Text: Matthew 6:24-34
Theme: “High Risk! High Reward!”
Eighth Sunday After the Epiphany
February 27, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
24 “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.
25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[e]?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
In this week’s installment from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells: “Do not worry about your life.” If you have questions or comments about this, I invite you to take them up with the Lord. Don’t ask me; I only work here! Again, lest we didn’t hear it the first time, Jesus said: “Do not worry about your life.” About the best I can offer is t his: Go out this week and live your life with great enthusiasm; experience your week all footloose and fancy free! Shame on you if you worry! Don’t wish it were that simple?
Like much else, you can look at this one of two ways. First, you hear this command and can be forgiven for thinking that Jesus has gone looney-tunes on us. He’s nuts! Perhaps our man Jesus is just tired and overworked. Maybe he’s having a rough day. We’ve all had those from time to time. Everyone knows that it is impossible not to worry about your life. I mean, aside from family members and close friends, if you’re not going to worry about your life, who is? We grown-ups would do well to sit at the feet of the little ones a bit more. They have much to teach us. Little children don’t worry that much if at all. That comes later when you reach a certain age of accountability or arrive at a more sophisticated level of maturity. Then it’s proper and appropriate to worry. The Bible says that “Man is born to trouble as sparks fly upward.” If there is trouble, then there is worry – either before or after the trouble. Demanding that we not worry is like telling the sun not to shine; it’s like Rush Limbaugh coming out in support of Obamacare; it’s like Nancy Pelosi calling for a huge tax cut for the rich. Folks, it just isn’t going to happen. So, as we have observed, one way of looking at the command of Jesus, is to say that Jesus has a few neurons flaking off; his elevator doesn’t make it to the top floor; he’s a couple of tacos shy of a combination plate.
There’s a second way to look at our Lord’s imperative, “Do not worry.” It’s a more religious way. Jesus made a rule, and rules are meant to be followed. End of discussion. Don’t talk the about the reasoning or motive behind the rule. Neither argue about the outcome of not obeying or even obeying the rule. A few years back at a Bible class, the pastor asked: “What do you think the Bible is?” A regular respondent replied – with an air of confidence: “It’s God’s book of instructions.” If that’s true, then coming to church and attending church school is little more than receiving our marching orders for the week and then going out to accomplish them. Folks limited to thinking this way have no problem whatsoever when Jesus issues rules. When Jesus issues rules, they determine that Jesus is doing just what He should be doing.
So with the first way, we have a Jesus who is, at best, unrealistic, and, at worst, mildly insane. Not good. With the second, we find a Jesus who enables us to slip back into the ways of the Old Covenant which is all about playing by the rules. But that would only show that we are no longer trusting the New Covenant. Again, it’s not good.
Thus, we are back at square one. What do we make of it when Jesus says “Do not worry about your life”? We good Presbyterians, I think, can get the hang of that – up to a point. We are aware of our human condition: sinful. We are aware of what Christ came to do: to save us from our sinful condition by grace alone through faith alone. We rejoice – and rightly so! – at that great blood-bought redemption earned for us by Jesus Christ.
But life – life in the here and now and not in the sweet bye and bye -- isn’t all one round of rejoicing after another. We still live in a world where a young child lies this very morning in the ICU of Children’s Medical in Dallas due to injuries sustained in a freak accident; we live in a world where one out of every one hundred fifty children born be will be autistic; we live in a world where a dictator can order troops to fire on his own people; we live in a world where the killing of innocents is condoned in a “holy war” for God’s honor, and we fear that we might anger those forces. We live in a world where cancer is random, political arguments are heated, and economic uncertainties are so palpable you can cut them with a knife. We live in a world where a government crumbles, the stock market tumbles, and the price of a barrel of crude goes up, up, up. We live in a world where prayer has been reduced to individual or collective bargaining with God. We live in a world where freedom of religion is becoming synonymous with freedom from religion. Meanwhile, darker forces with theocratic notions are more than content to wait in the wings for the next opportunity to pounce – with guns, missles, nukes, hijacked planes, anthrax, C4, Semtex, you name it. They way many folks cope with this is too whistle through their lives, updating their Facebook status with the latest pleasantries, and living in a state of carefree denial.
