Pre-Destined for Peace

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Jeremiah 18:1-12

Matthew 7:1-5


In the religious life of the planet this has been one long week of judgment. Judgment in the form of an online movie trailer. Judgment in the form of response to the trailer. Judgment in response to the response to the trailer. And so on. To the point of violent bloodshed. To the point that could decide we might as well give up on religion altogether, judging religion itself responsible for inciting the very violence that every religious tradition I know of—including Islam—does, at its core, deplore.

We at Madison Square don’t like to talk about judgment. It is a religious sentiment most of us have fled in favor of grace and a wide welcome to the universal and unconditional love of God. Which is why we are here instead of at any number of other Christian churches that have no problem saying “our way or the highway” or “woe to you who don’t believe like we do,” in condemnation of others to eternal damnation. With the same sentiment that gives rise to offending videos in the first place.

We come to Madison Square to get away from all of that, don’t we? I know I do.

But we do not get to wash our hands of it. Because the clear distinctions we might make here in the United States between “our” Christianity and “that other” Christianity get glossed over worldwide. The same way we gloss over the clear distinctions among vastly different practices of Islam in the Middle East. We do not get to wash our hands of “that other Christianity” as if it has nothing to do with us. Because it does.

The thing is we really are our brother’s keeper in the biblical tradition. United in faith even if we wish it was not so. And I think we can learn something about how to handle that responsibility from the peace-loving Muslims of Libya who emphatically followed today’s teaching from Matthew’s Gospel, albeit from within their own tradition. The one about the log and the speck and the withholding of judgment toward others in order to avoid that judgment in return.

Here’s how they did it:

In response to the worst their religion could arouse the people of Benghazi took to the streets to invoke the best. “This is not the Behavior of our Islam and Prophet,” they said with their signs and the sounds of their voices. “Murder is not Islam.” “No to terrorism.” “Thugs and killers do not represent Benghazi nor Islam.”

It was actually a form of “judgment.” But it was an internal one. From within the community. Critiquing the same community you come from. Which is very much like what the Prophet Jeremiah was doing in our Old Testament lesson. The one that made most of us cringe with its own harsh language of judgment. The one that called upon the people of ancient Judah to reform their own religious behavior before they explained away all that was wrong in their society in judgment of the evil from those “outside invaders.”

When the people of Judah blamed the Babylonians for all that was wrong within their midst, Jeremiah told them to take a look at themselves instead. Are we following the covenant of our own community, he demanded, or have we succumbed to greed and idolatry instead? Are we caring for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, he asked, or are we just going through the motions of external religious practice? Are we willing to be re-formed into a new vessel of unspoiled clay, he wanted to know, or are we resting on our laurels as God’s “frozen chosen”?

Over and over again, the people of Judah pointed the finger, in the time of Jeremiah. At anyone and everyone other than themselves. But Jeremiah told them to turn inward. To amend their own ways and their own doings first. Which is what the peace-loving Muslims of Libya did. And which is what we American Christians must do, as well, if we are going to be faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

In fact, I would argue that all of the world’s great religions in this global, plural, inter-continental culture we have become in the 21st century must reclaim the peacemaking, self-reflecting, community-critiquing foundations of our traditions before it is too late. Removing the remaining planks of violence and intolerance and injustice from our own eyes—which for us means standing adamantly and emphatically against the youtube video version of Christianity and Jesus that does not represent us—before we bomb the speck out of the eyes of everyone else.

If every one of us did this, if every religion in the world removed the planks from our own eyes and cultivated the core covenants that are so central to all our traditions—the justice and the fidelity and the spiritual renewal that Jeremiah cried out for—we just might finally and forever decide deep down in our bones as the people of this planet that we really are all one clay in the potter’s hand. Formed ofone earth. Dare I even suggest flowing from one font of identity that fills every single one of our bodies three quarters of the way full with the water of grace. Whether we claim Christianity as our tradition or not.

I still hold on to that hope. I still want to believe that we can find a way across our vastly different traditions to swim together through the multiple streams of God’s grace toward that great river of peace that is our final destination.

I believe this because of my faith in Christ. Not in spite of it.

