Rev. Tara Barber
The Community Church of Sebastopol
July 21, 2002
Genesis 28: 10-22
Who is in the house? God is in the house!!
Whose house is this? God’s house!
Let’s get busy.
Jacob awoke from a dream and realized that the place where he had been sleeping was indeed God’s house. This spot was holy. It was the place where God was revealed to Jacob so powerfully, that Jacob consecrated it and made a bargain with God. Now I’m sure I’m not alone in having made deals with God – if only so and so would like me, I’ll be nice to that other person, if only my mother doesn’t find out, I’ll be good forever, if only so and so gets well, I’ll never doubt in you again, God. Heck, I’ve tried cutting some great deals in holy places like this one. And Jacob was a deal making kind of guy. He was in fact a liar and a cheat and was on the lam, running from his brother Esau, when we meet him in this story as he stopped to sleep.
This is the same Jacob that tricked his blind old father out of his older brother’s inheritance and even after this amazing dream of the connection between heaven and earth and God’s presence, Jacob is still shrewd and deceitful. This is the same Jacob that eventually wrestles with God and leaves with a limp. This Jacob is definitely not on the saints’ list. This Jacob is absolute proof that God works in mysterious ways – and is present with all kinds of people – not just the good ones. This story shows us that God is also present in all kinds of places – and not just in places like this one. And if God is present and working in all kinds of people and in all kinds of places, what does that mean for us and for our lives?
Well, for me it means that I can’t read the news the same way I used to. Since September 11, the news has been full of terrorists, suspected terrorists, and heroes. And I have been able to sense God’s presence in the stories of those heroes and everyday people whose lives were cut short. God was certainly present in the twin towers as they fell. It’s more of a challenge, though, to sense God’s presence in other places and in other people. When I read about John Walker Lindh and saw the pictures of him at different times in his life, it was certainly easier to see God’s face in his when he was a teenager, than in the well publicized photo of him scruffy and bearded, looking up at the camera in what must have been anger and disgust. Knowing that God is in the house means that I have to trust that God is in John Walker in all the places he has been. When I read the news story, I must believe that God was present and is present in Afghanistan, in the courtroom, in the holding cell and in prison.
God is in the house. For me this means that I believe – I know – that wherever I am, God is also. And this year, I have been in some pretty amazing places. Like St. Anthony’s kitchen in the Tenderloin in San Francisco, and in the City of Refuge church where God’s presence was amazingly strong. Places like the 30th Anniversary Party for the UCC Coalition for Gay Lesbian Bisexual and Transgender Concerns where John Thomas, the President and General Minister of our denomination, preached about the amazing witness of the UCC in our increasing ability to recognize God’s presence in all of God’s people. And places like a day care center in Albuquerque for children with developmental challenges where I met God while playing the Monsters Inc. version of the Life board game, and shooting hoops in the hot sun. And in places like this one, where I have the privilege of meeting you and meeting people who are just passing through.
God is in the house. And if God can show up in the unlikeliest of places and work through the unlikeliest of people, what does that say about us – and the places we lay our heads? What would happen if you made the same bargain that Jacob did? Hasn’t God already kept one side of it? I would guess that God has been with each one of us, walking with us along all the paths we have gone down. God has provided food and clothing, and the opportunities for reconciliation with those from whom we are estranged. So, what’s our part of this bargain? To recognize God, and to give back from what we have been given. To give back mercy and compassion – to give back love and nurturing – to give back justice and truthfulness – to give back time and commitment, and give back our talents and yes, our treasure. I don’t know about you, but most days, I am not too aware of giving back to God out of all the gifts I’ve been given.
And that other part of the bargain – the one I just skipped over because it seemed so obvious. Jacob said that he would recognize YAHWEH as his God – as opposed to the other gods that were running around at the time. The assumption is that we are here because we know God already. But do we? Do we really recognize all the amazing ways that God is real in our lives?
