Proper 11B - God in a box

Today’s Old Testament reading sounds a little like a sitcom riff.  David says, “God, I’ll build you a house”, and God says, “No you won’t, I’ll build you a house”. At least that’s what it sounds like to our modern ears.

But there are some linguistic nuances here that make this a very important passage both to the Israelites and to us. The word house that’s used in this section of Samuel has several translations. The first use is what David’s talking about.  “God, I’ll build you an abode, a building.  I live in a building, and our understanding of where you are, the arc of the covenant has been in a measly tent.  No, you need a house.”

 God rebuffs this notion.  God says that God has been with the people through all of their travails, “I have been with you wherever you went”.  I will be with you wherever you go.  God is telling David that he doesn’t want a house, and certainly doesn’t need a house.

It’s a little odd that David thinks God wants a house? That God is going to have a front door, a bedroom, a sitting room, a place to make meals?  But it’s human nature, isn’t it, to want to put God in a box, to put God in a box of our making. We want to contain God, to make sure God’s with us, in our box. We humans have been doing that throughout history and throughout the world. Whether it’s the grand cathedrals in Europe, the thousands of pagoda temples in Burma, or church buildings in Oregon. We make grander and nicer boxes for God to reside.

We build houses of worship at best to honor God, and at worst to try to define the container within which the true God is kept. We compete with others based on our God-box. Their God-box is nicer, or larger, or has better whatever.  We try to contain or define God in spaces we understand and we construct.  Maybe it’s our way of grasping the unknowable.  In any case, God tells David that he does not need any kind of structure.  Does not need an honoring building. Will not be contained.  God will be with the people, wherever they are. Period. This was a novel idea for the Israelites, with their notion that God was contained in Ark, which they carried with them everywhere, during their 40 hear trip wandering in the desert, around Jericho, was captured by the Philistines, and its recapture by David was in part what caused David to dance with all his might, that we heard about last week.
Enter the second definition of Hebrew word house that’s used in today’s Old Testament reading.  The other meaning of house is like a dynasty, the group of descendants of a person. Think the Ming Dynasty.  In this sense, house doesn’t mean David’s residence, but rather his descendants.

So let’s go back to the dialogue. David says, I’ll build you a house. God says, no, I’ll build you a house. Here’s what it really means. David says, “I’ll build you a residence, a container, or a spectacular place where we can come worship you” and God says, No, I’ll give you a dynasty and lineage.”

Not only does God not want an abode, as David envisioned, but God is willing to enter David’s messy world of humanity and descendants.  This, plus the comment that God has always been with the Israelite people is God telling David and the Israelites that God is willing to be with us.  Wherever. Whenever.  David’s lineage, his dynasty or the story of his heirs, is a very human, very messy story.  It’s our story.  God is with us in our story.  We understand this further from God sending his son to be with us as a human.  But in David’s time, this was novel indeed.

So although it’s brief and doesn’t sound like much on first hearing, this is an important passage because it attempts to dissuade us of the two notions: God neither 1) wants large monuments or structures, or 2) that God can be contained.  God also tells us that God will be with us, in the human muck of our lives. Willingly.  And always.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and we hear Mark’s stories about Jesus.  Today’s reading takes place after the disciples have been sent out for the first time, and are now returning to their teacher to tell him of their successes, challenges, failures.  They’re telling him about their first days out in the world.

Jesus’ response is tender and one we all need to hear.  The Gospel tells us that the disciples were so busy, they didn’t have time to eat. That sounds familiar to my world sometimes. In response to them telling him about their day, Jesus says, come away and rest.  Just reading that response of Jesus makes me breath a sigh of relief.  Isn’t that a lovely notion?  Come away and rest?

But alas, it was not to be. As they were crossing over the sea by boat to the deserted place to rest, the crowds recognized Jesus, and ran on foot and met the boat on the other side. So their deserted place wasn’t deserted.  And their restful retreat wasn’t restful. Jesus looked with pity on the crowds gathered to meet the boat, which looked like lost sheep without a shepherd. In response, he shepherded.

