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Peter JB Carman
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady NY
April 7, 2019
Isaiah 43: 16-21
Philippians 3:4b—14
A long time ago, almost twenty centuries ago, the Apostle Paul remembered how he had once treasured his identity as an upholder of religious and civil traditions. With pain and with honesty, he remembered how he had once considered himself blessed for his purity, blessed for his zealous persecution of those he considered enemies of the faith. But then something came over him. When he was at his proudest and most righteous, he met the spirit of Christ.
What he had once considered precious now seemed like junk to Paul. The things he had considered most important seemed trivial, and the values he had tried to live by seemed hollow and worthless. “Whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him….”
Whether it was lightning strike or a bolt from heaven, the voice of Jesus or the hospitality he received from the people who should have hated him, Paul met God in a wild unpredictable grace-filled way, a way that would lead him to radically rework his ideas and rethink his life and re-order his values.
It happens to a lot of us, major turns in life that launch us in new directions. Not just new directions—we find we must rethink, re-conceive everything, from the ground up. The old things no longer seem important, in light of the new thing God is doing. The old values seem shallow, and cruel. The old priorities seem unrecognizable. The old sense of blessing seems narrow and heartless. The old dogmas and doctrines seem too narrow and rigid. Because in the new light, a more compassionate, loving way opens up in front of us.
God has been doing this new thing for a long, long time, starting it up amid the old reality of exile, of oppression, of self-satisfaction, of separation. Earlier we shared words that come to us from even earlier than Paul, centuries earlier, the time around when Israel was in captivity in Babylon. A prophet writing in the name of Isaiah, wrote these words, speaking as a channel for God. “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing: now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
Sometime or another we arrive at a crossroads spiritually, each of us our very own crossroads. From the outside looking in, it may look like we have it all together. We can be quite wealthy, on the outside, and walking in an interior wasteland. We may be the most pious and holy seeming of preachers, and in our heart of hearts we wonder what is missing. We may be the most moral and even moralistic of leaders in our community, and yet down deep we need transformation.
What we need is a moment of grace—something that doesn’t necessarily come in one ahah! Sometimes it sneaks up on us quietly over days or months. But quick or slow, in a flash or by gradual recognition, we meet the powerful new thing that God is doing, the fresh unpredictable blessing that God is pouring out among humanity, is pouring out on all creation.
Discover the God of the wild things, loose in the world, turning it all around!
You and I are living in a time when the world has been getting more dogmatic not less. More stuck not less. Sometimes, sometimes God can come along into our lives, with a word of truth and clarity, with a word that says no, and a word that says yes. It is a word that says no to the old safe assumptions, a word that says yes to the dynamic of love, to the power of deliverance. Whether it is through some vision of Christ so powerful it brings us low, or a walk in the snowy woods where some wild bird breaks through our worry, grace gives us these moments, these life episodes, when we discover our values are running backwards and our hopes are springing up. We find our hearts coming alive, despite the most desperate attempts we might make to shut them down.
There is a path that leads
away from where my home is
long and winding
steep in places
and wide in others.
Yes, and comes a place
that it looks not
like a path at all.
I have walked this trail
on dusty ground
where only hungry people dwell
and found its way again
in green hills where
crystal waters flow
then lost its track until
at last
in city streets I found a trace
of grace and suffering and love
that surely said that here once more
did wind the way that
long ago you trod.
And tho' not home
this path is better yet than
house or hearth to keep the soul
in time with the step
of pilgrimage
to the holy place
from whence you call.
The things we once considered precious are turned to dust, and the things we considered worthless are giving forth fruit. It can happen when you are eight, it can happen when you are eighty, or it can happen any time in between. It can happen once like a thunderclap, or it can happen over and over again, like snow in Schenectady. Yes, it can happen even in April. There is a power that can turn the easy assumptions, the safe assurance of (self) righteousness, turning these lives of ours, this old world of ours around.
May God open us up as we face the prejudices of our hearts and the internalized assumptions of a mechanized and insular world. May God open us up, as we face situations where we are asked to cast stones and stand in judgment. May God open us up, as we see children play, or as we hear some snatch of poetry. May God open us up, as we find justice coming down like a rolling river bringing life to the dry desert. May God open us up, as we sense love pouring down all around us. May God open us up, as we stand trembling in the presence of a power higher and wider, deeper and more loving than all that old thing.
The God of the wild things, the Uncivilized; God of the Lover, the Seer, the Child: God is doing a new thing. And it is just beginning to happen.
