December
17,
2006:
FRUITFUL
WAITING:
Not
What
We
Were
Expecting
Luke
3:7-19,
Zephaniah
3:14-20
Eileen
Parfrey,
Springwater
Pres.
If
you
missed
worship
with
us
last
week,
you
missed
my
schtick
as
a
hellfire
and
brimstone
preacher
toward
the
paramedics.
Our
gospel
lesson
introduced
John
the
Baptist,
and
I
must
have
been
channeling
him
as
they
walked
through
the
sanctuary
because
I
shook
my
finger
crying,
"You!
You!"
It's
probably
more
than
luck
that
their
visit
wasn't
this
week,
or
I
might
have
added
the
rest
of
John's
sermon:
"Generation
of
vipers!"
Which
is
the
"Joy
Sunday"
text,
of
all
things.
It's
a
good
thing
we've
got
Zephaniah,
because
I
don't
get
a
lot
of
joy
from
being
harangued.
Zephaniah
is
such
good
news-restoration
to
home,
enemies
disbursed,
fear
gone,
down
and
outs
rescued.
And
best
of
all,
the
presence
of
God.
What's
not
to
be
joy?
Joy
is
like
the
weather:
everyone
talks
about
it,
but
no
one
does
anything
about
it.
I
want
joy.
Who
doesn't?
Not
happiness,
not
"feeling
good
about
my
life,"
I
want
deep,
abiding,
resilient,
love-based
joy.
Going
on
retreat
this
week,
I
realized
that
I
wasn't
sure
what
joy
looked
like,
let
alone
how
to
accomplish
it.
Fun,
merriment,
laughter
I
know.
But
joy
seems
to
have
some
God
element
to
it.
Joy
depicted
by
Zephaniah
is
God's
offer
of
home,
of
place,
of
full
communion
with
us.
Joy
is
a
product
of
communion
with
God.
Which
is
how
we
get
John
the
Baptist's
"You!
Generation
of
vipers!"
as
the
Joy
Sunday
text.
Communion
with
God
can't
happen
until
and
unless
the
obstacles
to
it
are
removed.
"Repent!"
"Repentance"
is
being
willing
to
remove
obstacles
to
communion
with
God.
"Get
rid
of
everything
that
gets
between
me
and
you!"
we
cry
to
God.
Lies
(I'm
a
social
drinker),
denial
(I
was
a
victim!),
secrets
(I'm
not
hurting
anyone
else,
no
one
will
know),
disappointments
(why
me?),
disillusionments
(it's
not
supposed
to
work
this
way),
cynicism
(it's
about
what
you'd
expect),
addictions
(I
can
stop
anytime
I
want;
I
just
don't
want
to).
The
folks
following
John
the
Baptist
around
in
the
desert,
who
felt
his
finger
pointing
at
them,
who
needed
their
own
obstacles
to
God
removed-John
gave
them
concrete,
ethical
advice
to
their
repentance
question,
"What
do
we
do?"
His
answer
had
to
do
with
practice.
Doable
things.
You
don't
have
to
change
the
world;
just
do
what
you
can
with
what
you've
got
where
you're
at.
Tax
collectors
don't
have
to
change
the
IRS
code;
just
abide
by
it
instead
of
engaging
in
financial
harassment
for
personal
gain.
The
materially
blessed
don't
have
to
become
communists;
just
practice
personal
generosity
with
your
stuff.
Marines
don't
need
to
be
pacifists;
just
fulfill
your
role
as
peacekeeper
and
avoid
the
practices
of
conquerors.
Farmers
don't
have
solve
all
the
world's
pollution
and
global
warming;
just
use
sustainable
practices.
Students
don't
have
to
be
the
best
in
the
school;
just
the
best
you.
What
those
folks
went
out
to
the
desert
to
learn
about
was
right
relationship
with
God-communion.
Not
the
bread
and
grape
juice
thing,
but
a
relationship
with
God
that
is
both
up
close
and
personal.
We're
so
used
to
discussing
this
in
Biblish
that
we
excuse
"communion"
as
too
abstract
for
ordinary
people
like
us.
That's
for
people
like
Mother
Theresa
or
the
Pope,
for
doing
miracles
or
supporting
AIDS
orphans
in
Africa.
A
relationship
that
close
to
God
isn't
practical
for
real
people.
We're
aware
of
a
vague
desire
to
be
close
to
God
and
in
better
shape
with
other
Christians,
but
that's
about
it.
Let's
get
concrete.
Emulsifying
is
how
two
substances
that
do
not
naturally
mix
become
a
homogeneous
substance.
A
cook,
for
instance,
will
make
a
salad
dressing
by
emulsifying
oil
and
vinegar-two
liquids
which
prefer
separate
quarters.
Air
is
introduced
into
the
mixture,
breaking
the
vinegar
and
the
oil
into
smaller
globules.
What
creates
the
dressing
is
what
holds
like
globules
apart
from
each
other
and
holds
the
mixture
together-the
air.
In
our
covenant
relationship
(our
communion)
with
each
other
in
the
church,
some
of
us
are
oil
and
some
of
us
are
vinegar.