Two weeks ago yesterday, I stood in front of the pope’s altar in St. Peter’s basilica in Rome. Hundreds upon hundreds – if not thousands! – of people were wandering around that huge edifice taking it all in. They gazed spellbound at the art, the magnificent baldachino above the altar, and the images, and the statues, and the words of Jesus and St. Peter chiseled into granite and gilded in gold along the ceiling . Meanwhile, over in the left transept of that great basilica, a priest was conducting mass. Less than twenty people participated in that service while hundreds of others looked on amused and, for the most part, disinterested. Many of the rest, it seemed, were practicing the religion of “Sheila-ism”.
Have you ever heard of “Sheila-ism”? In 1985, a Cal-Berkely sociologist by the name of Robert Bellah wrote a book titled Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life. In it, he told of a young nurse by the name of Sheila Larson. As Bellah relates, Sheila Larson was a believer in God but, in the end, her faith was in herself. Sheila said: “My faith has carried me a long way. It’s Sheila-ism – just my own little voice.”
It all suggested to me that I live in a world that has essentially moved beyond Christianity into what I’m not sure. My hunch is that it’s a social Darwinism where survival belongs to the fittest – with the fittest being defined as those with the best genes, the most money, the real estate, the mineral rights, the bursting stock portfolio, the flashiest clothes, and the finest food. This is not to say that there isn’t respect for Christianity or its place in the ebb and flow of history. This is not to say that there isn’t even admiration for the contributions Christianity has made to the arts, to literature, and to human experience in general. Only a few minutes away from the basilica, I found my own neck straining with countless other necks as we took in the work of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. Appreciating art is all well and good, but such an appreciation – it seems needless to say – is not the antidote to worry. It’s only a distraction from it. Neither is Sheila-ism. And what is there to say about Sheila-ism as nations and even state governments in the United States are enveloped in a tide of collective revolution?
Once more, we are back at square one. “Do not worry about your life,” says Jesus. “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?
But we pause to listen to Jesus and then pick up right where we left off – worrying about carbohydrates and calories and polyunsaturated fats. Show me a slow news day, and I’ll show you another report about what foods are good for you what foods are not so good.
“Any why do you worry about clothes?” asks Jesus. “See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith.”
That we worry about clothes – and are even obsessed by clothes – is evident all around us. Styles and trends and fashion fads are splashed across the internet, magazines, and retail aisles everywhere. The world may be falling apart, but we’re going to be dressed for the occasion it seems.
It makes no difference at what area of your life you look it; it makes no difference what events in the world are transpiring. Around the corner lurks the specter of worry. Jesus, stating the obvious, says “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”
Okay, Jesus. I’ve had about enough. I give up. I deny it no longer. I accept that worry has hit me like a category 5 hurricane. What, pray tell, do you suggest as an alternative?
Are you ready? Jesus is. He’s only too ready to answer. He says: “Seek first the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
This is the truth – both simple and profound – that is the antidote to worry. When the order of first importance in your life is seeking God’s Kingdom, there is no time for worry. Your mind and your spirit are focused elsewhere. In everything you think, say, or do, you seek the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness. And better yet, you don’t have to seek very much or look very far. Jesus says, “The Kingdom of God is at hand; the kingdom of heaven is near.” It’s as near as the sound of God’s Word banging into your ear drums, as near as the person sitting next to you, as close as the bread and wine you take into your mouth in the Lord’s Supper.
Jesus proposes something that is, as they say, “high risk and high reward.” It’s high risk because worry is so familiar. To not worry is unfamiliar. We’re not used to it. But this is where your faith in God comes in – faith that God is sovereign and God is gracious and that all things are going to work together for your good, my good, and our good. That’s a high reward, and it’s ours as a gift!
Seek first the kingdom of God. Lord, we believe. Help, Thou, our unbelief.
Amen.
THE STRAIGHTFORWARD PULPIT
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Foundation of The Temple
Text: 1 Corinthians 3:10-11
Theme: “The Foundation of The Temple”
Seventh Sunday After the Epiphany
February 20, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.
