Phil Kniss: Am not! Are too!

God’s name is revealed: The burning bush
Listen! God is Calling!
Fall 2021 Narrative Lectionary
Exodus 2:23-25, 3:1-15, 4:10-17


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When people visualize Moses, it’s either him

holding up his hands to part the Red Sea . . . or

holding up 10 commandments on stone tablets . . . or

it’s him bowing down before a burning bush that doesn’t burn up.

Today’s burning bush story in Exodus is iconic.

You can see it in your mind,

probably the way it looked

in a Bible story book from your childhood.

But really, what’s up in this otherworldly scene?

Sure, this is the call of Moses to go back to Egypt,

and tell Pharaoh to free the Hebrews from slavery.

Everything in the storyline is about this call—

God issuing the call from the bush,

Moses objecting,

God reassuring,

Moses objecting again,

God offering a compromise,

Moses finally saying yes.

Actually, we don’t hear a verbal “yes” from Moses.

He just ends up going.

The lesson we’ve been taught from this story,

in children’s Sunday School or preachers’ pulpits,

is a lesson to always say “yes” to God,

and say it right away.

Good lesson, of course.

It’s good to say “yes.”

But . . . we never say “yes” to God in a vacuum.

There is always a backdrop to that yes, there’s a context.

This story from Exodus

is about Moses and God establishing a relationship,

so that Moses has a context, in which he can say yes.

Even if reluctantly.

This is a story about relationship, and identity.

_____________________

You know, in everyday life, if a stranger asks you

to do something, out of the blue,

“Yes” does not come immediately, if at all.

You need to know who is asking . . . and . . .

who you are in relation to the one asking.

We say, “Who are you, and why do you ask me?”

That’s the bare minimum of context we need,

to know how to respond.

If someone at an intersection holds a cardboard sign toward me,

that asks me to give money for food or shelter,

and I keep my window rolled up and look another direction,

I am probably, rightly or wrongly,

making a couple calculations—

(1) I don’t know the person who is asking that of me,

and (2) we don’t have a real relationship,

and can’t establish one sitting in heavy traffic

for 30 seconds on Rt. 33.

But if someone I know well asks me to borrow my truck,

I don’t hesitate,

because I know who the person is,

and I know how we are in relationship to each other.

I know, because both scenarios happen regularly,

and that’s how I respond 99% of the time.

_____________________

The scenario Moses faced in the desert,

was more like the cardboard sign on Rt. 33,

than a friend asking to borrow a truck.

The main difference,

is the cardboard sign was not asking for loose change,

it was asking Moses to put his life on the line.

So Moses was not—hear me now, he was not—

making a cheap excuse or hollow protest.

He asked what any rational human being would ask:

“Who are you?” and “What is our relationship?”

In other words, why do you ask me? . . .

why should I trust you?

Moses had not been schooled in his own faith tradition.

He did not go to synagogue, because they weren’t invented yet.

Raised as a Hebrew Egyptian in Pharaoh’s palace,

Moses had no first-hand knowledge or second-hand knowledge,

of the God of Abraham, his ancestor.

The burning bush was his first-time introduction.

I admire Moses

that he would even engage this unknown being,

and ask a few fact-finding questions,

instead of roll up the window and look another direction.

By the time Moses left this encounter,

Moses and the God of his ancestors

were on a first-name basis.

Here is where Moses learned God’s name.

We don’t usually address God by name,

or even refer to God by name.

We just say, “God,”

which is a title, a role, a relationship description.

It’s like calling someone “Mom,” or “Uncle.”

Or like some of you addressing me as “Pastor,”

or like Dot and Tilli calling me “Vicar.”

I’m going to miss that when they move to Iowa!

Generic names like that

underscore the relationship, which is great.

But our formal names are also important to us.

We know, in our gut, just how important our name is.

When someone mispronounces, misspells, or just misses our name,

it irks us . . . deeply.

Our name is closely tied to our identity.

We were given a name at birth,

a name that forever links us to parents and a family of origin.

But sometimes people choose to change their name,

as their identity changes,

whether because of marriage, or shift in gender identity,

or reclaiming a certain ethnic heritage,

or a religious conversion.

All of those can result in name changes.

We all want, we need, people to say our name,

and say it correctly.

Our name signals our identity to others,

and hearing others say our name,

signals their respect for our identity.

Knowing and speaking each other’s names,

is not a casual thing.

Names matter because relationships matter.

So if God was asking Moses to trust God with his life,

Moses better well know God’s name—

for his own reassurance,

and to reassure his people back in Egypt.

_____________________

So comes this interesting banter back-and-forth

between God and Moses, centered on the “who?” question.

Both God and Moses were finishing the phrase, “I am . . .”

