John 1:43-50 "Come and See"

         Jesus was looking for a few good people who had the potential to embrace his passion for God’s dream.  He found Andrew and Peter first.  According to the writer of the Gospel of John, they were initially followers of John the Baptist – until their mentor clothed in his usual camel’s hair with his crazy diet of wild locusts and honey told them that Jesus was the One, Jesus was the Lamb of God, Jesus was the Messiah.  So, they hitched their star to Jesus’ wagon, and the three of them journeyed together to Galilee.  That is where Jesus found Philip – and that is where our story for today begins.  

         Phillip was awfully excited when he encountered Jesus because he immediately put two and two together.  He had never met John the Baptist, so no one had told him that Jesus was the One.  

As far as Philip was concerned, this was big news indeed. After all, Israel had been expecting the Messiah, the Anointed One, to show up for a long, long time now.  He also knew that posters plastered around town and even posting to Facebook or announcing it on Twitter just would not cut the mustard when it came to getting people to understand that this man Jesus was the One they had been waiting for. 

Philip had a real story to tell about the Good News that Jesus would be a real game changer going forward, and Phillip also intuitively understood that to create a real movement around this man, well, signup sheets on bulletin boards just would not do the trick.  

Consequently, Philip jumped into this evangelism business quickly – and started talking up Jesus.  He did not know exactly all that Jesus was about – and he was not sure he could even put it all into words.  However, that would not stop him from trying; his passion was that great – and, face it - enthusiasm can go a long way!

         Nathanial was the first person that Philip ran into, bubbling over with his positive energy. “Nathanial, guess what? We have found him, you know, the One we have been waiting for.  Andrew, Peter, and I:  We have found him – and he is gathering some of us together – and we will have great adventures and we will travel and eat in restaurants and sleep in barns and maybe even have campfires in the evening.”

         Nathanial listened as he sat alone contemplating his naval under a fig tree. “Yeah, OK, go on,” he said with a sort of skeptical look on his face and tone in his voice.  “Who is it this time?  Who is this guy?”

         “It’s Jesus, Joseph’s son, you know, from Nazareth.” Philip continued excitedly.

         “Nazareth?  You have got to be kidding! You expect me to believe that the Messiah hails from Nazareth?”  Nathanial replied, his scorn and disbelief coming through loud and clear when he said the word, “Nazareth”.  You know, “Naaaa-zareth?”

         And then, of course, the clincher, the conversation stopper.  “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

         And Nathanial was right to question Philip’s unbridled enthusiasm for a man the latter had just met a day earlier.  You see, Nathanial was a good Jew – an excellent Jew, in fact - and he knew all about the One they had all been searching for.  

As blogger Russell Smith wrote, “Nathaniel was passionate about Israel. (He) longed for God to redeem Israel. He longed for God to send a messiah who would lead Israel into a new era of international prominence. Like so many Israelites, he bound up his sense of purpose and worth with his people. And yet he suffered only disappointment. The Maccabean revolt a century and a half before had failed to establish Israel’s prominence. Prophets and preachers wandered throughout Israel proclaiming that the messiah was coming, yet Israel was still in Roman chains. Nathaniel was becoming cynical and jaded. His attitude was ‘show me the money; I’ve heard all the claims, now let’s see some action.’”

Nathanial knew the Temple’s take on the Messiah by heart. The Messiah would be the son of David, not the son of some obscure carpenter named Joseph.  If the Messiah was a political type, he would arise from a bigger and more noteworthy town, a town with more influence.  If the Messiah was the priestly type, no question but that he would come from Jerusalem, the Holy City, the site of the Temple itself, the locus of theological debate, reflection, and education, and the seat of Jewish religious power.  

