Going to the Dogs - Sunday, Aug. 17th Sermon

God and Dogs
Matthew 15:21-28
August 17, 2008

All my favorite jokes – all three of them – involve dogs and God, or at least dogs and religion. My favorite goes like this:
Did you hear about the dyslexic, insomniac agnostic?
Yep, she stayed up all night, wondering if there is a Dog.
Well, our scripture takes us back to a puzzling passage which includes talk of God and Dogs.
It is a puzzling passage, in which things seem to get turned backwards, like the spelling of God and Dog. It is a passage that troubles us – like a dog wanting attention, who puts his wet nose in our hand, or bumps into the newspaper we are reading, or who whines or even barks to say, “Hey, look up. Pay attention.”
IN this passage Jesus seems to call someone a dog. Then, as the story unfolds, her dogged persistence is rewarded. Jesus says, “Great is your faith.”
Now, I know this is kind of an unusual tack to take, but I was thinking that if Jesus described someone as doggy – but of great faith, maybe we could learn something about faith from looking at dogs. So I want to suggest some ways we can learn from Dogs that might actually help up become more faithful human beings.
The first attribute of Dogs that we might consider is that:
1) Dogs know their master. Dogs look at the world in a fundamentally different way than, say, cats. A dog and a cat were describing their living situations.
The Dog said, The person I live with feeds me, he gives me shelter, he fills my water bowl, he pets me and he loves me. He must be God. The Cat says, The person I live with feeds me, he gives me shelter, he fills my water bowl, he pets me and he loves me. I must be God.
Now I know some of you are “cat people” – you have cats. Some of you have very lovable cats and I’m not dissing anybody’s pet here. But I think we can agree: Dogs have a master. Cats have staff.
Well, there’s a book out called the Theology of Cats and Dogs that challenges us to think deeply about what that basic difference can show us about our own faith. The premise of the book is that a lot of us treat God as if we were cats and God was our “staff”. We believe that the Almighty is there to facilitate our comfort and serve our needs. When we need God, we expect him to be there. But for long stretches of time, we don’t think we need the Divine Presence at all. And, quite frankly, we’d be just as happy if God left us alone.
Contrast that attitude with the faith of a dog. A Dog has a master. And there is really nothing that a dog wouldn’t at least TRY to do for his master. Really, a dog’s main aim in life is to be with and please the person that he sees as Master. Life is about making the Master happy.
Do we have faith like a Dog? Do we know who our Master is? The woman in our story correctly called Jesus “Lord” every time she called on him. “Lord” means Master. It doesn’t mean best buddy, or most important connection or powerful ally. It means the one who is served. How do we think of God? As our Master? Or as our Staff?
2) There’s another bit of Dog behavior that the woman in the story exhibits: She is very persistent in bringing her need to Jesus. She calls out. She keeps on calling. She runs (apparently around the group of annoyed disciples) and kneels before Jesus. Kneeling in front of someone who is walking – now there is an attention getting gesture. She just wouldn’t give up or get discouraged.
That’s kind of dog like. Dogs are persistent. Last week, when Tim and I were with the boys at Lake Michigan, I took a walk down the beach while they swam. And pretty soon I came upon a big black wet Labrador retriever. When he saw me walking toward him, he ran to a blanket, picked up a tennis ball, galloped over to me and rolled it at my feet. Well – what would you do? I picked it up and threw it down the beach, and he bounded off after it, got it, ran as fast as he could back to me and rolled it to me again. So I threw it again. And again. And again. The first 10 times it was fun. Then it just got to be amazing. In the water, out of the water. The dog was unstoppable. It was a game. The first one to give up loses. And I finally had to concede defeat, though I told him I was doing it for his sake - thinking that the poor creature would have a heart attack.
This woman chased Jesus and wouldn’t give up. How persistent are we in taking our prayers and requests to Jesus? How persistent are we in bringing the needs of others to Jesus? How easily are we discouraged when our spiritual life doesn’t seem to be giving us the results we were hoping for?
I’d bet that there are times when each one of us gets discouraged. We have problems that aren’t getting fixed. We have hurts that won’t quit aching. We have weaknesses that we’d like to see strengthened. And sometimes, God seems to be taking his own sweet time in bringing situations to a satisfactory conclusion. At times like that, we might do well to remember the story of the woman who doggedly pursued Jesus, whose faith was such that she just wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t be shoo-ed away, wouldn’t be ignored and who took even an insult and turned it into yet another plea. The poet Edwin Markham, wrote about this encounter:
He drew a circle that shut me out -Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.But love and I had the wit to win:We drew a circle that took him in.
Yes, Lord, she said, but even the doggies get to eat the crumbs that fall from the children’s table. I’m only asking for a crumb. But I won’t go away without something from you.
If we could have something of the persistence of a dog in our relationship with God, and if we could take the doggy attitude that it is our greatest joy to bring joy to our Master – we might find ourselves actually growing in our Christian lives and in our faith. Even if we ain’t nothing but a hound dog – Jesus can be counted on to, at last, bless us with kind words and a healing blessing. He said to the woman, “Great is your faith. It shall be done for you, just as you have asked. This hour your daughter is made whole.” Jesus’ nature is to give to his beloved grace upon grace, even more than we ask.
And maybe that’s enough to learn from dogs. But there is something else – and it’s not about each of us as individual doggy Christians. It’s about life in the pack.
Dogs are very social animals. They like to live in packs, of other dogs or of humans that they think are dogs. "The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue." -
And they have some very good social skills that we should not be embarrassed to adopt.
"A man may smile and bid you hailYet wish you to the devil;But when a good dog wags his tail,You know he's on the level." -
Dogs greet those they love with enthusiasm. When I open the back door, there is Chief, wagging his tail, dancing around me, letting me know he’s glad I’m home. Now, sometimes I’d rather be met by someone who can help me carry in the groceries, or ask me how my day has gone, or pour me a cool drink of water. But even so, being wagged at and loved on is pretty darn nice. And you don’t have to be a dog to do that.
At home, how do you greet the rest of your pack?
At church, how do we greet those who come to our door?
Do we rush to the door to meet our loved ones?
Do we wag our tails to show them we are glad they are here?
I think those are good things. And anyone can do it. We call it “being the greeter” and Jeff Burlew doesn’t want to ask you to do that. He hasn’t got any one signed up to greet and usher this month. So I’m going to be asking. Because hospitality is not just some nice icing on a church cake. It is the cake.
In this story, The disciples say, “Send her away.” We don’t want to be that kind of disciple. We want to be the kind that acts out God’s delight in each person, and welcomes them into this place hoping that here they will find themselves at home with God and with us. Let’s wag our tails and welcome each person that comes as if they are made out of bologna. Which, let’s face it, most of us are.
Sincere and enthusiastic tail wagging is the third doggy like trait we might try to develop as we grow in our Christian faith.
The encounter Jesus and the disciples have with the Canaanite dog-woman is a somewhat puzzling passage. It’s almost impossible for me to conceive of Jesus ignoring someone, almost turning her away, and calling another human being a dog. But in the end, perhaps it was her doggy-ness – her persistence and her calling him Master – that Jesus wants us to see. Maybe he wants us to see that he recognizes and blesses those aspects of faith. Great is your faith! He says to the woman. What you have begged for, you shall have. If there is healing and hope for her, there is healing and hope for us all.