God calls from the bush, “Moses! Moses!”

Moses answers, “Here . . . I am.”

That’s the first statement of identity.

I am one who is present. I am attentive. I am listening.

Then God gives a quick rundown of Moses’ assignment.

And Moses says, “I am unworthy.”

Or literally, “Who am I, to do this thing?”

God’s reply was also one of presence.

“I am with you. You will not be alone.

I will go with you.”

Then Moses turns the question around, “Who are you?”

I need to know your name.

If I go, I need to say who sent me.

Then God gives this oft-quoted, and cryptic, answer,

“I am who I am.”

Or literally, “I will be who I will be.”

I am the Essence of Being.

without whom there would be no being.

Introduce me that way to your people.

You can trust me, just as I trust you.

It was only then, after God so generously revealed God’s self

and God’s name to Moses,

that Moses deeply offended God.

He gave God a whole list of his own “I am” statements.

But, but, but . . . “I am clumsy in my choice of words.

I am slow of speech.

I am inarticulate.

I am tongue-tied.

I am unworthy.

Then God gets hot.

Literally. It says, “The Lord’s anger burned against Moses.”

And while God was angry—get this, while God was angry—

God gives Moses what he wants—a way out.

A substitute.

Someone to speak for him.

And there ends our reading.

There’s a lot more to explore. Go home and read it.

But for now, let me leave you with this observation.

After reading this dialogue,

I thought, “Sounds like two kids in a playground argument.

It’s the old “Am not! Are too!” argument.

Except, instead of trading insults,

God is trying to help Moses see something worthy in himself.

God bestows worth on Moses,

just by showing up and asking for something important.

But Moses retorts, “I am not worthy!”

“I am not able.”

And God retorts right back, “You are too!”

“Am not! Are too! Am not! Are too!”

Until it just gets too much for God,

and God gets mad and lets Moses get his way.

God drops the argument,

and just rolls with Moses, the way he is.

_____________________

I wonder if God still works this way with us.

Not with the spectacle of burning bushes.

But when we push back against God’s purpose for our lives,

claiming ignorance, or fear, or incompetence . . .

whenever we say to God, “Am not!”

God comes back with, “Are too!”

I am who I am.

I am with you.

And that makes you worthy, and capable of saying “yes.”

_____________________

There’s a ritual we do in the church

that is a vivid and visceral reminder

of the kind of relationship we have with God, in Christ.

It is communion.

God’s with-ness is powerfully symbolized in the bread and cup.

At the table, God says to us, “I am who I am,

and I am with you, in Jesus Christ.”

And at the table, our response is the same as Moses,’

“Here I am. I am here.”

And on this first Sunday in October, Worldwide Communion Sunday,

we are further reminded of our with-ness among Christians

all over this world.

Our siblings in faith everywhere are celebrating at the table today—

from Colombia to the Congo,

from Haiti to Hungary,

from Bangladesh, to border towns along our southern border.

Whether in large numbers or small,

whether in comfort, or in crisis,

we are in communion today

with the God who IS, and WILL BE,

and we are with each other.

Let us break bread together,

let us drink wine together,

let us praise God together.

—Phil Kniss, October 3, 2021

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Phil Kniss: The people God rolls with

Called with a promise: Jacob’s Dream
Listen! God is Calling!
Fall 2021 Narrative Lectionary
Genesis 27:1-4, 15-23, 28:10-17


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It’s strange, the kind of people God chooses in the Bible.

When something must be done that’s really important,

that could make or break God’s whole cosmic project

of restoring shalom to all creation,

why is it that God ends up depending on

such a motley crew of sometimes-shady characters?

Makes you wonder who’s running the HR department

inside the pearly gates?

Did they even think of running a background check?

Sure, God’s chosen people have their shining moments,

and we appreciate them for their occasional acts of courage,

and self-sacrifice,

and humble service.

But on the other hand,

there are some really bizarre things going on in these stories.

Just the fact that these stories made the cut in our holy scriptures,

ought to convince any skeptic of the Bible’s authenticity.

If the Bible was only a collection of religious propaganda,

it would be mostly larger-than-life hero stories.

There wouldn’t be so many stories,

that make our religious ancestors look so flawed, so human,

look so much like . . . well . . . like us!

Jacob is in focus this Sunday.

And he, alongside his mother Rebekka,

is portrayed as a deceiver, and outright liar,

in order to get what he believes he has coming to him—

the blessing of the first-born.

Well, lying for the purpose of self-enrichment,

seems to run in the blood of this holy family.

Jacob got it honestly.

