Text: Matthew 10:40-42
Theme: “M2: The Welcome” (2nd in a Series)
2nd Sunday after Pentecost
June 26, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person as a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward. And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.
Every now and then, after deleting spam, I’ll open an email with interesting content that may – or may not! – make it into the pulpit. It could be a joke, a story, or a fresh way of looking at an old subject. I’d like to thank one of members, who will remain anonymous, for passing this story along. It’s about a retired man named Charley.
It turns out Charley had just taken a job as a greeter at Wal-Mart. After a few weeks, a s problem developed. Having just retired from the military, Charley was a good worker and he embodied the “Older Person Friendly” policies of Wal-Mart. But the trouble is, he would often show up to work five, ten, or fifteen minutes late.
One day the boss called him into the office for a chat. “Charley,” the boss said, “I have to tell you, I like your work ethic, you do a bang-up job when you finally get here; but your being late so often is becoming bothersome.” Charley said, “Yes, I know boss, and I am working on it.” “Well good,” replied the boss, “you are a team player; that’s what I like to hear.” “Yes sir, I understand your concern and I’ll try harder.”
The boss still was puzzled. He said, “It’s odd, though, that you come in late. I know you’re retired from the Armed Forces. What did they say to you there if you showed up in the morning late so often?” Charley looked down at the floor and then smiled. He chuckled quietly, and then said with a grin, “They usually saluted and said, ‘Good morning, Admiral, can I get your coffee, sir?” Pretty clearly, the boss new some things about his new employee, Charley, but he didn’t know the whole story.
Today begins the second in a series of summer messages titled “Mission: Possible – the M Force”. The “M” stands for mission, and the subject of the series is the mission of God which is, of course, the mission of the church. Looking over the assigned readings for Summer Sundays, the theme all but jumped off the pages of Holy Scripture!
Last Sunday, we learned that we are all recruited by Jesus Christ to be part of the “M Force” or “The Mission Force”. Our baptism has signed us up. In addition, we are equipped with the teachings of Jesus to both share and to live. The mission put forth by Jesus is not to make pronouncements but to make disciples – which is to say life-long students and followers of Jesus Christ.
Today’s Gospel touches on an important element of our mission that is easy to overlook. It talks about being welcomed or being received and, in turn, about being the person who welcomes and being the person who receives. The question that powerfully suggests itself is this: How well are we doing with this basic and fundamental aspect of mission? As we’ve discovered, Wal-Mart greets its customers warmly. How well is the church doing?
A website, www.evangelismcoach.org, has listed what they call “Twenty Blunders” a church can make when welcoming visitors. While I’m not going to go through the entire list, I do want you to know that churches can have the tendency to be overwhelming with their welcome or underwhelming. On the underwhelming side, one of the blunders was: “No one said ‘hello’.” Other blunders on the underwhelming side were unclean bathrooms or an unsafe nursery. Bad coffee was mentioned along with stale snacks, donuts, or cookies. Even bad breath was listed. On the overwhelming side, one of the blunders was “Swarming on visitors all at once, like flies on fresh meat.” Other blunders on the overwhelming side were “Too much enthusiasm” and “Hugs to strangers” and “Too friendly” to the point of smothering people and not respecting boundaries.
Whether overwhelming or underwhelming, bear in mind that first impressions mean a great deal. Bear in mind, also, that people visiting churches can spot phoniness a mile away. Instead of overwhelming or underwhelming, what we want is for our welcome to be genuine. The boss at Wal-Mart knew some things about his employee -- that retired military man. But he didn’t know that he was an admiral! All we might know about our visitors and guests is that they are visitors and guests. We don’t know their history, their background, their frame of mind; we don’t know about the low points in their life or their highest aspirations either. We don’t know if they’re of those strange types of Christians called Presbyterian or not! Many times we don’t even know why they are here. But, for the time being, that’s not the point at all. The point is they are here. The point is that even though we don’t know them, we do know -- as fact number one and the best fact of all -- that Christ loves them.
As we think about how we, the people of First Presbyterian Church, welcome and receive those we don’t know, I think it important to ask whether we have a sense of affiliation or a sense of ownership when it comes to this place. Let’s say that a visitor comes up to a member and asks: “Do you go to this church?” The member replies: “Yeah, I attend here.” To say that you “attend here” suggests a sense of affiliation with the church. Now, let’s say that a visitor comes up to another member and asks: “Do you go to this church?” The member replies: “Yes, this is my church.” That’s a bit more than a sense of affiliation; that suggests ownership. I would submit that a sense ownership makes a far greater and positive impression on a visitor than a sense of affiliation.