Hearing this response to the offer to come away and rest, I feel tired for them, or maybe tired for me. They are offered rest, but it doesn’t come.  Instead, they are met with lost sheep and must respond.
After they’re done teaching, they return to the boat. Again, Jesus is recognized and the crowds meet the boat on the other side and “people rush about, bringing the sick to the marketplace”.  Again, no rest. I’m getting tired just thinking about this.


Today’s lectionary reading skips some choice actions of Jesus and the disciples that make the lack of rest even more exhausting. What we miss, in chapter 6, verses 35 to 52 is nothing less than the miracle of the feeding of the 5000.  Feeding 5000 with sufficient resources would be exhausting.  The challenge of living into the miracle of feeding 5000 through faith sounds exhausting and daunting. This choice section is skipped between the two times the wearied disciples are met on shore by needy people.

All of this activity comes after Jesus’ invitation to “come away and rest”.


What are we to make of this thwarted invitation, of the elusive rest?

First, given my visceral reaction to the offer to “come away and rest”, I think we need to offer that rest and retreat to each other.  Come away and rest. It sounds trite, but a simple invitation for a retreat can feel like a drink of clear cool water.  An evening walk.  A moment of sitting before a meal or before bed.  If you see someone who is so busy they don’t have time even to eat, make the invitation and make it real.

Second, I think this story tells us a lot about human need.  Despite Jesus’ understanding that the disciples needed a rest, the human need was too great. They were pressed into service, into teaching and into healing. And in the part we skipped today, into feeding.


Finally, I’d suggest that maybe they had a respite after all.  When I am most stressed and busy, sometimes what I really need is a good bit of service to others. I’ve heard this sentiment from volunteers who read to kids, knit hats for children, or cook meals for Rahab’s Sisters. Service can provide that respite, even though it’s still doing something. Making 500 cups of coffee on a Saturday morning might my feet tired, but through being of service to another person in need, my soul is indeed refreshed.

It’s odd and definitely counter-intuitive to think that respite comes from service.  I think it works that way because of what we learned in the Old Testament reading.  God is present in our humanity. God is at the Mission, God is with the people who are helped by Heifer International.  God is at Rahab’s Sisters, or at the Community Breakfast.  God is here in this place. God is with us everywhere.  And because we are knee-deep in our messy human lives, offering service to others sometimes lets us see God, lets us see the face of Christ in those we serve.


Last week, at the community breakfast, I was talking with a regular guest, Jeff.  He is 58 years old, has long straggly brown hair, hazel eyes, a gentle soul and battles a heroin addiction, which keeps him on the streets. I found myself telling another volunteer that he looked like Jesus. Then it struck me. He looked like Jesus Christ.  He looked like Christ, because God is present in that human messiness. He is the Christ we seek to serve in others.  

God is present in the House of Court.  The House of Barbara.   The House of David.  If you are experiencing the difficulties that happen to all of us who are human, God is there.  God is willingly and constantly there. And although human need is sometimes too great to sit and rest, sometimes respite comes in the service to others. Because God is there too.

It’s a good thing we can’t put God in a box.  

My second sermon

Proper 7B

June 21, 2015

I had a whole sermon written.  It talked about David and Goliath, about David’s faith, and Saul’s fear. All the build-up in that story.  The 31 verses dedicated to how scared the people were, and how hard the fight was going to be.  About the one verse, where David takes out Goliath with simply a small stone, and large faith. I was going to talk about Jesus calming the seas, and the disciples' fear, doubt and faith.  About Jesus asleep at the back of the boat. But present the whole time.   

And then Thursday morning, I awoke to stories of the attack at Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, where nine people were gunned down during their prayer service.  In their house of worship. Because they were African American.

Most of the day Thursday, I had the deep honor to organize the prayer vigil that was held Thursday night downtown. Our vigil, thousands of miles away in a different place and context, could seem like a powerless statement.  But rather, it was incredibly meaningful and right. What we did that night can be a model for what we do as a community moving forward, providing some direction when we otherwise don’t know what to do and don’t know how to start. 

