June 19, 2016 – Isaiah 65:1-9
Isaiah 65:1-9
Devices for Loving
Lectionary 12C – June 19, 2016
First Lutheran Church – Winnipeg, MB
Isaiah spoke these words almost 3000 years ago, and yet they sound so contemporary.
He addresses a people who are self-absorbed,
who have no time to stop and listen – to God or to anyone else.
We like to think ours is a culture in which people are too busy to take time to
be in real relationship or be in community.
But really, Isaiah is probably showing us that that has always been the case.
The people may think they are doing God’s desires, but really they are doing their own.
If they took the time to listen – to God and to those God so loves –
they would realize God wants community and God wants justice.
They would realize that God is on a loving mission to love bless heal and set free
this whole world and every person in it.
But they are self-absorbed, they follow their own devices, says Isaiah.
And think they are better than everyone else;
or, as Isaiah says, they say to their neighbour,
“Keep to yourself, do not come near me, for I am too holy for you.”
And you are not good enough for me.
They follow their own devices.
Today we have devices that can keep us self-absorbed for long periods of time.
As an introvert, my personal device, my phone, is a great escape from having to
interact with others.
I love my phone, I use it for a million things, and it is a great tool,
but like any gift it can also be used for a less than great purpose.
But there are lots of other things that alienate us from each other,
from listening to those who, like God, cry “Here I am, here I am.”
The number of hours we now watch Netflix would astonish you.
The amount of sports we can view is almost overwhelming.
Recreation takes up more and more of our time.
And meanwhile many of God’s beloved cry, “Here I am. Here I am.”
Now I am all for Netflix, and sports, and recreation.
But balance is so important in life.
Okay: I was in a tiki bar in Honolulu almost exactly a year ago.
It is situated in the Mariana Sailing Club.
It’s a long way from Waikiki: I had to go some to get there – two buses and a long walk.
But it is old and famous and I really wanted to go there.
And I’m really glad I did.
I had a great time on my sabbatical last year but
my evening at the Mariana Sailing Club was special.
The thing about a tiki bar is: it is pretty relaxed.
I was alone so I decided to sit at the bar.
I went early wanting to spend a good chunk of the evening there.
And the place was filling up fast, so the bartenders were busy.
I ordered a drink and then I ordered supper and another drink.
I was having a nice time just taking in all the flotsam and jetsam of fifty years of
accumulated tiki junk: tikis, puffer fish lamps, tiki mugs, fish nets,
Japanese glass fishing floats, nautical gear of all kinds.
You name it. It was fantastic.
Then a guy pulls up next to me.
He introduces himself – his name is James and he is a merchant marine.
I tell him my name is Michael
Now the thing is: no one is in a real hurry in a tiki bar.
So we order drinks, and we start talking.
And I think maybe James is lonely. So we keep talking.
He tells me he’s in port in Honolulu and that he often comes here.
He first came to Honolulu, he says, when he finished a two year contract teaching English in
Japan after he finished college in California 20 years ago.
In Japan he started singing in a band and realized he really liked singing and was good at it.
On his way home he stopped in Honolulu and tried making a go of singing.
“How did that turn out?” I ask.
“Not well,” he said. But he discovered he really liked Honolulu and had been many times since.
I tell him I’m from Canada and have never been before.
We’re having a nice time – then he asks me what I do.
Now, as any pastor can tell you,
these days there is always a moment when you hesitate to tell people the truth,
because while they might continue to talk to you as if you are an actual human being,
they might just instead start talking to you as if you were (take your pick):
naïve, sheltered, deluded, super holy, weird, not quite human, almost god,
or just to be pitied.
9 times out of 10 you make people uncomfortable one way or another –
and every single person apologizes when you swear,
little knowing that I can swear like a sailor – or a merchant marine, I guess.
Anyway, they wonder: what do they talk to you about? Does he know about “the outside world?”
Does he have actual interests? Does he even know about sex?
Has someone ever explained that to him?
