Don’t flay the sheep.

It Has Been Said

Luke 4:1-13

Fox Valley Presbyterian Church

Temptation is not really a dirty word anymore. Think about it: it’s a word used to brand and identify: chocolates; resorts; a dating service in the UK ; there’s even a men’s deodorant line that has a scent named: “dark temptation”

Think about it: in all these cases, the implication if the word is not the the product is something t be avoided, but something to be craved. Because once you cave in and buy whatever it is being sold, it’s going to be good. CHocolatey good. Sexy and fabulous.

Temptations are not something bad…they are things that, when you finally step over, you will enjoy.

Even Tiger Woods weighs in the word this weekend….in his apology to the general public on Friday, he said this: “ I felt that I had worked hard throughout my entire life and deserved to enjoy all the temptations around me.” Now, I know, taken in full context, Tiger was admitting that what he did was wrong, but do you hear it? Temptations can be something we deserve to enjoy if we’ve worked hard enough.

I’m not going to make a long argument this morning trying to undo everything the culture around us has done to the word temptation. I’m not going to battle the word, and try to point out how the true temptations around us are not things to be enjoyed, but pitfalls where we get stuck (although, Tiger Woods is an awfully good example of that…)

Reclaiming the word can wait for another day.

But for now, how about a little reframing? Leaving the idea of temptation aside for now, maybe we can look at this story about Jesus a little differently.

What if the story of Jesus in the desert is not as much about temptation, as it is about identity?

This idea of 40 days in the desert, 40 being the Biblical shorthand for “completeness”; 40 days without food, with little water; 40 days completely alone, it’s the idea that Jesus is stripped down to the most basic nature of who he is. Jesus at his most basic. No expectations from anyone about who he ought to be. Every last thing has been stripped bare, and he is his most genuine self.

And this is when the devil comes…with 3 challenges.

Turn these stones to bread; Gain power; Test God’s faithfulness

(Notice, on the surface, except for the part about worshipping Satan, that none of these temptations are things we would quickly classify as big sins…)

And, in fact, each of them has some little twist of truth…Jesus is, after all, the bread of life; Jesus is, after all, the one to whom every knee shall bow; Jesus is, after all, the firstborn of the resurrection, the one who God rescues and raises from the dead. In a strange way, by giving in to the devil, Jesus could have accomplished some version of all these things that he is called to do.

It’s not so much a matter of refusing the results the devil is promising. It’s more about the way they happen. It’s not about the ends, it’s about the means.

And Jesus’s response to these things is to go back to the most basic grounding of who he is.

So notice the foundation he takes for his response:

“It is written: One does not live by bread alone.”

“It is written: WOrship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”

It has been said: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”

Three times, what Jesus comes back to, the most elemental thing about who he is…3 times, he quotes Torah, Scripture. 3 times he goes back to the book of Deuteronomy. Even the third time when the devil tries to match the game by quoting the Psalms, Jesus simply comes back with an unwavering answer, that the Book, SCripture, is the center of who he is, the solid place where he stands.

This is not just a matter of dry quoting, rote memorization, with no body or spirit behind it.

This is the book Jesus lives. He has lived his life, a good Jewish boy in Nazareth, immersed in this book and the story of his people. And so, by the third time he responds, he doesn’t just say, “it is written.” He packs more punch. “It has been SAID.”

Scripture is not just something written, waiting silent on the page. Scripture is alive. From the mouth of the Holy Spirit in the beginning, it was said, and What it said was so important that it was passed down, mouth to mouth, until it was written. And over and over and over again, it has been read, silently and out loud, over and over and over, it has been SAID. It is not moldy words on a page. It is the word that has been said, breathing and real and alive.

In fact, this is the Book that Jesus is. Jesus, Word made flesh, says John’s Gospel.

In fact, this the Book that we are.

Sometimes, it takes an outsider to make the most insightful points about us. And our relationship to the Bible is something that Muslims perhaps have understood better than we have. Islam refers to Jews and Christians as “people of the book” (and, traditionally, says that for this, we ought to be respected and even protected within majority Muslim societies). And did you know that the Western value placed on literacy for everyone in a society has its roots in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Think about it: this book is so very important and fundamental to our faith system, that Christianity truly cannot survive unless people know the text. That means either: we have to have methods for your average person to memorize this whole book; or we have to have a population that is literate enough to read the book.

And moreover, this Book is a story about us. Unlike some religions where the stories are about the gods and their doings, or one great teacher and his lessons, this book has an overarching story in it about God’s people.

And every once in awhile, the book reminds us that it’s not just a story it is our story.

What Jesus quotes back to the Devil comes from the OT book of Deuteronomy. It’s not the most exciting reading in the OT. it’s mostly laws. And, laws that are being given a second time.

