 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Called to be a Light in the Rockfish Valley
Serving GOD with JOY and GENEROSITY
Serving GOD with JOY and GENEROSITY
 |  |  |  |  |
David Cameron has been the pastor of Rockfish Church since January, 2000.
Ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in 1982, David has served churches in
North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. With additional training in counseling he has
also worked as a family counselor. David is married to Kathryn, also a Presbyterian
minister, and they have two grown children, Katie and Will.
Archives of David's Sermons may be found here.
Ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in 1982, David has served churches in
North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia. With additional training in counseling he has
also worked as a family counselor. David is married to Kathryn, also a Presbyterian
minister, and they have two grown children, Katie and Will.
Archives of David's Sermons may be found here.
The Far Country
Psalm 32:1-5, 10-11
Luke 15:1-2, 11-32
The teenager says to his father, “I’m going out.”
“Not so fast,” the father says. “Where are you going and when will you be back?”
“I’m just going out, don’t make a federal case.”
“I thought your car was making a funny noise.”
“You said I could have your car tonight.”
“Not if I don’t know where you’re going.”
“I am so sick of these mind games! Why can’t you just give me a break?”
“I’ll give you a break when you start showing some responsibility for a change.”
“I’m not a baby. I can make it on my own.”
“You wouldn’t last a day on your own.
“Oh yeah, you wanna bet?”
“What would you do for money? You don’t have a job.”
“I have my trust fund Grandpa left me.”
“And when that runs out?”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“That’ I’d like to see.”
“Oh yeah?
“Yeah.”
“Well I think I’ll just go right now.”
“Go on then.”
“Don’t think I won’t.
“You’re still here?”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, well stand in line.”
Door slams. Car starts and roars away making a funny noise.
In the thirty-second Psalm, the Psalmist begins with a brief description
of a state of grace.
“Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.”
There are two things about this simple statement,
two things that are so obvious they almost go un-noticed.
The first thing is that the Psalmist doesn’t even consider the possibility of NOT sinning.
He doesn’t say, “Happy are those who avoid messing up.”
Wouldn’t you think that would make a person happier –
if she didn’t mess up in the first place?
But no. Mistakes are a given. Harsh words carelessly spoken are a given.
Pride and jealousy and fear and longing are a given.
The second thing this statement communicates is that forgiveness is possible,
and not only possible, but necessary -
at least, necessary in order to be happy.
We can quibble about this.
We can talk about all the subtle nuances of what it means to be happy.
We can explore the definition of forgiveness
and whether unilateral forgiveness is possible if one party won’t cooperate.
But in the Psalmist’s view, if mistakes are inevitable (which they are)
then nothing short of forgiveness,
nothing short of a restored relationship will do.
The psalmist gives a first hand account of his own experience of sin,
not telling what his sin was or whether he acted alone in his sin,
but one thing’s for sure, it ate him up inside.
You know what that feels like –
to suffer a breech in a relationship;
to be alienated from God or from a person you care about;
to betray or be betrayed and suddenly it’s as though you’re in a distant country
where there are no familiar landmarks, no clear sense of direction.
It ate him up inside because he felt the grief of his loss and still he kept silent.
He moaned and groaned and wasted away to skin and bones but still he kept silent
because one of the hardest things to do in a broken relationship
is to be the one to make the first move.
One of the hardest things to do
is to get beyond the pride and the imagined loss of face
and be the one to take the first step toward reconciliation.
The younger son in Jesus’ story found himself in a distant country,
disoriented by hunger and shame and grief.
He knew all too well the community standards he had broken,
the dishonor he had brought on his family leaving as he had,
but it took him awhile to get to the point
where his desperate need overcame his not insignificant pride.
It was only his vision of his father’s fairness that allowed him to consider a return home.
I was only the son’s awareness of his father’s basic goodness
that allowed him to admit that he was lost and needed to be found.
That’s the point of repentance, isn’t it?
Admitting that you no longer recognize yourself;
admitting that you have become completely turned around
and cannot find your familiar landmarks;
Admitting that you are lost.
The Psalmist would say that getting lost is inevitable.
The Pharisees who kept testing Jesus and grumbling about the company he kept,
wouldn’t agree.
Their role in the community was to perpetuate the myth of perfection.
Their job, as they saw it, was to maintain such a strict vigilance
that no one in he community who cared about their relationship with God
would even dare sin.
They didn’t know what to make of Jesus’ story
of a father who never quit looking for the son he had lost
or a son who, after so many mistakes, could still entertain
the possibility of being found.
They didn’t know what to make of Jesus himself
who received tax collectors and sinners and ate with them.
We call Jesus’ story the parable of the prodigal son.
Prodigal means “wastefully extravagant.”
To some, however, it’s not the son who is “wastefully extravagant” but the father.