He is the grandson of Abraham,

who lied to a foreign king, saying his wife Sarah was his sister,

so they would treat him well,

which meant his wife was claimed by the king,

and likely not treated well,

and after the truth came to light,

the King, in order to avoid any public shame,

gave Abraham all kinds of privileges, wealth, and protection.

Any many years later, lo and behold,

Abraham’s son Isaac does the very same with his wife Rebekah.

Lies about their relationship,

watches his wife get carted away,

and then the king makes amends,

by giving him all kinds of privileges and access.

And he got so wealthy and powerful,

that the king asked him to leave that land,

and go live somewhere else.

I mention all this,

because there is a lot of back story to this narrative we heard today

in Genesis 27 and 28.

A lot of back story, and a lot of baggage.

By necessity,

we don’t have the luxury of covering the whole narrative this fall.

So we jump over large sections of the story,

and even in the story,

we jump over certain parts.

Let me remind us of what we didn’t read

in this story about Jacob and Esau and the birthright.

First of all, before they were even born,

God spoke to Rebekka, and gave her a prophecy,

“the older will serve the younger.”

And when the twin boys were born,

Esau came out first,

but Jacob was right behind,

and holding on to the heel of his first-born brother.

Hebrew scholars point out that even Jacob’s name

points to deceit.

Hebrew is a language of consonants,

with vowel sounds thrown in to alter the meaning.

So the same three Hebrew consonants

that make the name Jacob,

also make a word meaning “to come behind”

or “to supplant, or overreach.”

And . . . the same three letters make the word for “heel.”

So Jacob has come to mean, “heel grabber”or “supplanter.”

But setting aside Jacob for a moment,

think about Rebekah.

She had been lied about by her own husband,

and handed over to a king’s harem,

and according to Genesis 26:8,

it was a “long time” later,

that the truth came to light.

Perhaps we might be less harsh with Rebekah,

and the scheming and deceit she helped mastermind.

Yes, she developed the plan to have her favorite son Jacob

trick Isaac into giving Jacob the blessing of the first-born,

before Isaac had a chance to get it.

When you consider the multi-generational practice

of gain by deceit, with the men in this family,

and when you consider the years, perhaps,

or at least many months that Rebekah paid the price

for being lied about by her husband,

and when you consider she was only acting

to help fulfill a prophecy God had already given her,

then maybe we could at least admire her

for using her own strength and smarts and ingenuity,

to help bring about God’s plan for Jacob.

In any case, Rebekah and Jacob do not stand alone in their deceit.

This family system had a long, illustrious history

of using morally suspect ways to “help” God

bring about God’s plans.

And it plays out on the pages of our holy scripture,

in some sad and tragic ways.

Jacob and Esau become blood enemies.

Jacob is forced to relocate far away,

and Rebekah lives out her life separated from her favorite son.

And Jacob’s deceit comes back to bite him later,

when he gets similar treatment from his father-in-law.

At least, that’s how these stories are written.

Some argue these stories

were handed down orally for generations,

and served the purpose of explaining

how things turned out in the end,

like how Jacob’s descendants, the Israelites, dominated

Esau’s descendants, the Edomites.

But this Jacob and Esau story, as it is written in Genesis,

is part of the Torah that shaped Jewish faith for all time,

and which continues to shape us.

_____________________

So what do we gain from this story,

for our complicated and contemporary life?

Obviously, the key elements here are foreign to us.

We lack reference points

to understand an ancient patriarchal society,

where marital relationships were so

transactional and economic,

where the oldest son’s birth-right was all-important,

and gave him power and control over his siblings.

But maybe . . . God’s basic modus operandi

hasn’t changed all that much.

Maybe God still looks to flawed people to carry out God’s mission.

Maybe God still has the same HR director,

who doesn’t do background checks.

Because otherwise,

who of us would have been chosen?

We all have checkered pasts,

and a few skeletons in our family closet.

I’ve come to the conclusion that God is a very patient God.

More patient than we are.

_____________________

The group of local pastors who meet weekly

to talk about the narrative lectionary texts,

includes a Lutheran pastor from Mt. Sidney, Derek Boggs,

who asked a question of us during our discussion of Jacob and Esau.

He asked,

“Do you think God intended to use all this lying and deceit

to accomplish his will,

or did God just roll with it?”

Thank you, Derek, for inspiring my sermon title,

“The people God rolls with.”

Yes, actually, I think God did not design it to unfold in this way.

But God rolled with it.

God rolled with Jacob and his whole dysfunctional family.

And God rolls with us.

That is who God is.

God has a primary motivation behind this whole project.

It is love.

And love is not possible without free will.

So God does everything possible to see that

those purposes are fulfilled.

Everything possible, that is.

Coercing us to be in a relationship,

is the one thing that is impossible for God.

Because to do so, would betray God’s core character of love.

