Galatians 5:22-26
 
            The November issue of National Geographic arrived in our mailbox at home a few days ago and I was immediately intrigued by the headline on the magazine cover.  “The Search For Happiness,” it read.  Along with the subtitle, “What we can learn from Costa Rica, Denmark, and Singapore—the most joyful places on the planet.” 
 
            I consider myself a pretty happy person and I think I’m in some version of the happiness business, but I immediately figured why not see if National Geographic was in on a secret I didn’t know about or didn’t realize.  Besides, I’m a preacher and people like me are always looking for inspiration in new places.  As a result, I opened the magazine and immersed myself in the lead article.
 
            Well it turns out that every year since 2012, save 2014 for some reason, the United Nations has published The World Happiness Report.  Based on thousands of survey responses to various quality of life questions posed by the World Gallup Poll, people around the world have had a chance for the last five years to indicate their level of personal happiness.  And that survey information has been compiled and analyzed and made available online and in print for anyone who might be interested. Fascinating stuff if you have time to take a look.
 
            Of course, National Geographic isn’t in the social science and statistic business.  They are in the human interest and storytelling business.  So they chose three average citizens from Costa Rica, Denmark, and Singapore to illustrate what makes a person happy.  And I was particularly struck by the story of Alejandro Zuniga, a fifty-seven year old produce vendor and father who lives just east of San Jose, the capitol city of Costa Rica.
 
            It turns out one night a few years ago, Zuniga got a phone call from a friend with exciting news.  “You’ve won the lottery!
 
            Playing the same number over and over for years, Zuniga had indeed purchased the winning ticket and was eligible to receive the grand prize of 50 million “colones” or a little under $100,000 American dollars.  But Alejandro didn’t believe his friend on the phone because his friend was a notorious practical joker.  Plus, Alejandro was down to his last eight dollars and he wasn’t in the mood.  So he hung up on his friend.
 
            The next morning, however, all the produce vendors greeted Alejandro Zuniga with applause as he arrived at work.  And as soon as he realized his good fortune, Zuniga proceeded to stride past the produce stalls high-fiving his friends and colleagues.  After growing up in a shantytown, quitting school at age 12, struggling with alcohol, and losing the love of his life at age 20, Zuniga had finally struck it rich.  And his fellow produce vendors assumed they would soon lose Zuniga to a more affluent lifestyle. 
 
            Much to their surprise though, Zuniga kept on showing up to work in subsequent weeks, selling avocados and playing practical jokes on his friends.  Meanwhile behind the scenes, unbeknownst to most people, Alejandro Zuniga quietly set about giving away his newfound treasure. 
 
            Alejandro gave a million colones to the man who sold him the winning ticket.  A million colones to a food stall owner who had fed him in lean times.  A million colones to a man who often begged at the produce market.  And the rest he gave to his own mother and to the four mothers of his seven children.  He gave away so much money, in fact, that within a year Alejandro Zuniga was broke again. 
 
            And yet, he insisted when asked, “I couldn’t be happier.”   Although he has no car, no expensive jewelry, no fine clothes and no fancy electronics, Alejandro Zuniga doesn’t need any material things to provide happiness or self-esteem…
 
            I’ve never been there myself, but the World Gallup poll indicates there is something special about living in Costa Rica.  Since 1970, Costa Rica has seen life expectancy jump from 66 years to 80 years while infant mortality rates have dropped sevenfold.  The death rate from heart disease in Costa Rica is about a third less than it is here in this country and Costa Rica spends one tenth as much per capita on health care as the United States. 
 
Overall as a country, Costa Rica features a powerful blend of family bonds, universal health care, faith, lasting peace, equality, and the one thing Alejandro Zuniga possesses in abundance…generosity.  Costa Ricans consistently measure high on many of the categories associated with happiness and well-being.  Actually, Costa Rica ranks number twelve in the 2017 World Happiness Report.  Meanwhile for some perspective, the United States ranks number fourteen. 
 
