Witness, Acts 17:22-31

May 29, 2011

Highlands UMC, Denver

Acts 17:16-34

Note: The assigned lectionary text is Acts 17:22-31, but I feel the verses before and after add helpful context to Paul's message, so I included those in the reading as well.

This all took place a long time ago,

in a galaxy far, far away…

Okay, it was actually on this planet,

but sometimes the stories in the Bible
feel so distant from the reality we know
that they might as well have taken place
in a whole other universe. Right?

It’s hard for some of us to imagine a culture
where everyone is religious,
no one has heard of Jesus of Nazareth,
and it was against the law to promote foreign gods.

In today’s reading, I imagine I am not the only one
who struggles with some of Paul’s message:

I am inclined to affirm, not judge,
religious traditions other than my own.

I’m uncomfortable with the idea
that God has planned out the times and places
for all nations –

we live in a world where borders change
and people emigrate all the time,

and nations regularly inflict violence on one another
over the idea that one group has a God-given right
to live in a land that belonged to a different group
for centuries.

And while I agree with Paul that God is not “needy”

or psychologically dependent on human service or praise,

I believe that God is deeply relational,
and that God’s purposes are accomplished
only with human cooperation.

Finally, I’m skeptical about the concept
of an appointed day of judgment,
and frankly, I’m surprised that the only time in this speech
that Paul refers to Jesus
is as the one who will judge humanity

and who has been resurrected as proof of that.

There’s a lot about Paul’s sermon
that doesn’t make much sense to me.

And at the same time,
there are some aspects of this story
that I really appreciate,
and that still ring true
nearly 2000 years later.

First-century Athens is a pluralistic context,
as is true of 21^st-century American society.

People follow many different spiritual paths,
today as then,
and there is room for them to coexist
more or less peacefully.

The people of Athens are intellectually curious,
interested in learning and discussing all the latest ideas.

And they’re spiritual seekers,
open to the likelihood that there is more to the Divine
than has yet been revealed to them,
offering a shrine even to the God they don’t yet know.

They value poets and philosophers,

and Paul acknowledges the wisdom of these writers
who are neither Jewish nor Christ-followers,

but who have nevertheless expressed truths

that Paul affirms as valid theological statements.

I love that God is described as the Creator of all,

“the One who gives everyone life, breath—everything”

and “the One who is not really far from any of us—
the One in whom we live and move and have our being.”

These phrases are among some of the most beautiful, generative, and perhaps some of the most universal claims
that Paul is described as making.

Whole theological systems have emerged from reflection

on the idea that “we live and move and have our being”
in our creating, life-giving God.

It takes a bit of reading between the lines,
but I appreciate that Paul presents the God of Israel
as God of the whole earth.

God is not nationalistic, says Paul,
but above and beyond national boundaries.

And of course,
when Paul quotes an Athenian poet as saying,
‘We too are God’s children,’

what is most striking to me is that word “too.”

We’re used to hearing this idea,
which is repeated many times in the Hebrew Bible.

But to hear the phrasing coming from the lines

of an unknown Greek poet,
responding to who knows what original statement,
there is a sense of defensiveness

or urgency

about being included in the family of God
along with whoever is already sure of their status.

But perhaps what I appreciate most in today’s reading
is Paul’s approach to sharing his faith
with the people of Athens.

First of all, we know he’s not shy.

His boldness in preaching the Gospel

gets him in trouble on several occasions,

and I admire people who are willing to take those kinds of risks

to stand up for what they believe in.

But what’s really striking about this particular sermon,

preached in front of the Council of the Areopagus—

the Latin name of which translates to Mars Hill—

is how carefully he tailors his message

to his audience.

Now, you may know from other readings,
but Paul is a Jew,
a member of the community of Pharisees,
someone well-versed in Jewish law and tradition,

and strictly observant of all that God required.

But when he’s invited—or possibly dragged…

maybe even arrested? we’re not really sure—

and called to give an account of his teaching,
he doesn’t start with Abraham and Moses and Elijah.

He doesn’t start with the passages in Isaiah
that speak of the coming anointed king, the messiah,

who will redeem the people of Israel
and initiate God’s reign on earth.