One of the great thinkers about the mission of the church in the United States was a man named Donald McGavran. He was a professor at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California. What emerged from his thought is something called “The Homogeneous Unit Principle”. The principle stated that “People like to become Christians without crossing racial, linguistic, or class barriers.” In the end, that’s just a fancy way of saying that birds of a feather like to flock together.
While this may be true both socially and statistically, it’s horrible theology. Theologically, it stinks to high heaven! If the Homogeneous Unit Principle is what shaped and empowered our congregation’s mission, you know what we would do? We’d be targeting Caucasian, English-speaking, middle-income Americans – and that’s it. In other words, “Why don’t you become one of us because you look, speak, and spend like us!” Does anyone see how patently discriminatory that is? While people may like to join a church (or any other organization) because it is has like-minded people, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a horrible mission practice. Did God so love Caucasian, English-speaking, middle-class Americans that He gave His only-begotten Son, or did God so love the WORLD that He gave His only-begotten Son? With the love of Christ in mind, the CEO of Exxon/Mobile who just pledged ten percent of his seven figure income to a congregation is no more or less important than the young adult with disabilities. If you see the difference I’m talking about, if you get this idea, if you love Christ and know that Christ loves you, if you have a heart for the mission of the church, please see me; please talk to me.
Long, long ago, Father Abraham sat outside his tent by the great trees of Mamre. Three strangers appeared to him standing nearby. The book of Genesis says that he “…hurried from the entrance of his tent to meet them and bowed low to the ground.” All he really knew is that he didn’t know them. But what does he do? He respects them. He goes one step further. He says: “If I have found favor in your eyes, do not pass me by. Let a little water be brought, and then you may all wash your feet and rest under this tree. Let me get you something to eat, so you can be refreshed.” Was he just being polite for the sake of being polite? Did he have some hidden agenda of trying to sign them up for his cause? Was he trying to gently push, shove, cajole, or manipulate these strangers into what he wanted them to be? No. All he did was welcome them and extend hospitality to them. If that’s the kind of church you want to be a part of, there’s room here.
The Book of Leviticus says that “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.”
Later on in the New Testament, the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans: “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” On a personal note, this short verse shamed me. The fact is that I practice exercise, golf, and piano more than hospitality. If I practiced genuine Christian hospitality ten percent as much as I practice exercise, golf, and piano, it might start a small revolution!
The New Testament book of Hebrews, likewise, offers something of a gentle reminder. It says: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Think of it! You may be entertaining angels unawares!
Finally, Jesus Himself goes so far as to say that anyone who “gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.”
A warm, cordial, and genuine welcome has its place in the mission of Christ. God grant us grace to extend it well and often. Amen.
THE STRAIGHTFORWARD PULPIT
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
M1: Recruitment and Equipment
Text: Matthew 28:16-10
Theme: “M1: Recruitment and Equipment” (1st in a Series)
The Festival of the Holy Trinity/Father’s Day
June 19, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.
Earlier this month, on June 3rd, popular television actor James Arness died. Chances are that the young people of our congregation – many of whom are heading back from a mission trip – don’t know anything about James Arness. But I suspect that many of you here this morning would recognize the name and connect it almost immediately to the role he played on TV. He was, of course, Sheriff Matt Dillon on the program, Gunsmoke, which spanned two decades. He jumped off the screen as a strong, good-natured character who enjoyed the company of the saloon keeper, Miss Kitty, and his trusty sidekick, Festus. With all the plots and twists of various episodes, Sheriff Dillon – portrayed by Arness – was the essence of law and order.
If you know about James Arness, you also likely know about his brother, Peter Graves. Peter was the star of a television program called Mission: Impossible. The name of his character was Jim Phelps, and Jim and his IM Force, as they were called, foiled the dastardly plans of many an evildoer. Every program would begin with Jim Phelps coming across a mini-cassette recorder with a message that began: “Good morning, Mr. Phelps.” It would go on to detail the requirements of the team’s mission. It usually would end with language like this: “Should you, or any of your IM Force, be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of the matter. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jim.”