         But Nazareth?  Not a chance.  After all, Nazareth was a backwater undistinguished place.  As blogger Peter Woods noted, “Nazareth wasn’t a good place to put on your Curriculum Vitae as your place of origin. In fact, if there was Facebook back then, you wouldn’t acknowledge that you were from there on any social media. Nazareth was a dump.  It didn’t feature in any Old Testament prophecies. No great personage had come from there. It wasn’t the seat of any power and no great families hailed from Nazareth. It was a simple backwater town. No great schools, colleges, universities. There was nothing. Nazareth was nowhere.” 

 Nazareth probably had a population of only 500 or so, and it was situated far from any East-West trade route.  Nazareth was like when you are on the highway and see an exit sign for gas in some town you have never heard of, and, because the light for the reserve tank on your dashboard has just come on and, OK, be honest, you are also hoping for a MacDonald’s, you turn off the highway – and end up driving for miles before you see either the yellow arches or an Exxon or Mobil or Shell sign.

Nazareth sat in the hill country of Galilee, a region of fishing and farming – and, definitely, no Uber.  People from Nazareth had a distinctive regional accent (in other words, they spoke funny), and there were a lot of immigrants, foreigners, and people from away. 

         “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  Hah! You have got to be kidding.  Now – run along, little boy, I have got better things to do sitting under my fig tree than dream of the Messiah coming out of Nazareth,” declared Nathanial.

         However, rather than being put off by Nathanial’s cynicism that was so clearly wrapped in that skeptical and negative response, Philip answered in the only way anyone evangelizing (because, that is what Philip was doing, evangelizing) ought to answer.  He did not argue or debate with Nathanial.  He did not come up with a laundry list of rational reasons for following Jesus.  He did not try to convince Nathanial with logic.  He simply said to him, “Well, you may not believe me, but come and see – and make your own decision.”

         And on that non-threatening basis alone, Nathanial did – and the encounter was clearly mind-blowing because he ended up proclaiming Jesus to be the Son of God and King of Israel – and, best of all, he ended up becoming one of his disciples. 

         Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  On the surface, it would appear not, but come and see.   Can anything good come out of the Raymond Village Community Church with its rural roots and its gray-haired congregation?  On the surface, it might appear to be too small, too tired, but come and see – and make your own decision. 

         I wonder if the future of our church might be bound up in our willingness to invite others to come and see, but more than that, to invite others to come and sharewhat we have found in this community – whatever that might be.  And so, I would challenge you this week to think about what it is that you have found in this faith community that keeps you coming back week after week or keeps you pledging year after year.  

If you were to invite someone to come and see, what is it about this church that you would want them to experience?  And is there a non-threatening way that does not get your stomach all tied up in knots to extend that invitation?

         I know that, in the end, the future of our church is without a doubt in God’s hands.  And I know that the Spirit which inspired Philip and even overcame the negative skepticism of Nathanial is out there too – or rather in here – swirling about – nudging us, encouraging us.  

However, I also know that the Spirit does not inspire in a vacuum.  The Spirit speaks through each one of us.  I have got to believe that God’s expectation is that, if our church is going to survive, we must find ways to say the words, “Come and see”, if we are ever going to create the desire and the curiosity necessary for those we meet to do just that: “Come and see.”

         However, there is more to this story about expectations and presumptions.  Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  Can anything good come out of each one of us? 

You know, if there is one thing that we as humans are really good at (unless we are pathological narcissists), it is putting ourselves down.  Who are we to talk up Jesus and the church?  We are too old, too shy, too inarticulate. 

We are just a single individual in a small church, albeit one with a big heart, that most people do not know about. But is that really all we are?  Or is there more to each one of us?  Good questions to reflect on, I think.

         As UCC pastor Jed Watson wrote, “How well do you see yourself? How well do you know yourself? Can you see yourself objectively, as you really are? Do you know the real you, in all of your complexity?  I think we often fail to see ourselves clearly - or adequately, for that matter. Our society and our culture condition us to think and feel about ourselves in certain ways – and with enormous limitations – ways that cannot help but cloud our vision.  