It’s the father who squanders unmerited love on an unworthy son.
It’s the father who wastes his time watching the path day by day,
It’s the father who doesn’t just walk, but runs in the most undignified way.
It’s the father who doesn’t just give his lost, hungry boy some bread
but in fact puts the festal robe around his shoulders,
puts the big fat ring on his finger, the sandals on his feet.
The father is the one who slaughters the fatted calf and throws a party.
The elder son, out working in the field when the younger son returns,
comes to find the party in full swing, takes one look at his little brother
and is scandalized by his father’s wastefulness.
Doesn’t the father remember how the younger son treated him?
The elder son, of course, is the stand-in for the Pharisess in Jesus’ story.
He, like the Pharisees, wears the harsh blinders of respectability
which keep his vision narrow,
still able to entertain the fantasy that with enough effort mistakes can be avoided.
With enough attention to the roadmap made up of the law
and the family customs and the community standards
you can avoid getting lost.
The irony is that the elder son is lost in his own backyard.
He just doesn’t know it.
He complains that he has worked like a slave for his father
and truer words have never been spoke.
In his meticulous, begrudging obedience he is a slave, no longer a son.
The Pharisees who grumble against the tax collectors and sinners
inhabit a world of well defined rules and careful record keeping.
David Lose, a preaching professor at Lutheran Seminary in St. Paul, MN
writes about the alternative world Jesus inhabits. 1
He writes that the main thing about the world Jesus inhabits
is that nobody counts things there.
Best of all, Lose writes, “in Jesus’ world
there is no counting old grievances and grudges,
no dredging up past wrongs or unsettled scores.”
“Jesus’ world is a world of unmerited grace,” Lose continues.
“Counters wouldn’t understand. Pulled down by the weight of their own claims,
they can only sputter, ‘All these years….” “You never….” “This son of yours….”
It may surprise you to hear me say this,
but in the story Jesus tells not one of the main characters
comes off smelling like a rose.
The father redeems himself in the end with his wastefully extravagant display of grace
but what was he thinking dividing his property like that?
Did he think his the younger son was bluffing?
Did he think he wouldn’t leave?
Did he think the elder son wouldn’t be hurt?
Jesus’ story ends with the father going outside to implore the older son to come in;
to come join the celebration;
to rejoice that the brother who was dead is alive;
if not for the younger brother’s sake, then for the father’s sake.
The power of the parable is that we don’t know how the older brother responded.
The picture fades with him still standing there.
What will he choose?
Will he swallow his pride? Take a step toward reconciliation? Let himself be found?
or will he jump in his car, slam the door and squeal his tires
content to continue wasting away?
1 Lose, David, The Prodigal Son and the Country of God, WorkingPreacher.org, March 9, 2010
Copyright David Cameron 2010
Psalm 32:1-5, 10-11
Luke 15:1-2, 11-32
The teenager says to his father, “I’m going out.”
“Not so fast,” the father says. “Where are you going and when will you be back?”
“I’m just going out, don’t make a federal case.”
“I thought your car was making a funny noise.”
“You said I could have your car tonight.”
“Not if I don’t know where you’re going.”
“I am so sick of these mind games! Why can’t you just give me a break?”
“I’ll give you a break when you start showing some responsibility for a change.”
“I’m not a baby. I can make it on my own.”
“You wouldn’t last a day on your own.
“Oh yeah, you wanna bet?”
“What would you do for money? You don’t have a job.”
“I have my trust fund Grandpa left me.”
“And when that runs out?”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“That’ I’d like to see.”
“Oh yeah?
“Yeah.”
“Well I think I’ll just go right now.”
“Go on then.”
“Don’t think I won’t.
“You’re still here?”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, well stand in line.”
Door slams. Car starts and roars away making a funny noise.
In the thirty-second Psalm, the Psalmist begins with a brief description
of a state of grace.
“Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.”
There are two things about this simple statement,
two things that are so obvious they almost go un-noticed.
The first thing is that the Psalmist doesn’t even consider the possibility of NOT sinning.
He doesn’t say, “Happy are those who avoid messing up.”
Wouldn’t you think that would make a person happier –
if she didn’t mess up in the first place?
But no. Mistakes are a given. Harsh words carelessly spoken are a given.
Pride and jealousy and fear and longing are a given.
The second thing this statement communicates is that forgiveness is possible,
and not only possible, but necessary -
at least, necessary in order to be happy.
We can quibble about this.
We can talk about all the subtle nuances of what it means to be happy.
We can explore the definition of forgiveness
and whether unilateral forgiveness is possible if one party won’t cooperate.
But in the Psalmist’s view, if mistakes are inevitable (which they are)
then nothing short of forgiveness,
nothing short of a restored relationship will do.