But we have to do the work. It won’t “just happen” just because we want it. So let’s do the work together of removing the plank from our own eyes of Presbyterianism. Starting with the doctrine of pre-destination, which is what I would have spent the entire sermon preaching on if we hadn’t had the week we just had. But it fits because if we are going to do the work of claiming the central core of our traditions in pursuit of that river of peace we Presbyterians have to come to terms with this very “Presbyterian” doctrine.

Now I’m just going to take a wild guess that you have not—at least in recent memory—experienced a sermon at Madison Square that touched on pre-destination. Which is the idea that God has chosen from the beginning of time who will be saved for eternity. And, yes, who will be damned for eternity. It is a harsh doctrine on its face. And it can easily get twisted into condemnation of all those “other” people who didn’t get chosen by God because they aren’t Christian. Which is exactly the opposite of what it is supposed to mean!

Most modern—and post-modern—progressive Presbyterians mostly avoid talking about predestination because we don’t want to talk about judgment. We want to believe that God loves everybody and grace abounds and hell has no place in our theology of love. But I am going to argue today that reclaiming and reforming the doctrine of predestination—rather than rejecting it outright—might give us the critical tools we need to persuade our global Christian family toward greater religious tolerance in this era of interfaith collaboration. And that this greater religious tolerance can be an act of Christian faith and not just a good idea from the world of secular liberalism.

Because the doctrine of predestination teaches that God alone is the sovereign ruler of the universe, and not any religious tradition. That God alone has determined our eternal fate, and not any religious tradition. That God alone is the one who knows what that fate will be, and not any religious tradition. And that nothing we do—or do not do—has anything to do with God’s choice in the matter. Which means that not one of us has any business declaring God’s eternal damnation—or even God’s eternal salvation—on any other person, or on any other group of people, or even on our own selves. Regardless of our religious tradition.

If we really are true to the core of our Presbyterian heritage, we don’t get to judge anything for God. The only thing we get to do is gratefully welcome the grace of God, which is the true core of the doctrine of predestination. It’s about our desperate reliance on God’s grace alone for any hope of salvation, in this life or the next. It’s about confessing in every part of our being that we have no hope for humankind at all—for ourselves or for anyone else—without. God's. grace.

Which I think has been made abundantly clear this week.

In light of where we are in the world today, I would like to add a hopeful addendum to predestination, based on the work of Karl Barth and other theologians who have followed him. It is possible, in keeping with the Scriptures that proclaim God's peaceable kingdom on the other side of God’s final judgment, that we are, in the end, “pre-destined for peace.” All of us. Because the thing about pre-destination—about eternal rejection and eternal salvation—is that Jesus, himself, has already experienced both. In the agony of the cross and through the harrowing of hell and right back out again to a resurrection of joy, Jesus has experienced both damnation and salvation. Once and for all. For all time.

And if we who are Christian have really been baptized into Christ, literally and not just metaphorically, then that means we have experienced both eternal damnation and eternal salvation, too. Once and for all. From the beginning of time to the end. In the fullness of time. All of us pre-destined for both. But not for ourselves alone.

If we are baptized into the rejected AND elected Body of Christ, we have no choice but to find ourselves in solidarity with anyone else in all of creation who knows what it is to be rejected right here and right now! Including those who are rejected by “Christians.”

Because that is where Christ’s rejected Body will always be!

But we also have no choice but to believe beyond belief that the saving love that is God’s final word in Christ is in that exact same place! Where Christ's rejected body is, there, too, is God's eternal salvation. Period. Not because we choose it. But because we need it. No matter who we are or what we have done or what we have left undone. Or where we worship.

It is, I would argue, the final Word throughout the Scriptures. From the mark of Cain in protection of a wandering murderer, to the joyful return of the very lump of clay that careened off the potter’s wheel and was given up for lost in Jeremiah, to the New Testament Gentiles who are seemingly rejected but have in fact been chosen by God from the foundation of the world for inclusion in the God’s family. To you. And to me. And to all of creation.

Rejected. And chosen. At the exact same time.

Having said all of that, I will confess once again not to really know what happens to the spoiled lump of clay that falls off the potter’s wheel. Or to the lump that maybe never got on in the first place. Or to any one of us in the Christian church or out of it. The clay may very well get thrown away for eternity. Or just set aside for a season.

