Sermon from the Presbyterian Church of Chestertown

Reverend Mel Baars

Isaiah 9:2-7

December 2, 2012

 

“Prince of Peace”

It is hard for me to believe that it has been two years since I was first assigned by our newly crowned Moderator of Presbytery, Pastor Sara, with preaching on the first Sunday of Advent. Back in 2010, when I had three or four less gray hairs, and still no clue from the Army on where in the world I would be going or with whom I would be going with, hope was my assigned word. When Sara asked me to preach this Advent, again on the first Sunday of the season, I had a fleeting thought that I would use that old sermon once more, and “hope” that no one had been paying close attention two years ago. After all, Sara has really put me to work this weekend. I had to preach yesterday at the Presbytery meeting and between the Chester River Chorale holiday concert on Friday night, which was a wonderful way to begin this holy season and other, various homecoming meals shared with dear friends, my social calendar has been full since I arrived in Chestertown. There was hardly any time for preparing a sermon. But, wouldn’t you know it, Pastor Sara, gave me a different group of words this year. There would be no sermon reruns.

As Pastor Sara mentioned earlier, for Advent this year we are singing a new hymn, adding a new verse each week. Today we sang, “Come Now O Prince of Peace, make us one body. Come O Lord Jesus, reconcile your people.” I will admit, I was a little miffed that I couldn’t reuse my hope sermon. Hearing the words of this first verse though, I know how appropriate it is for me to meditate on Jesus as the Prince of Peace. After my last year, I know, more than ever before, that Jesus is the only real hope for any true peace. Whatever your thoughts are on what is happening in Afghanistan or what has happened there over the past eleven years, most of us acknowledge that establishing a lasting peace there or anywhere for that matter, won’t come through military strategy. Every time I heard a disparaging story about some needless violence happening throughout the country, often involving harm of a young girl or boy, I would wonder to myself how anyone could survive their Afghan tenure maintaining any hope at all without holding on to Jesus and his promise of true peace.

As a chaplain, I don’t always get to talk about Jesus, at least explicitly. Now please don’t get me wrong. Of course, I am a Christian minister, and couldn’t never pretend to be anything else. But, like many who work for either the government or for the county as an educator, I, too, must to wear different hats. I am allowed to talk about Jesus during worship services and when I lead Bible Studies or have people drop by my office to discuss questions of faith. But, when I am in battalion staff meetings or asked to give an invocation at a military ceremony, in those moments, I am supposed to speak of God more broadly. This way persons from different faith backgrounds or who don’t have any faith at all will not feel excluded or that their right to exercise their own free religion is being infringed upon. There are some who worry that not talking about Jesus effectively takes Jesus out of the equation, that Jesus becomes invisible. Yet after a year in Afghanistan, I beg to differ. In fact, I think not being able to talk about Jesus all the time instead gives us more reason to work on acting like him.

Sometimes I think that I learned this, at least in part, from you and the ways that you ministered to deployed troops over this past year. I think of the blue Christmas cards which were mailed to each of my soldiers bearing four simple words, “And on earth, Peace.” Those letters written by so many of you, including members of our youth group and some even younger than that, found their way into the mailboxes of an extremely diverse group of people-- some Christian, some Jewish, some atheist, some Muslim. And, I did not hear one complaint because members of a Christian church had written a Christmas card to an individual from a different faith. And, trust me, as the chaplain, I hear all the complaints.

Instead what I heard were things like this said by one of my Jewish soldiers. “Chaplain, I got a letter from someone in your church. I just couldn’t figure it out. At first I thought it was from a family member because the woman wrote the letter to me-- personally. I even called my mom to find out which of our family lived in Maryland. Then I figured out it was one of your friends.” Or, the letter that found its way to one of my Afghan linguists who originally fled Afghanistan during the Russian invasion when he was a young boy. “Can you believe it,” he said. “I got a letter from your friends in Maryland. Come and see it on my desk. This is the first time that I have been included with the soldiers at Christmas. Please tell them I am also praying for peace.” And, then there was perhaps my favorite comment from an old sailor who was working as a civilian contractor with our unit. “Chaplain,” she said. “Your people are very sneaky. I don’t like Christmas and I don’t like church, but their card was the kindest thing I have received during this deployment.” I could go on and on, but perhaps the most telling thing I noticed was, ten months later, those blue cards, with their white doves and message of peace, still posted on computers and on walls and on desks. You could hardly walk around our unit without being reminded of Jesus and his promise of peace.

Of course, the Christmas cards were just one of the many acts of God’s love which this church extended across oceans and continents, all the way to Afghanistan. Whether it was the over 6,000 Christmas cookies that you baked which fed not only my unit but many others on our camp or the stockings or pillowcases that you sewed, whether it was the fleece blankets you cut or the knitted sweaters that you so lovingly made for the children we met at the Egyptian hospital, whether it was the backpacks that you helped create, the last of which I heard, just two weeks ago, were going to be given away when schools open again in the spring as a part of a new initiative by Operation Pencil to partner with the Afghan National Army and their version of a chaplain who has set a goal to make a positive impact on each one of the almost 30,000 children who are in the Bagram district. Whether it was the school supplies or chap-stick that you brought to Vacation Bible School, whether it was hours you donated to packing boxes or sewing or knitting or praying, especially praying, in all of these actions you practiced being Jesus rather than just talking about him.

