"I Will Praise God with an Upright Heart" - Feb. 12, 2017, Palms Westminster Presbyterian Church

Deuteronomy 30.15-18; Psalm 119.1-8; Matthew 5.21-37

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I will praise you with an upright heart, says the Psalmist.

I will turn to you, O God, with thanksgiving and devotion.

Praise is simply saying: 

To you, O LORD, I belong.

And how grateful I am.

Though sometimes we’re not so grateful to belong to the LORD.

Jeremiah regretted it.

Lots of others along the way, as well.

Because faith takes us into serious territory.

And we quickly learn: faith can be a burden.

This year, 2017, we celebrate the Birth of the Reformation.

Martin Luther nailed a few papers to the castle door in Wittenberg, Germany, to announce a disputation, a debate … and on those papers, 95 ideas, about faith, the church, and what it means to trust in the love of God.

Luther had no idea where it would all go.

But it didn’t take long for things to go bad.

And when it went bad, it was really bad.

The Pope condemned Luther for heresy.

The Emperor issued a death warrant.

The Pope and the Emperor called on Luther to recant.

Give it up.

Be quiet … go away.

We’ll be friends again.

Some of Luther’s friends gave him the same counsel.

Is it worth it Martin, to go through of all of this?

The brightest minds of the church say you’re wrong.

The emperor wants you dead; the Pope wants you back.

After a thousand years, Martin Luther, how can you now say that the Church has been wrong?

Are you not being a little arrogant about all of this?

Luther had times of great depression, Anfechtung in German - the very word sounds bad, doesn’t it? Anfectung!

Luther was no happy camper in the midst of so many struggles. 

Yes, he had joy, too - joy when he married, joy with his children, and good food and beer. 

He took comfort in the gospel, the pure love of God that can always be trusted … 

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing …

But no one is an Iron Man.

No one is impervious to fear and doubt.

Luther did not always know “the joy of the LORD” … 

His faith took him to serious places … his work required huge burdens … 

Luther knew that somehow or other he was right.

But he didn’t have to be happy and sappy and clappy all the time. 

He didn’t have to sing praise jingles and put on a smile.

He didn’t have to fake it.

Or pretend that everything was wonderful.

My soul is heavy, he said.

My life is burdened.

The burdens of confronting the powers-that-be.

The death of two children.

The death of friends.

And the constant threat of arrest and execution.

But Luther knew he had to do what he was doing.

He was the man of the hour.

Upon whom the mantle of leadership had fallen.

Dear Christian friends, there is joy in knowing the grace of God and the love of our LORD Jesus Christ.

But like it or not, there’s more than one note in the symphony of God’s story.

There is also the discomfort and sting of the cross.

Take up your cross, says Jesus.

Be ready for enemies … ready for hard times.

What they’ve done to me, they’re likely to do to you, too.

Families will be upset.

People of your own household with turn against one another.

It helps to know something of church history.

To be mindful of those for whom the way of Christ has been a hard and difficult road.

American Christianity is far too eager to be happy.

To put on a smily face and play the game, “let’s pretend.”

In churches across America, preachers have become cheerleaders and crowd managers … whipping up the joy noise … and people go home having praised the LORD, but I’ll say to you, they praised without an upright heart … 

Jesus never pretended such nonsense.

And neither did Paul the Apostle, or any of the other great women and men who took up the cross and followed Christ.

Think of the Presbyterian Missionaries who traveled the Trail of Tears with the Cherokee.

Missionaries in far away lands, and day-by-day servants of the LORD, doing good, bearing burdens, feeding the hungry, caring for the poor, visiting those in prison, defending the unjustly accused, standing up for civil rights and justice.

Martin Luther, the Reformer.

Martin Luther King, Jr. on Petus Bridge.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer conspiring to take Hitler’s life.

Our own John Calvin in Geneva.

And a host of others who tackled the big stuff.

And paid a big price.

So, let’s be clear.

To praise God with an upright heart is to be real.

Authentic, engaged.

Devoted, ready.

Ready to offer the whole of our lives.

A sweet offering unto God.

As best we can.

From day-to-day, and,

Over the years.

Wholeheartedly.

And then, sometimes, not so much.

And then, sometimes.

Maybe not at all.

But God remains faithful - that’s the gospel.

Always and forever faithful.

Faithful to us.

Faithful to the ultimate purpose of God’s love - to restore creation, give life, set the captives free, give sight to the blind, healing to the sick … 

God keeps going.

And, then, in some miraculous way, so do we.

God’s grace at work.

The Holy Spirit within us, around us.

Through the life of the church.

And the life of all who dare to think deeply.

In the novel, “All the Light We Cannot See,” author Anthony Doerr tells the tale of a girl gone blind by age 6 … she lives with her father, a widower.

The father builds a miniature of the neighborhood, and she learns how to feel every little street and every little house with her finger tips, and then she walks with her father, with her cane, feeling the sidewalk, the buildings, the gutter drains, learning her neighborhood.

The father takes her out one day on their usual walk, and then, he turns her around several times and says, “Take us home, Marie-Laurie.”

