University Presbyterian Church - Chapel Hill, NC

Pete Peery
University Presbyterian Church — Chapel Hill
Second Sunday of Advent
Installation of Anna Pinckney Straight
10 December 2006

Bob Dunham can tell you what I looked like when I left seminary to begin ministry.
 My hair was not like it is now.
  It was dark — and a bit long.  My dad thought it was way too long!
 And I had a full beard.
Remarkably, a rather conservative, suburban congregation
 called me to serve as one of their pastors.
In that first call one day I paid an unannounced visit
 on a family who had been visiting the church —
  something I have learned not to do!
I rang the doorbell.  The door sprang open.
 And there stood a five-year-old boy — awestruck.
  Frankly, it seemed to me that he was quite frightened.
   His wide eyes were glued on me.  His mouth gaped open.
    He uttered not a word.
I asked, “Is your mom or dad at home?”
 Backing away from me, then turning to run, —
  he scampered to the back of the house, leaving the door wide open.
 And I heard him blurt out, “Mommy!  Jesus is at the front door!”

Clearly that young boy had been socialized
 with traditional, western imagery of Jesus —
  tall, bearded, dark hair, white skin.
And because of that imagery, —
 any child so socialized today would never confuse me as I look now, —
  with my very gray hair and clean-shaven face, with Jesus.
 Nor would they confuse Anna with Jesus.
But I bet that when Anna shows up on your doorstep, or in your office, —
 or at your hospital bedside —
  or when you come to seek her counsel in her study, —
   you may experience some fear and trembling.
I know you don’t expect that to happen.
 Anna doesn’t look very scary.
  And even though she studied in New York City
   and served in ministry north of the Mason-Dixon line, —
  those Charleston roots and social graces are evident in her manner.
 And to top that off, Anna has been called here
  to extend care, the tender care of the Good Shepherd, —
   with you the people of University Presbyterian Church.
But the reality that still remains is that when the pastor shows up, —
 be that a pastor as gracious as Anna, —
  some anxiety or awkwardness, fear and trepidation emerges within us.

What is that about?  It pops out before we know it.
 A pastor joins the circle of conversation at a party
  and the tenor of the jokes change.
Or like happened to me just last week, when I arrived at a Christmas Party, —
 awkward comments were made to me by the host
  about the drinks being served.
Why does this happen?
 I used to dismiss this reaction to the pastor
  as a quaint holdover from the days of Victorian morality.
 But I have come to perceive that this reaction
  is about something much more important.
And the depth of what happens in such encounters
 dawned on me in the midst of a pastoral relationship I had with a man
  who is now in the church triumphant.
He had been a very successful businessman.
 His money was a big deal to him.
  His style of living, the mansion he built, the cars he drove, —
   the trips he took, the clubs he belonged too
    bespoke of great wealth.
 And when he gave money away he wanted everyone to know
  he had given the money.  Named gifts were his trademark.
 In fact he was a master of using money
  to manipulate and control not only his employees
   but even his wife and his grown children.
This man became terribly afflicted with a neurological disorder
 that confined him to his home for years.
  And I would every now and then pay him a visit.
Each time I would come, without fail he would say, —
 “Pete, I need to get my checkbook
  and give you some money to take to the church.
   I am behind on my pledge.”
And I would reply, —
 “No! No!  That is not why I have come.
  I have come to see how you are doing.”
Every time this dance would happen.
 But then it hit me.
Somehow my presence
 was stirring up something very uncomfortable in this man.
Somehow my showing up at his door was confronting him
 with the reality of how much he had come to trust money
  for power, for a sense of well-being, for life, —
   rather than trusting God.
Somehow this man who thought he was autonomous, —
 because of my presence was wrestling with the actuality that he was not.

This man, until I showed up, existed where the people of Judah were existing
 when this word from Malachi was received by them.
They had come to assume they were on their own.
 Exile in Babylon had ended.  The temple in Jerusalem had been rebuilt.
  But the grand hopes of a wonderfully restored city and nation
   proclaimed by the restoration prophets
    had not materialized.
 Life was hard.  Glory was no where evident.
“Where is the God of justice?” they murmured.
 And either they were complaining that those who were evil
  were getting away with their deceitful ways.
 Or they, themselves, were living and doing whatever they wanted to do
  and were suffering no consequences for it —
   and were perhaps even profiting from it.
    Evil had now become good.
And if someone mentioned God — —?
 “God?  God?  What does God have to do with anything?” they would say.
  “Where is the God of justice?”
God who had chosen this people, chosen them as God’s own special possession, —
 covenanted to be in relation with them, committed to them forever, —
  as far as they knew, this God was gone.
   This God was a memory of the past.
Yes, they went through the motions of honoring God.
 They worshiped at that rebuilt temple.  But it was halfhearted.
  The offerings they brought, —
   blemished and blind animals for sacrifice
    that could not bring a good price at market, —
     those offerings didn’t really matter.
 God had abandoned them.  So why not abandon God?
  They were on their own.
   “Where is the God of justice?”