Five years ago, at about this time of the year, I began attending a men’s breakfast and Bible study in the Fellowship Hall of St. Andrew Presbyterian Church. The Associate Pastor, James Byers, was leading a class on “The Life and Letters of St. Paul”. There are twenty seven books in the New Testament. Nearly half of them – thirteen in total – were written by the apostle Paul. The Book of Acts, written by Paul’s travel companion, Luke, devotes a great portion of its story to the life and travels of Paul.
“St. Paul” – or “the Apostle Paul”, as he is called – was born in Tarsus (in modern-day Turkey). He was Jewish – although he did have citizenship in the Roman empire. A proud Pharisee, he studied at the feet of one of the most revered Jewish rabbis of the day: Gamaliel. At first, he was violently opposed to Christianity and even stood close by at the stoning of Stephen who history records as the first Christian martyr. Shortly after that event, on a trip to arrest and detain Christians, Saul was intervened upon. As the New Testament book of Acts records it, Saul was struck down by a blinding light, and he heard a voice which said: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” “Who are you, Lord?” asked Saul in reply. “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” the voice replied. “Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.”
The remainder of the book of Acts is, in essence, the story of Saul (whose name was changed to Paul) carrying the good news of Jesus Christ to the world. As the book of Acts plays itself out, we note that Paul took three different missionary journeys after his conversion to Christ. That last chapter tells of his final arrival in the capital city of the world at that time: Rome, Italy. Under arrest and accompanied by a Roman guard, Paul and the company with him sailed west across the Mediterranean Sea. They experienced a shipwreck at the island of Malta where Churchill and Roosevelt met during World War II centuries later. They sailed around Sicily and came to the southernmost tip, the boot, of Italy. They ventured north on the Tyrrhenian Sea along the western seaboard. They arrived on dry land at a town called Puteoli and then headed north to Rome. St. Luke, who obviously was taking notes, wrote this in the book of Acts: “We reached Puteoli. There we found some brothers who invited us to spend a week with them. And so we came to Rome. The brothers there had heard that we were coming, and they traveled as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns to meet us. At the sight of these men Paul thanked God and was encouraged. When we got to Rome, Paul was allowed to live by himself, with a soldier to guard him.”
Paul made it to Rome in roughly the year 60 AD. The Book of Acts concludes with this arrival. There is good reason to believe, based on later accounts of the history of early Christianity, that Paul was acquitted of his crime and continued his missionary travels. But then, some six to seven years after arriving in Rome, a new Roman emperor arrived on the scene by the name of Nero. He was not kindly disposed toward Christians. During Nero’s reign, Paul was arrested and beheaded, not far from the southeast section of the city where he first arrived, at a place called Tres Fontane. His friends buried his body two to three miles away and closer to the city.
Above that burial site – or sarcophagus, as it is called – stands and altar today. Around that altar is built one of the four basilicas, besides St. Peter’s basilica, that is owned by the Vatican. It is the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall. Two years ago, in June, Pope Benedict XVI announced the results of excavations inside that basilica. The sarcophagus under the altar was not opened, but a probe was inserted. It revealed pieces of incense and purple and blue linen. Bone fragments were found, and a radiocarbon test dated them to the first and second century. That is as far as history and science can go, but the Vatican is convinced that this, indeed, is the burial place of St. Paul.
A week ago last Friday, at sunset, I stood at the foot of the steps leading down to the sarcophagus. For a few moments, time seemed to stand still and I was overwhelmed; I felt my eyes begin to well up. My bucket list had grown shorter. My studies for that class on St. Paul three years ago had taught me about the place where I was standing. I hoped to visit it one day, but I thought it likely wouldn’t happen. One of the reasons for this is that I tend to be reactive and not proactive. Thus, when a good opportunity presents itself, I tend to balk and not consider the possibilities. But then, only a few short months after I was ordained, an opportunity presented itself to go to Italy. And I thank God for my wife and my sister-in-law and my brother-in-law who basically arranged our trip. Diana and I thought about all the reasons not to go on the trip, but we decided to go anyway. Our vacation was grand and good fun; it included wonderful visits to Milan and Venice. But for me, that trip to the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall -- without me even knowing it -- became something of a pilgrimage. And I didn’t’ even think we could visit it. My navigational skills are not exactly the best, and, by my reckoning, a visit would take too much time because the location was too far away. But then, on the Roman metro line, I noticed a stop called San Paolo, and it became clear that we weren’t that far away from the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall than any of us thought. Besides my wife and family and besides all of you, my dear brothers and sisters here at FPC, I can’t think of a more powerful confirmation of my life’s work than the privilege of standing there in that church by that grave.