Brothers and sisters,

we have disappointed God in the past.

And we still disappoint God today.

And I assure you, we will keep on disappointing God.

We miss the mark.

We also lie, to ourselves and to others, and sometimes to God.

The Good News is, God rolls with us.

The will and purposes of God are persistent.

They persist beyond our bumbling efforts to obey,

even beyond our sometimes purposeful disobedience.

And if that is the case with us, then let’s also remind ourselves—

God rolls with other people, too,

including those we’d rather God didn’t roll with.

As I said, God is more patient than we are.

We look around and we see dysfunction everywhere—

a dysfunctional political system,

a dysfunctional widening gap between rich and poor,

a dysfunctional society fueled by white supremacy and other evils,

and of course, dysfunction in our own

churches and neighborhoods and families.

We may well be tempted to throw in the towel.

“This cannot be fixed!”

But what is God’s response?

God rolls with us.

Now, this does not mean God approves of our dysfunction

or blesses it.

God hates injustice.

God does not turn a blind eye,

or ignore the evils we perpetrate on each other.

God lets the consequences play out.

Just as God let Jacob and his beloved mother

remain cut off from each other,

and let anger and hatred fester for years

between the twin boys.

Yet, even as these consequences are playing out,

God keeps showing up, again and again,

looking for a little receptivity.

That’s what happened to Jacob,

in the latter part of today’s story—

Jacob’s ladder, Jacob’s dream in the desert,

during a 500-mile journey to escape his twin brother.

He dreamed of a ladder stretching to heaven,

with angels going up and down.

God stood at the top and spoke to him.

Assured Jacob that the promise still applied to him,

despite the fix he was in,

despite his broken family,

despite everything.

I am still with you, Jacob.

I am still rolling with you.

The take-away, for us, seems to be—

God will not reject us, or refuse to work with us,

whenever we do open ourselves, even slightly,

to doing God’s work and will.

If God can roll with the likes of Jacob and Isaac and Abraham,

maybe God can roll with some people today

who call themselves Christian,

but whose values are so at odds with mine.

When I take into account the people God rolls with,

I am moved to gratitude and compassion.

Gratitude for God’s grace extended to me.

And compassion for those I am tempted to despise.

Let us say and sing our confession of faith.

Pick up your bulletin,

and also, turn to Voices Together #542, Christ Calls to Me.

We will read this confession together,

and then go directly into the song.

Confession

one We are less than perfect. Far less.

all Yet God calls us to join God’s work in the world.

one Like Jacob, we are impatient.

We try to hurry up God, and in so doing,

hurt ourselves and others.

all Yet God stays with us, for our sake, and for the world.

one We miss the mark,

our eyes are clouded, our senses dulled,

we do not see the path to heaven’s glory.

all Yet God bids us dream God’s dream.

one God throws open the gates of heaven,

we see what God sees, and we say,

all Surely the Lord is in this place, and we were not aware of it.

one Not because of our merit, but because of our need,

all God calls, welcomes, blesses.

Thanks be to God.

—Phil Kniss, September 26, 2021

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Phil Kniss: Trusting God for our future

Called to go all in: The binding of Isaac
Listen! God is Calling!
Fall 2021 Narrative Lectionary
Genesis 21:1-3, 22:1-4


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In case you have trouble appreciating

today’s reading from Genesis 22, rest assured.

You’re not the first one . . . to read this story about

God asking Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac,

and say . . . “What . . . ???”

This is a story well-known by Jews, Muslims, and Christians.

And since ancient times, even before the days of Jesus,

there has been a whole raft of a

different proposals for how to approach this story,

different tools to interpret it,

different far-out ways to get around the obvious difficulties.

Someone could teach a semester-long graduate course on this story,

(and they probably have)

and they would only scratch the surface

of the literature that’s already out there,

that tries to make sense of it,

and just as much literature giving reasons why

those other explanations really don’t work.

So . . . don’t expect me to solve your discomfort in 15 minutes.

If you want to engage this story this morning,

just expect to leave here with questions you will live with,

rather than answer.

_____________________

We modern readers of Genesis 22

naturally are left to wonder about some things.

We wonder why Abraham didn’t issue more objections.

At least, no objections are recorded in the story.

Didn’t Abraham go to great lengths

to object and argue with God repeatedly, earlier,

after God announced plans to destroy a city

where Abraham’s nephew Lot lived?

We also wonder why a loving God

would have demanded such a violent act to begin with.

What this the only way God could give Abraham a test?

Why did God even have to gather this information?

Wouldn’t an all-knowing God, by definition,

already know how Abraham would respond?

Why put Abraham through such suffering?

And we wonder where Sarah was in this story?

Did she even know the sacrifice God asked of Abraham?