Behind the scenes in the exciting life of a pastor

6 am - Rise, make coffee, take a walk/run with the dog. We went to the cemetary and I noticed, for the first time, a little marker for "Jane Doe" name unknown Found May 1, 1995. Who do you suppose that was? I haven't heard the story there.

7 am - Drink coffee, eat oatmeal, check and answer email. Make plans for lunch with my husband, sister and her family. (Sea Boat in Hessel Park, doesn't that sound fun?) Realize that I cc'd an email to someone I shouldn't have. Whoops.

8 am - consult with Betty about moving the organ and other church-y matters. Call the movers.
Call the floor guy. Pray a little.

9 am - take the screw driver, a wrench, a flashlight and pliers over to church and remove the pedals from the old organ so that it can be moved for the floor refinishing. Sneeze alot (dust inside the organ). Re-read the scripture lesson for Sunday. Think hard.

10 am- More coffee, more emails, more phone calls. Post baptism message. Decide I need to make a to-do list.

It's a glamorous life, but someone has to lead it!

Are anybody's feet wet yet?

What would it take for us to step into our deepest fears

and find ourselves in the arms of our Savior?

That's the question I am living with this week.

Meditation on Baptism

This is the "message" from Sunday's service. It's not polished up. I'd like to think I preached it better than these notes indicate.