What I do know is this: somewhere, somehow, clay always comes back to the earth. And gets mixed back together with the rest of it. And a potter picks it back up again somewhere along the line and shapes it once again. Always working together with creation to pronounce it "very good."

And so I choose to believe that someway somehow that so-called “rejected” lump of clay will always and forever be the very one chosen by our God. Not because of anything we have done. Or not done. Not because we have been easy to work with or delightfully challenging. But because of the grace of a God who desperately wants this lump of clay we call the human race to finally figure out how to live together as one body. Pre-destined for peace. With the Spirit of God breathing through every one of us.

I pray it may be so. Amen.

Always Being Re-Formed

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist  


Genesis 2:4-14, 18-22



Genesis 2:4b-14, 18-22
On the day when the God of Breath

made earth and heaven,

when every shrub of the field

was not yet in the earth

and every seed of the field

had not yet sprung up—

because the God of Breath

had not caused it to rain upon the earth,

and there was not humanity to work the humus,

but a mist ascended from the earth

and would irrigate all the face of the humus—

then the God of Breath

formed the human dust

from the humus

and breathed in its nostrils

a breath of life,

and it became a human—

a living breathing body.



And the God of Breath

planted a garden in Eden in the East,

and there God put the human

which God had formed.

And the God of Breath

caused every beautiful

and fruitful tree that exists

to sprout from the soil,

as well as a tree of

the knowledge of good and evil.



Now a river flows out from Eden

for irrigating the garden

and from there it is divided,

there it becomes the head of four rivers.

The name of the first is Pishon;

It is the one circling about all the earth of the Havilah,

in which there is gold.

And this gold of the earth is good;

bdellium and onyx are there.



And the name of the second river is the Gihon;

That one is winding through all the earth of Cush.

And the name of the third river is Tigris,

which flows east of Assyria.

And the fourth river,

that is the Euphrates.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now the God of Breath said,

“It is not good to be the only human, all alone.

I will make for the human a corresponding helper.”



And the God of Breath formed from the earth

every beast of the field and all the birds of the heavens,

and God brought them to the human

in order to see what the human would call each creature.

And every name that the human called

each living, breathing creature . . .

that was the creature’s name.



The human called forth names

for all the animals and for birds of the heavens

and for all the life of the field,

but for the human,

a corresponding help was not found.



So the God of Breath

caused deep sleep to fall on the human

and the human slept

and God took the human’s primary rib,

and then its flesh closed in.



And the God of Breath built the rib taken

from the original human

to form a new human—a woman

and God brought her to the re-formed first human—

now a man.

And the re-formed first human said,

“At last, this is the occurrence of substance from my substance and flesh from my flesh;

this one is called woman—

and I am called man—

because woman and man were re-formed—

by God—

from and for each other.”





Can you believe it has been a year? A full year this week since I came to you from Tucson to serve as your second interim pastor. Or your third, depending on how you count.



When I met with your Interim Pastor Search Committee one year ago I told them that if they hired me, I would hope to lead the session and the congregation toward a posture of embracing transition as a way of life and not just a moment in time. That every part of life is a journey of trusting the Providence of God as we travel from one place to the next. That an “interim” period is a time to practice that trust. That our own Presbyterian tradition even has built within it an explicit expectation that we are always in need of the re-forming Spirit of God. That any time we think we have arrived at the perfect church or the perfect theology or the perfect mission or even the perfect pastor, the Spirit of the Living God will emphatically knock us off our self-righteous perch and demand we start all over again! And that this can even be a good thing. Even if it is hard. Especially if it is hard.



It is one of the great slogans of the 16th Century Protestant Reformation, which is the religious heritage of our own Presbyterian denomination. That the Church is Reformed and Always Being Reformed. Or as Bill Walker’s Latin expertise argues “always in need of being reformed.”



We have learned a little something about the need of being re-formed in this long-term interim season, have we not? We have hired new staff and then turned around to realize we needed to hire different new staff. We have fixed our financial procedures and then turned around to realize we needed to re-fix our financial procedures. We have gotten serious about faithful stewardship education and rallied around the mission of the Child Development Center. And we have just plain gotten on with our lives after the enormous loss of Ilene and Kenny and Linda and Rene.



