“How Deep?”Rev. Kerri Parker, McFarland UCC Creation 4: River Sunday (September 25, 2011)Ezekiel 47:1-12 Remember the water at the beginning: “In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens,when no plant of the field was yet in the earth,and no herb of the field had yet sprung up –for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth,and there was no one to till the ground: but a stream would rise from the earthand water the whole face of the ground – then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground,and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life;and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east,and there he put the man whom he had formed.Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every treethat is pleasant to the sight, and good for food,the tree of life also in the midst of the garden,and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.A river flows out of Eden to water the garden…“ (Genesis 2:4b-19a) There was a river at the beginning, my friends. Water flowing through and around and overeverything. Before it rained, before the trees, before humankind, there was water, by thegrace of God, a stream from the earth, watering the whole face of the ground. I was reminded this week that among all the stuff that makes up the human body, two-thirdsis water. We come to this life surrounded by water, and we cannot continue to live without water. Water is life. It is all around us and within us, from the very beginning. And yet sometimes, we feel parched. We feel as if the Spirit and the source of life have left us,and we are wandering through a dry and thirsty land. As if those waters that once coveredthe earth, once bathed us in love, once soothed and nourished us, have trickled away into rockycrevices. As if we must hoard every last precious drop because it may never rain again. The prophets of the Bible describe the dark days of the Children of Israel in terms of dryness.They speak of times when the rains failed, before it was time for the harvest. When mightyrivers are a shadow of their powerful selves, and streams slow to a mere trickle. The dry times,when it got so bad, the people wandered from town to town in search of drinking water. Whenthere was only mud at the bottom of a cistern, so dry that you could use an empty well as aprison, rather than a source of life. And in our own dry times, perhaps, if we are not wandering in a parched desert, we may live atthe bottom of a dried-up well like the prophet Jeremiah, wallowing in sticky mud with neitherblessed rain nor clean water, nor even a hint of sunshine making it down to the bottom tocheer us. We cry out from the bottom of that pit, from our mucky prison, “My God, My God,why have you forsaken me?” Sometimes we feel as if we are wandering, alone, through a dry and thirsty land. But, in the beginning and in the end, and in all places between, there are the waters. Remember the gift of the waters: Water signifies birth, and death, and rebirth. The sacramentthat makes us Christian – baptism – takes place in the water. The waters of baptism, and theblessings and promises that go with them, mean new life. We die in the water, and we arebrought into new life, born of water and the Spirit. Water at the beginning, and at each new beginning. The presence of God around us, within us,ready to sustain and refresh us. Deep waters. Like our prophet this morning, we are each invited to test out the deep water. Remember this:See the stream that springs forth and waters a dry and thirsty land. It starts as a trickle, at thecenter of all things, and spreads outward. You go a little ways off, and it is ankle deep. Thenknee-deep, then waist-deep. Deeper than you are tall. So deep that you cannot wade acrosson your own two feet. You edge out into the stream. Ankle-deep, and knee-deep. Waist-deep. Finally, there’snothing to do but swim. To immerse yourself in the river of God’s love, flowing forth from thecenter of all things, and trus

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Presence Rev. Kerri Parker, McFarland UCC Transfiguration B (Feb 19, 2012) Mark 9:2-10 It’s been a rough week in the McFarland area. The news has been neither uplifting nor inspiring. First, there was the news about a 15-year-old young woman who was abused and starved for years, found walking down the street just north of here. And then there was the news about one of McFarland’s high school seniors, who took his own life. People move to small towns in “nice” Wisconsin to get away from things like this, as if going somewhere else would make it all better. We want to turn our faces away from it. We want to pretend it doesn’t happen – or at least, not here. It’s something you read in the newspapers, or online, something that happens far away, or at least, a while back. And then a week like this bursts into our consciousness, dragging up memories, dragging up fears, confirming our worst nightmares: we can’t get away from it. It’s enough to make you want to curl into a ball and retreat from the world. “I can’t,” we say – I can’t take one more of these stories. I can’t take one more of these terrible things happening. Not one more youth dying out of season. Not one more child being beaten or molested. Not one more person diagnosed with cancer. No more. Enough. We haven’t invented anything new, in our emotional exhaustion. It’s an ancient struggle. “How long, O Lord?” said the folk who wrote the Psalms. How long must this pain go on? How long until you answer the prayers? How long until you turn the world right-side up again? How long until the killing and dying and the beating stop? I like to think that’s the same question that sent Peter and James and John up the mountain with Jesus. Finally, they must have thought, the secret knowledge we’ve been waiting for. Finally, the answer to the questions we’ve been flinging to the sky for all of our lives. So they went up the mountain with their teacher. Surely, there’s some magical