            Over the course of five recent years, World Happiness Report researchers have boiled down to six the factors that drive human happiness.  In no particular order they are strong economic growth, healthy life expectancy, quality social relationships, generosity, faith or trust and the freedom to live the life that’s right for you.
 
            By the time I finished reading the National Geographic article, I had a sense of what those six happiness factors mean for people living in Costa Rica, Denmark and Singapore.  But I decided to do a little more research to find out what those six factors mean for people like you and me in the United States.     
 
            Here’s what I discovered about our country as noted in the 2017 report.  Despite the fact that income in America has increased three times since 1960, our collective measured happiness has not risen.  Actually the opposite is true…our overall happiness is declining. 
 
            If one of the factors in defining happiness is “strong economic growth” as I mentioned earlier, one would think that our level of happiness would rise as our personal income rises.  Instead, researchers believe that our declining happiness in this country is the result of a social crisis rather than an economic crisis. Specifically, researchers point to the increasing disparity between the wealthiest and the poorest Americans, perceived and real corruption in various institutions, isolation from one another, and distrust among one another as the major problems. 
 
            We may be generating more money in the United States, but generally speaking we feel less sense of personal freedom.  The stock market may be hitting record highs, but public health indicators like opioid addiction are also hitting record highs while too many people feel less connected to family and friends and neighbors and community.   The richest corporate executives in this country keep multiplying their fortunes, but many Americans feel far more wary of corporations than they did a few decades ago.  
 
            Not to mention generosity.  Studies show Americans donate less money than we used to.  The fact that Alejandro Zuniga remained happy in Costa Rica even when he gave away all his newfound wealth runs contrary to so much of what we preach and practice in this nation. 
 
            On top of that, Americans go to church and support churches less than we used to.  To be sure, the church has had its share of corruption and some of the scrutiny the church has faced as an institution has been justified.  Meanwhile many people in this country claim to live faithful and spiritual lives without any connection to a place of worship.  Yet the church is one of the main and one of the few places in most lives where people learn and practice our faith while focusing on things larger and more important than our own well being.  Perhaps a revitalization in our churchgoing habits would make Americans a little happier…
 
            In any case, if the World Happiness Report is correct about the United States and if the changes needed to increase our happiness are primarily social rather than economic or political or institutional, then I wonder what needs to be done.  At the same time, I can’t help but wonder whether we are looking too hard to try and find the answers.  Maybe part of the answer lies just under our noses and we aren’t paying enough attention to it. 
 
            You and I as Christians have been given the blueprint for happiness.  Which isn’t to say we have the only blueprint.  Undoubtedly, people of other faiths have their own valid blueprints. 
 
What it means is that God has given us an instruction manual related to happiness.  In order to live good and righteous and compassionate and loving and fulfilling lives, we have this book available to us.  A Bible which tells the story of God’s incredible love for God’s people poured out down through history.  And a Bible which offers each of us clear direction and a set of keys that enable us to live hopeful and happy lives…even in the midst of fearful, violent, anxious, uneasy times.   
 
            We revealed one small portion of that blueprint in this morning’s Scripture lesson from Paul’s Letter to the Galatians.  It was only four verses long.  But as clues go, the passage couldn’t be much simpler or more straightforward.
 
            “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control…If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.”
 
            Maybe it’s just me being a preacher.  But if you ask me, the Apostle Paul lays out a pretty convincing recipe for happiness.  Fill your heart with love and joy.  Practice patience and kindness.  Live generously and faithfully.  Don’t forget to be gentle and full of self-control.  Be guided by the Holy Spirit in all we say and do.  
 
I don’t even need a poll or a researcher or a magazine to tell me about these recipes.  All I need to do is pick up a Bible and read about happiness myself. 
 
And then follow the instructions.  Amen.          

Luke 10:25-37
 
            “One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to a country with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live.  They spent a couple of days on the farm of a very poor family. On their return home the father asked his son, “How was the trip?”  “It was great, Dad.”  “Did you see how poor people live?” the father asked. 
 
