Liturgy to go along with sermon on Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Call to Worship:
We come to worship our God, to listen to the One who calls us here.
We come trusting God to lead us in the coming days, as surely as were our grandparents in the faith.
We come to worship our God, to shout with joy to the God of all people.
We come to the Revealer of all things, who sends messengers with words of challenge and comfort.
 We come to the Source of faithfulness, to be remade in the image of the One who never forsakes us.
We come to offer our sacrifice of praise, to sing aloud to the One who saves us.

Offering Prayer (unison):
Almighty and constant God, who sends us messengers in strangers and in friends, we come to you this day, offering ourselves, bringing our praise.  Use these gifts for the glory of your kingdom.  Open our eyes and our ears.  Make us aware of your presence among us so that we may be remade in the image of your Son.  Give us the desire to do your will, and grant that we may accomplish it through the power of your Spirit. Amen.

Benediction:
And so go:
          Bring the love of God into hurting places
          Bring the comfort of God into uncomfortable places
          Bring the light of God into dark places
Go and be strange!
Go in the name of Jesus,
And go empowered by the Spirit.

Pastoral Prayer:
          Gracious and loving God, we gather today from many places.  We come not to leave our real lives outside and pretend that we're fine, but to bring all of ourselves, our problems and our doubts, our joys and our hopes, to you.  To give all that we are knowing you are big enough, strong enough, merciful enough, and loving enough to handle whatever we bring.  We give you thanks for your presence among us this day and every day.  We know that we are never alone.
          For the people mentioned today, for illness and loss, we ask that you bring comfort and healing.  Guide doctors minds and hands, and give renewed strength to caregivers.  Give patience and peace to family and friends.
          For the joys mentioned this day, we give thanks.  Thanks for answered prayer and for the ways we see you move in our lives.
          For our community, we give thanks for the fellowship and success of the community fair.  We give you thanks for the safety of all who worked, participated, and attended.  We ask for rest for those who have worked so hard to ensure its accomplishment.
          For the ministries happening in this building this week, and for the people who will come through our doors, for those who will come hungry, hurting, and questioning, may they leave fed, comforted, and knowing of your love.
          For the leaders of our state and nation, may they avoid the temptations of corruption and seek wise counsel.  May they have health and clear thought.  May they make decisions that honor all life--plant, animal, and human.
          For the family members of those killed at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal church, we give thanks for their powerful example of mercy and forgiveness.  For the family and friends of Dylann Roof, and for Dylann himself, we ask your continued presence.  Bring that community comfort.
          For those who struggle with mental health issues and their families we ask you to provide resources for healing and the willingness to use them.  And help our faith communities and our nations to continue to recognize the need for mental health services, and help us to be supportive in our language and our actions.
          For people in war torn places, too many to name but on every continent of our world, bring peace and cool heads.  Give us the vision to know how to help and the wisdom to know when our assistance will only make matters worse.  God, in any place where your name is used to justify violence and hatred, may voices cry out and offer good news instead.
          And for us, and any time where we are tempted to think that our own way is your only way, may we look at the world around us, with all of its diversity and beauty, and remember you.  You created this mosaic world to reflect your image.  You delight in variety and you send us strangers to remind us that we are but one tile in the picture you are creating.  We give you thanks that we are free to be your unique creations.
          We are also thankful that the words of John Wesley are still true: that no matter the difference in our thoughts or beliefs, we can all still be one, united in our common love of Christ and our love of each other.
          And so, as a people united in love, let us now offer together the prayer that Jesus taught us saying, "Our Father..."

Sermon: Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 (Year C, Proper 17) "Strange Angels"

This is my first sermon for the first Sunday (6/28) at my first church.  I've proofread it, but don't have any "feedback" from anyone yet.  I am worried that there are too many moving parts, or that the congregation won't be able to follow along with my thought process.  Anyway...here it is.  Hopefully the idea (that God reveals New Things through strangers, and that we are being called together to reveal the New Thing God is doing among us) both comes through and is useful to some of you.