August 10, 2008
Matthew 14:22-36

The little girl had hoped that her pink bathing suit, with the silver fish scales pattern would give her a graceful, mermaid look. But as she stood by the pool, and looked at her reflection, she was afraid that it just made her look like a pink, chubby fish. She listened for the teen age life guard, the very cutest one at the pool, to tell her she was a good swimmer and that she could do it. But, just as she feared, he explained the procedure without enthusiasm, “4 lengths of the pool. Crawl stroke. No hanging on the sides.” If she passed the test, she could swim in the deep end. But she was afraid she’d fail. She was afraid that anyone who was looking could see her heart just about beating out of her chest. Most of all, she was afraid of the water. She curled her toes over the edges of the pool. Beneath them the black tiles read 6 FT. Over her head. She was about to get in over her head. She tried to take a deep breath. But she couldn’t. The water was so deep. And the far side of the pool seemed like a mile away. She jumped in and the water closed over her. Her legs seemed to pull her down toward the drain. The water stung her eyes, and she shut them and swam, blindly, toward the far side. Don’t be a scaredy-cat, don’t be a scaredy-cat, don’t be a scaredy-cat, she tried to get into the rhythm. But it was no use. She was already too afraid.
Fear is a powerful thing.
In the Bible, water is a symbol of life – to be sure – but also a scary symbol of the opposite – of death. Water is a symbol of the things that are most fearful – losing control, losing order, losing orientation, losing power, losing life. Noah. The crossing the Red Sea. River Jordan.
Not surprisingly, the sea was a fearful place for the fishermen followers of Jesus. Even though they made their living on the sea, they knew the dangers of the open water. And they were justifiably afraid when they were out on the sea and the wind changed, a storm blew up and their ship was battered by the waves. Then, in an utterly inexplicable turn of events, the looked through the wind driven rain and the tossing waters and saw Jesus approaching them, walking on the water.
There was so much fear in that little boat. Matthew says that the disciples were “terrified” – a word he only uses one other time in the whole Gospel, to describe how Herod felt when he heard there was another King, born in Bethlehem. They were deeply afraid of what was happening to them, and what might happen to them in the future. Because, clearly, they were no longer in control. They did not hold their own lives in their own hands anymore. The storm, the wind, the waves. And then Jesus! And Jesus, far from calming their fears, seemed to be one of the things that frightened them the most. So much fear!
Then one of the disciples did something remarkable – He stepped back from his own emotional response to a threatening situation. He stepped away from the contagious fear of his friends. He stood up, despite years of training in how not to rock the boat. He threw his leg over the side and stepped out OUT into the rolling, unstable, dark and story sea. And, for just a moment, he walked toward Jesus.
Then, not surprisingly, he sank.
It’s not surprising that he sank. It’s surprising that he had the courage to walk.
It’s not surprising that he fell. It’s surprising that he attempted to answer Jesus’ call.
It’s not surprising that he failed to do what only Jesus could. It’s surprising that he took seriously what it means to be a disciple – to follow Jesus ANY WHERE Jesus may lead.
For just a moment, the call of Jesus Christ was undeniable, and one disciple answered – not with a faint “I will” or a promise in his heart or a pledge of financial support. One disciple got out of the rocking boat and set his feet into the waves. And when he did that – it didn’t matter that he fell, that he sank, that he failed. Because Jesus reached out his hand – immediately – and lifted him from the deep.
Jesus carried him in his arms, as a lifeguard carries a drowning man, or a mother carries an exhausted toddler, or a lover carries his bride across the threshold. Peter stepped out in fear and was carried home in faith.
To be baptized is to take that step out of the boat. It is to enter the water at the invitation of Jesus, in spite of what others are thinking, saying, fearing. It is to walk the impossible way towards him, in the full knowledge that you can’t get there on your own, but that you can count on Jesus to reach out and take a hold of you where you are, and lift you up and save you. It is to jump out of the boat where your fear traps you, and into the water where Jesus grasps you.
It is not that you will become someone who can do the impossible, but that the impossible grace of God will become real to you . . .
It’s not about success. It’s about faith. It’s not about stopping fear. It’s about not letting fear stop you. It’s about dying to death and rising to new life.
The little girl failed her swimming test that day. She made it across four times, flailing and gasping for air. She dragged herself out of the water on shaky arms, snagged her pink swimming suit on the cement deck, and tried to catch her breath. The life guard bent over and said, “You didn’t quite make it. But you will next time.”
And I did. For some reason, the next time, it was no big deal. And I’ve passed lots of swimming tests, and lots of other tests since then. But the one I remember is the one I failed. Because I was so afraid, and I jumped in anyway.
What is it that frightens, really frightens, us? What keeps us white knuckled clutching the sides of our little boat in the midst of the stormy sea?
As we celebrate the baptism of yet another little Christian, dying to the old life and entering the new, let’s ask ourselves what it would be like to live out our own baptism.
What would it take for us to say, “Jesus, if it’s really you, bid me come” ?
And to step out, into our deepest fears and enter the arms of our Savior?