It has certainly been a year of re-formation for Madison Square. Healing and fixing, yes. But also joyful, as I hoped it could be. Gathering in focus groups and prayer groups and conversation groups and mission groups to share what we love most about this church. Re-forming our identity in the compassionate heart of the steadfast love of God that will not ever let us go. Singing and clapping and celebrating and communing. And may I dare suggest it has actually been fun!?



Yes, we are a church in need of being re-formed, as our tradition has said all along. It can be hard, it can be fun, it can be everything in between. We can resist it or we can embrace it. But I have learned as much as I have tried to teach that re-formation really is a way of life, as I told that interview team, and not just a moment in time. Just ask my car, which is definitely in the middle of a “Great Re-Formation”!



The good news for all of us, as far as I can tell from the Scriptures this morning, is that God has been up to the work of forming and re-forming, and re-forming Creation from our very origins. If you read closely in Genesis you can see that our re-formation as a new creation occurs almost immediately after our original formation! In fact, God's work of forming and re-forming and re-forming God's good creation—including humanity and the faith traditions that nurture and guide us as the people of God—is woven into the very fabric of creation.

According to this second chapter in Genesis, God made heaven and earth and a mist to irrigate the humus. And it was very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for God to be alone. So God re-formed creation by forming a human being, breathing God's own breath into dust from the original humus that God created. And God placed the human in a beautiful garden with trees and fruit, including the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. And the human being and the beautiful garden were very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for the earth to exist without running water. So God re-formed creation again by forming a river to flow out from the garden (may I call it the font of our identity?) and divided it into four prominent rivers and cultivated gold and other precious metals alongside each river. And it was good, something to be celebrated!



But it was not good for the human to be alone. So God re-formed creation again by forming more creatures from the earth to live in the fields and to fly in the air. And they were very good, something to be celebrated! But it was not good for the human to be without a corresponding helper. So God re-formed the original human in order to form a corresponding helper, the male and the female both re-formed from the original human in order to provide companionship for one another. And it was very good, something to be celebrated! Finally, we had a human community for support and encouragement. Finally the re-formation seemed to be complete!



But then along came the serpent and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and the need for yet another re-formation. And another. And another. This time because of our own self-inflicted-nonsense. The first re-formation of humanity because God needs a second chance. The ones that follow because we do.



But here is the promise of the ongoing re-formation, whether it is because God needs it or we do. Through every moment of formation and re-formation the God who is nearer to us than our breath, the God whose Spirit is, in fact, our breath itself, is present, is personal, is breathing life and energy and wholeness and hope throughout every part of this beautiful and good and glorious creation. And God isn’t done with us yet! Whatever re-formation you need or I need or that my 2009 Pontiac Vibe needs—the ones we know we need and the ones we pretend we don’t need—God isn’t done with us yet! And God is doing everything God can to make this very good creation just a little bit “good-er.”



Because being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation is not about change for the sake of change. Or chaos for the sake of chaos. Or theological inquiry for the sake of theological inquiry. Being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed is about companionship, community, finding and receiving help. It is about learning to live in joyous relationship with one another over and over and over again. And it is fun!



Being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation never forgets that we are all creatures of the earth, substance from one another's substance, flesh from one another's flesh. And that we really have no choice but to treat one another with reverence and awe and respect in every moment of re-formation, tending to the pain as well as to the joy. Because the reality is that in our moments of re-formation, we very often have wounds in our side where our ribs have been removed, just like the re-formed first human must have had. And the reality is that in our moments of re-formation, we very often lament what we have lost by being separated from our origins, just like the re-formed second human must have done. And the reality is that we are often being re-formed by our anesthetizing God deep in our sleep, completely unaware that our lives have radically changed until we finally wake up and see a whole new life in front of us.



And being formed and re-formed and always being re-formed in this primal story of our creation means that every act of re-formation returns us to the God of Breath who has been with us all along. To the breath of God, which is nearer to us than our own breath. To the breath of God, which makes us a living, breathing body of miraculous creation. To the breath of God that reminds us to breathe through the chaos and the anxiety and the pain and the exhilaration. Which is why everyone from your therapist to your pastor to your yoga instructor will remind you to breathe when the chaos of re-formation brings you to your breaking point. Because that is how the Spirit of God can re-form us the best.