There are some who would say that what’s happening to the holy catholic church today is what happened to that mini-cassette tape that Jim Phelps listened to: it’s self-destructing. I’m fully aware of the arguments on that score. Some would say, given the direction of our culture, that church has become far too rigid, old-fashioned, legalistic, judgmental, and fundamentalist. On the other hand, there are those who say that the church has watered down its message to such a degree that there is no longer anything authoritative, substantive, or spiritually nourishing about it at all. In our modern, high-tech world, the church can be seen, but it’s mostly in the rear-view mirror as people – in a post-Christian world, speed on with life.
My friends, I don’t buy in to any of this jabberwocky. I don’t buy it because I’ve read the text for today, studied the text for today, and believe the text for today. If we stick with the text, I’m persuaded that it can be the antidote to this maddening double-mindedness that has gripped the church. The text reads as follows, and I’m going to provide a bit of commentary along the way.
“Then the eleven disciples went to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go.” Those disciples were like Festus on Gunsmoke; they were trusty sidekicks of Jesus. They believed in law and order, and they did what they were told. But then, having done that, they encounter Jesus. It says, “When they saw him, they worshipped, but some doubted.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we can come to church and pretend all morning long that we don’t have doubts about the reality of God or the claims of Jesus Christ on our lives. But let us expose the elephant in the church’s living room. The fact is, we do have doubts; we all do – in one way or another. There’s room, at First Presbyterian Church, for your doubts. We don’t claim to have all the answers. At the same time, I hope you perk up to the notion and latch on to the idea that still, amid our doubts, we point not to ourselves and to the quality and content of our Presbyterian faith. Instead, we point to Jesus Christ. That’s when Presbyterian Christians are at their best.
Some worshipped Jesus but some doubted. And Jesus didn’t call down fire and brimstone on the doubters. Instead, our text says, he “…came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.’”
Whoa! If that’s true (and I’m convinced it is), it changes everything; it makes all the difference in the world, folks. He didn’t go off seeking authority or hungering after or campaining or politic-ing for that power. Rather, it was given to Him; it came as a gift. As I’ve said before, I’ll say it again: If not gift, then not gospel; it not gospel, then not gift.
With His authority established – or, as we Presbyterians like to say, His sovereignty, he swings in – like that mini-cassette recorder on Mission: Impossible – to the mission: “Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations.”
For those of you who like your law and order, you’ll be happy to know that there is a command in there. But it’s not “go.” The word translated as “go” in this text is more faithfully translated from the original Greek as follows: “When you arrive at where you are sent.”
Folks, you are where you are sent. You are where Jesus has sent you to be. Think of who you are, today, as father’s – or as mothers, children, youth, young adults, workers, those looking for work, retirees. You may be rejoicing today for any one of a number of reasons. You also may be grieving. You may be worshipping; you may be doubting. Jesus wants you all; Jesus takes you all. Jesus recruits you all.
Now, here comes the actual command – and it IS a command and not a suggestion: “Make disciples of all nations.” Jesus wants no one left behind in the rear-view mirror of the church. A disciples, literally, is one who learns. In addition, you may have noticed the word discipline in the word disciple. And yes, it takes some discipline to learn. Jesus is recruiting learners who continue to learn and who also help others to learn – and to grow – in the grace and mercy and peace of Jesus Christ.
Some like law and order, and that’s fine. Jesus delivers. Others like the process, and Jesus doesn’t disappoint on that count either. Here’s the disciple-making process: baptize people in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Today is Father’s Day, yes. But it is also Holy Trinity Sunday, and here’s your Holy Trinity reference: the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Say what you will about Baptism; say what you will about whether it is a sacrament, ordinance, or act of faith; say what you will about whether it is for adults only or infants too. One thing is beyond dispute: Baptism, with the water, puts the Name of God on one person. Baptism is Jesus saying to that one person: Here I am! Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours! Baptism is Jesus saying to that one person: The powers of darkness and death will try to do their job on you, but they’ll have to get through me first. And there’s no chance they can since I died for you on that cross; I rose again from the dead with you in my head and heart. I live for you. I am with you. If people really knew what Baptism was all about, that font over there would never collect dust.
Jesus goes on with the process: Teach them to obey – it can also be translated as “observe” or “keep” – everything I have commanded you. We’re not given what some might call the luxury of picking and choosing what we like from the teachings of Jesus. We’re called to share everything.
Our text, which has been called “The Great Commission”, ends with a promise from the Lord: “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
My friends, the heavenly secretary has not disavowed any knowledge of the matter. The tape has not self-destructed. God doesn’t wish us luck. God is with us. The mission is ours. Will you choose to accept it?
