tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65485297520442163642024-03-13T14:22:27.373-07:00rick fryRick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-58045747499833949232012-05-30T21:29:00.001-07:002012-05-30T21:29:53.972-07:00Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-49194536617439756272012-05-23T15:48:00.002-07:002012-05-23T16:18:39.319-07:00Water Falls From our Mouths<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Acts 2: 1-21</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all gathered together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“When you hear a train coming, and there’s no tracks, run for cover.” As a child of the </span><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Midwest</span></place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, I’d often hear these words of warning concerning the presence of a tornado. Maybe we should warn people in a similar way concerning the presence of the Holy Spirit when they come to church… Or not. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Spirit of God is not the possession of the church. It blows where it will, loves novelty, and is not as reverent of tradition as we are. It is often offense, a dissonant Spirit traveling through the voices of people we are suspicious of- in the voice of the foreigner, or the odd stranger. Maybe the person’s not even a Christian, at least not in an orthodox sense. Sometimes the religious outsider is the most receptive to the Spirit, and sees with freshness and originality the truths we take for granted. Even when the outsider discourse of the ‘spiritual, not religious’ variety gets stale, the Spirit will seize a different kind of outsider to revel it’s power. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Holy Spirit transcends sterile language systems. It travels freely from one thread of discourse to another. When one language game becomes rote, the Spirit hops to another box car. When one form of discourse becomes too ideologically rigid, the Spirit will blow upon another, or invent a whole new form of discourse. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Spirit comes to us when we least except, in a serendipitous encounter, speaking a surprising word that lifts us higher than ourselves. Higher and higher, God’s love for us comes with a clarity that lets us know it’s been there all along. We feel miraculously freed from the burden of our self-concern. But then when even the serendipitous becomes formulaic, the Spirit returns back to the church and works in the most ordinary words of the preacher. So maybe that tornado warning should be leveled after all.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Then with a mix of awe and dread and inspiration we stand with Peter, and find our own voice in the muck. And we take a deep breath, and open our mouth, and speak. We’re not as eloquent as we’d hoped, but the Spirit is in there.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The Spirit doesn’t nuance. It is never ambiguous, because the language of God’s love is never ambiguous. It’s as loud and clear as the roar of a train. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-18515301684702813252012-05-16T15:39:00.001-07:002012-05-18T09:34:18.609-07:00Cormac's Road and a Final Prayer<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<em>But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves. <span style="color: #999999;">14</span> I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. <span style="color: #999999;">15</span> I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. <span style="color: #999999;">16</span> They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. <span style="color: #999999;">17</span> Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. <span style="color: #999999;">18</span> As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. <span style="color: #999999;">19</span> And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth. </em><br />
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<span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">In Cormac McCarthy’s novel <em>The Road,</em> a father and his son journey through the ruins of a post-apocalyptic earth. The world has been reduced to a dismal landscape drained of color. Nothing can grow on earth. No crops for food. The ghastly nature of survival has reduced people to cannibalism. The father struggles to protect his young son from cold, sickness, starvation and evil men. As his health deteriorates, we sense that the father is a doomed man. He’ll eventually die and have to send his son up the road without him. It’s a grueling, but simple and powerful story- the depth of a father’s love, and the depths of hell he will go through in order to keep his son alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the gospel reading, Jesus’ life and ministry are rapidly coming to a brutal end. He’s going back to the father, and he prays on behalf of his disciples. Like the father in <em>The Road,</em> he’s sending his disciples on up the road without him. He guarded them up to this point, and loves them greatly, but now they have to further the ministry of the kingdom and step out on their own. He asks God to protect them from the evil one. He asks that they be sanctified in truth. In a world hostile to the values of the K</span><place><placetype><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">ingdom</span></placetype><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> of </span><placename><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">God</span></placename></place><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, they will need the clarity of truth and the comfort of Jesus’ words. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And it’s not just the disciples Jesus prays for, but us as well. He sends us out into the world and prays for us, asking the father to protect us from the evil one and to sanctify us in the truth of his love and grace. We journey up the road as witnesses to his gospel. Jesus goes back to the Father, but his spirit is with us. He goes through hell for us, and with us, and then sends us up the road sanctified in the purity of his truth, to reach others in sacrificial love. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Prayer is always most momentous when we pray for those we love. And that’s what Jesus did, for the disciples, and even now for us.</span></div>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-60762105811254743092012-05-10T11:15:00.000-07:002012-05-10T11:57:38.436-07:00Sentimentality and the Cross<span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; font-size: 12pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">John 15:13</span></span></span><br />
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"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." <br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Many portrayals of the nature of love are laced with sentimentality. Sentimental love goes heavy on emotional indulgence. It’s more navel gazing than neighbor oriented. More ego-affirming than self-emptying. A love that allows us to smile benignly at sin, rather than a love that holds us accountable to each other. This type of love looks pleasant enough on the outside, but has the whiff of death in it. When put to the test, it’s as wispy as air.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In contrast, Jesus’ love is much starker. It evaporates the mist of sentimentality through the cross. "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." Jesus' execution was no accident. He walked straight into the teeth of death, deliberately, for us. This love is so qualitatively greater than sentimental love that it's hard for us to recognize. In fact, we can't even choose it- it chooses us, which is to say Jesus chooses us. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The witness of the early church of Jesus' resurrection was a witness to this powerful love. Easter faith was energized by people who were pulled so strongly by the cosmic love that raised Jesus. They were pulled out of themselves and staked their lives on that which claimed them.<br /><br />This was a love that was so powerful it made the resurrection an actuality. Jesus' resurrection was not only a miracle- it was the consequence of a divine love so heart-breakingly strong. Love made the resurrection real. And the resurrection gave love concrete embodiment. <br /><br />What would a life lived under the influence of such love look like? What kind of fruit would we bear? What would a person do when she surrenders to the irresistible pull that raised Jesus out of the tomb? Fall forward in trust and see. </span> <span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"> </span></span></div>