The bottom line of our formation and our re-formation and our ongoing re-formation as a congregation, as a denomination, and as individuals and families with our own lives beyond these walls is that we are indeed a miracle and we should not ever forget it! We are earth and water and the lifelong breath of God, formed into glorious creatures of the earth. Not only created in the image of God but also in our very living, breathing bodies a treasure of irrigated earth formed into human dust and filled with the very breath of God. God's Spirit-filled creature of the earth—a human from the humus—an adam from the adamah, as the Hebrew says, a living breathing body of earth and water and God's divine spirit flowing through us. The very breath of God flowing through us no matter how we are being re-formed! That is always and forever who we really are!



And so we celebrate God's playful and joyous work of re-formation among us with our own attitude of play and joy. With a deep love for the beautiful gift of God's glorious creation that each one of us is in our living, breathing bodies. With a heartfelt gratitude for the companionship we provide one another and for the “corresponding help” we can be to one another in the midst of the challenges that come with change and in celebration of the many opportunities that lie before us.



Because we are still about the business of being re-formed here at Madison Square. And it can continue to be an amazing Alleluia!



I pray it may be so. Amen.

Welcome Home

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

Song of Songs 2:8-13; James 1:17-27

“Bienvenidos,” we say, at the beginning of every worship service here at Madison Square. “You and I, the People of God, are ‘welcome home.’”

And for a brief moment time stands still. And whatever has come before and whatever is yet to come fades into the space that surrounds us, like carbon dioxide fades into the plants that breathe it for air. And the peace of Christ settles in right here among us, and you can almost touch it and taste it and smell it and see it growing within us and among us like a lush garden. Like the Paradise we were always meant to tend. From the very beginning. Made real in our midst for one brief moment of grace.

“Welcome HOME!” we say. And a silent stillness fills the sanctuary . . .

No matter who you are or what you have done or what you have left undone or what you have had done to you, you are welcome home here at Madison Square. And not just because we say so but because Jesus says so.

Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church puts it this way, in a posting that has gone viral on Facebook, having originated on a website called “Stuff Christians Say”:

We extend a special welcome to those who are single, married, divorced, gay, filthy rich, dirt poor, yo no habla ingles. We extend a special welcome to those who are crying new-borns, skinny as a rail or could afford to lose a few pounds.

We welcome you if you can sing like Andrea Bocelli or . . . (and this is my favorite) . . . like our pastor who can’t carry a note in a bucket. You’re welcome here if you’re “just browsing,” just woke up or just got out of jail. We don’t care if you’re more Catholic than the Pope . . . (or for us more Presbyterian than Hilary Shuford) . . . or haven’t been in church since little Joey’s Baptism.

We extend a special welcome to those who are over 60 but not grown up yet, and to teenagers who are growing up too fast. We welcome soccer moms, NASCAR dads, starving artists, tree-huggers, latte-sippers, vegetarians, junk-food eaters. We welcome those who are in recovery or still addicted. We welcome you if you’re having problems or you’re down in the dumps or if you don’t like “organized religion,” we’ve been there, too.

If you blew all your offering money at the dog track, you’re welcome here. We offer a special welcome to those who think the earth is flat, work too hard, don’t work, can’t spell, or because grandma is in town and wanted to go to church.

We welcome those who are inked, pierced, or both. We offer a special welcome to those who could use a prayer right now, had religion shoved down your throat as a kid or got lost in traffic and wound up here by mistake. We welcome tourists, seekers and doubters, bleeding hearts . . . and you!

You are welcome, says Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church. Bienvenidos, people of God, welcome home, says Madison Square. And all is somehow miraculously made right.

At least that is how we want it to be . . .

In the Presbyterian Church we call it the kingdom of God. This sense of a time beyond time when pain and suffering and sin and oppression become no more. When we feast with our God in the fullness of grace, and we have finally learned how to live in peace. With God. With our neighbor. With ourselves. This kingdom “breaks in” for one brief moment when we hear that “welcome home.”

