Still, Small Voice

Chaplain Mel O’Malley        

March 20, 2016

John 12:12-19

“Still, Small Voice”

It is pretty safe to say that if Jesus had been running for President on Palm Sunday, the electoral math would have easily been in his favor. A great crowd gathered to see him coming into Jerusalem. If there had been any media outlets, CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, I am sure they would have been covering this event.  As Jesus got closer to town, the people started chanting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord— the King of Israel!” On this particular day, the people loved Jesus. They called him King, and they put out palm branches, making antiquity’s version of the red carpet. That was then, though. A few days later, in the blink of an eye, everything had changed for Jesus. The crowds who were once waving palms became crowds spitting and screaming, “Crucify him.” Jesus’ popularity had been crushed.

Popular opinion can make a huge impact. Earlier this week on the radio before Tuesday’s primaries, one political commentator said that all Bernie Sanders had to do was steal enough of Clinton’s delegates, not necessarily even win a whole state, but just take enough delegates to convince the public that he was surging. Doing this might change everything for him, might turn the tide. Public opinion matters a lot. We think it matters more now than ever before in this age of 24 hour news coverage and internet because nothing goes unseen. Everything is available for public consumption. But public opinion mattered for Jesus, too. How else can you explain the journey between Palm Sunday and Good Friday? Something happened in those few days that changed the course of Jesus’ life and ultimately brought him to his death.  

Woven in the narrative of all of the gospels is this fearful voice emanating from the political and religious leadership, from leaders like Herod and the Pharisees. They use this common refrain saying, “If the people love Jesus, believe in him too much, if they realize who he really is, then they will follow him instead of us.” Those in power do not like to have their power threatened. In our passage today the Pharisees are bemoaning the growing problem of Jesus. Those who had witnessed Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead were still talking about that miracle. Others, maybe those who had benefitted from that time when Jesus fed five thousand or when Jesus gave sight back to a blind man or healed countless people, they were also talking about him.

The situation was getting out of control. The people liked Jesus too much. The Pharisees said one another, “You see, there is nothing we can do. Look, the world has gone after him!” They were so worried about Jesus gaining the power away from them because of his popularity that they were willing to do anything they could to stop Jesus in his tracks. So they capitalized on the people’s fears. They said and did whatever they could to lead the people away from him. This is how we went from Palm Sunday to Good Friday.  

There is a reason that many of the parables use sheep as an example. Besides the obvious that Jesus’ audience was agrarian and understood the mechanics of sheep, generally, sheep are a really great example of mob mentality. If one or two start to go in one direction, for no particular reason, then the others will quickly follow, even if it is a bad idea. They don’t seem to have any sense of direction or much sense at all. A few months ago when my parents were visiting, we watched a movie together. There was a scene where a few of a group of about 200 sheep got spooked. So they broke through their protective barrier, a terrible idea for them in the long run. The whole group of sheep panicked, started running. The next thing you know every one of them had run off a cliff and died.

This reminds me of a saying that I have heard parents say to their kids, in fact I am sure my parents said it to me too, “If so-in-so jumps off a bridge, does that mean you should go and jump off a bridge, too?” We like to think it’s just teenagers who would indignantly say, “Yes!” to this question. But if we are honest, we may also admit where we are susceptible to the pull of the masses. When people start to shout and panic and run in a direction, it’s easy to be pulled along, to get swept up. This is why having the right kind of shepherd is so important. Those sheep wouldn’t have run off the cliff if their shepherd had been there, calming them down and guiding them away from danger.

But, looking at our story today, the Great Shepherd was there. He was actually there in the flesh. He had been healing the sick, bringing sight to the blind, raising people from the dead. He was right there with them living the Good News. And still, the crowd got confused about who their shepherd really was. They listened to the louder voices, the ones that were inciting fear. The ones that were attempting to discredit Jesus. The crowd got spooked and ran toward death rather than life.