Throughout the season of Advent, we prepare for the coming of Christ into the world. Yes, we are always supposed to be ready for Jesus’, but in these weeks, we do things to make even more room. As we light the candles of the Advent wreath or open our homes for traveling Jesus to come over and spend time with our children, we acknowledge that it is Jesus, Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, whose presence among us makes all the difference in a world which, at times, appears to only grow darker.

At the very end of our deployment, I had one-on-one counseling sessions with every member of Task Force Viper. None of them had to use their entire thirty minute time block, though many of them ended up going into overtime, but they all had to meet with me. My hope was that brief reflection on their deployment as well as conversation about the months of reintegration that were just over the horizon, would help them to be ready for the emotional highs and lows of returning home. One of the questions that I would ask during this session was for them to name their best deployment memory. When I posed this question to one of my soldiers, a Special Forces Ranger with quite a few other deployments under his belt, he first answered me, saying there wasn’t one good moment over the year, not in a place like Afghanistan. Before I could even respond, he held up his hand and said, “Wait... I take that back. There was one good memory. Christmas Eve, when we lit our candles and took the light out into the dark Afghan night. I will never forget how I felt then, that just for a moment, peace was really possible.”

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined (Isaiah 9:2).” Advent is here and with it a heightened awareness of the one promise which makes all the difference-- the Prince of Peace is coming. He will accomplish fully what none of us can do on our own. He will make us into one body and reconcile all his people, every last one of us. This promise of true peace is what we witness to our world when we act like Jesus, when we become his hands and feet wherever we are, here, on the other side of the world, and everywhere between.

“Come Now O Prince of Peace, make us one body. Come O Lord Jesus, reconcile your people.” Amen

Help Our Unbelief - Sunday Sermon, October 7 2012

Chaplain Mel Baars

October 7, 2012

Job 1:1; 2:1-10

“Help Our Unbelief”

I was really hoping that the lectionary would be more helpful for this Sunday when we celebrate World Communion. Since it is also my last time to preach, I wanted to end on a high. When I opened up the Bible to our gospel, my first thought was, you have got to be kidding me. Divorce...really??!! It’s not quite as gruesome as the beheading of John the Baptist, but for many who have struggled through it, a beheading may have been preferable. I was hoping for something warm and fuzzy, maybe something about hope or love or God’s promises of goodness. Something that was easy, which didn’t remind us what we are continually trying to avoid, how challenging our lives can get, the fact that we can never quite live up to who God is calling us to be, no matter how hard we try.

Our Old Testament reading wasn’t much help either. God and Satan are in the middle of a major power play, what appears to be a cosmic game of chess. Unsuspecting and upright Job seems to be caught in the middle, almost because he was such a good guy and not the opposite. Today’s scripture selection makes me think of saying something which is not often uttered audibly in a church. “You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.” Last night, as I was praying for divine inspiration, my modus operandi for Saturday nights throughout this deployment, it struck me how true this statement can be, or at least how it may appear in certain seasons of our lives. Job is an extreme case of suffering, but all of us, no matter where we come from or how well we follow Jesus each day, inevitably, we face periods of wilderness. Someone joked yesterday that he felt a lot like Job on this deployment, struck each day with some new struggle, some new tragedy. Our lives here may not be as dramatic as Job’s, but some days, when that Red Cross message comes in or we catch the wrath of some superior officer, it sure feels like it.

Job is the Bible’s classic case of enduring faith despite terrible suffering. This morning in our reading, we skipped over some of the saddest parts of Job’s story, when he loses everything, including all of his children in a sudden, deadly tornado. In chapter two, he is ravaged with oozing sores from head to toe. His wife, who along with Job has also lost everything, poses the question many of us may be wondering in the wake of such devastation, “Do you still keep your integrity, even now when you have nothing left, no offspring or wealth, no blessings or hope at all. Do you still hold on to your faith? Just curse God and die.”

On one hand, I think she sounds pretty levelheaded. Wouldn’t we all be asking the same question, at least somewhere in the annals of our hearts? I mean, we have to ask ourselves, what is the point of faith anyway? Why do we seek to love and serve God in the first place? Is it an insurance policy for heaven? People say this all the time to me, that they might as well believe, just in case it turns out to be true. Is having faith a way to get something good? If the point of faithfulness is to become more prosperous, to only know blessings, then somewhere along the line, Job’s God has failed him. If God failed Job, perfect and sinless, otherwise what none of us are, then it is not too farfetched to think God may fail us, too.