</div>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-53947177538373882032012-05-03T06:25:00.000-07:002012-05-04T12:36:04.394-07:00A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Wilderness Road<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; color: #999999; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">26</span><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"> Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from </span></i><city><place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">Jerusalem</span></i></place></city><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"> to </span></i><city><place><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">Gaza</span></i></place></city><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; border-bottom: windowtext 1pt; border-left: windowtext 1pt; border-right: windowtext 1pt; border-top: windowtext 1pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">." (This is a wilderness road.) <span style="color: #999999;">27</span> So he got up and went. </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When I was in my early twenties I hitchhiked across the </span><country-region><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">United States</span></place></country-region><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. I can’t explain the exact motivation. I wanted to see my cousin in </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Arizona</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, but that’s not why I left. The only way to come close to an explanation is to say that I had a sort of fever, or that I felt like a wild animal with its paw caught in a trap- I’d gnaw my hand off to escape my hometown and to get out onto the road. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I was feeling the desperation and restlessness of my age, the awful yearnings that are most acutely felt during youth. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I had the sense that time was fleeting, and that any hope of discovering something larger than myself, any justification for my living and breathing in this world, had to be found not just now, but </span><stockticker><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">NOW</span></stockticker><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I was searching for unnamable things. My spirit soared with my thirst and ambition, a desire to reach up higher and higher in search of these things. I knew they were not to be found in my </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Ohio</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> hometown, but out in the Western Plains somewhere, or out past the Continental Divide, or maybe in </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Arizona</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> near my cousin. And if they weren’t in any of these places, well, to hell with it, I’d go further and further west until I reached the Pacific. And if what I was searching for wasn’t there either, I’d hitchhike south, maybe into </span><country-region><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Mexico</span></place></country-region><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> or something. With the wind cutting through my hair, hitching a ride in the back of some stranger’s pick up truck, I would single handedly wrest these things from the hand of God. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">One day I was standing by the side of the road in the Nebraska Panhandle, close to where I-76 and I-80 diverge. I got a couple of offers from people heading down 80 to </span><city><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Cheyenne</span></place></city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. But I wanted to take 76 and work my way south towards </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Arizona</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. Finally after a couple of hours of waiting, a tough-looking man with a haggardly beard pulled over on the side of the road. He was wearing well worn blue jeans and a black Harley Davidson T-shirt. I was a little hesitant to get in the car with him. He told me he was heading to </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Colorado</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, but that he had to stop in </span><place><city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Sidney</span></city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, </span><state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Nebraska</span></state></place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> first. I decided to take the ride and we headed west. We rode to </span><city><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Sidney</span></place></city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, but when we left town he told me there was a state highway that led to </span><city><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Denver</span></place></city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. I didn’t want to leave the heavily populated interstate for some deserted highway. Who knows were he would take me. But what could I do? We left the interstate and we drove out into the wilderness. I gazed upon beauty that I couldn’t see from the interstate. The expansiveness of the west </span><state><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Nebraska</span></place></state><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> plains was awesome. The setting sun in this land was breathtaking. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But as we drove, my travel partner began talking to me about the Bible. It quickly grew bizarre, as he explained his rapture theology. I was a little freaked out, talking about the Anti-Christ and <span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">apocalypse</span>, but at the same time I felt safer. He was talking theology. I knew he wasn’t going to harm me. He was a lonely man who wanted someone to talk to about God. Like me, he didn’t have time for small talk. He was, in his own way, searching for those unnamable things. There wasn’t any epiphany, as there was for the eunuch that Philip met on the road. No great revelation. No chariot- just his rusted old Chevy. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">But there was, for a short time, fellowship, a human connection, and a mutually felt desire to touch the hand of God. I wasn’t much different from him. I was certainly just as lonely. That’s what searching for things you can never grasp will do to you. On this wilderness road we were both alien travelers in a world we didn’t belong to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was night when he dropped me off in </span><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">South Denver</span></place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. I felt a little disoriented, buzzing on the after effects of his strange theology. But I thanked him for the ride and we wished each other well. I zipped up my jacket to protect myself from the cold mountain air and pressed on in the night. The </span><city><place><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Denver</span></place></city><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> city skyline was at my back. Streetlights were shining above me.</span></div>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-77137403734971629972012-04-27T15:27:00.002-07:002012-04-27T15:32:53.688-07:00Meditation: Psalm Twenty-Three and the Great Lacking<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“The Lord is my Shepard. I lack nothing.