Sermon | Spring Hill Presbyterian Church

Sermon

August 13, 2017: Rev. Dr. Buz Wilcoxon

What’s in a name? My full name is Searcy Allen Wilcoxon, IV. That’s quite a mouthful. Before I was born, my parents knew that this is what they were going to legally name me, but they didn’t have a clue what they were going to call me. Unlike someone who is a Jr. or a Third, there are no good nicknames for someone who is the fourth. Thankfully they didn’t decide to call me “Cuarto.” So, before I arrived they had this quandary over what to call me. And like many large families, their decision quickly became a group project. My great-aunt, that is my grandfather’s sister, noticed that my initials, SAW, spelled the word saw, and so she sarcastically said, “You can call him whatever you want, but I’ll call him my little buzz saw.” It was a joke. She wasn’t being serious…but it stuck. I had a friend in high school who once told me, “Wow, just imagine how different your life would be if she had said “chainsaw” instead of “buzz saw.”

Isaac also got his name from a family joke. A long, joyful, wonderful, laughter-producing joke between God and his parents, Abraham and Sarah. The name Isaac means laughter. It’s the final punchline to the story, but of course the set-up lines weren’t nearly as joyful.

Abraham and Sarah had been called away from their home, called by God’s voice with nothing but a promise to go on. God promised them a family, and a homeland, and a blessing that would spill out into the rest of the world, blessing all the families of the earth. They had been called and they had followed…but that was 24 years ago. 24 years! A lot can change in that long of a time.

Over the last 24 years, Abraham and Sarah had fumbled through life, continuing to wander and to wonder if God would ever live up to these promises. In fact, it had been so long of a time, and they were so old now that they seem to have given up. Maybe deep down in their heart of hearts they still believed, but in the minds they had moved on past that silly hope. They sought to live their lives in the real world not in some fantasy land of dreams.

Now, in today’s world we wouldn’t dare use the word “barren” to refer to a couple experiencing decades of infertility. We are more aware and sensitive to the pains, struggles, and grief that these situations cause in our world and in our families. But in the ancient world, including in the pages of scriptures, that was the image that was used. Bareness—a landscape without life. In the book of Genesis, Sarah, and Rebekah, and Leah are all called “barren” because they are unable to have children. Centuries later, after the Jewish people are conquered by their enemies and their population is taken into exile, the land itself is spoken of metaphorically as a woman who is barren, who has no children. While we as modern people with modern sensibilities may not be comfortable with this outdated language, we need to be aware that when bareness is spoken of in these places in scripture, it is done with a theological purpose in mind. In these stories the life-giving God of creation miraculously overcomes these natural conditions with something supernatural. The final and fullest link in this chain of bareness comes in the New Testament, when Mary, a virgin, conceives a child—something that should be biologically impossible. She is in this long line of biblical women who are a part of God’s covenant story of making a way where there seems no way.

And when our story begins today, Abraham and Sarah have been without a way for so long that they’ve just gotten used to it. By now Sarah was ninety and Abraham was ninety nine. This is just the way things work.

Then, something truly unexpected occurs. God decides to make a surprise visit to Abraham and Sarah disguised in the form of three men who wander up as guests. One of the guests speaks words that sound very odd. He says, “Very soon Sarah shall have a son.” Sarah can’t help but laugh. She tries to hold it in but she laughs. She laughs at the ridiculous notion. Me? 90 years old having a child? I should be in the geriatric unit, not the maternity ward. Sarah laughs at what doesn’t make sense. Elsewhere in the story, Abraham laughs as well. They laughs at what is unexpected. Just like we would. Just like we do. A little child laughs a Peekaboo because they don’t expect what they see. We laugh at a comedian who weaves a surprise into a story that starts out so ordinary. That day, Sarah laughed at the unexpected.

And for years to come, Abraham and Sarah would look back and laugh at themselves. Laugh at how little they knew of what God was up to. For Sarah does conceive. She has a son and they name him, Laughter. Isaac. A constant reminder of the joy and wonder of God’s promise kept. The punchline to the long divine joke. She says, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”

The heart of this story, the hinge of the whole series of event lies in the question that God asks to the old couple: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” Is anything impossible for the life-giving, love-sharing, promise-keeping God?

Most days we live our lives like Abraham and Sarah, with our minds focused on our daily tasks and the worries of our world. Both can completely consume our time, our energy, our efforts, our stamina. It’s not so much that actively disbelieve the loving promises of God, but we just art thinking about them. Things like peace, things like love, things like hope and grace and freedom and truth, are honestly, too long in coming these days. We’ve been waiting so long that we’ve forgotten what exactly we’re waiting for. There’s all the horror and division and brokenness of the world…and we’ve got to get the groceries, get dinner on the table, get organized, get to work. We’ve got threats of nuclear war with North Korea; we’ve got violent white supremacists in Virginia…and for crying out loud, it’s the first week of school! At times it feels like we’ve move so far backwards, and there’s so much that has to be done!

We can go through our lives with days, weeks, years that seem closed to wonder, devoid of joy, silently ignoring what it most real and most true. But then, at times that we least expect it, it happens—a surprise visit from God. Sometimes in the words of strangers, sometimes in the rustles of the leaves in the breeze, sometimes in the silence of the sleepless night, sometimes in the in the odd reflection of light, sometimes in the voice of a child. Out of nowhere, we hear it. We hear the promises again and maybe, just maybe, it makes us laugh. We might deny it, but yes, yes we did laugh. To think that it might be true? After all these years? After all this brokenness? To think that we might have hope indeed. That we might find joy at last. That we might truly belong to a God who loves us and all people more than we could ever imagine!

