Fulfillment

Sermon by Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

Luke 2:41-47, 4:14-21

 

In our first Gospel lesson from Luke for today we join Jesus in the temple in Jerusalem as a twelve year old boy studying with the saints of his tradition. Which is, of course, also our tradition. He is learning his sacred Scriptures. He is asking tough questions about them. And he is maybe even telling his teachers a thing or two about what he reads there, as is depicted in this print version of a stained glass window, to my right and your left.

Those of us who were here in worship just four weeks ago on the Sunday after Christmas have already heard this story of Jesus in the temple with the teachers. But I have brought it back again today as a way to celebrate the role of the educator, now that we have just commissioned of Susan Shaw-Meadow for a long-term and fruitful ministry with our children and youth for many years to come, in the tradition of these biblical educators in the life of Jesus two thousand years ago.

It may be tempting to believe that Jesus was born “knowing it all” from his infancy. But the truth is that he—like us—was formed in a particular religious tradition as a youth, among a particular people, in a particular time and place. And he—like us—experienced the educators of his tradition shaping his worldview, and his “God-view,” and his conviction of his calling. For better and for worse. Just like they did for every other Jewish boy of Judea and Galilee in the first century. Just like Susan and the Christian education team she has pulled together this past year do for us.

Educators in the life of Jesus would have focused his formation in three ways. First, on the covenant between God and the people of God as expressed in the Law and the Prophets. Second, on the particular way of life and set of traditions that fulfilled this covenant, also expressed in the Law and the Prophets. And third, and on a particular set of skills that would contribute to the needs of the family and the community and allow him to earn a living. Which for Jesus would most likely have meant carpentry.

This education of Jesus would have begun in the home, just as Christian education must begin in the home. His parents, as his primary religious educators, would have taught him to recite the Shema on a daily basis. To speak from his soul every day of his life the text from Deuteronomy 6 that had shaped the covenant for his people for centuries.

This covenant says: Hear, o Israel, The Holy One is your God, The Holy One alone. You shall love the Holy One your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Which is how Jesus would have learned the Great Commandment he came to teach his own disciples so many years later. This Commandment did not come out of nowhere. An educator taught it to him!

An educator also taught him to observe the Sabbath, and to attend the Nazareth synagogue he returns to in our second Gospel lesson today, and to follow the Jewish dietary laws, and to participate in the temple festivals of Jerusalem. Which is where he runs into the highly respected class of “certified” educators known as scribes. And his education continues.

It is not beyond the realm of possibility that the ones who educate Jesus in the temple on this day after the Passover Festival pull out the very same scroll on which is inscribed the words of the prophet Isaiah. The words that form the basis of our second Gospel lesson today. The ones that say the Spirit of the Holy One is upon me . . . because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free. 

It is not beyond the realm of possibility that the ones who educate Jesus this day after the Passover Festival, having just celebrated the story of liberation from oppression in Egypt, teach Jesus that Isaiah had proclaimed these words to a people who had lost everything. Who were living in exile at the time of Isaiah’s teaching. But who longed to return to this land in true freedom and justice and peace. And it is quite likely these educators suggested to Jesus that there was a parallel between the longing of the people in this Scripture and the longing of the people of his time to live in freedom and justice and peace.

And it is not beyond the realm of possibility that the ones who educated Jesus that day after the Passover Festival taught him that the prophet Isaiah had predicted a Messiah—an anointed child of God—would lead the people to reclaim in that land the kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. And that those educators tapped Jesus on the shoulder and said, “Tag . . . you might be it.” And that Jesus might have actually believed them. Which is why he comes back twenty years later with a mission and a ministry and an anointing, based on these very words from Isaiah, that is affirmed by everyone!

It is in fact emphatically clear, at least in Luke’s Gospel, that Jesus becomes who he is in ministry and mission because he is celebrated and anointed and educated for that ministry throughout his infancy and his childhood and his young adulthood and then finally his adulthood, when he returns to his hometown synagogue and proclaims the Scripture has been fulfilled in his reading of it.

And all speak well of him, and of the gracious words that come from his mouth.

It makes you wonder what might become of all of our children when they are celebrated and anointed and educated for ministry, too. When they are told the stories of the covenant every day the way Jesus was, every day. When they are reminded to love God and to love their neighbor, the way Jesus was, every day. When they are taught from the prophets to make sure those who are on the margins of society—those who are poor, captive, blind, oppressed—know that God is most especially concerned about them, the way Jesus was, every day. It makes you wonder what might become of our children when they believe—because some educator has tapped them on the shoulder—that maybe they might be the ones God has anointed today, the way Jesus was, to lead us all in reclaiming the kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven.

But I do not expect us to have to wonder about this very long here at Madison Square. Because the ministry of educator Susan Shaw-Meadow is doing just this: celebrating and anointing and educating every one of God’s children for a ministry that is only just beginning to become clear in their lives. Just as the ministry of Jesus was only beginning to become clear among the educators in the Jerusalem temple two thousand years ago.

