Sermons

"Grateful Hearts" - Matthew 6:25-34

Matthew 6:25-34

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin and yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?”

“Therefore, do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ for it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all of these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.”

My thoughts for tonight fall under the category of “Practical and Holy,” something you hear me say often around here, I hope. I was reminded again this week about how giving thanks – experiencing and expressing gratitude – is a holy, spiritual discipline for our day-to-day lives that has practical consequences, for us and for others when we get it right and when we do it well.

This “practical and holy” reminder came in the form of a news story about how gratitude is literally good for the heart. (Gratitude is Good for the Soul and Helps the Heart, NPR News) And I’m talking about the heart – not the spiritual, touchy-feely, heart-shaped part of your soul, whatever that is – but good for the muscle of your heart that beats beneath your rib-cage, tucked somewhere behind or between your lungs, doing what it does to keep your blood moving and your life, living.

The short version of the story is that Paul Mills, a neurophysiologist, at the University of California at San Diego, recruited patients with heart damage from things like high blood pressure, heart attacks, infections, even to part of a study. 186 men and women, with an average age of 66, played along. They filled out questionnaires, reporting their levels of gratitude for the stuff of their life like people, places, and things.

And the results showed that those who considered themselves to be more grateful, also proved to be less depressed, to sleep better, and to have more energy than those who landed on the lower end of the grateful scale. Even blood work on these subjects showed lower levels of indicators like inflammation and plaque for those who identified themselves as more grateful than others.

And, since these subjects already had problems with damage to their hearts, the researcher took all of this a step further and asked his people to keep a daily journal of gratitude where they were to write – sentences, paragraphs, pages, whatever – about whatever it was that made them feel grateful in their daily lives. Of course, they wrote about things like children, spouses, pets, travel, jobs, and more.

And after 2 months of this deliberate, gratitude journaling, results showed that writing about gratitude – engaging a daily practice of thanksgiving – actually lowered their heart disease risks. Inflammation decreased, heart rhythm improved, and so on.

The research doesn’t try to explain why any of this happens, exactly, but the researchers suggest all of this “thanks-giving” reduces stress for people by helping them to focus on the things they can be grateful for which, in some way, helps us cope in the face of struggles; it puts our struggles into perspective, maybe; it allows us to see a balance, at least, between those things in our lives and in the world that threaten or sadden us and those things in our lives and in the world that bless us and bring us joy or comfort or hope or peace. (You can listen to the brief, two-and-a-half minute piece from Morning Edition, here.)

“Do not worry about your life. What you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothing?” Jesus asks, in the Gospel.

What I like about this little ditty from Jesus in the context of this research, and as we gather to celebrate Thanksgiving, is that it puts the spiritual practice of gratitude into the context of something that is as good for me as it is for the ones – and for The One – to whom I am grateful. By being… by experiencing… by expressing…thanksgiving, I get holier, and healthier, and happier along the way. How great is that? And I’ll take it as just one of many signs of God’s abundance, in my life and for the sake of the world.

See, God doesn’t want us to give thanks and to be generous and to practice gratitude because we need another thing to add to our lists or schedules or spiritual disciplines. But isn’t that how we sell gratitude and thanksgiving in our lives? Think about the way we teach our kids to “say please and thank you.” As often as not, it’s all about being polite…as something we should do…as something we ought to do…as something that seems to be all about the other person/people to whom we’re being grateful.

But I wonder if Jesus didn’t know something the scientist in San Diego learned from his research: that being and expressing gratitude – experiencing thankfulness, like any good gift – is as good for the one who offers it up as it is for the one who receives it.

When we hear the Psalmist sing, “I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples; I will sing praises to you among the nations,” imagine the implications that has for a soul and a spirit in a world like the one we live in today. (Psalm 57:9)

We're hearing about the art of giving thanks in the face of struggle and hardship, not just around a table full of family and friends and turkey and pumpkin pie. And that's the kind of lifestyle, the sort of Kingdom living, Jesus us calls us toward.

In Matthew 6 – with all those words about worry – Jesus is speaking as someone who loves his people – his friends and his family and his followers – and as someone who wants the best for them.

So the thanksgiving we’re called to as followers of Jesus is meant to be more than just a discipline or a chore – certainly not just an annual extravaganza around a table overflowing with our favorite food and crowded with some of our favorite people, or not-so favorite people, as the case may be.

The thanksgiving Jesus calls us to is meant to be a daily blessing for our lives – one that does a good work through us and for us, just the same, by putting our struggles into perspective; by putting our lives into balance; by helping us to see what is good and righteous in our midst, even if we are surrounded by so much to the contrary, too.

Because our Thanksgiving, in Jesus, reminds us that we are blessed in the face of our struggles. We are made strong through our weakness. We are rich when we are poor. We are promised new life, even, in the face of death. And for that – and so much more – we are called to give thanks, with grateful hearts, that are changed for the better, when we do.

