(Before you read this sermon transcript, keep in mind that I don't always stick to the manuscript when I preach and therefore those who heard the sermon heard something at least a little different than what you're reading...if you really want to be impacted by these sermons, you need to be there with our church family and travel together with us as we submit to the Scriptures together. Christianity is not a path to be walked alone; in fact, unless you're on a deserted island with no way off and no way to be with others, it is unfaithful NOT to be in a worshiping community. But enough of that. The following is the sermon)


“Humble yourselves, Discipline yourselves, Be steadfast."

1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11 

The first awareness we carry coming off this passage is that Peter is writing to a group of people who are suffering.  How they are suffering we cannot know specifically.  Whenever authors in the New Testament referred to suffering, we’ve often thought about persecutions carried out by the Roman Empire.  At and around the 60’s A.D. a giant fire swept through Rome and the emperor Nero  scapegoated the early Christian community, doing some awful things to folks associated with the name of Jesus primarily in and around Rome.  But this letter of Peter is addressed to Christians in Asia Minor which is about the area we today call Turkey, far enough away from Rome that Nero’s influence wouldn’t have been as strong.  And in this area if we tried to imagine what Peter meant by “fiery ordeal,” or “sufferings” we could imagine maybe two main specific things. 

First, that the Christian community called Jesus Lord, which was a serious issue for Roman citizens since only Caesar was to be referred to as Lord.  So, if Jesus was Lord, that meant Caesar wasn’t; which meant Christian allegiance belonged to someone other than Caesar, which made them subversive and dangerous to the social order.  A society needs to run like clockwork, and in order to do that, everyone must know who the authority is and obey.  Different authorities and different Lords aren’t tolerated.  Not so coincidentally, this was the same charge directed against the early Anabaptist community in the 16^th century.  Declaring Jesus as Lord was all well and good for a supposedly Christian society as long as Jesus had your soul, but the king and the nation had your life, energy, and allegiance.  So the early Christian community and the Anabaptists both had important choices to make:  submit and obey Jesus and his Way, or submit and obey Caesar or the Prince and his Way. 

A second specific factor would have been at play if we think of “ordeal” or “suffering.” Shame and ridicule.  The average Roman citizen, upon hearing of the life, ministry, and death of Jesus would have pitied the Christian community, if not outright mocked them, accusing them of wasting their time.  Why?  The one they claimed was Lord and Messiah had been crucified; which was the lowest, most vile form of execution the Romans carried out.  In this respect, Jesus was no different than the thousands of other scum the Romans crucified; those who boasted big, promised big, but were exposed as pretenders at the hands of the most powerful empire in history.

The Roman senator Marcus Tullius Cicero, a pagan,  wrote, "Let even the name 'cross' be kept away not only from the bodies of the citizens of Rome but also from their thought, sight and hearing... It is a grave offense even to bind a Roman citizen, a crime to flog him, almost the act of parricide to put him to death: What shall I then call crucifying him? Language worthy of such an enormity -- It is impossible to find!"

I’ve got a couple pictures of an impression found on the wall etched in by a Roman citizen regarding Christians and how he thought about them.  The picture is now known as “Alexamenos worships his God,” which is drawn from the crude Greek inscription underneath the pictoral etching.  The etching itself shows a person standing beside a cross with his hand upraised to signify worship.  On the cross, the representation of Jesus is a man with a donkey’s head.  The offense is clear.  You’re worshiping a failure, a man worthy of nothing more than pity.  And if you devote your life to this worship, what a waste!

Without any further understanding of Jesus, we might agree.  The guy failed.  He claimed to be leading a movement, but he was crushed.  End of story.  Unknowingly though, one may not have known they were playing right into the hands of the Christian community.  At the core of the message of the early Christians was this simple statement:  Jesus taught and exemplified a very unique message of loving and serving others no matter how they treat us.  He taught and exemplified that we are to humble ourselves before God and in vulnerability trust God alone to know how to live.  And we are to be willing to give our lives to the point of death and beyond, to absorb even the most shameful, undeserved treatment.  Why?  Because God loves the world, because God desires all his creation to live healthy, joyful, meaningful lives. 

This is enough reason to love and serve Jesus.  But even more, the same God raised Jesus from the dead, proving he is more powerful than powerful people and death.  So we have no reason to fear what even the most powerful empire in the world can do to us or the most well-placed bullet because we get to bear witness to a powerful love.  It is this awareness, this belief that has led followers of Jesus into the darkest, most violent places on Earth to proclaim and live the transformative message of Jesus and the way of life he redeems us to.  Or, it has led followers of Jesus into parts of our society that aren’t necessarily desirable, has led us to desire healing and hope in places of brokenness.