Yet, do we really expect that the relationship between faith and prosperity will always be one-for-one, tit-for-tat. One prayer equals one day illness free. There are some who think this. They believe if you have enough faith, or the right kind of faith, nothing bad will ever happen to you. With a heavenly flick of a magic wand, problems will be fixed, marriages will automatically mend, illnesses will disappear. They think that faithfulness comes with an immediate reward, just like that. But, what happens when problems don’t go away, when marriages fail, when illnesses intensify, when jobs and homes and dreams are lost, or worse, when a loved one dies without warning. What then? What happens to that kind of faith when a storm rolls in and one is buffeted from every side?

Job responds to his wife with these words, “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” It is the right answer but I must admit that I am a little suspicious. This is only chapter two. The book of Job is forty some odd chapters, and Job doesn’t get a break, at least not until much later. If we stopped reading at chapter two, we might think that Job isn’t really human, that he took one devastating blow after the next and never got to the end of his rope, never got angry at God or faced doubt or even a crisis of faith. All of those things come later. Today we only get as far as chapter two. This is just the beginning of Job’s journey through the wilderness, before he has hit rock bottom.

When Job finally reaches his breaking point, he has what many of us would call, a “come to Jesus moment.” He demands to know what he ever did to deserve this horror. He is not going to be satisfied with some generic response from God, but he wants to know details. When did he turn away a stranger or not share his wealth with the poor? When did he harbor deceit in his heart or secretly rejoice when one of his enemies suffered? When did he behave in a way that would garner punishment? He knows the answer is never. According to the story, Job was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil. No sin escaped his lips. Job did not reap what he sowed. He did not deserve punishment. He needed no lessons to remind him to give thanks to God for his blessings. He was the kind of guy who did that on his own. But, nonetheless, he still faced the darkness, not because of his sin, but because there are times when the darkness is inescapable.

I have found, strangely, that the most difficult texts have often offered me the most comfort. These texts give us the truest insight into our own lives and the shadows that we live with every day—the suffering that we experience, the illness that our child struggles with, the divorce that is still fresh, the doubts and the fears which haunt us. There are days when we have many more questions than answers, how a good God who loves us could let such difficult things happen in our lives? At times, this has always been our human cry, a common theme when we have found ourselves deep in the pit. Where are you God and why is this happening? It was Job’s question, and it was even Jesus’ question from the cross when he said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.”

Job and Jesus and many other people of faith whom we encounter in the Bible remind us that neither our lack of understanding nor our dismay negates our faith, neither does anger nor grief. Not even our doubts turn God away from us, even when we say them out loud. God’s arms reach wide enough to bring us back again and again, even if we have wandered very far, even if we have been lost for a long time.

God never stops responding to us, reminding us in countless ways, through a burning bush, out of a whirlwind, or in the presence of another pilgrim on the journey, that we have already been given the most important answer of all. We belong to God and God alone. Though we forget it sometimes, particularly in the midst of the darkness in our worlds, we do know the rest of the story. We know how it all ends. We celebrate it every week when we come to God’s table, and we remember God’s saving love in Jesus.

Today is world Communion Sunday which means that all over the world, in every time zone and on every continent, in grand cathedrals and in makeshift church shacks, in every language and in places where having faith is punishable with death, throughout the ranks and denominations of the whole church, people of faith will find their way to this table. They will break bread and share the cup. They will take and eat and remember that Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again. They will cross their hands, forming the sign of the cross, and they will share in this holy meal. Some will have just faced great loss while others will be filled with joy. Some will have done this throughout their entire lives while others will come to the table for the very first time. Young and old, rich and poor, some filled with hope and others laden with doubt. Together, with them, we will proclaim what God has promised, that we are joined with Christ through death into everlasting life.

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?

Lord we believe; help our unbelief. Amen

Finding Normal Again...

We have gotten down to many of out “lasts.” Whether it is preparing for my final worship service or staff meeting, there is a part of me which is unable to wrap my brain around this sudden finitude. While it felt like September would never end, so far October has been a blur. There are so many lose ends to take care of that it is hard to stay focused on any one thing. Though It has been exciting to meet the people who are replacing our unit, I can’t help feeling sorry that they have to stay here while we go home. 

More than any other aspect of deployment, I will miss Sunday worship and the small, but faithful group who gathered each week to celebrate Holy Communion. When I arrived in Bagram almost a year ago, I had trepidation over starting my own service. I had never planned worship without the watchful eye of a senior pastor nor had I been responsible for preaching every week. Every time a Sunday would roll around those first months, I wondered if people would even show up. 

Slowly, though, the service went from a random assortment of individuals to true congregation. We all knew who to expect and took note if someone was missing, not to create any guilt but instead to let them know their absence was noticed. I started looking forward to Sunday mornings because I knew that it would be a time for all of us, including myself, to regroup after another long week. Somehow, I came up with a sermon by Sunday morning, often being inspired into the wee hours of Sunday morning. I always took comfort that the center of our worship was not my words but was our celebration of the Lord’s Super. Whenever I saw people squirming in their chairs, I reminded myself that they would leave the service with Jesus’ words, not my own, most fresh in their minds-- Whenever you eat this bread or drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death, until He comes again. This reminder was what we all needed more than any words I could offer. 