To this people comes the word that the LORD, —
 the “messenger of the covenant,” — is not gone.
  The LORD of the covenant instead is coming — suddenly —
   like a refiner’s fire, like a fuller’s soap, —
    first to the Levites, —
     the priests who had not led the people
      to encounter the covenanting God, —
     the priests who had let the people off the hook
      of staying in relationship to this God; —
    but then to all who had not honored
     the covenantal expectations, —
    those who had dishonored the covenant commandments.
In Advent we celebrate the expected arrival of this Lord
 who suddenly comes to live among us “full of grace and truth.”  [1]
And in this text from Malachi, it is not clear if it is this LORD of the covenant
 who comes with that refiner’s fire and fullers’ soap, —
  or whether it is that mysterious “messenger” preparing the way
   who brings that fire and soap.
Regardless of how we sort that out, —
 what is clear is that the God of the covenant who loved the people
  and chose the people to be God’s own, —
   loves them and chooses them still.
 The covenant still stands.
  And this God is not going to let these people go.
   But this God is also not going to let these people be
    however they want to be.
Instead this God comes as a refiner’s fire, as a cleansing lye, —
 to purify the people.
This God comes not to destroy the people
 but to be so searingly present with them, —
  that they become ones who live out the lives God intends for them.
This God comes to so burn in their midst that the people become ones
 trusting the rule of God alone.
And they become ones through whom God invites the whole of creation, —
 all the peoples of the earth, —
  to live in trust under God’s good, gracious and just rule.

Who is that messenger who prepares the way for this God of the covenant
 who does not give up on God’s people
  and who will come to shape them into being the people
   God intends them to be?
At the end of this book of Malachi the suggestion is
 it is the prophet Elijah who will come again.
The church, in pairing this text with the reading from Luke for this day, —
 suggests it is John the Baptist who comes before Jesus
  pointing to the one who comes after him
   baptizing “with Holy Spirit and fire.”  [2]
But today I am suggesting it may be Anna —
 and other pastors who dare to engage in the ministry of pastoral care.
I suggest it is Anna — and ones like her — who are close to the fire, —
 who are convinced that the God of Israel, —
  the God enfleshed in Jesus the Christ, —
   has not abandoned God’s covenant.
 No!  Instead she and ones like her are sure God comes to us, —
  abides with us, wrestles with us, —
   suffers all the abuse we hand out without fleeing from us, —
  until we are so melted down and cleansed by God’s presence
   that we are saved, — —
  until we enjoy life as God made it to be —
   the life of living as God’s people, —
    sharing God’s love and justice with the whole world.

That is why it may be scary when Anna shows up at your door.
 She reflects that Refiner’s fire.
  Therefore, as she stays with you, you may well experience judgment.
 But that judgment is just a part of the grace
  that comes from the covenanting God
   who will not leave you alone for the sake of your life.
And it is not only Anna — or pastors like her — who are close to the fire.
 Each one of us in the Body of Christ
  are called to reflect this refining and redeeming fire in the world —
   for the sake of the life of the world.

It is a call a twelve-year-old girl in Asheville received, I believe.
 This girl had endured for years tragic and devastating sexual abuse
  at the hands of both her parents.
 The Department of Social Services was called into this situation, —
  placed the girl in a foster home, provided treatment for the girl, —
   and sought to determine if the parents
    could be entrusted with her care again.
 In the process, many appearances in the Buncombe County Court
  became a part of this girl’s life.
 The judge held several hearings on the competency of the parents.
  In the procedures, the judge ruled the family relationship
   must be severed — a crushing ruling for the girl.
 It was a ruling that would not only separate her from her abusive parents
  but also from her only sister.
 It was something she did not want to hear.
  It felt like a burning judgment to her.

Some months after that devastating time before the judge, —
 this girl was back in the same courtroom before the same judge.
  For this family court judge with the Department of Social Services
   had not given up on this girl.
 Instead they had worked
  until a family was found who wanted to adopt her.
 And it was a family who, after a trial period in their presence, —
  this girl wanted to be with.
So this time in court, the judge legally reshaped that family.
 By authorizing the adoption. he made a place within that family for this girl.
  He then gave her a new name
   reflecting the new reality that had taken place.
And then, after the girl was hugged and welcomed into her new family
 by the parents and several new sisters, — the judge called to her.
“Would you like to see things from my perspective?” he said.
 The girl came up.  The judge had her sit in his seat behind the bench.
He took off his robe and placed it on her —
 symbolically inviting her to accept the calling
  of reflecting the refining and redeeming fire
   that reshapes and reforms
  and opens up life as life is intended to be — by the mercy of God.

The LORD of the covenant has not given up on us.
 Like a refiner’s fire, like a fullers’ soap he comes.