June 12th/Pentecost Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
June 12, 2011
Sermon—“God’s Swirling Spirit”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Pentecost; Based on: Acts 2:1-21

The Rev. Bob Marrone, a classmate of mine at Andover Newton Theological School, and pastor of the First Congregational Church of Monson, Massachusetts which lost its steeple in last week’s devastating tornado, was interviewed in the aftermath of the storms by the Boston Globe, as saying: “I’m confident that we will see bold new things that will come out of this.” In the article he then goes on to suggest that he hopes the church will use the shattered wood of their steeple to create a cross or a Christmas manger for the church. (1)

My good friend, Rev. Ian Lynch, pastor of the First Congregational Church in nearby Brimfield, Mass.—another community hit hard, though their church was spared damage—had this to say about his church’s response in a blog post he wrote: “When the decision was made to open the church to serve food and become a hub for coordinating volunteer efforts, I had no doubt that the community would respond. I’ve seen the divine spark fanned into a powerful fire of the human spirit plenty of times before. I knew that God was present in the people of our church and beyond, so I knew that all we had to do was open the door. The massive flow of donations and volunteers quickly confirmed my faith in the people and the God they serve.” (2)

The Rev. Jim Antal, Minister and President of the Massachusetts Conference, United Church of Christ, responded to the tragedy with these words: “I find strength, candor, perspective and hope in the words of Psalm 46” (3) —a Psalm which begins: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we should not fear.”

And then, closer to home, Rev. Sylvia Stocker, pastor of the Unitarian Universalist Church in Brunswick that was nearly demolished by a fire early on Monday morning, was quoted as saying: “I’m determined we’re going to have church Sunday somewhere in Brunswick.” (4)

With such difficult stories dominating the news of late, it has led me to wonder how people of faith can be so unwaveringly united in their confidence in the wake of tragedy, heartache, and devastation. With questions about the resources to rebuild, the whereabouts of loved ones, and the uncertainty of employment and community viability, how can people be so certainly optimistic and hopeful when it comes to monumental questions of faith like this? Well, it’s Pentecost Sunday, so let’s see if the insightful winds of the Spirit might blow some enlightenment into this place as we turn our attention to that Acts lesson we read a moment ago.

Now, I wonder if this morning’s lesson is a familiar one to you. Surpassed only by Christmas and Easter, Pentecost is one of the biggest liturgical days in the life of the church—yet one, because it has no secular foothold, that gains comparatively little attention. As such, I would guess that the story we just read is a little less familiar than the scene of Mary racing from the tomb on Easter morning, or of the shepherds quaking at the sight of the angels on the night Jesus was born.

So allow me to offer some background. “The Feast of Pentecost, or Weeks, as it is known in the Old Testament, marked the end of the celebration of the spring harvest, a liturgical cycle that began at Passover and during which devout Israelite families praised God for God’s grace and bounty. It also was the beginning of a period, lasting until the autumnal Festival of Booths (or Tabernacles), in which the first fruits of the field were sacrificed to [God].” (5)

Thus, it is for this festival that the disciples have gathered—perhaps as many as 120 of them, as the followers were numbered in Acts 1:15—all together working to fulfill Jesus’ mission and ministry. Yet understand that although this was a festival—traditionally a joyful time in the life of the Jewish people—I imagine a somewhat mournful crowd here.

After all, their leader, Jesus, has died. They are now stuck with the responsibility of living out Jesus’ message on their own. Not to mention, there are fears of further persecutions happening—as Stephen will become the unfortunate victim of in just a few chapters. So I could see the disciples gathered together, observing the festival as they were supposed to be doing, yet very much just going through the motions.

Now mind you, they may not have had their houses of worship destroyed by a tornado or fire, but I would bet the feelings of fear, uncertainty and helplessness were very much the same.

And then it happens. While they are all together, a sound like the rush of a violent wind came in and filled the place where they were sitting. God’s Spirit began to swirl. Then, divided tongues, as of fire, appeared and rested on each of them.

It’s a scene that is significant for two reasons. First, given “that elsewhere in Scripture fire is associated with divine presence or purification,” (6) what was happening here really could be called a close encounter of the divine kind. And second, that divine encounter is indiscriminate; it’s “an outpouring of God’s energy that touches every life present.” (7)

But interestingly, “not everyone responded to the winds and fires of new life . . . . in positive ways.” (8) Some mocked—thinking that others had had a little too much wine. This leads Peter to preach what some have called the very first Christian sermon. He takes a passage from the prophet Joel—who was talking about an apocalyptic, end-of-the-world scene—and modifies that to suggest that it is referring to the gifts, and the comforting and hopeful presence, that God’s Spirit has graced them with now.

And as such, I believe that this passage is one of the reasons why my colleagues, and people of faith in general, can be so certain and confident in times of trial—because just as God reached out to those struggling disciples, Jesus’ promise is that God will reach out to us as well—through God’s swirling Spirit—to bestow comfort, hope, and the gifts we need to keep on keeping on when we need God the most. And I believe that happens in two ways.

The first is through those inexplicable, miraculous moments that can only be attributed to God. My colleague Ian in Brimfield shares the following: “But there have also been tales of the miraculous that are jaw-dropping, like the fact that Becky was able to celebrate her birthday today by worshiping with us before helping a family pick through the rubble of what used to be their house. I made it clear in a public proclamation that God has plans for Becky. How could I be so sure? The house that is nothing but debris today was on top of Becky’s car on Wednesday. She was rushing to get home when the tornado hit dropping every tree in the area along with ripping this house off its foundation. Photographs after the fact show that the only section of roof on Becky's car not crushed down to the seats is the place where she sat behind the wheel!” (9) How can that be labeled as anything but miraculous?

And then there is the other way—through each one of us as we act as God’s hands and feet on earth. When asked where God was in the midst of the tornado, my colleague Bob in Monson responded: “God . . . . has been with all the people who went out and checked on their neighbors to make sure their neighbors were safe.” (10) God’s swirling Spirit, present in the caring and concerned.

This, my friends, is why people of faith can be so confident at times like these—because we have a history of God showing up in these ways—even and most especially when—times are the hardest for us, giving us what we need to get through.

It’s true, isn’t it? Just look at your own lives; you must have some personal experiences that testify to this as well, right? Think of those difficult roads you’ve had to travel. Think of those times of trial and tribulation. Think of those moments of fear and uncertainty. Now, with a bit of distance between you and those moments, you’re probably able to see that something new, or hopeful, has been birthed from those times. And certainly that was the case for those first disciples, which is why Pentecost is, accurately, labeled as a birthday. For today is the day we celebrate that God’s Pentecostal Spirit has a history of showing up and birthing hope and new life, when we need it the most.

It’s an action of the Spirit that has been described in this way: “Pentecost is the moment when gestation ceases and birthing occurs. Thus, it is both an end and a beginning, the leaving behind of that which is past, the launching forth into that which is only now beginning to be. Pentecost therefore is not a time of completion. It is a moving forward into new dimensions of being, whose basic forms are clear, but whose fulfillment has yet to be realized.” (11)

That certainly sounds like it could refer to those quotes we started the sermon off with, doesn’t it? We will rebuild. We’ll have church in Brunswick on Sunday, I just don’t know where yet. Perhaps the steeple can be resurrected into a cross. It’s the leaving behind of that which is past and the launching forth of that which is only now beginning to be—all courtesy of the Holy Spirit, which is promised to be with and to abide with each and every one of us.

Given this, I guess my message to you today is two-fold. If you find yourself in the midst of one of life’s challenges—whether it’s graduation into an uncertain job market, the loss of a job and the uncertainty surrounding your financial situation, an impending diagnosis that doesn’t look promising, the loss of a life partner, or a tornado ravaged home—place your hope in God. Trust that when the chips are down and times are tough, that’s when God is most present with you.