When we read the Bible, it’s easy to view these stories as if they are about a different time and place, a different people. We think this story is about Jesus and a crowd that flip flops on a dime and ends up killing the one who had come to save them. But this story is also about us. It’s our story, too. We know the siren song of the false shepherd. We are lured by it every time we delude ourselves into thinking we have control over our lives, when we believe that one of these politicians actually has the power to wipe away all our worries and problems and make it all better. We follow false shepherds when we let the loud and angry voices direct our steps, tell us what to think and feel, who to love and to whom to give our mercy.

Maybe part of what we taught about the danger of being swept up in the crowd is that sometimes following Jesus is about just standing still. Not jumping when the wind changes or raising our voice when others start to shout loudly. But just standing amidst it all, listening for another kind of voice, a still, small voice, and having the faith to wait for that voice to lead us toward green pastures and still waters, toward a future of true hope and fullness of heart.

Long before Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the prophet Elijah learned this lesson first hand. Elijah was told to “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” First, a great wind came, so strong that it could split mountains and break rocks in pieces, but the Lord was not in the wind; next, after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire came a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah experiences this silence, he wraps his face in his mantle and goes out and stands at the entrance of the cave. It was only then that he heard God’s voice.

The chaos of the wind, the earthquake and the fire, the loud shouts of confused and scared people, afraid of what they may lose, the pull of the mob who does not even know who its shepherd is and will go toward whatever voice that calls out most convincingly, all of this madness can distract us, even prevent us from hearing God’s voice calling out to us. If Elijah’s story teaches us anything, it is that sometimes we do have to be patient. Sometimes we have to wait for a break in all the noise, or even make a space away from the constant sound by turning off the tv or radio or IPod or even silencing the voices in our own heads, so that we will be able to hear that still, small voice, calling out to us, leading us, shepherding us toward the only life that means anything.

In a noisy world, where many false shepherds sing siren promises, may we have courage to stand our ground, always listening for that still, small voice, having faith that this voice will be all that we need to find our way. Amen

Peace here and now...

Rev. Mel Baars O’Malley

First Presbyterian Church Karnes City

May 1, 2016

If given the choice, I don’t often choose the Revelation passage when it comes up in the lectionary. I am happy to leave interpreting its convoluted passages to the scholars and professors. Nonetheless, there are a few passages in Revelation that I do really love. I think I discovered most of them when I was a pastor in South Africa and was called on to preach at funerals. Revelation paints a picture that is quite spectacular. Whether it’s a new earth where there is no more crying or pain or suffering or, as we read today, a city where there is no need for sun or moon to shine on it, but a place where the glory of the Lord illuminates everything and everyone. Besides the obvious savings on electricity bills, which everyone would be grateful for, the prophesy in Revelation describes this light as so spectacular that all the nations walk by it. It is hard to even imagine a time and place where all people, all nations, walk in the light.  It seems like a fantasy especially when you consider that we, even in the church, don’t always walk in the light with any real unity.

In South Africa, where there wasn’t a lot of present hope because so many people were sick and struggling to find work and to make a good life for themselves and their families, it was really easy to focus on the future rather than dwell or even deal with the problems of the present. The government wasn’t going to stop acting corruptly. HIV and AIDS wasn’t going to suddenly cease transmitting. Jobs weren’t going to magically appear and ensure solid wages for everyone who was unemployed. God’s promises were the only real hope there was and we talked about them, longed for them, with our whole hearts.

In the midst of suffering and pain, it is difficult not to give in to the impulse to escape. I have to fight this impulse every time I am called up to a room where a patient is suffering or even dying. I have to struggle myself to stay in the room for a little longer, linger in a place even where it hurts, where I am reminded of my own frailty and humanness, because God is at work here too, in the suffering and tears and pain, and if I escape too quickly I will miss it.

Revelation’s vision is a promise worth celebrating, but I think we have to be careful not to use it as our escape from life, from the complicated and messy gifts that we have in the present moment. Because as I have grown, certainly as a pastor and even more as a person, I have experienced the value of loss and pain, of valleys of darkness. Not that I would ever ask for them to come into my life, but excepting that they will sooner or later, that there is gift there, too.