Amen.
Theme: “M1: Recruitment and Equipment” (1st in a Series)
The Festival of the Holy Trinity/Father’s Day
June 19, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.
Earlier this month, on June 3rd, popular television actor James Arness died. Chances are that the young people of our congregation – many of whom are heading back from a mission trip – don’t know anything about James Arness. But I suspect that many of you here this morning would recognize the name and connect it almost immediately to the role he played on TV. He was, of course, Sheriff Matt Dillon on the program, Gunsmoke, which spanned two decades. He jumped off the screen as a strong, good-natured character who enjoyed the company of the saloon keeper, Miss Kitty, and his trusty sidekick, Festus. With all the plots and twists of various episodes, Sheriff Dillon – portrayed by Arness – was the essence of law and order.
If you know about James Arness, you also likely know about his brother, Peter Graves. Peter was the star of a television program called Mission: Impossible. The name of his character was Jim Phelps, and Jim and his IM Force, as they were called, foiled the dastardly plans of many an evildoer. Every program would begin with Jim Phelps coming across a mini-cassette recorder with a message that began: “Good morning, Mr. Phelps.” It would go on to detail the requirements of the team’s mission. It usually would end with language like this: “Should you, or any of your IM Force, be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of the matter. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jim.”
There are some who would say that what’s happening to the holy catholic church today is what happened to that mini-cassette tape that Jim Phelps listened to: it’s self-destructing. I’m fully aware of the arguments on that score. Some would say, given the direction of our culture, that church has become far too rigid, old-fashioned, legalistic, judgmental, and fundamentalist. On the other hand, there are those who say that the church has watered down its message to such a degree that there is no longer anything authoritative, substantive, or spiritually nourishing about it at all. In our modern, high-tech world, the church can be seen, but it’s mostly in the rear-view mirror as people – in a post-Christian world, speed on with life.
My friends, I don’t buy in to any of this jabberwocky. I don’t buy it because I’ve read the text for today, studied the text for today, and believe the text for today. If we stick with the text, I’m persuaded that it can be the antidote to this maddening double-mindedness that has gripped the church. The text reads as follows, and I’m going to provide a bit of commentary along the way.
“Then the eleven disciples went to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go.” Those disciples were like Festus on Gunsmoke; they were trusty sidekicks of Jesus. They believed in law and order, and they did what they were told. But then, having done that, they encounter Jesus. It says, “When they saw him, they worshipped, but some doubted.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we can come to church and pretend all morning long that we don’t have doubts about the reality of God or the claims of Jesus Christ on our lives. But let us expose the elephant in the church’s living room. The fact is, we do have doubts; we all do – in one way or another. There’s room, at First Presbyterian Church, for your doubts. We don’t claim to have all the answers. At the same time, I hope you perk up to the notion and latch on to the idea that still, amid our doubts, we point not to ourselves and to the quality and content of our Presbyterian faith. Instead, we point to Jesus Christ. That’s when Presbyterian Christians are at their best.
Some worshipped Jesus but some doubted. And Jesus didn’t call down fire and brimstone on the doubters. Instead, our text says, he “…came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.’”
Whoa! If that’s true (and I’m convinced it is), it changes everything; it makes all the difference in the world, folks. He didn’t go off seeking authority or hungering after or campaining or politic-ing for that power. Rather, it was given to Him; it came as a gift. As I’ve said before, I’ll say it again: If not gift, then not gospel; it not gospel, then not gift.
With His authority established – or, as we Presbyterians like to say, His sovereignty, he swings in – like that mini-cassette recorder on Mission: Impossible – to the mission: “Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations.”
For those of you who like your law and order, you’ll be happy to know that there is a command in there. But it’s not “go.” The word translated as “go” in this text is more faithfully translated from the original Greek as follows: “When you arrive at where you are sent.”
Folks, you are where you are sent. You are where Jesus has sent you to be. Think of who you are, today, as father’s – or as mothers, children, youth, young adults, workers, those looking for work, retirees. You may be rejoicing today for any one of a number of reasons. You also may be grieving. You may be worshipping; you may be doubting. Jesus wants you all; Jesus takes you all. Jesus recruits you all.
