St. Paul United Church of Christ » Rev. Dan Sather’s Blog

Choosing the subversive power of the resurrection

Dan Sather — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 16:13:00 +0000

September 11^th this year will mark the tenth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil in our relatively young history as an independent nation. 9/11 is one of those events in our life that leaves an indelible mark on our memory – a memory that can recount the details of our day. This memory is also one that solicits passionate feelings – feelings of hatred, intolerance, fear, and anger. All of these feelings are probably normal human feelings when one’s liberty, way of life and our pursuit of happiness is threatened. No one would blame you for having these feelings and our humanity won’t allow us to push them away and so our best response to such feelings is to find loving and meaningful ways to deal with the violence and hatred that changed the world as we know it. From now on, our life as individuals, as families, and as a nation will forever be different because what we thought was impossible was possible. Our task as a nation and as a people is to turn this tenth anniversary of this tragic event in our history from becoming a hate festival of shallow patriotism to be a global love fest of peace and justice for all God’s children. Even more significantly, we need to remember the passion and spirit in which God created this world and ALL of its diversity and remember that God created the world and God called the world “GOOD!”

The book of Acts recounts a significant dream that was dreamt by Peter. The disciple Peter dreamed that he had become hungry and wanted something to eat. He dreamed that a large sheet had come down from heaven and in the sheet were all kinds of four-footed creatures and reptiles and birds of the air, the very animals that were forbidden for the Hebrew people to eat. As he observed this strange phenomenon the voice of God said, “Get up, Peter, kill and eat.” Peter, a devout Jew refused to eat the creatures and said, “By no means Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.” And to Peter’s surprise the voice came a second time, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Just as it is with Peter, so is it true of us too. We are not in a position to judge what is clean or unclean or what is the right religion or what is the wrong religion. Our calling on this tenth anniversary of 9/11 is to show the world what is good and acceptable to God and to the world. Through our deeds of kindness and in our positive actions of grace, we show the world that we, like God, abhor any acts of violence of any kind. Whether they are rabid Muslims, Jews, Christians or any other religion that celebrates violence over non-violence, destruction over understanding, or humility over dignity, all are contrary to God’s will, all are not good. Remember, our own religion is not without its radical, right wing fanatics.

What then shall we do? Instead of passing judgment on that which we do not understand perhaps this tenth anniversary is a time to learn about all the monotheistic faiths of the world. Perhaps we need to participate in events and experiences that do not celebrate one faith over another, but to celebrate all the faiths of the world that have brought grace, civility, and order to the violent nature of humanity. Maybe this tenth anniversary is a day to give thanks to those who did die on that day for the lives they touched before their tragic death. Maybe this day is an invitation to embrace humanity in all its goodness and all its weakness and to show the world that we have a different understanding of faith in action, faith values and one that celebrates all of life.

As I babble on about anniversaries, right and wrong expressions of faith and tragic events that redefined our world, I am empowered by the added Christian blessing of the subversive power of the resurrection -- Christian hope. The resurrection makes it possible to see beyond the fog of out of control emotions. The resurrection of Jesus Christ did not happen so that we might remember tragic anniversaries of horrible acts of violence, but rather, that we might imagine a different tomorrow – a future that is more about Kingdom values than American values, more about life than about death, and more about a future with God than a future built upon prejudices, hatred, and violence. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is a powerful act of God’s amazing grace and the good news is that it is not ours to keep, but ours to share. So then, how will you remember 9/11? Perhaps this is the year to choose the subversive power of the resurrection. What do you think?

Choosing the subversive power of the resurrection

Dan Sather — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 16:13:00 +0000

Imagine the Possible

Dan Sather — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 15:28:00 +0000

Imagine the possible! Imagination! What a gift. All great and wonderful things begin with an idea, an imagined thought, or a flood of passion that brings us to our knees and we imagine what could be done, what we could do and we ask the question, what can I do to be the hands and feet of God, the ears and eyes of the Jesus Christ, and the voice of the Holy Spirit? Imagine what is possible.

From time to time I listen to a radio station that plays songs from the 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s. While driving one day, I heard the song by Clint Holmes’ a onetime hit single, “Playground in my Mind.” I couldn’t believe it, I knew the song. I hadn’t sung that song in maybe 35 years or more, but I remembered the song and I remembered why I enjoyed it. I am drawn to that song because I was that child on the playground, the one who played innocently and cooperatively on that playground – the one that brought comfort to the singer. I was living the love. I was laughing and I was playing. I was the escape from a sad and lonely world and the child who knew no other way, but the way of love and innocence. Likewise, I can also imagine that there are many, many people who feel that the world has let him down and I suspect that the writer of this playful, yet prophetic song from the 70's captures the complexity of our world and our experiences. Let's look at some of the lyrics:

When this old world gets me down

And there’s no love to be found

I close my eyes and soon I find

I’m in a playground in my mind

Where the children laugh and the children play

And we sing a song all day.

Imagine what is possible. The gay teen-ager is bullied, beaten and feeling the world has let him down. Where’s the love? Imagine what is possible. A high functioning autistic young man asks a friend to his senior prom and just a day or so before he would pick his date up, she calls and tells him she won’t be attending prom this year. This old world gets him down. Where’s the love? Imagine what is possible. She’s overweight, living with an alcoholic mother who in her drunken state reminds the obese child that she is worthless and that no man would ever want to marry her and she feels that the world has let her down. Where’s the love? Imagine what is possible. When such mean and hateful things happen to God’s children, why wouldn’t we close our eyes and visit that playground in our minds? Why wouldn’t we want to visit that park where there are no sad faces, no hateful words, and no fighting – just smiles and laughter, free spirits, and cooperation. Oh the wonders that we find in the playground in our minds.

