“Heavenly Murmuration” (Acts 2:42-47)

As many of you know, Dana and I like to do a little bird watching.  Birds are fascinating and they have a lot to teach us.  One of the coolest things about birds is what they call a “murmuration”.  The only birds that do this are Starlings . . . a species of bird of which we have plenty of here in Montana. 

 

Don’t know what a “murmuration” is?  A murmuration is the flocking and flying together in perfect formation . . . it is the swooping, diving, and wheeling through the sky in wonderful shapes and patterns.  You never forget one once you’ve seen it.  The first records of the word murmuration come for the 1300s.  It is derived from the Latin word murmurare, meaning “to mutter,” “to make a gentle sound,” “to roar,” or to “grumble.”  The word murmur is thought to be based on onomatopoeia, which is the formation of a word by imitation of sound.  Again, if you have ever witnessed one you will remember the sight and sound of it.

 

Scientists believe that murmuration is a visual invitation to attract other Starlings to join a group night roost.  One theory is that spending the night together keeps the Starlings warmer as they share their body heat . . . plus there is safety in numbers.

 

So, what does murmuration have to do with anything outside of avian science?  And why are you hearing about it in worship this morning . . . does it have anything to do with faith?  Well, remember that I said that birds have a lot that they can teach us.

 

As we have climbed further into the Easter season, we have heard stories in our scripture readings about the encounters of the disciples with the resurrected Jesus.  This morning we are moving down the road a little further as we hear a story about the earliest form of what we might call a “church” . . . or the gathering of Jesus’ followers.  As you heard the story, I would ask you to consider the faithful’s actions.  I would propose that what we witness in that story is a murmuration . . . a heavenly murmuration.  It was a flocking together of Jesus’ followers for the purpose of well-being and safety.

 

The writer tells us that they were all together . . . held everything in common . . . took care of one another . . . worshiped together . . . gathered together to break bread with one another . . . praised God together.  It was a flurry of motion and emotion.  A murmuration . . . a calling for those who follow Jesus to come together.  Then the writer tells us, “And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”  It was a heavenly murmuration.

 

There is safety in numbers . . . and there is strength in numbers.  We know of the contentious times leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus.  We know of the motives behind those in power to smash Jesus and the movement he started.  It was a threat to disrupt everything and to change the way that things have always been done . . . it was an affront to the establishment of the time.  And it was one that the Romans would gladly put an end to if it was perceived as an uprising against the empire.  It was a statement, especially to those who were the followers of Jesus . . . it could happen to you, too!

 

Because of this it is no wonder that we hear all these stories about the followers having a difficult time embracing the resurrected Jesus.  It was a tenuous time . . . there was the threat of death.  But, as I said, there is safety in numbers, strength in numbers.  It should be no surprise then that the followers began to flock together.  They flocked together to study, to fellowship, to break bread, to pray, to take care of one another.  Together chose to live as Jesus had lived . . . to love God . . . to love one another.  Around and around, they spun . . . and others joined them.  The movement grew.

 

We are living in an age in which the “church” as many of us know it is crumbling . . . some would even say that it is dying.  Statistical research confirms this as we have seen a shift from the faithful to those who claim themselves to be non-religious.  Mainline and even evangelical churches are shuttering their doors because fewer people than ever attend worship on a regular basis.  Research shows that only 27% of adults in the United States have attended a religious service in the last month.  The church we are familiar with is changing . . . maybe even dying . . . but whatever is happening, what we can agree on is that this is not what we expected.  We feel as if we are losing grip of our faith as a body of believers and as individuals.

 

Where are the answers we seek?

 

Well, I say look to the birds . . . look to the early movement of Jesus’ followers.  In what is “old” we can discover the “new”.  We need a heavenly murmuration!