We are female.  We are single.  We are tired. We are busy. How we often fail to appreciate the good and positive and redeeming things about ourselves!  Negative self-perceptions cannot help but eclipse the light that others might see radiating from us. And sometimes it is our loved ones and friends, and even perfect strangers, who can see in us – and in our church - things that we honestly, genuinely do not see ourselves. 

‘Really? Me? This church?’ ‘Yeah, you, this church. Isn’t that obvious to you?’”

Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  Yes.  Can anything good come out of each one of us?  Yes. Can anything good and sustainable and reflective of God’s dream for the world come out of this church?  Yes. 

As your pastor, I see a group of people who can easily become discouraged and are a wee bit tired, but a group of people who love this church nonetheless.  I see a group of people who sometimes find it hard to believe that we – you and I - are the ones whom, as the Psalmist sang, God has awesomely and wonderfully made for ministry. I see a group of people who have gifts that they may not even know are gifts – organizational skills, wonderful voices, creativity, a sense of humor, dogged determination – and even some who can actually say to someone else (or at least post on Facebook):  Come and see.

Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Philip thought so – and eventually so did Nathanial.  Can anything good come out of this church? Your Visioning Team – and I as your Pastor - think so, and we confidently expressed that optimism at the Annual Meeting last week, hoping that you will come to that conclusion too and join wholeheartedly in the ministries of our church going forward.  They may not be ministries as we have always done them. They may lead us down paths we have never experienced.  

They may make our church seem less like what we always presumed our church would be.  They may – just may – answer Nathanial’s question differently than we would expect. Can anything good come out of our church?  Yes. Come and see.

Can anything good come out of each one of us – particularly in our relationship to this church?  As your pastor, my hope is that, by simply feeling comfortable being our God-made selves – seeking peace, working for justice, following the way of Jesus - something good will come out of each one of us as well.

Now, you each have a drawing of a lightbulb attached to your bulletin.  Be thinking of the gift, the light, that you bring to this church. And if you are a guest today? You be thinking too. Think about the gift that you offer to the broader community here in Raymond – or might someday offer to this church. 

What are you good at? What do other people say you are good at?  Are you good at teaching, at singing, at leading worship? Are you good at organizing projects or motivating others?  Are you a good artist?  Are you a good cookie baker? Mashed potato maker?  Are you good at fixing things?  Are you good at keeping people’s spirits up when times are tough?  Are you a good conversationalist?  

Are you good at making people see the humorous side of a situation?  Are you good at saying to people in one way or another: ”Come and see”?

Between now and our final hymn, I challenge each one of you to write down on your light bulb what you are good at, what has the potential to make you shine in this church family or in the Raymond community.  You see, as we sing our closing hymn, I am going to invite you to bring those light bulbs forward and lay them on the communion table.  They will be a visible sign of the gifts – the light – that we bring to the ministries of our church or to the work of the greater community.  And perhaps we can think of all those light bulbs shining when, in our own ways, we say to our neighbors and friends “Come and see” knowing that we will have something powerful and profound and so like Jesus to show them.

                  

Psalm 23 "Slow Down: A Lenten Series"

            Some of us wrote the words on flash cards because we had to memorize them for  Sunday School decades ago.  At the time, though we could scarcely believe it, we were told that one day we would be glad we knew the 23^rdPsalm by heart.  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…”And those teachers were probably right.

After all, we have listened to the familiar rhythm of its phrases or even silently read the words off the prayer cards that the funeral director handed out as we signed the guestbook .  “ Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…”

We might recall movie actors reciting phrases from this most well-known of all the psalms during scenes of overwhelming crisis and impending death.  As the decks of the great unsinkable ocean liner flood, and the ship begins to sink in “Titanic”:  “For thou art with me…”  Spoken by frightened soldiers about to go into battle or by commanding officers seeking to inspire confidence in new recruits, the words of the Psalm crop up in “Jarhead” and “Full Metal Jacket”:  “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness….I will fear no evil…”

Bibles are left open to these verses in hospital rooms and next to nursing home beds as a patient or resident reaches the end of the line and is nearing death.  “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”  

In those circumstances, we who whisper the familiar words we memorized so long ago do so, of course,  in the hope that they will undergird our parent or child or friend as each one moves from this life to whatever it is that comes next.  “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever….”