He starts with the people he’s speaking to,
what he has observed about them,

the spiritual needs and passions
he wants to affirm in them,

and then connects those with the story he knows.

Still, he doesn’t focus in on where he comes from,

but stays with what makes sense to them:

The God who created the world and all that is in it,

the nature of God,

the nearness of God,
the relationship of God to all people,

and finally,
the response that God asks.

The content of what Paul says?

I have to do at least half a dozen theological

and cultural translations in my head
to affirm or agree with most of his message.

But you know what?

He wasn’t speaking to me, to us,

to 21^st century North American Christians

living in a city called Denver.

Paul was a bright man,
and he wrote many wonderful, God-inspired,
Holy-Spirit-led things,
as well as some that seem a little less Spirit-given,

but he was mortal.

He was formed by the time and place in which he lived.
Sure, he learned to adapt,
to “become all things to all people”
in order to share the Gospel with them,

but that just points all the more to the fact

that no single message,

no single messenger,

can effectively communicate in all times and places.

Which is why the Bible is not enough
for introducing people to the God revealed in Jesus Christ.

Now, I know this is going to make some of you
a little uncomfortable,
because this is a church that affirms pluralism,
that does not teach that people must accept Jesus
as their personal Lord and Savior
in order to receive God’s love or mercy.

Stay with me, because I still believe
that there are many paths to God,

and that God is not contained to my religion alone.

But I am also convinced
that we who follow Jesus

are called to bear witness to our faith.

First, let me be clear about what I am not saying:

I am not saying that you need to stand on a street corner
shouting “Repent! Judgment day is coming!”

The Christians who believe everyone else is going to hell
have turned a lot of people off
by telling them just that.

When I was in college,
my campus minister used to say,
“I don’t believe anyone really gets to heaven

just by having the hell scared out of them.”

I am also not saying that you need to go door-to-door,

trying to convert people to Christianity.

That’s called proselytizing,
trying to make people believe the way you do,
and in this neighborhood especially, I’m pretty sure
it would be not just ineffective, but disastrous.

Everyone is on their own spiritual journey,
and while I wouldn’t say that every path is equally valid,
because some are truly harmful,
either to the individual, their family,
women, the environment, or whomever,
but giving the same sales pitch to each person
doesn’t take into account the variations
in their experience, interests, needs,
or readiness for something new.

And I am not saying
that you need to be able to prove anything

or even convince anybody

who doesn’t want to be convinced.

In some of Paul’s letters,

he engages in the practice of apologetics,

a kind of reasoned defense of faith,

usually based on Scripture and logic.

In today’s world, our understanding of science,

psychology, sociology, and history

have changed dramatically from Paul’s time.

There are still many who feel called
to the work of apologetics today,

but I don’t know how much success they have
at reaching those who are not already Christ-followers.

What I am saying
is that if our faith has any meaning for us,

it is worth sharing in some way with others.

When you think about a witness called to testify in court,

they are not asked to prove
a complicated logical argument,

or to scare the jury into submission,

or even to convince the judge of a particular view.

The witness is called to speak about

what they personally have seen and heard:

what they have experienced firsthand.

When you bear witness to your faith,

all you need to do is speak honestly

about what difference a relationship with God
makes in your life.

Why you come to church on Sunday

instead of sleeping in,
or going to brunch with friends,

or hiking in the mountains.

[And I know you sometimes make those other choices too,
but if you show up here at least some of the time,
there must be a reason.]

How you live, the quality of your relationships,
your character and integrity and generosity,
may all testify to something good at work in you—

like St. Francis said, “Preach the Gospel at all times,
and if necessary, use words”—

but if someone asks why you do what you do,
I think it’s helpful to have thought about the question,
to know what the “good news” is to you.

For me, the Gospel first began to make a difference in my life
when I was in high school.

I didn’t attend worship regularly,
preferring to care for the toddlers in the nursery,
but I still considered myself  a Christian,
someone who believed in God and Jesus.