About a year ago one of my friends from seminary decided that the pastorate is not really where she is called. All the jobs that she has had post seminary have not gone the way that she thought they would go. It’s been a really frustrating road. She has been treated unfairly by pastor bosses and hurt by the church as an institution. What seemed like a worthy and beautiful profession turned out to be a disappointment. So what do most people do when they are not sure what to do next in life… they go to law school. That was for you Greg. But as I have listened to her talk about her hopes and dreams for making a difference, for allowing God to use her life for good, it strikes me that law school isn’t going to make her path any easier. Bosses are still going to be disappointing and institutions, church, government, or anything else, are still going to fall short. Escaping one mess doesn’t mean another mess won’t still come our way.

What strikes me about our gospel reading today is that this disappointing world that we live in is the same reality that Jesus lived and taught and ministered in, too. His was also a world ruled by corrupt government and by people who were only self-interested, who would do anything to protect their way of life, even crucify an innocent man. Jesus knew disappointment first hand. And despite the pain and suffering he experienced, he says to his friends, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

What Jesus isn’t doing here is offering an escape route to avoid the messiness of the world; he isn’t encouraging them to focus on a less painful future or even on the everlasting life that they have been promised. But he is giving them his peace reminding them that his peace is the only thing that can cure a troubled heart, the only thing that can truly cast out fear.

Jesus gives them and he gives us these words of encouragement not so we can avoid pain or detour around the dark valleys, but he speaks this good news so that we can be more ready to endure our lives, the good, the bad, and everything between, with an openness to the joyful gifts as well as the painful ones. It’s peace as you hold your grandchild in your arms for the first time. Peace as the doctor says those dreaded words. Peace when the well runs dry or the job doesn’t work out and peace when it does.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Of course, its hard not to want what the world gives. The advertisements alone paint a tempting picture, a picture that tells us with a few less wrinkles or some miracle cure, all of our troubles will be wiped away. But we also know that even this promise, as good as it seems, will still disappoint us.  

My grandmother used to talk a lot about what we would do when her ship came in. As a little kid, I don’t know if I really understood what that meant, but I knew enough that I should be hoping and praying for that ship because when it did show up life was going to be awesome. But looking back at my memories with her and my aunts and uncles and cousins as I was growing up, I realize now that my life was already awesome, and it is not only because she had an endless supply of dove bars in her freezer. But there was love and wonder and joy accompanied with sadness and disappointment and loss. We were all there together, though, enduring it all, and I have to think that at some point she realized her ship had come a long time ago.

This morning Jesus reminds us of the gift that he has left with us so that we are able to live our lives well. He makes no promises of ease. He doesn’t tell us how to escape or that we just have to hold on until heaven comes, but instead he gives us his peace. It is the gift of the spirit which helps us to keep going when we are tired or afraid; it is the gift which keeps our hearts open and willing to love. This is the good news we have to share in an often disappointing and painful world. Don’t let this crazy election season or news of economic downturn or anything else in the world detract from this. Don’t let it take away your peace. But leave from here ready to share as Jesus did, trusting that this peace will be enough today, tomorrow, and always.  Amen

Mother's Day Sermon

Chaplain Mel O’Malley

Brooke Army Medical Center

May 8, 2016

Mother’s Day Sermon

Have any of you watched the movie San Andreas? Last weekend, Greg “made me” watch it with him. As you might guess, it takes place in California, where all the real earthquake movies happen, and a place I never need to go again after watching the movie! Besides being a super dramatic two hours of earthquake action, with impossible rescue scenes and special effects depicting tsunamis and shattering skyscrapers, it also tells a story about the human condition. Some people are willing to help others out even in the midst of a crisis while many are only interested in taking care of themselves. Some look outward and others look inward. There is one scene where the local mall is being looted because the power has gone off, the cash registers are not working and everyone has fled in fear. The looters are stealing these huge flat screen tvs and other valuables. Of course, we know that this kind of behavior doesn’t only happen in the movies. We have seen this type of behavior on the news. Whenever chaos or disaster strikes, there are many who hope to profit from other people’s misfortune.  