We wonder how she felt later,

knowing how far Abraham had gone toward that sacrifice.

The next chapter in Genesis tells about the death of Sarah.

Did she die still carrying deep heartache or anger?

Each question leads to another question.

_____________________

So let’s dig in a little bit.

Obviously, a lot has happened in Genesis,

between last Sunday’s Creation story,

and today’s story about Abraham and Isaac.

After the creation story, there are six or seven chapters

of what we would call pre-history,

stories about the origin of human sin,

stories of how human society developed and spread over the earth,

the story of Noah and the Great Flood, etc.

Then there’s a couple dozen chapters about a specific family—

Abraham and Sarah and their clan.

In chapter 12, God calls Abraham for the first time,

promises to give him and Sarah

more descendants than they could count.

Then we learn of Sarah’s long barrenness, into her old age,

which made God’s promise seem like utter non-sense.

Then Abraham tries a work-around, with Sarah’s servant,

and had a son that wasn’t Sarah’s.

and finally, the miraculous birth of their own son Isaac,

born to them both in their old age.

So God’s original great promise to Abraham,

hinges entirely on God’s gift to them,

on their beloved Isaac.

Isaac is the one and only pathway through which

God’s promise of numberless descendants can be fulfilled.

There’s a lot to put on a boy, isn’t it?

Not only a lot of theological weight riding on Isaac.

But emotional weight—their only child, their only hope.

I wonder what it was like to be Isaac?

That’s the back story to God’s

surprising and absurd and deeply disturbing demand

that Abraham give up his son Isaac,

and sacrifice him on an altar.

What kind of cruel God does this? we wonder.

In fact, some ancient Jewish writings on this story,

written at least 100 years before Christ,

change the character that makes this demand of Abraham.

Instead of the one God Yahweh asking Abraham,

it’s Prince Mastema, a Satan-type figure.

But in the story itself, there is no doubt among scholars.

Yahweh is in focus.

But here is something intriguing.

Scholars also observe that in this Genesis 22 account,

the dialogue throughout is minimal,

and sometimes a bit vague and indefinite.

Some suggest that the very way the story is written

is a rhetorical device, intending not to explain in detail

what the characters were thinking.

Rather, it presses the reader into the shoes of those characters,

makes them feel the sharp horns of the dilemma,

gives them a taste of Abraham’s agony,

so they wonder to themselves,

how would I have reacted?

what would I have done?

I like that notion. Because, at the end of the day,

I can’t find satisfying answers to all my questions about this story.

But I can allow this story to be a catalyst

for going deeper,

and asking questions of myself.

Like . . . do I really trust God with my entire future?

That was the Big Ask of Abraham.

Isaac was his entire future.

Everything Abraham did his whole life was in response

to a promise of a future,

a future that could only exist if Isaac lived a long life.

Would Abraham be so loyal to the God who gave the promise,

that he would be ready to say yes, no matter the apparent cost?

Abraham passed this test.

_____________________

So how are we doing on that score?

Has God ever asked something of us

that at least appears to be putting our future at risk?

I don’t know,

maybe you haven’t ever considered that as a question.

Maybe we are so accustomed to mapping out our own future,

and preparing thoroughly for that future,

and getting all our ducks in a row, and keeping them there,

that we have never seriously considered that

God might be nudging us toward something

that puts our future on the line.

And maybe it doesn’t come in the form of a voluntary sacrifice.

Maybe it comes as an unwelcome surprise from an un-Godly force—

a crisis we were powerless to prevent.

Not something we would ever to attribute to God,

just the harsh realities of life that occasionally happen

in an imperfect world, spinning through space.

Loss of property, loss of financial resources,

loss of a relationship,

loss of life,

loss of health,

loss of anything we were counting on as part of our future.

It’s not a direct parallel, of course, to this Bible story

about a voluntary sacrifice,

but maybe the same question is being asked of us by God,

“Do you trust me, with your whole future?”

Or, are you gripping so hard on the wheel,

that you are losing your joy, your hope, your faith in me?

It would be a good exercise for each of us sometime,

in some moments of reflection,

to make a short list of those things that we value,

those things we are banking on to carry us into

the future we think we are called to,

the future we may even think God has prepared for us.

In a way, it’s like taking inventory of our life insurance policies,

figuratively speaking.

What are those things we think ensure us a solid future?

And what is our attitude toward those things?

When God asks us to follow,

with all that we are, and all that we have . . .

which parts of “all” are we holding back in reserve?

It’s not only heroic stories of faith

from biblical giants like Abraham and Sarah,

that lead us to this question.

No, this was the same question

Jesus asked his very ordinary followers to consider,

in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 16.

“If any want to become my followers,

let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.

