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Let me know what you think. The church Email is: slumc@direcway.com, Phone: 480.895.8766

Sunday, March 7, 2004
Sermon: "When the Cell Phone Rings"
Scripture: Philippians 3:17-4:1
Reverend Larry Gerber

Great jazz musicians can transform rude interruptions into moments of glory, just as God can turn death into life, and adversity into triumph. The key to both transformations is divine improvisation.
Improvisation. You know it when you hear it. It's cool. It's soulful. (Trumpet plays some jazz) It's intense. Improvisation is an act of spontaneous composition and performance, and it lies at the very heart of great American jazz. You can hear it in jazz clubs all across the country, but if you want the really good stuff, you better go to the Village Vanguard in New York City. The Vanguard doesn't serve food, and they don't take American Express — or any credit cards, for that matter. And yet, the club has survived in all its subterranean glory for over 60 years, and has featured the rousing riffs of some of the greatest jazz musicians in the world. Wander in on a weekday evening, and who knows — you might be treated to a trumpet solo by a superstar such as Wynton Marsalis. That's exactly what happened to David Hajdu, a writer who stumbled into the Vanguard one Tuesday night and had an amazing experience. Wynton Marsalis, one of the truly exalted rulers of the jazz universe, was part of a small combo offering up a series of bebop classics. The set started off in an unremarkable way, but then Marsalis stepped to the microphone to offer a solo called "I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance With You." It was a melancholy song, full of murmurs and sighs, and Marsalis performed it with deep feeling and expression. At the climax of the song, he played the final phrase in such a way that the trumpet seemed to give actual voice to the heartfelt words "I don't stand ... a ghost … of ... a ... chance ..." The audience sat in awe, listening in silence. Then it happened. It the middle of that sacred silence, at the song's most dramatic point, someone's cell phone erupted in a chirping, sing-song electronic melody. In an instant, the spell was broken. People in the audience giggled nervously, turned to their drinks and resumed their table conversation. Marsalis paused for a beat, and stood motionless. His eyebrows arched. The embarrassed cell- phone owner fled the scene, and the conversation in the club grew louder. The man could have stepped down at that moment and quit the gig, disgusted. After all, he is a king of jazz and doesn't need to perform in little clubs with rude cell-phone users. But he didn't move. Instead, he put his lips to his trumpet and replayed the stupid cell-phone melody note for note. Then he played it again, and began improvising variations on the tune. The members of the audience stopped chatting and slowly began to listen up. He changed keys once or twice and then seamlessly eased back into a ballad tempo, and in just a few minutes, finishing his improvisation, he was exactly where he had left off: "I don't stand … a ghost … of … a … chance … with … you …" The ovation, reports David Hajdu, was tremendous. Wynton Marsalis transformed a rude interruption into a moment of glory. He didn't allow an unexpected shock to stun him or stop him or silence him, but instead he twisted this setback into a comeback. There's a message in this for all of us, especially as it reminds us that God does the same thing for us every day. God is the Master of Divine Improv. In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul calls the Christians of this Roman colony to follow his example, and in particular he invites them to "join in imitating me" (3:17). Here's a person who has learned the divine art of improvisation, and he invites the Philippians to do a spiritual riff along with him. Paul himself is an imitator of Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1). You could think of Paul as a first-century king of jazz, one who has learned his technique at the feet of the master who came before him. Now, he offers private lessons to the Christians who will follow him, and invites them to pick up their instruments and play along with him. But what's the name of Paul's tune? Is he playing "I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance"? Hardly. The song that the apostle is teaching is called "Transformation," because it includes the lyrics, "He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself" (v. 21). Body of our humiliation. Body of his glory. Power that enables. All things subject. This is improvisation stuff. Jazz stuff. The stuff of life. There are a number of variations on this theme. First, Paul's point is that God is playing divine improvisation through his Son Jesus Christ. Go back to the beginning. You have the Creation theme. Oops! The cell phone rings. The Fall. Big interruptions. But the tune goes on. You've got the Noah theme. Then the Abrahamic theme. Then the Hebrew community theme. Then the prophetic theme. And then the Messiah theme. Jesus comes to earth in this powerful Improvisation we call the Incarnation, the central, pivotal point! Then the explosive sounds of the Resurrection. Jesus in glory! The risen Lord! Divine Improv. The second variation begins with us. The good news for us is that Jesus Christ, the risen and reigning Son of God, continues to play this transformation tune for our benefit. Jesus is at work in our lives to "transform the body of our humiliation" into "the body of his glory" (v. 21). This means that our undeserved, unexpected and unwanted interruptions and setbacks are transformed into unexpected joys. It means that painful interruptions can become moments of glory. It means that even death itself is not the end for us — in the hands of the master musician, death becomes the intro to everlasting life. Truth is, God can work through Jesus Christ to improvise anything. He can turn adversity into triumph. Agony into empathy. Setbacks into comebacks. God doesn't promise us just a beautiful little tune, a nice, uninspiring little life with no variation and no tensions to resolve. God does promise to be with each of us through the sufferings we are bound to face, and he is at work in every one of us to turn our body of humiliation into a body of glory. Here's the question: How can we imitate Jesus and the apostle Paul and play the tune called "Transformation" in our own lives? We can begin by seeing the redemptive nature of struggle and sorrow. Condoleeza Rice, the president's National Security Adviser, once reflected on the significance of suffering in a sermon. Struggle and sorrow are "an opportunity to find a renewed spirit and a renewed strength to carry on," she said. How else but through struggle "are we to get to know the full measure of the Lord's capacity for intervention in our lives? If there are no burdens, how can we know that he can be there to lift them?" There is a redemptive component to adversity because it is an opportunity to find renewed spirit and strength, and to discover the full measure of what God can do for us. This was illustrated for Rice by the experience of slaves in America. She recalls that under the most oppressive of conditions, when it seemed as though there was no way out, slaves raised their voices and sang, "Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen" and "Glory, Hallelujah." Generations later, on the weekend after the terrorist attacks of September 11, a group of top presidential advisers gathered at Camp David. After a meeting to discuss the administration's response, Condi Rice sang "Amazing Grace" and "His Eye Is on the Sparrow." Suffering is redemptive because it opens us further to the presence and power of God. Our Lord can change us in the course of his performance, burning away our impurities and refining us until he can see his own image in us. It's all about making us stronger and purer, and turning the body of our humiliation into the body of his glory. The tune is "Transformation." And it's best played at the Divine Improv.(trumpet plays again)
Let us Pray........... `

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Sources: Blunt, Sheryl Henderson. "The privilege of struggle," Christianity Today, September 2003, 44-45
Hajdu, David. "Wynton's blues." The Atlantic Monthly, March 2003, 43-44.

Let me know what you think. The church Email is: slumc@direcway.com, Phone: 480.895.8766