What I particularly remember was one day at school
when I was struggling with some difficult friendships,
feeling betrayed and left out,
suddenly realizing,
“Jesus went through this—on a much bigger scale—
when Judas betrayed him and Peter denied him
and all the disciples fell asleep in the garden,

so he knows what this feels like.”

I wasn’t really raised in the tradition of
“a personal relationship with Jesus,”

turning to Christ in prayer in difficult and joyful times,

so that was kind of where the thought ended,
but it made a difference to me in that moment
to know that I was not alone,
that not only did God care about me in an abstract way,
but that Jesus had actually gone through
what I was going through.

Another time my faith made a difference
was my freshman year in college.
I was already active in the United Methodist campus ministry,
and I attend the United Methodist Student Forum,
a gathering of hundreds of students from across the country,
Memorial Day weekend, fifteen years ago.

I was still very much figuring out what I believed
about many different things,
but I attended a gathering of students
who called themselves “MoSAIC,”

Methodist Students for an All-Inclusive Church.

The focus was on the welcome and affirmation
of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered people,
and though I wasn’t sure yet where I stood on the issue,
I listened to people’s stories
and thought a lot about what I heard.

A few weeks after I returned home for the summer,
the MoSAIC leaders sent out an email
to all who had attended the meeting,
inviting us to further action and involvement.

The email ended with a poem called “Fear,”
by Joy Harjo, a Native American poet,
a poem about giving fear back to those who instilled it,
about not being afraid any more,
about releasing fear and being loved,
about claiming life in all its fullness.

It was a poem I had written a paper on
just that spring semester.
And I experienced that email message
as God nudging me,
whispering to me,
“Give back your fear,
your fear of those who are different from you,
your fear of being wrong,
and join this movement for life and love and justice.”

Now, when you think about “witness,”

maybe you think of the 1986 movie with Harrison Ford,
or the Witness Protection Program.

Both of those suggest that being a witness

carries a certain amount of risk.

And unlike the Witness Protection Program,

we church leaders cannot guarantee
that you will not experience some consequences
of talking about your experience.

Because telling your story,
and how you understand it as part of God’s story,
is a powerful thing—

for you, and for those listening.

Just ask anyone in a 12-step recovery program.

It can help you to know and name who you are.

It can help others to find hope.

It can remind all of us
that we are not alone.

Because while some may see Christianity
as just one more vendor
in the spiritual marketplace,
offering religious goods and services
in competition with other religions,
I believe our faith is more about an invitation to relationship
with the living God revealed in Jesus Christ.

When I think about the dating world,

it can be a good thing to meet and get to know
several different potential partners.
But just as most of us hope for one person
to whom we can commit deeply,
in the same way, choosing one faith tradition
can give us a depth of grounding,
a rootedness, and an intimacy with God
that brings with it a new kind of freedom:

the freedom to trust God for the results of our actions.

So that when we do bear witness to our faith,
when we are open with others
about why we give regularly to the church
and to those who are in need,
when we are clear about why we show up here on Sunday
why we speak out for justice and compassion,
and how our lives are formed
and transformed
by the God revealed in Jesus Christ,
we don’t have to worry
about whether we convince
or convert that person.

We can trust that the One
in whom we live and move and have our being
is also at work in the life of our neighbor,

drawing them ever closer
to the Source and Sustainer of life.

And if this whole question of religion
is more about relationship
than consuming goods and services,
then who shares the message
is as important as what the message is.

I think that’s why those printed evangelism tracts
aren’t particularly effective.

They’re one-size-fits-all.

When we witness to our faith,

we share how our story
is connected to God’s story.

And it makes a difference who we are as the storytellers,

as well as when, where, and to whom we’re speaking.

Knowing the person we’re speaking to,
what they value, where they’ve been,
what they hope and long for,
how they struggle and when they celebrate,
gives us the opportunity to speak more meaningfully
about how they, too, are part of God’s story.

I want to leave you with some words of wisdom

from a nun named Carol Francis Jegen,
of the Sisters of Charity of the Blessed Virgin Mary:

“As a human being, Jesus was limited in many ways.

He lived on this earth in a certain culture
for a certain period of time.