From the pages of scripture we learn that God is in the business of making a way where there seems no way. What seems barren will be filled with life and laughter. What seems lost will be found. What we have broken will be healed and redeemed. What is covered in deep darkness with shine in radiant light. What seems dead, will be raised again in glory. Tears will be whipped from our eyes. Sins will be forgiven. Hunger will be satisfied. Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? In Washington and North Korea, in Charlottesville and in Mobile, in our lives, our families, our schools, our community, is anything too wornderful for the Lord?

What God is able to do through us? What God is able to mold, to create, to build through us? To build a future. To build a hope. To build a promise.

There’s a passage from the book of Isaiah, that very same one I mentioned before, where the whole kingdom is compared to a barren woman because the people are lost through warfare, slavery, and exit—a mother without her children. Then God speaks up and promises that children will come, children will grow. God says, “All your children shall be taught by the Lord,” All your children shall be taught by the Lord. That’s quite a message for Back to School Sunday.

There is an old Jewish midrash teaching about that passage which is based on a play on words…a joke, if you will. The Hebrew word “banayich” means your children, but “bonaich” means your builders. So an ancient rabbi reading the text to his congregations said, don’t read “All your children.” Read, “All your builders.” It was a reminder that all of us (not just children) are called to be builders—builders of God’s promises. All of us are called to be students of God, taught by God’s word. All of us are called to learn, to live, to laugh as those who are working and waiting on God’s promises.

So, as we leave worship today, as we head out into a world filled with so much hate and fear, so much brokenness and discord, let us all, children of God, go out as builders of God’s covenant promises. Let us go out to be blessings for all God’s children, all races, all ages. Let us go to work building the kingdom, as our all-loving God has the last laugh.

Scripture

Genesis 18 & 21 (selected verses)

The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, ‘My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.’ So they said, ‘Do as you have said.’

They said to him, ‘Where is your wife Sarah?’ And he said, ‘There, in the tent.’ Then one said, ‘I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.’ And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, ‘After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?’ The Lord said to Abraham, ‘Why did Sarah laugh, and say, “Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?” Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.’ But Sarah denied, saying, ‘I did not laugh’; for she was afraid. He said, ‘Oh yes, you did laugh.’

The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him. And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him. Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Now Sarah said, ‘God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.’ And she said, ‘Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.’

Sermon

August 6, 2017: Rev. Anna Fulmer

Last week, God tells Abram to go from what is familiar to a land that God will show him. After that, after some wandering, some trickery in Egypt, God shows Abram that land. God makes a covenant, a promise with Abram. He tells Abram to count the stars, that that is how great him descendants will be. God tells Abram that his descendants will have this land. Right after that promise, we find our story from today. It is a difficult story, a story of a complex and dysfunctional family. It is an important story not just for the Christian and Jewish traditions but our Muslim brothers and sisters. Islam traces its history back to Hagar and Abram’s child, Ishmael.

So let us hear Gen. 16:1-16

At Montreat, the preacher Aisha Brooks Lytle had a mantra she had us repeat over and over. She referenced it for another passage and for her own life. I would challenge, it’s not just a mantra for one story in the Bible, but all of the Bible, especially our passage today. I think it must have been Hagar’s mantra, Abram and Sarai’s mantra. The mantra goes and join in when you have it: “When it all falls apart Lord keep me together.”

This story is full of anguish and pain. It is a hard text, especially because we know what comes next. God gives Abram a promise. He does not explain to Abram how he is going to fulfil this promise. And God does not give this promise to Sarai. In Chapter 15, he gives it to Abram. You could say that Abram and Sarai don’t believe in God’s promise—and maybe that’s true. “Faith in a God whose promise takes too long” is difficult.[1] But we know, as well as Sarai that God works through human agency. Sometimes, God’s promises comes true because of our initiative. It reminds me of the common tale of the man in the middle of a hurricane, with flood waters rising who lets a boat and a helicopter go by because he knows God will save him. He drowns and once in heaven, he asks why God did not save him. God says, I sent a boat and helicopter!” Sometimes we have to choose to get in the boat, and realize human action can be from God.

Sarai takes action. She does not wait for this promise to come true—she works to make it come true. Sarai is old—she’s 75. And Abram had been promised children. So Sarai makes a self-sacrificing move. She allows Abram to take Hagar, her slave-girl as his wife. This is a common practice in their culture—later, Rachel and Leah do this too. Hagar and Sarai must have been close for Sarai to trust her, and do this. But once Hagar is pregnant, Hagar gets a little sassy and Sarai gets jealous and hurt. It is shameful to be barren, and Sarai is barren while Hagar is not. Instead of speaking to Hagar, Sarai goes to Abram, which makes sense in this culture—the man, the patriarch holds the power. Abram is both of their husbands, and so he has the potential to be their mediator. Maybe Abram can help them reconcile. Instead, Abram washes his hands clean; he does nothing. Abram does not admit his responsibility, and gives Sarai the power to do as she pleases. Sarai deals harshly with Hagar; she beats Hagar. Hagar runs away. Notice, Sarai’s cruelty and anger are not the only faults—Abram’s inaction is also to blame. When it all falls apart, Lord keep me together.