Well, I’m having a nice time and I’ve had several drinks and I like James so I say,
like, you know, Full Confession, “I’m a pastor at a Lutheran Church.”
It’s a good call, because James continues to treat me like a human being. Whew!
He actually asks me about my congregation and seems interested in the answers.
And we talk about that for a while and it’s nice to speak to someone about home.
Then he asks – because, you know, I’m a pastor – “Do you like Gospel Elvis?”
And I say, “Yah: I like Gospel Elvis. I’m not familiar with his complete Gospel oevre,
But yeah: who doesn’t like Gospel Elvis?”
Then he tells me he came to love Gospel Elvis and when his whole singing thing didn’t work out
he decided he would get himself a Gospel Elvis karaoke CD and start singing that.
He just wanted to sing, so he went around to every church in Honolulu knocking on doors
and asking if he could sing Gospel Elvis during their worship services.
“How did that go?” I ask.
“Not well,” he says. “I only had one yes.
There was a pastor at a Baptist church who said I could sing Gospel Elvis in his church.
He was the only one. We became friends.”
Ah: I thought, he’s friends with a pastor – no wonder he treats me like a human being!
We order another drink – I am, after all, taking the bus.
So then I say to him, “Tell me about your friend’s church.”
“Well,” he says, “when I first met him 15 years ago or so they really liked him.
He was a nice guy. But then something bad happened to him.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“He got one of the young women in the congregation pregnant.”
“Oh dear,” I say. “How did that turn out?”
“Not well,” he says. “Right,” I say.
So he says, “He actually hung on for a year or so.
He genuinely loved the girl and wanted to marry her. But she didn’t want to marry him.
So he was forced out of the church and couldn’t get a job being a pastor
at any other Baptist church in Honolulu.”
And I thought: No kidding.
“So then what happened?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “One of the members of his church was a farmer and had bunch of land.
He said my friend could stay on a small piece of his land.
At the time, all my friend had was a tent and two goats.”
“How’s he doing now?” I ask.
“I saw him about a year ago,” says James. “Now he has a tent and 87 goats. He’s doing well.”
So we order one more drink, but it’s getting late and I don’t want to miss the last bus –
it’s a very long way back to Waikiki.
It was kind of a wondrous evening: I encountered someone I didn’t expect and
we each took the time to listen to each other because, well,
that is what you do in a tiki bar.
I took a lot away from that encounter.
I guess one thing I learned is that if you’re a pastor you shouldn’t get your parishioners pregnant.
But I also learned what can happen when you take time to
pay attention to those around you who are saying, “Here I am. Here I am.”
And what can happen when they hear you saying the same thing.
And finally I learned something about hope.
Because as we were leaving, James said to me, “Do you have a card?”
And I said, “Yah, sure.” I take one out of my bag and say, “Here.”
He looks at it for a while and mutters the word “Winnipeg” as if it were a magical incantation.
Then he looks up at me and says,
“If I come to Winnipeg, can I sing Gospel Elvis in your church?”
And I look at him and say, “James, if you ever come to Winnipeg,
you can absolutely sing Gospel Elvis in my church.”
I was glad I didn’t follow my own devices that night at the Mariana Sailing Club,
or have my head buried in my device.
And I was glad James didn’t have his head buried in his.
In the Gospel story, Jesus definitely hears one who is crying “Here I am! Here I am!”
One who is longing for healing, longing for someone to hear him and set him free.
And even though he is a foreigner, even though he is ritually unclean, Jesus hears him.
Jesus just pays attention. And Jesus just loves him. And heals him.
In the Biblical view, we are the devices: devices for loving.
As I never tire of saying, if we had little instruction manuals along with us when we are born,
they would say, “This is a device for loving.”
We are devices for loving.
Our congregation is a device for loving.
It is place where we pay attention to those crying “Here I am” –
and where we can expect people will hear our own cries of “Here I am.”
For we are devices for loving.
So with James, with Gospel Elvis, and with all of God’s beloved, let us say, “Amen.”
Pastor Michael Kurtz
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