Now it may well be that you are not be able to discern such a presence at the moment. In fact, you may be angrily yelling at God, wondering why God’s not here. That’s okay. Just do yourself a favor and listen to these stories of hope—these stories of the ongoing, sustaining, uplifting presence of the Holy Spirit. Listen to them and be buoyed by them—trusting that you will feel that Spirit too. Trust it, because even though you may not be able to see where the Spirit is working now—and it may be some time before you’re able to tell—trust that someday you’ll be able to look back and see that this may be the moment in your life when God was the most active.

But then, if you find that you’re not in one of those moments. Perhaps things are settled in your life, those transitory moments are at a minimum, or you’re here to joyously celebrate Nolan’s baptism, and all seems right in the world. If that’s the case, first of all give thanks—because we all know how precious such moments can be.

But then look around you. Look at the faces beside you here today. Look at the faces on the street, in your neighborhood, at work. Listen to the prayers that were offered here this morning. In so looking and listening, pay attention, because I firmly believe that God’s Spirit is swirling; it is swirling and ready to carry you forward to become the hope, the love, the answer to a prayer that another is so desperately searching for—so long as you’re ready to rely on Gods’ guidance and direction, and are willing to ride on the wings of God’s Spirit.

May it be so. And may God’s swirling Spirit carry you—as it did to those disciples—to places and into new possibilities, that you never dreamed possible. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. Taken from: http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2011/06/06/the_steeple_may_be_gone_but_this_church_is_unbroken/?page=2.
2. Taken from: http://networkedblogs.com/iLiEt.
3. Taken from: http://macucc.org/blogs/detail/37.
4. Taken from: http://www.sunjournal.com/state/story/1041875.
5. Walter Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching, A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV—Year A (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 329.
6. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season after Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16) (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011), 19.
7. Brueggemann, 330.
8. Ibid.
9. Taken from: http://networkedblogs.com/iLiEt.
10. Taken from: http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2011/06/in_monson_a_tow.html?p1=News_links.
11. Brueggemann, 329.

June 5th Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
June 5, 2011
Sermon—“όμοθυμάδόν”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Easter VII; Based on: Acts 1:6-14 & John 17:1-11

After living a full life, Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter died. When he got to heaven God was showing him around. After looking at many of the sights, they came upon a modest house with a faded Yankees flag in the window. “This house is yours for eternity,” God said to Jeter. “And understand that this is very special. Not everyone gets a house up here.”

Jeter, not surprisingly, did feel special as he looked at his house. Yet on his way up to the porch, he noticed another house around the corner. It was a beautiful, three-story mansion with a bright red and blue sidewalk. There was a 50-foot flagpole with a Red Sox flag flying on it in the side yard and a Red Sox logo on every window. In front of the house, just beside the walkway, there was a sign that read: “Welcome to Red Sox Nation.”

Jeter looked at God and said, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I have a question. I have three World Series rings, I have won more awards than I can remember, and I went down in Yankees’ history as the greatest short stop to ever play.”

“So what do you want to know, Derek,” God replied.

“Well, I’d like to know why David Ortiz gets a better house in heaven than I do?” Upon hearing Jeter’s question God began to chuckle. “You don’t understand,” God replied, still laughing, “that’s not David’s house. That’s mine!”

Nothing like a little Red Sox-Yankees humor to get us going this morning! Yet I don’t offer it just to poke fun at our Yankee fan friends (although that may have been part of the reason!), but rather because it paints a picture of God that I think most of us believe is pretty fictitious. Although I used to joke—before the Red Sox won the World Series—that God had to be a Red Sox fan, because God understands suffering, the truth is that I—along with most people—don’t really believe that God has a rooting interest for one team over another, or better put, some people over others.

But what if I was to say that today’s lesson from John might call that assumption into question? Well, you’ll recall that John’s lesson comes just after the Farewell Discourse—the time in John’s gospel where Jesus is trying to impart as much information as he can to his disciples—has just finished. As such, Jesus has turned to God in prayer in what is commonly called the High Priestly Prayer. We only read part of that prayer this morning, but the part we read can be broken down into two sections.

In the first five verses Jesus prays for himself—not self-centeredly, mind you—but so that he might be glorified by God in order to help the disciples believe. Then Jesus turns the prayer around and prays specifically for his disciples.

While that may seem like a good thing to do, the specificity of this prayer has actually led some to question Jesus’ motives, as they’ve wondered why Jesus doesn’t pray for everyone here—speculating that this is “the fostering of a dangerous elitism among Christians,” (1) in thinking that Jesus prefers one group over others. But really that doesn’t seem to be Jesus’ intention here. Rather what seems to be happening is that Jesus recognizes the unique challenge that the disciples have before them, and as such, “petition[s] that [God] protect the church in its responsibility of being a distinctive, called out community.” (2)

So alas, it really isn’t Jesus picking sides—which is to say God probably isn’t just a Red Sox fan after all; rather, this lesson is an example of Jesus praying on behalf of the disciples. Yet that, in and of itself, says something significant.

For what we see here is that Jesus is concerned for his disciples. He seems to understand that he has given them a lot of responsibility, and the road ahead of them—once he has died—is not going to be an easy one. So he prays for the disciples. He prays that God might protect them, and then he prays the words that appear on the bottom of the United Church of Christ’s logo: “that they may all be one.” It’s a remarkable prayer, really, as Jesus asks that his followers be united as one in the same way that he and God are united as one.

And if we fast forward to the Acts lesson we read a moment ago, we’ll see that that actually becomes the case. For in the end of that Acts lesson we find the Greek word which serves as the title for this morning’s sermon. Anyone want to take a guess at what it means? Well, transliterated the word is homothymadon. It’s a word that “appears only one time in the New Testament outside of Acts . . . . [But] In Acts . . . . Luke uses it ten times. It is an adverb/adjective that describes a group acting/existing together in unanimity.” (3) Basically it means acting “with one mind.” (4)

And this word—used throughout the book of Acts—is how Luke described the early church. They were acting with one mind in devoting themselves to prayer. And as such it provides an amazing look at the early church—as a group united, with one mind, in prayer for each other and for the world.

It’s too bad that as we fast forward to the year 2011 that “It would appear that disunity is the defining notion in this church of ours,” (5) not homothymadon. For it would be hard to say that we are all one, or that we are acting with one mind, as we look at what the church has become.

And yet this, despite the fact that inherent in the last prayer that Jesus offered for those who would carry on the work of the church is: that they may all be one—that homothymadon might characterize who we are and what we are doing as the ones to carry on Jesus’ message and ministry.

As such, the question for us needs to be: how do we get there? How do we get away from the disunity—and sometimes even animosity—that separates us as people of faith from one another? Would it make any difference, one author ponders “how [our] self-definition would be changed if [we] took as [our] beginning point, ‘We are a community for whom Jesus prays’?” (6)

Well I, for one, think it would; because it shows that Jesus has a rooting interest for us—not one group over another mind you—not even one religion over another—but for all of us to figure this out together. Jesus has a rooting interest for us to figure out how to make homothymadon a reality. And in so rooting—in so praying for us—I think Jesus has shown us how to make it happen: prayer.

After all, Jesus prayed that we might all be one. The first Christian community used prayer to unite itself as it sought to do God’s work. As such, it seems to me that that’s where we need to start. If we want unity among our disparate bodies, if we want peace and understanding to ultimately reign, then I think we’d do well to start with prayer: prayer for ourselves and prayer for each other; beautiful prayers of thanksgiving eloquently prayed and heart-wrenching prayers of desperation uttered beside tornado ravaged homes; prayer in voice, incarnated prayer in deed, and prayers too fragile for the spoken word; prayers said in harmony with sisters and brothers of all faith persuasions.

My friends, if we can start here, if we can look past the petty theological differences that have divided us for so long and stand shoulder to shoulder with sisters and brothers in faith in this one area, then, I believe, we will begin to see each other as people of God—who are praying, with different words, in different languages, in different ways, under the guise of different religions—to the same God that we are. And that, I believe, is the first step towards making homothymadon a reality.

And then, if we remember that prayer is as much about—actually, perhaps even more about—listening, than it is about talking, then as we spend time in prayer, God’s still speaking voice might yet reveal how each one of us can take the next step towards realizing homothymadon here in 2011.