Soon, the focus in not on Abram and Sarai—it is on God and Hagar. Hagar runs. This family is getting messy, and she is getting pummeled. God finds her near Shur, which is on the way to Egypt. It’s ironic that “Hagar can find more freedom in Egypt than with God’s chosen people.”[2] God’s chosen couple, Abram and Sarai are not a blessing to her but feel more like a curse. God speaks to Hagar saying, “Hagar, where have you come from and where are you going?” For the first time in this story, someone addresses Hagar directly by name. God speaks to her. For the first time, someone asks Hagar a question. Up until this point, Hagar has been the topic of many conversations, but she has been objectified. She has been given no choice, no voice. Hagar answers this angel and a conversation ensues. The angel tells Hagar to go back. Everything in my body wants to tell Hagar, “No! Don’t go back! Are you crazy?” But the angel gives her a promise, that her offspring will be numerous, maybe as numerous as the stars. She will bear a son, and call him Ishmael. It reminds me of a conversation another angel has with a poor, unknown woman Mary. The angel tells her she will also have a son and will name it Jesus. Who knew Mary had a sister named Hagar?

God promises Hagar that her son will be a wild ass of a man; her son will be free. He will not be submissive or obedient but will fight against controlling powers. For Hagar, a slave-girl with no power, who has been beaten and battered—this is good news. This is hope and redemption.

She knows that this angel, is the Lord. She recognizes God when she sees him, and so she names God, El-roi—the God who sees me. There is mutual vision, sight happening. God sees Hagar for who she truly is; and Hagar in turn sees God for who God truly is.

Hagar is special. She is a woman of faith. She is the first person to be encountered by God—God only comes to Abram in a vision. She is the first woman given promises. She is the only person in the Old Testament to name God. God tells her to name her child, Ishmael, which means God hears. The God who sees and the God who hears. For a woman who is never seen nor heard, what amazing and radical news. God calls Hagar by name and in turn, Hagar names God, then God names her child. By the end of this story, I end up admiring Hagar, the slave-girl more than her master and his wife. When it all falls apart, God keeps Hagar together.

What does it say to us that the person lifted up in this story is the outsider, the one who is rejected by God’s “chosen couple?” This story is a warning: it shows how easily the liberated can become the oppressor. We think of Abram and Sarai as God’s it couple, but as soon as they are given God’s freeing promise, they oppress and dehumanize Hagar. Throughout Israel’s history this pattern has happened, with Abram and Sarai, the Israelites freedom from the Egyptians and conquering of other powers and stomping upon the oppressed in their society, David and Bathsheba, and so many more. We must be careful we do not hurt any of God’s children. Second, I think it means that God is not ethnocentric. God is not only committed to Abram and Sarai but to Hagar too. God is passionate. God loves and gives promises to the least of these, the outsiders. For Sarai and others in power, this sometimes feels like a threat. Third, it means that God loves and chooses Hagar and Ishmael too, not just Abram and Sarai’s child. Ishmael’s birth is a genuine fulfilment to God’s promise to Abram, just as Isaac’s birth is a fulfillment too.[3] Both are God’s chosen and beloved children. Fourth, we see Hagar’s faith. The faith of an outsider, a slave, a foreigner, an Egyptian. She sees a future of non-oppression, of freedom from people like Abram and Sarai for her child. And she waits. She has seen God. She knows that sometimes salvation takes the form of waiting. Hagar through her actions almost seems to say, “I am going to embrace a vision of myself that says I am more than the sum total of the brutal acts committed against me. I am more than all of the hateful, hurtful actions and words that try to crush my being. For I am nothing less than a child of God. I am seen and heard by God.” (adapted from Eugene Rivers). When it all falls apart, Lord keep me together.

This story and family is messy. Newsflash: the Bible is messy. Life is messy. Giving birth is messy. For those of us who have been hurt before, who have been outsiders, who have felt powerless, and trapped by conditions outside our control, this is good news. Hagar gives us hope. Through her, we know that God sees and God hears. God comes to us in the wilderness, and offers salvation, blessings and hope for our broken bodies. God’s promises are for all, not just for the Abram’s and Sarai’s of the world. God offers blessing, hope, and care for those who are outside the chosen people. God’s promises are all, even for slave-girls from Egypt, for Hagars across the world. So may our mantra, our prayer today be, that when it all falls apart, Lord keep me together. Amen.

[1] Walter Brueggemann, Interpretation: Genesis, 151.

[2] New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, 452.

[3] New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, 453.

Scripture

Gen. 16:1-16

Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, bore him no children. She had an Egyptian slave-girl whose name was Hagar, and Sarai said to Abram, “You see that the Lord has prevented me from bearing children; go in to my slave-girl; it may be that I shall obtain children by her.” And Abram listened to the voice of Sarai. So after Abram had lived ten years in the land of Canaan, Sarai, Abrams wife, took Hagar the Egyptian, her slave-girl and gave her to her husband Abram as a wife. He went in to Hagar, and she conceived; and when she saw that she had conceived, she looked with contempt on her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, “May the wrong done to me be on you! I gave my slave-girl to your embrace, and when she saw that she had conceived, she looked on me with contempt. May the Lord judge between you and me! But Abram said to Sarai, “Your slave-girl is in your power; do to her as you please.” Then Sarai dealt harshly with her, and she ran away from her.