Now, here comes the actual command – and it IS a command and not a suggestion: “Make disciples of all nations.” Jesus wants no one left behind in the rear-view mirror of the church. A disciples, literally, is one who learns. In addition, you may have noticed the word discipline in the word disciple. And yes, it takes some discipline to learn. Jesus is recruiting learners who continue to learn and who also help others to learn – and to grow – in the grace and mercy and peace of Jesus Christ.
Some like law and order, and that’s fine. Jesus delivers. Others like the process, and Jesus doesn’t disappoint on that count either. Here’s the disciple-making process: baptize people in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Today is Father’s Day, yes. But it is also Holy Trinity Sunday, and here’s your Holy Trinity reference: the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Say what you will about Baptism; say what you will about whether it is a sacrament, ordinance, or act of faith; say what you will about whether it is for adults only or infants too. One thing is beyond dispute: Baptism, with the water, puts the Name of God on one person. Baptism is Jesus saying to that one person: Here I am! Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours! Baptism is Jesus saying to that one person: The powers of darkness and death will try to do their job on you, but they’ll have to get through me first. And there’s no chance they can since I died for you on that cross; I rose again from the dead with you in my head and heart. I live for you. I am with you. If people really knew what Baptism was all about, that font over there would never collect dust.
Jesus goes on with the process: Teach them to obey – it can also be translated as “observe” or “keep” – everything I have commanded you. We’re not given what some might call the luxury of picking and choosing what we like from the teachings of Jesus. We’re called to share everything.
Our text, which has been called “The Great Commission”, ends with a promise from the Lord: “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
My friends, the heavenly secretary has not disavowed any knowledge of the matter. The tape has not self-destructed. God doesn’t wish us luck. God is with us. The mission is ours. Will you choose to accept it?
Amen.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
THE M FORCE
Ours, for better or worse, is a mainline Protestant congregation. The late Richard John Neuhaus, speaking of such churches, once remarked: “The mainline has long become the oldline which is fast becoming the sideline.” The statistics I’ve read prove his point. Numerically, mainline Protestant Christianity is in a numerical free fall.
Personally, I have neither the time — or the desire — to twiddle my thumbs, crunch numbers, and ponder the whys and wherefores that surround this state of affairs. (I’ll leave that to the academics.) I would much rather set to work with you to do our part toward a renewal of mission in our midst.
With that in mind, I’m going to be presenting, during the summer months, a series of light and lively messages on the mission of the God which is, of course, the mission of the Church in the world. Picking up on popular television program of yesteryear and, more recently, a series of motion pictures, I’ve titled the series THE M FORCE.
Do I hope you’ll enjoy the series? Of course. But far more importantly, I hope the Spirit will use our summer Sundays to inspire us to fully realize the unique gifts and possibilities that are ours both individually and corporately.
Baptized and taught in the Name of the Triune God, all of us are part of THE M FORCE. The mission is ours — if we decide to accept it. By the way, this email will not “self-destruct five seconds” after you’ve read it. Feel free to forward it to your friends and acquaintances!
Friday, June 3, 2011
A Spacious Place!
Text: Psalm 66:8-12
Theme: “A Spacious Place”
Sixth Sunday of Easter
May 29, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Praise our God, O peoples, let the sound of his praise be heard; he has preserved our lives and kept our feet from slipping. For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.
It is appropriate, with Dylanfest 2011 scheduled for 7:00 PM here tonight, to start off with a poetic gem from Bob Dylan. In the 1981 album Shot of Love, Dylan wrote a song, entitled “Every Grain of Sand”, which included these words: “I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame. And every time I pass that way, I always hear my name.”
How many times a day does temptation call your name? Most mornings, before I pull the covers back, I face temptation even before I get out of bed. I’m tempted to think maudlin thoughts about what I have to do or what may or may not happen during the course of the day. Temptation comes in all kinds of voices and shapes and sizes, but it always attempts to change our focus from faith in God and love of our neighbor to ourselves.
In a few weeks, we will celebrate Holy Trinity Sunday. We’ll reflect on how God is revealed as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, or, if you will, Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. But on a daily basis, our reflections are usually based not on the Holy Trinity but rather on what I’ve dubbed the “unholy” trinity of me, myself, and I. We’re not curved out in the direction of God and the neighbor, but we’re curved in on the self. We look out for number one. We ask, at many a crossroad in life, “What’s in it for me?” We rationalize by thinking or saying that everybody is like that, and then we go on our merry way along the path of least resistance.