Too simple? Too pie in the sky? Too optimistic? Well, you’re talking to a glass-is-half-full kind of guy, and from where I’m standing, prayer has the power to fill all our cups to overflowing. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. Walter Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching, A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV—Year A (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 326.
2. Ibid., 327.
3. O. Wesley Allen, Jr., “Seventh Sunday of Easter,” in New Proclamation, Year A, 2008, Easter to Christ the King, Ed. David B. Lott (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 60.
4. Geoffrey W. Bromiley, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Abridged in One Volume (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 1985), 684.
5. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 541.
6. Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, Ed. Leander E. Keck, et al (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 798.

May 29th Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
May 29, 2011
Sermon—“A big enough God?”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Easter VI; Based on: Acts 17:22-31 & 1 Peter 3:13-22

So Oprah Winfrey’s show came to an end this week. Did anyone watch? I confess that I’m not an Oprah watcher, though I know that she has done a lot of good and charitable work through her show, and I certainly applaud her for that. I also know that she’s not unwilling to put people on the spot, as she did a few years ago with author James Frey.

You might recall that Frey penned a book entitled A Million Little Pieces which was touted as his personal memoir of his time in a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. When it was discovered that this was actually Frey’s fictitious creation, Oprah called him on the carpet because his book was one of her book club’s selections.

Despite this controversy, I can attest that it is an engaging read—as I’m working through it right now—and I wanted to share a little of his book with you this morning. The passage I’m going to read is from a time when the novel’s protagonist James is enjoying a moment of calm—a rarity in his rehab process:

“If there is anything I see it is this. The calm. If there is God or something Higher for me it is this. The calm. If there is something that will hold me when I need to hold it is this the calm. There is no anger, no rage, no Fury. There is no want no need no desire. There is no hatred no shame no regret. There is no grief, no sadness, no depression. There is no fear. Absolutely no fear. When one lives without fear, one cannot be broken. When one lives with fear one is broken before one begins to live. The calm I feel right now. What is it?

I am lost in the Woods but still on a Trail. I am seeking that which I have but will lose again. I have sought it before as a cure for the disease of myself. In a Church as a Child it did not come. I held my Parents’ hands and I felt nothing. Love only brought me loneliness and horror. In bottles and pipes I found emptiness and pain. At twenty-two after Jail and bond calm did not come. I have it now. Without God. I have it now.

The Wood fades into brittle brown grass and a slope carries me to a point where I can see all that surrounds me. I can see trees and Woods and Swamps and Lakes and birds and animals and men and women and the Buildings of the Clinic and the Sky and whatever is beyond the Sky. I can hear the wind and the water and the cries of flying birds and the screams of the Patients locked down and detoxifying. I can feel them and I can feel myself. I can feel the life in them and the life around me. I can feel it in the beating calm of my heart. It is not God and it is not something Higher. This feeling of calm is of me, within me, from me and created by me. It is not God. It is not something Higher.” (1)

Clearly these are words that speak of a powerful experience in nature—one that I’m sure many of us have had before. And believe it or not, they are words that connect, very much, with the ones written in the book of Acts—which we read a moment ago—recounting Paul’s time preaching to the people in Athens.

Now it must be said that the city of Athens was an interesting one in Jesus’ day. It was “a center of intellectual pursuits . . . . [the people] loved learning, and this insatiable desire drove their waking hours.” (2) Yet even though religion was among the topics that the Athenians conversed about, it must be said that the gods they worshiped “were often relegated to the sidelines of philosophical inquiry as being all but irrelevant.” (3)

But remember that these were intelligent folks in Athens, so they were smart enough to cover all their bases. Thus we learn from our Acts lesson that in front of the Areopagus—which is both the name of a judicial body in Athens and the name of the hill upon which that body met—there was an altar erected to “an unknown god,” “just in case they had missed a god in the creation of their pantheon of deities.” (4) Not a bad move, you might say, for if their intellectual pursuits revealed to them that there was a God that they should be worshiping, then this altar would hopefully cover them.

And so it is in this place that Paul addresses the people of Athens. Yet it doesn’t sound like Paul, does it? There’s no head-spinning, convoluted theological treatise here. “Rather, what is striking about Paul’s “sermon” is how little it sounds like a sermon or even like the writings we typically attribute to Paul. It is not until the very last verse that Paul even hints at the person and work of Jesus, and even then he gives no name.” (5)

So why is this, we might ask? Why does Paul not sound like Paul? Is he nervous? Is he green-behind-the-ears and still getting used to this preaching thing? Well, I actually think he’s up to something else here. I think, given the secular nature of Athens, that he’s meeting people where they are. He’s not talking in a religious language that would be foreign to them. He’s talking in the vernacular. He even quotes from two of their poets Epimenides and Aratus during his speech—all in an attempt, I believe, to get them to actually listen to what he has to say.

And it should be noted that even though “Paul does not cite Scripture and [he] uses language suitable for this academic setting and secular audience, the content . . . . is thoroughly biblical.” (6) For his purpose is to tell the people about God. It’s to tell the people that the unknown god that they have built this altar to is, in fact, the God that the Jewish people worship, the God that became human in the form of Jesus Christ, the God that is big enough to encompass all of their other gods—known and unknown.

So Paul’s job is to describe God to the people of Athens and then to call them to repent and believe in this God. In short, his work here is to evangelize them—for that was the primary role of the leaders in the early church as they sought to gain support for this Jesus movement. And Paul shows that there are a couple of ways to do that. One is to expect people to meet you where you are, and the other is to go and meet the people where they are. In this case, clearly, he opts for the latter.

And he does this because he makes the claim—in a phrase that has been hanging with me all week—that people “grope for God.” And I believe that to be the case. I believe that—even today—people are groping, looking, searching for God; but because they already have a fixed idea in their head of who God is, they often miss out on their chance to find God.

That’s what Paul was trying to say to the people of Athens. He was saying, “you see all these things that you have, the world and everything in it, the breath in your bodies, that’s from God.” It was clear to him that the Athenians didn’t quite get how God was working in their lives—their understanding of God wasn’t quite big enough, you might say.

And this is exactly where James, in the book we began with this morning, finds himself. While outside at rehab James has a feeling of peace come over him that he’s convinced isn’t from God. Why? Well, because when he was a child in church he didn’t feel such a presence from God, so he’s sure that such a feeling can’t be from God now. Now, I would argue that James’ view of God needs to be enlarged—because what he was describing that day is what Celtic Christians call a “thin place”—a place where heaven and earth come together and the presence of God is unmistakable.

It’s just that James doesn’t have a place in his experience and understanding to put such a notion that God can be found outside the church, in nature, and that God can bring the peace that was so elusive for James as a child. James’ understanding of God, like the Athenians, needed to be bigger. And I’d go so far as to say that the same is true for many in society today—people miss out on connecting with God because their image of God isn’t big enough.

And that’s a lesson we’d do well to heed (even for those of us who think we understand God): we should never think that we can understand God fully and completely—for God is always bigger than we can imagine. As such, as we go forth seeking to spread the word about the God we worship—which is what this text is about—we might try to convey that very message of God’s immensity, and we might do so by meeting people where they are.

In other words, instead of thinking that we have to talk “church” with people, or have to be like some doomsday prophet on the street corner, try instead to follow the advice that our 1Peter lesson gives us. For in that lesson—if we can wade through all the really bad theology about the necessity of suffering—the author basically tells people to respond to others’ needs by doing the works of God, being mindful, all the while, of why we do them. And then it’s when people ask why we are doing what we’re doing, that we then share with them that it’s our faith that compels us to do what we do. Thus perhaps in so living and so sharing we can help the world to see that God’s love is bigger, God’s blessings are bolder, and God’s grace is broader than they have imagined.

In short, we can do this by allowing our lives and our actions to become the sermons we’re called to preach. So that when we raise our voice against injustice, stand on the side of the poor and disenfranchised, and live out the tenets of our Open and Affirming statement, people will see that we worship a God who loves and cares for all people—a bigger understanding of God’s love and inclusion than many people have.