Over these last few weeks, I have been wondering how I will find normalcy again after this experience. I have recognized all the ways that I am distancing myself from the routine I have known for almost a year, and I have forced myself to do things that make me remember who I am and what I love, despite this year away. As I have prepared for this final worship service for World Communion Sunday, I have remembered what I have known all along. No matter where I have been in the world, taking part in communion has been my normal. Coming to God’s holy table, kneeling at the rail or standing at the altar, crossing my hands to take a bit of bread and a sip of the cup, this is the closest thing to home I will ever know.

This Sunday, in ancient cathedrals and in makeshift shacks, all around the world, the church will celebrate God’s saving love in Jesus Christ. From east and west, north and south, people will come to God’s table, hands cupped and hearts ready to be filled with a peace which surpasses all human understanding. Through the Holy Spirit, we will be joined with God’s family of every time and place, with those who have passed away and those who are still to come. We will remember, most importantly, God’s gift of everlasting life. 

Sermon for September 30th

Chaplain Mel Baars

James 5:13-20

“Prayers”

September has been a never-ending month. As one person said to me the other day, it feels as if the month of September has been longer than the whole rest of the deployment. I have to agree. There is a laundry list of contributing factors to our general frustration and misery. Many of us have been here for a long time. We have reached the limits of our patience and have found ourselves wondering how we are going to make it to end of this journey, even when the end is in sight.  For those of us who have only been here for a few weeks, we may be fresh and ready to tackle this mission, but still, there are family issues and worries over home. All of these burdens, and more, become heavier and heavier. 

I really didn’t want to preach on James again, mostly because James can get a little “preachy” multiple weeks in a row. He always seems to have the right answers and doesn’t waste any time pandering to our excuses. His confidence in delivery is almost too much to swallow, as if being faithful is easy. There is a part of me that doesn’t want to dwell on what James has to say because in my heart I know he usually makes good points, even if they are points I would rather ignore. This week he tells us, no matter what our circumstances are, we should be praying, a particular point that I have lost sight of over these past few weeks. 

“Are any among you suffering?” James asks. “They should pray.” Suffering may be too dramatic of an adjective to describe the events of this past month, at least for me. No one has died which was the litmus test I put in place upon deploying here. But there have been quite a few hard days, quite a few disparaging situations. We are continually warned about threat streams against our base, not to mention the other attacks that we hear about happening all around theater. The news of riots around the world over the Innocence of Muslims video which led to the deaths of quite a few people has been deeply discouraging. Marriages between our service members are being patched together with string and scotch tape, and the deployment orders are still being cut. Suicide has been worse this year than ever before, at least in the Army family. Our children are dealing with their own challenges and difficulties without us there with them to help. I could go on and on and on. 

We wonder how in the world we are going to hold it all together. How will we find pathways toward peace in the midst of the fighting and misunderstandings? How will we keep our loved ones safe and healthy? How will we pay the bills and, at the same time, prepare for all the possible misfortunes that are lurking? This month it is cancer from the burn pit, next month I am sure it will be something else. It’s tiring just thinking about it all. 

If any of you are suffering or struggling, you should be praying James reminds us. It is as simple as that. Just pray. I am sure that there are a few people here who live by this mantra. I wish I could say that I am among you, but the truth is, more often than not, I forget my prayers. Before you start walking out in protest that your chaplain doesn’t pray, please hear me out. It’s not that I never pray, or don’t believe in the power of prayer. Of course I do. We happen to be praying quite a few times together during this morning’s worship service. But I think that James is talking about something a little different. I think he is saying that praying should be our way of living. Praying should be how we respond to whatever life unfolds before us, in the midst of suffering, in cheer, in sickness and everything between. I do pray, but normally I don’t remember to do so until all my other problem solving tactics have failed me. Prayer should be my first response but so often, I confess, it is my last. 

But, one of the aspects of this passage about prayer which is so important is that prayer does not only depend on me or any one of you, but prayer, as James envisioned it, was all about the whole community. When he asks, “Are any among you sick,” he doesn’t say, you alone should pray. You alone are responsible for praying for yourself. But, he says, “They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.” James reminds us that the suffering, the cheer, the sickness and all the rest are not to be lived out in individual vacuums. Instead, we are in this as one body, a community of the faithful who have each pledged to walk alongside one another, sharing burdens and sorrows as well as joys and celebrations. This is what relationships are all about. Prayer is at the very heart of following Jesus. It is how we come to know God more fully. 

This year, in the peaks and valleys of deployed life, I have experienced the power of the prayers of my community of faith. Just when I feel like I have hit a wall, and have had all the energy sucked out of me, I will get an email from a friend, simply telling me that I, along with my soldiers, have been prayed for. Even though people have told me that they would be praying for me throughout this year, it always surprises me. Whenever I get one of these emails, I feel wrapped in the presence of God. 

Just this week, I got emails from friends who are elders in my own community of faith. One is a pastor and the other three are ordained leaders in my church, so it is no stretch to think that they would be praying for me, especially because they know that this month has been so challenging. Yet, reading their emails over the past few days, hearing that one of them is lighting a candle each day and saying prayers for us, this was just the reminder I needed. I am not alone. None of us are. And, even when we haven’t remembered to pray first, others have stepped in for us. This is what a family does for one another. 