            “Oh yeah,” said the son.  “I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end.  We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have stars at night.  Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.  We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight.  We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.  We buy our food, but they grow theirs.  We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them.”
 
            The boy’s father was speechless.  Then his son added, “Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.” 
 
            The parables of Jesus turn the world as we know it upside down.  They don’t just trade one set of rules for another.  They go one step further, inviting us to think and live in a whole new way.  The question for this morning, however, is whether the Parable of the Good Samaritan is so familiar that we’ve long since squeezed every twist and every hint of surprise out of the story.     
 
            Yes, we have tried hard to tame this morning’s parable.  Any number of churches and religious organizations have funds set up in the name of the Good Samaritan offering money to help people who are passing through in need of a meal or a few gallons of gas.  Nonprofit and for profit organizations create awards in the name of the Good Samaritan to single out particular employees or volunteers who go above and beyond what anyone expects.  And stories of Good Samaritans who reach out to help someone in need quickly make their way across various televised, print, and social media platforms.  
 
            I wonder though if any of you have ever heard a sermon about the Good Samaritan during Stewardship season.  Does this morning’s parable fit at this particular time of year when this church is in the middle of a pledge drive where we ask people to make a financial commitment for the coming year?  Does this parable make sense on Endowment Sunday when we ask people to consider including the church in their will to provide for the well-being of generations of faithful Wapping Community Church people still to come? 
 
If you have ever heard a Good Samaritan stewardship sermon, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one who preached it.  To be sure I’ve preached a number of sermons on the Good Samaritan parable over the years.  But I don’t recall ever trying to draw a connection between the Good Samaritan and our church’s annual Stewardship Drive.  At least not until this morning…
 
One way to understand the Parable of the Good Samaritan is to try and insert ourselves in the role of the main characters in the story.  Why is it that the priest and the Levite decided to pass by the man beaten in the ditch without stopping to help?  And why did the Samaritan stop and offer what he could?
 
If I were to tell you in this stewardship sermon that the actions of the priest and the Levite and the Samaritan were dictated by their own personal wealth, that assertion would be a stretch on my part.  I don’t have any idea about the financial status of the priest, the Levite, or the Samaritan. 
 
What I can conclude from the parable is something about the motivation of the three men.  In other words, I may not know the bank balances of the priest, Levite and Samaritan.  But today’s story does indicate to me something about what was in their hearts. 
 
 The first two men in the story, the priest and the Levite, chose not to stop and help the beaten man.  According to custom they should have stopped.  Basic human compassion would have dictated that the two men reach out to the beaten man in some way.  Instead, they kept on going.  Meanwhile the Samaritan, the one who was the safest bet in the story to ignore the beaten man without breaking stride, was the one who actually chose to stop.  
 
Rather than trying to deduce the mindset of the priest and the Levite though, I really want to know why the Samaritan stopped.  Why was he the one who reached out to the beaten man when everyone else in the story crossed the road and looked the other way?  Why did the Samaritan go above and beyond; bandaging the beaten man’s wounds after pouring oil and wine on them, hoisting the beaten man onto his own animal, taking the beaten man to the inn, paying the bill and agreeing to square the balance in case more money was needed?  Why was the Samaritan the one who showed Christ-like compassion? 
 
The Parable of the Good Samaritan offers us a window into the mercy of God.  In fact, it reinforces a theory that has held true for me over years of observation.  The more of God’s mercy we recognize and experience in our own lives, the more willing and likely we are to be generous toward someone else. 
 
It’s one thing to understand the concept of mercy on a purely intellectual level.  Most of us can agree that the idea of mercy is a good one.  And we can appreciate hearing examples where mercy is available to those who need it.
 
It’s another thing to understand the concept of mercy as a matter of the heart because we have lived it and felt it.  The kind of mercy that we have received because it was born out of our own wrestling with doubt and fear and our own struggle with suffering and grief.  Times when you and I recognize God’s gracious role, and the gracious role of others, in pulling us through.
 