Sermon - Aug. 3

Matthew 14:
The Feeding of the Five Thousand
“5000. But Whose Counting”

This picture is the scene for today's scripture/sermon.

I’m one of those who don’t count. When Jesus feed the crowd beside the sea in galilee, and the disciples were counting the people (One one thousand, two one thousand – five one thousand) they didn’t count me.
“There were five thousand. NOT COUNTING women and children.”
But even though I don’t count – I was there that day. I can give you an eye-witness ACCOUNTING of what happened. You can COUNT on that!
All right, maybe I didn’t see how it all started. I heard later that Jesus had taken a boat across from down the lake, trying to get some private time after he heard about the death of his cousin John. And the folks that had been with him saw where he was going and walked around the edge of the lake to meet him. From my garden, I heard the sound of the crowd down by the water. I looked across the field and saw the men passing by our little village. Where were they going? I wondered. So I wiped my hands on my apron and started in that direction. I got to the road before all the women and children had passed, and who should I see but Martha from down the road.
“What’s going on? Where are you going?” I asked.
She pointed to the lake. “We’re following Jesus”– she said, “You know, the prophet from Nazareth. He’s in a boat and some of the men think they know where he’s going to land. He’s been teaching about the kingdom of heaven like you’ve never heard it before, Suzanne. It’s crazy. Come with us and see for yourself.”
I fell in step with her, intending to walk just a little.
“What do you mean “crazy”? I have enough “craziness” in my life.”
“Yeah. But I don’t mean crazy crazy. I just mean “like you’ve never heard it before.” Like – he said the kingdom of God – bless his holy name – is like that infernal mustard that’s always invading our fields and gardens. Just a tiny start, Jesus says, and pretty soon you’ve got big problems.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“When you own the field, like the Romans own us, I guess it’s not so good. But what if we’re the mustard seed? See what I mean?”
By this time, she’s got me thinking, so I go along a little more.
“And he says the kingdom of God bless his holy name is like leaven that a woman kneads into the bread dough.”
“A woman? Leaven? Doesn’t he know not to talk about God bless his holy name with unclean things like women and leaven?”
“Of course, where would the men be without us to get a rise out of them?” she laughed at her own joke. “This Jesus totally gets that. Clean and unclean don’t seem to count with him. He’s got bigger fish to fry. Come on. You’ve got to hear this guy.”
So that’s how I ended up in the crowd that greeted Jesus when he stepped out of the boat. And I have to tell you, what I saw was awesome. Even though he must have been tired and disheartened and heart sick over the death of his cousin, Jesus didn’t send anybody away. He waded into the crowd and began healing them.
And lots of us needed healing. Including me. I’d gone that day feeling beat up by life. Picked apart. Pulled in a thousand different directions. Dis-abled when it came to making things better. I was heartsick and tired, tired, tired. But Jesus compassion healed me. How isn’t important. But being in his presence healed my heart and made me glad to be alive again.
It wasn’t just me. People around me- people I knew had been suffering lately – were up on their feet, smiling, greeting one another. I looked around for Martha, but she wasn’t around. It was getting late, and I wanted to start for home. But I didn’t want to go without telling the person who brought me “Thank you” for a wonderful day.
I pressed my way through the crowd, looking for my friend. “Martha!” I called. A young woman in blue told me that she’d seen Martha heading down toward the lake, so I turned in that direction. I pulled my head scarf more closely around my face as I passed by groups of men. Still no Martha. I lowered my eyes and pressed on, hoping to see her sandle.
That’s how I ended up right next to Jesus, as the disciples huddled around him. So I heard distinctly what each one of them said:
One of the disciples, maybe it was Peter, said, “Lord. It is getting late. The people are getting hungry and we’re out here in the sticks. Dismiss the crowd so they can make their way to villages around here and get themselves some food.”
That sounded like a good plan to me. And to the other disciples, too. I fully expected Jesus to give his blessing to the disciples suggestion.
But Jesus surprised them. He raised his bowed head, look around the circle of men, made them meet his eye – really – look at him. Then he shook his head. He disapproved. And he said, really slowly and really clearly: “You give them something to eat.”