I think it is a shame that this 23^rdPsalm is so closely associated with dying, even though untold millions have found comfort at deathbeds and funerals - which, of course, is not a bad thing.  However,  this psalm is really one of affirmation.  In the end, it is a psalm of life and provides direction for us today while we are living, not after we are dead.  If we only consider it in the midst of death, we are missing its power to shape us and even transform us now, today, while we live.

That being said, of course, what can a preacher preach about these familiar words that has not already been said before? Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann in his book,  The Message of the Psalms, begins his commentary on Psalm 23 with these words: "It is almost pretentious to comment on this psalm. The grip it has on biblical spirituality is deep and genuine. It is such a simple statement that it can bear its own witness without comment.”  His words are perhaps a slightly more eloquent declaration than the one Joe expressed when he asked me earlier in the week what I could possibly say about the 23^rdPsalm in today’s sermon.

And yet, here I am – your pastor and teacher – commenting on these familiar words.  However, maybe I do so not to offer you a unique insight – an aha moment -  but rather to remind you of two things that have always stood out for me when reflecting on this psalm. The first is its message of hope grounded in its firm declaration of our abiding relationship with God.  The second is the direction it offers us in the tangled, busy, stress filled, and often fearful times we live in.

Within the opening words of the psalm lies its message of hope.  “The Lord is my shepherd…”It is funny how we often emphasize the word “shepherd” rather than “Lord” when we recite the familiar words.  “The Lord is my Shepherd” we often say and seldom “The Lord is my shepherd.”  

And yet, for the writer of the Psalm, what was important was who the shepherd was, and it was not the kings or monarchs of ancient Israel though they were often described as shepherds.  The Lordis my shepherd was a bold declaration.  And likewise for us, in the end it is not the presidents and political leaders of today that we, like sheep, are called to follow.  No - the Lordis my shepherd. 

In other words,  God/the Lord is my protector and the one I tag along after.  God/the Lord is the one in whom I put my trust.  God/the Lord is the one who will give each one of us all we need for a rich and meaningful  life.  God/the Lord  is the one who will hold out a hand and lead us home.  God/the Lord is my shepherd.

It is as Rabbi Harold Kushner said in an interview with “Religion and Ethics Newsweekly”:  “People who have been hurt by life get stuck in ‘the valley of the shadow,’ and they don’t know how to find their way out. And that’s the role of God. The role of God is not to explain and not to justify but to comfort, to find people when they are living in darkness, take them by the hand, and show them how to find their way into the sunlight again.”  The Lordis my shepherd. It is that intimate and personal relationship that we have with God that is so beautifully proclaimed – albeit in a most subtle way – in this Psalm.

If you had ever studied Hebrew, you would have discovered that a  profound theological shift takes place in the very middle of this Psalm.  You see, in the original Hebrew, there are exactly twenty-six words before the statement “You are with me” (or “Thou art with me.”) and twenty-six words after it.

            Prior to that verse, the Shepherd is referred to in the third person.  “He makes me to lie down…He leads me beside the still waters….He restores my soul.”  Then suddenly the syntax changes  - right smack in the middle of the psalm .  Much to the horror of strict grammar nerds and English majors, the Psalmist no longer refers to the Shepherd – to God –in the third person.  The Psalmist refers to the Holy One as “you”.  “You are with me….”You prepare a table before me…”  

That subtle switch in grammar puts a whole new slant on our relationship with God.  In a single wording change, our relationship is transformed into an intimate and personal one – a relationship of “you” and “me” .  We are like a couple – us and God.  We have the kind of relationship where we can look into one another’s eyes and hold one another’s hands.  