In today’s New Testament Reading, we hear the words of St. Paul himself. He wrote a letter to a congregation not in Rome but in Corinth. This church had its problems and some of them pertained to leadership. Little factions and “cliques” had emerged, and Paul – the good pastor that he was – shepherded them through the problems with the love of Christ. He says: “By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.”
While in Rome, we saw churches and temples and cathedrals and basilicas galore. There was one on every corner. We marveled at the majestic artwork that adorned them all. Every one of those buildings – some of them still in the process of being built – began with a foundation. It went from the ground up.
St. Paul describes the church – which you and I are a part of – as a building, a temple, with a foundation. It starts from the ground up, and Jesus Christ occupies the ground, the terra firma. Christ alone is the foundation. We sing about that in one of the classic hymns:
The church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord.
She is His new creation by water and the Word.
From heaven He came and sought her to be His holy bride.
With His own blood He bought her, and for her life He died.
Whether we’re in Rome, Italy or Denton, Texas, USA, Jesus Christ is the foundation. Our honor and privilege is to build on it in our own time and place. Christianity is not a museum piece. It is not a relic of a bygone era that tourists flock to see. It is a way of life. It IS life.
Since Christ is the foundation, every one of us can rejoice. Since Christ is the foundation, our past – with its record of wrongs – is forgiven. Since
Christ is the foundation, our present is given strength. Since Christ is the foundation, our future is filled with hope.
Amen.
Theme: “The Foundation of The Temple”
Seventh Sunday After the Epiphany
February 20, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.
Five years ago, at about this time of the year, I began attending a men’s breakfast and Bible study in the Fellowship Hall of St. Andrew Presbyterian Church. The Associate Pastor, James Byers, was leading a class on “The Life and Letters of St. Paul”. There are twenty seven books in the New Testament. Nearly half of them – thirteen in total – were written by the apostle Paul. The Book of Acts, written by Paul’s travel companion, Luke, devotes a great portion of its story to the life and travels of Paul.
“St. Paul” – or “the Apostle Paul”, as he is called – was born in Tarsus (in modern-day Turkey). He was Jewish – although he did have citizenship in the Roman empire. A proud Pharisee, he studied at the feet of one of the most revered Jewish rabbis of the day: Gamaliel. At first, he was violently opposed to Christianity and even stood close by at the stoning of Stephen who history records as the first Christian martyr. Shortly after that event, on a trip to arrest and detain Christians, Saul was intervened upon. As the New Testament book of Acts records it, Saul was struck down by a blinding light, and he heard a voice which said: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” “Who are you, Lord?” asked Saul in reply. “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” the voice replied. “Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.”
The remainder of the book of Acts is, in essence, the story of Saul (whose name was changed to Paul) carrying the good news of Jesus Christ to the world. As the book of Acts plays itself out, we note that Paul took three different missionary journeys after his conversion to Christ. That last chapter tells of his final arrival in the capital city of the world at that time: Rome, Italy. Under arrest and accompanied by a Roman guard, Paul and the company with him sailed west across the Mediterranean Sea. They experienced a shipwreck at the island of Malta where Churchill and Roosevelt met during World War II centuries later. They sailed around Sicily and came to the southernmost tip, the boot, of Italy. They ventured north on the Tyrrhenian Sea along the western seaboard. They arrived on dry land at a town called Puteoli and then headed north to Rome. St. Luke, who obviously was taking notes, wrote this in the book of Acts: “We reached Puteoli. There we found some brothers who invited us to spend a week with them. And so we came to Rome. The brothers there had heard that we were coming, and they traveled as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns to meet us. At the sight of these men Paul thanked God and was encouraged. When we got to Rome, Paul was allowed to live by himself, with a soldier to guard him.”