When we donate our time and energy to help our sisters and brothers, who have been devastated by the recent tornadoes and flooding, recover and rebuild—as I sincerely hope we can get a group of us to do in the not too distant future—we’ll show people that our God is not simply about getting us to blindly adhere to a set of rules, as many believe God to be, but rather one who wants us to live out our faith in action.

When we refuse to engage in actions and dialogue that suggests that other religions are inferior, we’ll show people that our God is big enough to offer all the religions of the world a pathway to salvation.

And when we show people that we connect to God through nature, through yoga, through Buddhist meditation, through running and walking, through playing with our children in the backyard, we’ll show people that our understanding of communion with God is bigger than the limits the historic church has sought to place on God.

In short, living this way, my friends, I believe we will meet people where they are—in the real world, addressing needs and issues that are important to them. We will speak a language that they can hear, and thereby live out our experience that the strong mother God, warm father God, old aching God, young growing God, and great living God never fully known (7) —as we sang earlier today—is bigger than they have imagined.

And in so doing, we’d do well to remember how effective Paul was in gaining followers. Do you recall? Well, the text says: “When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, ‘We will hear you again about this’.” (8)

In short, Paul wasn’t wildly successful, but a few were interested enough to learn some more. Should our results be the same, I’d say we’d be doing just fine. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. James Frey, A Million Little Pieces (New York: Anchor Books, 2003), 230.
2. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 472.
3. Walter Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching, A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV—Year A (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 302.
4. Bartlett and Taylor, 472.
5. The Clergy Journal, January 2008, Volume LXXXIV, Number 3 (Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions Inc., 2008), 33.
6. Robert W. Wall, “The Acts of the Apostles,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume X, Ed. Leander E. Keck, et al (Nashville: Abingdon, 2002), 250.
7. From Brian Wren’s hymn Bring Many Names, Copyright © 1989 Hope Publishing Company.
8. Acts 17:32 (NRSV).

May 22nd Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
May 22, 2011
Sermon—“I guess we’re still here . . . .”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher
Easter V; Based on: John 14:1-14

So, I guess we’re still here, huh? Anyone notice anything funny happening last night? And I don’t mean people laying out sets of clothes on the roadside as was being suggested on Facebook!

Well, as far as I know there were no earthquakes. No cars mysteriously abandoned on the highway. No bodies rising upward into the sky like a Macy’s Thanksgiving parade balloon gone awry. And I’m pretty sure that Harold Camping’s website donation page is still open for business. So I guess we’re still here for a little while longer, which must mean that the rapture didn’t occur. Here’s hoping none of you went out on shopping spree yesterday!

Taken from the obscure scripture verse 1 Thessalonians 4:17, the rapture, as you may know, refers to what some believe Jesus’ return to the earth will look like—a time when worthy souls will literally be hoisted up into the air to spend eternity with God, while others will be left behind here on earth to face a very dire and difficult future.

The prediction, as described by an NPR news report, was that: “On May 21, “starting in the Pacific Rim at around the 6 p.m. local time hour, in each time zone, there [would] be a great earthquake, such as has never been in the history of the Earth,” . . . . . The true Christian believers . . . . [would] be “raptured”: [They’d] fly upward to heaven.” (1)

Such scenarios have actually been predicted to occur on many different dates throughout history, with a man by the name of Harold Camping—president of Family Radio—recently gaining national attention for this most recent prediction. Incidentally, this follows Camping’s prediction of a rapture in 1994, which obviously didn’t happen—he says due to a mathematical miscalculation.

So why May 21st? Well, in Camping’s view it’s because yesterday was, supposedly, 7,000 years to the day from when God shut the door on Noah’s ark. Camping’s formula for figuring this out is interesting, to say the least, and way more complicated than I want to give time or breath to today. But nonetheless, he believes that last night was the beginning of the end of the world, which will ultimately happen on October 21, 2011. Here’s how one website describes the events that last night was supposed to kick off in more detail:

“By God’s grace and tremendous mercy, He is giving us advanced warning as to what He is about to do. On Judgment Day, May 21st, 2011, this 5-month period of horrible torment will begin for all the inhabitants of the earth. It will be on May 21st that God will raise up all the dead that have ever died from their graves. Earthquakes will ravage the whole world as the earth will no longer conceal its dead. People who died as saved individuals will experience the resurrection of their bodies and immediately leave this world to forever be with the Lord. Those who died unsaved will be raised up as well, but only to have their lifeless bodies scattered about the face of all the earth. Death will be everywhere.” (2)

Cheery and uplifting (bad pun, I know), isn’t it? But I actually don’t bring this up this morning to be funny. For, even though Matthew 24:36 says plainly that we cannot know when Jesus will return to the earth, believe it or not, “A 2004 Newsweek poll revealed that 55 percent of Americans believe in the Rapture.” Not only that, but “books like the “Left Behind” series [which talk about what those left behind after the rapture undergo in graphic detail, have] sold more than 60 million copies.” (3) Which means that, as Christians, we’d do well to have an understanding of what everyone is talking about—and John’s gospel lesson, that we read a moment ago—is a perfect place to start.

Now, although John’s motive in writing his gospel was not to share the events of Jesus’ life in chronological order, most scholars do believe that chapter 14 represents a shift in John’s gospel. For after describing the scene of washing the disciples’ feet—as a part of Jesus’ final meal with the disciples—John relays three chapters worth of Jesus’ teachings known as the “Farewell Discourse”—teachings that Jesus wants to be sure to share with his disciples before he leaves them at the time of his death, which is soon at hand.

So our text, then, is set during a time when the disciples are struggling to understand what Jesus is telling them about having to die. Here’s how one author describes their mindset: “The disciples who gather with Jesus for the farewell meal certainly have a measure of heartburn. Their hearts and torn and disquieted as they hear Jesus say a long good-bye. They have been following Jesus since he began his public ministry, but they are, at best, adolescent in their understanding of his message, vision, and mission.” (4)

And it’s to such a struggling band of disciples that Jesus tells them not to be troubled or to be afraid. In a sense, “Jesus means to reassure his disciples that his death is not the end but the beginning of the “way,” whose destination is the room he is making for them in God.” (5) Such is the reason why those opening verses are often read at funerals, because they show the disciples that even though Jesus is about to die, death is not the end for him—nor is it the end for any of us.

But as is so often the case, the disciples don’t really get what Jesus is saying. So when Jesus says that they know “the way” to the place that he is going, they respond that they do not. This, then, launches Jesus into that oft repeated—and I would dare say, favored verse among Christians like Harold Camping: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” It’s a verse that needs quite a bit of unpacking.

For when Jesus says “the way” here, it really is “a metaphor to describe a life lived either in accordance with the law or the will and desire of God.” (6) Now you’ll notice that there’s nothing there about proper belief or being saved or guaranteeing your seat in the rapture bus—it’s about action. Might it be, then, that when Jesus says that no one comes to God but through him, that he’s really saying that no one comes to God unless they live a life like Jesus’? Eugene Peterson’s translation of this text is helpful here, as he translates this as Jesus is “the Road” (7) —in other words a path of life to follow. This, then, removes this text from its favored place “as a litmus text for Christian faith” (8) by gauging proper belief, as so many are wont to use it, and places it as a text that is all about living the life to which Jesus has called us.

And yet, while that redeems the text a little, it still can become problematic if we’re not clear that Jesus’ words here are “not . . . . the sweeping claim of a major world religion, but [rather, they are] the conviction of a religious minority in the ancient Mediterranean world.” (9) As one author puts it: “It is a dangerous and destructive anachronism to cite [this text] as the final arbiter of the relative merits of different religions’ experiences and understandings of God. The Fourth Gospel is not concerned with the fate, for example, of Muslims, Hindus, or Buddhists, nor with the superiority or inferiority of Judaism and Christianity as they are configured in the modern world.” (10)

Rather, what we have here is a gospel writer looking to gain support for this fledgling Jesus movement within Judaism, and the way John tries to gain support for that is by saying that emulating Jesus’ life is a way to reach God. Makes sense, right? The problem comes when we put words in Jesus’ mouth to say that he is making this a once-and-for-all declaration that he is only way to God, and that those who don’t believe will suffer eternal damnation. For when we do that, we turn “these words into a weapon with which to bludgeon [our] opponents into theological submission.” (11) In a sense, we reincarnate that Acts lesson of the stoning of Stephen, by using our scriptures to harm and to hurt instead of how they were intended: to help and to heal.