It’s no wonder our prison guard reacts the way he does in this morning’s story from Acts.  In the middle of the night, a violent, powerful earthquake shakes the foundations of the prison, breaking open the prison doors and unfastening all of the chains, which were holding the prisoners inside; the guard assumes the worst. He assumes that his prisoners, the ones who he has been entrusted to guard, will escape, and he will be blamed for the loss. He is so worried about losing control of them that he draws his sword, ready to take his own life rather than deal with the humiliation of being the guy who let the prisoners get away.

It is a reasonable assumption on his part. Most prisoners, if given the opportunity to escape, will escape! Paul and Silas have double the reason to use this opportunity because they have been falsely imprisoned. Furthermore, because of their faith in Jesus and their willingness to profess their faith out loud, they are in even more danger than the average Roman citizen. Their survival instinct should have come into play here. Paul and Silas really had no business staying in that prison.

But, when the opportunity arises, Paul and Silas don’t escape prison. They stay right where they are. They allow themselves to remain in a dangerous position. It doesn’t really make any sense. In fact, their choice to stay in prison is so extraordinary that it revolutionizes, transforms, the prison guard right there on the spot. Rushing in and trembling, he brings Paul and Silas outside, exactly the place he was afraid they would escape to, and he asks them, “What must I do to be saved?” This guard goes from being so afraid that Paul and Silas would escape that he was willing to take his own life to being willing to free them and bring them into his home, take care of their wounds, and give his life to Christ. He was going to take his life but when he witnessed their behavior, instead he freely gave his life to Jesus.

There are many remarkable conversion stories in the Bible, but what strikes me about this one is that this prison guard’s faith is sparked through witnessing someone living life differently because of their faith. So many of the famous conversion stories reported in scripture stem from a profound encounter with God. Saul being converted on the road to Damascus is perhaps the most notable of all. God makes his presence known to Saul in a blinding light and a voice from heaven saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” I don’t want to take anything away from Paul, but most of us would have also been transformed, too, if God had done the same dramatic thing to us.

What is so remarkable about our story today is that the prison guard is brought to faith in Christ, not by a blinding light or a voice from heaven, but by witnessing Paul and Silas live their lives differently from other people because of their faith in Jesus. Paul and Silas didn’t share the gospel by telling the guard anything or talking about Jesus or even through a healing or a miracle. They witnessed to this guard through their integrity to stay put even when an opportunity to escape presented itself, through their courage to continue facing the danger of being a Roman prisoner, and through their concern for the guard’s life. Their chief interest wasn’t for themselves but it was for others, even for this guard whose job was to imprison them.

We talk a lot in the church about what it means to evangelize, to share the good news of Jesus. Even in the chaplaincy sometimes we struggle about how to share the Good News. Some people insist they must pray in Jesus’ name or feel like they need to pray each time they meet with a soldier. Today, we learn a lesson about evangelism. We are reminded that the way we live our lives, day to day, really matters. It’s not just about whether or not we go to church or don’t drink too much, but it’s about how we live and love and interact with others no matter their backgrounds or circumstances, what we do with our money, whether or not we are willing to share our time to help others. And, just like the prison guard in our story, people are watching to see just how our following Jesus changes us, changes the way we live.

A few years ago one of my favorite chaplains, Father Erik, said something in a sermon that I continue to reflect on. He said, we don’t just talk about the Good News or preach about the Good News, but we become the Good News. So, that whatever is going on, wherever we go, people will see us and think, “Good news is here.”

When one of our Eucharistic ministers visits a patient upstairs, bringing communion, or just a simple visit, Good News has arrived. When our volunteers go back and forth between families and the Operating Room, making sure that loved ones have the latest information and feel supported, this is becoming the Good News. We are the Good News, when we sit quietly with someone whose life has been turned upside down. We are the Good News when we listen to a friend who is struggling. We are the Good News when we love and when we are willing to give ourselves away. And, when we are Good News, people notice. Like our jailer from today’s scripture, an encounter with the Good News changes them, too.