For me, that you/me or I/thou relationship we have with God is transformative.  You see, for us who say we are Christians, through Jesus, we embark on a new relationship  – one that is so very hopeful.  When we find ourselves weak and in the dark and uncertain about our future or the future of our world, when all the color of life is drained, and we are left with only gray, when our very souls are downcast, in this psalm we find a nugget of hope.  We are like the spiders of which poet Mary Sarten wrote: “Spiders are patient weavers. They never give up. Who knows what keeps them at it? Hunger, no doubt. And hope.”

            And so, if you have come to worship this morning needing to have your soul painted in the restorative green of quiet meadows, needing to get your life back after a particularly trying week, needing to be washed in quiet pools of hope, needing to find the silence and meditative time we promised ourselves during these Sundays in Lent, this psalm invites you to savor and relish the  imagery of verdant pastures and still waters.  The Lordis my shepherd.  There is food – good food – for the soul embodied in this psalm.  So – you who need to – eat – and eat heartily!

After all, what more could any of us want than the assurance that God is ever present, that there is, somewhere, rest for our weary souls?   As Presbyterian pastor Shannon Kershner writes,  “Clearly this claim at the center of the psalm, this promise that no matter what, the Shepherd, the only One in whom we trust, will never abandon us, not even in the most dangerous places—this is to be the promise in which we ground our lives.” The Lord is my shepherd.

However, if you are one who needs more than rest, if you have come to worship this morning seeking a  new direction, a path forward, this psalm is for you as well.  We can dig deeper into our reflection on these familiar words  by noting as Kerscher points out: “But not only does the Shepherd lead us through dangerous places (she writes), but when God is present in the shadow of death, in the dark valley, things change. The valley is transformed.”

Following all the comforting language about lush green meadows and quiet  pools of water, words that are a powerful invitation for self-care  in a crazy busy world, the psalmist offers the more disturbing image of a banquet, a five star meal in a five star restaurant – partaken in the presence of enemies. In my mind’s eye, I had always pictured this  scenario as a long wooden table set in the middle of some dust-blown battlefield, the casualties hygienically removed to hospitals or MASH units or morgues, and we sitting about the table feeling ever so brave because here we are eating in the presence of our enemies, in the presence of those we hate or fear or have not taken the time to understand, even those we have become disconnected from for whatever the reason over the years, all of them at a distance looking on, hungering as much as we had been hungering.

            This week, however, I read an essay by Eric Eines, who wrote in part: “Do you really think that God would welcome us to a table where we get to flaunt our pleasure in front of our enemies as if a bit of gloating … would be good for our souls? No, that wouldn’t be in keeping with the God of extravagant welcome and outrageous hospitality whom we see everywhere else in scripture.  Indeed, if we were to hoard the bounty for ourselves, Goodness and Mercy following us all the days of our lives would surely feel like stalking wouldn’t it?”

            I am almost embarrassed to admit that for so long I had read this part of the psalm so differently.  What if this table is set not only for us but for our enemies (or at least those who are not our friends) as well?  What if we were called to share a meal with the Muslim we have been taught to hate as a terrorist , with the Guatemalan refugee family we fear as drug dealers and rapists, with the elderly woman with dementia who needs her Depends changed, with the old bald homeless guy who smells?  And what about the people we have simply been too busy to connect with and be present for? What if all those people were seated around the banquet table imagined in the psalm with us.  After all, we do not always get to choose who is invited to the table.  

Would such a scenario change the way we think about those with whom we might make a connection?  After all, it is hard to hate or fear or ignore over filet mignon and a good bottle of Beaujolais.  Surely God would be there too….because….well, because the Psalmist tells us that the Shepherd has become a gracious host., calling us and  our enemies to dine together, turning our fear into celebration and even joy.

            It will not easy sitting at that table not knowing who will show up.  I am not sure how I would actually do in some of those situations.  I am not even sure that a meal with those we have no connection with would even work, but I have to hope and trust that it would be a start. 

