5/7/2017 0 Comments If Anybody Asks You Who I amSermon by Rev. Robin Bartlett
preached on May 7, 2017 at First Church in Sterling, MA I was listening to NPR’s Story Corps yesterday, and heard an interview between two young boys named Josiah and Isaiah and their dad which was funny and beautiful and sweet. Eventually, after asking him lots of questions about his childhood, Josiah asked his dad, Kevin, “What’s the hardest thing about being a dad?” “The hardest thing about being a dad is having a drink that you want to drink, and small people put their nasty mouth all over it,” Kevin explained. “And then whatever they were eating is now in the drink, and then you don’t want it anymore. Or buying them food and they don’t want their food, but they want your food. You’re never just satisfied.” At this point you might think the boys were pondering the heavy burden adults bear, but Josiah asked, “Why can’t I be in charge?” His brother jumped in before Kevin could respond. “Because then everything would be a nightmare,” Isaiah said. Kevin cited a different reason and added some requirements for being “in charge.” “You cant be in charge because you are missing four teeth and no one’s going to listen to somebody who doesn’t have teeth in their mouth,” Kevin said. After that, they pelted him with questions. The final question Josiah asked his dad was “Are you proud of me?” “I am very proud of you,” Kevin said. “You’re both fantastic children and I am happy and proud to be your dad.” I think this interview sums up the message of the Gospel. We ask God all the time, “Why can’t I be in charge?” And God answers by saying two things: “you can’t be in charge because you’re not me. If you were in charge, things would be a nightmare.” And then God follows it up with “I am happy and proud to be your father.” Or in more simplistic words, God says: I’m in charge. Follow me. You are loved. How bold one gets when one is assured of being loved. The truth is, there are too many people trying to be in charge. But abundant life, Jesus says, comes from following the sound of Love’s voice: “the thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” EJ and Grace, today is your baptism day. I wanted to tell you something about what it means to have abundant life through your baptism. The truth is, abundant life is really a gift that you already possessed much before this day. Abundant life can be found in following Love’s voice. You learned that skill before you were born, when you could hear and recognize the sound of your parents’ voices from the womb. And I’m sure, EJ, you have learned that lesson over and over again during adolescence. Your mom tried to remind you countless times when she said things like, “If John told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” Following Love’s voice is one of those lessons we have to learn over and over again before we truly get it. The adults in this room are still trying to master it. So today I want to teach you a song. I want you to sing it in your head when you need to. Sing it to your future boss, or to a bully on the playground, or on the picket line someday, or when you are suffering in body or in spirit, or when you are trying to psyche yourself up for that next, big, bold thing someone’s telling you you can’t do: If anybody asks you who I am, who I am, who I am, if anybody asks you who I am, tell them I’m a child of God. Today is Good Shepherd Sunday. We recognize Good Shepherd Sunday every year, and read scripture texts about the Shepherd metaphor for God. We say in the words of the 23rd psalm: The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. Or, as Bobby McFerrin interprets it: The Lord is my shepherd, I have all I need. In our Gospel text today, Jesus uses mixed metaphor, which probably drives the English teachers in the room crazy. (We need many metaphors to touch the ineffable, English teachers, so leave Jesus alone.) He says that he is both the shepherd and the gate. The sheep know my voice, he says. And whoever enters by me will be saved. Not all of us like to think of ourselves as sheep needing to be led, or as people needing to be saved. But sheep are apparently smarter than we give them credit for. They are followers, but they are smart followers. They know the voice of their human caretaker, and they follow him or her. They can listen above the din of all of the voices trying to lead them astray and hear the voice of the one they should follow. They know there is strength and safety when they are following the right voice. Perhaps that’s what salvation looks like in this lifetime: harnessing divine strength to do hard things by following the voice of The One who Loves. How bold one gets when one is assured of being loved. But here is a caution, also from our Gospel text: There is a different voice in our head that leads us astray—it is the voice of the thief or bandit. This voice is a thief because it tries to steal who we are. This voice tells us we aren’t good enough, or beautiful enough, or thin enough, or powerful enough, or normal enough, or strong enough or smart enough. Sometimes that voice comes from the echoes of an abusive parent or a bully or depression or addiction or from racism or sexism or homophobia, or from a world that tells you there’s never enough, and that there is everything to fear. That voice is usually loud, and it’s an evil liar that comes to kill and destroy. Tony Morrison, in her beautiful novel, “Beloved,” writes about knowing the voice of God, and letting it drown out the voices that come only to kill and destroy. She writes about the experience of slavery: “In this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don't love your eyes; they'd just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face 'cause they don't love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain't in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give you leavins instead. No, they don't love your mouth. You got to love it. This is flesh I'm talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I'm telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. and all your inside parts that they'd just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver--love it, love it and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.” EJ and Grace: Love your heart. For this is the prize. This is the place where God lives, where the Good Shepherd’s voice whispers to you: you are Beloved. Follow me. How bold one gets when one is assured of being loved. If any voice, internally or externally, tries to define you: As a body limited to its parts As a thug As a trouble-maker As trash As stupid or ignorant As too old or too young As wrong or bad or un-holy As illegal, As a racial or homopobic slur, As a pre-existing condition, As a stranger or an enemy, As anything less than human, As anything that steals your worth, Or if anyone tries to sum every part of you up with essentialist labels like woman, man, gay, straight, fat, thin, ugly, deserving or undeserving, young, old, poor, rich, democrat, republican, handicapped, immigrant, black, white, brown, IF ANYBODY TRIES TO DO THAT. Don’t let them tell you who you are. Tell them you’re a child of God. Listen to the voice of the good shepherd instead, who reminds you of your worth and your call, and follow that voice. God loves your flesh: flesh that weeps, that laughs, that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Listen above the voices of thieves and bandits to the One who calls you beloved, who is happy and proud to be your Creator. How bold one gets when one is assured of being loved. If anybody asks you who I am, who I am, who I am, if anybody asks you who I am, tell them I’m a child of God. Amen.
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AuthorRev. Robin Bartlett is the Senior Pastor at the First Church in Sterling, Massachusetts. www.fcsterling.org Archives
February 2021
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