But late in the book, there’s a reminder that this is story:

When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it, 2you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you harvest from the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket and go to the place that the Lord your God will choose as a dwelling for his name. 3You shall go to the priest who is in office at that time, and say to him, “Today I declare to the Lord your God that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us.” 4When the priest takes the basket from your hand and sets it down before the altar of the Lord your God, 5you shall make this response before the Lord your God: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. 6When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, 7we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. 8The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; 9and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. 10So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me.” You shall set it down before the Lord your God and bow down before the Lord your God. 11Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house.
It’s a passage about religions ceremony and obligation. But notice what it does: you don’t just show up and hand over your gift. You have to set a context. And the context for everyone is this: telling the story. Here’s who I am and where I came from. This is my identity. It’s why I follow all the laws in this book. It’s who my parents and my ancestors were; and it’s who I am.

We are the people of this book, this Bible. We are people with a story. This is our identity. And without that identity, we cannot face up to temptation.

And 40 days into his desert time, this is where Jesus finds his identity, stable footing: he is a person of this book. A book that is not just written, but a book that is said.

Lent is 40 days…40 days in large part because Jesus was in the desert for 40 days. So the idea is that this is another way for us to participate in the story….to think of these 40 days as 40 days to walk alongside Jesus in fasting, in stripping away things so that we can know who we truly are. It is another way that we are encouraged to make this Book a living and breathing thing, a way that we invited to enter the story.

The truth is that the Bible is a terrible self-help book by the world’s standards. On the face of it, Jesus’ choices looks like a failure in the eyes of the world.

He chooses to preach and teach in a backwater part of the world, with backward, confused, often dense student-disciples. He chooses to keep walking toward Jerusalem even when it’s clear that this path is a death-wish.
He is killed as a common criminal, in a manner that is shameful and disgusting.
It looks like utter failure.

But in the weakness and failure is power and victory.

And maybe this is the reason that for 40 days we are called into the desert. It’s not about becoming more powerful. It’s about becoming less. It’s not about becoming who we think we should be, it’s about becoming who God thinks we should be.

And it is such an odd journey, walking with Jesus through the desert, through Galilee, and the road to inevitable death in Jerusalem, such an odd journey…but it’s the journey in which we learn who we truly are.

I’m not sure we can take that journey without the right grounding. And the only grounding is in the story, the Book.

The hymn says: “How firm a foundation you saints of the Lord is laid for your faith in his excellent Word.” It’s an old hymn, but a true one. The desert can be a rocky, uneven place.

But here is the Book…a solid place to stand

It has been written.

And it has been said.

It is who we are.

Amen.

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An Open Letter to Emergency Rooms

Dear ERs everywhere,

First, I am grateful for my ER, my access to medical care, my reliable car, the general goodness of God, etc.

But I’m really really sleep deprived. So this thought is where my brain has been wandering off to.

If parents bring their kiddo in during the night due to, say, an overdose of grape cough medicine, and you have to hook up said kiddo to monitor her vitals, and especially if you are rather confident that said kiddo will be fine but it’s just a precaution, shouldn’t there be somewhere comfy for the parents who are keeping vigil to snooze? Because then, the next morning when our kiddo wakes up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready face the day, well, we are not so ready. And we are a bit frayed around the edges and not really on top of our parenting game.

Again, I don’t want to diminish my thankfulness for what I have, but I’m just really really tired and my better-rested child is not particularly sympathetic.

Thanks!

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Earthquake

We had a 3.8 earthquake here last night. When I say “here” I mean a few miles away from where I actually live. And I don’t live in a place where we have earthquakes.

Our bedroom is at/below ground level, with the windows above our bed facing onto a street that gets plowed a lot when it snows. The plows shake our bedroom. And it’s been snowing, so we had plowing action last night, too.

When it happened, at about 4:00am, I thought…plow? No, building shaking. A snowplow must have hit our building.

Then I rolled over and went back to sleep. That’s right: I thought a snowplow hit my building and I went back to sleep.

Checking in with other folks this morning, many of them had the good sense to hop out of bed and look out their windows, or check on their children and other breakables.

I would like to attribute my calm to having been raised by a man who grew up in Southern California and told us about earthquakes is if they were no particularly big deal, the small ones at least.

But, it might just be that I like my sleep.

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LOL

Series of text messages from last night:

From my sister Emily: I always find interesting little surprises around after Zora visits. For example, I just got into bed and found a curious tiny orange cubic ‘something’ near my pillow. What could that be?? Cheese, of course.

Me: Well honestly what is bedtime without cheese?

Emily: Unfortunately, it was a little too far into that unnaturally oily stage and had lots of dust stuck to it. Otherwise I certainly would not have let it go to waste.

Me:  I think Anna (our other sister) would have eaten it.

Emily: That was her first response to my text: did you eat it?