Hallmark would never let any of us forget that today is Mother’s Day. But long before this day was about cards and flowers and breakfast in bed, it was actually a day to come together for peace. Julia Ward Howe, who also wrote the Battle Hymn of the Republic, wrote a proclamation for Mother’s Day. This was a response to the devastation of the Civil War and encouraged all women who had hearts, all women, not just those who had given birth or raised a child, but all women with hearts to join together for peace. She said, “Let women then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after their own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.” She was reminding them that they needed to be Good News in a world wrecked by war. She was reminding them that, just like Paul and Silas, they were called to become Good News by living their lives differently than what was expected.

It may be Mother’s Day but it is not just women who are called to become Good News. All of us are invited, are called by God, to embody the Good News. And when we say yes, we live our lives differently. And, in doing so, we reflect the light of Christ in a world filled with shadows. So, wherever we go and in whatever we do, may we be Good News, trusting that God is always with us, working in us, and providing all that we need. Amen.

Pentecost Sermon

Reverend Mel Baars

May 19, 2013

University Presbyterian Church

“No Fear”

It is no secret that a preacher’s greatest audience is often herself. This has proved very true for me this week as I have prepared for Pentecost. There are so many possible themes which emerge in these verses from diversity and the gifts of the multi-lingual to being open to the movement of the spirit, how loving God looks like keeping God’s commandments, and what its like to be driven by fear. 

As I read these familiar scriptures this week, I couldn’t stop fixating on fear. Everywhere I turned, fear seemed to jump out from the page which must say something about me I am sure. In the Acts passage, the people’s fear isn’t explicit. It isn’t named outright but instead displayed through how they respond to this otherworldly event. But, put yourselves in their shoes. Out of nowhere a sound like a rush of a violent wind has bulldozed through a local home, and the people inside have begun to speak in so many tongues that the entire crowd, no matter their native language, understands what is being said. They are amazed and confused. And though the text doesn’t say it, I think they are also afraid. In a desperate attempt to make sense of this thing which doesn’t make any sense at all, they blame this occurrence on wine and drunkenness. Because there really is no good explanation for what is happening, their fear drives them to draw unfair conclusions about the disciples. Fear gives rise to injustice. But isn’t this how it goes too often, even now, even with us?

The gospel passage also exudes whispers of fear. Today’s portion of the text begins with Philip asking Jesus to show him “the Father.” It’s not enough that Philip has witnessed Jesus in action, healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind. But, he wants something more in order to be satisfied. Because, as we know, memory is tricky and fleeting. As much as he might believe in the midst of Jesus’ miracles, during the high times, in those times between, his trust becomes shaky. His fears poke holes in his faith and inevitably he begins to sink. This cycle of belief, fear, and doubt is nearly impossible to break and Philip knows this. He recognizes his weaknesses which is why he makes his request in the first place. He is looking for some kind of “fear proof” evidence which will guarantee sustained faith. This is what he needs to be satisfied. This is what he thinks he needs to conqueror his fears. 

Like most human emotion, fear is complicated. On one hand, it is helpful, particularly when trying to teach a child the potential consequences of running blindly into traffic or touching a hot stove. On the other hand, though, too much fear can cause paralysis. It can push people toward inhumanity. It can propel otherwise decent people to make horrific choices in which innocent victims are caught in its crossfire. We need healthy fear to navigate our lives safely but fear, like fire, is difficult to manage. With just a little extra fuel, it can grow so much and so quickly that it becomes unmanageable. It can spin out of control without much warning, leaving but ash in its path. 

Of course, the spectrum of fear doesn’t always have to mean obvious casualties. I think our scripture passages are two great examples of how stealthily fear can take away from the quality of our life and of our faith. I can easily use myself as an example. There are times when I get so focused on my fears that I hardly have any other room in my life for living life well. There are seasons when it seems fear and worry become so encompassing that it is like I have another full time job which would entitle me health benefits and a 401K. I throw worry in there because worry stems from fear. And, at least according to my Apple dictionary, worry is “a state of anxiety and uncertainty over actual or potential problems.” Fear leads to worry and worry causes a state of anxiety and before we know it we are drowning. 