formula, something he can say to help us make sense of all this. Make some sense of all these crowds with their pain and their suffering, and their raw aching need. Because that’s why you follow Jesus, right? Because you’re convinced that there’s something special about this guy, because it matters, because there’s something of life-and-death in his eyes? At first you follow him around because somebody told you it was a good idea. And then because you like his company. And then he starts demanding more of you – you start noticing things. Like the gal at the next desk who has red and puffy eyes, as if she’s been crying; like an increasingly negative series of Facebook posts from someone on your friend list; like the parent struggling to manage their squirmy child; like the folks in the grocery store who start pulling items off of the counter and setting them aside as the total on the cash register creeps higher and higher. You notice these things, and they begin to occupy your attention, and your concern. You don’t know what to do with them. It’s a lot to hold, and there’s only so much a human heart can carry. Not one more, Lord, you think. Not one more. And then Jesus asks you to climb the mountain with him. More faith, you think. What I need is more faith. Then it’ll all make sense. So you go up the mountain, looking for this special religious experience that will somehow, miraculously, answer all of your unasked questions: “Where were you, God?” “Why, God?“ “How could you do this, God?” Maybe the top of the mountain is a place where you can let go and let God. And instead, you arrive, and hear a voice out of nowhere, “This is my son: listen to him!” Seriously? Someone dies by suicide every 14 minutes. Five children die every day as a result of child abuse. This hour while we’re here in worship, sixteen abuse-related injuries will be inflicted upon children somewhere. A child died here, in this town, this week, by his own hand. Another nearly starved to death. And all you’ve got, God, is “This is my son: listen to him”? As if climbing a mountain and seeing the shining light of an inaccessible God is somehow going to make it all better? The Bible tells us, “they looked around, and they saw no one with them anymore.” No God. No prophets descending from on high. No bright-and-shiny-fixer-upper. Just Jesus. Flesh-and-blood Jesus who eats with them and walks alongside them, who does the tough work of meeting the crowds and healing, and feeding, and forgiving, and proclaiming. The shiny doesn’t come back down the mountain. Just three very confused disciples and their teacher, who just happens to be the son of the Almighty God, creator of heaven and earth. “Listen to him” isn’t all that God’s got. There’s more than the glory-on-a-hill God we pull out on special occasions. There’s more than the “live a good life” self-help guru that we reduce Jesus to. There’s a cross. There’s suffering, and pain, and death – and if you don’t think that’s good news, you could be excused. It doesn’t sound like it, but it is. Because God who created heaven-and-earth also showed up in this week’s news: in a car driving down Sigglekow Road, as a driver who stopped because something didn’t seem right; in a room full of people yesterday at the funeral home to bear witness to the fact that the death of a young man mattered; and a school full of adults who said “you matter,” over and over again this week to young people who desperately needed to hear it. And God was there in that basement, and God was there in that house, and God was there with every bitter tear that has been shed, and there with every question, “My God, my God, where are you?” We’re not the only ones saying, “Not one more.” Not one more, says God. I will set my face toward the pain, says God, and I will not look away. And I will go there myself, says God, and I will enter into it. And I will allow myself to be vulnerable, and I will love my children, and I will suffer for them, and alongside them. At first you follow Jesus because somebody said it would be a good idea. Then because he seems to offer solid moral and ethical advice. And one day you realize, there’s more than that. You follow because you realize that the Jesus story is your two-thousand-year-old evidence that God shows up. Sisters and brothers, Jesus Christ has called us to follow. We are not called to harden our hearts, but to enter into the pain of the world. We are sent to bear witness to the pain, and the truth that God is present, even amid the pain and the terror and ugliness that is the work of human hands. Because while there are still Pharaohs, God will need Moses. And while there are still Ninevahs, God will need Jonahs. While there are still palaces, God will need Esthers. While the world is still in pain, God of Mercy still needs healers and truth-tellers and Christ-followers. 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“Alarm Clock”Rev. Kerri Parker, McFarland UCC Epiphany+4B (January 29, 2012) Mark 1:14-20 (text for Epiphany+3B) I use my telephone for all sorts of things these days. Talking, playing games, surfing theinternet in the doctor’s waiting room, checking my email when I’m away from my computer,finding my way from here to there, and waking me up in the morning. Recently, I upgradedthe system that makes this complicated little tool run, and it now has the capability of makingnew sounds. It can quack like a duck, chime like a bell tower, give me a piano riff, beep like thesonar on a submarine, - it can even wake me up to little snippets of songs. However, on thislist, my old wake-up sound was nowhere to be found. I set out to find an appropriate replacement. My specifications were a little bit picky, I have toadmit. There’s a relatively narrow sweet spot. Loud enough to cut through my dreaming andtell my consciousness that morning has broken. Gentle enough that it doesn’t set my heart a-pounding when it goes off, and start my day in a panic. With so many options available, youwould think it