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A few shameless Zora vignettes

In part, for the sake of my own records, a few Zora moments that I want to remember for awhile.  She is really, at 3, a very interesting person. And I am learning that interesting persons are not necessarily the easiest ones to raise.

1. Although she seems to enjoy being the water over the summer, three sessions into swimming lessons, she’s still doing her fair share of yelling that she doesn’t want to be there and holding onto me with the full monkey-grip (arms and legs) in the pool. There is evidence to suggest that this about (a) the pool being cold (b) and her not really wanting to do it (c) and perhaps some fear that she will be forced to “bubble” with the other two kids in the class who do it. However, we are going to keep going, if only because we now catch her in the pool teaching her washcloths to swim.
2. Why are 3 year olds amused by the word “butt”? And, what was I thinking when I pointed out that we might need to change her pants because her “butt crack” was showing? After a good week of explaining that “butt” is appropriate sometimes, but usually not, I’ve added to the butt vocabulary. I apologize to the rest of the preschool families. But, not 5 minutes ago, she used the word “poopy” and then turned to Erik, smiled, and said, “Was that inappropriate?” So she’s at least starting to get it.
3. On Sunday, Zora met the head pastor of the crazy big church where I used to work. Sometimes, crazy big church pastors get treated a little bit like they are not real people–when they usually are, and I sometimes wonder if they miss getting to be real people. This particular pastor is a very very nice man who really like little kids. So, I can only assume that he was quite pleased when Zora, who I believe was meeting him for the first time (save the fact that she was incubating the entire time I was working at that church!), very blithely, and without much invitation at all, swooped in and gave him a big old kiss on the cheek.
4. On the other side of Zora being comfortable with people, there is also her being comfortable with big places…churches in particular. Which is why, at the worship service where # 3 happened, she spent the last 1o minutes running circles around about 5 rows of vacant pews, sort of unsupervised.
5. Last night, Zora refused to let Erik leave her bedroom at the end of the bed time routine after the normal ending (which is a loud antiphonal recitation of “Good night! Sleep tight! Don’t let the bed bugs bite! And I’ll see you in the morning when it’s light!”). No, he was not allowed to leave until they added, after “Good night…” “The Lord be with you…” “And also with you.”
6. Further liturgical memorization: we’ve been intentionally saying the Lords Prayer with kids at the end of our children’s time, and right before we dismiss them to Sunday School, every Sunday morning this year. If Zora is any gauge, it is working. She can get the last few words in each line of the prayer, and she incorporates phrases from it into the libretto of her on-going “Day of the Preschool” Opera (i.e. the continuous narration song she sings much of the time). However, she has also caught on to where it FITS in our current worship order. Because she often ends the prayer this way: “…and the power, and glory forever, Amen. OK you can go to Sunday School now!”

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Weekend Domestic Tally

Thursday night to Saturday are my version of the weekend. For me, this means squeezing out every last chance to be the domestic diva.

The tally so far this weekend?

Did a lot of dishes, but then made a whole lot dirty while I was making a pot of soup.

Cut out the fabric for Zora’s long-delayed Hello Kitty pajamas.

Dyed the eyelet trim for said pajamas hot pink (turns out that hot pink eyelet trim is not a standard part of the stock at fabric stores).

Ran two miles.

Crammed in one last church meeting before Friday, being the real and actual day off, began.

On tap for tomorrow?

Take Zora to kindermusik and swimming lessons.

More laundry than I should ever have to deal with.

Sew kitty pajamas.

Do dishes from soup-making.

Get bedroom under control.

Which brings me to the point that Friday is, in fact, my Sabbath. Honestly, I’ve just gotten to the point where I’ve accepted that Sabbath for women has probably never meant complete and total rest. If I snag 15 minutes of Sabbath, that’s going to have to do it for me.

I remember, during Zora’s first summer, realizing that beach reading would not be the same for another 10 or 15 years. Instead of cruising through novels, I was happy to get in a few pages of a short story.

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Prayers of the People, Weekend of Haiti Crisis & MLK Day

Words taken from sermons on Martin Luther King, Jr. are in italics. (With some adaptation, mostly for gender inclusiveness.)

Holy God, sometimes we look around and it seems the world is crumbling…

…war after war, division after division, injustice after injustice, violence upon violence, and sin upon sin, we are surrounded by a world where not only the structures of society, but sometimes, the very ground beneath a city crumbles.

Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. We speak and cry out together as children of God, as brothers and sisters to the suffering poor of our country and every country.

We know that the curse of poverty has no justification in our age. And so it breaks our hearts to see Port Au Prince leveled by an earthquake that would barely harm Los Angeles or San Francisco.

It breaks our heart to see people afraid of what the future holds: when there is no food, no water, no doctors, when there seems to be no hope.

