We are awash with stories this afternoon—stories that ennoble us and stories that make us twitch. The story of Jesus somehow managing to get enough food to feed five thousand people from one small boy’s lunch of five loaves and two fishes; the story of King David lusting after Bathsheba (another man’s wife), sleeping with her, getting her pregnant and then arranging the murder of her husband; and a part of the story of the people in Ephesus—a community of Jews and Gentiles stumbling their way into living together as one Christian community.
There are so many more stories here in the room with us today. Stories others have told us and stories we tell ourselves. We are awash with stories. Stories that define who we are and direct how we live our lives—as individuals, as family members and as members of this part of the Body of Christ we call Live at Five.
Take a moment to remember one of those stories that helped define who you are today.
Perhaps yours is a story told by a grandparent. A story from their life meant to help you navigate the shoals of your own young life. Maybe a story like the story Howard Thurman’s grandmother told him when he was a young black boy growing up in a segregated city. Again and again she told Thurman the story of the slave preacher who came a couple of times a year to the plantation where she was a slave. He always preached the same sermon—a sermon about the cross and the empty tomb. And he always ended the sermon with an encore. He’d look straight out at the slaves gathered around him and say, “You are not niggers! You are not slaves! You are God’s children!”1 Imagine the impact that preacher’s words had on the slaves standing within earshot and on their children and their grandchildren and their grandchildren’s grandchildren. A story that helps folks be clear about just who they are. A story that inoculates folks against the poisons that can run rampant in the air around us.
Perhaps you have been following the story of Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Perhaps you, like me, have been struck by the faith of the people who worship at Mother Emanuel. People who, though nine of their fellow parishioners were gunned down in the parish hall (including three pastors), not only are holding onto their faith but living it more fully. Perhaps you remember what the sister of one of the murdered said to the young man who had gunned down her sister. “We are a family love built. We have no room for hating....”2
Maybe some of you saw the New York Times this morning. The story of the African American head of South Carolina’s Department of Public Safety. Or maybe you saw the picture on your Twitter feed. It’s gone viral. It’s the picture of an African American state trooper in full uniform helping an old white man clad in a black tee shirt with a swastika emblazoned on the front up the steps of the state house where he could rest and regain his breath. When asked why he thought that picture had gone viral, the trooper replied, “Love.”3
All stories of people rooted and grounded in love. All stories of the power of God at work accomplishing far more than a young African-American boy or the sister of a woman brutally murdered as she studied the Bible or a South Carolina state trooper could ask or imagine.
To the followers of Jesus living in Ephesus a man named Paul writes,
“I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
He then concludes the prayer, “Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.”
This man named Paul writes to a people not so different from you and me. People drawn together by the power of story—the story of the birth, life, death and resurrection of a poor man born in Bethlehem, raised in Nazareth, ministering to Jews and later to Gentiles too. A man who crossed boundaries. A man ministering on the margins. A man murdered for standing in solidarity with those others overlooked or oppressed. A man who through his life and in his death was resurrected into a new life of loving God and serving God’s children.
The people to whom a man named Paul writes--the people of Ephesus—were a people not so different from you and me. A community of Gentiles and Jews trying to forge a new life in Christ. Lord knows it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the Jews thought they had all the answers; sometimes the Gentiles grew weary of their hold on the history. Sometimes it looked like the community might just fall apart. But God, working within them was able to accomplish things they didn’t even dare dream.
In the telling of their story of their life with God and in our telling of our stories we begin to get a sense of the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of Christ and the fullness of God. We begin to see God’s hand work bringing love to life.
Perhaps you know the song, “I love to tell the story.”
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
Because I know 'tis true;
It satisfies my longings
As nothing else can do.
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
'twill be my theme in glory,
To tell the old, old story
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
For those who know it best
Seem hungering and thirsting
To hear it like the rest.
And when, in scenes of glory,
I sing the new, new song,
'twill be the old, old story
That I have loved so long.
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
There are so many more stories here in the room with us today. Stories others have told us and stories we tell ourselves. We are awash with stories. Stories that define who we are and direct how we live our lives—as individuals, as family members and as members of this part of the Body of Christ we call Live at Five.
Take a moment to remember one of those stories that helped define who you are today.
Perhaps yours is a story told by a grandparent. A story from their life meant to help you navigate the shoals of your own young life. Maybe a story like the story Howard Thurman’s grandmother told him when he was a young black boy growing up in a segregated city. Again and again she told Thurman the story of the slave preacher who came a couple of times a year to the plantation where she was a slave. He always preached the same sermon—a sermon about the cross and the empty tomb. And he always ended the sermon with an encore. He’d look straight out at the slaves gathered around him and say, “You are not niggers! You are not slaves! You are God’s children!”1 Imagine the impact that preacher’s words had on the slaves standing within earshot and on their children and their grandchildren and their grandchildren’s grandchildren. A story that helps folks be clear about just who they are. A story that inoculates folks against the poisons that can run rampant in the air around us.
Perhaps you have been following the story of Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Perhaps you, like me, have been struck by the faith of the people who worship at Mother Emanuel. People who, though nine of their fellow parishioners were gunned down in the parish hall (including three pastors), not only are holding onto their faith but living it more fully. Perhaps you remember what the sister of one of the murdered said to the young man who had gunned down her sister. “We are a family love built. We have no room for hating....”2
Maybe some of you saw the New York Times this morning. The story of the African American head of South Carolina’s Department of Public Safety. Or maybe you saw the picture on your Twitter feed. It’s gone viral. It’s the picture of an African American state trooper in full uniform helping an old white man clad in a black tee shirt with a swastika emblazoned on the front up the steps of the state house where he could rest and regain his breath. When asked why he thought that picture had gone viral, the trooper replied, “Love.”3
All stories of people rooted and grounded in love. All stories of the power of God at work accomplishing far more than a young African-American boy or the sister of a woman brutally murdered as she studied the Bible or a South Carolina state trooper could ask or imagine.
To the followers of Jesus living in Ephesus a man named Paul writes,
“I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
He then concludes the prayer, “Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.”
This man named Paul writes to a people not so different from you and me. People drawn together by the power of story—the story of the birth, life, death and resurrection of a poor man born in Bethlehem, raised in Nazareth, ministering to Jews and later to Gentiles too. A man who crossed boundaries. A man ministering on the margins. A man murdered for standing in solidarity with those others overlooked or oppressed. A man who through his life and in his death was resurrected into a new life of loving God and serving God’s children.
The people to whom a man named Paul writes--the people of Ephesus—were a people not so different from you and me. A community of Gentiles and Jews trying to forge a new life in Christ. Lord knows it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the Jews thought they had all the answers; sometimes the Gentiles grew weary of their hold on the history. Sometimes it looked like the community might just fall apart. But God, working within them was able to accomplish things they didn’t even dare dream.
In the telling of their story of their life with God and in our telling of our stories we begin to get a sense of the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of Christ and the fullness of God. We begin to see God’s hand work bringing love to life.
Perhaps you know the song, “I love to tell the story.”
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
Because I know 'tis true;
It satisfies my longings
As nothing else can do.
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
'twill be my theme in glory,
To tell the old, old story
Of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
For those who know it best
Seem hungering and thirsting
To hear it like the rest.
And when, in scenes of glory,
I sing the new, new song,
'twill be the old, old story
That I have loved so long.
I love to tell the story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory,
Of Jesus and his love.
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