With bumps and bruises, and busy folks bumping into her, she drops her cane and begins to cry.

Her father lifts her up and hugs her tightly.

“It’s so big,” she whispers.

“You can do this Marie.”

At first she can’t.

And then one day …

And for us, too … by the Holy Spirit:

We try, and try again.

People bump into us … we lose our way … 

It’s so big, we cry.

And it is.

And sometimes we can’t.

But in time, something good happens.

We grow in the grace of God.

We learn the power of prayer.

We give and receive love.

We engage and serve.

We weep and we laugh.

We lament and we try again.

Because it is so big.

Jesus speaks of big things:

Murder and judgment.

Adultery and love.

Oath making and truthfulness.

Serious stuff, is it not?

Many years ago, I showed a film to my session, produced by physicians against nuclear war … a stirring presentation of our need to work for peace and oppose war.

Afterward, one of the elders came to me and said, “Well, Tom, if there’s a nuclear war, and we all die, we just go to heaven. What’s wrong with that?”

I don’t know what I said then - I don’t think I managed that one very well.

So the question bounced around in my head for a long time until I came up with a story, of a man who dreamed of going to heaven.

And when the man stood by the pearly gates, St. Peter said to him: “You didn’t care about God’s earth; what makes you think you’ll care about God’s heaven.” And the man was turned away.

Nothing is more important to God then how we live with one another, and how we take care of God’s earth. 

It’s all so big, we cry!

And so it is.

But we can learn to do it.

Because we have to.

For the truth … our own survival, God’s green earth … 

To hear some Christians yak about it, you’d think God didn’t care about the snails and the minnows … but God cares deeply … all living creatures … when the Bible says, God so loved the world, that ain’t just you and me … it’s all of God’s creatures, great and small … the whole shebang, all of it … and that’s the truth … the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The truth that sets us free.

To have an upright heart.

Honest and real.

Serious about the things of God.

Serious about how we live with one another and how we care for God’s creation.

I will praise you with an upright heart.

Amen and Amen.

A Tale of Two Robes - Nov 4, 2007

1 Samuel 16:1-13; Mark 12:38-40
Acts 17:21-22


I no longer wear a robe.

It’s more than a sartorial decision – more than simply going to the closet, wondering what to wear.
My story, three chapters:
Unrobed, robed, disrobed.

Chapter One: Unrobed:
I’ve tried to recall what my childhood pastors wore, and I can’t recall any images.
They were good preachers, good pastors, but what they wore, not a clue, though I seem to recall suit and tie more than anything.
When I graduated from seminary – went to West Virginia – wore a suit and tie most of the time, I guess, but no clear recollections!
Went to Altoona, PA, a tough, inner-city sort of place; learned that a clerical collar made hospital calling easier.
I wore the collar during the week, but stayed with suit and tie for Sundays – then began to wear the clerical collar for worship, but stayed with a suit or a sport coat.

Then as an associate at Fox Chapel Presbyterian Church in Pittsburgh – large congregation, 6 full-time pastors, several part-time – there, the clergy wore robes.
I didn’t own a robe, so I borrowed one from the clergy closet.

From Fox Chapel to Northern Wisconsin – suit and clerical collar.
Trip to Duluth one day, a religious supply house.
Bought an alb (albino, white), with four beautiful hand-made stoles from Montreal, rope cincture for the waist.

Chapter 2: Robed: I wore the alb for ten years.
In 1986, I earned a doctorate; two of my faculty advisors from Western Theological Seminary flew done to Tulsa to conduct Sunday morning graduation ceremonies at the church.
It was grand day, a festive day, and well do I remember it – a fellow-student from Kansas City was there – Christian musician Ken Medema provided incredible music.
The church gave me this ring – something Donna remembered from an earlier visit to a James Avery Jewelry story in Tulsa.
At the store one evening in a mall, I spotted the ring in a display cabinet.
I said, “If ever I were to wear a ring, this would be it.”
When the church asked Donna what to give me, she remembered, and they gave me this ring to me that Sunday.
Then Donna and the children gave me my robe, a Genevan gown, with chevrons on the sleeves, representing the doctorate.
Then, a dramatic moment in the graduation ceremony, the hooding – my chief faculty advisor, the Rev. Dr. Robert Coughenour, put it over my head – gold and blue, the school colors, dominated by the broad swath of red, the color of the degree, the color of theology.
I can’t put into words what it meant to me then, and still means. It’s a precious gift given to me by my family.

I wore the robe for many years, with clerical collar, and many times the hood.
It made the Sunday morning closet easy – and I was comfortable in it.

But times change …

Chapter 3: Disrobed:
About eight years ago, I disrobed!

Behind my decision, prayer & thought.
What are the times in which we live?
What’s the 21st century calling us to be?
What does it mean to be the “salt of the earth” and “the light of the world”?

If clergy garb served a function, what was it really?
Is it consistent with the New Testament witness? With Jesus our Rabbi? With the early church?

