Every time you turn around Jesus is calling somebody, and the invitation is always the same, “Follow me.” There is a good reason for both the frequency of the call and the repetition of its invitation. Jesus is always calling, both those who have never heard, and even those of us who have begun to respond. And the invitation is always the same. The call is simple, “Follow me.”

Of course, what it means to follow Jesus is not simple; or, at least, we Christians have made it complicated. At any rate, on Sunday we will reflect on what it means for our faith community, the Overland Park Christian Church, to follow Jesus. In order to be the community God wants us to be, we must see clearly to the heart of our mission; the reason behind the tasks entrusted to us, because they do matter and, yes, they are often difficult. We have chosen obedience to a new call from God that will ask a sacrifice of us all in one form or another, and to bring it to completion will require one thing above all, a glimpse of the Christ. There we will find our motivation, encouragement, and empowerment. Let’s seek that glimpse together on Sunday.

As you know, on Monday our country will observe its annual MLK Celebration. This affords us a perfect opportunity to reflect a bit on justice, and especially on our role in building a just society. I was once told in no uncertain terms that I should not speak on the Bible’s perspective on justice because it creates a conflict for those who don’t share it. I gotta be honest, to avoid the Bible’s demand for justice one would have to ignore a whole bunch of it, or willfully distort it. From David and the classical prophets to Jesus and Paul – cover to cover as it were – the Bible’s mandate for justice is both clear and pervasive.

This does not mean, however, that a predetermined, rigid understanding of what would constitute a just society is readily available. In fact, there’s a significant distance between God’s requirement that we work for justice, and how we will get there in our society. That distance should be full of prayer, soul-searching, study, and discussion with others; but in the end God’s appeal for justice is not political… it doesn’t align us with any political party or particular perspective. How much morality should we expect of corporations? We must talk about it. What is a fair wage for workers? Come, let us reason together. When does executive compensation outstrip workers pay to the point that it becomes exploitation? There’s no easy answer here, but the question demands reflection. Does our national assistance program help folk or keep them tied to the dole? Again, this question requires continual discussion and refinement.

God doesn’t require us to reach consensus on every aspect of such issues, but God expects us to examine them in good faith, and to reach decisions based not on resentment, reaction, or anger; but decisions based on concern for all, a desire for their well-being, and a willingness to take their needs seriously. On Sunday we will do some of this, along with prayer and praise.

The legitimate concern associated with the Occupy movement is not about entitlements, bail-outs, or other government hand-outs; rather, it is a concern about equitable distribution of legitimate earnings. As a Christian, I don’t care about the label “Occupy movement,” but I share a deep concern for equitable distribution.

I love the poetry of Ann Weems, so I want to be forthright and tell you I adapted the poem cited above for our worship needs this week. In short, I changed the word greenless to colorless. I did so to compare colorless children (of any age) to all the colors of God, which are vibrant, rich, bright, and shimmering. To be sure, her image is deeper and richer than mine. Greenless points both to colorless and to the lack of fecundity or fertility; like a wasted, withered tree  incapable of bearing fruit. Nevertheless, for good or ill I simplified the image for our use this week.

That being said, I would like to comment on Children’s Sabbath, which we will celebrate this Sunday. When I read (and reread) the above cited poem, it’s difficult to decide where to focus. It was written, of course, to raise our awareness of (and pique our conscience concerning) the plight of children in our world who are abandoned and bereft of opportunity; opportunity for the colors in life represented by love, joy, creativity, self esteem, education, health, home, nutrition… need I continue? I pray with Marian Wright Edelman of the Children’s Defense Fund that we will recover the courage to stand for and with these colorless children.

It strikes me, however, that the poem refers equally to adults who have lost their color; that is to say, that somewhere along the way they lost the spontaneity, sense of wonder, simplicity, openness, and joy that mark the unique spirituality of children. And how can we help the colorless children if we, too, have lost our color? I propose that we take the time to explore this notion, and make the effort to recover our childlike spirit and dance into all the colors of God, taking all God’s Children with us.

Something tells me, however, that we don’t really need a statue. We tend to carry a good many golden calves around with us much of the time. That is to say, we tend to create our own gods to worship. Our golden calf may be created by addiction, greed, fear, or the effort to avoid the God whose worship requires self sacrifice; but for whatever reason, we offer up our worship and devotion to our custom created god instead of remaining faithful to God.