Amen

"Christ the King and Refugees" - John 18:33-37

John 18:33-37

Then Pilate entered the headquarters, summoned Jesus and said to him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered him, “Do you ask me this on your own, or have others told you about me?”  Pilate said to him, “I am not a Jew, am I?  Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me.  What have you done?”  Jesus said to him, “My kingdom is not of this world.  If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews.  But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”  Pilate said, “So, you are a king, then?”  Jesus said to him, “You say that I am a king.  For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.  Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

I heard a story at a retreat a couple of weeks ago about the horrors and persecutions heaped upon Tibetan monks at the hands of the Chinese. The story goes that an invading army would quickly sweep into Buddhist monasteries to destroy and decimate both the people and the place, as an exercise of fear, power, intimidation, terror, and control. In one instance, every person was either destroyed or fled just before the army arrived – everyone, that is, except one particular monk – the oldest and wisest of the monks in that temple.

Curious about this old, odd, singular remnant, the army’s general went to the temple to see for himself what kind of man this monk was to have stayed put. The wise, esteemed, gentle, poised, peaceable monk was justifiably, righteously indignant in the face of his enemy. When the general wasn’t greeted with respect or treated with the deference and submissiveness he was used to, he was furious. "You fool!" he shouted, and grabbed his sword. “Don't you realize you are standing before a man who could run you through with his sword, without blinking an eye!?"

The old, wise, master of monk – despite the threat – was unmoved. He replied, calmly, "And do you not realize, that you are standing before a man who can be run through with your sword, without blinking an eye?"

All of this strikes me as the same conversation that takes place between Jesus and Pontius Pilate. Pilate, like the Chinese military general, is the one with the force of all the world’s power at his fingertips. He has the choice to please the angry mob outside in the public square and send Jesus to be crucified. Or he has the power to release him, to set him free, which – even he admits – the evidence seems to suggest would be the right thing to do.

Of course, we know the choice Pilate made. Pontius Pilate “runs Jesus through with his sword,” as it were. Jesus is sentenced… beaten… whipped… flogged… crowned with thorns…crucified…murdered…without blinking an eye. Jesus lets it happen. He goes “uncomplaining, forth” as the old hymn suggests.

And what does this mean for you and me? What does this mean for our life of faith in the world? What does this mean if we’re to “belong to the truth,” as he says, and truly follow Jesus?

Strange as it sounds…as hard as it seems…as impossible as it may appear…as counter-intuitive as it is…I think it means we’re called to this same way of life, as Christians.

This “Christ the King” we celebrate in Jesus is not meant to look like any other king or ruler in the world as we know it. The King we worship in Christ did not and does not rule like any other king on earth. The King we follow in Jesus, did not and does not lead us in the ways of this world. Where the world casts judgment, Jesus extends grace. Where the world is proud, Jesus is humble. Where the world is afraid, Jesus is faithful. When the world excludes, Jesus welcomes. Where the world is hostile, Jesus extends hospitality. Where the world fights, Jesus bears peace. Where the world doubts and despairs, Jesus hopes and brings joy. Where the world seeks death, Jesus offers himself and new life in spite of it.

At the same retreat where I heard the story about the Buddhist monk and the military general, it was also suggested – to a room full of pastors – that if we aren’t preaching and teaching about Jesus in ways that make our people want to crucify us every once in awhile, we should probably consider the value, validity – the faithfulness and Truth of our message. So sharpen your pitch-forks and light your torches…

I think Jesus would welcome Syrian refugees – and that he would want us to do that, too.

Now, this is just a very timely example. It may even be too close for comfort and too hot a topic and exactly why I said to get your pitch-forks and torches ready. And I understand the desire and need for caution and care, because I’m afraid, too, by what recent events have cast upon the prospect of this proposal.

But if Christ the King Sunday, means anything, it is a call and command to radical humility and grace and mercy and welcome and vulnerability, too – even to the point of death. (I know, right?) But the cross of Christ the King was dangerous, and risky, and terrifying, and unfair, and illogical, and unprecedented – just like all the reasons I hear for keeping the refugees out, and for keeping ourselves safe, and for protecting our own interests, and for letting the terrorists have it, too. (It’s dangerous, risky, terrifying, it makes no sense, it’s too much to ask, right?) And believe me, this is easier to preach than to practice for me. It’s hard to swallow and difficult to sell – just like the discipleship “Christ the King” calls us to.

And all of this is as practical as it is holy. Because until there are more safe people on the planet than scared people, none of us will know real, abiding peace, anyway. Until there are more full bellies than empty ones God’s kingdom won’t thrive for any one of us, anyway. Until there are more homes than there are homeless…until more of God’s children feel hopeful than they do helpless…until justice sings louder than injustice screams…the reign of God is only a dream; something up there and out there and off in the distance, in a galaxy far, far away.

But Christ the King came to bring the Kingdom – and he wants us to follow his lead. So maybe you’re not down with the refugees yet. And maybe it’s too soon to forgive the terrorists. And I’m not sure any of us is or should be ready to fall on a sword or climb onto a cross.

But let’s not deny that that’s what Jesus did and what he would do again. Let’s not deny that that’s what Jesus would have for this world as we know it. Let’s not deny – but let’s aspire to and practice – that kind of kingdom-living in whatever small or large ways we can manage: where grace wins; where love rules; where fear doesn’t govern our choices; where mercy and justice and forgiveness are the order of the day; and where the reign of God is here and now, in as many ways as we can make it happen, not “then and there” in all the ways we pretend we can’t.

Amen