 

There is a lot that the writer tells us in our reading this morning.  The writer tells us that the followers of Jesus gathered together to study and learn about the teachings of Jesus that the apostle shared.  In a like manner we, too, should be engaged in study and discussion of Jesus and his teachings . . . after all, he said it was all there to those who would listen.  It is in such activity that we find our commonality . . . find our foundation . . . and discover our purpose as individual and as the family of God.

 

The early followers gathered to share life . . . they fellowshipped with one another, worshiped with one another, broke bread with one another.  They worked together . . . pooled their resources . . . had everything in common.  The purpose was to build relationships . . . to discover their different gifts and how they would work together to be the “body of Christ” as the Apostle Paul called it.  To work together to fulfill that second part of Jesus’ challenge to love . . . to love one another, to care for one another.

 

The early followers prayed . . . prayed individually for one another, but also prayed together.  They entered into conversation with God desiring to want to know God’s will . . . God’s direction . . . God’s assurance and presence.

 

The early followers flocked together.  Weaved themselves together.  Found warmth . . . found safety . . . found strength in their togetherness . . . found meaning in their coming together.  And others witnessed the beauty and intricacy of their movement and were drawn into the murmuration.  “And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”  In a movement inward there explodes a movement outward.  It is birthed through a desire to love the Lord and to love one another.

 

A call to heavenly murmuration is not a call to draw into oneself for self-perseverance . . . not for survival of that which makes us comfortable and safe; but it is a call to dive into what seems to be a chaotic flocking but is actually a divine dance of the Spirit calling us to come together as the family of God.  The family of God that believes and lives with the foundation of Jesus’ teaching and witness of loving God and one another . . . of taking care of one another . . . of being good stewards of the family of all of God’s children.  Of being people of the resurrection . . . of new life . . . new beginnings.

 

That is the invitation of Easter.

 

We all can learn something from the birds.  Amen. 

 

"The Familiarity of Faith" (Luke 24:13-35)

I have heard it said that “familiarity breeds contempt.”  I think that “contempt” is a harsh word.  “Contempt” implies, at least to me, an intentional action or choice.  That has rarely been my experience when it comes to “familiarity”.    For me, when dealing with familiarity I’m more apt to be nonchalant or maybe complacent or even lax . . . rarely, if ever, am I contemptful when it comes to familiarity.  I think we all are.  It happens all the time with our jobs, marriages, relationships, and even when it comes to our faith.  Familiarity can make us nonchalant, complacent, and lax . . . even forgetful . . . in our lives and faith.  And when that happens, we take those parts of our lives for granted.

Sometimes we need to be reminded when this happens.

 

Quinn, the newest addition to our canine family in the Keener household has been such a prompt for me.  In the first two weeks that she has graced our lives she has served as a constant reminder of the joys of life.  We got Quinn from a pet store where she had basically been raised for two-thirds of her life.  It was a life within a cage, inside of a building, where she rarely ran free and never experienced life outside of that store.  It was a austere start to life for a puppy.  Kind of depressing when one thinks about it.  But that all changed when she arrived at the Keener homestead.

 

The first couple of days were marked with timidness.  It was all new for Quinn . . . new surroundings, people, and routines.  It was nothing like what she experienced living in the pet store.  Suddenly she had freedom . . . freedom to move around, freedom to explore, freedom to be herself.  Though she started out timidly, I can assure you that that timidness has disappeared.  But watching her experience new surroundings and things for the first time was a joy . . . and a reminder of the things we all take for granted because they are familiar to us.

 

For example, the backyard.  Remember this is a puppy that has spent more than half her six months in the captivity of a pet store where she never left the cage or building.  She had never been outside.  It was fun watching her experience this new environment . . . to experience snow, rain, and wind.  The more she experienced and gained confidence in her surroundings the more she blossomed in exuberance for all things outdoors.

 

It was the same with other things . . . experiencing the darkness of night.  Going for a walk.  Climbing up and down stairs.  Jumping on furniture.  Receiving doggy treats.  The whole kit-and-kaboodle.  It was all new to her and she reveled in the joy of discovering what I had taken for granted.  She opened my eyes to the joy of life with which I had become familiar . . . familiar to the point that I had practically forgotten.  I didn’t do it on purpose with contempt in my heart . . . no, it just happened.