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So says the NIV translation. I love this terse translation of the first verse. There’s a ring of defiance in it. A resistance to evil. What powerful words they are when we feel crippled by a deep sense of inadequacy, or what we could call ‘The Great Lacking.’ We experience the Great Lacking when we feel there’s something missing, some mysterious quality or virtue that other people have acquired, and that we lack. It’s when the voice of the enemy diminishes us, or shames us, and we fail to live into the fullness of God’s love and grace. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In popular culture dogma we’re also taught that there’s nothing we lack, because we’re inherently so special. Yet, the psalmist is more daring than culture’s adulation of self. The psalmist testifies to a God who is the source of our strength. It is because of God’s outpouring of mercy and love that we lack nothing. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We lack nothing because the source of all goodness and love and power has called us into being from the beginning of time, and guides us, even when we walk through the darkest valleys. God anoints our heads with oil, and our cup overflows in the holy celebration of life in all its purity and sacredness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-29301401858563780292012-04-20T22:05:00.000-07:002012-04-20T22:05:37.971-07:00Meditation on Psalm Four: The Roominess of God<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Twisted sheets from a night of tormented sleep. Restless nights stewing over problems we can’t control- health problems, financial problems, resentments that burn in our hearts and minds. We lie half awake and half asleep in a highly charged semi-consciousness dream state, haunted by anxiety. We ask ourselves on such nights, ‘What do I need to do?’ And when we can’t figure that out we cry to God, ‘Do something!’ </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The psalmist, I think, can relate to these nights. He doesn’t mince words, ‘Answer me when I call, O God of my right! You gave me room when I was in distress.’ I like the phrase, ‘You gave me room.’ The realm of God is broad and roomy, not stifling and rigid. A comfortable room with big open windows and a high ceiling, rather than a stuffy attic. God gives us breathing room. God gives us the distance we need when we feel the heat of distress, yet is close enough to hear our anguished prayers. The roominess of God allows the psalmist to say, “When you are disturbed, do not sin. Ponder it on your beds, and be silent.” Don’t fight, don’t fret, don’t fear- just be silent.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The roominess of God creates the space we need for trust, and even creates the trust itself. Left to our own ways, we wrack our brain with frantic thoughts that whirl in a loop. We trust in our own abilities to solve problems, and in spite of our best efforts to protect ourselves, we end up more insecure, fearful, and vulnerable. Yet the psalmist testifies to a God who hears our prayers, and who puts gladness in our hearts when we cannot. It is trust in this God’s care that allows us to sleep in peace. It turns our heated pleas of ‘What should I do?’ into the spacious assurance of gladness, safety, and rest.<span> </span></span></span></span></div>Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-68205099630482685312012-04-14T04:54:00.004-07:002012-04-14T09:39:31.181-07:00Meditation: Belief, Doubt, and MRI Brain ScansThe elegance of the human brain,<br />with its billons of cells,<br />and complex networks.<br />Its marvelous connections.<br /><br />Pretty colors glow against<br />the black backdrop of an MRI scan.<br />Red is where emotions are located.<br />Blue is where language is formed.<br />We even see a ‘God region’ of the brain.<br />Is there a doubt region?<br />What color is it?<br /><br />No matter.<br />They haven’t yet discovered the colors<br />that would illuminate the brain<br />fully alive in revelation.<br />It would break the machine.<br /><br />When we touch your nail pierced hands,<br />we touch our own failure.<br />But our failure is yours.<br />It finds home in your pierced hands and side,<br />and is transformed in broken glory.<br /><br />Stop trying so hard to believe.<br />You can't make it happen.<br />Step out of your stuffy locked room,<br />and breathe in the fullness of resurrected life.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-82200110808481769312012-04-03T23:24:00.003-07:002012-04-04T06:48:49.391-07:00Jesus our brother in griefWhen we slap each other’s back in pleasure<br />When we flatter one another<br />When we ‘like’ this or that on Facebook<br />Or say something clever<br /><br />We then turn and see you,<br />On the cross,<br />And sober up for a moment<br /><br />You gaze through layers of pretense<br />You see us as we really are<br />And by some miracle,<br />Jesus our brother in grief,<br />You recognize us as your ownRick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-51411233047056940812012-03-15T22:23:00.001-07:002012-03-15T22:26:44.586-07:00Sermon based on Matthew 14:13-21Jesus knew the transformative power of a meal.<br />He knew how intimately connected the link was<br />between food and fellowship and the kingdom of God.<br /><br />The joy of God’s presence<br />came upon the crowds that day<br />in the sharing of supper together.<br />Not only did Jesus have compassion<br />for the crowds and heal their sick,<br />but he goes beyond expectations and offers the crowds<br />friendship and hospitality in the form of a feast.<br /><br />Think of the hundreds of ways<br />in which we use food in order to connect<br />with friends and family.<br />We arrange our lives around food-<br />whether it’s dinner together as a family,<br />meeting a coworker for lunch,<br />or the simple joy of meeting a close friend for supper.<br />Our bonds with each other are structured<br />around the meals we eat together.<br />The smells and tastes and satisfaction<br />we gain from a great meal<br />is interwoven with the sense of intimacy we share<br />with those we love and care about.<br />Meals strengthen the bonds we share with one another.<br /><br />And food even helps us connect with strangers.<br />Think of how the meals we eat<br />cause us to interact with strangers.<br />My wife and I sometimes eat at<br />a little breakfast place in Madison.<br />And I mean ‘little.’<br />The building itself is tiny<br />and throngs of people pack the place on the weekends<br />and it’s hard to move around.<br />It’s so small, in fact,<br />that you have to sit with other diners.<br />There are no private tables.<br /><br />I’m not used to this.<br />I like to have the privacy of my own table,<br />away from everyone else.<br />Yet, sitting with other diners forces you to enter into<br />conversation with people you normally wouldn’t talk to.<br />It allows you to get to know them.<br />And the delicious taste of the food is so enjoyable<br />that it sparks something from within<br />that opens you up to fellowship<br />with people you’ve never met before.<br />So the delight of food opens us to others<br />in ways that would otherwise be closed.<br /><br />Our central aspect of worship together<br />takes place in the form of a meal.<br />At this table we celebrate<br />Christ’s real presence in the bread and wine.<br />The Eucharist is the place of radical hospitality.<br />In it we are offered a glimpse of the kingdom to come.<br />We literally taste the transformative power of Christ in bread and wine,<br />and participate in fellowship with him and each other.<br />Transformation happens within the context of a meal.<br /><br />And there are other tables here at church<br />that are signs of Christ’s hospitality.<br />After worship on Sundays<br />I’ve noticed that you serve<br />doughnuts and coffee in the hallway.<br />And I like doughnuts.<br />If you ever want to find me after worship on Sunday,<br />you need look no further<br />than the doughnut and coffee table in back.<br />I find the doughnuts so creamy and so delicious<br />that I am often tempted to take two,<br />and sometimes I even try to take a second doughnut,<br />but my wife stops me,<br />so I only have one doughnut.<br /><br />But this is an important ministry at Lake Edge.<br />By offering food for each other<br />and for the visitors in your midst,<br />you show the hospitality of Christ.