The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur. And he said, “Hagar, salve-girl of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?” She said, “I am running away from my mistress Sarai.” The angel of the Lord said to her, “Return to your mistress, and submit to her.” The angel of the Lord also said to her, “I will so greatly multiply your offspring that they cannot be counted for multitude.” And the angel of the Lord said to her, “Now you have conceived and shall bear a son; you shall call him Ishmael, for the Lord has given heed to your affliction. He shall be a wild ass of a man, with his hand against everyone, and everyone’s hand against him; and he shall live at odds with all his kin.” So she named the Lord who spoke to her, “You are El-roi; for she said, “Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing him?” Therefore the well was called Beer-lahai-roi; it lies between Kadesh and Bered.

Hagar bore Abram a son; and Abram named his son, whom Hagar bore, Ishmael. Abram was 86 years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.

This is the Word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

Sermon

August 30, 2017: Rev. Dr. Buz Wilcoxon

This summer we have been on a grand adventure. We have travelled through some of the most amazing stories of the Bible all in the book of Genesis. We have encountered the majesty of God displayed from the very beginning, when God spoke all of creation into being. We have seen how God formed humanity, male and female in God’s own image—How the human story of sin and pride leads us away from our creator, but how God refuses to abandon us. We have experienced death and tragedy at the personal level with Cain and Abel and at the global level with Noah and the great Flood. If we were in a theatre watching these stories unfold, we would call this a grand epic, with a stage full of characters from all parts of creation. The full orchestra plays mighty majestic music throughout these scenes.

But today, the story takes a new turn. Instead of the massive stage full of all humanity, the lights dim down, all grows dark and silent. Then, to our complete surprise a spotlight turns on. A single bright beam of radiance shines on just two lone figures standing on the stage. They are the only ones we can see. The orchestra is quiet but then a single violin begins to play. It’s a theme that sounds like the one we have heard before, and yet it is stark in its loneliness and longing.

That’s what the book of Genesis does right here. It turns its attention away from the great grand cosmic stories to one lone couple, Abram and Sarai—we will come to know them as Abraham and Sarah. Now, we are no longer telling the story of humanity. Now, we are telling a family story—a particular family story about a particular man and woman and those who follow after them.

We have our own family stories. Some based on our own memories, others that have been handed down to us through the generations. Stories of joy and pain, of humor and tragedy. Stories of survival and defeat.

When my children spend time with my parents (their grandparents), one of their favorite things to do is to hear stories—stories about family members from a long time ago. They love to hear about when their parents were kids and did dumb things like taking a stick that was a pretend sword and slaying a dragon that was really the family car. They love to hear about when their grandparents were young—which seems like ancient history to them. They’ve heard about their great great-grandmother who was mean as a snake, and their great great-grandfather who used to take his teeth out of his mouth to gum down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

As they’ve grown older they’ve started learning how to ask questions about these stories. Some of those questions are the kind that lead to the telling of stories…this is often used as a stalling tactic before going to be. But they also have started asking questions about details from the tales to fill the gaps in their minds. To connect the dots in the family memory. Slowly, over time, they are picking up the themes and motifs of their family history, learning how their story goes as they prepare to write its next chapter themselves. One day they may pass along these stories to generations yet to come.

Abraham and Sarah’s story, this family story, begins in complete and utter mystery. Abraham was born in the city of Ur, one of the oldest cities in the world. In time, his father decided to move their large tribal family to a more prosperous land called Haran. There, they supposed they would live for generations, building upon the wealth of their ancestors. This was the plan. This was the place. This was where they were going to put down their roots, to settle down for the long haul, to work for the Akkadian Dream.

But then one night something completely unexpected occurred. Something mysterious! Something that wasn’t part of the plan. That night, Abraham couldn’t fall asleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, but something was keeping him up. He kissed his wife Sarah, who was fast asleep, and walked outside to get some fresh air, to clear his mind under the starlight. And then he heard it. A voice. A real voice. More real than anything he had ever heard before in his life. He didn’t know where the voice was coming from, he was all alone…he thought. The voice sad. “Go!” Go! Go away from this place where your father has settled, where you plan to live out your days in wealth and happiness. Go to a new land that I will show you. Because from you I am going to make something new. Something wonderful to behold. Out of you and Sarah I am going to mold a family that will grow into a nation one day, and in you all the families of the earth will be blessed.” The voice stopped. There was dead silence. But like an echo that would not quit reverberating and repeating Abraham heard in his mind, that one word over and over, “Go. Go. GO!”

As marvelous and mysterious as that night’s encounter was, the next morning brought a new marvel of it’s own. In the light of day, Abram summoned his courage and the shared this story with his wife. He told her all about the voice and the instruction to go and the promise about a land and a family and blessing the whole earth. He knew it all sounded so ridiculous and foolish, but he had to share it with her. When he finished he asked her, “So, what do you think?” Sarah paused for a moment to let the full meaning of this story sink in and then after taking a deep breath she said, “I think we need to go. We need to trust.” Abraham nodded. That’s what he thought as well. And so their remarkable adventure into the unknown began.

They packed up everything they had and heading out with nothing but a promise from a voice. Their journey of faith. Their journey of trust. Their absurd journey that didn’t make any sense to the rest of the world. The voice of God that night had promised land and family and blessing, but all the evidence around them, all the ways that the real world works told a different story. A story of scarcity and failure. You cannot have this land, someone else already lives there. You can’t have a family, you’re far too old for children. You can’t be a blessing to others because you can’t even survive on your own, wandering around helpless, homeless, aimless, useless. And yet somehow, mysteriously, these two lone figures embraced the promises that God gave them, they followed the course of wonder that God had laid out. They trusted. They trusted God…well, most of the time.