 Some of us will surely get up from the table before the appetizers arrive, so unappealing is the company – and so unorthodox the cutlery (which we will get to in a minute).  However, some of us will stay and be curious about how this meal will work out.  You see, as Eric Eines described that table, “I think that the place setting at the table set before us in the presence of our enemies consists of long spoons and long forks.  It forces us to choose between heaven and hell .  We can look at the delectable food and starve because we are unable to feed ourselves and unwilling to feed our enemies. Or we can share the bounty of the green pastures and still waters (by feeding one another). 

Sure, just because we use our long spoons to offer food to the enemy does not assure that the enemy will offer food in return on his or her long spoon, but if there is to be any hope, it surely rests in offering nourishment not withholding it.”

            Perhaps that is the challenge of this 23^rdPsalm, all the while embedded in its imagery of solace and rest.  Perhaps that is why this psalm is a psalm of life, not death, because it offers us not only comfort and hope, but also direction.  In finding rest and sustenance  for our own souls, we also are given an opportunity to offer the same to the souls of those we meet and too often unknowingly discard along the way.

Matthew 11:18-30 "Slow Down - A Lenten Series"

         On a scale of 1 to 10, how stressed are you?  Now I am not talking about how stressed you are at Christmas because we all know that everyone is stressed at Christmas – all that shopping online and driving to the mall, mailing packages, sending cards, entertaining, traveling.  No – I am not harkening back to December. 

         After all, it is March.  It is Daylight Savings.  It is the first Sunday in Lent.  We are six weeks away from Easter, the ultimate springtime festival. 

         Though we are still deep in winter, Christmas is in the past.   No – I am talking about today.  On a scale of 1 to 10 today, how stressed are you?

10 = Someone call an ambulance!

9 = Crazy Busy is the only phrase to describe me.

8 = I’m not going crazy … but I can see crazy from here …

7 = “Exhausted” is my middle name.

6 = I can really use a vacation – and I just got back from one!

5 = How many days (hours/minutes) until vacation?

4 = My calendar is a wee bit on the heavy side.

3 = Feelin’ groovy!

2 = Ommmmmmm.

1 = I and the Universe are One.

         If you rated yourself 6 or above on my informal scale, you should listen up because our Lenten series this year could be life-changing for you. If you rated yourself 5 or under, you ought to listen as well because we are also going to reflect on how you might more positively utilize all the energy and time you have in these weeks leading up to Easter.

         Wherever you ranked yourself on my scale, face it:  Life and stress go hand-in-hand.  In the United States – more so than in most nations – we tend to measure success by how busy we are, the busier the better.  Always being on the go signifies that we are being productive, and that is good. 

         Methodist pastor and worship consultant Marcia McFee noted that: “being ‘busy’ has become a measure of worth in our society. We get big points for productivity, collecting accomplishments, having and being ‘more’”.

         And so we feel naked without our smart phones.  We say we hate email but most of us still feel compelled to check it at least several times a day, so we will not miss anything important. We would be lost without the virtual connections our social media accounts are supposed to offer us.  We text in our cars and in restaurants.  We listen for the telltale jingle of a message when we sit with our families around the dining room table.  We are proud of the fact that we multi-task and even prouder if we only get five hours of sleep a night - though four would be better.  Not a single one of us would ever admit to watching soap operas in the afternoon as we sit around eating bonbons.

         Whether we are retired or still working, “a hectic pace” is an apt phrase to describe the way we live.  And yet, as Mahatma Gandhi once observed, “There is more to life than increasing its speed.”

         Is it any wonder then that most – if not all of us – deep down inside – or maybe at the surface - experience a weariness: a tiredness that wells up from all the crazy and complex intersections and twists and turns of our life journey – the physical frailties, all the emotional heartbreaks, what is going on with our children and grandchildren, and  - no matter your political proclivities - even the despicable stuff going on in Washington these days.  

         Sometimes it is a blow that we do not even see coming that knocks us flat.  It was like that for Harry Houdini the magician - literally. Houdini was best known for his ability to escape from what seemed to be impossible situations. Straitjackets, chains, ropes, jail cells, strange devices such as a milk pail filled with water - he managed to escape from one situation after another in full view of his audience.