Paul made it to Rome in roughly the year 60 AD. The Book of Acts concludes with this arrival. There is good reason to believe, based on later accounts of the history of early Christianity, that Paul was acquitted of his crime and continued his missionary travels. But then, some six to seven years after arriving in Rome, a new Roman emperor arrived on the scene by the name of Nero. He was not kindly disposed toward Christians. During Nero’s reign, Paul was arrested and beheaded, not far from the southeast section of the city where he first arrived, at a place called Tres Fontane. His friends buried his body two to three miles away and closer to the city.
Above that burial site – or sarcophagus, as it is called – stands and altar today. Around that altar is built one of the four basilicas, besides St. Peter’s basilica, that is owned by the Vatican. It is the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall. Two years ago, in June, Pope Benedict XVI announced the results of excavations inside that basilica. The sarcophagus under the altar was not opened, but a probe was inserted. It revealed pieces of incense and purple and blue linen. Bone fragments were found, and a radiocarbon test dated them to the first and second century. That is as far as history and science can go, but the Vatican is convinced that this, indeed, is the burial place of St. Paul.
A week ago last Friday, at sunset, I stood at the foot of the steps leading down to the sarcophagus. For a few moments, time seemed to stand still and I was overwhelmed; I felt my eyes begin to well up. My bucket list had grown shorter. My studies for that class on St. Paul three years ago had taught me about the place where I was standing. I hoped to visit it one day, but I thought it likely wouldn’t happen. One of the reasons for this is that I tend to be reactive and not proactive. Thus, when a good opportunity presents itself, I tend to balk and not consider the possibilities. But then, only a few short months after I was ordained, an opportunity presented itself to go to Italy. And I thank God for my wife and my sister-in-law and my brother-in-law who basically arranged our trip. Diana and I thought about all the reasons not to go on the trip, but we decided to go anyway. Our vacation was grand and good fun; it included wonderful visits to Milan and Venice. But for me, that trip to the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall -- without me even knowing it -- became something of a pilgrimage. And I didn’t’ even think we could visit it. My navigational skills are not exactly the best, and, by my reckoning, a visit would take too much time because the location was too far away. But then, on the Roman metro line, I noticed a stop called San Paolo, and it became clear that we weren’t that far away from the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Wall than any of us thought. Besides my wife and family and besides all of you, my dear brothers and sisters here at FPC, I can’t think of a more powerful confirmation of my life’s work than the privilege of standing there in that church by that grave.
In today’s New Testament Reading, we hear the words of St. Paul himself. He wrote a letter to a congregation not in Rome but in Corinth. This church had its problems and some of them pertained to leadership. Little factions and “cliques” had emerged, and Paul – the good pastor that he was – shepherded them through the problems with the love of Christ. He says: “By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.”
While in Rome, we saw churches and temples and cathedrals and basilicas galore. There was one on every corner. We marveled at the majestic artwork that adorned them all. Every one of those buildings – some of them still in the process of being built – began with a foundation. It went from the ground up.
St. Paul describes the church – which you and I are a part of – as a building, a temple, with a foundation. It starts from the ground up, and Jesus Christ occupies the ground, the terra firma. Christ alone is the foundation. We sing about that in one of the classic hymns:
The church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord.
She is His new creation by water and the Word.
From heaven He came and sought her to be His holy bride.
With His own blood He bought her, and for her life He died.
Whether we’re in Rome, Italy or Denton, Texas, USA, Jesus Christ is the foundation. Our honor and privilege is to build on it in our own time and place. Christianity is not a museum piece. It is not a relic of a bygone era that tourists flock to see. It is a way of life. It IS life.
Since Christ is the foundation, every one of us can rejoice. Since Christ is the foundation, our past – with its record of wrongs – is forgiven. Since
Christ is the foundation, our present is given strength. Since Christ is the foundation, our future is filled with hope.
Amen.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Flat and Dark versus Tasty and Radiant!
Text: Matthew 5:13-16
Theme: “Flat and Dark versus Tasty and Radiant”
Fifth Sunday After the Epiphany
February 6, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.