 

So, it does for all of us, I believe.

 

Our scripture reading this morning deals with familiarity.  Jesus has been crucified and made an appearance at the tomb and in a locked house where his disciples had gathered.  Now it is later in the day and two of Jesus’s disciples . . . not any of the eleven, but disciples who would be considered on the fringe of the movement . . . are making their way to Emmaus.  As they are walking, they encounter a stranger who asks if he may join them.  As they are walking the stranger asks what they are talking about.  Of course, they tell him about everything that had taken place . . . the trial, crucifixion, and the encounter that they had heard about with the resurrected Jesus.

 

The stranger kind of surprises them when he chastises them for not believing in what they were hearing.  Then the stranger begins from the beginning with Moses and the prophets and tells them all that there is about the Messiah that was in the scriptures.  Information that they were all familiar with.  From start to finish the stranger talked as they moved towards Emmaus.  The whole way they listened in awe at what was being shared.

 

Then they got to their destination.  The stranger seemed to be going on with his journey, but the two encourage the man to stay with them since it was nearly nightfall.  And he did.  When it came time to eat, they gathered around the table, and then “. . . he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them.”

 

In the familiar came the revelation.  The writer of Luke’s gospel tells us: “Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him . . . They asked each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?’”

 

There was nothing special in that moment.  It was an act they had done and experienced countless times throughout their lives . . . a blessing, broken bread, and sharing.  They were familiar with the action, familiar with the routine, and yet something happened.  Their eyes were opened.  Their hearts burned.  There in the familiar they discovered new life . . . new beginnings . . . hope . . . promise.  In the routine and familiar they discovered it all.

 

This story asks us to consider our own faith.  Asks us to consider our own familiarity with our faith.  Have we become so familiar with our faith that we are no longer surprised or excited by what we experience in our daily walk with God.  Have we become so familiar that we have become complacent and nonchalant about the presence of the Holy around us.  Have we become forgetful and taken our faith for granted?

 

I don’t know . . . I can only speak for myself, and you must answer those questions for yourselves.  All I know is that I probably do take my faith for granted more often than I realize.  Because of that I have come to appreciate those moments and people who pop up in my life . . . who pop up in the familiarity of my life . . . who show up and shake up that which I take for granted and show me the magic and holiness in the familiar.

 

As those two disciples . . . not even major players in the story of Jesus . . . are walking along they are journeying down the familiar.  It is nothing new that they are experiencing.  Nothing that the stranger tells them is new knowledge . . . they knew the words and stories of Moses and the prophets about the Messiah.  They were familiar.  But something was different.  That difference was in the enthusiasm of the one sharing the story . . . of the one walking with them.

 

Even as they sat at that table to eat.  There was nothing special about the moment.  It was routine.  It was familiar.  Same old, same old.  There was the blessing . . . the breaking of bread . . . and then poof!  They discovered their faith . . . they believed!

 

It was all new.  It was a new beginning down a familiar path.

 

So, it is with us.

 

The Easter story is a familiar story, but it is also a story that comes with a reminder.  Just because it is familiar, we should not take it or our faith for granted . . . we should not take God or the Holy around us for granted.  In the familiar is always the opportunity to discover the new and find new beginnings . . . of experiencing God, others, and life in new ways.  Let us not become complacent in our familiarity.  Let us keep our eyes, ears, and hearts open to that which makes the old new.  Let us be thankful for those interruptions, those bumps, and moments that interrupt our familiarity to remind us of the gift life and faith.

 

Let us not take anything of God or God’s creation for granted.  Yeah, it might be a simple loaf of bread . . . a simple blessing, but there is power in it all.  It has the power to make our hearts burn.  Sometimes we just need to be reminded.  The Easter story does that.  Jesus does that.  For that we can be thankful.  Amen.