For those who want to save their life will lose it,

and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world

but forfeit their life?”

And if this question applies to us individual disciples,

we can be sure it also applies to the church.

Can we as a church trust God with our whole future?

What if the church is asked to give up some form of our life

that appears to be essential for our future?

What if the church and its mission

starts getting pushed to the margins of our culture,

and politely ignored? (as it generally is)

What if some institutional pillar of the church starts to crumble?

Are we willing to trust God with our life and mission?

Those words of Jesus haunt me,

as much as the story of Abraham and Isaac.

“Those who want to save their life will lose it.

And those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

I don’t know exactly what that means for me, or for the church.

But I do believe this.

It is a question that is real, and that is now.

It is a question we would be wise to reflect on,

and live with for a while,

instead of ignoring and moving on to the next glittering thing.

Will you join me in making our confession before God?

one For when we have held back, out of fear for the future,

  all forgive us, Lord.

one For when anxieties lead us to hold on to what we must lose,

or lose what we must hold on to,

  all forgive us, Lord.

one For when our willingness to trust you falters,

because that which we hold dear is being threatened,

  all forgive us, Lord.

one For whenever we give you less than

our full selves and our whole future,

  all forgive us, Lord.

[silence]

one The God who holds the future, also holds you, and holds us all,

in trustworthy, steadfast, and endless love.

Thanks be to God!

—Phil Kniss, September 19, 2021

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Phil Kniss: Narrative Lectionary introductory meditation

Listen! God is Calling!
Fall 2021 Narrative Lectionary
Genesis 1:1—2:4a


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Today we begin another year of following the grand, sweeping 

narrative of scripture.

The Narrative Lectionary has an elegant design.

Every fall, for 3 ½ months, stretching into Advent,

we explore primarily the Old Testament,

beginning with the Creation story, and on through the prophets.

It’s known as the Hebrew Bible,

the story of God, told through the eyes of the people of Israel.

In each year of the cycle we cover the same span of time,

but we pick up on entirely different stories.

So after we finish the four year cycle,

we will have covered most of the major stories

in the Old Testament.

Same narrative arc every year,

but different stories to hear and think about.

This year, as I see it, the stories seem to highlight the Voice of God.

Beginning with this great Creation story,

God’s voice speaks the world into being, speaks us into being.

“Light and dark, be! . . . Land and sea, be! . . . 

Fish, swim! . . . Birds, fly! . . . 

Human beings made in our image . . . Be!”

And as the story keeps unfolding, God keeps using God’s voice

to try to get through to us, who are often hard of hearing.

I titled this series of worship services, “Listen! God is calling!”

It will be a listening exercise for all of us,

as we listen not only to the words spoken 

to the biblical characters long ago,

but we’ll listen for God’s voice speaking to us today,

through these stories—

spoken with a different accent, you might say,

a word that lives in our context.

Then, after Advent,

we will dive deep into another one of the Gospels.

Last year it was Luke. This year it is John.

And very fittingly, the Gospel of John will begin

with words that echo today’s story from Genesis.

“In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

And that Word is light and life for all.”

Do you hear the Creation story coming through?

Well, we’ll get to John later,

and see how the Word, how God’s Voice,

gets embodied in the life of Jesus.

Then after Easter, we finish out the year 

with texts from the Book of Acts and the Epistles.

_____________________

I just wanted to take this opportunity

to put today’s worship service 

into our larger context of worship this fall,

as we follow the Narrative Lectionary again.

And isn’t it a great way to begin a series focused on the Voice of God,

by celebrating our new hymnal, titled none other than,

Voices Together.

I believe this hymnal title speaks not only to 

the joining of human voices together into a human community.

I believe it goes deeper . . . 

that when we join our voices together in worship,

our voice joins with the voice of God.

Singing is divine-human conversation,

God’s and our voices . . . together.

So begins our year together where we

“Listen! Because God is Calling!”

Thanks be to God.

—Phil Kniss, September 12, 2021

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Reflections on work that brings meaning

Labor Day Weekend: God-shaped Work
Ecclesiastes 3:9-15; 1 Corinthians 3:5-11; John 6:25-29

Phil Kniss, Christina Harman, Charles Hendricks, Lewis Yoder, Elizabeth Ochoa, Jason Rhodes, Sara Leichty, Melodie May, Shirley Yoder Brubaker, and Caitlin Miller reflect on work that brings meaning in their lives.


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Phil Kniss: Just rest!

God’s Gift of Sabbath: Trusting God’s Justice
Deuteronomy 15:1-2, 7-11; Luke 15:11-32


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Three weeks is not long enough

to explore all the implications of Sabbath in our lives today.

We are barely scratching the surface.