James was so right. Gather all the elders together and before you do anything else, pray-- for the sick, for the suffering, for those who struggle in mind, body, or spirit. There is lots of work to be done to be sure, but start with prayer and go from there. Let God hear you. Let God be an active part of your life because God’s presence and strength and wisdom and care will make all the difference. 

Still, though, for some of us, it is hard to know where to begin with our prayers. If we have endured unspeakable sadness or disappointment or have struggled with depression, we may find ourselves at a loss for what to pray. When we feel far from God or even angry with God because of the circumstances that we are dealing with, finding the words to pray may not be easy. 

My childhood friend’s grandmother used to talk to us about her prayer life when we were growing up. She had been a faithful believer throughout her life and then one day, her youngest daughter was murdered. It was a random, shocking crime which left their whole family reeling. Though this woman had spent her lifetime praying, suddenly, she found that she couldn’t pray anymore. Her loss, her anger, her grief, her sadness-- they were too painful. Though she couldn’t pray her own prayers, she told us that she still prayed the Lord’s Prayer every day. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...” She prayed this, for months, maybe even for years, this prayer which Jesus taught her and all of us to pray. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us...” Praying this prayer helped her to survive this tragedy. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…” In the end, this prayer gave her a way to stay connected to God even when God felt so far away. 

If there are any among you who are suffering, you should pray for God hears your cries and helps you in your distress. If there are any who are cheerful, you should pray, too, giving thanks and praise to God for all of your blessings. If there are any who are sick or struggling, get the elders together to pray, for we are all in this together. Through the love and support of one another, we are reminded what faithfulness looks like, even when it gets dark. We are given the strength and the courage to live our lives as God has called us, trusting that God will be there with us. 

“For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

Stemming the Suicide Tides

This week, all around the globe, Army installations from the United States all the way to Afghanistan pressed pause on operations in order to conduct a day of suicide training across all of all forces. Suicide has been a growing problem in the Army for a number of years, having doubled over a five year period and peaking in 2009. The Army’s response to this increasing problem has been more training, or in reality, more power point presentations often delivered by chaplains. Most units are required to do quarterly training on the subject which means that the majority of every audience has heard the finer points of these presentations, multiple times. There is no lack of awareness that suicide is an important issue which continues to impact our brothers and sisters-in-arms.

Despite the efforts that have been made, 2012 is projected to be the worst year ever for Army suicides. In mid-June, there had been a suicide for every day of the year. In July, this number peaked at thirty-eight. At this point, suicide is responsible for more deaths than any other cause, including combat and motor vehicle accidents. Though much has been “done” to stem the tide of death by suicide, these solutions have been largely ineffective.

There are many people within the Army community who are asking, “Why?” The standard answers are still being offered. For instance, some say that the Army isn’t talking about suicide enough. Though they have increased awareness of this topic, it hasn’t been sufficient to keep up with the needs that have exploded exponentially after eleven years of continual deployments on multiple fronts. The stigma associated with mental health intervention also prevents soldiers from seeking help. “Getting help” may be hailed as a courageous act, but, in actuality, the military culture depends on sustaining an emotionless vacuum. Those who have been trained to repress emotions in order to maintain composure and minimize the normative human reactions to trauma while in the heat of combat struggle to deal with these emotions once they rise again to the surface later in life. 

These, and a few others even, are important pieces of this devastating puzzle. These reasons are all cited in research. They are the ones I studied when I was a graduate student, writing papers about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But, after spending a few years in the Army, I don’t think these reasons are the true, underlying issue. I think our problem actually has to do with conveying the value of human life, and ultimately convincing people one of two ends: either that they are valued and cherished or that they are dispensable. The Army knows all the right words to say, when it comes to leadership, yet anyone who has been around this organization for more than a honeymoon period, knows that many if not most struggle to live up to these words. What is espoused by leaders at the highest ranks comes across in the trenches as lip service. Leadership talks about caring about every last soldier that fills every last one of our ranks, but this talk is empty. If the well-being of soldiers was truly a priority, decisions would not be made based on the easiest and cheapest way to get the job done. Those of us, closest to the ground, are being suffocated by this hypocrisy. 

If we want to prevent more suicide in the Army, we need to start with teaching soldiers that they are valuable individuals who matter. The best way to teach is through our actions, not our words. In many ways, this is counterintuitive to the way the Army operates. On the other hand though, this concept of worth has always been a part of our organization and how we build a team. We are only ever as strong as our weakest member and therefore, we are deeply connected to each person and his or her resilience and capacity to thrive even in difficult circumstances. Part of the Soldier’s Creed, which every soldier memorizes as a part of basic training, reminds us all that we never leave a fallen comrade behind. Every life is worth fighting for. We can’t just say our creeds but, ultimately, we must make decisions with these tenants in mind. It is true that the higher one gets in a hierarchy, the harder it is to remember the realities on the ground. Yet, the future of our forces depends on it.