The Samaritan in the story, stranger, foreigner, and outcast that he was, viewed life from a different perspective than the priest and the Levite.  As someone who had been treated like a second class citizen his entire life, he likely saw himself in the man beaten and lying in the ditch.  The suffering and the pain etched in the face of the beaten man mirrored his own pain and suffering, leading the Samaritan to react as if he himself was the one in the ditch and the one who needed to be saved. 
 
When we examine the Parable of the Good Samaritan through the lens of mercy, when we picture times you and I have been wounded and beaten down, we remember how God’s love and God’s forgiveness saved us.  Because of God’s mercy shown to you and to me at times when we needed it most, we too were likely to be more generous toward others. 
 
And it’s not only about you and me personally.  When I look out over the life of this Wapping congregation, I can see signs of God’s mercy everywhere.  All the ways this church moves towards people who are hurting, people who are facing illness and people who are hungry for food and spiritual growth.  The undergarments we send to people in need at the Manchester Area Conference of Churches and the food we collect to feed those who are hungry through the South Windsor Food Bank. The blankets we purchase through Church World Service on Mother’s Day, providing warmth and comfort to people around our world, and the meals we provide to people in this church and in this community who are struggling with personal sickness and grief.  The Foodshare truck that offers much needed surplus food to low income folk in our parking lot every other Thursday and the truck that collected hundreds of cans and bottles in our parking lot last Saturday in support of Boy Scout Troop #2 in the Northeast neighborhood of Hartford.  The Community Conversations that help us understand and appreciate the faith traditions of our neighbors, all the supportive and faithful one on one counsel provided by our Stephen Ministers, and all the ways this building is used to support invaluable community endeavors like AA and NA and Scout groups and youth activities. 
 
There is so much going on around here that sometimes announcements get long before worship starts.  But it’s all because you hear about mission and ministry opportunities.  It’s all because you hear about the mercy you can offer through this congregation.  And the mercy you and I and others receive through this congregation. 
 
Because God has been so merciful to you and me over the course of our lives, helping us through fear and doubt and suffering, we in turn are more likely to be generous to others.  And because the people of this church have been so merciful to us through times of fear and doubt and suffering, we are also more likely to be generous to others.  That’s the way mercy works. 
 
It happens to be the way Stewardship works as well. God has been good to us and the church has been good to us, even in the toughest moments in our lives.  Stewardship is a time in the church year when we remember God’s goodness and the goodness of our church community.  And when we remember the mercy we have felt and experienced, God invites us to respond by offering a pledge to the church as a sign of our generous gratitude.    
 
Listen then as you fill out your church pledge card for this upcoming year the question Jesus asked at the end of the Parable of the Good Samaritan.  “Who was the neighbor to the beaten man?” 
 
The lawyer in the parable knows the answer.  “The one who showed him mercy.”  And Jesus responds, “Go and do likewise.”    Amen.   

Romans 12:4-11
 
            In 2011, soon after he graduated from Middlebury College, Andrew Forsthoefel decided he would spend the next year walking across our country.  He started out in his hometown of Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, and he headed south through Virginia and Alabama before turning west and walking through Texas and New Mexico.  Nearing the end, he veered north and endured the treacherous heat and the dangerous isolation of Death Valley before winding up in Half Moon Bay on the coast of California, some four thousand miles later. 
 
            With a backpack on his back and sturdy boots on his feet, Forsthoefel wore a sign on his shoulders everywhere he went.  “Walking to Listen.”  And those three words would be his mantra along the journey as Forsthoefel relied on the generosity of strangers to feed him, to occasionally put him up for the night, to break up the lonely monotony of walking for hours on end, and to tell him their own personal stories. 
 
            Of the books I read during my sabbatical, Forsthoefel’s book, Walking to Listen: 4000 Miles Across America, One Story At A Time, was my favorite.  If you have a young adult in your life, I recommend the book as a great Christmas present.  At the same time, Andrew Forsthoefel offers a message of simplicity, kindness, and hope that speaks to life’s timeless truths no matter your age.
 
