - who do not, or have not believed in Jesus if they've even heard about him. Hindus in India, Muslims in Indonesia, American atheists, Chinese communists, most Europeans who no longer claim to be even nominally Christian. They may be loving, kind, justice-loving people dedicated to serving others - people who seem to have the law of God written on their hearts - but they are not drawn to Jesus Christ. Or we may wonder about folks who profess Christ but do not seem to serve him: did Jesus draw them to God? To pick an example from the past: what about all those Crusaders? The mobs and the church leaders who led them, indiscriminately killing Jews, Muslims, and each other? Christians have brought us other crimes against humanity: the genocide of American Indians, for example. We may also wonder about ourselves: drawn to God sometimes, but repelled at others -- or so it feels. We may wonder about ourselves when we think of the way we love our lives - not [necessarily] in thankful praise, but in a grasping, each-man-for-himself kind of way. We may wonder - and worry- about people we love who seem to be on the wrong track. When Jesus was raised up, did he bring ALL people to himself?
On the face of it, the answer would seem to be no. The answer would seem to be that Jesus has drawn only some: professing Christians only, and not necessarily all of them. But we have to confess that we are seeing a very small part of the picture. We don't really know all that God is doing - or will be doing - in our hearts and in the hearts of others. We also don't know what wonders God will work with us after we die. We don't know what kind of powerful work God may be doing on the other side, to draw all people to God's self. God's not finished with us. God was not finished with Jesus when he died and God will not be finished with us even when we die. God is not finished with us as individuals, as unique, beloved children. God is not finished with the nations. God is not even finished with creation. So, we can hope, we can trust, that in the space of eternity, God will draw all people to God's self; and as Christians we may profess that all drawn through Jesus Christ as a member of the triune God. (But I need to add -- if we say that Buddhists, for example, may be surprised when they see God through the face of Christ, we have do admit that we could be in for some surprises, too. If we think we're going to go to heaven and find everyone standing around the altar singing our favorite Presbyterian hymns, we may be disappointed!).
When the Greeks asked, "Sir, we would like to see Jesus," and Jesus responded by talking about death, he spoke the truth. To see Jesus, to come to full faith in Christ, we have to look at death. We have to look at Jesus dying on the cross. We have to look at Jesus dying on the cross so we can celebrate his resurrection from that death and the hope that gives us. We have to face our own deaths. We have to face the "little deaths" that we know even as we are alive on this earth. The little deaths of those allegiances, or distractions, that get in the way of our seeing Christ. Our allegiance to money or possessions, for example, or a desire for power or comfort or whatever it is that keeps us from seeing Jesus. (I think that's what Jesus meant by losing, or even hating, our own lives). And we will each have to face our own deaths, because it is only through death that we will see Christ, and see God, in all God's fullness. That is the promise of God in Jesus Christ: that it is through death we see life. As we near Holy week, let's be unafraid to look on the death of Jesus, and our own deaths, because that is the way we will see Jesus.