For as their family story unfolds we come to learn that they had their moments of weakness and distrust just like any of us would. They had their moments when they did not face their situation with faith, but with fear. Moments when they sought to take matters into their own hands, to make their own future, to mold their own destiny and failed miserably. They lie. They cheat. They miss the point, time and time again. And this family story gets worse and worse in the generations that follow. Brokenness and bruises, lies and betrayals, dysfunction and anger, fear and death.

Their story is so much like our own. We may love to tell children or grandchildren or nieces and nephews those fun tales about their ancestors, but there are certainly other family stories that we don’t tell them—that are too painful or embarrassing to share. We don’t tell them the one about the family member who lost his job because of his problems with alcohol. We don’t tell them about the time that the family had to skip town to run away from debt. We don’t tell them about the run ins with the law. We don’t tell them those stories of betrayal, brokenness, abuse, abandonment, of hypocrisy and hate, of failures and tragedy. Not yet. Not till they’re older. Honestly, we don’t know many of those stories ourselves. We are shocked to find them out later some new truth, some hard truth, about someone we love. Those broken stories aren’t just about people who have gone before us, they are our stories as well. Our lives are filled with so much disappointment, failure, fear, and scarcity. So much that is cracked, or even shattered by our sin and our shortcomings.

The truth is, that was the story of Abraham and Sarah, of Hagar and Ishmael, of Isaac and Rebekah, of Jacob and Esau, of Joseph and his brothers. This family is possibly the most dysfunctional family in all of human history! And yet, of all people, God makes a covenant with them. God chooses them. God promises through them to bless all the families of the earth.

Their family story is a story of God keeping promises, no matter what!

And we are a part of this same story as well. All of us, with all our brokenness and hardship, full of so much pain and sin. And yet God calls us. God choses us. Sometimes in the darkness of night, sometimes in the light of day. The scandal of faith is that God calls us, even us, in spite of all the reasons that we know we don’t deserve it. All the reasons that we aren’t up to the task. God calls us anyway and says, “Go. Go. GO!” And in response to this wonder, this mystery that we can neither explain nor comprehend, in response to the ridiculous grace of God, we go. We go. On journeys of faith that we cannot predict. We go to new promised lands of freedom and sacrifice, new vistas of love and radical hospitality, new horizons of trust and hope. We go where we know we are going to fail, where we know there isn’t enough, where we know we aren’t enough. We go to the places and moments in our lives that fill us with fear, that challenge all our assumptions about the world, that force us let go of what we once thought was so important. We go, because our story, our family story in this family, is the story of God’s covenant.

Our family story is the story of God keeping promises, no matter what!

Scripture

Genesis 12:1-8

Now the Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. ²I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. ³I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.’

4So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot [his nephew] went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. ⁵Abram took his wife Sarai and his brother’s son Lot, and all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran; and they set forth to go to the land of Canaan. When they had come to the land of Canaan, ⁶Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. ⁷Then the Lord appeared to Abram, and said, ‘To your offspring^* I will give this land.’ So he built there an altar to the Lord, who had appeared to him. ⁸From there he moved on to the hill country on the east of Bethel, and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east; and there he built an altar to the Lord and invoked the name of the Lord.

Sermon
July 16, 2017 Rev. Dr. Buz Wilcoxon

I remember it like it was yesterday. August 2005. Ryann and I were on a vacation in Savannah, GA. We had made a promise to each other that we weren’t going to be using our phones at all (and this was before the days that you could get email and Facebook on your phone). We were in a beautiful city, exploring the sights, enjoying delicious food. I only made Ryann take a tour of 3 historic churches while we were there. We wanted to be away, to be disconnected. We hadn’t even turned on the TV for the first few days we were there. But one afternoon we had a little bit of down time before dinner. And, out of habit, I turned on the T.V. Whoever had stayed in our room the previous week must have been of a different theological persuasion than we were, because the TV immediately turned on to the 700 Club hosted by Pat Robertson.

That’s when I saw it. A map; and right in the middle was a picture I had grown up recognizing. It was a hurricane. A big hurricane, in the Gulf of Mexico, heading straight toward my family in South Alabama. I turned up the volume and heard all about the power of this storm named Katrina. We broke our promise to avoid our phones, and I started calling everyone back home in Mobile and Fairhope to check on them. It was one of the most destructive storms in the history of our country. The death toll that it left was over 1,200 human lives. It ravaged such destruction that some places still, 12 years later, have not rebuilt. Entire populations were displaced. In New Orleans the storm lead to the horrors of the Superdome, Memorial Medical Center, the Danziger Bridge shootings—waves of human depravity, violence, and corruption.

Of course, I was in Georgia for those days, just watching on TV, but many of you were right here on the coast, living through the storm. I don’t have to tell you about it. You could tell your own tales of it’s destructive power. You could tell your own accounts of how “the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened.” And you could tell your own storm stories of the sacrifice, the bravery, the compassion, the righteousness of those who responded to the disaster not with their worst but with their best. You could tell stories of neighbors helping each other to survive, of complete strangers helping to rebuild, of countless volunteers who poured into our region answering the call to serve. You could tell tales about how this church sent mission teams throughout the community and into Mississippi to help however they could. You could tell about other church groups from all around the country who were graciously hosted here in our Bullard Building so that they could be a part of rebuilding through Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, the mission arm of our denomination. You could tell your own storm stories that illustrate these two truths: both the deep pain and the immense love of those days, tales of both tragedy and triumph.