I read about a cartoon which depicted a patient paying a visit to his psychiatrist. In the cartoon he is laying on the couch, describing all of his fears to the psychiatrist. “Doctor,” he began, “I’m worried about the energy crisis, inflation, the sequester and balancing the budget, on-going conflicts in Afghanistan, Israel, Libya, Syria, political unrest in Africa, our diplomatic relations with China, whether or not my teenager is going to become dependent on drugs and alcohol or if my eighth grader will bring up her grades enough to make it into high school on track. I am worried my job, my health, my retirement plan, chemical weapons, bird flu, …” and his list went on and on and on. In the final frame the psychiatrist responded, “Shut up and move over,” after which he proceeded to get on the couch with the patient. Even hearing this list, I feel my anxiety rising. 

A few months ago, when my fear management was particularly poor, I made an appointment to see a military family life counselor, which is a counseling resource that all service members can access for free in order to building coping and resiliency skills. I sat down and I explained why I was there. Like the man in the cartoon, I had a lengthy list of worries. I had just found out that the Army was sending me to the Canadian border, most likely to deploy back to Afghanistan. I had been having some strange, inexplicable health issues which were not clearing up with the medicine my doctors prescribed. I was in a relationship which was going well but which was also in question due to my impending move to almost Canada. What was going to happen to me, my health, my future work and relationship? With each unknown factor, my fear for the future grew. 

Seeing the cross on my uniform and recognizing that I am a chaplain, she reminded me that all I needed to do was pray. Wasn’t I praying, she asked me. Yes, I answered, mainly because I didn’t want to disappoint her. And, I had prayed a few times about all of it but, if I am honest, not really the kind of praying that makes a difference. Happy with her diagnosis, she quoted some applicable scripture and sent me on my way. It’s funny now looking back. At the time I was very dissatisfied with her advice. Of course, I knew that I should be praying. I could have told myself that. I was looking for some other, more concrete, easier to obtain coping strategies. Reading Jesus’ words in John, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” While her advice didn’t seem very helpful to me then, now I wonder how many times will I have to hear Jesus’ words of peace and promise, before I will take them to heart, before I will truly believe them. 

Philip bargains with Jesus just like we do. Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied. O God, just help my mother get better, and I will do whatever you want. Just help me get this job, and I will be generous with those who are in need. O Lord, give me a sign that you are who you claim to be, just help me know my future, that I am going to be okay, and then I will have my peace. All the while, right beneath our noses, God continues to work and heal and bring about life instead of death

On Pentecost we remember that the Holy Spirit dwells among us despite how often we forget this to be true. From creation, throughout our many exiles, in the lowliness of a stable, and even from the murkiness of our unknown futures, the spirit of God beckons to each of us, giving us the strength to continue on our journeys, restoring our faith during seasons of fear, reminding us that we never face our fears alone. 

Some years ago, when I was in elementary school, a new brand called No Fear became popular, mostly among the boys in my class. This label was on everything from t-shirts to skateboard, and quickly because familiar. I remember wondering whether or not No Fear was actually possible. It’s one thing to act fearless or to profess fearlessness, but it’s another thing entirely to live without it. I was sure, even the toughest boys in my class, had their fearful moments. If only it was as easy as wearing a t-shirt. 

Desmond Tutu once said this, "All of us experience fear, but when we confront and acknowledge it, we are able to turn it into courage. Being courageous does not mean never being scared; it means acting as you know you must even though you are undeniably afraid." 

Living without fear isn’t really what matters. Instead, faithfulness looks like dealing with our fears, recognizing when we are driven by fear rather than led by the spirit. It means responding with love even when our gut instinct is urging us to fight or flight. And, maybe my counselor was on to something, even though her delivery in the midst of my crisis could have used some improvement. Jesus has promised us good life, leaving us with these words, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” There is much about the future that we don’t know. Even more that we can’t understand. Yet, the Holy Spirit dwells among us, even here, even now. Because we know this to be true, may we also know God’s peace. Amen

New Reflection Piece

Here is a link to a reflection piece that I wrote for Duke's Faith and Leadership forum.

http://www.faithandleadership.com/content/mel-baars-holding-ideals-bloodstained-hands