On Sunday we will take time to identify our personal golden calf, and seek together to discern how to put it aside. Between now and then, we invite you to reflect on the following prayer:

O God, our golden calf has an insatiable appetite. “Bring me all your ornaments,” it demands; “Bring me everything that glitters.” We thought the golden calf was dead, or the invention of ancient story tellers. We thought the golden calf was gone for good. But no – like a stubborn pest that will not go away, like shame, like desire, it gores our spirits still, demanding to be fed. We know it’s audacious to ask for your help God; after all, we ourselves have created our calf. But we do ask God, because we know that only your grace, only your compassion can save us from our own greed; can set us on a right path; can transform our spirit and make us anew. Spirit of God whom we adore, melt and mold us anew as we offer our praise. Amen

Sunday is the tenth anniversary of that infamous September tragedy usually referred to in shorthand simply as 9/11. In its immediate aftermath it became clear that ours would be a long quest for peace and healing. We went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan, lashed out at all things Arab, and have now executed Osama bin Laden. Nevertheless it seems we have never  quite understood how to seek peace and healing, because I still see a fractious and divided people, continued calls to hold Islam responsible for the tragedy, counter terrorism profiling on the rise, and contentious attitudes about the role of faith in the upcoming commemoration. I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah’s words cited above, which seem to describe our situation. Why have we not found peace? This is the question we will ponder on Sunday. I tend to think that fear holds our hearts in a profound sleep – one that Hildegard of Bingen calls the ancient sleep of the heart – keeping us separated, withdrawn, cocooned, isolated even while walking in the light of day; unable to embrace the beauty and goodness of life, or to fully engage others in relationships based on compassion and good will. I will share more of my thoughts on Sunday; in the interim I am interested to know what you think…

This is far from the sense Jesus intends when he calls Simon a rock in the dialogue found in Matthew 16.13-20. This rock refers to the strong foundation of faith on which God can build. There is a sense in which Jesus is looking a “fer piece” down the road, because Simon (renamed Peter by Jesus) is anything but a sure foundation at this point in his journey. He will have to be transformed completely; he will have to embrace all of life with its celebrations, growth, suffering, failure and humiliation, and even death. He will have to let God build on the foundation of faith every step along the way. Then and only then will he be a rock.

I won’t speak for you, but I rarely feel rock solid in my spiritual life. I feel more like the fumbling, stumbling, denying Peter we have come to know and love from the gospel stories. But that’s the point. Jesus is looking a “fer piece” down the road when he calls each of us rock. We, too, must become rocks by embracing all of life and allowing God to transform us each step of the way. And, one last thing, we can’t do it alone. On Sunday (August 21) we will explore this image and its meaning for our faith journeys. Between now and then I think I’ll listen to some S & G.

I think the parables do the same thing. Jesus tells stories for two reasons. Firstly, as a sign of respect for the mystery of God. Jesus knows that we can neither comprehend nor describe God in any adequate way. God is always “more” than any words can convey. So Jesus tells stories that convey hints about what God is like. Secondly, Jesus tells stories of everyday life because that, he knows, is where we will find God. We don’t find God in a statement of belief, in a creed, or in some other written word. We find God in an incarnate word; that is to say, in our experience.

This, I am convinced, explains the significance of story in the ministry and teaching of Jesus. He does not counsel us to sit around talking “about” God in statements of belief, but rather to pay close attention to our lives, and to discover the many ways God becomes present to us. We may not be able to know and describe God intellectually; but we can choose to feel God’s presence – God’s real presence – in the forgiveness of a parent or a friend, in the compassion of a stranger, or in the experience of a sunrise.

Rainer Maria Rilke, my favorite poet, understands the difference between talking (always inadequately) about God, and feeling the touch of God in our lives. He says as much in the following poem:

Why am I reaching again for the brushes?
When I paint your portrait, God, nothing happens.
But I can choose to feel you. At my senses’ horizon you appear…
- Rainer Maria Rilke (adapted)

“Already the new men are dotted here and there all over the earth.  Every now and then one meets them.  Their voices and faces are different from ours; stronger, quieter, happier, more radiant… They do not draw attention to themselves.  You tend to think that you are being kind to them when they are really being kind to you.  They love you more than other men do, but they need you less.  When you have recognized one of them, you will recognize the next one much more easily.

- C S Lewis (from Mere Christianity)

If you have ever tried to define God, or just understand some of the abstract descriptions offered by theologians, you know how distant these notions feel. The aseity of God is a self evident truth. Ok… I guess? God can only be described by remotion. What? The Trinity is never confused but always a unity? Huh? Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-intellectual; not by a long shot. I live to pose the great questions of life and to seek a glimmer of their truth without holding anything back. But if I want to convey to you what God is and means in my life, I can only tell you a story…

Like the story of the last time I saw my dad in hospital before his death. I had to leave to fly back to KC, and didn’t know if I would have a chance to see him again. How could I say goodbye? How could I make sure he understood how much I loved him? I couldn’t. But as I sat paralyzed on the edge of his bed, God was the sudden assurance that if he didn’t understand at that time, he would in the near future. In that moment God was the peace I seek in life yet seldom find, God was the vanishing distance between my dad and me that allowed me to hold him close, say I love you, and walk out of the room. We can talk about God for a long, long time. But if you want to know what God means in my life, you’ll have to listen to my story. Once upon a time…