In truth, the story of the flood and Noah’s ark is one of those kind of tales, weaving together both profound tragedy and moving love. This biblical storm story is as deep as the ocean depths. Of course, there’s one version of the story, the one we tell our children, that’s full of pairs of cute animals. In that version, there is just this big flood coming and tale is all about the nice old man who listens to God and save the animals. Don’t get me wrong; that’s not a bad story to tell them, because that’s what they can handle at their developmental level. It’s this version, this nice and happy version of the story, that we typically portray in our imagery and art. I checked this week and around our church campus I counted seven different places where the image of Noah’s Ark appears. We must think this is an important story!

What we usually don’t tell our children is how the story really begins. We wait until they’re more mature before they learn that the whole earth was corrupt. That all of creation, not just human beings, but “all flesh” was violent and destructive and perverse to its very core. That things had gotten so bad, that in the story, God is the one who decides to send the storm and the flood in the first place, to kill all life except the remnant left on the ark. That story of violence and punishment is harsh and hard to understand. And, the shock of this, this image of God can be strong that it does one of two things.

1) It can disillusion us and turns us and turn us away from our faith. Why would we want to love and trust in a God that is so vengeful and angry that he would destroy most of life. Why would we believe that a story like this has any value to our lives. That’s one response: disillusionment.

2) Or, for some of us, the portrayal of God that we see in this story and others like it can make us go the other direction. It can radicalize us. It can lead us to double down on our convictions and turn into fundamentalist—clinging with self-righteous death grip to our God of vengeance who punishes “those people” who we know are evil and wrong. It has led Christians throughout the centuries to justify acts of violence in the name of our God. It’s this kind of response to stories like Noah’s Ark that led folks like Pat Robertson on that same TV program to later claim that the destruction of hurricane Katrina was God’s punishment doled out against our sin. It sure would be nice if people who simplistically sling parts of the Bible as weapons remembered the whole story from which they were so carelessly choosing their arrows.

For the truth is this story isn’t just a cute story for children, and it isn’t just a moralistic tale of punishment. No, it is much much deeper than that. Right before the verses that we read this morning Genesis tell us that God is not angry or wrathful, in this story. No, God is full of sorrow at seeing what has become of his good creation. Gods is grieved, literally heart-broken. God’s love that was poured out in creation has been twisted and trampled upon.

Like a parent, lovingly grieved by a child who has grown into self-destructive patterns, so too is God lovingly grieved by what creation has become. Like a parent who cannot stop the rebellion of a son or daughter who is “old enough to know better” God lets creation destroy itself. That’s really what happen in the story of the storm and the flood. Genesis says that “all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened.” The corruption in the created order implodes in on itself. The boundaries of the sea and sky break apart and God lets it happen. God lets us destroy ourselves, and it breaks God’s heart. But, like that loving parent, God does not give up all hope. God calls Noah to the work of building an ark, a big boat, a vessel of salvation, so that all life will not be lost. Creation will see a new dawn.

It has always fascinated me that Noah, this great hero of the faith, the one who’s name is forever remembered and attached to this story, really just builds a boat. I don’t mean to take away from the story. He is, apparently, the only one willing to listen to God and respond, but Noah doesn’t slay a giant or conquer enemies, Noah doesn’t risk life on a daring adventure. Noah, simply builds a big boat. That’s all that is needed. God will do the rest.

There’s a relatively recent Jimmy Buffett song, called “Boats to Build” that has become of my favorites. In it, Buffett sings,

“Days precious days, roll in and out like waves.
I got boards to bend, I got planks to nail,
I got charts to make I got seas to sail.”

[You can almost hear Noah singing this as he works…]

“I’m gonna build me a boat with these two hands;
It’ll be a fair curve from a noble plan.

Let the chips fall where they will, ’cause I’ve got boats to build.”

Early Christians saw in this story of Noah’s ark a foreshadowing of Jesus’ own journey of salvation, that brought about new creation and new covenant. Many churches, still today, are built so that the sanctuary is architecturally designed to look like the inside of a great boat. The image of the church as Noah’s ark is powerful. That’s our work. To build boats. To build community that welcome in all of God’s creation, to build community that God can use to preserve the new creation, to build community based on God’s promises, God’s covenant. In today’s broken world, we’ve got boats to build!

Finally, how does the story end? The God who loved creation enough to be heartbroken over its self-destruction, the God who loved creation enough to save a remnant of all life, this same God remembers Noah in the ark. God remembers the community of creation. God remembers and God keeps his promises. Like the loving father in the Prodigal Son, God does not forget or abandon but lovingly embraces his wayward creation and welcomes us back home. The waters recede. The God who loves creation makes a new covenant, to usher in this new creation. God makes a promise never again to let utter destruction be his tool punishment. God promises to hang up the bow—the weapon of war—to hang it in the sky as a reminder to us and a reminder to God of the covenant, the promise that our sin and brokenness, our evil and corruption will not have the final word, as a reminder that God’s passionate love will never let us go.

Friends, that’s the good news of the story, the good news of the gospel, that God’s covenant promises are true. And the great challenge of the gospel is to live in light of them. We’ve got boats to build.

Genesis 6: 11-22, 7: 11-16

Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth. And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence because of them; now I am going to destroy them along with the earth. Make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in the ark, and cover it inside and out with pitch. For my part, I am going to bring a flood of waters on the earth, to destroy from under heaven all flesh in which is the breath of life; everything that is on the earth shall die. But I will establish my covenant with you; and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives with you. And of every living thing, of all flesh, you shall bring two of every kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female. Of the birds according to their kinds, and of the animals according to their kinds, of every creeping thing of the ground according to its kind, two of every kind shall come in to you, to keep them alive. Also take with you every kind of food that is eaten, and store it up; and it shall serve as food for you and for them.’ Noah did this; he did all that God commanded him.