            Throughout the book, Forsthoefel recounts the stories of numerous compelling characters he meets on the road.  Including James, a Navajo man living on the Navajo Indian reservation in Arizona, who hosted him and ultimately blessed him as he set off on the remainder of his journey. The blessing which James bestowed upon Andrew is captured in two Navajo words which I pronounce as best I am able: “Ashkii Naghahi.”  Which translates in English to “Boy Who Walks.”
 
            As Andrew Forsthoefel walked through California and made his way ever closer to the Pacific Ocean, several of the people Andrew met on his cross country hike traveled for miles to California so they could greet him at his journey’s end.  James was one of those people, and James positioned himself on the edge of the ocean with blue corn meal in his hand…the last one to greet Andrew before he stepped from the shore into the water to mark the end of his four thousand mile sojourn.    
 
            This time, James put his hand on Andrew’s shoulders and welcomed Andrew as if he were his own son.  And as he beckoned Andrew to walk into the ocean alone he gave to Andrew a new blessing.  No longer “Ashkii Naghahi” or “Boy Who Walks,” Andrew was now “Hastiin Niha Naghahi,” which means “Man Who Walks for Us.”  With that blessing, James affirmed the sacredness of the epic task Andrew had accomplished.  And as a ritual offering, he poured the blue corn meal from his own hands into Andrew’s.  “You carried us with you on your walk,” James assured Andrew, “and now you can take our prayers with you into the ocean…”
 
            I still remember clearly the day back in 1992 when I was ordained into the Christian ministry.  There were some faces in the sanctuary twenty-five years ago that are forever etched in my memory.  The ministerial advisor, himself a retired seminary professor, who mentored me and advocated for me through the ordination process, three of four beloved grandparents who were alive and well, and especially my father who preached the “Charge to the Ordinand” on that special day.  They were people who charted a path for me in so many ways during my lifetime and who nurture me still as accompanying spirits, even though they are no longer here on earth. 
 
            I still remember clearly other faces from that sanctuary twenty-five years ago.  In fact, some of those faces are here in this sanctuary this morning.  Kristin, who was right beside me that day, one year into our marriage and two years before we would have our first child.  And my mother, who was the first one to lay her hands on my head as she prayed the Ordination Prayer.
 
            The entire congregation that day circled the outside of the sanctuary at the Wellesley Congregational Church in Massachusetts…each person holding the hands of the person next to them…every person and every hand connected to the hands which rested on my head.  I felt the holy gravity of God’s call in those moments.  Twenty-five years later, it remains a highlight moment in my life…
 
            I also remember the next day when I went to work at my first church in Waterbury, Connecticut.  Freshly blessed with a new title, “the Rev. Mark B. Abernethy,” I sat at my desk and stared at the wall in front of me.  To be honest, part of me wondered what I had gotten myself into.  And part of me was curious about what I was supposed to to do now that I was an official clergyperson.
 
            I looked at that wall in my office, thinking, reflecting, reminiscing, praying for a good five or ten minutes until it became clear to me.  I wasn’t going to figure out who I was as an ordained pastor by sitting in my office.  So I set out to meet people in the congregation and the community, counting on people’s generosity and hospitality, and hoping to hear people’s stories.  There was no sign on my shoulders…but there could have been.
 
            Back in 1992, I was just beginning to forge my own pastoral identity.  Now in 2017, my professional identity is fairly well-defined.  Which isn’t to say there’s no room for growth and change.  I tend to like trying new things I haven’t done before.  What it does mean is that I spend less time staring at my office wall.  Indeed my revelation about the work of ministry the day after I was ordained remains crystal clear to me years later. 
 