As I babble on about imagination and the possibilities, I am reminded of the still speaking God who is calling upon all creation to be God's hands and feet and to imagine a playground fit for all God's children. Perhaps the children on the playground are our prophets and teachers today? I wonder? Ba, ba, ba, ba! La! La! La! Imagine the possible!

You may say that I’m a dreamer – but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us and the world will live as one.

Imagine, John Lennon

Life’s Holy Hands

Dan Sather — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:18:00 +0000

His hands were oily and grimy from years and years of working on cars and trucks. The hands tell a story about hard, dirty work that gives peace of mind to those who are not quite sure of the difference between four-cylinders and eight.

Her hands were strong, soft and gentle. How many lids had she tightened with her hands? How many times had she immersed her fingers and hands in warm, soapy water to bathe a child or clean a dish? Her hands have a story to tell too, a story about caring and nurturing, cleaning and scrubbing.

I looked at his hands and noticed that he had picked the skin and nails to the point that his fingers were scarred and bleeding. Could this have been his way of dealing with his anxiety and the stress of life? Or was it something else? His hands tell a story about a life of suffering and a life of pain. It is a story about battles with life's demons, a constant struggle with addictions that cripple the body and breaks our spirits.

I'm remembering the newborn hands of my children. Their hands tightly clasp into two tiny fists that had not yet learned how to use the muscles and the bones to open their tiny hands to discover the mysteries of the world and to begin to weave the story that would become their own. Their hands small and beautiful were still waiting to receive the joy of new discoveries.

I am remembering the holy hands that held me when I was small, strong hands of gentle strength. I am remembering the men and women along my own journey who reached out their hands to catch me when I fell or encouraged me when I was feeling too comfortable with my life. I am remembering Mrs. Rietz, a member of the church choir who asked if I had ever considered ministry? I remember Mrs. Kuhlman who encouraged me to use my voice to sing praises to God. I remember Rev. Reiter and the congregation of St. John's in Granite City who believed in me and allowed me to explore my call as pastor and teacher. I am remembering the day Dr. Wehril called me into his office and spoke clearly and beautifully about my gifts for ministry and blessed me on a journey that I was just beginning. Hands, holy hands touch our lives and show us another story that we can live. Each set of hands that touch us, are the holy hands of God that offers us living water that nourishes us and fills us to overflowing. And we are changed.

As I babble on about the holy hands and the hands that have touched my life, I am wondering about the holy hands that have touched your life. How has God reached out to you? Who are the people who offered you living water? Like the hands that have changed our lives, so do our hands have the ability to change lives. So do our hands have a story to tell. So does God use our hands to change lives. Your hands are holy too. What story will your hands tell?

The Way Home

Dan Sather — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 01:28:00 +0000

I needed to get home on that snowy, windy night. The winter wind was blowing pretty hard and it was cutting interesting formations in the snow along the side of the road. I glanced across a farmer's field. Two months ago, the land was waiting for a farmer's combine and now the once productive field had been transformed into a snow-white desert as the cold, north wind created small mounds of dry, blowing snow. At times I wondered if I was actually on the road or at the very least, the correct side of the road. The blowing snow and dark night made it difficult to know for sure where the road was under the weight of my moving car. I was grateful that I had traveled this road many, many times before and had a pretty good idea as to the bends and turns of this road. As I traveled slowly and cautiously through this winter wonderland, my mind recalled the words from the prophet Isaiah:

"A voice of one calling in the desert prepare the way for the Lord, make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God."
Isaiah 40:3

I thought how frightening and perfectly awful it would be to have car trouble on this cold and wintry night and how much worse it would be if I were traveling in a place that was not so familiar to me. It was like a wilderness, a desert place, a place of gnashing and chattering teeth. Yet, there was a beauty about this night that reflected the awesome power of God. I kept traveling through the wilderness. I was on my way home and my memory of the road, the landscape, the familiar buildings were signs to me that I was on the right track.

John the Baptist lived in the wilderness and preached. The people came to hear him preach, they came to see where God resides. After Jesus was baptized by John, he went into the wilderness and saw the face of God. There are countless mystics throughout the generations that have lived in the wilderness where they have known God. The voice of the one calls us out of the world and into the wilderness where God dwells -- in the empty places, the wild places, the places we least expect to find a comforting word. The voice of the prophet from the lonely and desolate wilderness calls through the wind and the snow and invites us home.

The snowy, windy night was not a night I would choose to be on the roads. But even in the wind, the snow, and the ice, the grace of God could be seen. Along the road I was traveling, I could still follow a trail that would lead me home. Perhaps it was a night to experience God in the wilderness, the place where we are least equipped to survive and are the most dependent upon the grace of God. Maybe the cry from the wilderness is an invitation to come into the desert, the empty place, the wild place and discover the place where God dwells. Perhaps this IS THE WAY home -- through the wilderness.

As I babble on about snowy nights, empty places and a voice that calls us into the wilderness, I begin to see that the chaos of blowing snow on a cold and windy night is much like living this life. This life that is so unpredictable, often menacing, at times lonely and cold and other times beautiful and timeless. Yet, even in in the storms of life , one can follow a faint trail that leads us home -- home to the voice that calls us into the desert and shows us the way home.