We often make the mistake of thinking about Sabbath,

purely in terms of individual rest from work.

Or we think about family Sabbath rules we grew up with.

Or about church rules or community expectations,

around doing anything on Sunday that could be construed

as non-essential work.

And that’s about the extent of what Sabbath theology we have.

What we do or don’t do on Sunday, as individuals.

But Sabbath goes infinitely deeper

than taking a personal break from work.

Yes, as I said last week, Sabbath is about work stoppage.

But that has implications far beyond personal rest.

Sabbath rest is good for us individually, of course. Very good!

It’s good for body, soul, and spirit, to get breaks from work.

Rest is a gift we should all be immensely grateful for,

and that we should all practice, individually.

But . . . if that’s where we stop in our thinking about Sabbath—

we are missing, maybe, the most important part.

For people of Jewish and Christian faith,

Sabbath is at the heart of community and social justice.

It addresses deep-seated and sinful tendencies we have,

as communities,

to consolidate power and wealth toward a privileged few,

to treat certain classes of people unjustly,

to act more out of anxiety, greed, and scarcity,

than out of joy, generosity, and abundance.

_____________________

That becomes obvious when we look at Sabbath commands in the Bible.

There are not only Sabbath Days,

there are Sabbath Years,

and there is even a Sabbath of Sabbath Years.

After 49 years (seven sevens) there is a Year of Jubilee.

The justice implications of Sabbath

are crystal clear when we look at the big picture—

a picture we might miss

if we only lock in on Seventh Day Sabbath rest.

But even weekly Sabbath has a communal justice orientation.

So let’s start there.

The weekly Sabbath is act of trust and freedom from bondage.

It is no accident that God introduced the Ten Commandments,

of which Sabbath is one,

with these words:

“I am the Lord your God,

who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.”

Therefore, God said, do these things that make for freedom.

When we worship a God who frees slaves,

we cannot simultaneously enslave or oppress others.

So, every seven days, Yahweh says,

stop work altogether,

stop producing wealth, and even

stop working your servants, or working your animals.

By doing so, you remind yourself and your community

that God’s provision is enough,

that even if you don’t lift a finger for a day,

God is faithful and will provide.

That undermines the myth of scarcity,

which in turn undermines selfish accumulation,

which undermines a wealth gap between rich and poor,

which undermines consolidation of power,

which undermines the use of violence and coercion

to maintain that power.

Practicing Sabbath is a radical act of social justice-seeking.

Let me say that again,

practicing Sabbath is a radical act of social justice-seeking.

And if you think I am making Sabbath into something it isn’t,

look with me at what a Sabbath Year meant,

and a Jubilee Year, a Sabbath of Sabbath Years.

Let me read again a few verses we heard earlier this morning,

from Deuteronomy 5.

“At the end of every seven years you must cancel debts.

This is how it is to be done:

Every creditor shall cancel any loan they have made

to a fellow Israelite.

They shall not require payment from anyone.

If anyone is poor among your fellow Israelites . . .

do not be hardhearted or tightfisted . . .

Rather, be openhanded

and freely lend them whatever they need.”

And then, in a pre-emptive measure,

to keep people from finding a loophole in the law,

Yahweh explicitly commanded them

not to take advantage of the system,

by refusing to lend to poor people toward the end of year six,

because they almost certainly couldn’t pay it back

before the Sabbath Year arrived.

God called that kind of thinking “wicked” in verse 9.

Instead, and I quote, “Give generously to them

and do so without a grudging heart.”

This practice of cancelling debts

was done hand-in-hand with the practice of letting the land rest,

and lie fallow.

No planting or cultivation was to be done in the Sabbath Year.

And not only that—if plants grew and produced on their own,

without your labor,

for example, grapevines and olive trees,

or vegetables and grain that came up volunteer—

that produce was never to be bought or sold.

It could be used for personal use,

and you needed to let others pick it and use it, as well.

This was, in reality, a national economic adjustment,

to mitigate against a wealth gap.

And . . . it was an act of respect for creation.

The Sabbath Year was Creation Care,

allowing the land to rest and recover on its own.

And . . . if you thought the Sabbath Year presents

challenges for land-holding farmers,

who need to make some provision for their livelihood

in the Sabbath Year

then an event greater challenge faced them in the Jubilee Year,

the Sabbath of Sabbath Years.

In that year, not only were active debts to be cancelled,

all property was to revert back to its original owner.

Maybe a poor farmer going through hard times one year,

in order to survive, had to sell their land or property

to a wealthier landowner.

Or maybe persons voluntarily sold themselves into slavery,

in order to live,

because they had no land or property remaining.