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady NY
April 7, 2019
Isaiah 43: 16-21
Philippians 3:4b—14
A long time ago, almost twenty centuries ago, the Apostle Paul remembered how he had once treasured his identity as an upholder of religious and civil traditions. With pain and with honesty, he remembered how he had once considered himself blessed for his purity, blessed for his zealous persecution of those he considered enemies of the faith. But then something came over him. When he was at his proudest and most righteous, he met the spirit of Christ.
What he had once considered precious now seemed like junk to Paul. The things he had considered most important seemed trivial, and the values he had tried to live by seemed hollow and worthless. “Whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him….”
Whether it was lightning strike or a bolt from heaven, the voice of Jesus or the hospitality he received from the people who should have hated him, Paul met God in a wild unpredictable grace-filled way, a way that would lead him to radically rework his ideas and rethink his life and re-order his values.
It happens to a lot of us, major turns in life that launch us in new directions. Not just new directions—we find we must rethink, re-conceive everything, from the ground up. The old things no longer seem important, in light of the new thing God is doing. The old values seem shallow, and cruel. The old priorities seem unrecognizable. The old sense of blessing seems narrow and heartless. The old dogmas and doctrines seem too narrow and rigid. Because in the new light, a more compassionate, loving way opens up in front of us.
God has been doing this new thing for a long, long time, starting it up amid the old reality of exile, of oppression, of self-satisfaction, of separation. Earlier we shared words that come to us from even earlier than Paul, centuries earlier, the time around when Israel was in captivity in Babylon. A prophet writing in the name of Isaiah, wrote these words, speaking as a channel for God. “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing: now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
Sometime or another we arrive at a crossroads spiritually, each of us our very own crossroads. From the outside looking in, it may look like we have it all together. We can be quite wealthy, on the outside, and walking in an interior wasteland. We may be the most pious and holy seeming of preachers, and in our heart of hearts we wonder what is missing. We may be the most moral and even moralistic of leaders in our community, and yet down deep we need transformation.
What we need is a moment of grace—something that doesn’t necessarily come in one ahah! Sometimes it sneaks up on us quietly over days or months. But quick or slow, in a flash or by gradual recognition, we meet the powerful new thing that God is doing, the fresh unpredictable blessing that God is pouring out among humanity, is pouring out on all creation.
Discover the God of the wild things, loose in the world, turning it all around!
You and I are living in a time when the world has been getting more dogmatic not less. More stuck not less. Sometimes, sometimes God can come along into our lives, with a word of truth and clarity, with a word that says no, and a word that says yes. It is a word that says no to the old safe assumptions, a word that says yes to the dynamic of love, to the power of deliverance. Whether it is through some vision of Christ so powerful it brings us low, or a walk in the snowy woods where some wild bird breaks through our worry, grace gives us these moments, these life episodes, when we discover our values are running backwards and our hopes are springing up. We find our hearts coming alive, despite the most desperate attempts we might make to shut them down.
There is a path that leads
away from where my home is
long and winding
steep in places
and wide in others.
Yes, and comes a place
that it looks not
like a path at all.
I have walked this trail
on dusty ground
where only hungry people dwell
and found its way again
in green hills where
crystal waters flow
then lost its track until
at last
in city streets I found a trace
of grace and suffering and love
that surely said that here once more
did wind the way that
long ago you trod.
And tho' not home
this path is better yet than
house or hearth to keep the soul
in time with the step
of pilgrimage
to the holy place
from whence you call.
The things we once considered precious are turned to dust, and the things we considered worthless are giving forth fruit. It can happen when you are eight, it can happen when you are eighty, or it can happen any time in between. It can happen once like a thunderclap, or it can happen over and over again, like snow in Schenectady. Yes, it can happen even in April. There is a power that can turn the easy assumptions, the safe assurance of (self) righteousness, turning these lives of ours, this old world of ours around.
May God open us up as we face the prejudices of our hearts and the internalized assumptions of a mechanized and insular world. May God open us up, as we face situations where we are asked to cast stones and stand in judgment. May God open us up, as we see children play, or as we hear some snatch of poetry. May God open us up, as we find justice coming down like a rolling river bringing life to the dry desert. May God open us up, as we sense love pouring down all around us. May God open us up, as we stand trembling in the presence of a power higher and wider, deeper and more loving than all that old thing.
The God of the wild things, the Uncivilized; God of the Lover, the Seer, the Child: God is doing a new thing. And it is just beginning to happen.