In the six-hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened. The rain fell on the earth for forty days and forty nights. On the very same day Noah with his sons, Shem and Ham and Japheth, and Noah’s wife and the three wives of his sons, entered the ark, they and every wild animal of every kind, and all domestic animals of every kind, and every creeping thing that creeps on the earth, and every bird of every kind—every bird, every winged creature. They went into the ark with Noah, two and two of all flesh in which there was the breath of life. And those that entered, male and female of all flesh, went in as God had commanded him; and the LORD shut him in.

The story continues:

-Rains for 40 days and 40 nights

-All life dies in the flood

-Waters stay for 150 days

-God remembers Noah and the ark with all its animals

-Like the Spirit at creation, a wind from God blows over the waters and they subside

-Noah walks again on dry land. The first thing he does is build and altar to worship God.

-God promises “I will never again destroy every living creature.”

-God blesses Noah with the same words to Adam and Eve: “Be fruitful and multiply”

-God established covenant with all of creation

-“This is the sign of the covenant…I have set my bow in the clouds between me and the earth. I will see it and remember…”

Sermon
June 11, 2017: Rev. Dr. Buz Wilcoxon

Introduction

Where did we come from? Why are we hear? What’s the meaning and purpose of life? These are the questions that humans have asked for as long as they have had words to ask them. Answers to those questions have taken many forms over time. Through the lenses of philosophy, mythology, and science deep thinkers have explored theories of our origins. Through the gifts of art, literature, and music artists have sought to probe the deep meaning of reality. Though the skills of engineering and craftsmanship, builders have attempted to design and create with their own hands in ways that model the patterns and truths of creation around us.

These deep questions of origin, meaning, and purpose are the questions that book of Genesis asks, and at times seeks to answer. And so, it is quite appropriate that as we journey through this book over the summer we go with many guides along the way. Not just a couple of preachers, but poets, gardeners, authors and musicians. Architects, journalists, activists, and historians. The vast and broad sweep of human knowledge and creativity will together form a web of insight that will help connect these ancient stories to our modern lives.

It was a gift to begin this morning with a poet, Dr. Sue Walker, as we consider the first chapter of the book of Genesis. It’s fitting on many levels. Poetry, that is the art of words, is perhaps the most basic and original form of art for humanity. It has been with us since, well, since “in the beginning.” It is especially important today, for unlike the rest of the book of Genesis that will follow, today’s scripture passage is at its core a poem, a liturgy, a hymn that was intended to be said or sung in the midst of worship for the Jewish people. So, with this setting of worshipful music in mind, let us turn to our passage from the very beginning of the entire biblical witness:

Genesis 1 & 2 (selected verses)

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, ‘Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.’ And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

And God said, ‘Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.’ And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, ‘Let the earth put forth vegetation.’ And it was so. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, ‘Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night.” And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, ‘Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.’ So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.’ And it was so. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.’ So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it.’ And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And God rested on the seventh day. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation.

Sermon

Let me tell you a story. Do you know where the world came from?

Well some very smart people knew the answer to this of course. You see, in the beginning there was a god of watery chaos named Tiamat who gave birth to all the other gods. An argument arose between the gods and a war broke out. The fiercest warrior was the god, Marduk. He defeated Tiamat and her army, and after his victory he chopped her body up into pieces. Part of it he used to make the sky. The other part of it he used to make the land. Her tail became the Milky Way. Her blood became the waters of the rivers and the sea. From the blood of her slain army Marduk made humans to serve as his slaves. Where do we all come from? From war and victory? From violence of course. Well that’s what the scholars and poets and scribes in Babylon said. The mighty empire of Babylon knew all about war and violence, and their creation story reflected it.[i]

No, that can’t be right.

There is another theory of creation. The water god named Yamm ruled over the seas and rivers, and the storm god, Ba’al served as his slave. Ba’al revolted and killed Yamm as well as several other sea monsters. He dismembered their bodies to create his new royal palace, and through his victory, the seasons are formed. That’s what the ancient Canaanites said.

No, no, that can’t be right either.

There’s another theory, that Earth god and the sky god mated with each other to produce much of the world including children (gods) who for generations would seek to kill their fathers. That’s what the Greeks taught in their mythologies.

All throughout the ancient world there were stories about how the world came into being. And the theme of violence and warfare was pervasive in these tales of creation. Instead, the biblical poem of creation begins not with multiple, jealous waring gods, but with one God, alone, who was already in existence before creation. And this one God does not battle or kill. No, in a very counter-cultural way for its original audience, Genesis tells of a God who uses the power of speech to create. It is through word not war that the cosmos are formed.

And notice as the poem goes along and it is time for life to appear the words of God begin to be addressed to other parts of creation inviting them to participate in what God is doing. “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures…Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind.” The land, sea, and sky become assistants, participants in God’s liturgy of creation. Through the power of the word God calls and creation responds with life.

Those other stories of war and violence are full of fear and death in order for the world to be created. It’s quite a pessimistic view of reality. But again, in a counter-cultural way, the Genesis poem is a story that proclaims good news. Each time that God creates, God sees that the world is good. And in the very end, once all of life (including human life) has been formed God sees that “indeed it was very good.” Humankind is not created to be slaves of a conquering warrior but to be the very image of their Creator and to be blessed with fruitful life.