And it breaks our heart to realize that our hearts are only broken by utter disaster…when the injustice and poverty has been there, in Haiti, and throughout our world all along.

Call us to action, O Lord, call us to change. Call us to love.

We know the depths of love you made us capable of: the depths of love for father , mother, sister, brother, daughter, son, friend and neighbor…

We know the depths of love because of the pain we feel on behalf of those closest to us. So hear our prayers today for the ones we love who suffer:

(names)

And we know the depths of love because of the joy we feel on behalf of those closest to us. So hear our shouts of joy today on behalf of the ones we love who celebrate:

(names)

But call us to action, O Lord, call us to change. Call us to love.

It is love that cuts off the chain of hate and the chain of evil in the universe.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

And you, God of love, taught us that love is action, love is coming close to those who suffer.

We must combine the toughness of the serpent and the softness of the dove, a tough mind and a tender heart.

We must use all your gifts to us: intellect, privilege, money, and time, all your gifts, to put love into action in this world.

Let us rise up with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, to make this world look more and more like your vision, like the kingdom of heaven, like the great banquet where there is room for everyone at the table, and where there is more than enough for every guest.

Oh God, help us in our lives and in all of our attitudes, to work out this controlling force of love, this controlling power that can solve every problem that we confront in all areas.  Grant that all people will come together and let us join together in a great fellowship of love and bow down at the feet of Jesus. Give us this strong determination. In the name and spirit of this Christ, we pray. Amen.

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Haiti

What a powerful editorial…the first paragraphs really stick with me.

I have family in Southern California. When there’s a big earthquake there, I worry a little, but not too much (the biggest disruption one of the last big one’s caused my relatives was my cousin’s disappointment that school was cancelled that day because there was an earthquake drill scheduled and he was supposed to ring the bell!) Point being, it is really awful that LA or San Francisco can take  a hit like this, but other places can’t. That is wrong wrong wrong.

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Misheard in the sermon

Warning: this is a theology nerd joke.

We are blessed with pastors at our church, both in quality and abundance. On Sundays there’s often a line-up of three behind whichever pastor is preaching. In other words, there are four of us: Carl, Melinda, Bart, and me.

Sometimes, certain members of the line-up get a little giggly. Yes, I am that certain member.

This misheard line of Melinda’s sermon almost sent me over the edge on Sunday:

Here’s what I heard: “Karl Barth, Erica and I do not have all the answers.”

Here’s what the manuscript said: “Carl, Bart, Erica and I do not have all the answers.”

Yes, I work at a church with Karl Barth. Sort of.

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First Communion

Oh, truly a wonderful communion story…

On Sunday, one of our 3 year olds (I’ll call her Claire) was sitting in the second row of pews with her parents. Next to her was one of our church elders, Harrison, who is also a pillar of the congregation in the best sense of the word and one of the few people I have ever met who is completely at home, able, and amazing with kids from age 0 to 25.

When this family went up for communion, Claire didn’t take any. But, after they got back to the pew, they saw a dad and his 3 year old go up and the 3 year old took communion (OK, full disclosure, that was my kid…who is not about to give up any chance to get her hands on extra grape juice). When Claire saw Zora taking communion she was a little peeved that she hadn’t gotten to. Parents sort of wondered about this, and Harrison explained that current PCUSA policy is that it’s up to parents to decide when kids may take communion, and if it was OK with them, Claire could.

Meanwhile, we were done with serving at the front, and my assistant and I were at the back serving an older gentleman who hadn’t been able to leave his pew. Harrison brought Claire to the back and walked her through the procedure, but she took two pieces first, and then lost them in the cup, and we just scooted those two into the bread basket to give her another chance with a new piece of bread.

It was a time I was really grateful to have a theology of communion that allowed me not to feel really anxious about the cup spilling, bread not being eaten, etc!

I love our church’s policy on communion and children (CRCNA folks, take heed as you make this big decision!). I love that every time we serve communion we might have a child who is taking it for the first time (in fact, I suspect there was another three year old who was partaking for the first time on Sunday).

I am grateful that we had an alert and loving elder in the pew who knew the policy and guided the family through it.

I am sad that we haven’t done a good enough job of educating our congregation, so that some of our parents don’t know how this works. We might need to fix that.

But I really don’t want to fix it by instituting some kind of class. Because I’m almost certain that in a church our size, we would start to have people come to the class at a certain age. And then the whole thing would get formalized and ritualized. And then we would have some sort of big “event”.

And I don’t want it be an event. I love that I can’t even remember Zora’s first time taking communion. I do remember what it was like to put that little bit of purple-stained bread in her mouth. I’m pretty certain it was her first solid food.

I love that Claire’s first communion was quiet and sweet and absolutely perfect, and that this part of her life with Christ was accidentally and providentially bound to the people who just happened to be in the pew with her that day.

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