Believing this message should, I emphasize should lead Christians to look at their society around them, searching for places and relationships of brokenness that we can then move towards, engage with; instead of separating ourselves from, insulating ourselves from brokenness.  Unfortunately, the pattern of response to brokenness in Cincinnati, like many cities, is people abandoning, leaving behind, running away from darkness because we don’t like to feel uncomfortable, insecure, stretched, or frustrated.  People move into an ever-increasing ring of suburbs to find a place of security, leaving behind communities falling apart.  We then build beltways and interstates that keep us from having to see and engage those communities on a daily basis, and they slide into our subconscious; only coming up when we are forced to detour through them.

Precious few churches choose to obey the courageous call of Jesus to seek out places of brokenness and put down roots there.  This community of Cincinnati Church of the Brethren and our community Vineyard Central have attempted to be faithful to the call of God in this way.  But it has been rough going, for us and for you.

For one thing, we’ve found that we don’t have the tools to be able to handle pain and brokenness very well, because we’ve been shaped by a gospel of pain avoidance.  Several weeks ago, I heard a story from a man named Scott Dewey that connects with this truth.  Scott is a follower of Jesus, and Scott caught a vision to move to the slums of Bangkok, Thailand with his wife.  There are any number of preventable diseases there in the slums that primarily result from unclean drinking water.  Scott wanted to solve those problems, and bring hope to the slums.  So they said, “Here I am Lord, send me” and they went.  Three years later Scott rolled over in bed one morning and said to his wife, “Melanie, I can’t do this any more.  There’s too much pain here.”  After three years, they hadn’t solved the unclean water problem and Scott had been crushed by the pain and darkness of life in the ghetto.  Scott, however, chose to reflect on his thinking instead of just abandoning the place, and he came to one crucial awareness.

They had entered that neighborhood to do ministry for people there.  They had come with a gospel they believed provided hope.  And Scott realized as he thought about the pain and darkness crushing him that the people who had lived in that ghetto all their lives had a greater capacity to deal the with the pain and still find little cracks of hope than he did.  Scott found out that the gospel and the community he came from was one that was not familiar with pain, did not seek out pain, struggle, and brokenness and therefore he didn’t have the resources to deal with the pain there in Bangkok.  What Scott learned was that the people he had come to minister to were in fact ministering to him in how to live with pain and suffering.  What Scott learned through them was a fresh understanding of the gospel that does not bring hope through avoiding pain but through embracing it and finding God in the midst of it.

So, in a powerful way, Scott found out through experience the word here in 1 Peter 5, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on God because he cares for you.”  Scott was led to understand in a deeper way his responsibility as a disciple of the one who “made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant…humbling himself by being obedient to death.”

Something died in Scott then.  He was able to work again to put to death his own pride, his own Messiah complex.  He also needed to put to death what he believed to be the gospel, so he could embrace a gospel much more profoundly Biblical, one which required much more of himself; a gospel centered on imitating the example of the Jesus he followed, one oriented toward pain and discomfort rather than a commitment to avoid it.  Scott, in a very real way, experienced the salvation of God there in Bangkok, and it has served him well in his life.  I experienced him as a profoundly humble, transparent man familiar with suffering; refined through suffering.

Discipline Yourselves, Be Steadfast

I suspect a number of you may feel the same way Scott did there in Bangkok.  It was a cool idea, in the words of Jeremiah, to “Seek the peace of the city.” You left the relative comfort of Blue Ash to try to put down roots here in Walnut Hills.

“We work to engage with the city and its people, embracing and celebrating the diversity that fills our world. Our engagement sparks conversations about disparate income and educational opportunities, violence, race relations, and gentrification. As we face these tough issues, we strive to follow Christ’s example and look to God’s wisdom for answers. On this journey, we are guided by the belief that Jesus was serious about living a life of love, service, peace, justice, and simplicity.”

That is a beautiful statement, one you need to cling to in times of frustration in ministry.  

You’ve come face to face with problems that Sunday mornings won’t fix.  You’re learning to mentor and care for families and children dealing with chronic homelessness, inadequate nutrition, etc.

