Praying with Jesus: Temptation and Evil

Text:  1 Corinthians 10:1-17

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

When I was very young, my family lived in a tall yellow house in rural Ohio.  It seemed like our backyard was carved out from the acres of fields that my uncle farmed.   I remember our backyard as an endless meadow of green grass where I played baseball, caught butterflies, escaped bees, and chased down Frisbees, barefoot, with my neighbor Clint and my cousins Brad and Wendy.  

But memory and reality don’t always play nice.  When I happen to drive past that house today, my mind tries to reject what my eyes see:  a house now in disrepair  . . . with a modestly-sized backyard, at best. 

On the edge of our property, in between a field and our lawn, there was a wild space, untouched by either plow or mower.  It was where the tall weeds grew, untamed and unruly, tangled up with each other.  When I was very young, before our family moved away, my parents’ punishment of choice was to send their disobedient children to the wild space to cut down thistles.  This was for felonies, not misdemeanors — for lies, for punches, for backtalk, for out-of-control tantrums.  My two older brothers remember this vividly.  It’s fuzzier for me, but I too remember shamefully doing battle with those pricking and poking monsters looming on the perimeter. 

Praying with Jesus: Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

Text:  Exodus 16:1-8, 13-15, 31-36

Two weeks ago, we began reflecting on the Lord’s Prayer.  This week, we are looking at a part of the Lord’s Prayer that, for a long time, I kind of stumbled over – at least when I truly thought what I was praying:  “Give us this day our daily bread.”  

I am thankful to God for my food, but I know that I have bread in the pantry, in the freezer, and if not, then there are whole grocery store aisles full of bread that I can buy.  I imagine that would be true for most of us here.  But, of course, that’s not true for everyone. 

I want you to imagine that the people who have gathered here this morning represent the entire world’s population.  I’ve invited 23 people to stand up.  That’s because, today, one in six people in the world went to bed hungry last night.  One in six people woke up this morning not knowing if they would have enough food to fill this cup.  One in six is chronically hungry, right now.  One in six.  Every six seconds a child dies, hungry.  These people standing up represent over one billion people who could pray for their daily bread not knowing when or if they will eat it.  And the world hunger rates are climbing.[1] 

I want you to keep standing just a second.  While these people, one in six, go to bed hungry each night, wake up hungry each morning, and are hungry right now, nearly two out of three American adults are overweight or obese, right now.  And the obesity rate is climbing.  If trends continue the way they have been, the number of overweight or obese Americans will be nearly nine out of ten in twenty years, 86 percent.[2]  (You can sit down)

Praying with Jesus: Your Kingdom Come, Your Will Be Done

Text:  Matthew 26:36-46

In the garden, alone, you can hear the whispers  . . . if you listen: 

“You must act or be acted upon.” 
“You must assert your will or lose your will.”
“Make history or be history.”
“In this world, you are either a player or a victim.”
“It’s your choice.” 
“It’s your destiny.”
“‘Be all that you can be’ or ‘be less than what you could have been.’” 

In the garden, those are your choices, you’re told.  It’s one or the other.  And the questioner, the tempter, waits for your response.  What will you choose?  

I don’t think it’s an accident that Jesus winds up in a garden, alone, on the night of his arrest.  The way the Bible tells it, all of history seems to come full circle between two gardens, the Garden of Eden and the Garden of Gethsemane.  In the garden, Jesus faces the same whispers presenting the same choices offering the same fates to Adam and Eve before him.   It’s one or the other, he’s told.  And the questioner, the tempter, waits for his response.  What will he choose?

Praying with Jesus: Hallowed Be Your Name

Text:  Ezekiel 36:20-32; Matthew 6:9

“Fish cough.”  Did you know that?  It’s true, because the bottom of this Snapple cap says so.  Fish, they cough.  It’s settled.  Now you know. 

“The average speed of a house fly is 4.5 miles per hour.”  Yeah, I’d say that’s seems about right. 

“Cats can hear ultrasound.”  And that’s why Patches isn’t allowed in the hospital. 

“Caller ID is illegal in California.”  The crank caller lobby must be strong in the Golden State. 

“A ball of glass will bounce higher than a ball of rubber.”  Don’t believe it?  Read the cap and weep. 

During our long road trip out west last summer, I drank several bottles of Snapple ice tea along the way, and there are “Real Facts” printed underneath the caps.  We saved the bottles to recycle them, but I kept the caps.  Just in case.  They have random bits of information that make you go, “hmm . . . I did not know that.”  “Okay, so what’s the point,” you ask? 

I understand the question.  Although these facts may be true, and I have no reason to believe they aren’t, what good is this information?  I mean, what is the point?  Yes, fish cough, but you can’t put NyQuil in the fish tank.  These facts deserve to go out with the recycling. 