         What did him in, however, was the blow he never saw coming. While reclining on a couch backstage after a performance he was asked by a couple of college students if he could withstand a punch to the stomach. When he answered that he could, one of the students surprised him by actually punching him several times. These blows caught him off guard, and he ruptured an already aggravated appendix, dying a week later.

         OK - It is a grisly story, I admit, and it is not always the unexpected that pushes us over the edge.  More often, it all just piles up – and we grow tired, deep soul tired. 

         Now, the point of my dwelling on the stress and weariness that grips us, is that, as McFee points out, “we are paying a high price in self-esteem, physical health, enjoyment of life, and connecting to one another. We are losing out on depth in our lives the more we spread ourselves thin.”

         To compensate, some of us turn to eating.  Others of us binge watch “Poldark” or “Outlander.”  Some of us turn to Amazon and shop.  Others of us take a year off from everything and go to New Zealand without computer, phone, or agenda.  Many of us (more realistically) rely on the self-help shelves at Bridgton Books – some of us even resorting to tidying up, hoping that doing so will bring life-changing magic to our lives as the author promises when we hold up each object and article of clothing we own and ask if it brings us joy. 

         Maybe it is just because I am a pastor, but I do not believe that any of those solutions for our lives lived too fast work in the long term.  And so I suggest that we turn to church and to God and to this season of Lent to find the solace that we seek. 

         Beginning today and for the next few weeks of Lent, here in worship, let’s experiment.  Let’s spend some time actually resting. Let’s explore some Sabbath practices we can try out during the rest of the week.

         Now – we are not going to fall asleep in the pews, and we are not going to remove ourselves from the world – because neither is what church is about – sleeping or insulating ourselves. We are going to seek a spiritual antidote for the busyness that leads to weariness that encroaches on our lives.  We are going to reflect on how we might re-connect to God, who, in the end, is so unhurried, who always has the time to love and to forgive.

         We are going to begin with those couple of verses we just heard found only in the Gospel of Matthew.  They have ended up on countless prayer cards and been underlined in a boatload of Bibles.  You can probably also discover them creased and wrinkled, written on scraps of paper in a myriad of purses and pocketbooks. 

“Come to me all you who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

Admit it:  These words sound like music to our weary hearts and souls.  This promise of rest from that family crisis, that impending surgery, or that cancer diagnosis is so sweet, so hopeful, so refreshing!

         Baptist pastor Mel Williams once asked a wise friend, ‘”What can we do when we face trouble after trouble and we’re feeling overwhelmed?”

         His friend replied, ‘Breathe!” (EXHALE)

         He goes on to say:  “We all need to exhale the anxieties, worries, and stress of our life, and wait for Jesus’ promise to work its way, to inhale its way, into our insides. It’s a kind of photosynthesis for the soul. We can exhale the carbons, the toxins; inhale the spiritual oxygen.” 

         “Come to me all you who labor and are heavy-laden…”  Yeah, Jesus knew.  He understood this weariness business.  I mean, people were after him all the time – stripping him bare – needing healing, needing forgiveness, needing hope, needing courage, needing something.  He knew what it was like to live on empty. He can relate to our own lives – day in and day out. 

         However, his promise does not end there.  Jesus continues: 

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

          Hmm!  Now those sentences are a bit problematic.  As author Eric Eines notes:  “Do these words sound very realistic?  As attractive as they sound, our fast-paced lives make it hard to imagine how Jesus’ invitation could possibly apply to us. 

Our schedules are so full – between work, family, and other obligations – that the mere suggestion of a yoke that could be “easy” and a burden that could be “light” seems absurd.”

         However, if we took Jesus’ promise seriously, could Lent this year be a time to lighten our burden and intentionally close our eyes, kick off our shoes, and rest our souls?  Could Lent this year be a time to intentionally exhale the stress and inhale the goodness of life?   We are going to slow down enough to reflect on that idea of the easy yoke - and experiment with it during this Lenten season. 