In fact Susan’s vision for the Christian Education program at Madison Square sounds remarkably like the education that formed Jesus for his ministry in our lesson from Luke. She wants Madison Square to be a vibrant church home for children and youth from a variety of backgrounds. Where young people are welcomed as they are and appreciated for who they are. Where they learn the stories of our faith and the core practices of worship and prayer. Where their questions about faith and life are taken seriously and are engaged actively. And where they see faith in action and have opportunities to serve others. It is her updated version of the Shema and the vision of Isaiah preached by Jesus. And it is a good one!

The good news of Susan’s ministry with us is that the future is wide open and ready to unfold. Like any good educator she is already steeped in the rich heritage of this congregation. Like any good educator she has carried forward the beloved traditions of her predecessors so that our children and youth can have a common thread from the past through the present. But like any good educator she is always reaching for something more, something creative, something new to speak the truth of God’s claim on every one of our children’s lives.

Because the Spirit of our God is still yet on her! To fulfill in her own life—as well as to teach in the lives of others—what it is to proclaim good news for the ones the world does not love, but whom God draws the most close.

And our prayer for her—and for ourselves—is that the Spirit will continue to anoint her with grace and enthusiasm and courage for the ministry that lies ahead. And that our gratitude for her ministry will continue without ceasing, as she passes on the tradition to a whole new generation of God’s fabulous beloved children.

I pray it may be so.

Amen.

Into the Exuberance!

A sermon by Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

1 Corinthians 12:4-26 

If the Church Were Christian, says author Philip Gulley, in the book we have been reading in the adult education class these past several weeks, “meeting needs would be more important than maintaining institutions.”

Period.

And it makes sense, right? The whole reason the church exists is to be human need. Not to perpetuate itself.

In fact, I am quite certain that I could just repeat those words verbatim on any given Sunday at Madison Square and sit back down. And we would go on about our singing and our serving, and our MLK march planning, and our Habitat for Humanity building with the sure conviction that we are absolutely committed to meeting human needs and not at all about maintaining an institution.

But here we are, on this particular Sunday at Madison Square, ordaining and installing new church officers. Offering the very traditional gift of anointing and laying hands upon Mike Ballentine and Norma Villarreal, as a sign and a seal of God’s call to them in their baptism and a recognition of the gifts for governance and congregational care we have discerned in them for leadership among us in the years to come. And we have to admit that in many ways this act of ordination is exactly designed to perpetuate the institution called Madison Square Presbyterian Church. Which is, I would argue, an institution worth perpetuating!

On this particular Sunday we are also re-affirming the gifts for governance and congregational care we have discerned in Sharon Wallace and Ben Baker and Rebecca Baker and Vi Berbiglia, as we anoint them and lay hands upon them to install them for a second term of service as deacon and ruling elders for this congregation.

And if Sharon and Ben and Rebecca and Vi are willing to tell the truth about their first terms in their respective offices of deacon and ruling elder, I am quite certain they will tell you it has felt a whole lot like institutional maintenance, at least in the sixteen months I have ministered among you as your interim pastor. Because assessing and repairing the administrative functioning of the congregation has been a very intentional part of our work together.

Ben Baker, as your Treasurer, has given just about every Saturday in the past six months to implement a major overhaul of Madison Square’s financial record-keeping system, now that we have the recommendations from the first external audit of church books in fifteen years. Talk about institutional maintenance! And he has said “yes” to three more years! What a gift! Alleluia for Ben!

And Vi Berbiglia, as the chair of your Madison Square Child Development Center Board, has devoted countless hours to digging into the budget and staffing realities of the CDC. She has pulled together a team of people who have dedicated themselves to maintaining that institution with a new, more sustainable business model to implement for the coming year. And she has said “yes” to three more years! What a gift! Alleluia for Vi!

And Rebecca Baker, as the chair of your Mission Committee, has been plowing through the park with a cup of coffee and a compassionate heart as your ambassador. Absolutely committed to meeting human need. But she has spent just as much time in the church office trying to figure out which budget authorizations are under her oversight and which ones are not and what kinds of receipts she needs to keep and for how long. And she has said “yes” to three more years! What a gift! Alleluia for Rebecca!

And Sharon Wallace, as your Deacon representative and Stewardship Committee member, has sat through meeting after meeting after meeting of planning and preparation. I am sure if you asked her it has sometimes felt an awful lot more like running a business than it did like reaching out in love to the people she feels called to serve. But she has said “yes” to three more years! What a gift! Alleluia for Sharon!

Yes, it can feel a whole lot like institutional maintenance when we are called to leadership in the church. But just look at the great diversity of gifts God has given us among just these four people, each of whom God has raised up among us for this unique moment at Madison Square. When we have needed exactly what they have to offer. With every one of their gifts being essential for building up the Body of Christ, Madison Square version.