But it is still a kingdom that is yet to come, is it not? Because, let’s face it, we really aren’t there yet. We really aren’t. Not even in the church. Especially in the church. Where we are racked with bitter disputes and deep misunderstandings and pure pettiness and just plain self-inflicted-nonsense, it seems on a daily basis. And no I don’t just mean the big, bad, denomination out there somewhere. I mean even here. Even at Madison Square. Even when we think we are getting it quite right.

We are, as our Presbyterian Book of Order says, just a “provisional demonstration of the kingdom of God.” Emphasis on provisional. And there are lessons we still need to learn. Just like the early church learning from the letter of James.

We can, the author of James says, and we should, he insists, allow ourselves to get caught up in the great generosity of the God who will always welcome us home. We can and we should know the kingdom in an instant, when we hear those bienvenidos, and we know the deep embrace of Christ. But we should also admit when we are more quick to speak than we are to listen. When we are more quick to anger than we are to compassion. When we are more quick to nurse our own wounds than to build up the beloved community. Mere “hearers” of the Word, as James says, who deceive ourselves, instead of “doers of the word” who “care for orphans and widows in their distress and keep [our]selves unstained by the world.” Which translated for our own time would mean something along the lines of “watching out for the vulnerable and also for our own vulnerability.” Pursuing social justice and our own spiritual formation. With neither more important than the other.

We who are still so provisionally demonstrating the kingdom of God need the author of James to remind us to listen. To speak slowly. To transform whatever anger and rage we still carry within us into a virtue of grace. To tend the roots of God’s Wisdom dwelling deep within that we might “become a kind of first fruits” of God’s new creation, as James tells us. Blooming forever in the Paradise we were always meant to tend with joy. Seeking justice and non-violence and love. But we have to keep working at it over and over again. Because we are surely not there yet.

Which brings us to Bob Frere, whose life we remember today in our worship. Beloved husband of Carol. Beloved father of Suzette, John, Jennifer, Lisa, Mark, Lori, Karl. Beloved grandfather of Lauren, Ethan, Holden, Molly, Helen. Beloved “pastor to pastors” in Mission Presbytery and before that in Louisville Presbytery. Beloved child of the God who created him good, and in him is well pleased.

Throughout his long ministry, Bob saw the best and the worst of who we in the church can be. But he called us over and over again to the Wisdom of God set forth in the book of James: actively supporting civil rights; ordaining women as deacons and elders and pastors; uniting churches that had split over the civil war; strengthening struggling pastors and churches; supporting programs and ministries that empower people living in poverty; promoting spiritual depth as the foundation for seeking social justice; and just plain being a decent human being.

Surely Bob has, as James says, “become a kind of first fruit of God’s new creation.” Surely Bob is blooming forever in the Paradise we were always meant to tend. With joy, with justice, non-violence, and love. He was, after all, a “Master Gardener.”

And so we celebrate Bob on this day of “bearing witness to the resurrection.” Which, I have been insisting all year, is what we do every Sunday and not just Easter Sunday. And not just at special memorial services we title “Witness to the Resurrection.” On this day, every Sunday, we come with our warts and our wounds and our crying out for wholeness to proclaim with conviction that our resurrecting God is not yet done with this provisional kingdom that is the messed up crazy world we call the church and the world beyond the church. That God is and has already and forever been about the business of transforming us into a resurrection redemption. That God’s resurrecting promise can lead us through whatever “lonesome valley” is stretched out before us and behind us. And that not one thing, not one thing in all of creation can separate us from the love of God we know in Christ. The kind of love that brings us back to the garden. Restored to its present goodness. As in the Song of Solomon. Which is our other lectionary text today.

“Arise, my love, my fair one,” our beloved says in this “most excellent song,” “and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come. The voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance.” And can’t you just hear our God saying these words to Bob?

And can’t you just hear in the fresh, fragrant, and flagrant erotic real-human-beings –desperately-in-love-with-each-other poetry of the Song of Songs the Word of God to us this morning? Allegorizing forever the love match between Carol and Bob Frere. And the lush garden we were always meant to tend. And the sacred union between God and God’s people. And between Christ and the Church. Can’t you just hear in this Song of Most Excellent Songs the voice of our beloved God, in all of our struggles, and all of our woe, and all of our hope-filled fruitless and fruitful seeking of Wisdom, “leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills, gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice.”