_____________________________


Hebrews13:1-8, 15-16
 

As I was preparing to write this first sermon, a friend asked me, “Are you going to give one of those “get to know you” sermons, or are you going to give an actual sermon?”  And, while I understood what he was saying, I found this to be a very strange question, because in this either/or, this or that, yes or no black or white world in which we live, nothing is ever quite that clear cut.  Our world is mostly gray areas.  So maybe it’s ambitious, but I hope to do both—to let you know a little about me as I give an “actual” sermon.  You see, I’m a both/and kind of person.

            Now, I’m also a history nerd.  Before I go on, I’d like to ask you all, please, PLEASE don’t come up after the service and quiz me.  Please don’t ask me who the secretary of state was in 1893 (John Foster), or who assassinated Leon Trotsky (Ramon Mercader), or which country holds the record for the longest time standing on one foot (76 hours, 40 minutes…I promise this sermon will not go on that long…).  If you ask me these sorts of things I will make up answers and you will be disappointed.

            Alright, getting back on track…  Since I’m a history nerd I like context, so when I hear a passage like today’s I always wonder three things: 1) Who are the people reading and writing this? 2) What were their lives like? And 3) What is this piece of writing trying to do?

            The answer to the first question (who are these people?) is a bit mysterious.  Though this letter is traditionally attributed to Paul, it was most likely written by someone else.  The writer has extremely detailed knowledge of the worship practices at the temple, so the author was likely a Levite.  This letter’s audience is equally mysterious.  The letter dates from 60-95 CE, so we know that whoever they were, they were second-generation Christ followers, and scholars believe they were located in Rome. 

The answer to the second question (what were their lives like?) is a bit more clear.  The contents of the letter indicate that the recipients had faced imprisonment, persecution, torture, confiscation of property, public abuse, and ridicule at the hands of the Roman government.  You see, Judaism, partially due to its antiquity, was a protected religion under the Roman law, but fledgling Christianity was not.  The Romans really didn’t care who you worshipped as long as you included Cesar in that worship and also paid your taxes.  The Jesus followers’ refusal to play the Roman game often put them on the wrong side of the law, imprisoned, tortured, and persecuted.

Knowing a bit about the author and audience makes answering the third question (what is the purpose of the writing?) fairly simple.  It seems that the writer of this letter had heard that this community was struggling—attendance was lax and commitment was waning.  Essentially, in the face of surmounting pressure, the people of this community were having doubts about whether or not following Jesus was worth all the trouble.  I know none of us here have ever had similar thoughts, but try to imagine what it might be like.

Acting out of pastoral concern for what he or she saw as waning certainty and devotion, the author wrote this encouraging letter…turned theological treatise.  Seriously, have you all ever tried to read this thing straight through?  It’ll make you head spin.  This letter is a powerhouse of thought—the first 12 chapters offer a lighthearted traipse through the paltry topics of God, Christ, Spirit, Church, and Faith. 

And then we get to chapter 13.  If what came before is an in-depth explanation of major doctrine, this by comparison feels almost like a check-list.  A lot of scholars more brilliant than I look at this passage and call it a list of moral maxims, and it makes sense why they think this.  The items on this list, the dos and don’ts of Christian life, directly relate to the things the people in this community were experiencing.  But what does it mean for people who aren’t experiencing those same things?  What does it mean for us?

When I look at this list of “neglect nots”, I see a list that’s about rightly ordered relationships.  Based on this passage, the relationship we ought to have with those in prison and those being tortured is solidarity, remembering our own times of captivity and pain inflicted at the hands of others, or maybe even times when we held ourselves captive.  We are to be faithful and committed to those we have joined to ourselves in the bonds of marriage.  We are to esteem money properly, realizing that no matter how much we accumulate it cannot save us.  We are to let ourselves be guided by leaders who live faithful lives.  And we are to offer to God our praise, not only with our lips, but with our belongings, freely giving that which has been given to us.