And just look at the gifts of Mike Ballentine and Norma Villarreal, in healing, in compassion, and in mission for the years to come. And they have said “yes”! Alleluia for Mike and Norma!

In fact I would say the greatest gift that each of these leaders brings is that they already know that the whole reason they do what they do is to meet human need. That the whole reason this institution we call Madison Square Presbyterian Church and Child Development Center exists is to meet human needs. And not the other way around. And they do it with passion and enthusiasm and conviction. Period!

So what does that look like for Madison Square 2013 version?

The first thing it means is that our elected officers are not alone in their ordination to the ministry of meeting human needs, as Paul reminds those first century Christians in Corinth. Every one of us is! Including—and perhaps especially—the ones who do it quietly, behind the scenes, just making sure whatever needs to happen does in fact happen. Like Jack Weiss and Stu Ansel somehow always making sure there’s enough food to go around at an after-worship potluck or coffee hour. Like Marsha and Audrey and Gin and so many others loving everyone they meet who walks in the door when they are the ushers for the day. Like Jerry King, who unceremoniously made a “soul friend” with a man he met in the park. And who knows both of their lives are transforming because of it.

Like every one of you who has sent Larry Correu a get-well card, filling his wall with treasures from his church family, who already know that if one of us hurts, then every other one of us is involved in the hurt. And in the healing! Which is what Paul also reminds those first century Christians in Corinth.

But it is not just the hurt of human need that we share. It is the joy of human need. Because we who are human really do need to live in joy! And so Paul reminds us that if one part of the Body of Christ flourishes, every

other part enters into the exuberance. Which is what we did last week with Mac Holmes. And it sure did feel like we all got baptized right along with him, didn’t it?

The really good news, friends, is that as far as I can tell in this moment as your interim pastor, as we ordain and install your new class of deacons and ruling elders, we have finally figured out here at Madison Square how to maintain the institution just well enough to make sure we have the foundation we need to meet the very human needs that are all around us. With compassion. With joy. With exuberance! And with love.

And that is cause for another Alleluia!

Amen.

The Attitude of Gratitude

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Isaiah 43: 1-7
Luke 3: 15-17, 21-22


“Hot diggity dog!”

Have you seen the youtube video?

“Hot diggity dog!” is what the football fan shouted when his son gave him a Bear Bryant fedora for Christmas, a gray hat just like the legendary University of Alabama football coach used to wear . . .

It was the best Christmas ever for Don Buckhannon, from Oxford, Alabama. He put the hat on his head right then and there. And he shouted “hot diggity dog”! And he clapped his hands. And he grinned from ear to ear.

And he was grateful!

For the hat. And for the team. And for the son who knew him so very well.

But that was not the end of the story.

“What size is the hat, Dad?” you can hear his son asking in the background of the video. And so he takes the hat off his head. And he looks inside to see what size it is. And then this old bear of a man begins to weep with joy. His son has hidden a ticket to the Alabama-Notre Dame national championship college football game inside the hat.

“We’re goin’ to the game, Pop!” his son shouts. And the video camera starts to shake. And the whole family is laughing and crying. And Mr. Buckhannon keeps on shouting “Holy Moly!” over and over again.

“Hot diggity dog!” “We’re goin’ to the game!”

The video, which has gone viral on youtube, ends with a resounding, “THANKS!” from this grateful Dad. A Dad who is . . . without a doubt . . . very pleased with his beloved child.


When I first saw this video my mind went straight to our own Mac Holmes, whose life we celebrate today in the sacrament of adult baptism.

Mac is also a huge football fan. And Mac also has a beloved child with whom he is very pleased. And Mac’s beloved child also went to great lengths to get him tickets to a really big football game, up in Dallas, on Thanksgiving Day. [I will not reveal which football team he was rooting for, except that it was the “right” one. Mac and I have discovered we are both big fans of Robert Griffin III.]




It is the “attitude of gratitude” that I think of most when I think of Mac Holmes. Because Mac is just like that football fan from Alabama, who would be grateful just for a hat. And who honestly would be grateful for his beloved child without even needing a hat.

The truth is Mac Holmes has a way of being grateful just for the day. Just for the mere fact that he can get up in the morning. Just because he has beautiful children. Just because he can come here and be part of a community that loves him just the way he is. Just because he has a God who loves him just the way he is.

And the thing about Mac’s attitude of gratitude is that this is a hard-fought feeling for him. Mac knows all too well that life is just plain hard sometimes. He has had more than his fair share of rough shakes, and plenty of reason to throw his hands up in despair. But instead he says, “hot diggity dog.” I’ve got another day of living. Better make it a good one.

We need that reminder, Mac. From you. From our football fan in Alabama. From the God who created every one of us good. And is very pleased with us.