And you have opposition to your work.  There are any number of ways evil, chaos, distrust, and hatred are at work here that require people of courage to absorb, or even be crushed, by the pain.  But maybe your biggest enemy is the gospel of pain avoidance.  Our wider culture is not encouraging us to seek out pain.  The deep irony here, though, is that the Christian community surrounding us often functions like the Romans who thought the early Christian community was wasting its time.  We have allowed our culture to shape us more than our Lord Jesus.  

Have you, like Scott, in your own unique way, rolled over in bed thinking, “I don’t have the ability to handle this any more”?

I want to encourage you, like Peter did for the early church in Asia Minor, to

humble yourselves under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.  Cast all your anxiety on God because he cares for you…God…after you have suffered a little while…will make you strong, firm, and steadfast.  So then, those who suffer according to God’s will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good.  

Or, in the words of Alexander Mack we are about to sing, “Count well the cost, Christ Jesus says, when you lay the foundation.  Are you resolved, though all seem lost, to risk your reputation, your self, your wealth, for Christ the Lord, as you now give your solemn word?”  Let us say “Yes” together with our lives.

Benediction:  May you abandon the gospel of pain avoidance and embrace the life of following Jesus which brings fun times and brings hard times, but always in all things brings joy.  So, humble yourselves, discipline yourselves, and be steadfast in what God will teach you here in Walnut Hills.  What you have chosen is good and worthy and right; worth giving your life to.  Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord.

(Before you read this sermon transcript, keep in mind that I don't always stick to the manuscript when I preach and therefore those who heard the sermon heard something at least a little different than what you're reading...if you really want to be impacted by these sermons, you need to be there with our church family and travel together with us as we submit to the Scriptures together. Christianity is not a path to be walked alone; in fact, unless you're on a deserted island with no way off and no way to be with others, it is unfaithful NOT to be in a worshiping community. But enough of that. The following is the sermon).

"Psalm 23, Wendell Berry, and a sense of place," or 
"The Lord is our Shepherd.  Following our Shepherd in this Place."
Preached at Cincinnati Church of the Brethren
May 15, 2011

Turn with me to Psalm 23

I don’t know about you, but I have the tendency to take for granted the things or people I am around the most.  This is a common human temptation.  I don’t want to project my personal shortcomings onto you, but  I’ll just settle for saying I suspect you struggle with the same tendency.  We can quickly lose the intentionality we carried in the beginning of our relationship with these things or people; the meaning becomes dull because we think we know everything about that thing or person.   In the Christian community, Psalm 23 is one of the things we are around the most.  We often haul it out around funerals, around sicknesses we think have turned toward inevitable death.  We see the Psalm as a psalm of comfort; we think we know everything there is to know about it, and as a result, when we hear it, we have a tendency to switch into autopilot, the meaning becomes dull and flat.

I would like to suggest this morning that Psalm 23 has not reached the fullest extent of its meaning with what we have given it, that it has the capacity to be used beyond funerals, and even that it can be a passage that leads a community like Cincinnati Church of the Brethren or my community Vineyard Central to certain practices, to a certain way of life that has a long-lasting impact on us and on the places (Walnut Hills and Norwood) we find ourselves in.

(Read Psalm 23 using collective terms we, us, our)

The LORD is our shepherd, we lack nothing.

At different times in our life, it is important to emphasize different aspects of our humanity.  Sometimes we need to be reminded that we have been created by God with dignity and supreme worth; that our lives are given great meaning simply by existing as a child of God.  The temptation of that aspect of who we are, though, is that we can begin to think we (and those closest to us) are the most important aspect of God’s creation; that somehow God cares more about our stuff than he does about others.  We may not confess this openly, but we believe it to be true.  This applies to churches too.  In times like this, it’s a great practice to go to Psalm 23 and say, “We are like sheep. We are idiots, we too often follow the crowd blindly, and we don’t know what is best for us.”  To confess “The Lord is our shepherd,” is to confess a deep human need to be led by someone who knows better than us how to live.  To confess “The Lord is our shepherd” is to quit playing God and to let God have complete authority over us.”

The LORD is our shepherd, we lack nothing.

He makes us lie down in green pastures, he leads us beside quiet waters, he refreshes our soul.

I didn’t take the time to look at the original Hebrew here, but I love the phrase “he makes us lie down in green pastures.”  It’s as though lying down in green pastures isn’t normal for us, and we need God to rip us out of our lives and “make us lie down in green pastures and lead us beside quiet waters” so we will finally slow down.  What is David talking about here?  What do “green pastures” and “quiet waters” stand for?

As we engage in these practices, God refreshes our soul.

He guides us along the right paths for his name’s sake. 