Super Bowl Sunday in Dallas, Texas! Classic NFL match-up! Green Bay versus Pittsburgh! Attention of the world focused on us. Ice storm! Snow storm! Rolling power outages! Schools closed! Colleges closed! Universities closed! Dry cleaners closed. Mall closed. Profits down. Mild depression sets in. UPS sends one thing but can’t send another! Arrogant driver spins a “360” on Dallas Drive nearly crashing! Slow driver holds up traffic at 5 mph. Road rage rears its wintry head. Many still have one hand on wheel the other on cell phone. Colorful language muttered under breath. Frustration joins with the mild depression and cabin fever comes along for the ride. Crisis in Tunisia! Riots in Egypt. Come to church! Safe haven! Wait! What’s that I see? Two inches of cold water on the hallway floor! What’s that I hear? Running water! Pipe burst. Emergency actions undertaken! Calls made! Water shut off! ServiceMaster can’t arrive for two hours. Clean-up begins. Plumbers can’t get here until later in the afternoon! Plumber can’t get here for two days! Good people of First Presbyterian Church suit up and show up for removal of aforementioned water and the lifting furniture to higher ground! Sermon stays unwritten! Coffee pot survives flooding disaster. Sermon can be written. Sermon is written. It’s short! All things considered, I’m GLAD TO BE AT FPC!
In addition, I’m excited to hear what our Lord has to say on a day such as this with all of this, that, and the other thing going on around. If I’d have my druthers, I’d insist on some grace, some mercy, some peace, and some reassurance that the cost of clean-up won’t be too high. For that matter, I have all kinds of wants and wishes and hopes and aspirations, and I’d rather them not be put on hold because of some sporting event, or traffic, or governmental crises abroad, blasting winter weather, or anything else that gets in the way of you and me being all that we are meant to be. Jesus, do tell us what we are to DO!
Today’s Gospel does nothing of the sort. Instead, our Lord sits us down and, in gentle tones, tells us who we are. “You are the salt of the earth,” He declares. Salt! Did I hear Him correctly? Salt is what gives flavor to food. It provides a little extra zest, zip, and tang. The enjoyment of a good helping of mashed potatoes, for instance, requires just the right amount of salt. And another thing: back in Jesus’ day, salt was used as a preservative. It kept things from spoiling. Well, the times have changed. We don’t like preservatives in our food. Organic seems to be the way to go. But let’s not throw the meaning out with the water from the burst pipes this morning.
If I understand Jesus correctly, you and I are to be what gives life on earth its flavor – its zest, zip, and tang. Furthermore, we are to preserve the earth. Later on in the New Testament, we discover that our earth is being preserved for the sake of the elect, for the sake of those called to be the salt of the earth.
The problem, though, is that we prefer to be organic. We’d rather not be the salt of the earth. We’d prefer to continue our existence with as little discomfort as possible. Quick to spot this, Jesus says: “If salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
Being good for nothing doesn’t sound good to me. Same goes for being thrown out and trampled underfoot.
Do you like your soft drinks from a can, from a bottle, or from a fountain? The thing about soft drinks is that they have effervescence. If you shake them only a little, they start to fizz. Personally, I prefer the fountain variety. But I’ve noticed that they don’t always get the mix of carbonated water and syrup quite right. Either the concoction is fizzy with no taste, or full of taste but not fizzy. Either way, it’s no good. Toss it out. I can’t give the world a Coke mixed to perfection. But I can give myself to the world. And my best self can only happen when I am close to Jesus. Get too far from Jesus, and I start to lose my salt, my taste, my effervescence, my zest, my zip, my tang.
There’s more. Jesus says: “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
Whoa. That’s some heavy stuff. I thought Jesus was the light of the world. We people, sitting in darkness, have seen a great light – and it’s not us. It’s Jesus. But hold on. Jesus says that WE are the light of the world. How can that be? Again, it depends on our proximity – how close we are – to Jesus.