We need that reminder the same way Jesus did when he went to the Jordan and joined in the suffering of the teeming mass of humanity all around him. Jesus said “alleluia anyway” for this dousing in divine grace. And he dunked himself in the water of the deep, at the hand of John. And the tears of gratitude from the God who loved him beyond compare flowed. And a voice from the heavens shouted a resounding, “THANKS!” My beloved child. I am so pleased with you.

It was not because Jesus had actually done anything that God was grateful for him. There was not even a fedora involved! It was just that God loved him. It was just that God was grateful for him. The same way Mac is grateful for his children. The same way we are grateful for all of our children.

“Hot diggity dog,” God says to us in our baptism. “We’re goin’ to the game.”


The great debate in biblical and theological scholarship around the baptism of Jesus, of course, is why in the world he needed to be baptized. If he was truly without sin, scholars wonder, what was the point?

The point is this, at least as far as I am concerned: baptism is far more about gratitude than it is about guilt. Let me say that again. Baptism is far more about gratitude than it is about guilt! When we baptize an infant we say “alleluia” for the God who claims us before we even know how to ask. And when we baptize an adult we say “hot diggity dog” for the grace of the God who created us good and is very pleased with us. Not because we have done anything. Or because we have decided to stop doing anything. But just because we are.

In fact, I would venture a guess that it was this resounding “THANKS” from the God who was so very pleased with Jesus that gave him the strength he needed to minister the way he did for the rest of his life. To reach out with joy to the ones who seemed to have nothing to be grateful for. To see a couple of fish and a few loaves of bread and say “hot diggity dog” for the feast. To love the very violence that raged around him as he faced his death. To comfort the community that tried to figure out how to carry on the mission without him. 

“You are my beloved,” God says to Jesus . . . and Jesus says, “thank you for another day,” in return. And shows us how to do it, too. Which is what Mac is also showing us today.

And we are all grateful!

So “hot diggity dog, Mac! Holy moly! We’re goin’ to the game!”

Amen.

Incarnating the Living Christ

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Luke 2: 41-44
Luke 2: 45- 52


The great religious festival has ended, for Mary and Joseph and Jesus in our Gospel Lesson today, and for us, as we come back ‘home’ to Madison Square for one last service of worship at the end of the calendar year.

For them it is the Passover Festival. For them it is a grand pilgrimage through the heart of Jerusalem every year to remember the birth of their people, the way we remember the birth of Christ.

For them it is the old, old story of God leading the Hebrews out of Egypt, through the desert, and into a land of promise and plenty. But for them the land of promise and plenty has become a police state. More and more armed guards from the Roman Empire encroach upon their temple and their people and their potential. More and more of their children succumb to the violence that permeates their midst. More and more of their parents wonder if God really is still with them.

And so they find themselves praying for a “Passover-in-reverse.” For God to raise up another Moses and Aaron and Miriam in their time, that the land might return to the promise of plenty that lingers in the songs of the Passover Festival. Just as our promise of peace lingers in the songs of Christmas.


Jesus, in this story, is still just a boy. But he knows enough to know that he needs to know more. So he stays behind in the Temple and he studies his Scriptures and he asks the tough questions and he astonishes his teachers with his wisdom and understanding. And they wonder if he just might be that leader for whom they have been praying all this time . . .

And we could say this is unique to Jesus. That in this story we see him as the special Son of God that he is. And it is. But we could also say that this is how all children can be with enough space and enough trust and enough support to guide them along the way. They become our teachers. They just might be the ones God is raising up among us, to lead our violent land back to promise and plenty.


This is, I believe, the real truth of the Incarnation. That the image of Christ is born again in every child God places on this planet. That every child is our teacher. That every child offers us the chance to know the Word of God made flesh. And that with every child God gives us, God also gives us the chance to get it right this time!

This is not because children automatically bring us divine bliss. If they are anything like Jesus in this story from Luke—or anything like me, as my own parents who are here today will testify—children can be impetuous and oblivious and ready to make a break for whatever suits their fancy whenever it suits them. Even if that means hiding in the Temple when you are supposed to be going back home to Nazareth.

The reason children bear the image of Christ in our midst is that their very provocations can propel us to maturity. In their very impetuous nature we are compelled to guide them and correct them and nurture them, in the same way we pray for our parenting God to guide and correct and nurture us.
The bottom line truth of the Incarnation is this: if we want our parenting God to be with us, then we had better get on about the business of being with our children. This imperative has become more clear than ever in these past several weeks, as we have all watched the loss of children to gun violence with feelings of abject helplessness.

But we are not helpless! We are here in the Temple with Jesus, lingering after the holy days, learning another way to respond to the violence that rages around us and within us. Learning a way that leads to wisdom and understanding, without becoming violent ourselves.

We are here in the Temple with Jesus, lingering after the holy days, with the invitation to act on our baptismal vows to care for the children God has given us to love. So let’s do it!