God
is
the
element
in
the
process
of
mixing
that
both
breaks
us
and
holds
us
together.
In
our
communion
with
God,
we
are
both
broken
apart
and
held
together
by
the
mystery
of
God's
holiness.
It
is
God's
desire
for
communion
with
us
breaking,
pounding,
allowing
our
suffering,
as
God
works
for
our
wholeness.
John
the
Baptist's
sermon
on
repentance
is
necessary
for
Joy
Sunday.
One
of
my
Madison
friends
used
to
say,
"Without
judgment
there
is
no
mercy."
To
which
Jim
Belt
adds,
"When
judgment
is
real,
grace
is
thrilling."
In
God's
emulsifying,
we're
shaken
up
and
broken
down,
judged
and
brought
to
repentance.
Repentance,
as
in
removing
obstacles
to
communion
with
both
God
and
each
other.
An
example
of
removing
an
obstacle
to
communion
in
my
life
that
resulted
in
incredible
joy
was
when
I
was
serving
as
interim
at
my
home
church.
Just
out
of
seminary,
thinking
to
be
a
pastor
was
a
serious,
intellectual,
Bible-Geek
activity,
I
felt
guilty
because
the
primary
kids
and
I
had
fun
together.
It
finally
occurred
to
me
that
it
was
part
of
my
job
to
play
with
the
kids.
The
joy
I
felt
when
I
realized
that
these
kids
thought
I
was
their
pastor,
and
that
I
could
only
be
their
pastor
if
I
was
willing
to
enjoy
them
on
their
level.
Whew!
Talk
about
an
obstacle
removed!
I
was
overjoyed.
That
obstacle
was
both
easier
to
notice
and
more
quickly
removed
than
the
experience
one
of
my
friends
describes
as
she
dealt
with
her
obstacle-anorexia.
The
burden
of
living
her
lies
about
not
eating,
her
dreadful
need
to
protect
her
addiction,
her
obsession
with
controlling
what
she
did
not
eat-the
burden
was
literally
killing
her.
And
not
just
practicing
and
enacting
her
disease,
the
disease
was
killing
her
emotions,
her
ability
to
think,
and
her
body's
functioning.
After
a
lot
of
hard
work
in
therapy
to
come
to
the
truth
of
her
condition,
she
could
see
the
obstacle
and
begin
the
process
of
removing
it.
The
joy
of
that
process
of
"repentance"
continues
to
make
itself
felt
in
her
life,
even
years
later.
I
read
about
a
scholar,
teacher
and
writer
who,
as
she
neared
the
end
of
her
career,
was
able
to
recognize
it
by
the
loss
of
her
ability
to
do
words.
Writing
was
painful,
teaching
was
arduous,
conversations
were
nearly
impossible.
When
she
saw
the
truth
of
God's
moving
her
to
a
different
call
she
could
repent
her
resistance
to
it.
Then
she
was
free
to
notice
her
new
place
of
joy.
It
began
as
learning
to
knit
but
quickly
became
more
than
creating
sweaters.
Soon
her
joy
extended
to
spinning
and
dyeing
the
wool,
knowing
the
farmers
and
the
sheep
that
provided
her
wool.
She
found
communion
in
a
place
that
did
not
use
words.
And
no
committee
meetings!
Sometimes
the
obstacles
to
communion
have
little
to
do
with
what
we
have
done
or
not
done-what
we
have
lapsed
into
calling
"sin."
Sometimes,
like
the
author
I
just
mentioned,
the
"repentance"
is
actually
a
reorientation
in
our
thinking.
For
Springwater,
it
is
perhaps
too
obvious
for
words,
but
we
will
never
be
a
junior
version
of
Easthill.
Our
model
of
church
community
is
closer
to
that
of
the
early
church.
Rather
than
seeking
programming
to
meet
our
felt
needs
for
church,
we
would
do
well
to
seek
reorientation
of
how
we
expect
to
do
church-to
accept
"relationship"
as
our
basis,
rather
than
"programming."
What
with
the
recent
divorces,
the
pending
divorces,
the
broken
relationships,
judging
each
other's
actions
and
the
pain
in
the
presence
of
certain
people,
the
unsaid
things,
we
are
more
like
the
churches
to
which
the
apostle
Paul
wrote:
people
in
pain,
wounded
and
wounding,
in
need
of
a
word
of
grace
and
healing.
Our
need
comes
across
like
emulsification.
Oil
and
vinegar
are
not
congenial,
but
when
enough
shaking
breaks
these
elements,
the
very
thing
that
holds
us
apart
is
what
holds
us
together.
And
that
is
redemption.
Emulsifying
is
not
a
comfortable
process.
It's
probably
not
an
activity
we'd
choose.
But
joy
only
comes
when
we
remove
the
obstacles,
when
we
repent,
both
as
individuals
and
as
a
body.
The
emulsification
process-broken
down
and
held
together.
For
what?
For
communion.
Because
of
joy.
Because
of
the
very
presence
of
God.
In
the
words
of
the
psalmist,
"In
[God's]
presence
is
fullness
of
joy."
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