In his great compassionate love
Jesus really needs us to carry on his work
of bringing about the reign of God’s love
in every culture and in every period of history.”

Much of that work requires our actions,
our energy, our resources, our intentionality
and integrity in relationships and labor.

But part of the work
of bringing about the reign of God’s love
is telling what we have seen and heard,

proclaiming this good news,
boldly or humbly,
carefully and meaningfully,
so that others have the opportunity to understand
how their story
is part of God’s story,
and so all may know
what a difference it makes

to draw near and get to know

the Unknown God. 

May it be so for you and for me.

Amen.

The Gospel According to Finding Nemo

The Gospel According to Finding Nemo
Highlands & Montclair UMCs, Denver, CO
Sunday, October 26, 2008

Isaiah 43:1-2

The world is full of many joys and wonders,
as well as many dangers, toils and snares.
When you’re a little fish in a big ocean,
it’s sometimes hard to know which is which.

Marlin is a clownfish, orange and white stripes,
living with his wife Coral in a beautiful anemone home
right on the edge of the reef,
where the sand below drops off to deep water.
They are the proud expectant parents of 400 little clownfish,
incubating in their jelly-like eggs,
when tragedy strikes:
a barracuda attacks.
Marlin tries to protect his family
and is knocked unconscious.
He wakes to find that his wife
and all but one of the eggs
are gone.
Devastated, Marlin promises little Nemo,
as the remaining egg is named,
never to let anything happen to him.

Nemo turns out to be a spirited young clownfish
with one undersized fin
who is eager to explore the world
and excited to start school.
His father has grown extremely cautious
and overprotective of his only son,
worried about all the things that can go wrong,
especially because of what he sees
as Nemo’s disability, the “lucky” fin.
The joy that Marlin once felt in his home and family
becomes clouded by his fear
that he could lose it all
again.
And when Marlin follows Nemo’s class
on their field trip to the drop-off,
warning and scolding Nemo not to swim in open water,
Nemo’s frustration turns into defiance
and he swims out to touch a small boat anchored nearby.
Before he can return to the safety of the reef,
two divers appear,
and one scoops up Nemo in a little plastic bag,
the other blinding Marlin with a camera flash
and preventing him from getting to Nemo in time.
The boat speeds away
and Marlin’s worst nightmare has come true.

Marlin then begins a long and difficult journey
to find Nemo and bring him home,
accompanied and helped along the way
by a blue fish – a regal tang – named Dory,
very sweet by nature
but troubled by persistent short-term memory loss.
Nemo ends up in a small fish tank in a dentist’s office,
where the other inhabitants of the tank
help him try to escape
before he becomes the next casualty
of the dentist’s niece
and her enjoyment of shaking bags of goldfish.
In particular, a Moorish Idol fish named Gill,
the only other tank member
to come from the ocean
rather than a pet store,
takes Nemo under his fin.

Along the way, Marlin and Dory encounter many surprising creatures:
There is a group of 3 sharks
who are trying to rise above their nature,
and reform their fish-eating ways -
their motto is "Fish are friends, not food."
They barely avoid becoming lunch for an anglerfish,
which has a kind of built-in glowing lure
attached to its body.
They meet a school of silvery fish that do visual impressions
in their group formations.
They have a narrow escape
from beautiful but deadly box jellyfish.
A school of sea turtles helps them navigate the East Australian Current,
and offers Marlin a different perspective on parenting
than he has been used to —
a little less neurotic worrywart,
a little more laid-back surfer dude.
A whale swallows them up
to bring them in close to Sydney Harbor.
And a pelican named Nigel takes them the final distance
to the dentist’s office where Nemo is waiting.

Along the way, both father and son
learn to better understand each other,
and to overcome their own fears
to embrace life more fully.
Dory and Crush the sea turtle
teach Marlin that he cannot keep Nemo
from experiencing life.
That if he never lets anything happen to his son,
nothing will ever happen to him.
And although sometimes there’s no way of knowing
whether or not something bad might happen,
the only way to get through life
is to “Let go,” and “Just keep swimming!”
And Gill helps Nemo gain confidence in himself,
as his own damaged fin has never stopped him
from going after his goals.