In the next 7 minutes our organist, Mark, will offer some musical accompaniment for our time of individual reflection and commitment. Your Red Packet gives you some options to consider:

1.    One thing you might do is simply meditate upon the Prayer for Children included in your folder . . . or the artist rendition of Jesus in the Temple included up here in the chancel . . . and listen deeply through your meditation for a response from the Spirit to lead you in further commitment to our children.

2.    Another thing you might do is consider the ministry of the Madison Square Child Development Center in your prayers. A small notecard and envelope are available for you to write a note of encouragement to one of the teachers or staff that are listed in your folder. You may place that notecard in the offering plate later in the service, and we will deliver it to the appropriate person.

3.    Your prayers for the Child Development Center may lead you to make a special donation to the Child Development Center using one of the envelopes in the folder. Please place your offering in the plate later in the service.

4.    There is a letter from the session to Elected Officials in the red notebook advocating public policy positions that we believe reflect our baptismal vows to our children. You are welcome to endorse this letter and send your own copy to one or more elected officials whose contact information is also in your folder. If you wish, you may also put your letter in the offering plate, and we will make sure it is deliver to the right person.

5.    Or you may choose to write your own letter on the blank sheets of paper included in your folder.

When the music draws to a close after about seven minutes, we will conclude our time of meditation by joining together in the Prayer for Children by Ina Hughes.


"We Pray for Children"
by Ina Hughes

We pray for children
Who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
Who like to be tickled,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
Who sneak Popsicles before supper,
Who erase holes in math workbooks,
Who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
Who can't bound down the street in new sneakers,
Who never "counted potatoes,"
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead  in,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.

And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
Who can't find any bread to steal,
Who don't have any rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
Whose monsters are real.

We pray for children
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
Who like ghost stories,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,
Who don't like to be kissed in front of the car pool,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who are never spoiled by anyone,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
Who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must,
For those we never give up on
And for those who never get a second chance,
For those we smother.
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind
enough to offer it.

We pray for children. Amen.

(We pray for Children, 1995,
William Morrow publisher)

Magnification

Sermon by Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist 

Luke 1:39-55

Hebrews 10:5-10

 

It was, by all accounts, the President’s best speech to-date.

Even though he was flanked by local clergy caring for their own community in crisis, it was the President who was our pastor-in-chief .

It was a memorial service. And so he quoted the Scriptures. Then he called forth, with clarity and compassion, the names of those who had died. He spoke of overwhelming promise and potential cut short. He spoke of unparalleled heroism in the face of terror.

And he called us to do better. He said we must do better. And together in that moment anyone who has half a heart determined that we would do better, as one nation under God, to keep this terror toward the children of God from ever happening again.

As the stunned silence in response to the President’s speech shifted to emphatic applause, those of us who were sitting high up in the bleachers of the University of Arizona basketball arena—we who had gathered with the rest of Tucson for a word of comfort and hope in our time of trauma—turned our heads to the ushers who had begun walking up and down the aisles. They were passing out these navy blue t-shirts:

Tucson and America the t-shirt says. Together We Thrive.

I shared the shirt with the children in our congregation the next Sunday. Some of them went to school with the girl who was gunned down January 8, 2011. A day that none of us will ever forget. They were scared. We were scared, too. But I told them we were not alone. I told them the whole world was with us. I told them the adults of the world would do everything we could to keep them safe.

And we honestly believed this time would be different. That a sitting U.S. Congresswoman and a federal judge and a nine-year old girl—born on September 11^th—would make this time different. Yes, Arizona has a gun culture. But so do Australia and Canada. And they had responded to the massacre of children with common sense gun legislation. We thought we would, too. We thought this time was different.

But here we are. One year, eleven months, fifteen days, and one hour later. One Colorado movie theater later. One Wisconsin Sikh Temple later. One Sandy Hook Elementary School later. And those are just the ones we remember. And this navy blue t-shirt that once brought comfort and hope to a community in crisis now carries what to me is a lie.

We are not together.

We are not thriving.

We are dying.

American Christians have a choice to make in the face of such death. Will we, from here on out, become Pontius Pilate? Washing our hands of what we condemn but claim we cannot control? Or will we finally hear the voice of our God on this Fourth Sunday of Advent crying out through the cross that looms over the birth Mary sings of today and screams without ceasing, stop sacrificing my children!

Stop sacrificing my children. That was never what I wanted!

It’s what the preacher of the Homily to the Hebrews in our Scripture this morning is saying to her own first century congregation: let there be no more sacrifice. That is not what God wants. That was never what God wanted. Let it be done. Let this time be different. We can’t do this anymore . . .

In the past twenty years the Presbyterian Church as a national denomination has joined with everyone from the Methodists to the Lutherans to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops to compel our country to stop sacrificing the children of God to the violence of guns. Year after year we have urged elected officials to regulate guns and ammunition as effectively as we do cars. Now is time to say enough is enough!