Sermon for September 23, 2012

“Servant Leadership”

Mark 9:33-37

At times, Jesus can really be annoying.. It’s impossible to sneak anything by him and his special Jesus mind reading powers, at least I am sure that is what it felt like to the disciples when, out of nowhere, he asked them, “So, what were you arguing about back there.” Talk about being caught red handed. They answered his seeming innocuous question with silence, which, in a way, was answer enough. None of them wanted to admit to their petty immaturity. They knew Jesus would not be impressed with their conversation topic—who was the greatest. 

It is moments like this when it is clear how well Jesus perfected the art of the “rhetorical” question. 

“Which of these three, do you think, was really a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers (Luke 10:36)?” 

“Suppose one of you has only one sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath; will you not lay hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a human being than a sheep (Matthew 12:11-12)!”

"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake (Matthew 7:9—10)?"

We can imagine how uncomfortable his audience might feel in the wake of these questions. Jesus doesn’t accuse or reprimand with venomous words or at loud decibels, instead he gently points out the obvious. He holds up a mirror so that those who are listening can see their own foolishness.  Today’s passage is all about the disciples’ need to feel superior to one another. We are not given the gory details about their pissing contest, but if we are honest with ourselves, we may admit that we know this scene all too well. 

So, what did you get on your PT test? I got a 290… says one, while the other retorts with an even better score. Top block on an officer evaluation, promotion below the zone, or even better, my kid got on the honor roll, did yours? I am not saying that we shouldn’t be proud of our kids or even ourselves when we have had a significant accomplishment. But, as one of my friends would say to me whenever I would talk about how many pull-ups I could do-- nobody likes a bragger. 

In our passage this morning, the disciples are so focused on who is “greatest,” more valuable than all the rest, that they lose sight who they are to one another. In their blind pursuit for glory, they forget all they have learned from their time spent in Jesus’ company, that they are called not to win, not to be the best, but to love and serve one other. This is what Jesus has been teaching them from the very beginning. This is the reason he called them away from their fishing nets and their families and friends in the first place, so that they could learn this lesson of self-sacrifice from him. In the end, Jesus put the needs of the world before his own. It may be an impossible example for us to ever follow, at least fully, but still, Jesus is our only real model of leadership.  

Luke phrases this same exchange between Jesus and the disciples like this: A dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. Jesus said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves (Luke 22:24-27).

Back in the 70s, an entrepreneur of sorts named Robert Greenleaf, coined the term “servant leadership.” After working in business for a number of years, he became concerned with the authoritarian, power centric leadership that he witnessed. He retired early, and decided to spend the rest of his life promoting an alternative model of leadership: the servant leader. In one of his first essay’s on the subject, he wrote,

"The servant-leader is servant first… It begins with the natural feeling that one wants to serve, to serve first. Then conscious choice brings one to aspire to lead. That person is sharply different from one who is leader first, perhaps because of the need to assuage an unusual power drive or to acquire material possessions… (Robert K. Greenleaf. The Servant as Leader, an essay that he first published in 1970)”

According to the Greenleaf Center for Servant Leadership, a servant leader embodies certain characteristics. 

1. Servant leaders know how to listen both to what is said and even to what is left unspoken. Being tuned in helps them make decisions which positively impact the whole team. 
2. Servant leaders are empathetic to those they lead, striving to understand better what their people are going through. Ultimately, nurturing these relationships further contributes to both the individual’s personal development as well as the performance of the team as a whole. 
3. Servant leaders make room for healing. They value healthy problem solving by encouraging resolution of conflicts and aiding reconciliation where damage has been done. 
4. Servant leaders are aware both of themselves as well as what is happening within the community. They are more interested in the truth, than being comfortable, even if the information is hard to swallow.
5. Servant leaders are persuasive instead of coercive. They do the hard work that is necessary to get all the team on board, even when it takes extra time and effort. 
6. Servant leaders have foresight. They look beyond the status quo, the way it has always been done, and strive to create a better future for the community through understanding the past.
7. Servant leaders are stewards of the privilege of leading. They view those they lead as more than workers, but as individuals who are worth investing in both personally and professionally. 
8. Servant leaders give themselves to their team, realizing that the community is only as strong as the resources and investments that have been made on its behalf, starting at the top. 

This model of leadership echoes Jesus’ own instruction. And, we know that this concept of servant leadership is important because it doesn’t just appear in one place in the gospel but is an ongoing theme. Those who want to gain life must be willing to lose their lives. Those who are first will be last and those who are last will be first. Jesus turns everything on its head and this is why following him is so important. We don’t know how to live upside down without Jesus to guide us. 

Sadly, when given even a modicum of power or prestige, most of us don’t handle it very well. It goes to our heads. Despite when we have sworn up and down that we will not become one of those leaders, it often happens without us even realizing it. But Jesus sees this coming before we have even begun. And, just as he is there with the disciples, reminding them of the servants they are called to be, he is also here with us, holding up a mirror so that we can find our way again.   