         For the next six weeks, let’s intentionally put our lives on pause – and instead of being busy, let’s try being “unbusy”.  Instead of multitasking and texting and checking our phone so frequently, let’s try being thoughtful about the life we are living and the life we want to live. Instead of accomplishing more, volunteering more, working more, let’s slow down long enough to find our right tempo and get into our unique groove.

         It will not be easy.  A pastor friend of mine shared her Lenten intention to set aside time to pray twice a day.  I had lunch with her the day after Ash Wednesday, and she had already missed her morning time that first day because she was running late for work.  But she intends to keep trying  - searching for her quiet center, her right tempo, her unhurried God.

         After all, surely our life goal is, as Episcopal priest Ian Markham noted, “to live every day, to enjoy every second, focusing on the eternal rather than the trivial….Let the outer life reflect the inner…. This is hard. So (in this season of Lent), we pause. We take stock. We pray. And we ask the God that loves us to…provide us all with the strength to become what God in Christ has already made us.”

         In this Bible passage we just read, Jesus indicates that the yoke is what provides this needed strength Markham talks about.  Many Bible translations read that this yoke is “easy”.  However, a better translation is “well-fitting”.  This yoke is “well-fitting”.  That makes sense.  Even for an ox, a heavy burden is bearable if the yoke fits. 

         And so it is with us: Jesus offers us a yoke that fits.  As Eric Eines remarks, “he’s offer(s) you the chance to do exactly the work that you were created to do – the work that brings you most fully alive. And he’s offering to help you.”

       That also makes sense because yokes are made for two.  When Jesus says, “take my yoke upon you”, he is inviting you to share his yoke.  He is in the other half of it, connecting with you in such a way that the two of you are working together. 

         That is what makes the yoke easy.  That is what makes the burden light.  When you are sharing the yoke, you cannot help but find your right tempo.  When you are sharing the yoke, you never face your life stressors alone.

         That is the message that I hope we can take into Lent this year:  First, sharing the yoke is better than going it alone.  And second, slowing down enough to put the yoke on will be life changing because doing so allows us to reconnect to Jesus and to our unhurried God. 

         If you are intrigued by what I have said so far, then my challenge to you for the next six weeks of Lent is to commit to one change that will allow you to live less hectically and find your right tempo.  You may discover something we do in worship to be helpful – or one of these suggestions may work:

1.   Say the Serenity Prayer each day and when you are done, write down one thing you worry about or fear – and throw in the woodstove or trash:

2.   God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time,
enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking, as Jesus did,
this sinful world as it is,
not as I would have it;
trusting that You will make all things right
if I surrender to Your will;
so that I may be reasonable happy in this life
and supremely happy with You forever in the next.

         2.  Try out this technique described by one blogger I read who heard a monk interviewed on the radio:

Interviewer: Are you telling me that you never get angry?
Monk: No I experience anger but I choose not to act on it.
Interviewer (Incredulous): So if you are on the freeway and someone cuts in front of you, you won’t hoot or yell at them?
Monk: I might think of doing those things but I will ask myself this question before acting, “What will this change?”  Good question to ask.

3.  Designate a specific place to pray – and intentionally use it once a day – if only for a few minutes – the Prayer Chair thing.

4.  Turn off your cell phone and computer for a day – or just an evening - each week.

5.  Participate in one contemplative practice on a regular basis, such as Yoga, Qigong, meditative walking, or journaling.

6.  Make a Lenten calendar – with one “unhurried” activity for each day – like shutting your eyes for 5 minutes or imagining a restful nature scene.

         These suggestions may not sound like much, but if you commit to one small discipline this Lenten season that will slow you down, release you from worry and fear, or help you to be more self-reflective, I am so sure that you will find your right tempo in this fast paced world we live in.  I am equally sure that doing so will open you up to God and to one another – and to the promise of Easter to come.