            It also means the blessing has changed for me over time.  I’m not talking about the blessing from God on my ordination day, which steadfastly sustains and inspires me.  That holy blessing is still the same.  What I am referring to is the blessing granted by the church.  Twenty-five years ago, the blessing was the title that goes with the ordained pastoral vocation: “Reverend.”  But titles don’t make ministers happen.  Any more than titles make the work of ministry happen.  People are the ones who make ministers and ministry happen.
 
            Maybe the new blessing for me then at this twenty-five year ordination anniversary mark is similar to the Navajo blessing James gave to Andrew Forsthoefel as he waded into the Pacific Ocean.  “Man Who Walks For Us.” At its best, ministry for me and ministry for all of God’s people is about carrying one another with all our prayers and hopes and dreams as we go through our lives.  Particularly in those moments when we can’t find the strength or the voice or the courage to carry ourselves.  
 
Or maybe the wording for my new blessing would vary slightly.  “Man Who Walks With Us.”  Ministry for me and for all God’s people means walking side by side.  Listening carefully to one another as we share our stories.  Companioning one another and celebrating with one another through the best days that life has to offer.  Embracing one another and persevering with one another through the worst days that life has to offer.  Serving one another and reaching out to those who are left behind vulnerable and fragile.  Forgiving one another and restoring one another when someone falls short. 
 
Over the course of the last twenty-five years, I’ve learned how important it is to live for others and to love others. As important, I believe, as it is to live for and love myself. 
 
Which brings me to this day when you have gathered from near and far to celebrate this twenty-fifth ordination anniversary with me.  I haven’t been privy to all the details and to all the planning that has gone into this event.  And that’s fine with me because I’ve always liked surprises.  Still, I have a sense of how much energy and effort has been put into this day by so many people.  For all of you who are here today and who helped make this day possible in myriad ways, I am deeply and profoundly appreciative.
 
And I want you all to know that even though the luncheon this day marks a significant milestone in my life, this day is really, actually a story about us.  It’s a day to lift up the ministry you and I have shared together here at Wapping Community Church over the years.  All the worship services and the mission trips.  All the prayers and the meetings.  All the weddings and funerals and baptisms and special occasions.  All the times I have visited with you in the hallways of this church building and all the times I have seen you in the aisles over at Stop and Shop.  Listening and laughing and crying as we shared stories with each other…the very thing I figured ministry was about from day one. 
 
Andrew Forsthoefel concludes his book, Walking to Listen, with these words…
 
“The ocean couldn’t wait any longer.  It sent out a wave and took me by my feet, the final welcoming.  I followed it, offering the cornmeal in my hands to the cold blue, remembering everyone who was with me even as I walked out into the water alone, whispering thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” 
 
For being such a wonderful part of the twenty-five years that have led to this day, I echo Andrew Forsthoefel’s words to each of you and to God.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.  And I look forward to walking and listening as the story of us unfolds in the days ahead.  Amen.       

2 Corinthians 4:7-12, 16-18
 
            I didn’t want to preach this sermon this morning.  The truth is I’ve preached this sermon too many times before.  After Columbine.  After Aurora.  After Newtown.  After Charleston.  After Orlando.  And now after Las Vegas.  Where fifty-nine people lost their lives and four hundred and eighty-nine people were injured at the hand of a sniper high overhead.  Another day in this country that will go down in historical infamy…a sixty-four year old white man who had way too much money to buy way too many guns fired way too many bullets into a crowd with way too much callous indifference to the value of human life.  
 
            Just in these recent weeks we have seen wildfires blaze out of control in the far West.  We have seen back to back earthquakes devastate the people of Mexico.  We have seen massive hurricanes cause loss of property and electricity and life in Texas and Florida and the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. And those are just the large scale disasters in our corner of the world.  On top of all that now we grieve another mass shooting where a gunman not only terrorized concertgoers in Las Vegas but also terrorized and traumatized people like you and me all over our country.
 