One of the Scripture passages that means much to me in all of this, Mark 12:38-40 …

I’ll read it again:

As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.

Jesus accepted the title Rabbi easily, but at the same time Jesus warned us:

But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted. (Matthew 23:8-12).

Eight years ago, I put my robe away with tenderness … I spoke about it with Donna and the children, because they gave it to me, and they all agreed.
Times change!
“Put it away Dad; it’s a new day for the church!”


Ever since Constantine made Christianity the religion of the realm, the church has struggled with SACERDOTALISM.

“Sacred power” reserved for the few – baptism, communion - the forgiveness of sins.
Only a few folks can do these things. SACERDOTALISM.

The middle ages – YOU were NOT the church – I was the church.
Me and my clergy buddies, we were the church – priest, bishop, arch bishop, cardinal and pope, along with monks and sisters – we were the church, not you.

You were customers of the grace we created every time we did the Mass.

You didn’t need to be there – no one needed to be there, except the priest, and when the words were said, and the bells rung, a little more grace for the world.

The clergy presided over seven sacraments, to cover all your sins.
The clergy held all the cards: we could get you to heaven, or send you to hell.

Sacerdotalism.

Let’s think for a moment about the early church.

Everything was done in the home … when Paul wrote to the church in Rome, he was writing to 30 or 40 house churches.
There was no “church” as we know it for 300 years … there were only home-gatherings, or gatherings by a river … informal and powerful; home-based and world-changing. “Not by might nor by power, but by the Spirit of the LORD” (Zechariah 4:6)

For a thousand years, the accretions of power grew upon the church, like lichen on a tree, or moss on a stone … vestments grew heavy with brocade, jewels and precious metals … cathedrals tall and overpowering … property and power … sacerdotalism.

The Protestant Reformation formulated a new teaching that shook the church to its foundation … not really a new teaching; a teaching from the New Testament … bringing the church back to its foundation; restoring the church to its first love; plain and simple.

Anyone hazard a guess?

The Priesthood of all believers!

The church liberated from sacerdotalism.

In our own tradition, the Disciples of Christ formed in the early 1800s in a desire to recover the New Testament model – the priesthood of all believers.
To this day, in the Disciples of Christ, the Christian Church and the Churches of Christ, all off-shoots of the Presbyterian family, the distinction between clergy and laity is far less than in most churches.
The clergy are primarily equippers of the people – as Paul the Apostle wrote: “equipping the saints for the work of ministry” (Ephesians 4:12).

If such were the case today, what might the church look like?

Baptism would be done in the home.
By parents and grandparents, friends and family - a cup of water in the living room - gathered at the beach, by a pool.
I believe any Christian family, gathered together with other Christians, can celebrate baptism – a simple, John-the-Baptist moment … or Paul in the home of Cornelius.

What about the LORD's Supper?

Didn’t Jesus say, “Whenever you eat?”

At home, in a restaurant … with friends, or by yourself – a peace of bread, a cup of anything – it’s the body, it’s the blood – the presence of Christ with His people.

Whenever a group gathers in Jesus’ name, He’s there … and anyone can take a piece of bread, anyone can lift a cup; any believer, any Christian, anywhere.

Every family meal – someone can say: Christ is with us – this is His body, this is His blood. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to all.

We can learn from contemporary Judaism: a religion of the home.

The essential rites of Jewish life are done in the home:

The bris – circumcision – done at home.
Passover – at the dinner table, presided over by the parents, and children fully participating. A family affair.

The synagogue is a gathering place for instruction … the rabbi teaches there … the community is strengthened by its gathering – children go to school there - but the essential stuff of being a Jew is done in the home, with friends and family.

We are all one in Christ … there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female … and I would add, neither clergy nor laity.

There are distinctions, distinctions of gifts … some are apostles, some are disciples, some evangelists, some are teachers; some are artisans; some are musicians … some have the gift of hospitality, some the gift of mercy … some are prayer warriors.
Many gifts, one spirit; many gifts, one calling; many gifts, one purpose … many gifts, one people.

We’re all equally close to God … every prayer said is worthy in the sight of God and welcomed at heaven’s gate … every person has a gift, maybe two or three at the most … everyone is equally important in the kingdom of God.

The state church of Norway recently severed its ties to the state, ending centuries of state oversight.
Bishop of Oslo notes, “It belongs to another time than ours.”

There was a time when I thought orange shag carpet was cool … and a purple shirt, with a purple paisley tie ten feet wide … and that ’56 buick of mine could lay a patch of rubber 20 feet long and hit a 120.

But they all belong to another time …

When Donna and I travel by air, as soon as the plane leaves the ground, I set my watch to the new time zone.
Donna keeps her watch on our time zone – which makes for some interesting moments for her.
What time zone are we in?

The energy of change is none other than God!
God always seeks a new place – a new strategy, a new way of communicating His love to the world. God loves change; God is ever creative and creating … making all things new … a new heaven and a new earth …

So I put my robe away … I’ve changed my mind over the years … and I’ll change my mind again before I go home to Jesus.

Amen!