In some ways, Finding Nemo blends together
the three “Lost” parables of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke:
like the shepherd seeking the sheep,
Marlin goes in search of his lost son,
leaving behind the safety of the world he knows,
putting at risk what is left to him.
As in the story of the Prodigal Son,
Nemo is separated from his family
by a decision made out of youthful defiance
that comes to regret
and seeks to return home.
And if we want to stretch a little,
Dory is kind of like the woman with the coins…
only it’s more like her marbles that she’s lost…
but there is definitely great rejoicing when she finds them!

It’s not an exact parallel, of course;
the film is a full-fledged story, not a parable.
I think the main difference is
that Marlin is not a stand-in for God
as the shepherd and the father are
in the parables that Jesus told.
Marlin is himself a “person” in need of saving.
He needs to be saved not from the dangers of the world,
but from his fear of danger,
so that he can lay claim to the abundant life
available to him.
Marlin is so obsessed with past tragedy
and fear of the future
that he is robbed of the one thing he needs,
which is to be in the moment with his son.
Dory, who knows nothing beyond the present moment,
is the one who helps him get back that gift.

Nemo needs to find faith in his own abilities
and an understanding of his father’s concerns.
He learns to respect his father’s worries and limits
because he himself comes face to face with real danger.

And Dory, whom the film’s director and writer describe
as an “angel” by nature,
always seeking to comfort and help others,
becomes an important part of the family,
finding that Marlin’s care for her and trust in her
helps her to remember things better,
helps her not to get lost or forget,
and allows her to feel that she is home.

If you are a parent,
and have had the experience of caring for a young child
I imagine Marlin’s situation hits home:
the fear of losing your child
is a real and powerful threat.
You want to protect them, keep them safe
as long and as fully as possible.
But the time comes
when you have to let the little one
venture out into the world on their own,
give them a chance, as Crush the surfer sea turtle says,
to see what they’ll do “flying solo.”

Some of us might identify more with Nemo:
longing for adventure,
unsure of our own capabilities
or our place in the world,
but certain that there are wonderful and exciting places to see
and people to meet out there.

Others, like Dory,
are longing for a place to belong,
a relationship that grounds us
and helps us make sense of our story.
The world can be a big and scary place.
The church has often focused on this view,
emphasizing the “dangers, toils and snares” of life:

The world is seen as a place of temptation,
posing all kinds of risks to the life of faith.
This is the Marlin school of theology –
monsters lurk around every corner,
so venture out only when necessary,
and then do so with extreme vigilance.
The Nemo school of theology, on the other hand,
holds that the world is the gift of God,
to be explored, dealt with, delighted in,
and within which we learn who we are
and who God is in the scheme of things.
Both schools of theology live side by side in the church
and are often a source of tension.*

Ultimately, the film, along with our scriptures for today,
come out on the side of affirming life
with all its risks and dangers
as something beautiful and holy,
a gift from God.
We are called to boldness in pursuing an abundant life
not because our fears are groundless
and not to become reckless with our lives
but so that we don’t forfeit our lives
by refusing to live them;
because there’s no other way
to experience the fullness of life that God offers.

Finding Nemo is a Disney movie,
so of course it has a happy ending.
We long for that happy ending in our own lives,
the moment when everything comes together and makes sense,
when we know we don't have to worry any more.
Our faith teaches us we can have that happy ending,
but not necessarily in this life.

In this life, God doesn’t promise
to always set things right.
But God promises to work for good in all circumstances.
God does not promise that we will not know suffering,
whether in the form of pain, of fear, of separation, or of grief;
But God does promise that suffering is not the final word,
that it is but one stage of the journey toward redemption.
And God promises to journey with us,
whether we pass through water or fire,
God has redeemed us and claimed us as God’s own.
God is the brave shepherd
and the careful woman
and the loving father
who seeks us out for relationship,
giving us the freedom to decide how we will live,
rejoicing with us when we choose life abundant in God’s care.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.


*from Movies that Matter, by Richard Leonard, p. 127.