The psalmist gives a first hand account of his own experience of sin,
not telling what his sin was or whether he acted alone in his sin,
but one thing’s for sure, it ate him up inside.
You know what that feels like –
to suffer a breech in a relationship;
to be alienated from God or from a person you care about;
to betray or be betrayed and suddenly it’s as though you’re in a distant country
where there are no familiar landmarks, no clear sense of direction.
It ate him up inside because he felt the grief of his loss and still he kept silent.
He moaned and groaned and wasted away to skin and bones but still he kept silent
because one of the hardest things to do in a broken relationship
is to be the one to make the first move.
One of the hardest things to do
is to get beyond the pride and the imagined loss of face
and be the one to take the first step toward reconciliation.
The younger son in Jesus’ story found himself in a distant country,
disoriented by hunger and shame and grief.
He knew all too well the community standards he had broken,
the dishonor he had brought on his family leaving as he had,
but it took him awhile to get to the point
where his desperate need overcame his not insignificant pride.
It was only his vision of his father’s fairness that allowed him to consider a return home.
I was only the son’s awareness of his father’s basic goodness
that allowed him to admit that he was lost and needed to be found.
That’s the point of repentance, isn’t it?
Admitting that you no longer recognize yourself;
admitting that you have become completely turned around
and cannot find your familiar landmarks;
Admitting that you are lost.
The Psalmist would say that getting lost is inevitable.
The Pharisees who kept testing Jesus and grumbling about the company he kept,
wouldn’t agree.
Their role in the community was to perpetuate the myth of perfection.
Their job, as they saw it, was to maintain such a strict vigilance
that no one in he community who cared about their relationship with God
would even dare sin.
They didn’t know what to make of Jesus’ story
of a father who never quit looking for the son he had lost
or a son who, after so many mistakes, could still entertain
the possibility of being found.
They didn’t know what to make of Jesus himself
who received tax collectors and sinners and ate with them.
We call Jesus’ story the parable of the prodigal son.
Prodigal means “wastefully extravagant.”
To some, however, it’s not the son who is “wastefully extravagant” but the father.
It’s the father who squanders unmerited love on an unworthy son.
It’s the father who wastes his time watching the path day by day,
It’s the father who doesn’t just walk, but runs in the most undignified way.
It’s the father who doesn’t just give his lost, hungry boy some bread
but in fact puts the festal robe around his shoulders,
puts the big fat ring on his finger, the sandals on his feet.
The father is the one who slaughters the fatted calf and throws a party.
The elder son, out working in the field when the younger son returns,
comes to find the party in full swing, takes one look at his little brother
and is scandalized by his father’s wastefulness.
Doesn’t the father remember how the younger son treated him?
The elder son, of course, is the stand-in for the Pharisess in Jesus’ story.
He, like the Pharisees, wears the harsh blinders of respectability
which keep his vision narrow,
still able to entertain the fantasy that with enough effort mistakes can be avoided.
With enough attention to the roadmap made up of the law
and the family customs and the community standards
you can avoid getting lost.
The irony is that the elder son is lost in his own backyard.
He just doesn’t know it.
He complains that he has worked like a slave for his father
and truer words have never been spoke.
In his meticulous, begrudging obedience he is a slave, no longer a son.
The Pharisees who grumble against the tax collectors and sinners
inhabit a world of well defined rules and careful record keeping.
David Lose, a preaching professor at Lutheran Seminary in St. Paul, MN
writes about the alternative world Jesus inhabits. 1
He writes that the main thing about the world Jesus inhabits
is that nobody counts things there.
Best of all, Lose writes, “in Jesus’ world
there is no counting old grievances and grudges,
no dredging up past wrongs or unsettled scores.”
“Jesus’ world is a world of unmerited grace,” Lose continues.
“Counters wouldn’t understand. Pulled down by the weight of their own claims,
they can only sputter, ‘All these years….” “You never….” “This son of yours….”
It may surprise you to hear me say this,
but in the story Jesus tells not one of the main characters
comes off smelling like a rose.
The father redeems himself in the end with his wastefully extravagant display of grace
but what was he thinking dividing his property like that?
Did he think his the younger son was bluffing?
Did he think he wouldn’t leave?
Did he think the elder son wouldn’t be hurt?
Jesus’ story ends with the father going outside to implore the older son to come in;
to come join the celebration;
to rejoice that the brother who was dead is alive;
if not for the younger brother’s sake, then for the father’s sake.
The power of the parable is that we don’t know how the older brother responded.
The picture fades with him still standing there.
What will he choose?
Will he swallow his pride? Take a step toward reconciliation? Let himself be found?
or will he jump in his car, slam the door and squeal his tires
content to continue wasting away?
1 Lose, David, The Prodigal Son and the Country of God, WorkingPreacher.org, March 9, 2010
Copyright David Cameron 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|