Jesus never fails to state the obvious. A city on a hill cannot be hid. Unfortunately, our sinful natures prompt us to live in a sort of spiritual New Orleans – that is, below sea level where we can hide and avoid being spotted. But not so the city on the hill. Everyone can see that. How silly, Jesus seems to be saying, would it be to light a lamp and then put a bowl on top of it. That would defeat the purpose. Throw that dadgum bowl out and let the light shine for crying out loud.
What bowls do we use to cover up our light? Oh, there are all kinds of them. They usually come in the form of excuses – that tend to go like this: Well, we live in a post-Christian society; things are so much more diverse; we really have little to offer the world anymore; a wave of secularism has washed any hope of positive influence away; the church is caught up in so many internal squabbles even as it tries to market itself to a world that can spot a phony a mile away. The glory days are over. It’s best to hunker down, show up on Sunday, observe our traditions, spend our hour in the pew, and let it be.”
This is what people are thinking and saying as they put a bowl over their light. As a result, the darkness deepens.
The contest to end all contests, when you get right down to it, pits flat and dark versus tasty and radiant. The tasty and radiant side, the salt and light side, consists of those who have heard what Jesus said, and, by the grace of God, they’ve come to believe it. The other side, the flat and dark side, consists of those for whom functional agnosticism is a way of life. They mutter their heads and think that they can’t be sure of anything anymore. Social Darwinism ensues – the survival of the fittest – and the best they can hope for is to rise above their existential despair. This group has lots of company, and they’re still trying to recruit members for the team. Epicureanism – that’s the philosophy that says “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” – does seem to be alive and well. There’s no such thing as a new heresy. There are only old heresies with new clothes on.
But two thousand years later, the bug-a-boo – and the veritable fly in the ointment -- is the crucified and risen Jesus. He, too, is still trying to draft members for the team. His call goes out to you this morning: You are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.
And, as if to drive this point home, He comes to us with the bread and the wine right here this morning amid the ServiceMaster fans. His body and blood are given and shed for the forgiveness of our sins. All that makes us flat and dark is taken away. All that gives tastiness, effervescence, and light and radiance are distributed gladly. Game over. Salt and light wins!
Amen.
Theme: “Flat and Dark versus Tasty and Radiant”
Fifth Sunday After the Epiphany
February 6, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.
Super Bowl Sunday in Dallas, Texas! Classic NFL match-up! Green Bay versus Pittsburgh! Attention of the world focused on us. Ice storm! Snow storm! Rolling power outages! Schools closed! Colleges closed! Universities closed! Dry cleaners closed. Mall closed. Profits down. Mild depression sets in. UPS sends one thing but can’t send another! Arrogant driver spins a “360” on Dallas Drive nearly crashing! Slow driver holds up traffic at 5 mph. Road rage rears its wintry head. Many still have one hand on wheel the other on cell phone. Colorful language muttered under breath. Frustration joins with the mild depression and cabin fever comes along for the ride. Crisis in Tunisia! Riots in Egypt. Come to church! Safe haven! Wait! What’s that I see? Two inches of cold water on the hallway floor! What’s that I hear? Running water! Pipe burst. Emergency actions undertaken! Calls made! Water shut off! ServiceMaster can’t arrive for two hours. Clean-up begins. Plumbers can’t get here until later in the afternoon! Plumber can’t get here for two days! Good people of First Presbyterian Church suit up and show up for removal of aforementioned water and the lifting furniture to higher ground! Sermon stays unwritten! Coffee pot survives flooding disaster. Sermon can be written. Sermon is written. It’s short! All things considered, I’m GLAD TO BE AT FPC!
In addition, I’m excited to hear what our Lord has to say on a day such as this with all of this, that, and the other thing going on around. If I’d have my druthers, I’d insist on some grace, some mercy, some peace, and some reassurance that the cost of clean-up won’t be too high. For that matter, I have all kinds of wants and wishes and hopes and aspirations, and I’d rather them not be put on hold because of some sporting event, or traffic, or governmental crises abroad, blasting winter weather, or anything else that gets in the way of you and me being all that we are meant to be. Jesus, do tell us what we are to DO!