And that’s what, I believe, Harold Camping is doing with his rapture preaching. He’s using the Bible as a weapon—a weapon to inflict fear and pain and a weapon to divide. And yet, this is clearly is not how Jesus intended his words; rather, I would say that’s how the church has chosen to interpret Jesus’ words, turning them into the weapon they are today.

Which then begs the question, which you’ve probably all been thinking: why should we care? Why should we give voice and breath to these radical and harmful teachings? Shouldn’t we just ignore them altogether?

Well, I actually don’t think we can turn a blind eye to all this, for a few reasons. First, I think such a lesson offers a cautionary reminder that both the scriptures and our beliefs can be as harmful as they are helpful. For just as Camping and company are hurting people—who have liquidated bank accounts and killed their pets to get ready—by suggesting that they are going to be damned to eternal punishment if they don’t shape up and believe, if we’re not careful, our beliefs—even the Open and Affirming statement we adopted last week—can be used for harm and not good.

For anytime that we believe we are entirely in the right—and judge others as inferior because they don’t believe the same way we do—we are treading on some very tenuous ground and need to watch where we’re headed. After all, if Jesus’ words are all about proper action, then I’d say that treating others as inferior stands contrary to Jesus’ words.

Second, such beliefs paint a really bad picture of Christianity. They suggest that Christianity is, first and foremost, about believing properly in order to secure your reward in heaven—and that if you don’t believe correctly, you’re automatically excluded from the party. Many of us disagree with and dislike this kind of thinking and theology, and yet many people believe this is precisely what the church is all about. Being able to refute such theology enables us to show people that we believe in, and practice, a different kind of Christianity. But it takes us opening our mouths, and living our lives in such a way that we are courageous enough to demonstrate that.

And finally, I think we need to pay attention to the idea of Jesus’ return because it is scriptural. There are multiple passages in our Bible that suggest that Jesus is going to return—yet we need not let the one “rapture text” delude us into believing that this is the way it’s going to happen, with Jesus returning as some Rambo-like Savior in a wild fit of vengeance and violence.

Rather, I think we need to look seriously at the fact that Jesus may have already come—in human form or in some other manner—and we’ve missed him. Maybe we’ve even killed him or crucified him for his radical beliefs again, as we have done with so many leaders and prophetic voices over the centuries.

Or maybe we need to listen to what Jesus is also saying in this text: “Do you not believe that I am in [God] and [God] is in me?” In other words, God was a part of Jesus, as a fully human being. And if God was a part of Jesus as a fully human being, then doesn’t that mean that God is a part of us? And if God is a part of us, it seems to me that we ought to be living our lives in such a way that we realize that Jesus returns to our lives everyday in the myriad of faces we meet.

Now I don’t know about you, but for me, that’s more of an incentive to get to work than even the scariest rapture predictions. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. Taken from: http://www.npr.org/2011/05/07/136053462/is-the-end-nigh-well-know-soon-enough.
2. Taken from: http://www.ebiblefellowship.com/outreach/tracts/may21/.
3. Taken from: http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2011/05/17/my-take-may-21st-doomsday-movement-harms-christianity/.
4. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 466.
5. Ibid., 467.
6. Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,’” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, Ed. Leander E. Keck, et al (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), 742.
7. Eugene H. Peterson, The Message, (Colorado Springs, Colorad0: NavPress, 2002), 1950.
8. O’Day, 743.
9. Ibid., 744.
10. Ibid., 744-745.
11. Ibid., 743.

May 15th Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
May 15, 2011
Sermon—“Open and Affirming”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Easter IV; Based on: John 10:1-10

It is our practice here in this church, a few times each year, to invite the Church School children and teachers to come back into worship, after leaving for Church School, so that we, as a congregation, can celebrate communion together. When we did this a couple of weeks ago, it was fun to watch the kids come in—looking around as if they were doing something a little mischievous in getting to see what we grown-ups do while they are usually in Church School.

Then as the elements were served it was a joy to watch the eager and expectant eyes follow the bread and cups as they made their way towards the pews where the children sat. And then, I couldn’t help but smile as Moms, Dads, and Grandparents whispered instructions to the children: “Don’t eat it yet,” I could almost hear them saying, “Rev. Jeff will tell us when we can eat and drink together.” Joyously, I had the best seat in the house to watch all of these interactions.

But that wasn’t the only thing that happened as we gathered around the table. You might recall that our youngest son Jacob—who has Down syndrome—walked up to the front of the sanctuary while all of this was happening. What you may not have seen, though, is what preceded that—Kristen and I giving each other the eye: “Is it okay that he comes up front?” “Yes, of course it is.” All of that accomplished with a few raised eyebrows and subtle head nods.

So Jacob, just finding his walking legs, did make his way down front. He sat right at the foot of the table, resting his head on the step, as we shared the bread and cup. And then, when we broke into song, I bent down, picked Jacob up, held him as we sang the last hymn together, and then allowed him to greet some of you at the door before Kristen took him back over to the Parish House following worship.

Many of you afterwards said that you were touched by the scene—of Dad and son standing in front of the church, singing together. And I thank you for those words, but more than that, for allowing that to happen. It was one of the most meaningful communion services I have presided over here in the church. But it’s one that—if we were in a different church—may never have had the opportunity to happen. And the reason why has everything to do with that convoluted text we read from John’s gospel just a moment ago.

Now, to say convoluted is probably to be kind to John here. For this text is full of a wealth of metaphors that is “probably due to an uneven uniting of sources.” (1) So there’s that; but if that’s not confusing enough, we also don’t know who these words are directed at. It could be the religious leaders that Jesus was criticizing in the chapter prior to this, it could be the disciples, or it could be that “John purposefully left the identity of the hearers unclear.” (2)

That last possibility speaks to me, because, like so much of the Bible, it allows these stories and teachings to take on a timeless quality such that they can pertain to us today. The problem with that is, however, that these timeless words have been misinterpreted countless times.

You see, while we can debate what the metaphors mean in this text, Jesus leaves no doubt in saying that he is the gate. So that’s the metaphor I’d like to focus on here this morning. Reading the text as such, one author writes: “Gate brings to mind something that separates those on the inside from those on the outside, for purposes of protection and privilege. For two thousand years, the church’s proclamation of Jesus as the gate has served both purposes.” (3) The problem is, I think the latter of those two interpretations misses the point.

But let’s first look at the former: the gate provides protection. First century listeners would have understood that for “an enclosure for the sheep . . . . There would be one gate or entrance, usually able to be locked shut to prevent anyone coming in to steal the sheep.” (4) Thus the gate’s role was to provide protection: “Whether the thieves and bandits are Pharisees, false prophets, [or today we might say] drug dealers, or advertisers who endanger appropriate body image, Jesus’ point is clear: beware of those outside who would call you away from the gate that leads to abundant life.” (5)

As such, Jesus suggests that he is the gate that protects the sheep—acting like the shepherd of the 23rd Psalm who would lay down in front of the entrance to a cave to ensure no sheep left and no animal came from the outside to harm the sheep inside.

Okay, so far so good. The problem comes in the other way the church has interpreted this text—with the gate serving as a barrier, something to define who is privileged to enter the “flock,” if you will, and who gets shut out from it. And, to make matters worse, oftentimes the church has served as the gatekeeper, pushing people away before they even get to the gate which is intended to serve “as [an] entry point rather than [a] roadblock.” (6)

Such a theology of exclusivism, I believe, misses the point of this text and misses the overarching message of Jesus’ gospel. For Jesus’ message was never about deciding who was left out—it was always about all being welcomed into the flock so that all may benefit from the love and care of the shepherd.