            Now if you’ve been following along with the reading you’ve probably noticed that I skipped one of the items on the list.  The one about strangers.  And that’s the one I want to focus on today.  Just to recap, that one was: Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.  It seems to me that that one is the biggest, most vague one of all.  Everyone we don’t know is a stranger.  We know who prisoners are—for better or worse we even know where they live.  Money, we know it.  We know who our leaders are.  I’ve never been married, so maybe I’m way off base on this one, but I assume that you know the person you’re married to.  At the very least you recognize them on sight. 

The thing is, we know strangers on sight too.  They aren’t like us.  They’re the ones who don’t fit.  The ones who don’t do things quite like we do.  Their words are different from ours.  They eat weird things and have ideas that are different from ours.  Strangers are scary.  The early Jesus followers knew this—strangers could be informants, could be people who want to get close only to hurt us.  We aren’t under the threat of persecution, nonetheless, we teach our kids about “stranger danger” not just because it’s catchy and rhymes, but because the phrase holds truth. 

And yet this verse turns that notion on its head by suggesting that the appropriate relationship we are to have with strangers is one of welcome.  Of giving.  You all are probably familiar with our bishop’s writings on “Radical Hospitality”.  Bishop Schnase suggests that hospitality:

Begins with a receiving, perceiving, listening, opening, accepting attitude—a readiness to accept and welcome God’s initiative toward us.  It is sustained with active behaviors that place us in the most advantageous posture to continue to receive God, welcome Christ, and make room for grace.  And so it involves interior decision and soul work, a listening and receptivity to God, as well as habits that transform us as we regularly, frequently, and intentionally make room in our lives for God.[1]

Welcoming strangers is one of those habits that transforms us, but we do not do it simply with the hope of transformation.  We extend hospitality because but for God’s hospitality, of welcoming us into the work of grace, we too would be forever estranged.  We extend hospitality, God’s vital love, because we have first been loved.

Not only are we to be hospitable, but this verse insists that strangers, with their weird and sometimes unsettling ways, are messengers of God.  The greek word for angel—angelos—literally means messenger.  Whenever we encounter angels in the Bible they are almost always delivering a new message from God.  A revelation made specifically for that time and place.  Sarah was freed from the cultural shame of barrenness by word of a divine messenger.  Pharoah is made aware of his insignificance in comparison to the God of the Israelites when the angel of death passes over his family and kingdom.  Angels appeared to Mary and Joseph with news that upended their worlds.  Shepherds made a journey—moving their herds based on a message from a host.  Peter is brought a message of very real release from prison.  These angels, with their revelation from God, change the course of people’s lives.  And change can be scary.  I’m sure you’ve noticed that the first words the angels often speak are “do not be afraid.”

This passage contains a similar message, proclaiming, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”  We do not have to fear change because in a world where everything is continually in motion Jesus does not change.  God is constant, and our constant God promises to be with us no matter what.  But constancy doesn’t mean inertia.  After all, this is the same God that promises to make all things new.  That promises to turn our stagnation into transformation.  That loves us too much to leave us as we are, and instead calls us forth to something better. 

As I look around I don’t yet see that all things are new.  Our world is desperately in need of renewal; in need of newness of life and newness of purpose.  And I don’t know about you, but I’m not yet who I hope to be.  I’ve got corners with cobwebs and closets with skeletons just begging for a good spring cleaning.  This renewal requires change, and strangers, with their foreign ways of being, are inherently agents of change.  And this, I think is the good news: when we welcome in these strange angels, we welcome in the newness that God desires to work among us!

How does this happen?  I think it has to do with what is required in meeting strangers.  Meeting strangers often pushes us out of our comfort zone and requires us to go to the edges of our known world.  To go to unfamiliar places to meet unfamiliar people.  Places we don’t usually go.  Sometimes you do want to go where everybody knows your name, and that’s okay, but what are the odds that you’ll encounter strangers there?  We are creatures of habit, and when we are comfortable we run on autopilot and can sometimes miss things that are right in our faces.  How many times have you been wandering around your house looking for something that, for the life of you, you can’t find, only to discover, as you’re about to throw the mightiest of fits, that the thing you’re looking for is already in your hand?  Is that just me? (Or “Oh good, it’s not just me.”)  How much quicker is your search when your child, spouse, or friend points out to you, “um…aren’t you looking for that thing in your hand?” 