Those other violent stories of creation from Babylon, and Canaan, and Greece–what conception of the world and the universe do they inspire? They see all matter, all life forms, all creation as ultimately part of a story of war and death. That’s the story of an empire. Empires are built upon the assumption that the world is a violent place and the only way to rule is at the point of a sword. Armies, battles, enemies slain in defeat, conquering more and more territory that is the cycle of life for an empire. And so it is only fitting that how they view themselves and how they tell the story of creation are one and the same.

In stark contrast to the stories of the empires, the themes of the biblical poem of creation are quite different. It is filled with much more peace and harmony. It views God not as fierce and destructive, but as imaginative and loving. The physical universe, with all its matter and energy and life, all time and space is not part of God—one the body of a defeated deity. No, the Creator is distinctly different from the creation. However, the relationship between the two is one of loving covenant. God wills for there to be a creation. God wants, desires, loves, and allows something other than God to exist. As the great poet, James Weldon Johnson imagines in his creation poem, God says, “I’ll make me a world.”[ii] I’ll make me a world! Not as a threat, but as a gift to God’s own self. God creates and God sees that his creation is very good. It is very good to God in the first place.

As I mentioned this poem of creation was written to be used in the context of worship. It’s pattern, form, repetition, and language is that of a hymn or a liturgy. It wasn’t ever intended as a scientific text book to explain in minute sub-atomic detail how or when the universe began. No, those are different questions that require different tools to answer. It was intended for folks like us—for a worshipping community of believers in ancient Israel to celebrate the truth of who created the world and why humans beings along with all the other animals exist within it. It was meant for joyful, truthful, wonder-filled worship of the living God from whom all life receives its breath and its purpose.

But there’s something more to this poem that we as modern people may miss but that was obvious to the original audience of ancient Jews worshiping in the Temple in Jerusalem. The structure of this poem is more than meets the eye. There is a pattern in the days that can be seen. In days 1 through 3 God creates realms of 1) light and darkness, 2) sky and water, and 3) dry land. Then in days 4 through 6 following the same exact order, but this time God populates those realms with the beings or creatures that inhabit them. Who lives in light and darkness? 4) the Sun, Moon, and stars. Who lives in the sky and sea? 5) birds and fish. Who lives on dry land? 6) cattle, creeping things, wild animals and humankind. One by one, in a purposeful and distinct order the three-fold pattern of creation plays out in the hymn. First three days of creating realms, then three days of populating those realms. And that pattern was immediately obvious to the worshiping Hebrews because that was the very pattern by which the Temple in Jerusalem was designed. It was built in three distinction parts 1) the Portico, 2) the Nave, and 3) the Holy of Holies. Each part of the temple had distinct groups of worshippers who were allowed to be present. Place, population, and position were important parts of how the whole community gathered in worship. [iii]

In most ancient temples of other religions is was the third chamber, the innermost holy space that a statue of the god being worshiped was found. Where do we find the image of the God of creation? “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” For the ancient Hebrews there was no statue of God, not graven image. There was the living breathing image of humanity.

Now that three-fold pattern of the Temple works for the first 6 days, but what about the 7^th day? Does it break the pattern? No, in fact it perfects it. For in the Jerusalem temple, within the Holy of Holies was the most sacred object of their faith: the Ark of the Covenant—the reminder of God’s very presence. And where is the most holy part of the creation story? Amidst all the things that God makes good and very good, what is the one thing that God “hallows”—makes holy? The 7^th day. The day of rest for all creation. The day of worship, which, like the Ark in the Temple, is a reminder of God’s very presence in the pattern of creation itself.

Ok, so that might all sound a bit confusing and overly detailed, but here’s the point: The way that this creation poem is told is intentionally structured so that all of creation is described in ways that sound like the temple. The place of worship. It took Solomon 7 years to build the temple in Jerusalem, and in this poem, it takes God 7 days to build the temple of cosmos. The temple of creation. This story makes loud and clear the truth that all of creation, all of life, all matter and space and time, all of the universe is created to worship and glorify God. As our Presbyterian ancestor, John Calvin described it, all of creation is the “theatre” of God’s glory.

And at the most holy space in this temple or theatre of creation, is the 7^th day, the pinnacle, the day of Sabbath rest. The day when we as humans are called to stop our own efforts and own energy and to trust in the work and care of our loving Creator. It is a break from our work of seeking to make creation in our image, to instead rest and remember the one in whose image we are all made.[iv]

So, where did we come from? Why are we here? What’s the purpose of life? The hymn of creation from the beginning of Genesis proclaims the good news that we are here (along with all the rest of creation) to worship. And as we read this hymn together we join in the powerful story that it tells.[v] We join in that very worship where “All creatures of our God and king, lift up [their] voice and with us sing.” Fulfilling our purpose in the temple of creation, when we glorify together God, we are united with “all things now living,” who “a song of thanksgiving to God our creator triumphantly raise.”

To God alone be the glory.

[i] William P. Brown, The Seven Pillars of Creation, 22-32.

[ii] James Weldon Johnson, “The Creation,” in God’s Trombones, 15.

[iii] Brown, 31-48.

[iv] Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Interpretation Biblical Commentary, 35.

[v] Ibid, 39

Scripture
Genesis 1 & 2 (selected verses)

And God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.’ And it was so. And God saw that it was good.