            I don’t know about all of you, but it’s been hard for me to bear all the pain and suffering and destruction I’ve seen in recent weeks.  Even from what seems like a safe distance, far away here in South Windsor, Connecticut.  I am a firm believer in hope and a firm believer in the power of prayer and yet when tragedy and devastation come in waves, I question whether I’m doing enough.  I feel like I could be doing more.  I wonder where to start…and how…   
 
            In his opening monologue in the wake of the Las Vegas shootings, late night talk show host Jimmy Kimmel talked passionately and emotionally about those wounded and killed in the Las Vegas city he loves and calls home.  Near the end of that monologue, Kimmel offered the following chilling image.  “It feels like someone has opened a window into hell.” 
 
            Catastrophes everywhere you turn and human beings dying on a large scale in a short period of time.  It sounds apocalyptic…like the world is coming to an end.  So much so that it’s hard to dismiss out of hand what Jimmy Kimmel was saying.   But in this pulpit, in my own version of a Sunday morning monologue, it feels like one of those Sundays where I can’t preach on anything but what happened in Las Vegas one Sunday ago…
 
            This morning’s Scripture lesson tells us about the Apostle Paul who decided centuries ago to write a letter to the church in Corinth.  He wanted to tell them all about how they were messing things up.  How they were perpetually confusing what was important and what was not really important.  How they were preoccupied with class distinctions between Jews and Gentiles, arguing about circumcision and right and wrong foods.  How they were squabbling about who was an insider and who was an outsider and how it got so bad they were even bringing lawsuits against each other.  So Paul wrote them a letter in order to call them out.
 
            Like any good preacher, Paul took inspiration from Biblical texts in the prophet Jeremiah and the prophet Isaiah, he added some of his own imagination, and he came up with a provocative image to get his point across.  “We have this treasure in clay jars.”
 
            According to Paul, we have clay pots as vessels or containers and we also have the stuff in the containers.  The problem is we have confused them.  The clay jar, which Paul envisions as the church and all that is a part of the church?  We think that the clay jar is the real treasure.  People in the church dare to think that the extraordinary power belongs to us.  We actually think that the little stuff that takes up so much of our time and energy is more crucial than the stuff actually inside the jar. We are a lot like the Corinthian church generations ago. 
 
            For Paul, the issue is that we are neglecting the real treasure.  The treasure, the stuff inside the clay jars, is the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  The reconciling, liberating, saving love of Jesus Christ. 
 
            The treasure is forgiveness in a society that rarely expresses remorse and likes to keep a running scorecard of people’s faults and missteps.  The treasure is a sense of generosity in a society which thrives on the message that there is always a shortage and we’ll never have enough.  The treasure is a commitment to hospitality in a society where too many are inhospitable to all but their own kind.  The treasure is justice that protects the fragile and vulnerable in a society where countless people are tangled in a web of injustice.  The treasure is the old, old story of the love of God shared with us and to all of God’s creatures.    
 
            Meanwhile everything else in the church is merely a clay pot designed to hold and transmit and enact the treasure.  The hymnals and the programs.  The budgets and the boards.  The associations and conferences.  The bells and the candles and the curriculum.  The ministers and the staff and the church leaders and the youth groups and the church school teachers.  All of those things, all the parts of the church we agree and disagree about, all the things we get hung up on in the church.  They are all clay pots.  And none of them are able to fully contain the truth and the richness of the real treasure. 
 
            The Apostle Paul wrote to a church in Corinth that was afflicted and perplexed, persecuted and struck down.  A church that was on the edge of being crushed, driven to despair, forsaken and destroyed.  A church that, in some ways, resembles the Christian church of today.  A church that runs the risk of toppling over when we confuse the clay pot with the treasure. 
 
The church and all the things and all the people in the church are nothing more than a vessel for the good news of the Gospel itself.  I wonder, though, whether the Apostle Paul was speaking only to the church.  Or was his message more universal, more far-reaching than the confines of the church?  
 
            When I look at all that is going on in the world these recent days, Paul’s image of the clay jar resonates.  In spite of all the good things going on around us, much of which is understated and underreported, what you and I hold near and dear feels fragile, vulnerable, on the edge ready to teeter over.
 