In the Jubilee Year, the Sabbath of Sabbath Years,

slaves would be freed,

and land and property would go back to the first owners,

no matter how few or many years it had been.

Now, in Judaism today,

the Jubilee Year is no longer practiced—

one might say, because it is too hard.

But the stated reason is that the biblical mandate no longer applies,

because the majority of Jews no longer live in Israel.

Be that as it may,

the principle is still here, outlined in the pages of our Bible.

The Sabbath Year, however, is still practiced, thoroughly,

in many Jewish communities, especially the Orthodox.

They have debates among themselves,

as to whether alternate arrangements are allowed,

to lessen the economic hardship.

But still today,

many Jewish winemakers, for instance,

will bottle up their Sabbath Year wine,

and give it away, instead of selling it.

_____________________

My point here,

is that practicing Sabbath is hard,

because it is far more than taking a Sunday afternoon nap

instead of going to work.

It is challenging because it pushes back against our individual right

to earn the profits that come from our labor.

People like me, in the upper half of society, economically,

are never excited about any method of wealth redistribution,

because it is bound to leave our hands,

and end up in the hands of someone who did not earn it.

And who in their right mind

wants to give away a whole year of productivity?

That’s why we listened again to the parable of the Prodigal Son

this morning.

It wasn’t about Sabbath, per se,

but we can look at it through a Sabbath lens.

It’s not a coincidence the story is told in Luke,

immediately after Jesus sparked several Sabbath controversies,

when he healed someone on the Sabbath.

See, the father in the parable has a joyful, generous Sabbath spirit.

The elder brother does not.

His younger prodigal brother most definitely did not earn

the cancellation of his debts,

did not deserve his original stake in the family economy.

But he received it anyway.

The family economic scales were readjusted.

The deeper justice practice of Sabbath,

the one that hits our own balance sheets,

has nearly always been met with resistance,

or an effort to find a work-around.

Sure . . . we live in very different times than the people

who were first given these laws in the Torah.

The Torah was for the community of faith.

These are not laws we can easily lift off the page of our Bible,

and paste them wholesale onto our complex,

and secular, economic system.

But I will say this.

I think it is well worth considering

both what the Sabbath Day, and Sabbath Year,

and even Jubilee,

might mean for us who care about being faithful to

the God who loves and advocates for the poor,

the oppressed, and the captive.

Sabbath is an opportunity to reflect on

how we may be acting unjustly, or

how we are participating in unjust systems,

and what we might do about that.

In our practice of Sabbath rest,

there is unjust rest, and

there is just rest.

Let us choose “just rest.”

Let us choose rest that is not self-serving,

but mindful of those who are oppressed.

I’m not saying it’s inherently wrong

to indulge in a restful and comfortable vacation;

to splurge once in a while,

with expensive food and fine wine, and deluxe accommodations.

Not saying we should never engage in recreation

that others can’t afford.

I better say that since just last Sunday

I showed you pictures of me whitewater rafting,

which didn’t come cheap.

But . . . when I do, occasionally, invest significant resources

in my own personal enjoyment and recreation,

even if it is fairly restful—

maybe I should be slow in priding myself on “taking a Sabbath.”

At least, not until I have done deeper reflection,

along the line of the justice priorities of a biblical Sabbath.

Let me repeat my main point here.

Sabbath is far more than taking a personal rest from labor.

It is about joining God’s justice agenda of

release for the captive,

freedom for the oppressed,

food for the hungry, and

good news for the poor.

If our Sabbath practices are ignoring those priorities,

we need to revisit our practice of Sabbath,

and discern what God is calling us to do, here, and now,

to keep the Sabbath and make it holy.

Right now, incidentally, is a very good time to think about that.

In our Christian tradition,

we don’t keep track of when the Sabbath year

rolls around every seven years.

But our Jewish siblings do.

And it just so happens,

that in the Jewish Calendar,

the next Sabbath Year begins a week from tomorrow.

And I didn’t realize that until I looked it up yesterday.

This Year’s Rosh Hashanah marks the start of the Sabbath Year

at sunset on Monday, September 6.

So let’s get thinking, now, about how we might

participate in God’s justice agenda in this Sabbath year.

And let’s start by confessing our faith,

in the words of a new confession in the back of Voice Together,

#922.

We are not alone;

we live in God’s world.

We believe in God:

who has created and is creating,

who has come in Jesus,

the Word made flesh,

to reconcile and make new,

who works in us and others by the Spirit.

We trust in God.

We are called to be the Church:

to celebrate God’s presence,

to live with respect in Creation,

to love and serve others,

to seek justice and resist evil,

to proclaim Jesus, crucified and risen,

our judge and our hope.

In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us.

We are not alone.

Thanks be to God.

—Phil Kniss, August 29, 2021

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