Today’s Gospel does nothing of the sort. Instead, our Lord sits us down and, in gentle tones, tells us who we are. “You are the salt of the earth,” He declares. Salt! Did I hear Him correctly? Salt is what gives flavor to food. It provides a little extra zest, zip, and tang. The enjoyment of a good helping of mashed potatoes, for instance, requires just the right amount of salt. And another thing: back in Jesus’ day, salt was used as a preservative. It kept things from spoiling. Well, the times have changed. We don’t like preservatives in our food. Organic seems to be the way to go. But let’s not throw the meaning out with the water from the burst pipes this morning.
If I understand Jesus correctly, you and I are to be what gives life on earth its flavor – its zest, zip, and tang. Furthermore, we are to preserve the earth. Later on in the New Testament, we discover that our earth is being preserved for the sake of the elect, for the sake of those called to be the salt of the earth.
The problem, though, is that we prefer to be organic. We’d rather not be the salt of the earth. We’d prefer to continue our existence with as little discomfort as possible. Quick to spot this, Jesus says: “If salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
Being good for nothing doesn’t sound good to me. Same goes for being thrown out and trampled underfoot.
Do you like your soft drinks from a can, from a bottle, or from a fountain? The thing about soft drinks is that they have effervescence. If you shake them only a little, they start to fizz. Personally, I prefer the fountain variety. But I’ve noticed that they don’t always get the mix of carbonated water and syrup quite right. Either the concoction is fizzy with no taste, or full of taste but not fizzy. Either way, it’s no good. Toss it out. I can’t give the world a Coke mixed to perfection. But I can give myself to the world. And my best self can only happen when I am close to Jesus. Get too far from Jesus, and I start to lose my salt, my taste, my effervescence, my zest, my zip, my tang.
There’s more. Jesus says: “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
Whoa. That’s some heavy stuff. I thought Jesus was the light of the world. We people, sitting in darkness, have seen a great light – and it’s not us. It’s Jesus. But hold on. Jesus says that WE are the light of the world. How can that be? Again, it depends on our proximity – how close we are – to Jesus.
Jesus never fails to state the obvious. A city on a hill cannot be hid. Unfortunately, our sinful natures prompt us to live in a sort of spiritual New Orleans – that is, below sea level where we can hide and avoid being spotted. But not so the city on the hill. Everyone can see that. How silly, Jesus seems to be saying, would it be to light a lamp and then put a bowl on top of it. That would defeat the purpose. Throw that dadgum bowl out and let the light shine for crying out loud.
What bowls do we use to cover up our light? Oh, there are all kinds of them. They usually come in the form of excuses – that tend to go like this: Well, we live in a post-Christian society; things are so much more diverse; we really have little to offer the world anymore; a wave of secularism has washed any hope of positive influence away; the church is caught up in so many internal squabbles even as it tries to market itself to a world that can spot a phony a mile away. The glory days are over. It’s best to hunker down, show up on Sunday, observe our traditions, spend our hour in the pew, and let it be.”
This is what people are thinking and saying as they put a bowl over their light. As a result, the darkness deepens.
The contest to end all contests, when you get right down to it, pits flat and dark versus tasty and radiant. The tasty and radiant side, the salt and light side, consists of those who have heard what Jesus said, and, by the grace of God, they’ve come to believe it. The other side, the flat and dark side, consists of those for whom functional agnosticism is a way of life. They mutter their heads and think that they can’t be sure of anything anymore. Social Darwinism ensues – the survival of the fittest – and the best they can hope for is to rise above their existential despair. This group has lots of company, and they’re still trying to recruit members for the team. Epicureanism – that’s the philosophy that says “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” – does seem to be alive and well. There’s no such thing as a new heresy. There are only old heresies with new clothes on.
But two thousand years later, the bug-a-boo – and the veritable fly in the ointment -- is the crucified and risen Jesus. He, too, is still trying to draft members for the team. His call goes out to you this morning: You are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.
And, as if to drive this point home, He comes to us with the bread and the wine right here this morning amid the ServiceMaster fans. His body and blood are given and shed for the forgiveness of our sins. All that makes us flat and dark is taken away. All that gives tastiness, effervescence, and light and radiance are distributed gladly. Game over. Salt and light wins!
Amen.
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