<br />My wife and I have gotten to know<br />some of you better through conversation<br />over a doughnut and coffee.<br />And we are grateful for it.<br />Food opens pockets of space<br />for fellowship, hospitality and transformation to occur.<br /><br /><br />One of my favorite movies, Babette’s Feast,<br />shows how fellowship and a great meal<br />can transform lives.<br />The movie is set in the nineteenth century<br />and tells the story of a French woman, Babette,<br />who comes into the lives of two sisters<br />living in a rural community in Denmark.<br />Babette is a refugee who has fled to Denmark<br />and works as a servant for the sisters.<br />The sisters’ father was the founder<br />of a strict, pious Lutheran sect<br />and the congregation flourished while he was alive.<br />But the movie takes place many decades later<br />when the sisters are old,<br />the father has died,<br />and the congregation has dwindled<br />to a few embittered parishioners.<br /><br />Babette works for the sisters for fourteen years as a servant,<br />but she finds out that she has won<br />10,000 francs in a lottery in France.<br />But instead of going back to France,<br />she spends her entire winnings<br />on a feast for the sisters and the small congregation.<br /><br />The congregation is bitter and cranky<br />and they hold many petty grudges and resentments<br />towards one another.<br />And being a strict community,<br />they are suspicious<br />of the feast that Babette has planned.<br />They have always eaten rather bland food,<br />and they think there is something rather sinful<br />about indulging the appetite<br />in such a sensuous and exotic meal.<br />But they decide to go ahead and eat the meal,<br />but they promise one another<br />that they will not enjoy it.<br /><br /><br />Some of the characters in the movie have regrets.<br />An old general comes back to the village for this feast<br />and sees for the first time in many years<br />one of the sisters whom he loved.<br />One of the most poignant scenes of the movie<br />shows him getting dressed for dinner<br />and looking into a mirror.<br />He is old and melancholy<br />and dressed pompously in his uniform.<br />But in the mirror he sees his younger self<br />in the reflection staring back at him-<br />a reflection of him when he was a young officer.<br />He had his arms crossed,<br />and looked so stubborn and ambitious.<br />I don’t remember what exactly the actor said,<br />but his eyes were mournful<br />as he looked at his younger self.<br /><br />‘What for?’ he seemed to be saying<br />as he looked back at that young man.<br />‘What for?’<br />He was in deep regret<br />for the way his life turned out.<br />The old general had achieved the success<br />he desired in life,<br />but at a great cost.<br />He lost a life with the woman that he loved.<br /><br />At the dinner Babette serves dish after sumptuous dish-<br />thin pancakes and caviar,<br />quail smothered with delicious sauces.<br />Wine and champaign and chesses and cakes.<br />The actors’ faces magically light up<br />after each bite of food.<br />As the meal progresses,<br />grudges melt away.<br />Petty rivalries are dismissed.<br />Resentments are overcome.<br />The General stands up<br />and delivers a moving speech.<br />He says that “mercy is infinite,”<br />and declares that “righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another<br />and the love of Christ will illuminate the world.”<br />In the feast fellowship happens.<br />Transformation happens.<br />The dinner guests come to not even regret the past,<br />seeing their lives in the larger,<br />more magnificent framework of God’s grace.<br /><br />I like to think that this is what Jesus had in mind<br />in the feeding of the crowds.<br />He wasn’t just going to cure people of sickness<br />and send them away.<br />He was going to transform them<br />through the power of a meal together.<br />It was not just a meal,<br />but a feast that transcended itself,<br />developing higher and wider<br />and lower and deeper circles<br />of friendship and fellowship.<br />The kingdom of God was happening<br />in that meal between<br />Jesus and the disciples and the people.<br /><br />And the miracle happens today.<br />The Holy Spirit works in the spaces between the meal-<br />in fellowship with one another,<br />in the actual smell and taste of the food,<br />in laughter and friendship and grace.<br />All these elements of a meal come together<br />and transformation happens through them.<br /><br />So when we offer hospitality to one another<br />and to the stranger through the sharing of a meal,<br />remember that it is not just a meal we share.<br />We are sharing the hospitality, love and presence of Christ.<br />And as we hunger this Lenten season<br />for the presence and righteousness of God,<br />let us recognize the mysterious presence of Christ<br />among us in our shared meals.<br />Trust in the One who transforms<br />our merger scraps of bread and fish<br />into something much larger<br />than we could ever hope for or imagine.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-78029015813360458192012-02-29T21:43:00.002-08:002012-02-29T22:05:53.191-08:00lenten devotion<em>Mark 8:31-38 Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32 He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33 But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things." 34 He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35 For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. 36 For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37 Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38 Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the angels. </em> <br /><br /><em>Meditation</em>: This lonely band of outlaws, the disciples, huddled together around Jesus. They were so optimistic about their future ministry and ambitions. They were going to Jerusalem, and (who knows!) maybe change the world. Yet, now they were confronted with this stark, almost fatalistic, message about suffering and the cross- and any message that diverted Jesus from the way of the cross was not only a misunderstanding, but a satanic temptation. Surely the disciples now worried about their own safety, not to mention Jesus' mental stability- A religious fanatic with a death wish.<br /> <br />In our context Jesus' message of the cross has become a spiritual metaphor for inward suffering, or as the means by which we surrender heart and mind to God. Yet, the disciples didn’t have the luxury of considering the cross metaphorically. They weren’t taught by brilliant exegetes- all they had were Jesus' own words. And Jesus himself. Peter was shown that there was to be no pragmatic compromise with the satanic powers in the world. Only a lonely journey to the cross, one frightful step at a time, would transform history. A broken God, who in the humiliation of crucifixion wasn't afforded the dignity by which he could cover the shame in his face with his hands, willed our salvation.<br /> <br /><em>Prayer</em>: Forgive us God, when we treat our callings as career opportunities. Forgive us when we are tempted to forfeit our souls for the sake of approval. This is not what drew us to ministry. But you, O Lord, called us to witness to the power of your cross and resurrection. Teach us anew the cost of discipleship, for our neighbor's sake, and for the sake of the eternal and living beauty of your kingdom come. Amen.