In order for something to have real meaning to us, in order for something to transform the way we think, to change the way we act, it must be internalized and expressed.  It can’t be kept at a distance, random, separate and alone. 

The Unveiling

[A meditation at the memorial service for my grandma, Irene Schloneger; Beech Mennonite Church (Louisville, Ohio) ; May 1, 2009]

I was happy when I saw how I’ve been identified in the order of service printed in the bulletins:  “Mark Schloneger, Grandson.”  That’s because I struggled with knowing what to say, what to say about Grandma, what to say to you, until I stopped trying to be anything more than that:  Mark Schloneger, Grandson.  When I prepared this message, I felt less like an adult, less like a father of two soon-to-be-three children, less like a husband, less like a pastor, than I felt like a young boy grasping for his grandma.

How to Pray

Text:  Matthew 6:5-15

I’ve got a story for you.  It’s a love story.  I always feel a little embarrassed sharing this story, but here it goes anyway.

It’s about Sarah, my wife.  I met Sarah at Goshen College.  The first thing that I noticed about her was her laugh.  I like to think that I have a pretty good sense of humor, but I realize that Sarah makes me feel much funnier than I actually am.  She has a great laugh, and she uses it often.  From the first time I met her, I thought that she was fun to be around, full of joy, compassionate.  When you add up all that plus good looks . . . well, what can I say? 

A couple years following graduation, Sarah and I went up to a park overlooking the city of Cincinnati, and I asked her to marry me.  (She said yes.)  There are two things on my list of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen:  (1) The walls of the Grand Canyon at sunrise, and (2) Sarah’s face on the day that we got engaged. 

Peace

9:11 Project

(Last Sunday, we as a congregation discussed Jesus’ Parable of the Talents [Matthew 25:14-30] and began a project together called “The 9:11 Project:  An Exercise in Generosity.”    The project’s name is taken from 2 Corinthians 9:11.   If you click “Keep reading” below, you will find both sides of the bulletin insert and answers to “Frequently Asked Questions”.   I’m excited that we’re doing this. )

Welcoming Jesus

 Text:  Mark 9:30-37

It has been over seven years since I’ve seen a little girl named Dianora.  I think about her, though.  In my mind, Dianora will always be a baby.  Her grandmother, Alicia, cradled her in her arms when she knocked on the door of our house in Mozambique.  She was looking for my wife, Sarah.  Dianora weighed seven pounds, six ounces. 

Dianora’s mother had died shortly after giving birth.  We didn’t know her, and we didn’t know how she died.  But it could have been HIV/AIDS, complications during the delivery, malaria.  It could have been anything, really. 

Dianora’s grandmother Alicia was too old to care for a baby, but she did the best that she could with what little she had.  She conscientiously brought Dianora to the Special Attention Clinic for at-risk babies.  That’s how she got to know Sarah. 

Dianora’s full name is Dianora Alberto.  In Mozambique and in other places in Africa, it is tradition to have your father’s name as your last name.  Alberto was Dianora’s father.  When Grandma Alicia needed to travel for a few weeks, she left her granddaughter in Alberto’s care.  But Alberto was an alcoholic, and he was a father in name only.

When Alicia returned home from her trip, she found Dianora too weak to eat, too weak to cry.  That’s when Alicia came knocking on our door.  At that time, Dianora weighed seven pounds, six ounces.  She was ten months old. 

Sarah took Alicia and Dianora to the hospital and arranged for Dianora’s admission.  I wrote these words on a piece of paper. 

Yesterday’s sigh
is named Dianora Alberto,
clinging to life
like a forgetting tragedy. 

A shiver
and a twitch, you are
barely enough
to barely remember. 

Who sees you, Dianora? 

Profit and Loss

Text:  Mark 8:27-9:1

It is my habit to reserve Fridays to prepare for Sundays.  I look forward to Fridays.  On Fridays, I clear my desk of all the mail and the coffee cups and the meeting minutes and the three-ring binders and the sticky notes that provide archeological evidence of my work throughout the week.  

And I make space for my Bible, for articles that I’ve picked up along the way, for new sticky notes.  (I love sticky notes.)  This has become somewhat of a ritual for me, a way to begin my work preparing for Sunday’s sermon.  I don’t want clutter when I’m thinking and praying and meditating on God’s word.  My desk has got to be clean so that I can concentrate.  

I like Fridays.  I like it that our church building is quiet.  I like it that often I am the only one here, that I am able to be alone, that my attention and focus can turn to what God is saying through scripture. 

And so, last Friday, I prepared this sermon at Starbucks in Waynesboro.