We do not say this as a condemnation of responsible gun owners. We say this because we follow in the footsteps of an early Christian movement that knows all too well what it is to live in a culture of violence.

Jesus, himself, grew up with armed guards on the streets, in the schools, at the temple, as some are calling for now. Jesus, himself, knew the presence of these armed guards in the midst of the people stoked even more resentment and rage than before, as their land of promise and plenty became a bitter police state. Jesus knew it was destroying them.

Even his disciples want to reach for the sword.

But Jesus calls us to another way. If you live by the sword, he says, you will die by the sword. If you live by the gun, you will die by the gun. If you hate in response to the hatred with which you are hated, you will become the very thing that you hate. The only way to end the cycle of violence is through non-violent radical love. The only way to end the cycle of violence is to love your enemies and to pray for those who persecute you.

That is why I have insisted on including the perpetrator of the Sandy Hook shooting in our prayers and our candles and our bells this past week. Because in praying for the one who would do such a terrible thing, as Jesus taught us to do, we must face the rage that also dwells within us. In praying for the one who would do such a terrible thing, as Jesus taught us to do, we must see the senseless violence that raged in him as a mirror of our own. And mourn the death of yet another child of God, whose promise and potential was cut short too soon. And we must act for him, as well. 

30 children of God die in America every day on the other side of a gun. We live through one gun massacre as a country every single day.

For every gun that is used in self defense, eleven are used to attempt suicide, seven are used to attempt a crime, and four injure or kill their victim on accident. A security system with this kind of track record would be taken off the market.

It’s time to do better. We really must do better. This time really must be different.

In the Magnificat, which is our Gospel Lesson for the day, a righteous young mother sings for an end to the violent world into which her baby will be born so that a new world of justice and peace might begin. Scholars tell us this hymn was actually composed by a community that lived after the resurrection. Who saw in the resurrection of Christ the commitment of God to overcome violence forever with the radical love of Jesus.

Luke’s Gospel takes this resurrection hymn and puts it in Mary’s mouth, as the child within her leaps in her womb. As she sings with her cousin, Elizabeth of this new life in their midst. As they look at the violent world as it is and say, enough! Because the new world of justice and peace begins right here, right now, with the birth of the one she bears for us. The one for whom we have been waiting all this time.

It is time to end the violence, Mary sings.

My child is worth it, Mary sings.

And so are ours.

So let’s get to work . . .

Amen.

Into the Way

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Second Sunday in Advent
Luke 1:68-79

Our own Rebecca Baker came bursting into the Church Parlor last Sunday morning with a whole lot of questions for our Adult Education guest. Ann Helmke had come to speak with us about this congregation’s emerging approach to ministry with the homeless and to offer a powerful Minute for Mission in worship.

Rebecca had been our “Ambassador” in the park earlier that morning, heading into the neighborhood that surrounds our sanctuary with nothing but a cup of coffee and a caring heart. And an invitation to communion. And a trust that God would lead the way . . .

And so it was no surprise that God would lead Rebecca to a man who is living without permanent shelter, as many but by no means all of our neighbors are. She tried to get him to go to Haven for Hope, which is San Antonio’s massive network of shelter and social service providers housed under one roof and a mission project of this congregation. But he resisted.

He had heard various urban legends of one sort or another criticizing Haven for Hope. Rebecca had no response, which was why she came bursting with questions for Ann Helmke. And maybe the answers to those questions would have helped move this man to a place we feel certain can minister to his physical needs. Or maybe the answers would have meant nothing to him. It is possible that this man simply did not want to go to Haven for Hope, for reasons we may never know or understand, no matter how hard we try.

But when he started talking about his despair over the state of the world—and perhaps over the state of his life—well that was something Rebecca could relate to, at least in her own way. Because you do not have to be without permanent shelter to know what it is to suffer. Every one of us knows grief or loss or doubt or anger. And every one of us can meet the grief or loss or doubt or anger of another with a heart of compassion. Which means “to feel with.” Or even “to suffer with.”

Which was what Rebecca did.

Your Ambassador in the Park, who had no answers that would persuade this man to move, could simply say to him, “I don’t know how I’d get through if I didn’t believe in God. It’s almost a choice. It keeps me from despair.”

And as Rebecca came back to our adult education group and shared her story, the reality of how God was leading her “into the way of Christ” with this man became clear. Her caring, compassionate presence was the mission itself!

Her willingness to be vulnerable with this man about her own despair was the mission itself. Her willingness to trust God to use this “communion of compassion” she did truly share with this man—her common union with him in the sharing of their suffering—even if there were no formal Words of Institution or bread or juice—even if it took place hours before our “official” communion service in the park—this communion, in God’s own way, in God’s own time, for this man and also for her (and dare I say for us) was the mission itself.
“I was a minister!” Rebecca declared to us. And you could almost hear Ann Helmke smiling back in that moment saying: “Tag! You’re it.”