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-21308378497312586182011-04-13T13:17:00.000-07:002011-04-13T13:29:49.523-07:00hitchhikingFeeling a little bored in my Ohio hometown, I decided to hitchhike across the country. So I threw a copy of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road in my backpack along with a few extra clothes, made a Bruce Springsteen playlist on cassette tapes, and left. The freedom of the road was exhilarating. Yet there were days when things got a little tight. <br /> <br />One day in particular I was stranded in the rain on a deserted stretch of I-74 in Illinois. I looked at the drenched fields that surrounded me as I held out my fist and thumb to the passing traffic. I didn’t see any sign of a town or truck stop that would offer shelter from the rain. I thought of home when I packed my bag. At the time of my exuberance, taking Springsteen and Kerouac along with me seemed much more important than packing weather appropriate clothing. I felt the rain soak through my hooded jacket and thought, “You are so screwed, Rick.” <br /> <br />However, I didn’t walk too long before a car passed me slowly and pulled over and stopped. Some people say grace is the unmerited love and favor of God. This is true, but grace is also the broken glory of standing in the rain and seeing a beat up car with its right blinker on, pulled off the side of the road to rescue. I ran up to the car and got in. <br /> <br />It was a lone woman driver, which surprised me since most of the time it was men who picked me up. As she pulled back onto the interstate I thanked her profusely for stopping. “No problem,” she told me. “I hate seeing people stranded in the rain like that.” She said her name was Mary, and asked me where I was going. I told her I was headed to a small town in Nebraska that I used to live in when I was nineteen, and then to Arizona to see my cousin. These things were true, but I was too embarrassed to tell her I had no real destination in mind. The larger truth was I really had no idea where the hell I was going, that I was a lost and desperate young man drifting across the country without any sense of direction in life, searching for something I couldn’t name. <br /> <br />I noticed Mary was wearing sunglasses. I thought this was odd considering it was a rainy day, but I didn’t say anything. We talked for a long time and the conversation turned in many different directions, as conversations with strangers on the road always do. We eventually talked about her husband. She told me he was unstable. That’s when she looked over at me and raised her sunglasses. I saw that her left eye was black and blue and swollen. I was startled. She told me that her husband was in Vietnam and had PTSD. He had nightmares and hit her in bed. I didn’t know what to make of that. I felt the urge to say something that would help her, but I didn’t know what to say, so we talked about other things. Mary told me she was on her way to see her son at college. She asked me if I wanted to come with her. She said she had to drop some things off for him, and it would only take a few minutes. I was in no hurry so we drove to the town where her son lived. <br /> <br />It was an awkward meeting, at least for me. She introduced us and I felt like saying, “Hi, I’m the complete stranger your mother picked up on the side of the road.” But he didn’t show any signs of suspicion. He seemed as kind and generous as his mother. <br /> <br />When we left we got something to eat at a fast food restaurant. Mary tried to look at the menu above the counter but couldn’t see it through her sunglasses, so she lifted them from her eyes for a brief moment and read the sign. There were two employees behind the counter, and when they saw her black eye, they both snuck a quick glance at me. <br /> <br />After we ate, Mary went out of her way to drop me off in a larger town. But before I got out of the car she wrote her phone number on a small scrap of paper. She said, “Now when you get to a safe place tonight I want you to call me and let me know that you’re all right. Please Rick, call me.” She expressed many times during the trip how dangerous it was to hitchhike, and she was genuinely worried for my well being. I grabbed the number and assured her I would call. I thanked her again and said good-bye. It rained off and on as I caught a few more rides that day. I eventually made it to Galesburg where I split a cheap room that evening with a guy who had picked me up. Something was bothering me that night. I don’t remember what it was. I hastily looked through my belongings for Mary’s number, but couldn’t find it. It was written on a tiny piece of paper, but I think if I would’ve looked hard enough, I probably would have found it. But I didn’t feel like looking very hard. The next morning I continued hitchhiking west towards Nebraska. I never found her number.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-42670548256489831222010-12-10T21:59:00.000-08:002010-12-10T22:06:20.496-08:00advent devotionBut, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. 2 Peter 3:13<br /><br />The title of a U2 song illustrates an important theme of Advent- <em>I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. </em>This song gives a mature voice to our spiritual yearnings. We experience God, and yet there’s something we still long for, a thirst that has yet to be quenched. In this sense Advent humbles us. It reminds us of our incompleteness. Although we’ve experienced the grace and power of God through Christ, we still long for the full realization of salvation and wholeness in solidarity with the rest of creation. Yet, we are seized by hope even in our incompleteness. In the night of our longing hope possess us as “we wait for new heavens and a new earth.” <br /> <br />O God of depth, touch the place inside us that longs for that which we cannot name. Huddle with those crushed by poverty, the widows and orphans, the prisoners who stand in shadows. Let those who have turned their faces to the wall gaze upon your light and hear your cry. Break down the walls, Lord, and may the rubble become the foundation of the New Jerusalem. May the hope we have in you illuminate every soul. And may the Holy Spirit wrap around our heads and kiss our eyes, that we may awaken to the living beauty of the new heaven and new earth to come. Amen.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-13442338683739528962010-10-28T15:58:00.000-07:002010-10-28T16:06:51.154-07:00a narrative of hope- a true story from when I hitchhikedFeeling a little bored in my Ohio hometown, I decided to hitchhike across the country. So I threw a copy of Jack Kerouac’s ON THE ROAD in my backpack along with a few extra clothes and a Bruce Springsteen playlist, and left. The freedom of the road was exhilarating. Yet there were days when things got a little tight. <br /> <br />One day in particular I was stranded in the rain on a deserted stretch of I-74 in Illinois. I looked at the drenched fields that surrounded me as I held out my fist and thumb to the passing traffic. I didn’t see any sign of a town or truck stop that would offer shelter from the rain. I thought, “You are so screwed, Rick.” <br /> <br />However, I didn’t walk too long before a car passed me slowly and pulled over and stopped. Some people say grace is the unmerited love and favor of God. This is truth, but grace is also the broken glory of standing in the rain and seeing a beat up car with its right blinker on, pulled off the side of the road to rescue. I ran up to the car and got in. <br /> <br />It was a lone woman driver, which surprised me since most of the time it was men who picked me up. As she pulled back onto the interstate I thanked her profusely for stopping. “No problem,” the woman told me. “I hate seeing people stranded in the rain like that.” She said her name was Mary, and asked me where I was going. I told her I was headed to a small town in Nebraska that I used to live in when I was nineteen, and then to Arizona to see my cousin. These things were true, but I was too embarrassed to tell her I had no real destination in mind. The larger truth was I really had no idea where the hell I was going, that I was a lost and desperate young man drifting across the country without any sense of direction in life, searching for something I couldn't name. <br /><br />I noticed Mary was wearing sunglasses. I thought this was odd considering it was a rainy day, but I didn’t say anything. We talked about her son and about her husband. She told me her husband was unstable. That’s when she looked over at me and lowered her sunglasses. I saw that her left eye was black and blue and swollen. I was startled. She told me that her husband was in Vietnam and had PTSD. He had nightmares and hit her in bed. I didn’t know what to make of that. I felt the urge to say something that would help her. But I didn’t know what to say, so we talked about other things. Mary told me she was on her way to see her son at college. She asked me if I wanted to come with her. She said she had to drop some things off for him, and it would only take a few minutes. I was in no hurry so we drove to the town where her son lived.