Serving God for Fun and Prophet

Dear Friends in Christ, grace to you, and peace, from God our Father, and his son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

I remember the day like it was yesterday.Our family had just moved to Salem, Oregon where I had begun a new call as pastor. Our kids were in third and fifth grades at the time, and this adventure of moving from the flat plains of South Dakota to the luscious valleys and majestic mountains of Oregon was like a permanent vacation. But then school started! Kindra, the third-grader, loved school; she thrived in school, and she was a social butterfly. But after the first week, she balked at going to school. Every morning she had a stomach ache. Every night she said that she missed her friends in her old school. She and I would cuddle under a quilt and she’d tell me about her day, and it didn’t sound so bad. “But daddy” she said, “you don’t understand!” “Help me understand” I said one night, and then she poured out her heart to me. “In South Dakota, my teacher loved me. In South Dakota, I had friends. But in this school, nobody likes me.” And then she cried. A visit between Marsha and the teacher was all it took. Within days, life was good again, Kindra was happy again, and therefore, so were we.

Now fast forward eight years; Kindra is now a high school junior, and a new call comes my way. Ironically, this call is to South Dakota! Again, Kindra is approaching it as an adventure, but then the first day of school arrives and she shuts down. She walks the solitary walk into a school of 1600 students where nobody knows her name, nobody knows her past, and seemingly, nobody cares. She comes home and retreats to her bedroom and closes the door. There are no conversations under the quilt. There are no conversations about how mom and dad might help. In fact, there are only arguments with mom and no conversations at all with dad. When they are nine years old, you can hold them in your arms and the problems of the world seem to go silent. When they are seventeen, when they need your assurance – though differently at that age – they push you away. And Marsha and I would lie awake at night, longing to hold and protect our daughter, but she would not. It’s not easy being a parent sometimes.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus has arrived just outside the city of Jerusalem, the Holy City of God. He was standing on the Mount of Olives, just across the valley from what is called The Old City. Already, some of the religious leaders had made plans to kill him. But other Pharisees, sympathetic to the teachings of Jesus, warn him that King Herod is out to get him. Then comes a rather humorous response; Jesus is talking smack to the Pharisees. “You tell that fox Herod that I’m doing my thing today and tomorrow, and on day three, I’ll finish my work!” In a nutshell, Jesus is saying “Bring it on, Herod!”

And then Jesus turns toward Jerusalem; looking out over the City of Peace, he begins to weep. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem!” he cries, “the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” And then he wept some more.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes*:

"If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus’ lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed -- but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand."

It is no coincidence that the two animate objects in this vignette are Herod the fox and Jesus the hen. It is legendary, the danger that exists when a fox enters the henhouse and ravages the helpless chicks. The hen knows of the danger; she does all she can to protect her young, but she cannot hold them captive; she cannot command their safety. What she can do – what she does do – is offer her own safety, and perhaps her own life, in an effort to protect the helpless ones. And even then, it may not be enough.

The allegory Jesus uses suggests that the people of Israel are living dangerously in their stubborn, rigid ways. They have replaced a religious relationship with religious rituals. They have abandoned the dependence upon a loving God, and have substituted a legalistic lifestyle. And when God sends prophets to warn them, and teachers to guide them, and a Savior to rescue them…one by one, the people of Jerusalem kill them. They killed Isaiah; they sawed him in half. They killed Jeremiah, burned him in at the stake. They beheaded John the Baptist. They would crucify Jesus, and then stone to death Stephen, the first Christian martyr. And why? Because the Jews thought they knew better. They thought their understanding of life exceeded that of the Author and Giver of Life, the Creator Himself. And that stubbornness brings Jesus to tears.

But what if Jesus left the hills surrounding Jerusalem, and instead climbed the hills surrounding Stillwater. What would he find here? And whom would he send to be the prophet of this time, in this place, among these people? And how would the people of this community respond to some heavenly hen come to gather them from the fox and warn them of danger?

After 28 years of being a pastor, I can tell you it’s not easy being a prophet. Because we live in a democracy, people don’t take well to being told what is best for them. People don’t take well to being guided; that’s the truth. My first Lenten season here, I suggested that rather than having a full-blown church meal with salads, desserts and beverages, we just serve soup and bread on Wednesday evenings. They shot the prophet that first night! It would have been safer for me to preach heresy than take away the desserts of hungry Lutherans. A couple of years later, I was one who advocated the removal of mailboxes for the members of our congregation. When you go from 200 mailboxes to more than 500, it becomes a bit cumbersome. That was seven years ago and I still get chided about that from time to time.

Well…I did it again last week. I have noticed, and perhaps you have too, that our worship attendance has slipped over the last couple of years. Our membership has stayed about the same, but our Sunday worship attendance is down about 15%. We used to get 20 or 30 children to KidTalk for every service; now we’re lucky to get a dozen throughout the entire morning. Do you know why, because I don’t?
I don’t know; maybe the sermons have become boring, or the music is stale, or maybe the coffee is too strong. But for whatever reason, our worship numbers are down.

This troubles me, so last week I sent 123 letters to members whose worship pattern has changed over the past couple of years. It was, I thought, a kind and gentle letter, with a personal note handwritten at the bottom of each one. The message was simple: we’ve missed you. “I hope all is well, and that in the coming days you will make worship a priority in your busy lives, but more than anything else, I want you to know you’ve been missed.”

A few people took time to thank me for the letter they received; they were actually surprised that their pastors had even noticed their absence. I got a couple of emails from people who had been having medical problems in recent months and they genuinely appreciated hearing from their pastor. But some people took issue with my letter. They didn’t like being called out by name. They resented having to justify their absence, even though that’s not what I was asking them to do. In short, who did I think I was to send them a letter like that?

Well, I suppose the answer is…I’m the prophet in this place. I am a shepherd of a large and diverse flock. I am the hen who cares deeply about the brood of chicks that live in a dangerous time; a time when the fox in our midst might disguise himself as apathy, or as busy-ness, or temptation, or anger, or disillusionment.

If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand... All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed -- but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand.

I am not here to criticize or condemn or control you; I am here to draw you into a safe place where you can have your spirit renewed every week, a place for your soul to be refreshed, and your heart reminded that God loves you…just the way you are. You are precious, and valuable; enormously important to this family. Where else are you going to hear a message like that in this harsh and self-centered world? Not on talk radio, that’s for sure. Not from the H.R. department at work. Not even from your book club or your personal trainer or your hair stylist. But you do hear it from the Word of God; from the Word of God you will always receive a message of hope. Whether you received a letter from me last week or not, the message is still the same: Welcome home. You are safe in this place of grace.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

©2010 Steven Molin

*Barbara Brown Taylor teaches at Piedmont College in Demorest, Ga. This article appeared in, The Christian Century, February 25, 1986, page 201.