Your presence here this morning is a healthy rebellion against such self-centeredness, for you have come to praise God from whom all blessings flow. Many of these blessings are in the form people, people that we love, that are no longer with us. Their memories are fresh in our minds this weekend. We thank God for the countless ways they influenced life for the better. We think of the folks across our land that, at some point this Memorial Day weekend, will bring flowers to the graves of loved ones. Some of those graves are brand new, and this Memorial Day will include a bittersweet poignancy. One of the graves is that of Walter Rohre, a member of this church, who was not in Denton, Texas in December of 1941. No, he was at Pearl Harbor when our country was brutally attacked. He served at a makeshift military hospital – and it is difficult to even imagine what that must have been like on that day that President Franklin Roosevelt said would live “in infamy”. Walter would have understood the lyrics of today’s choir anthem which was also sung at President Reagan’s funeral: “To fallen soldiers let us sing, where no rickets fly nor bullets wing. Our broken brothers let us bring to the mansions of the Lord.”
That said, we’re also here today to thank our God for all those who gave that “last full measure of devotion” in defense of the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of this country. Freedom is a gift; there is no doubt about that. But it did not come on the cheap. The same is true of our spiritual freedom as children of God. It cost God something. The Gospel declares that God “did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all.” Toward the end of the Civil War, President Lincoln wrote a letter to a mother who lost two sons. He wrote with stirring words about the sacrifice that “was laid at the altar of freedom.”
Of all the Scriptures set aside for our hearing in today’s service, I thought the Psalm captured things best. Psalm 66 calls forth praise. “Praise our God, O people,” it says. “Let the sound of his praise be heard; he has preserved our lives.” Here of late we’ve learned again how fragile life can be. The violent tornadoes in various parts of our country have, themselves, caused fresh graves to be cut. We wonder, “When’s the big storm going to hit us?” Then came last Tuesday night with its funnel clouds dipping down and pulling up seemingly in rehearsal for a dance of destruction. Transformers blue up like fireworks in the dark sky. Fifty thousand people were without power for a time. When it was over, I heard people say that we “dodged a bullet.” But here we are with our lives preserved – to use the language of the psalm.
John Calvin, the great sixteenth century reformer of the church, joins his thoughts to those of many others in praising the psalms. He wrote: “I would call this book an anatomy of all parts of the soul; for no one will discover in himself a single feeling where the image is not reflected in this mirror. No, all griefs, sorrows, fears, doubts, hopes, cares, anxieties – in short, all those tumultuous agitations wherewith the minds of men are wont to be tossed – the Holy Ghost hath here represented to the life.”
Our psalm today is a thrill ride if there ever was one. It joins high doxology and praise to those tumultuous agitations of which Calvin spoke. Totally missing is the polished piety of Christian churches on quiet Sunday mornings. The psalmist is not given to correctness – theological, political, or otherwise. The writer shoots from the hip and says: “For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water… .” Yes, in the middle of this happy psalm of praise, there is an accusing finger pointed at God! It’s as if the psalmist is saying: “God, you’re great; you’re wonderful; you’re awesome; you’re incredible; you’re all-powerful; you’re all-knowing. Yip, yip, yip yahoo! But God, you let all this stuff happen. In fact, it looks like you caused some of it.” Sometimes the psalms say what we can’t bring ourselves to say!
But our reading doesn’t conclude with an accusing finger. It ends with a finger pointing all around. The psalmist says to God: “You brought us to a place of abundance.” Another translation says: “You brought us to a spacious place.”
That’s where we are today, dear friends. We have our spacious place, our place of abundance. There may be tumultuous agitations along the way, but, like today, the love of God – made known in our crucified and risen Lord – will always bring you to a spacious place.
Amen.
Theme: “A Spacious Place”
Sixth Sunday of Easter
May 29, 2011
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
Rev. Paul R. Dunklau
IN THE NAME OF JESUS
Praise our God, O peoples, let the sound of his praise be heard; he has preserved our lives and kept our feet from slipping. For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.
It is appropriate, with Dylanfest 2011 scheduled for 7:00 PM here tonight, to start off with a poetic gem from Bob Dylan. In the 1981 album Shot of Love, Dylan wrote a song, entitled “Every Grain of Sand”, which included these words: “I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame. And every time I pass that way, I always hear my name.”
How many times a day does temptation call your name? Most mornings, before I pull the covers back, I face temptation even before I get out of bed. I’m tempted to think maudlin thoughts about what I have to do or what may or may not happen during the course of the day. Temptation comes in all kinds of voices and shapes and sizes, but it always attempts to change our focus from faith in God and love of our neighbor to ourselves.