<br /> <br />It was an awkward meeting, at least for me. She introduced us and I felt like saying, “Hi, I’m the complete stranger your mother picked up on the side of the road.” But he didn’t show any signs of suspicion. He seemed as kind and generous as his mother. <br /> <br />When we left we got something to eat at a fast food restaurant. Mary tried to look at the menu above the counter but couldn’t see it through her sunglasses, so she lifted them from her eyes for a brief moment and read the sign. There were two employees behind the counter, and when they saw her black eye, they both snuck a quick glance at me. I felt very self-conscious as I placed my order. <br /> <br />After we ate, Mary went out of her way to drop me off at a larger town. But before I got out of the car she wrote her phone number on a small scrap of paper. She said, “Now when you get to a safe place tonight I want you to call me and let me know that you’re all right. Please Rick, call me.” She expressed many times during the trip how dangerous it was to hitchhike, and she was genuinely worried for my well being. I grabbed the number and assured her I would call. I thanked her again. It rained off and on as I caught a few more rides that day and eventually made it to Galesburg where I split a cheap room with a fellow traveler that evening. <br /> <br />Something was bothering me. I don’t remember what it was. I hastily looked through my belongings for Mary’s number, but couldn’t find it. It was written on a tiny piece of paper, but I think if I would’ve looked hard enough, I probably would have found it. But I didn’t feel like looking very hard. The next morning I continued hitchhiking west towards Nebraska. I never found her number.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-66178820578101722122010-10-21T16:37:00.000-07:002010-10-21T16:46:52.754-07:00sermonSermon from Matthew 3: 13-17 and Isaiah 42: 1-9 <br /> <br /> John the Baptist never did play to society’s comfortable sensibilities. He doesn’t ascribe to easy middle class values. No, the Baptist sweated it out with the people down by the muddy banks of the Jordon. He was captivated in a trance from God, an ecstasy of prophetic vision. His sermons were barnburners. He talked about winnowing forks, separating wheat from chaff, unquenchable fires and so forth. The people were alarmed when John preached, scared straight into repentance. They came to him to be baptized, hoping to be saved from the storm clouds of the apocalypse, from the highly charged atmosphere that surrounded them. Baptism may have been the most intense point of contact between the cosmic forces of good and evil. Drown the demons and get on the right side of God. People were wailing, bodies thrashed around in the water. Baptism wasn’t tame, sentimental or pedestrian. It was a spiritual rite of passage you hoped to survive. <br /><br /> Yet, this fiery preacher himself was shocked as Jesus came along and made his request. Jesus requested that he be baptized by John. There was something about this Jesus that caught even John, in all his zealousness, off guard. “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” <br /> <br />John, who proclaimed Jesus with such power and authority, now felt so unworthy to baptize him. He felt a sense of powerlessness and defenselessness as he looked down at Jesus’ head resting in the crux of his arm. This was too much to fathom. How small and insignificant he felt, yet how loved and respected also, that such a man as he would chosen to baptize the very Messiah of God. John, the preacher of repentance, had to reevaluate and repent himself. Even his most fiery pronouncements turned on themselves in light of the vulnerability of Jesus who lay in his arms. These pronouncements devoured themselves and left ashes on the tongue of the Baptist as he immersed the Son of God under the water and lifted him out. Jesus was doing the unexpected. Or rather, he was allowing the unexpected to happen, to come to life. He allowed John to baptize him. The powerful end times figure made himself vulnerable for the sake of all righteousness. <br /><br />We Lutherans who use a baptismal font may have a harder time grasping the baptism of Jesus than traditions that baptize in a river. I have a friend who grew up in a fundamentalist rural church. He was baptized in a river one cold spring afternoon after church. The two pastors were standing waist-deep in the middle of the river. My friend waded out towards them. The current was cold and he could feel it pressing against his legs as he made his way to the preachers, trying to keep his balance. It was a lonely journey to the pastors, with the congregation standing on the banks behind him, and the pastors in front. He made it to them and they took his hand and stood on either side of him. They said a prayer and my friend surrendered himself to their care and lay back in their arms and allowed them take him under the water. He was plunged underneath the cold water and was lifted out to the shouts of Amen and Halleluiah! He waded back to the shoreline and was greeted by the hugs and kisses of sisters and brothers and given a towel to drape over his shoulders. <br /> <br />My friend noted the trust he had to give to the pastors as he was baptized, to allow himself to lay back in their arms and take him under the water. He also noted the very ‘earthiness’ of his baptism. He felt the water, the mud, the sun and the cold air. He saw the trees and rocks. All this connected baptism with the beauty and untamed elements of God’s creation. It made him feel more vulnerable and also more alive and aware of God’s world.<br /> <br />My friend had to give himself to another to be baptized, and so did Jesus. Jesus fulfills all righteousness with his baptism through his self-giving and solidarity with humanity. “Calvin wrote that Jesus ‘undertook baptism with us that the faithful might be more surely persuaded that they are engrafted into his body, buried with him in baptism, that they might rise again to newness of life.’” (89 Allison, New Proclamation 01-02). Thus Calvin shows Jesus’ solidarity with us through baptism. Jesus gave himself in baptism not for himself, or for John’s sake, but for all of us, to bind himself with us, to make our salvation his own cause. <br /> This reveals Jesus’ vulnerability as he gives himself over into the arms of another. The vulnerability that he showed as he laid back into John’s arms is a foreshadowing of the kind of radical self-giving he demonstrated on the cross. Jesus’ giving himself into the hands of another characterizes both the beginning and the end of his ministry. He fell into the strong arms of John in his baptism at the beginning, and he fell into the arms of the Roman authorities at the end. This self-giving at the beginning and end of his ministry are like bookends in the story of our salvation. <br /> <br />Through baptism we are given to the One who gave himself to us. We are marked by the cross of Christ, sealed with the Spirit, and become children of God. We are adopted into God’s family and made daughters and sons of God, beloved women and men. In the waters of baptism, we die and rise to new life in Christ (Romans 6:4). We become a new creation. In baptism we have a new identity, we belong to him who loved us and gave himself for us. This new identity is a blessed gift from God. <br /> <br />And with the gift comes discipleship. The adoption into God’s family is also a calling. The new life in Christ is an initiation into the ministry of the kingdom. It is our calling to live out the radical vulnerability and self-giving ministry of Christ for the sake of the other. This is a joyful but difficult call. It’s so much easier to remain anonymous in a comfortable middle class neighborhood, easing our way into a nice retirement where we blend in easily with the world. It’s easier to stay on the sidelines of life, letting others risk their reputation, even their lives, for the sake of the kingdom. Sometimes we’re afraid of the consequences of acting out on behalf of God’s kingdom, so we withdraw. We worry what others might think of us, or what will become of us. <br /> <br />This is all easier than to step out on a limb and feel the sharp edges of our individuality, to hear our name before God, and risk something for the sake of Jesus. When we take this call seriously it is powerful. Jesus was unsettled. And his self-giving unsettles us and our values today. He had a passion and thirst for justice, for the new rule of God’s kingdom. This passion made him vulnerable to the forces that opposed him. Yet, in spite of the danger he gave himself completely for the sake of the kingdom, for those most vulnerable, for the poor, sick, lonely, and deranged. His vulnerable was for the sake of the vulnerable, and in this way he showed solidarity with them. This uncompromising compassion for those most neglected lead to his ultimate act of self-giving on the cross. The early church perceived Jesus to be the one described in the servant songs of Isaiah, “He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth” (Isaiah 42:3). Jesus was and still is “a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness” (6-7).