Saying, “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.”

Bienvenidos, people of God.

Welcome Home.

And A Little Child Shall Lead Them

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist and Rev. Gin Courtney


Youth Sunday

Proverbs 3:13-18
Luke 2:41-52

So. Madison Square youth. I must say I am impressed. Here you are, among your peers, not merely sitting in worship but actually leading in worship. Telling all of us, through the prayers you have written and the songs you have chosen, what you think is important about faith and friendship and family.

So let me tell you what I have heard, and you tell me if I got it right:

In your Call to Worship I have heard a desire for wisdom and learning, for openness and transformation. In your Prayer for Reconciliation I have heard a desire for creative positivity in the face of negative thoughts, criticisms, challenges and temptations. In your Assurance of Grace I have heard an attitude of gratitude, a desire for a fresh start, and a plea for the love and support of God to embrace you through whatever comes your way, no matter how difficult. And in your music selections I have heard a basic trust in the grace of the God who will always love you and save you and defend you and protect you.

If what I have heard is really what you wanted us to hear, then I say, “alleluia.” You are on the right track. At least as far as I am concerned. Stay on it! And if what I have heard is really what you wanted us to hear, then the rest of us in the church can pat ourselves on the back and congratulate ourselves on a job well done. Because somewhere, somehow in the midst of whatever chaos surrounds us, and surrounds you, you have heard us, lo these many years. You have heard God speaking through us. You have somehow gotten the message that we have wanted you to get all along. Which is that no matter what you are a Child of Blessing and a Child of Promise. Which means that no matter what God has given you gifts of knowledge and insight and understanding that will sustain your life and the lives of those who cross your path. And that no matter what God has given you strength and courage and support to share the best of who God created you to be in this broken, messed up world . . . that is still so painfully struggling to love God and to love neighbor.  And, I might add, to love itself.

And you are telling us today not only that you get it but that you want us to get it, too. Which is good because we need to be reminded. Just like the parents of Jesus did in the Gospel lesson from Luke that Chaplain Gin read for us this morning.

Imagine what it would be like to be the parents of Jesus. Think of the responsibility! The panic of your 12-year-old lost in Jerusalem. Not because he wants to see the big sights in the big city. But because he wants to keep on learning about God! He can’t get enough of church! He is hanging out in the pews, asking questions of the preacher, maybe even writing his own prayers and choosing his own hymns. Nothing stands in his way. Not a soccer practice. Not a term paper. Not a part-time job. Not two parents who would really rather get back home to Nazareth already.

He is into this! And they are into him. “And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.” Just like we are all amazed at what you have put together for worship today. We need to be reminded that this is what really matters.

So here’s the question. What do you think it was that captivated Jesus so much in the temple? His teachers would not have been reading from the New Testament, like we are. The New Testament hadn’t been written yet! They would have been reading from the Old Testament. Perhaps even the very same passage from Proverbs we have read together this morning. The one that urges the pursuit of wisdom, just like you did in your Call to Worship. The one that says learning and insight and understanding are more valuable than all the wealth you could possibly possess. That wisdom holds the key to happiness. That wisdom yearns for peace.

Perhaps it was the call to pursue the wisdom of God at all costs that led Jesus to the desert to find his true vocation. Perhaps it was the call to pursue God’s wisdom that led him to a ministry of healing and justice and concern for the most vulnerable in our midst. And that led him back to the temple twenty years later to challenge those who were using religion as a curse instead of a blessing. And that sustained him as he hung on that tree of death and trusted the wisdom of God to transform it once again into a tree of life. Which is one way to understand the resurrection.

This is the real truth of what I think Jesus was learning and teaching in the temple that day. It was about instilling in him deep down into his very bones that he was a Child of Blessing and Promise no matter what. Which is what we are trying to instill in you every Sunday in worship and Sunday School, no matter what else we might say or do. It’s about making sure you know it. Really know it!

