The Blessed Blessing Kingdom

Text:  Matthew 5:1-16

Grace and peace to you through God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. 

Over the last nine months, we have been making our way through the Beatitudes, taking them one by one, spending three or four weeks on each one.   We’ve now made it completely through them, and this is the last sermon in this series.  But we aren’t done with the Beatitudes.  We can’t be.

The Beatitudes form the preamble for Jesus’ Kingdom Manifesto, his Sermon on the Mount.  Many people read the rest of the Sermon on the Mount like a set of idealistic commandments that no one can ever achieve.  “Jesus could fulfill them, but we can’t,” the thinking goes.  

We are experts at avoiding what God asks us to do.  Even so, we must remember that God’s grace does not begin with our obedience, it begins with Jesus’ obedience and the blessings that flow through him.  Jesus frees us to lives of obedience, to live life as God intended. 

Scattered Seeds: In Memory of Stephen

Text:  Acts 7:51-8:4

We have gathered together this morning in memory of our brother Stephen.  Stephen’s family has asked me to read his obituary before sharing the funeral message.

Obituary

Stephen, of Jerusalem, was put to death by stoning for his faith and testimony in Christ Jesus.  His death closely follows Jesus’ own death in both time and circumstances.

Stephen was a man who was admired and loved by many.  He was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ and relished his work among the people of the church.  He was among seven chosen by his faith community to lead the community’s sharing of goods.  He relished that role and carried it out in an equitable fashion with Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor,  Timon, Parmenus, and Nicolaus.

Stephen was worthy of people’s trust and gained a reputation for his compassion, his courage, and his pursuit of justice.  He did great signs and wonders among the people and was full of the Spirit, exhibiting wisdom, faith, and grace.  He was a faithful follower of Christ in both his life and his death.

Stephen is survived and missed by many brothers and sisters.  His family requests that memorial contributions be done through acts of forgiveness rather than revenge.

A memorial service will be held on Sunday, May 17, 2009, at 11:00 a.m. at Springdale Mennonite Church, with Mark Schloneger, Pastor, officiating. 

Pirates & The Galilean

Text:  Matthew 10:16-31

[Show Powerpoint slides with etchings from Martyrs Mirror]

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  (Matthew 5:10)

They seem so distant, so illusive,
these martyr memories –
sisters, brothers laying down their lives . . .
why?

They are etchings, not photographs.
They are shadows in black and white.
They are fading dreams of movie scenes,
so it seems.

But these mute stills, they had voices.
They spoke in tongues we don’t know.
“Into your hands, my spirit,” they say.
They pay.

And here we are, with those stories under our feet,
with carpet that is bright blood red –
its color ordered by us, made for us,
not with us.

Jesus walks to the cross, serving, suffering love,
and the bloody theater played on,
martyrs mirroring Jesus through time, and we?
Is there a need?

Look.  Can we see the vision they witness?
Listen.  Can we sing their unchained melody?
Can we count Christ’s blessings as his disciples’ cost,
defining loss?

They seem so distant, so illusive,
these martyr memories –
sisters, brothers laying down their lives . . .
why?

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  (Matthew 5:10)

The Long, Hard Slog

Text:  Genesis 33:1-11

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.  (Matthew 5:9)

“A long, hard slog.”  Those were the words that Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld used in a 2003 memo discussing the War on Terror.  In that memo, Rumsfeld wrote that the United States had no yardstick for measuring progress in the war on terrorism, had not “yet made truly bold moves” in fighting al-Qaeda and other terror groups, and was in for a “long, hard slog” in Iraq and Afghanistan.[1]

This memo made waves at the time because it contradicted the upbeat messages about progress in Iraq that were coming from other administration officials and Rumsfeld himself.  We all prefer the quick fixes, change without pain, safety without risk, security without relationship.  But there came a time when we needed to face the reality that this war would not be resolved quickly.  It would be a long hard slog, Rumsfeld said.  And it has proven to be. 

The Way of Mercy

[February 15, 2009]

Text:  Matthew 20:29-34

This is the road from Jericho to Jerusalem.  This is the dry, dusty road that reveals your direction, that exposes your destination.  

Oh, I know that sounds strange.  Normally, you are the one who chooses your direction, who determines your destination.  Normally, roads simply are your means to get to where you want to go.  That’s why some of you get out your Rand McNally’s, with its ripped edges, its dog-eared corners, its coffee-stained pages — you chart your course over mountains, through valleys.  That’s why some of you plug in addresses in Mapquest, Google, or Yahoo, trusting the computer to choose the fastest route for you.  And that’s why some of you simply use GPS, following the voice that tells you to “Turn left onto Hall School Road in 300 feet”, and you listen and obey so that you will have the most time-efficient trip possible.  But no matter what you use, you think you choose your roads, you think that you set your direction.   You think that roads are your tools, created for your purposes.  To get you from here to there.  

This road laughs at your ignorance.  This road —  this dry, dusty, Jericho to Jerusalem road – refuses to be used.  In Jesus’ story, this is the road on which the beaten, bruised, and bleeding traveler lay dying.  (Luke 10:25-37) When the priest and the Levite – the leaders of Israel – passed right on by, they were walking on this road.  This road exposed where they were headed.  It was far from the heart of God.   And when the foreigner, the Samaritan, stopped, fed, and cared for the wounded stranger, he was walking on this road.  This road showed that this stranger to the covenant was closer to the center of God’s own people that those who were honored as such. 

This road, this Jericho-Jerusalem Road, is a seventeen-mile stretch that exposes you for who you are. 

Service Entrance Only

Texts:  Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Mark 8:27-9:1

I google myself occasionally.  I’m not proud of it but proud enough to do it.  Now, there may be legitimate reasons to do a search of your own name, but I can’t claim them.  My reasons are a mixture of boredom, curiosity and vanity.  