“Tag. You’re it!” Those may very well be the most prophetic words uttered in this sanctuary for all time, when Ann Helmke delivered her minute for mission for us last week as we prepared for communion in the park on the First Sunday of Advent.

“Tag! You’re it!” she said to us, as a reminder that we already bear the image of the Christ who is coming on Christmas Day, of the Christ who was already born among us full of grace and truth, of the Christ we anticipate in great expectation in the fullness of time when suffering and sorrow and pain are no more . . . 

“Tag! You’re it!” she said to us, as a reminder that the deep mystical truth of our incarnational theology is that Christ comes again and again and again in our world through the birth and the re-birth of every single one of us on this planet. Including in the beautiful baby Jake who was baptized this morning.

“Tag! You’re it!” Ann Helmke said to us, as a reminder that our tradition claims all things were created through Christ. Which means that, according to our tradition, the very presence of Christ dwells deep within every single one of us, and deep within Jake, just because we exist. Just because we exist!

Which means that every single one of us bears the image of Christ to one another, as we surrender our spirits into the way of simply meeting the honest suffering of one another, without easy answers to fix the pain, but with the compassionate heart of Christ, and the radical choice to trust the Providence of God in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Which is exactly what our “Ambassador” Rebecca did with the man in the park.

Which is what made her a minister to him. And which, I would venture a guess, is what made him a minister to her in return . . .

This mutual ministry of surrendering our spirits into the way of meeting the honest suffering of one another, without easy answers to fix the pain, but with the compassionate heart of Christ, and the radical choice to trust the Providence of God in spite of all evidence to the contrary, is what we mean in the Presbyterian Church when we say we are all ordained to the ministry of Christ in our baptism. Every one of us. Not just those we call “pastors.” We are all sent forth from these baptismal waters to share a communion of compassionate companionship in Christ, watching our spirits dance themselves together, with the Song of Zechariah playing in the background, as the music of the one who will always guide our feet into the way of peace.

Which means that what we just did together in baptizing baby Jake today was nothing short of a full-fledge ordination service, complete with vows and commitments to celebrate the covenant God has always honored with God’s people, even when we are given to despair—especially when we are given to despair! And commissioning Jake to join us in a lifetime of ministry.

We have no idea today how Jake will live out his ordination to ministry, just like Zechariah has no idea how his son—John the Baptist—will live out his ministry in our Scripture lesson from Luke this morning. In fact, if the story of Zechariah and John the Baptist is any example, Jake’s journey may be quite different than the ministry we have in mind for him!

Zechariah was, after all, a temple priest at the height of his career. In the innermost circle of the temple rituals. With fancy robes and incense. And I’m just guessing he had a pretty fancy seminary degree. The son of Zechariah—whose ministry he sings into existence through the song that is our Scripture today—ships out to the desert, clothed only with camel’s hair, eating nothing but locusts and wild honey. You could imagine Zechariah tearing his hair out, wondering how this commissioning song for his son could turn so terribly off key!

But if Zechariah was really paying attention to the song he sang for his son, if we are really paying attention to the song we sing for Jake, and if Jake is paying attention to the song we are singing for him, then we know they are both right. Yes we know the promise of God’s continued coming from the hallowed walls of the temple treasure (Zechariah’s and ours). But it must always lead us into the desert across the street, or any other place where people are desperate for the everflowing river of grace. Because the whole point of what we are doing “in here” is to remind us what God is already doing “out there.” So that our compassion is cultivated. And we are guided into the way of Christ.

That is what happened for Rebecca last week as she became a true minister. That is what happens for every one of us, every week, as we become ever more fully the ministers of God our baptism ordained us to be. That is what will happen for our precious baby Jake as he grows from this baptismal moment, in wisdom and stature, and in divine and human favor . . .

Because the truth of the Song of Zechariah is the truth of our baptism. That God is still with us. And we are still with God. And that you, Jake . . . and you and you and you . . . will be called the prophet of the Most High. For you will prepare the way of our God. And through you God will give light to those who sit in darkness. And through you God will guide our feet into the way of peace. I pray it may be so. For Jake. And for us. Amen.

Fear and Foreboding?

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Luke 21:25-29


“I’ve been out here for thirty-seven years,” he said, when I sat beside him on the bench in the park across the street as your ambassador two weeks ago.

“Nothing ever changes.”

I asked him to explain.

He said he had spent most of his adult life employed as a cook nearby, serving folks who needed a hot meal every now and then. He liked his job. Met a lot of interesting people. Got to know the neighborhood inside and out. Better than I do, to be sure. Maybe better than all of us, who tend to drive down here from somewhere else and then drive back home to somewhere else.

He is retired now, this man from the neighborhood I met two weeks ago. But he still comes to sit on that bench week after week, year after year, and watch it all unfold before him. I would go so far as to call him, in Christian language, a “martyr.” Which we often associate with being a victim, but in Christian tradition simply means a person who “bears witness.” And surely this man bears witness from his perch on his bench in the park across the street.