Yet, that’s not the way churches have interpreted and put texts like this into practice. As such, in some places, the scene of Jacob and I at the front of the church would have been an impossibility. Now, I don’t intend this to be antagonistic, but there are some churches which—whether they say so outright or not—have very clear rules who’s in and who’s out. And a young boy finding his legs during the worship service will be viewed by many, clearly, as someone who should not be in.

Crazy, you may say. Impossible, you may think. But many of us say that from inside the gate looking out. If you’ve ever been on the outside of the gate looking in—as others of you seated here have—you’ll know that this is not only possible, it’s a reality.

With this in mind, my friends, in just a few moments we will gather together as a faith community to vote on a proposed Open and Affirming Statement. This statement is the product of two years of inquiring conversation, tearful sharing, careful Bible study, and much more. During this time as I sought to offer a pastoral ear to all of you, the most common question I heard was: “Why do we need to declare ourselves to be Open and Affirming, when we are already?”

While I have many answers for this question, let me share just a few. First, I believe firmly that people shouldn’t have to wonder whether or not they will be welcome in this place. Just the same as we say that we are a United Church of Christ congregation, we should also declare Open and Affirming plainly for all to see. For that phrase—whether you know it or not—is a catch phrase in many marginalized communities; it’s one people look for on our website before they even think about darkening our doorstep.

For too often churches throw around the word “friendly” and expect that will welcome people. Well let me tell you that it doesn’t. There are many stories of people being hurt and excluded by “friendly” churches. I’ve had people share with me horror stories of that happening—even coming to me, in private, asking if it would happen to them in this place. Saying we’re Open and Affirming means that we have done the work, given this prayerful thought, and have discerned who we are. That way no one has to wonder how they will be received when they come through that door.

Second, our children. We often talk about the fact that we have a growing Church School here. And we do. It’s a wonderful thing. But you know what? Percentages say that some of our children are gay or lesbian, some will be diagnosed as autistic, some have other differing abilities that may marginalize them from their peers. How vital is it, then, when those children are struggling in school and in life, for them to know, for certain, that they don’t need to worry about whether they’ll be accepted for who they are at their church? It might just be—and I don’t say this lightly—the difference between life and death for a young adult who has come to the end of their rope.

And third, this is an issue of justice. If there are people in this world who are not being afforded the same rights, privileges, and opportunities as others, then our faith calls us to do something about it. Declaring ourselves to be Open and Affirming does that. It says: while the rest of the world may want to treat you differently, when you come through that door on Sunday mornings, or come to one of our gatherings, we welcome you as you are—no matter who you are or where you are on this journey of life.

My friends, today we have an opportunity to put all this in writing—to declare openly what many feel is who we are and what we’re doing already. And you know what? I have to admit that this is an opportunity that has become very personal for me over the years.

When I sat down with the Search Committee that called me in 2003, I asked them whether they thought the church would be going through the Open and Affirming process some day; they said that they did. Since then I have dreamed of standing here, at the end of a process well conducted, preaching these words to you. Back then I thought I’d be doing it for you—for those of you who have been marginalized and excluded in life—because as a heterosexual, white, male, I have had little experience walking in those shoes.

But today I stand here saying that I’m preaching and voting for my family. And I would venture to guess, if we all looked at our lives, we could say the same. That’s what has become plain to me throughout this process—Open and Affirming touches all of our lives; and if you don’t think it has yet, look closer, or just wait, it will.

Personally, Jacob has changed the life of my family in such a way that I can no longer see the world the same. I now see the world through the eyes of a child with differing abilities. And as the parent of such a child, if I were church shopping, I’d want to know that he would be welcomed into the “full life, ministry, joys, and responsibilities” (7) of participation in that church, as our proposed statement says. Today we can vote on a document that, for a parent like me, would leave no doubt in my mind that that was the case.

For Open and Affirming means that we are open to, and affirming of: the little boy with Down syndrome who finds his legs during communion; the young man with Tourette’s syndrome who has unexpected outbursts during worship; the gay couple who are looking for a safe space to raise their newly adopted son; the elderly man who ambulates differently, and takes a long time to make his way to his seat; the transgendered young adult who isn’t sure that there’s a seat at the fellowship table for him anymore; the single Mom, who can barely afford to put food on the table, and realizes that it’s going to take a church to raise her child; the young adult who is thinking about taking her life, because her family won’t accept her now that she’s come out, and the countless others whose stories we will learn when they cross our life’s path.

My friends, that’s what Open and Affirming means. And when we vote today, that’s what we’ll be saying. It’s a vote that will take only a few minutes, but it’s a statement that will take a lifetime to live out, as we strive to ensure that that gate stays open, so that, “all,” as Jesus says “may have life, and have it abundantly.”

Today I’ll be voting so that Jacob—with his newly found legs—can walk through that gate alongside all of you. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. Walter Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching, A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV—Year A (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 288.
2. Scott Black Johnston, “Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year A,” in The Lectionary Commentary, The Third Readings: The Gospels, Ed. Roger E. Van Harn (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 2001), 525.
3. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 443.
4. Ibid., 445.
5. William H. Willimon, Pulpit Resource, Vol.36, No.2, Year A, April, May, June 2008 (Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc., 2008), 10.
6. The Clergy Journal, January 2008, Volume LXXXIV, Number 3 (Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc., 2008), 31.
7. Taken from the proposed Open and Affirming Statement.

May 8th Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
May 8, 2011
Sermon—“Take, Bless, Break, Give”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Easter III; Based on: Luke 24:13-35

As you all well know, it was just about three weeks ago that the 115th running of the Boston Marathon took place—a marathon that is as steeped in prestige and difficulty as it is in history and tradition. Begun in 1897, the marathon has seen many changes over the years: from a different course length, to scandals requiring more sophisticated timing techniques, to it morphing from a small local affair to the worldwide phenomenon that it is today.

And yet, even despite this, the marathon has also seen its fair share of constants over the years: from Johnny Kelly who has completed a record 61 Boston Marathons, to the raucous greeting runners are afforded by the girls of Wellesley College, to the infamous heartbreak hill, to a team of runners—that I’m not sure everyone here knows—named Rick and Dick Hoyt.

Born in 1962, Rick Hoyt—son of Dick and Judy Hoyt—was born as a quadriplegic with cerebral palsy due to oxygen deprivation at the time of his birth. Yet Rick’s physical challenges did not deter his parents. Told that he would never live a “normal” life, the Hoyts helped to push others to see that there was a person behind those physical limitations, by integrating him in public schools, teaching him the alphabet, showing others that he could learn and communicate, and even taking him sledding and swimming.

Little did they know, however, that their lives would change in 1977. Rick told his Dad that he wanted to participate in a 5 mile run to benefit a lacrosse player that had been paralyzed. Although Dick was hardly an athlete, he agreed to push his son in the race. Together the team finished all five miles, coming in second to last. But it was what Rick said to Dick after the race that changed it all. He said: “Dad, when I’m running, it feels like I’m not handicapped.”

The rest is history. Team Hoyt has competed in over 1,000 races including marathons, duathlons, triathlons, and even 6 Ironman Triathlons—that’s a 2.4 mile swim (during which time Dick pulled Rick behind him in a boat), a 112 mile bike ride, and a 26.2 mile run. (1) If you’re looking for inspiration, this team offers it in spades. They have become one of the greatest Boston Marathon traditions, and one that, perhaps, gets the largest marathon cheer every year.

Yet the reason why I bring up the Hoyts this morning is to get back to Rick’s words after that first race: “Dad, when I’m running, it feels like I’m not handicapped.” There was something about running that made Rick recognize who he truly was. Rick knew that his differing abilities didn’t define him. He clearly wasn’t differently-abled in mind or spirit—as he has shown throughout his life—just in body. But it took participating in that activity for Rick to understand, and recognize, who he was—not a person who is defined by his differing abilities, but someone who simply struggles to do what many of us take for granted.

I’d ask you to keep Rick in mind this morning—we’ll come back to him in a minute, after we travel back in time some 2,000 years to two men on a different journey to a village called Emmaus. And in so doing, we return back the first Easter again. Now, I know John says that the disciples were locked away in a room on Easter evening, but Luke tells a different story.