<br /> <br />Jesus showed solidarity with us in his baptism. And Jesus gives himself to us again and again, falling into our arms and embracing us. Our own pain and loneliness is matched and overwhelmed by the love of the one who gives himself to us, “a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench,” (42:3). The ever self-giving Christ who is present among us today in faith gives us the courage to work in mission anew. It’s a difficult call, but it’s a joyful call because we know we’re not alone. In baptism we are claimed by him who loved us. The self-giving love that shook John now shakes us.<br /> <br />Jesus’ self-giving through his baptism demonstrates the things that are yet to come. This radical self-giving marks the beginning of the new age and points to its fullness when justice will be established. As we carry Jesus’ mission into the world, we give ourselves for the sake of our neighbor as Jesus gave himself to us. We teach, heal, unsettle, and however falteringly, point to God’s kingdom come, when we will praise God as the former things have passed and new things have come into existence. Amen.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-57562586892541228282010-08-29T21:04:00.000-07:002010-08-29T21:07:47.898-07:00sermon at faith in christ lutheran in ohioSermon from Matthew 22: 34-40 and Acts 4:32-5:11 <br />It was a hot and dusty afternoon in Jerusalem <br /> as the scholars and theologians gathered together <br /> near the Temple to test this charismatic newcomer. <br />He’d been wandering around Galilee and Judea, <br /> disturbing the peace with his teachings. <br />Now here he was in Jerusalem. <br /><br />Everyone had been raising a fuss over him. <br />He was asked many, many questions <br /> and he often gave shocking and daring answers <br /> to these questions concerning the Torah. <br /><br />So these theologians and experts of the law <br /> prepared their questions in advance. <br />Some had bad motives, <br /> hoping to trap and humiliate this young teacher, <br /> yet others had good motives, <br /> truly hoping to better understand the Torah <br /> and the Lord their God.<br /> <br />So when Jesus arrived <br /> they peppered him with various questions. <br />They asked him about the lawfulness of paying taxes, <br /> and about the resurrection of the dead. <br />Jesus answered these questions skillfully. <br />Some thought he was some kind of whiz kid. <br />He seemed to have <br /> an instinctive mind for these debates. <br />Or better yet, <br /> he was intimately in-tune with the Torah, <br /> with the living Word of God. <br /> <br />So then another young Jewish scholar <br /> comes up and asks Jesus, <br />‘Okay, Rabbi, out of all the commandments in the Torah, <br /> out of all of them, <br /> which of these commandments is the greatest?’ <br />Wow, this was like the ultimate question. <br />This question certainly cut to the chase. <br />The large crowd of curious spectators <br /> who had gathered around leaned in close <br /> and held their collective breath. <br />You could have heard a pin drop <br /> as all eyes of the townspeople <br /> and scholars gazed upon Jesus, <br /> waiting for the answer to this big question… <br /> <br />Which commandment in the law is greatest? <br />In our reading today Jesus gives the answer <br /> to this awesome question. <br />‘You shall love the Lord your God <br /> with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ <br />This is the greatest and first commandment. <br />And the second is like it, <br />‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ <br /><br />Many times when Jesus <br /> was asked a question in these forums <br /> he would tell a parable rather than give a direct answer, <br /> or he’d pose a counter-question <br /> that stymied the questioner. <br /><br />But this time he gives a simple, <br /> straight-forward answer- <br /> Astonishingly simple, really. <br />Yet, to truly understand this greatest commandment, <br /> we need to realize the love of the one who uttered it. <br /> <br />One theologian noted that, <br />“The command to love <br /> can only come from the mouth of the lover” (Rosenzweig). <br />This means that only a God <br /> who loves us with his whole heart, soul, and mind <br /> can command us to love him with our whole heart, soul and mind. <br />Only a Savior who loves us and holds us in a higher regard <br /> than he does his own life and wellbeing, <br /> could command that we love our neighbor as ourselves. <br /><br />An impersonal deity, one that is neutral and does not love, <br /> or is full of anger and wrath, <br /> cannot command love. <br />God does not issue commands <br /> that he does not keep himself. <br />No, only a God who loves us with his whole heart, soul and mind <br /> could command us to love him that way in return. <br /> <br />And because God loves us so much, <br /> the greatest commandment must necessarily <br /> be a two-part commandment <br /> in which the love of God and love neighbor <br /> are intimately linked. <br /><br />We cannot love God without loving our neighbor. <br />We cannot love our neighbor without loving God.<br /> <br />Our Christian faith makes every relationship <br /> into a God relationship. <br />Every encounter with our neighbor <br /> is an encounter with a beloved of God. <br />Even the people whom we dislike or disagree with-<br /> they are God’s people too. <br />They are people for whom Christ loved and died on the cross for. <br /> <br />This ups the ante significantly. <br />It raises the stakes in the way we treat God and others. <br />In light of the fact that God himself loves us <br /> with his whole heart, soul, and mind, <br /> in light of the fact that our lives <br /> are so valuable to God that he sent us Christ, <br />now a Christian love ethic is raised <br /> to an infinitely higher standard <br /> than the world’s standard of love. <br /><br />No longer can we inquire <br /> as to what is reasonably asked of us<br /> in any given situation. <br />Questions of reasonableness <br /> don’t arise for the one who lives by this commandment. <br />Neither do questions <br /> of the likeability of the other arise. <br />This is because God loves us <br /> with his whole heart, soul and mind, <br /> even as we are sinners and, at times, unlikable. <br />To grasp even a glimpse of this awesome love <br /> makes us feel infinitely indebted to it. <br />We feel indebted and can do no other <br /> than respond in love to the one who loved us first. <br /> <br />“The commandment of love is mild and merciful, <br /> but ‘there is rigor in it.’” (Kierkegaard). <br />It is not a coddling, sentimental love of warm feelings, <br /> but a mature love that takes action <br /> and seeks the ultimate well-being of the neighbor. <br />It’s a constant striving to look out for the neighbor, <br /> going beyond what is reasonably asked of us or fair, <br /> just as God’s love goes beyond what is reasonable or fair. <br />Our actions of love may not seem like a big deal, <br /> but they are a big deal to the people they touch. <br />It may even change their life. <br /> <br />In my seminary journey, <br /> someone cared about me in a way that changed me. <br />At seminary many students are ardent followers of Martin Luther, <br /> not only in his teachings but also in his love of beer. <br />Many gatherings and social events around the seminary <br /> are celebrated with beer or wine. <br />And while few if any go overboard in their consumption, <br /> I sometimes felt like an outsider. <br />I don’t drink anymore. <br />And I attended these events, <br /> but sometimes I would feel a little out of place <br /> being one of the only people not to drink. <br /> <br />One day I was talking <br /> to a friend of mine in the library, <br /> and I told her about my feelings <br /> of self-consciousness and awkwardness <br /> at these gatherings.