That’s what strangers, with their fresh perspectives, do for us.  They push us into unfamiliar, boundary-expanding places, and then remind us that the thing we were looking for (love, acceptance, welcome…freedom to be who we have been created to be) has been with us all along.  We encounter the love of God when we extend it to others.  God’s love is that big.  So big that somehow when we give it away we end up with more than when we started.  And it is God’s love that transforms us, perfecting us into the image of one who is “the icon of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15).  The one who is the same, yesterday, today, and forever (Heb. 13:8).  The divine one who takes the posture of a servant and pours out all that he is for the sake of the world (Phil 2).

In her book Missional. Monastic. Mainline. Elaine A. Heath, professor of Evangelism at Perkins School of Theology at SMU argues that Jesus makes clear that God’s ultimate meaning is love and is the example that mercy always triumphs over judgement.  She goes on to say,

“This means that at the most basic level Jesus respects us.  Why would Jesus invest so much effort and love, to the point of death, if he did not think we were amazing?  Respect for others is woven into everything Jesus says and does.”[2] 

And we are to go and do likewise, extending respect, mercy, love, and grace to all we meet, especially the strangers in our midst and those we are sent to.  This is hospitality.

I would be very surprised if any of this is new to you all.  I believe you already know this.  One thing that has been made clear to me again and again is that you are people called to go and do.  I am astounded by the sheer number of mission activities you all are involved in.  And because of this, you know that you don’t come back from a mission experience saying, “Man, I’m so glad I changed those people.”  No.  Instead you come back saying, “Man, I can’t believe how that experience and those people have changed me and the way I look at the world.”  Or, “I can’t believe how my understanding of God and grace has changed and expanded.”  Of course we hope that our participation in the work of God affects some kind of good for our brothers and sisters, but we don’t enter into that work with any agenda other than the sharing of what God has given us—our time, talent, effort, money, love, acceptance, grace, forgiveness, joy, all of it is our sacrifice of praise, which is pleasing to God.

And there is more good news!  When we grow accustomed to using these tools and gifts in particular ways and begin to question whether what we’re doing is really worth it, strangers show up to reveal to us new ways to use our gifts, and to remind us that what we’re looking for is always at hand.  And what we’re looking for, according to C.S. Lewis, is to “participate in the beauty and goodness of life.”[3]  After all, Jesus didn’t come to condemn us (John 3:17), but came that we might have life, and have it abundantly (John 10:10b), welcoming us into the life of grace, asking us to lay aside our own desires for bigger and better ones.  That isn’t an easy task—that’s why we as Methodists talk about “going on to perfection” and have always argued about whether or not perfection can actually be attained.  The purposes of God, revealed in our encounters with strangers, point us to places where the abundant, life-giving love of God is needed.  This doesn’t come without its challenges and knee-knocking moments, but our willingness to go and do is a tangible promise as we become an icon of the icon of the invisible God[MM1] .

So why this message now?  The truth is that you and I are both strangers.  Some of us stranger than others, I’m sure.  You don’t know me and I don’t know you.  But through our weird Methodist system of itinerancy God has called us together in this time and this place to do something.  To be something.  Something that is for the glory of the Kingdom of God.  And we may not fully know what that is, but we know that in this there is a revelation, a new word, for us. 

           But we will not stay strangers.  There will come a time when we will be friends, when mutual love will continue among us (Heb. 13:1).  And yet, we will still be called to extend hospitality to strangers.  To open our arms figuratively and literally and to seek out those people who are different from us.  People, God’s messengers, who will call us into uncomfortable and unfamiliar place, and who will teach us another story about the never-resting faithfulness of God.

---

[1] Schnase, Five Practices of Fruitful Living, 17.

[2] Heath, Missional. Monastic. Mainline., 27.

[3] Feasting on the World, Year C, vol. 4, 19.

---

 [MM1]This is probably straying a bit afield…and is a little overwrought…

In fact, this whole paragraph might be entirely unnecessary.