Now, what’s interesting about Emmaus (where the disciples were headed) is that it “was a little noted town.” (2) In fact, scholars are unable to even locate where it was. We only know, according to Luke, that it was seven miles from Jerusalem. We also don’t know why these two disciples were headed there. “They may have been going there on business, or . . . . to get away from the terrible things they had witnessed in Jerusalem.” (3) Or perhaps they were “headed back to fishing nets, tax offices, missed appointments, and merciful routine” (4) —a clear signal that this Jesus thing had failed and they were going back to life as usual.

But regardless of where they were going, or why, our story begins with them on this journey. And it’s while they’re on their way that they encounter Jesus, although they don’t know it, because Luke says that “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” This is a curious phrase that I have come to believe means that it was their pain, their grief, their sadness, and their frustration over Jesus’ death that kept them from recognizing Jesus in their midst. You know what that’s like, don’t you? When you’re mired in sadness and grief, you sometimes don’t even know your own name, let alone the identity of a stranger who greets you on the road.

Such an understanding led author Frederick Buechner to surmise that Emmaus is not a physical place, but rather, “the place we go to in order to escape—a bar, a movie, whatever it is we throw up our hands and say, ‘Let the whole damned thing go to hang. It makes no difference anyway’.” (5) So we might simply say that the disciples were headed to get away from all the grief and pain they had stood witness to in Jerusalem.

And you know what happens next. Jesus asks them what’s going on. They are shocked that he doesn’t know what has happened in Jerusalem—because everyone else seems to know. He then helps them understand the scriptures they have been taught. And then, because it’s getting late and first century hospitality would have required it, they invite him to spend the night with them. And that’s where the story changes.

It suggests that the three share a meal together, and that it’s when Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives the bread to them, that “their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.” Now why, we might ask, did these actions help the disciples finally figure out who their companion was? Well, these are actions that Jesus has done three times, according to Luke’s gospel: the first, in chapter 9, when he takes five loaves and two fish and feeds five thousand; the second, in chapter 22, when he shares the last supper; and here after he has risen from the dead. Which is to say that perhaps it took Jesus doing something that they were familiar with—something, we could say, that was a part of who he was—to enable them to finally recognize him in their midst.

And this makes sense, doesn’t it? As we saw with the example of Rick Hoyt this morning, sometimes it is an activity that helps us define who we truly are. For Rick it was running. For my wife Kristen it’s when she’s mothering our boys. For some of you it may be when you’re wrist-deep in dirt in the garden. For others it may be while playing an instrument, writing poetry, or fixing your car. We all have those activities that help us be who we, most truly, are.

And as such, if we want to recognize who another person is, it makes sense that we would need to witness them doing such an activity, or better yet, participate in that activity with them—to walk a mile in their shoes, we might say—to truly recognize them and understand what life is like for them. That’s what the disciples did by breaking bread with Jesus, and that’s why they recognized him. Jesus was doing something that was instrumental to who he was—actions that really defined what his ministry was all about—and it was in participating in that that the disciples’ eyes were opened and they recognized him.

Now this leads many to believe—and rightly so—that today we can recognize Jesus when we celebrate communion—for just as the disciples recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread, so too can we recognize Jesus when we share communion in community with each other.

But you know, as I was reading this text, I felt there was more to the story than just communion. After all, Jesus first performs this action well before that last supper was on the disciples’ radar screens. As such, it was those four verbs that jumped out at me: take, bless, break, and give. And it led me to wonder that if we’re looking to recognize Christ in our midst—which is what today’s lesson is all about—then do those verbs have anything to say to us? Well, let’s take a look.

Take. As defined this verb, in Greek, means to acquire, “to take to oneself,” “to receive,” or “to collect.” (6) It’s a verb that conjures up a number of images for me: the idea of taking the concerns of another to ourselves, to take those to heart, to be empathetic; the image of receiving into our arms one who may not have a place in this world, one who needs to be loved and comforted. In short, for me this word is about receiving another into our lives in such a way that we love, welcome, and care for them.

Bless. This word means to speak well of someone, to speak to God on their behalf. Quite simply it means, to me, lifting up another in prayer, saying nice things to other people, offering praise for good work where praise is due. This is using our voices in the best way that they are able to be used—to speak well to, or on behalf of, another.

Break. For me this conjures up two very different images. The first refers to the bread Jesus is breaking. When we have something for ourselves, and we take that, and break it in half, or into multiple pieces, and offer that to our neighbors so that they may be as blessed and sated as we are, that is breaking at its finest. The other image is more metaphorical. When there are walls put up, barriers erected, stereotypes built up, we have a job to break those down to help ensure that God’s vision of this world comes to fruition.

And finally: Give. This one is the easiest to define, yet perhaps the hardest to do. It’s the giving of our time, talent, and treasure to benefit another human being in this world. When we take the material possessions we have, the hours in the day we have been granted, or the gifts we have been blessed with by God and we use them to serve another or to, in some way, make this world around us better, we are giving over some of ourselves—precisely what this word means.

Take, bless, break, and give. If today’s lesson is all about recognizing Christ in our midst, then I believe the best way we’ll accomplish that is to do that which was integral to who Jesus was as a human being, to do that which helped him define his mission, message and ministry: to take, bless, break, and give.

For I have no doubt, that in so doing, we won’t have to wander in sadness, wondering where Jesus is in this world—we’ll see him in the faces and smiles of those whom we reach out to serve, and in our very own hands that we use to do such service.

And then, when we recognize the living Christ, let us not revel in that experience alone, but rather, take a cue from the disciples’ reaction. For when they recognize Jesus, and he vanishes from their sight, despite the fact that it is evening, they change their course and race seven miles back up the road to Jerusalem to tell the others what they have experienced. They tell others that they know what it is to recognize the Christ.

And it might just be that in so racing they came to learn a little more about themselves, just like Rick Hoyt. I pray that the same may be true for us as well. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. Information taken from: http://www.teamhoyt.com/about/index.html.
2. R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, Ed. Leander E. Keck (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), 481.
3. Ibid., 482.
4. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 419.
5. Culpepper, 482.
6. Geoffrey W. Bromiley, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 1985), 495.

May 1st Sermon

First Congregational Church of Kittery Point, United Church of Christ
May 1, 2011
Sermon—“Believing is Seeing”—Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, Pastor
Easter II; Based on: John 20:19-31

It was October of 2004. The Red Sox and Yankees had advanced to the American League Championship Series, with the winner set to earn a spot in the World Series. You might recall a little something about it.

It began in Yankee Stadium for games one and two. The Sox dropped the first one 10-7, and the second one 3-1—neither loss unexpected, as they were away from home. But that put a lot of pressure on the Sox in game 3 at Fenway Park. It was a game that started out okay, with the teams tied 6-6 through three innings. But then the game got ugly—real ugly, like a 19-8 loss ugly. The Sox were down three games to none, and most everybody was preparing to read that familiar headline in the newspaper, courtesy of Ernest Thayer’s poem: “There is no joy in Mudville.”

And so it was that the team came out to play game four. As the camera scanned across a rather subdued Fenway Park crowd, as I recall it, many were still wearing those sullen and forlorn faces from the night before. And I admit, that while I am a “never say never” kind of person, I wasn’t super optimistic that this series was going to end any better than the ALCS in 2003 did (and we don’t need to go there this morning).

And then I saw it. As the camera scanned through the crowd, it focused on someone holding up a sign, which read: “You’ve got to believe it to see it.” An interesting turn on a familiar phrase, I thought to myself as the camera panned on. Yet as the game continued I couldn’t get that sign out of my head. As Dave Roberts stole second base—keeping the Sox hopes alive when they trailed in the eighth—and then as they went on to tie the game, win the game in 14 innings, and then win the next three, before sweeping the World Series, that sign never left me: “You’ve got to believe it to see it.”