This is, again, a confession that God knows the right path, and it’s our responsibility to abandon our own path where we’re in control to be shepherded on God’s.

Even though we walk through the darkest valley, we will fear no evil, for you are with us; your rod and your staff, they comfort us.

This is a confession of God’s power that is even stronger than death.  We confess that we trust God’s path and even the darkest valley God takes us through without fear of consequence, because our life is held in God’s hands.

You prepare a table before us in the presence of our enemies.  You anoint our heads with oil, our cup overflows.

In the presence of our enemies.  This life of being led by God is not one where we seek to insulate ourselves, separate ourselves from those we do not trust, from those who may do us harm, from those who hate us; it is one where we are led into the presence of our enemies, and God cares for us there in abundance, “our cup overflows.”

Surely your goodness and love will follow us all the days of our lives, and we will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

When we confess the Lord as our shepherd, when we embrace the places and practices of “green pasture,” when we walk on God’s paths, not ones determined by ourselves, when we walk through the darkest valleys and choose to live life in the presence of our enemies, not apart from them; all of this adds up to a life marked by God’s goodness and love; and we are reminded that God is far stronger than the power of death and will hold us forever.

This is the general contour of Psalm 23.  There is a certain changing of the tides quality to it; we need the green pasture, we need to be in the presence of our enemies, we need to walk on God’s path which sometimes will be easier, sometimes will lead us to frightening places, but always, always, always is good.  Now I want to apply the general shape of the Psalm to our specific lives together in our specific place.  And this term “place” is deeply significant beyond the chairs you are sitting in and the spot I am standing on.

Increasingly, Americans…are not from anywhere.  And so they have in this “homeland”…no home place that they are strongly moved to know or love or use well or protect.   (Berry, A Citizen’s Response, 6)

For many years, my walks have taken me down an old fencerow in a wooded hollow on what was once my grandfather’s farm.  A battered galvanized bucket is hanging on a fence post near the head of the hollow, and I never go by it without stopping to look inside.  For what is going on in that bucket is the most momentous thing I know, the greatest miracle that I have ever heard of:  it is making earth.  The old bucket has hung there through many autumns, and leaves have fallen around it and some have fallen into it.  Rain and snow have fallen into it, and the fallen leaves have held the moisture and so have rotted.  Nuts have fallen into it, or been carried into it by squirrels; mice and squirrels have eaten the meat of the nuts and left the shells; they and other animals have left their droppings; insects have flown into the bucket and died and decayed; birds have scratched in it and left their droppings and perhaps a feather or two.  This slow work of growth and death, gravity and decay, which is the chief work of the world, has by now produced in the bottom of the bucket several inches of black soil…the old bucket started out a far better one than you can buy now.  I think it has been hanging on that post for something like fifty years.  However small a landmark the old bucket is, it is not trivial.  It is one of the signs by which I know my country and myself.  And to me it is irresistibly suggestive in the way it collects leaves and other woodland sheddings as they fall through time.  It collects stories, too, as they fall through time.  It is irresistibly metaphorical.  It is doing in a passive way what a human community must do actively and thoughtfully.  A human community, too, must collect leaves and stories, and turn them to account.  It must build soil, and build that memory of itself- in lore and story and song- that will be its culture. (Berry, TWOLC, pgs 153-55)

Before we reflect on the meaning of this story, I want to back up and ask, how does Wendell Berry notice this bucket?  What practices in his life lead him first to see this bucket, second to a “deeper seeing” of this bucket, then third to reflect on the meaning of the bucket to life?

The bucket is doing in a passive way what a human community must do actively and thoughtfully.  A human community, too, must collect leaves and stories, and turn them to account.  It must build soil, and build that memory of itself- in lore and story and song- that will be its culture.

When a community loses its memory, its members no longer know one another.  How can they know one another if they have forgotten or have never learned one another’s stories?  If they do not know one another’s stories, how can they know whether or not to trust one another?  People who do not trust one another do not help one another, and moreover they fear one another.”  (Berry, “The Work of Local Culture” WAPF? 157)

What Berry is suggesting, and what I desire to suggest this morning, is that the most important quality of humanity is building memory of our place through learning and knowing one another’s stories, trusting one another, and moving beyond fear to invest in one another.    Since Jesus prayed centrally, “God, may your kingdom come and your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” and Cincinnati Church of the Brethren’s place on earth that you have chosen is Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, with Wendell Berry ringing in our ears, beyond all the sexy ideas about mission and growth; maybe the most important, most essential quality of your work as a congregation is actively and thoughtfully learning the stories of the people here in Walnut Hills, gaining the trust of the people of Walnut Hills, and seeking to follow the Lord as Shepherd for this place.  It’s letting our mission be determined by our place, and committing to a place for an extended period of time, intentionally being present in a way that deeply listens, invests, and prays for God’s will to be done in our place.