There was a moment in which the disciples glanced sideways at each other, checking each other for an appropriate reaction. But no one could come up with one. Finally, two or three of them spoke at once – We don’t have enough to feed this crowd! Said one.
Look! There must be 5000 men on that hillside. Come on! Chimed in another.
We’ve got nothing, Jesus.
That’s right! We don’t have anything.
It was the one they call Judas who said that. He was holding a sack with their provisions in it. Jesus looked at it.
Well, at least we don’t have anything EXTRA.
We don’t have even enough for ourselves. You took off so fast, and I grabbed this little bag and it isn’t full and . . .
We have five loaves and two fish. Five thousand men. You do the math.
What difference would 5 loaves and two measly fish make here?
Don’t you get it? We have nothing. Barely enough to get by.
Not enough to share.
Not enough to meet their needs.
His protests petered out. Jesus continued to look around the circle.
He sighed. Bring your “nothing” to me.
Then Jesus turned to the crowd, got their attention and ordered everyone to sit down on the grass. Like lambs, they did it. I hurried back toward the women and children. It was easier to find Martha with everyone still, and I sat down beside her.
From a distance we saw Jesus take the loaves and the fish from his followers, lift his arms up to heaven. We heard him blessing Baruch adonai Elohim – Blessed art thou, O Lord, who brings forth bread from the earth. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples began to distribute them to the crowd.
Jesus, who had done so much that day, sat down. It was up to the disciples now.
The men were served first. We women sat and watched. A few of the ladies from my village wanted to get up and help. The disciples had a big job. Have you ever fed 5000 people? Or even 500? At my daughter’s wedding there were 150, and I thought I would never get to sit and eat. But I told those ladies to sit back down.
I said, “I think this is something Jesus wants his disciples to do. This is for those who follow Jesus. A sort of training, I think, to see what they have learned from following him all these months.”
We talked amongst ourselves as the disciples worked their way through the crowd. Every once in a while I glanced that way. Peter had rolled up his sleeves. The twin disciples chatted with folks in the crowd as he worked. Judas didn’t. It was interesting to see that after each group was served, the disciples were able to go on to the next. I kept watching to see when their supply would run out. But they made their way from group to group and the nothing they had seemed to turn into abundance in their wake.
When they finished with the men, they approached the crowds of women. A couple of the older ones held their backs – sore from bending down, extending their arms. It was work. I could tell that. But their hands were not yet empty. I’m not sure where all the food came from. The folks in group had plenty. And my portion was delicious. Satisfying.
By the time we were finished, the disciples had gone back to the men and started to clean up. That’s what gets you about a big meal, isn’t it? The clean up.
When they came around to get our left overs, we ribbed them a little. “I bet when you signed up to learn from Jesus, you didn’t expect advanced leftover removal – did you?” He didn’t mind our teasing, “Look at all this!” He said. “Can you believe how much food we served? Look! I didn’t think we even would have enough. But Jesus was right. There was more than enough. There was an abundance. And look around. Each one of us has a big basket full of scraps and crusts and broken pieces. We could feed even more!”
How many did you serve? Martha asked him.
Between the twelve of us . . . we counted nearly 5000 men. Not counting the women and children.
Aw, Martha, don’t believe him! I said. He can’t count! He thought that all he had was 5 loaves and two fishes. He just smiled and shook his head.
So you see – I don’t count. But I can count. And by my count, the “not enough” of the disciples + the blessing of Jesus = an abundance, a feast, a experience of the overwhelming grace of God- bless his holy name. What happened when Jesus said, “You give them something to eat” filled our stomachs for a day and our hearts for a lifetime. I wonder if a hungry world can still count on Jesus and his disciples

I finished, thanks

Not fast. But not last. I finished. Yeah!

Saturday morning

I'm going to go and try to run a 5K. I haven't done this for several (four?) years and I hope I remember how.
Wish me luck.