It’s a sign that I always think about when this John lesson comes around—as it does each year on the Sunday after Easter—because this lesson really is all about believing and seeing. Recall the scene with me, if you will. It is the evening of the day Jesus rose from the dead, the first Easter, and where are the disciples? Well, they’re not out and about spreading the good news that Mary Magdalene had raced from the empty tomb to tell them. No, they are all by themselves, with the door locked to the outside world, cowering in fear.

Now why are they afraid, we might ask? Wouldn’t they be happy and excited that Jesus had risen from the dead? Well, the text doesn’t really give an explanation for their fear, but we can assume it might be that they didn’t believe Mary’s news, and were thus afraid that someone had stolen the body. Perhaps they were still nervous about being arrested as Jesus’ followers. Or it might even be that they were afraid that he actually had risen from the dead because of what that would mean for them—more on that later.

But regardless of why they are afraid, Jesus comes to be among them—for even though they are behind the “fearfully locked doors . . . . [they] cannot keep out God’s grace.” (1) It’s an appearance that has a dual purpose. First, it’s intended to show the disciples that what Mary has told them is true—that Jesus has, in fact, risen from the dead. And second, it’s so that Jesus can speak a word to them—a word that recalls “the words of comfort that [Jesus] had spoken at the Last Supper.” (2) In short, it’s so that Jesus can offer the disciples his peace.

Now this latter action is sort of a mini-Pentecost. This is Jesus imparting his Spirit to the disciples. In essence, “He commissions his disciples to be in the world to continue his ministry.” (3) Yet notice that in so doing he doesn’t chastise the disciples for their unbelief. Now, I intentionally didn’t say their “doubts” there, because the word translated as doubt throughout this passage is really a misinterpretation. The better way would be to say “do not be unbelieving.” (4) And we all should know that the opposite of belief is not doubt, but despair, or fear.

So there’s no criticism for their unbelief here. Really Jesus is telling the disciples not to be afraid to go out and continue on his work—and he’s blessing them to be able to do just that. But look what happens. The story continues a week later when Thomas arrives on the scene and the disciples are still in that room, away from the world, not doing their work, with the doors shut. And Thomas, having not seen what the others have seen, is in disbelief that Jesus has actually risen, just like the others were.

Which is to say that Thomas should not be singled out for his fear, or lack of belief. For “None of them believed without seeing, whether it was the women at the tomb, or the other disciples. Thomas is just like them and like us, too.” (5) In other words, it’s not just Thomas; we all have trouble believing without being able to see.

Which is why John offers that pastoral message at the end of this story as some encouragement—blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe—a message that “puts Christians of all times and places on the same level before God as the original disciples.” (6)

And really, that’s what this lesson is all about. As such there are all the traditional messages to garner from this text: that Jesus blesses us all with God’s Spirit to do God’s work; that unbelief is not a bad thing that we are to be chastised for, but a normal part of faith; that the disciples should have been out spreading the good news in the world—as we should all be doing as Jesus’ followers—and not locked away. You’ve, no doubt, heard such messages before; as such, I’d like to spin this story a little for us this morning.

For if, as the text says, we are blessed because we have believed without seeing, then does that have anything to do with that Red Sox sign we began this sermon with: “You’ve got to believe it to see it?” Well, given that the sign is essentially a summation of Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is the assurance of things hopes for, the conviction of things not seen,” it seems to suggest to me that believing can lead us to see things we hadn’t seen before.

And if that’s the case—and if we have the faith to believe that God did raise Jesus from the dead, and that the resurrection was not a one time event, but an example of what God is seeking to do all the time—then can’t that belief help us to see that resurrection is all around us?

The flowers bursting through the cold earth and tree buds popping to new life; a woman who has battled cancer for years and is suddenly declared cancer free when all signs were against it; the mending of a relationship between family members that once seemed hopeless; the unexpected pregnancy of a couple trying for years to have children; the gaining of equal rights for a group that has been oppressed; a new job, at just the right time, when the bank account was nearly empty—these are all moments that we can see for what they truly are—resurrection moments—if we have the faith to believe that resurrection happens.

The problem is that we often struggle to believe the good news that we heard proclaimed on Easter Sunday and that we hear proclaimed all throughout this Easter season. Sure we sing our “alleluias,” but deep down, I would venture to guess, many of us struggle with resurrection. And that’s not only because we have a hard time imagining the details of what Jesus’ resurrection was like; but also because, I would argue, that sometimes we don’t need to believe, and other times we don’t want to believe.

Think about it. If life is going well for us; if we have a good job, a happy and healthy family, and life is void of any major problems, we don’t need to believe in resurrection because there are no real dead places in our life that need new life breathed into them.

It also may be that we don’t want to believe—either consciously or subconsciously. For if the resurrection is true, and if God is resurrecting all around us—that is, doing the work of bringing new life where there is death—and if God is calling us to participate in that work, that puts quite a responsibility on us, doesn’t it? Just look at the disciples. If Jesus had been raised, then that meant that they needed to do some serious, dangerous, and scary work to keep his message alive. So perhaps they didn’t want to believe it was true, because they knew what that meant. The same might be true for us. If we don’t want to be involved in the tough work of bringing new life where there is death and decay, we might not want to believe it’s true either. And all of that can hurt us from seeing where resurrection is—and where resurrection needs to—happen.

Which is why we come back to this story every year for one purpose: to encourage us to believe.

So I guess my message to you today is to take a leap of faith. In this Easter season—even though you may not have all the subtle intricacies figured out—believe that God has, and continues to, resurrect this world. For assuming that Jesus is not going to walk through those doors in the next couple of minutes and show us his hands and side, it’s incumbent upon us to take such a step forward in faith. Instead of waiting to see the proof that will enable us to believe, why not find it within us to believe, and trust that such faith will allow us to see God’s resurrection spaces and places anew in our lives.

For I believe that if we have faith that resurrection is happening, then, amazingly, we’ll start to see it. If we believe resurrection can happen, we’ll see where it needs to happen some more. And if such beliefs mean that we’re going to be called into service to help make it happen, I believe we can trust that our resurrecting God will not abandon us as we do that which we have been called to do. Which is to say, if we’re sitting around, inside a locked room, waiting for proof to believe, we’re missing out on seeing some pretty amazing work that God is already doing in this world.

With this in mind, to close this morning I want to leave you with a provocative prayer from author Walter Brueggemann. This prayer gets into this idea of those of us who don’t need to see resurrection vs. those who believe wholeheartedly and are desperately waiting to see it in our lives. It’s called “We are baffled”:

“Christ is Risen
He is risen indeed!
We are baffled by the very Easter voice we claim.
Your new life fits none of our categories.
We wonder and stew and argue,
and add clarifying adjectives like “spiritual” and “physical.”
But we remain baffled, seeking clarity and explanation,
we who are prosperous, and full and safe and tenured.
We are baffled and want explanations.

But there are those not baffled, but stunned by the news,
stunned while at minimum wage jobs;
stunned while the body wastes in cancer;
stunned while the fabric of life rots away in fatigue and despair;
stunned while unprosperous and unfull
and unsafe and untenured . . .
Waiting only for you in your Easter outfit,
waiting for you to say, “Fear not, it is I.”
Deliver us from our bafflement and our many explanations.
Push us over into stunned need and show yourself to us lively.
Easter in us honesty;
Easter in us fear;
Easter in us joy,
and let us be Eastered.” (7)

In other words, resurrection is happening. If we have the faith to believe it, I have no doubt that we’ll see it. Amen.

© 2011 by Rev. Dr. Jeffrey M. Gallagher, All Rights Reserved.

1. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 399.
2. Ibid., 394.
3. Arland J. Hultgren, “Second Sunday of Easter, Years A, B, C,” in The Lectionary Commentary, The Third Readings: The Gospels, Ed. Roger E. Van Harn (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 2001), 596.
4. Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 850.
5. AHA! Creative Resources for Preachers, April/May/June 2005, Vol.14, #3 (Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc., 2005), 6.
6. Hultgren, 597.
7. Walter Brueggemann, “We are baffled,” in Resources for Preaching and Worship, Year A, Compiled by Hannah Ward and Jennifer Wild (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 133-134.