“Burt (told this story): Once I was with a friend, driving between New York and New Jersey. My friend was really depressed, and he was smoking away in the car, covered with ashes. He said, “I’m so depressed. Here I am, like Job, sitting here, feeling lousy and beaten, and covered in ashes. You know, if only I could have a sign from God.” I was just about to turn to him and say, “Martin, it’s just not gonna happen quite that way,” when an enormous black Cadillac whizzed by us on the New Jersey Turnpike, and we both saw the same thing. Martin pulled over to the side of the road and turned to me. “Did you see those license plates?” “Yes.” The license plate, a New Jersey plate, said, “G-O-D.” If I hadn’t seen it and he had told me he had, I would have said, “No, no, no, no, no.” But we both clearly saw it. Neither of us, of course, had the courage to call the License Bureau and ask whether they would give a vanity plate like that. We didn’t want to find out. But what a ridiculous experience – on the New Jersey Turnpike, with a black Cadillac. But there it is. So how do you interpret it?
Renita (responded): As you say, these things happen in stunningly mundane moments. We’re describing profound experiences, but they’re not concocted moments. They’re moments of everydayness. For Jacob, of sleeping. For you, of driving down the turnpike…but our response to these moments takes us out of our routine life.” Our response to these moments when we know that God is in the house, takes us out of our routine lives. And when we go back to our routine lives, we go back knowing that God might just show up again.
“D-d-do ya s-s-see ‘im?”
I was standing on the corner waiting for a traffic light, or maybe for a visitation. A man, obviously homeless, rose up from the grate, ski-capped, sneakered, whiskered, layered with sweaters, grime, shopping bag in one hand, the other pointing first at me, then at some distant scene his walleye seemed to spot.
“D-d-do ya s-s-see ‘im?”
O God, I laughed, first to scoff, needing to prove my sophistication to the others waiting for the light, then in embarrassment that he’d chosen me for this exchange, his pointing hand now tugging on my arm, finally in some confusion over what I say I believe, O God, and the discomfort I was feeling.
“D-d-do ya s-s-see ‘im?”
(The) (r)ed light turned green, the others went on, I stayed unsure why except, I suppose, the light changed differently for me; and I laughed again, in grudging respect for his insistence, in some small delight for this diversion on a dull, down day, a bit of relief that for a moment I’d broken stride. Honestly, (God) I thought of you, fleetingly, as if you’d be proud of me for (thinking of you), and in that double think, (I) nearly lost the gift, save for his tug, his walleyed gaze at me, his nothing more important question.
“D-d-do ya s-s-see ‘im?” He pointed urgently, “It’s J-j-jesus, a-a-ain’t it?”
I looked and saw a woman limping wearily up the street, grocery bag in one arm, child in the other, teen-agers arm in arm, full of dreams, music, hormones; a school bus, like Noah’s ark, bearing its precious cargo home… human beings going to and fro in the streets on all their human errands, hoping to find what they’re looking for, like me, like this man beside me, pointing. I looked at him.
O God, this time, he was laughing. “T-t-told ya s-s-so. It’s J-j-jesus, r-r-right? I k-k-knew ya’d s-s-see ‘im. G-g-glad a-a-ain’t ya? …
O God, do such seers see what isn’t there, or do I not see what is? Or is it mostly I do not know what it is I see? Grace, O God, grace to see with more than eyes, grace to feel the tug, heed the stammer,
“It’s J-j-jesus, r-r-right? G-g-glad a-a-ain’t ya?” Yes. Yes.”
God is in the house. The conversation about the New Jersey Turnpike occurs in Bill Moyer’s book, Genesis, between Burton Visotzky and Renita Weems. The story “D-d-do ya s-s-see ‘im?” is by Ted Loder in his book, Wrestling the Light. What stories of God’s presence do you have to tell? What dreams, what people, what places reveal to you that God is in the house? God is in the house. This house, your house, the courthouse, the jail cell, in the trees, the beach, the desert.
Who is in the house?? God is in the house!! Then let’s get busy.
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