If you google “Mark Schloneger”, you will find that Mark Schloneger is originally from Ohio.  Mark Schloneger attended Goshen College in the early 1990′s.  Mark Schloneger played baseball at Goshen College.  Mark Schloneger not only played baseball at Goshen College, Mark Schloneger was one of the best baseball players ever to attend Goshen College.   Mark Schloneger ranks among the all-time leaders in hits, runs, and stolen bases. 

Mark Schloneger drives me nuts.  I am originally from Ohio.  I attended Goshen College in the early 1990′s.  I like to consider myself a decent athlete.   But there is another Mark Schloneger out there, with a similar history, with the same middle initial, with a degree from the same college.  He followed in my footsteps, but it’s his name that’s memorialized in those on-line record books.  And he’s out there, lurking.  

Every now and then, people will ask me about playing baseball at Goshen College, and I know that they’ve googled me – or him.  It’s always a letdown when I have to say, “No, that wasn’t me, but let me tell you about my intramural sports career.”  I don’t know Mark Schloneger, but I know he must be stopped.  I’m afraid he’s going to claim my name completely. 

Releasing Our Captives (2 Chronicles 28:8-15)

“And Asaph was the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat was the father of Joram, and Joram was the father of Uzziah, amd Uzziah was the father of Jotham, and Jotham was the father of Ahaz.  (Matthew 1:8-9) 

Of the top ten ways to begin a sermon, that probably doesn’t make the list.  But about a year ago, around Christmas, I preached a sermon from Matthew 1 on the genealogy of Jesus.  I enjoyed preparing this sermon, because I spent hours looking up the stories of the people listed in the genealogy.  Many of these stories, I didn’t know very well, including the one from 2 Chronicles that we will look at in a little bit.

As I was looking up all those people, I was fascinated how one story would lead me to another story.  It felt like I was peeling an onion, coming to a deeper understanding of who Jesus is – both in his continuity with the people of Israel and in the completely new way that God was relating to his people. 

This morning, we’re going to peel the onion.   I’ve got three stories to tell.  These three stories connect to each other, and when we hear them – even if we know them well — I pray that the Holy Spirit will give us a deeper understanding of who God is and who God has called us to be.  I will offer little commentary as I tell these stories, trusting you to make the connections between them.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. 

Good to Great (Matthew 20:20-28)

In Matthew 20:20-28, Jesus is asked to put the sons of Zebedee in the places of honor next to Jesus’ throne.   But before we get to what’s happening here, we need to rewind the tape just a bit.  We need to set up the scene. 

Chapter 19.  A rich young man comes up to Jesus and asks him what he must do to inherit eternal life.  Jesus tells him to keep the commandments, to sell his possessions, and to follow him.  When this rich man found out that he would need to sacrifice his wealth, he went away sad.  The disciples see all this, and they talk with Jesus about what just happened.  And it’s here that Peter reminds Jesus:  “We have left everything to follow you.  What’s in it for us?” 

Jesus tells his disciples, “I tell you the truth, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.  And everyone who has left houses or brothers or fathers or mothers or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.  But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.”  (Matthew 19:28-30)

God’s Left-Overs (Zephaniah 3:8-13)

I’ve written a poem to begin my message this morning.  I trust that you are able to recognize this as particularly good poetry by the fact that it rhymes and it uses words like “’tis” and “’twas” and “ye.”  I would like for you to imagine this poem being read in a British accent, just because I think poems sound deeper in the British language.  This poem is much, much deeper than even I know. 

You sat there in the fridge
so silent and bare,
your warm glass house
has become chilled Tupperware.

The crisp on your top
’twas once your pride
’tis now soggy mush
just like your inside.

O my microwaved meal!
How I long for ye days of old,
when ye were piping hot
underneath a bread crumb gold.

My lukewarm lunch,
my leftover casserole.

Beautiful, isn’t it?  You don’t hear much poetry about leftovers.  Leftovers don’t inspire normal  people to verse.  To haughtiness.  They don’t produce the passion necessary for creativity. 

But that’s the very reason why our scripture this morning seems so odd.  Zephaniah 3:8-13 is a prophetic poem about leftovers.  God’s leftovers.

The Stewardship of Pain (2 Corinthians 1:1-11)

[In the message this past Sunday, we went through this 2 Corinthians passage verse by verse via Powerpoint slides.  Here are some excerpts from that sermon.]

 ”This is a message for those of you who lie awake nights with thoughts swirling through your brain, trying to explain the unexplainable.  This is a message for those of you who are distracted, preoccupied during the day, running here and there, caught in that cruel in-between state:   not truly awake, not able to sleep.  This is a message for those of you who desire to celebrate resurrection but remain stuck in the grief of Good Friday.  This is a message for you who were present at our beautiful Easter service but are still waiting for Christ to rise in your life.”  (Sermon, “On the Road”; 4/6/2008) 

Do any of you remember those words?  It’s okay if you don’t.  But I remember them well.  I remember them because I said them.  In a sermon last April. 

I remember those words not because I think they are eloquent or profound, not because I have a steel-trap memory of everything I’ve said.  (You know, I forget my sermons, too.)  No, the reason why I remember those words is because of how hard it was for me to speak them — they so closely described where I was at that time.  

Two weeks after Easter.  Two and a half weeks after Sarah’s father died unexpectedly.  On that Sunday, we read from Luke’s gospel about two grieving disciples who were met by the Risen Lord on their walk to Emmaus.  On that Sunday, I wanted my message to communicate God’s comfort to you who were grieving, mourning.  But the truth is, and was, that I needed that same message.  That’s what made it so difficult.  On that morning, I could barely preach through my own tears.