“Those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the one who serves… I am among you as one who serves. (Luke 22:24-27)”

We are each called to serve. We may forget what this looks like on some days, but Jesus reminds us of the purpose of our calling. We look to the one who has given us life, the one who has taught us how to live our lives well. With ears to listen, minds prepared to grow in awareness and foresight, hearts willing to empathize and assist with the difficult process of reconciliation, and, always, always, as stewards of the privilege of leadership, may we endeavor to serve one another in a spirit of love and generosity. To first be a servant of all, this is where true leadership begins. This is what Jesus has shown us. It is what Jesus has done himself. May we follow his lead. Amen.

Forever September

September has been interminable. It is as if time in Afghanistan has stopped altogether. Though it is not rational, and I know, at least cognitively, that time has passed no differently this month than any other month of my life, it still feels as if October will never come to pass. 

Experienced deployers assure me that this feeling is perfectly normal. It is a part of the deployment cycle. No one is able to fully escape its clutches. I like to think that the departure of my closest friends and the added frustration of the burn pit have made my last thirty days that much more challenging. The headaches and allergic reactions alone are enough to put anyone on edge. 

I have never been one to bargain with God, but these past few weeks, I realized that I have been making deals with myself. I will be in a good mood if the burn pit blows in the opposite direction of camp, I have thought. I will be satisfied even when the burn pit is operational during the day if, at night, when the wind typically shifts in our direction, they stop the fires, I have reasoned. Despite my deals, nothing with the burn pit has changed. Every morning, I peer out of my door to face its ugliness. Every time I look in its direction, I am disappointed again. I don’t know why I think tomorrow will be any different. My irrational expectations have continued to be my downfall. 

Today, though, I feel as if I turned a corner. Perhaps I have just reached that last stage of the process of grief: acceptance. I will be here until the end of my 365 days, and there is nothing that I can do to change this. I have no control of my surroundings but only influence the way I respond to my circumstances. I know this. I have known this, but I have been fighting it all month. Whatever prompted my emotional reboot, I am grateful. These would have been three very long weeks had I not regained my sense of care for everyone around me. There is a camp full of people who have to stay many months after I leave. I don’t need to infect them with my misery. It’s not a good scene when the chaplain is the one making the room darker by her mere presence. That is not who I have ever been, nor is it who I want to become, even when things are tough. 

Yet, I also realize that it has been a long eleven months. I have used the last of my reserve and the fumes (literally) are not enough. But, one of the interesting observations I have had over these days is the how much little gestures of kindness have given me needed energy. One of my neighbors helped me remove a splinter from my finger last night, and it was as if she had offered one of her kidneys. Another neighbor brought me a stuffed animal which she found at the airport on her leave. Yet another, one who probably has the busiest job on camp, took from her precious sleeping time to commiserate with a group of us in the bathroom. I have spent so much of this deployment giving, that I haven’t noticed just how much of a difference receiving can make, even when the gift is something small. 

I have realized in these difficult weeks just how much community matters, even when it is not the close friends and family that we might choose if we had a choice. The never-ending month of September has reminded me that, ultimately, completing this deployment will be possible because of the people I am surrounded by, people who step up to remove splinters or take an extra moment to write a note of encouragement. I will only get to the finish line because people have been willing to share their support and remind me, the one who is supposed to be doing the reminding, that we are all in this together. It is okay to lean on someone for a little while, even if that person is a stranger.

Someone once said, “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day which says I will try again tomorrow.” Living through September has taught me that this is so true. 

Sticks and Stones - Sunday Sermon, September 16, 2012

Chaplain Mel Baars

September 16, 2012

James 3:1-12

“Sticks and Stones”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Most of us grew up reciting a version of this nursery rhyme. I can’t recall when I learned it, but I am sure it was at some point in elementary school. Teaching our children this little adage is a means of building their resiliency, thickening their skin so that they can handle the bullying or the gossip mill that they will likely encounter in school. We all have our own memories of playground scenes and the taunting and teasing that transpired between classmates. I don’t know if I ever shouted out the rhyme, but I am sure that it crossed my mind whenever harsh words were thrown my way.

There is some dissension over the saying’s origins. According to Wikipedia, everyone’s favorite all knowing, all powerful internet mega-resource, this nursery rhyme first appeared as advice in a publication of Tappy’s Chicks and other Links between nature and human nature by Miss George Cuples in 1872. Other internet dictionary resources cite a volume of The Christian Recorder in 1862 which said, “Remember the old adage, 'Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me'. True courage consists in doing what is right, despite the jeers and sneers of our companions.” Either way, this saying has been around for a while.

Sadly, name calling is part of growing up for most kids. They are either victims or perpetrators of these harsh words. Typically, those kids who are apt to throw harsh words at their peers, have caught their fair share of them at home from their parents or older siblings. At times, verbal abuse seems more contagious than the stomach flu and certainly as virulent, which is why I always thought the Sticks and Stones phrase wasn’t very helpful. Words can really hurt, sometimes worse and for much longer than sticks or stones, especially if they are lobbed at us by someone who is supposed to love us. Perhaps this is why some have altered this phrase a little to better reflect this reality. A recent article in the journal, Psychology Today, twisted the adage like this, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will cut me deeply.” Words either build us up or tear us down, and we all know that it takes a lot more time and energy to build something than it does to destroy it.