Our church family VC in Norwood is struggling through this very issue too.  We have a sexy phrase that we’ve created and put up on our website:  “Practicing resurrection in West Norwood and encouraging it everywhere.”

Now, if we want to move beyond the sexy phrase and listen to the wisdom of Berry, practicing resurrection IN WEST NORWOOD means establishing west Norwood as the focus of our ministry.  We have said West Norwood will be our place.  In order for this to have a practical reality, we must spend a significant amount of time in West Norwood.  This does not necessarily mean we have to live there, but it does mean we need to deeply invest there.  A number of us, because we want a more natural flow to this commitment, have moved into the neighborhood; in theory, because living IN WEST NORWOOD means we will more easily practice resurrection there.  But we find a significant barrier comes up whether we move in or not:  we don’t know the people here, we may not share the same desires as the people here, we don’t know the story of the community, the story of the people, we lack the connection needed.  We don’t know the place where we are.

For those who don’t live in our place, that means they often settle for commuting in when events take place and leaving afterwards.  For those who do live in our place, that means we often settle for establishing a subculture with practices, habits, desires, and relationships centered around our subculture with which we are more comfortable.  So, whether the barrier is expressed by the distance we live away or by still seeing our next door neighbor as “over there,” both barriers are very real.

Wendell reminded us just a couple minutes ago “If we do not know one another’s stories, how can we know whether or not to trust one another?  People who do not trust one another do not help one another, and moreover they fear one another.”

As the Psalmist said, “You make me lie down in green pastures, you lead me by still waters…you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”  Speaking personally, God is pulling me kicking and screaming out of my comfort zone, all dramatic, saying, “But God, I. will. die. over there.  I am uncomfortable over there.  I don’t know the people over there.”  And God responds saying, “What do you mean, over there?  This is your place.  And yeah, worst comes to worst, you do die.  What do you have to fear about that?”

Knowing this uncomfortable truth, I now feel less satisfied with what was comfortable for me before.  I identify with the Psalmist saying elsewhere, “You hem me in, behind and before.”   The pathway of God can feel suffocating, like God is the clingy girlfriend I once had who never gave me space for myself, and I want to say, “LET ME BREATHE, LET ME BREATHE!”   I’m complaining, but I know that because God knows better than I do what I was created for, because I am a sheep and God is the shepherd, what feels suffocating today will, I trust, feel like freedom at some point.

So, I have asked myself over and over again, “If West Norwood is our place, what practices, what habits do we need to help us notice others, to know other’s stories, and eventually, through time and practice, they begin to know and trust us?  And isn’t this the most important aspect of our church’s mission?”

Your website says, “In 2008, we moved from a comfortable suburban location to our current urban location, seeking the peace of the city. We work to engage with the city and its people, embracing and celebrating the diversity that fills our world.”  So, I ask you in conclusion, “If Walnut Hills is your place, what practices, what habits do you need to help you notice others, to know other’s stories, and eventually, through time and practice, they begin to know and trust you?”  This is not just a rhetorical question.  I’m interested in hearing your ideas of how you might intentionally, in a time-intensive way, own your neighborhood as your place.

(Walks, Front porches, Gardens)

An uncomfortable thing that I need to share with you this morning is a conclusion I and others are coming to in Vineyard Central.  Our church family has been in West Norwood now for fifteen years, but that fifteen years has not been marked by intentional actions to connect with our neighborhood.  As a result, in some ways we are needing to "start over again," to reassess and recommit to the sense of place and community Berry speaks of here.  You've only been in Walnut Hills three years now.  I encourage you to more thoughtfully consider this and act on it so you don't have to painfully confess it like we do just a couple neighborhoods over.

Closing prayer:

God, you guide us along the right paths for your name’s sake.  Even though we walk through the darkest valley, we will fear no evil, for you are with us…surely goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our life together, and we will dwell safely in your arms no matter what may happen to us.  Give us courage, give us patience, do not leave us to our selfish desires but hem us in behind and before, yank us kicking and screaming if need be to the place you desire us to be, as our Shepherd leads us, for we need your tender care, we are yours, you do befriend us, lead us to befriend our neighbors, be the guardian of our way, Lord.  Amen.