In a few weeks, we will celebrate Holy Trinity Sunday. We’ll reflect on how God is revealed as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, or, if you will, Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. But on a daily basis, our reflections are usually based not on the Holy Trinity but rather on what I’ve dubbed the “unholy” trinity of me, myself, and I. We’re not curved out in the direction of God and the neighbor, but we’re curved in on the self. We look out for number one. We ask, at many a crossroad in life, “What’s in it for me?” We rationalize by thinking or saying that everybody is like that, and then we go on our merry way along the path of least resistance.
Your presence here this morning is a healthy rebellion against such self-centeredness, for you have come to praise God from whom all blessings flow. Many of these blessings are in the form people, people that we love, that are no longer with us. Their memories are fresh in our minds this weekend. We thank God for the countless ways they influenced life for the better. We think of the folks across our land that, at some point this Memorial Day weekend, will bring flowers to the graves of loved ones. Some of those graves are brand new, and this Memorial Day will include a bittersweet poignancy. One of the graves is that of Walter Rohre, a member of this church, who was not in Denton, Texas in December of 1941. No, he was at Pearl Harbor when our country was brutally attacked. He served at a makeshift military hospital – and it is difficult to even imagine what that must have been like on that day that President Franklin Roosevelt said would live “in infamy”. Walter would have understood the lyrics of today’s choir anthem which was also sung at President Reagan’s funeral: “To fallen soldiers let us sing, where no rickets fly nor bullets wing. Our broken brothers let us bring to the mansions of the Lord.”
That said, we’re also here today to thank our God for all those who gave that “last full measure of devotion” in defense of the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of this country. Freedom is a gift; there is no doubt about that. But it did not come on the cheap. The same is true of our spiritual freedom as children of God. It cost God something. The Gospel declares that God “did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all.” Toward the end of the Civil War, President Lincoln wrote a letter to a mother who lost two sons. He wrote with stirring words about the sacrifice that “was laid at the altar of freedom.”
Of all the Scriptures set aside for our hearing in today’s service, I thought the Psalm captured things best. Psalm 66 calls forth praise. “Praise our God, O people,” it says. “Let the sound of his praise be heard; he has preserved our lives.” Here of late we’ve learned again how fragile life can be. The violent tornadoes in various parts of our country have, themselves, caused fresh graves to be cut. We wonder, “When’s the big storm going to hit us?” Then came last Tuesday night with its funnel clouds dipping down and pulling up seemingly in rehearsal for a dance of destruction. Transformers blue up like fireworks in the dark sky. Fifty thousand people were without power for a time. When it was over, I heard people say that we “dodged a bullet.” But here we are with our lives preserved – to use the language of the psalm.
John Calvin, the great sixteenth century reformer of the church, joins his thoughts to those of many others in praising the psalms. He wrote: “I would call this book an anatomy of all parts of the soul; for no one will discover in himself a single feeling where the image is not reflected in this mirror. No, all griefs, sorrows, fears, doubts, hopes, cares, anxieties – in short, all those tumultuous agitations wherewith the minds of men are wont to be tossed – the Holy Ghost hath here represented to the life.”
Our psalm today is a thrill ride if there ever was one. It joins high doxology and praise to those tumultuous agitations of which Calvin spoke. Totally missing is the polished piety of Christian churches on quiet Sunday mornings. The psalmist is not given to correctness – theological, political, or otherwise. The writer shoots from the hip and says: “For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water… .” Yes, in the middle of this happy psalm of praise, there is an accusing finger pointed at God! It’s as if the psalmist is saying: “God, you’re great; you’re wonderful; you’re awesome; you’re incredible; you’re all-powerful; you’re all-knowing. Yip, yip, yip yahoo! But God, you let all this stuff happen. In fact, it looks like you caused some of it.” Sometimes the psalms say what we can’t bring ourselves to say!
But our reading doesn’t conclude with an accusing finger. It ends with a finger pointing all around. The psalmist says to God: “You brought us to a place of abundance.” Another translation says: “You brought us to a spacious place.”
That’s where we are today, dear friends. We have our spacious place, our place of abundance. There may be tumultuous agitations along the way, but, like today, the love of God – made known in our crucified and risen Lord – will always bring you to a spacious place.
Amen.
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