The tongue wields remarkable power and must be controlled which is why James belabors his point, using not one but four different examples which illustrate the truth of his point: a bit in the mouth of horse can yield obedience, a rudder on a ship if piloted well can guide the vessel with precision and safety, a spark, left unattended, can set a forest ablaze in minutes, and a wild animal can wreak havoc if left untamed. James sticks with real life which makes it easier for us to understand and then identify similar examples in our own lives.

This past week we have watched the world catch fire over words captured on a video that was uploaded to youtube. Whatever your opinion is on this video, The Innocence of Muslims, and trust me, I have my own opinions, this week, all over the world, we have witnessed the power of the tongue and its capacity to have incredible influence with rapid speed. Who knows what the intention was of those involved with this, whether they anticipated the kind of explosion which happened, but their words have been used as a powerful weapon of hate and violence. This is exactly what James is talking about without, even, our present context of a global, web-based society. Twenty countries across the Middle East have been affected, including Afghanistan. There have been multiple deaths with many more injuries. It’s hard to say just how far this particular fire will spread. It is a sobering reminder that words matter. Words can bring a blessing or a curse; words can even mean life or death.

James realizes just how critical the tongue is in maintaining healthy relationships between one another. I think this is why he begins his third chapter with this statement: Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness. All teaching is based on relationship. A teacher gives and her students receive. A teacher has the authority to speak while her students are required to listen. Teaching uses the tongue, and not just in a private setting, but publicly, with the potential of affecting whole handfuls of people. While this may seem a simple concept, James is well aware, probably from his own personal experience, how difficult controlling the tongue can prove to be, especially when emotions, like anger or frustration or exhaustion, are involved. But being in a position of influence means that there isn’t room for much error. It is funny how many of us are more likely to hold on to the negative words than the positive ones. As teachers, or even parents, every time we open our mouths to speak, what we say may be etched into the very fabric of our pupils. Once the train has left the station, it’s not easy to stop it. Even a pencil mark that has been thoroughly erased leaves a hint of a smudge.

One day, when I was about seven, I remember my Dad saying a “bad” word in front of me, maybe it was dammit but I don’t know. I think he had dropped a glass and spilled its contents on the carpet. He was annoyed. Now, I didn’t grow up in an excessively religious household. I heard my parents, on occasion, say some four letter words, but I was taught that these words were “bad.” I wasn’t allowed to say them. I remember, when my father let this word slip, saying to him, quite incorrigibly, “Isn’t dammit a ‘bad” word.” I bet my hands were on my hips when I scolded him. What I remember more than anything from this exchange was the look on his face when I brought this to his attention. It was a mixture of frustration and disappointment in himself. He sat down on the stairs, eye level with me, and admitted his mistake, “Yes, you are right, and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

All these years later, I still remember the incident well. But, what I remember most about that day was my Dad’s apology. It wasn’t the “bad” word or the details of his mistake that made the truest impression on me, but it was how he responded to what he said, the way he recognized his mistake and then attempted to rectify it. There is a reason we are warned not to take on the mantle of teaching, preaching, leading, shepherding, or parenting. We are all going to make mistakes and say things which we regret. It’s part of being human. Sometimes these mistakes have serious, even deadly consequences. How we handle these mistakes though, even the worst of them, may make all the difference in what happens next, in how the landscape for our pupils, our soldiers, or even our children, is affected for good or for ill. 

Admitting our mistakes or that we have been wrong is not an easy thing to do, especially in this business. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of room for failure even though we all know that our days are filled with the evidence of our imperfections-- the email we forgot to send which put quite a few co-workers in the hot seat, the moment we snapped at a co-worker for no good reason, the words we uttered in anger or frustration. We all make these mistakes, and we can’t take them back either. We can’t rewind the clock and do a second take. There are no do over’s.

But, what makes a good teacher is recognizing the errors that have been made and then taking steps to put the pieces back together. For as much as there are mistakes, there is also forgiveness. Every time we come together to worship, we confess our mistakes, the harm of our unbridled tongue, all that we have done and left undone and everything between. Confession is a practice of Christian faith. It is the way that we begin the process of repairing the damage we have done. And God’s response to our confession is forgiveness and pardon. In a gesture of restoration, God heals our wounds, both the ones that were self-afflicted and the others that we have caught in the crossfire of our lives. Our confession and then God’s forgiveness-- it is never one without the other.

Because of words, our worlds may be set ablaze. And, as we know too well, what started as a spark can explode, incinerating everything in its path. As teachers, as those who speak while others listen, we are called to do the hard work of putting out the fire, of recognizing our failures and our mistakes so that we can begin the long process of healing and restoration. This is how we sow seeds of heaven. This is how we share the good news. It may take our whole life, and even the lifetimes of those who follow us, but we can trust that God will be there too, lighting our paths and guiding us every step of the way. Amen.