And what has he witnessed, I asked? People going in and out of the hospital for treatment across the way. Or going into the pharmacy next door for more treatment. Or taking their pets for an afternoon of ‘catch’ at the dog park on the others side of the street.

Or, yes, coming together to make drug deals. Or drown their sorrows in alcohol. Or beg for money. Or bum a cigarette. Or claim a bench to sleep away the night.

All of which this man on the bench has witnessed over the past thirty seven years.

They also come just to sit in peace for a while, along their way to someplace else. Which is what he was doing when I stepped into his space with a cup of coffee and an invitation to communion two Sundays away . . .

“I’ve been out here for thirty-seven years,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing ever changes.”

I thanked him. Then found another man on another bench and offered another cup of coffee. And then I went on my merry way and went on about my merry life . . .


But he got to me. And I think we all need to hear what he has to say as we prepare for what we do hope will be a true “communion”—a true “joining with”—the world Jesus came to serve. Because if we take seriously the Gospel insistence that our neighbors may have something to teach us in the name of Christ, even as we embark on this mission to share with them the “welcome home” we have known within these walls for so many years, we need to heed the warning of this truly wise martyr, who knows this neighborhood far better than any of us.

Which is that if we think we can fix the problems of the park in one small communion service, we had better get our heads examined!

In fact, if we think this communion in the park we are about to experience is about what we are doing at all, then we have entirely missed the point.

The point is about what God is doing! Or, to be more theologically correct in this Season of Advent, it is about what God has already done in the coming of Christ. And it is about what God has promised to do in the fullness of time with “the coming of the Son of Man,” as described in our lesson from Luke today. 

John Dominic Crossan calls it “The Divine Cleanup of the World,” this apocalyptic mythology of chaos and confusion at the end of time, with distress and fear and foreboding, and the shaking of the powers of heaven.

And as much as we want to be a community of grace, the truth is the “Divine Cleanup” that really does hold humanity in judgment for the ways in which we have completely and utterly messed up this good creation God has given us from the beginning. With our greed and our hoarding and our empire-building. And our division of the world into those who gorge at a table of gluttony and those who are still yet begging for one small crumb.

The truth is we are moving farther and farther away from even knowing our neighbors, much less loving them. And maybe we are even moving farther and farther away from knowing and loving ourselves.

Which is why the “Divine Cleanup” apocalyptic mythology of the coming of the Son of Man swooping from the heavens in a cloud with power and great glory to finally make it right again is simply one more way that Scripture calls us to admit how far we have fallen from who we were created to be. And to admit we cannot un-do this mess ourselves. Which is exactly what this First Sunday of Advent is all about.

We need a Savior. We cannot do it by ourselves. Because if it were up to us, nothing really would ever change.

The good news is that we have one. The good news is that we can say, in some mysterious way, the “Divine Cleanup of the World ” has already happened in the coming of Christ, even as we wait in hopeful expectation for its final fulfillment in the fullness of time.

The good news is that we can say, in some mysterious way, the table of Christ to which we come this morning has already been spread in the park across the street for these past twenty-seven years, or one hundred thirty-five years, or even before Madison Square Presbyterian Church ever dreamed of planting itself on this corner of Camden and Lexington . . .

And the good news is that we can say, in some mysterious way, the table of Christ to which we come this morning has always spread out from the center of the great hungering crowds who will never stop pressing in upon Jesus for a word of hope and healing in a world gone terribly wrong. Whether we are living in the first century or the twenty-first century. And our invitation is to join them.

And the really good news is that we can say, in some mysterious way, the table of Christ to which we come this morning has always and forever been a taste of that heavenly banquet that is already prepared in the fullness of time. Beyond the “Divine Cleanup of the World” where violence and addiction and economic injustice and hopelessness and despair and gluttony and homelessness and greed and hunger really are no more. And the last really have already become first. And—woe unto so many of us who think we’ve got it all together—the first really have already become last.

The point of the communion we celebrate today, that we celebrate any time we receive the Sacrament, is that in the fullness of time at the heavenly banquet we “taste” at the communion table our neighbors in the park are already there! Waiting for us! And we have all finally come home to God’s good news for the poor and recovery of sight to the blind and release to the captives and liberty for the oppressed. Because we have finally listened to one another. And loved one another. In the same way Jesus did . . . 

And the point of the communion we celebrate today, that we celebrate any time we receive the Sacrament, is that in the meantime—as we keep waiting and watching and preparing for that fullness of time when all really is made well—we go ahead and get to work on knowing our neighbors and knowing ourselves over and over and over again.

And so we join that wise martyr on that bench in the middle of the park. Watching and witnessing. And learning from him what it means to cook a hot meal for folks who need one every now and then. Only to find out we need one, too . . .

I pray it may it be so. Amen.