would easy to find the right one. Several weeks later, I’m pretty sure I haven’tfound what I’m looking for. Once upon a time, alarm clocks came with just one setting: loud. Some of you might be of anage where you can remember alarm clocks that had actual bells on them and a little hammerthat whacked into the bell. My first alarm clock was a little digital number with red digits, andthe insistent electronic BEEP BEEP BEEP was enough to vault my teenage body out of bed at O-dark-thirty, and leap across the room to silence it. Alarm clocks have one simple job to do: inform you, in terms you should be unable to avoid,that IT’S TIME. That action of some sort is required. That whatever it is that you are supposedto be doing, you’d better get a move on. NOW. The snooze button was the best – and worst –invention in the history of alarm clocks. It totally defeats the intended function; it lets you talkback to the alarm. With every push of the snooze button, it lets you say, “I’ll get a move on – in9 minutes when you come back to remind me.” Jesus does not come with a snooze button. The Gospel of Mark is full of words like “immediately” and “right away” and “just then.” Markis not concerned about finding the sweet spot. We are racing through the story, because thesituation is urgent. We need to know Jesus’ message. We need to know that we are called tofollow. We need to know what brought Jesus into confrontation with the authorities. We needto know what brought him to the cross. We need to know that he is going ahead of us. We need to know this, because this is our road, too. Jesus was baptized and immediately he was driven out into the wilderness, where he wastempted. John was arrested, and there’s no bridge, no “let’s get our feet back under us”period, no interim ministry. Jesus just kept going. “Now after John was arrested, Jesus came toGalilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom ofGod has come near.’” BEEP BEEP BEEP: It’s time! Get moving! Repent, and believe in the good news. I don’t know about you, but that alarm clock going off at O-dark-thirty seldom feels like goodnews to me. Nevertheless, Jesus is traveling along the sea of Galilee and saying, “Wake Up!God’s time is here. Get up! Get moving! Pay attention!” And we say, “where’s the snooze button?” I don’t want anything else on my to-do list. I don’thave ROOM for anything else on my to-do list. I don’t want an unexpected appointment. I hadPLANS. I was going to have a cup of coffee and a bite to eat, get my gear together, and get towork early. I was going for a bike ride. The calendar is packed. I can’t squeeze anything elsein. Maybe next Tuesday? But Jesus shows up, and stands at our desk, or our workbench, or our locker, and says, “It’sGod’s time.” God’s time: not only did God make it, but God owns it, and God has plans for it,and those plans involve you. The Kingdom of God is here. Now. It’s time. Get moving. Jesus will not be put off. The invitation he offers is brief, and simple: Repent and Believe.Follow me and become fishers of people. Follow me, and become agents of the Good News. The Jesus we see in the Gospel of Mark is not waiting around for an answer. This is not a philosophical debate or a long-drawn-out courtship. Jesus asks each of us to make a real liveflesh-and-blood decision that will change your whole life. You: New life – yes, or no? Want tocome work for me? Then come on. Immediately, he called them. We want some time to think. To reflect. To strategize and to figure out if this will fit into ourplans. To see if we can add fishing-for-people to our to-do list without blowing the whole thingup. The invitation is brief and immediate. Jesus is not calling or inviting us tomorrow. Jesus iscalling us right here. Right now. No snooze button. There’s a short shelf life on this offer, andif you miss it, you’ll have to scramble to catch up. The lesson that the first disciples offer us is that it is possible to respond differently.Immediately. Like the folks in Ninevah (the ones we heard about last week), they hear themessage, and get the urgency, and do something about it. Immediately, the Ninevitesrepented. Immediately, Simon (Peter) and Andrew left their nets and followed. Jesus sawJames and John, and immediately called them, and they went. There’s not a ton of explanation up front. This is on-the-job training at its finest: “Followme, and I will make you fish for people.” The older translation – and quite possibly the moreaccurate one – is “I will make you fishers of men.” He doesn’t invite us to dabble in the hobbyof fishing – he invites us into the life of fishing. Jesus does not ask us to add one, or three, or five more things to our to-do list. Jesus asksus to change our way of living to follow the Good News. Jesus calls us to let go of our ownpriorities, and accept God’s priorities. That’s what being a Christian means. To order our world according to God’s priorities. To stopworking for ourselves and start working for what Mark calls the Kingdom of God. Discipleshipmeans dropping our nets – giving up whatever we have been fishing for – and picking upChrist’s net: fishing for those who are left out, who are outside, who desperately need to hearsome Good News in their life. So what have you been fishing for? A promotion? Financial security? Independence?Popularity? Peace? A little breathing space? Put down the net. Step away. Jesus is here, saying “Follow me.” Jesus calls us to accept the urgency of spreading the Good News. Here. Now. For the sake ofwhat God is doing in the world. For the sake of our neighbors. For the sake of ourselves. Jesus is on the move, already heading off down the road. The alarm clock has rung. TheKingdom of God has come near. Have you heard it? Do you intend to follow? Get up. Getmoving. The Good News is urgent business. We have ministry to do, fishers of people. Amen. http://www.archive.org/download/McfarlandUccSermon20120129/MUCC_Sermon_20120129.mp3

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