            Could it be that our society has the clay jar and what’s in the clay jar mixed up?  In the wake of Las Vegas, it’s tempting to think that politicians and rules and laws are the treasure.  But they are not.  It’s enticing to think that social media and the way we communicate with each other is the treasure.  But it’s not.  We hold up guns and background checks and constitutional amendments and we proclaim that they are the treasure.  But they are not. Better treatment for those who have mental illness, as important as it is, is not the treasure.   
 
            Churches and governments and laws and leaders and policies and people who try to keep us safe and people who try to piece us back together when we are broken.  No matter how much we try to make them the be all and the end all. When everything is said and done, they, we are all fragile, vulnerable clay jars.  Especially in the wake of Las Vegas where we have been afflicted, perplexed, persecuted and struck down.  Particularly in the wake of Las Vegas where too many of our sisters and brothers have been crushed, driven to despair, forsaken and destroyed.
 
            Like Columbine and Aurora and Newtown and Charleston and Orlando and every other mass shooting we have endured as a society in recent years, Las Vegas reminds us once again what the treasure actually is.  And how desperately we need to find the treasure. 
 
            Our society needs to refocus on forgiveness that gives human beings second chances and new starts.  Reclaim generosity that is based on reaching out beyond ourselves to those in need rather than accumulating more and more for ourselves.  Renew hospitality that welcomes with open arms those that look and act and think like we do and those who do not.  Restore the kind of justice that protects the least of our sisters and brothers. 
 
            And we need to listen again closely to the Good News that Paul offered in this morning’s lesson.  Paul states we may be afflicted but we are not crushed.  Perplexed but not driven to despair.  Persecuted but not forsaken.  Struck down but not destroyed.  And most of all, Paul tells us “not to lose heart.”  You and I and this church and country…we are clay jars, but we know where the treasure lies.  It lies in the God who has extraordinary power.  And we know how to find the treasure.  By remaining steadfast in our resolve to do God’s work here on earth with all the strength we can muster. 
 
            I want to close this sermon with a prayer first written by Rev. Matthew Crebbin, the pastor of the Newtown Congregational Church, in the wake of the Sandy Hook shootings, and updated days ago in the wake of Las Vegas.  Please join me in prayer…
 
Holy God, we pray our sorrow, our anger, our hopelessness.  We pray our faith and our doubt.
 
We pray for the murdered, the injured, the traumatized—each one a unique and precious treasure.
 
We pray for families and communities forever altered.
 
We pray for individuals and families in other places who in this moment are being re-traumatized.
We pray for all those around our world who are targets of violence because their beauty as a child of God does not fit somebody else’s definition of what is righteous or pure or worthy of sacred care.
 
We pray for all who by intent or apathy continue to allow our nation to worship at the altar of the gun—and for those who believe that innocence must forever be offered on that altar for the sake of freedom.
 
We pray for those who will only offer prayers and nothing else.  We pray for those who say it’s too soon to talk about solutions but will always find reasons to avoid the conversation. 
 
We pray for all of us that we might refuse to become further isolated from those with whom we disagree—and choose to live only in theological and political camps that feel safe and reassuring.
 
We pray for those who think they know all the reasons that things like this happen—and who will soon return to a cocoon of self-righteous certainty.
 
We pray for those who will become even more captive to the way of fear—and only end up further down the path of death and brokenness.
 
We pray for shalom…for peace and well-being for everyone—including even those who commit unspeakable acts of violence.
 
We pray for ourselves that we might not be overwhelmed by “disaster fatigue” even while we remember that we are not called to offer ourselves on the altar of the good by trying to do so much that we destroy the sacredness of our own lives and relationships.
 
We pray to commit ourselves to be part of the transformation.  And then, prayerfully we choose one specific thing that we will do today to reduce violence and create a little more peace on this planet. 
 
And we pray that in our praying we may become a living and breathing prayer that this broken and grieving world so desperately needs.  Amen.