<br />She listened to me and was sympathetic to my problems. <br /><br />A few days later I found out <br /> that there was going to be a birthday party <br /> at a friend’s apartment coming up <br /> and I planned on attending. <br />But something happened that really floored me. <br />A day or two before the party <br /> I received an e-mail from my friend. <br />She wrote, <br /> ‘Hey Rick I’m going to the party too, <br /> and if it will make you feel better about it <br /> I won’t drink either. <br /> We could hang out and drink Pepsi together! <br /> Let me know what you think.’ <br /><br />After I read the e-mail I was like, <br />‘Wow, that was one of the coolest things <br /> anyone has ever done for me.’ <br />Here was a friend who was willing <br /> to refrain from drinking at a birthday party <br /> in order to show solidarity with me <br /> and make me feel more welcome. <br /><br />My friend’s very caring and thoughtful gesture <br /> made me feel like I was cared for and accepted. <br />It was hard for me to believe that someone <br /> would care so much for me <br /> and make me feel so welcome. <br /><br />I responded and thanked her for her consideration, <br /> but told her I’d be okay <br /> and that she didn’t have to change because of me. <br />And I went and saw her there <br /> and we had a good time. <br /> <br />My friend was living out her faith <br /> in a way that transformed me. <br />And living the faith today <br /> is living out this greatest commandment. <br />Because God loves us <br /> with all his heart and all his soul and all his mind, <br /> we can do the same for our neighbor. <br /><br />And when even one individual or group of people takes seriously <br /> the awesome reality that they are a beloved woman or man of God, <br /> it is very powerful and becomes the life-giving source <br /> from which they draw from to do incredible things <br /> for the sake of their neighbor. <br /><br />We will be amazed at the power and love of God in our life <br /> when we live by this faith. <br /> <br />The early church took this greatest command seriously. <br />We see in our reading in Acts today <br /> the early church acting in one accord. <br />They were so captivated by the power and love <br /> of the crucified and resurrected Christ <br /> that they all acted as one. <br /><br />But over the centuries and today churches <br /> have been marked by division. <br />And when division happens among churches <br /> there’s no chance of the unity <br /> that Acts speaks of in today’s reading. <br />There’s no chance of being of one heart and soul<br /> when there is division. <br />And to the outside observer, <br /> to the world we are to be a witness to, <br /> the church looks like any other worldly organization. <br />Our ability to demonstrate the love of God, <br /> and to live out the greatest commandment, <br /> is diminished when we are divided. <br /> <br />God does not issue commandments <br /> that he does not keep himself.<br />God loves us with his whole heart, mind and soul. <br />And that love is larger than our thoughts and belief systems, <br /> it is larger than our fears, <br /> it is larger than our lives. <br /><br />We worry about our job security <br /> or our government <br /> or the health of a family member. <br />We worry about our children and grandchildren. <br />We wonder about their future. <br />We worry about a lot of things. <br />Today the world <br /> is a rapidly changing place <br /> and it’s sometimes scary.<br /> <br />But God’s love sustains us through the storm. <br />It’s a love that sustains <br /> and yet pushes us beyond our anxiety, <br /> and pushes us beyond our desire to turn inward. <br />It’s a love that turns us outward <br /> to serve and love our neighbor as ourselves. <br /><br />Sometimes this turning outward <br /> is a painful and scary thing. <br />It’s so much more comfortable <br /> to turn inward and not face the world. <br />But precisely because God loves us heart, mind and soul, <br /> that love will sometimes lead us <br /> where we don’t want to go, <br /> but to places where we need to go <br /> for our sake and for the sake of God’s kingdom. <br /><br />God’s love leads us to help and shelter those <br /> who are being trampled by <br /> the fast moving stampede of our times. <br />This love may mean going into prisons <br /> or hospice nursing homes, <br /> or helping some kid out whose family has given up on him. This love allows us to hang in there <br /> with people we disagree with or don’t like.<br />It allows us to love even our enemies <br /> and see them as people in whom Christ died for too. <br />No matter what happens to our lives or our families’ lives, <br /> this love of God goes on and on. <br />It picks us up and carries us along <br /> ever deepening channels of mercy and grace, <br /> taking us to unexpected and surprising places. <br />It is a joyful, generous love. <br />A love that burns bright in us <br /> and bears witness <br /> to the burning light of Christ’s own love.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6548529752044216364.post-39314929987543313282010-06-29T07:29:00.000-07:002010-07-06T07:47:49.091-07:00Journeying Through MarkMark is a fast paced, action packed gospel. It’s the shortest of the four gospels, and a sense of urgency is palpable from beginning to end. There’s no lengthy prologue at the beginning, no chance to settle in and get comfortable. Instead, there are a few short verses from Isaiah that introduce us to the fiery preacher, John the Baptist. And within the first twelve verses Jesus is baptized and immediately driven into the wilderness by the Spirit and tempted by Satan.<br /><br />After Jesus’ temptation, a chain of fast moving events unfold before our eyes. You won’t find long teachings in Mark, no big paragraphs in red letters. There’s no leisurely musings about lilies in the field. There’s no time for it. Jesus is waist deep in a demon soaked world, working to conquer satanic forces in a highly charged apocalyptic atmosphere. God was primed to radically step onto the world stage and topple everything. Maybe this is why in Mark we see Jesus occasionally behaving like a shrill, evangelical street preacher. But in a world so full of suffering and evil, who can blame him? Jesus wasn’t deceived. He saw with eyes wide open. Evil was present in the world- real, stark, and unambiguous.<br /><br />And it had to be conquered. Jesus knew that God’s kingdom was at hand. He saw that nothing could stop God’s reign from being realized on earth, and he had the faith to see it through. He wouldn’t compromise with the powers that be, and gave his life for the realization of this kingdom. Mark ends as an open-ended story with a young man relaying a message to the shocked women at the tomb: Jesus has been raised from the dead- Tell the disciples to meet him in Galilee!<br /><br />It’s difficult in modern times, with its tepid sensibilities and prudence, to comprehend the radical world that Mark describes. Nevertheless, even in our times we know the reality of suffering, and the struggle against evil. We know what it feels like when suffering pulls us inward, away from God and neighbor, and into darkness. Yet, our faith is a witness to a God who doesn’t leave us to battle suffering and evil alone. There’s no benign God that hovers pristinely above the earth. Rather, in Jesus God himself chooses to take the hard path of suffering, feeling our aches and pains, feeling the daily trials and headaches and banalities that we face. We have a Savior who wades waist deep in the thick of our suffering, crying out on our behalf- a Savior who strikes at the storm clouds of our hearts, opens us to glimpses of his kingdom, and pulls us along.Rick Fryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00178412735218474716noreply@blogger.com0