While we cannot know of the horrors and tragedy to the victims and their families, we too are grieved. It was a Christian church service, like this is.  That makes it a little more personal.  Being a Christian is dangerous. Being welcoming to all makes us vulnerable.  And we are called to do it. This is perhaps what persecuted Christians have known throughout time and throughout the world today. It’s dangerous business, being welcoming and loving to all.  We should take the opportunity to bolster each other up in the hard work of being loving, welcoming, vulnerable. Share your faith with other believers. Share tears and fears.  And stand with them when the very act of being a Christian believer makes life hard. 

We can also see the pain and trouble in our African American friends here. We are all beloved children of God, and it makes no sense that there is violence against some, solely because of the color of their skin. Eric Richardson, local director of the NAACP was troubled by the events in Charleston, of course.  In addition to the tragedy itself, he had another thing to grieve. When he told his school-age kids of the tragedy, his son shrugged his shoulders, expressing an apathy and resigned acceptance that was heartbreaking for his dad. What have we become, that this targeted violence has become so normalized that it result in shrugged shoulders? Being a parent, it was heartbreaking for me too.  We never want to see our kids experience or encounter the dark side of life. 

The next day, I was talking to my daughter. She said she was afraid that someone was going to try to hurt her, because she’s African American. People might target her because of her skin.  That’s tough to hear as a parent.  What’s tougher is not being able to dismiss her fears, or explain it, or do much of anything.  Except sit with her. 

This is not about THEM.  It’s about US.  Our lives. Our friends. Our family.  

So what can we do?  

As a people of faith, we can cry to God, and pray. Like the disciples in the boat with sleeping Jesus, we can feel terror. We can feel abandoned.  And God is with us.  We need to call out, and ask God to calm our storm.  To give us peace. 

We can pray for the peace and grace shown by the family members of victims of the shooting. Several families went to the bond hearing for the shooter, and expressed words of forgiveness.  You have hurt me deeply. And I forgive you.  I have no room for hate.  Grace and love like that are from God. 

Finally, we can take a stand and take steps towards saying that this cannot, should not and will not happen in our community.  

This is hard, because Oregon, Eugene and St. Thomas are predominately white, and there is a pervasive misbelief held by whites that makes progress hard.

We tend to believe two important falsehoods.  First, there are only a few racist individuals in society, like the shooter, and they are bad, very bad. Second, we believe that racism is a conscious dislike.  Since I’m neither really bad, nor consciously disliking, any conversations about racism cannot be me.   

Rather, we need to talk about and think about racism as the set of beliefs and practices that are so insidious and invisible that we cannot see them. Things that over time result in a higher incarceration rate of African Americans, resulted in the prohibition that African Americans could not own property in Eugene until the mid 1960s.  We in the dominate culture are part of the system that lets that happen. That result in shootings, and police racial bias.  Unless I am constantly working to fix this, challenging every joke, policy, belief, I am racist.  We all are.  

The hard thing is that with the two fallacies – racists are uncommon and bad, and racism is a conscious dislike – the universal response from whites when discussing racism is something like “How dare you suggest I’m a racist, or that I’ve done anything racist”.   I apologize if this is where you’ve landed this morning, and I want to reiterate that this isn’t about you personally. Racists aren’t infrequent, bad or intentional.  And we need to begin to get over our sensitivity to the topic and our defensiveness.  Because our African American brothers and sisters need us at the table. Need our voice.  We need to begin a conversation about race in this community and in this church.  

All of this talk about race and shootings might leave you wondering where the Good News is.  

Jesus is in our boat.  Jesus will calm our seas, and give us peace. We need to ask. We need to ask for ourselves, for our community, for the victims and their families, and for the shooter.  

Churches around the country today were asked to pray the Prayer attributed to St. Francis.  In concluding, I would ask you to join me in reading this prayer, on page 833 of the red Book of Common Prayer. 


Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;  Where there is sadness, joy.

Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. 
Amen.