Not just today. But someday far away we haven’t even thought of it. When you really need it. Like Jesus did. And, of course, today.

This is why I hope you keep coming back to worship. Why I was so glad to see you here last week listening to my other sermon on wisdom. Why I want you to ask questions of me and of your teachers and share your thoughts with us. Just like Jesus did. And why I hope you will keep leading in worship. And tell me and Chaplain Gin when you want to do this again. And not let anything else get in the way. Because this is what really truly matters. This is what will save your life.

And even though our number one job is to instill a deep faith in you to sustain you through the future, the truth is we really do celebrate how wise you are becoming, right here and now, just as the teachers and preachers in the temple with Jesus did. You have given us an amazing worship experience. And we are shouting Alleluia!

Amen.

And now a word to the grown-ups. We have been talking a lot in the past few months about what kind of programming Madison Square should be providing for children and youth. We have hired a fabulous Christian Educator and pulled together an equally fabulous group of volunteers to lead the way in the months and years to come. And all of this is very, very good.

But here’s the thing. If our goal is to instill a lifetime of faith in our young people, there really is no substitute for bringing them to worship. There really isn’t. The research reveals that a whopping 80% of teenagers whose primary engagement with the church is through some “other-than-worship activity,” like a youth group, will quickly leave the church once they graduate from high school. The social club was more important than the faith. But if they are in worship regularly with a primary adult figure we can keep at least half of them. Perhaps more. Because there is something deep in our bones that happens through the ritual of worship that keeps us coming back for more. And that reminds us, at least in a community like Madison Square, that we are never ever apart from God’s embrace. And so we keep coming. Which is what Ruby Gage wants to share with you . . .

“Good morning people of Madison Square,” she says. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t be with you this morning, so instead I wrote this to be read to you:

“I have been asked to tell everyone, especially the kids, what lessons I have learned from the people here at Madison Square that I would take with me to college and into my adult life. I can’t tell you how hard it was to come up with ONE thing to talk about. I could think of tons of advice that people have given me, about all sorts of things. The more time I spent trying to decide what was the most important, the more indecisive I got. Something hit me though. In thinking about all this advice on how to be an adult, I couldn’t tell you when someone actually becomes an adult.  Legally, it’s when one turns 18, but we all know that eighteen-year-olds ARE FAR FROM ADULTHOOD. So when is it? When do we grow up?

“I tried to think about what I could find in the Bible about this and all I could come up with was that God might not really want us to grow up. There are verses about responsibility and teaching kids to be good, but when it comes to being a “grown-up” the Bible kinda tells us to do just the opposite. In the gospels, there is a story, one that we’ve all heard before, about how children were brought to Jesus. Anyone remember what he said? “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” (Luke 18:16)

“So does this mean that we can skip growing up, and go join Peter Pan and the Lost Boys in Neverland? No, it just means that sometimes, we need to remind ourselves of the way a child looks at life. Sure it’s carefree, but it’s also pure. They see the world as the beautiful thing that it is. I have learned that this lesson, looking at the world like a child, is sometimes the easiest solution to the problem at hand. Of course we need to think about grocery shopping, laundry, bills, and other adult things, but we also can’t get so caught up in being an adult that we forget about God.  I don’t need to worry about how I’m going to get through this or that, because “Look at the birds in the sky. They don't plant or harvest or gather food into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. You are more valuable than they are, aren't you?” (Matthew 6:26) God will take care of us, and sometimes, we adults forget that.

“A child doesn’t. They know God will heal them when they fall off their bike and scrape their knees, they will eat tonight, and they’ll sleep in a bed close to parents that love them unconditionally, just like God does. They say their prayers, and trust blindly that God is listening. How many times have we wondered if God was really up there? If he cared? I know I’ve asked myself that before. Sometimes we just get lost in life. The hustle and bustle and our little worries make us forget about what God can do for us. We are doubtful, because sin has entered us in the form of “adult responsibilities.”

“So even though flying takes “faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust,” life just takes faith. That is the best lesson that you have taught me, and I know beyond any shadow of a doubt, that with this in mind I’ve got nothing to worry about. Thank you for that, and for everything else that you have done for me (including the quilt that got me through my first night). I love and miss you all. Ruby”