March 7 -- Theological Spring Cleaning (Lent 3B)

Sisters and brothers, siblings and friends in Christ, God is always doing a new thing.  God is always moving us in the direction of change, evolving us toward greater faithfulness, deeper peace, fuller grace.

That’s true in this exciting story as well.  All the Gospels have a story about Jesus in the temple overturning the tables.  But interestingly, this one in the Gospel of John comes right at the beginning of his ministry.  Chapter 2!  Matthew, Mark and Luke all have Jesus driving out the money-changers not until the week before his crucifixion, at the end of his earthly ministry.  It’s part of what fuels the chief priests and scribes’ fire to have him arrested and finally crucified, remember?  But here Jesus does this at the beginning of his 3 year ministry.  What’s happening here?  Did John forget to mention him doing it again a few days before his passion, death and resurrection?  

Whatever conclusion you come to, what is going on here, it’s something different in terms of what this means.  John’s Gospel, as I think I’ve shared before is very different!  

For one thing, Jesus doesn’t show much emotion.  He doesn’t call names — he doesn’t call them “robbers”.  I don’t even think he seems all that angry, like in the other Gospels.  In John, it’s not an indictment on financial corruption, economic inequalities, social injustice.  Jesus just says, “Don’t make this a marketplace.”  In John, it’s always a deeply spiritual matter...which can arrive us at those other issues.  But what’s happening here first is a radical theological spring cleaning and replacement.
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See, the people were used to buying cattle, sheep and doves when they arrived in Jerusalem for the Passover.  That’s what you did as part of the ritual sacrifice, that’s how the people celebrated Passover.  First, they sacrificed by traveling all the way to Jerusalem every year...specifically to the temple, the only place where God was believed to dwell.  And then, when they get there, after walking all those miles, they’d buy an animal to sacrifice.  Like Professor Karoline Lewis said, “You’re not gonna schlep a sheep from Galilee.”  

So everyone was used to seeing this mall of animals, like a farmers market, in the inner walls of the temple.  

And as for the “money changers” — by the way — this very well could have been their livelihood...  I have a friend who used to act out this scene, from the perspective of the money changers:  Jesus knocking over everything: “Man. That’s my dinner tonight, man.  How am I going to feed my family this month.  Who is this guy?” I think his is an interesting commentary on this story in Matthew, Mark and Luke.  That’s a good entry point.  But here in John, Jesus is doing something radically theological (as opposed to political in the other cases).
 

Jesus is throwing out ritual sacrifice.  He is throwing out the idea that you have to buy something to earn God’s favor.  I’d even say, as a Lutheran, he’s throwing out the idea that you have to do something to earn God’s good graces.  Radical theological replacement, you see.  Theological spring cleaning.  Out with old — that is, the old idea that God only lives in the high temple, in the holiest of holies, there in Jerusalem.  Out with the old — that is, the old idea that you have to buy a sheep or a goat or an ox and sacrifice it  in order to get this inaccessible God to notice and bless you (like so many other religions, btw)...  

What’s happening here, already in chapter 2, is that we’re getting to see that God is breaking out, God — i.e. Christ himself — is breaking beyond the walls and the rules of the temple and the tradition.  In fact, Christ himself is the temple now!  There is no one place to go where you can visit God.  God is out there on the road. 

We see again that in John as Jesus just. keeps. moving!  Holiness is everywhere now, not just in temples (or churches).

And because it’s everywhere we’re no longer chained to a checklist of sacrifices and journeys we have to make.  Jesus becomes the temple.  And this temple, that is his body, is nothin’ but love.  Nothing but abundant life and peace and forgiveness and grace!
            Overflowing, all-encompassing holiness.

That’s what we’re offered now.  Here.  Friends in Christ.

When holiness shows up everywhere, when we’re covered by Christ, then we do start to act differently, we do start to see differently, we do start to use our money differently, vote differently, speak differently, serve differently.  We don’t change our ways because there’s some kind of reward at the end!  That’s the old ritual sacrifice transaction:  I’ll give you this, God...so that will will give me that.  

We don’t barter with God!  We already have this reward!

We only respond to God...who through Christ, always acts first in LOVE and generosity.  God always makes the first move, all we can do is respond (great statement of faith!).  Danker: “Jesus did the work, we just get to do church.”

When people are doing cruel things, or when members of the family are clearly burdened — church people, or people that say they’re Christians — it always makes me sad because it’s like they’re reading the Bible but not understanding it.  They’re reading something, and at the same time not seeing/getting/receiving that this God is pouring out love and forgiveness FIRST.  Not after we make some kind of sacrifice or do some kind of ritual or good work to earn this.  
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Dearly departed (regardless of political party) Rep. John Lewis of Georgia:  John Lewis was a Freedom Rider, marched with Dr. King and participated in those famous sit-ins in the Deep South, where he and other African Americans would walk into a diner and just sit quietly, waiting patiently to be served. People would spit on them because they were black, they’d pour hot coffee and syrup on them, call them all kinds of horrible names…

And as John Lewis talked about this and other forms of non-violent resistance he said at the heart of it all was love.  “You have to love your enemies and those who persecute you.”  (I wonder if he was reading Howard Thurman and the Gospel of John too.)

And then he told this story from just a couple years ago, when a former KKK member requested an audience with Lewis because he wanted to apologize.  And with tears in his eyes this now-very-old white man says to the late great John Lewis, “I’m sorry for what I did to you, those many years ago.  My heart was filled with hate.  Not anymore.  Will you accept my apology?”  And John Lewis said, “I accept your apology,” and then reflects calmly in this interview, “See, that’s the power of radical love, the love of Jesus.  It’s the most powerful force in the world, and it has the power to overturn the tables.”
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Friends in Christ, Jesus in the temple, this “cleansing” is breaking us out of old, oppressive, tit-for-tat ways and systems.  And inviting us again — “come and see” — that’s how it begins!  The Holy Spirit is inviting us again down the road of discipleship, down the path of Jesus.  This is a radical theological replacement!  Love not law.  No more burdens or chains.  Freedom is walking the way of compassion and forgiveness.  New life.

This love, grace, mercy and cleansing healing is for you.  It’s right here and now.  Take a deep, Johanine breath today, in this Hallelujah Anyhow Lent: soak it up.  Chew it down, drink it in.  Taste and see that God is great.  Feast on this abundance that Christ offers freely to you today.  The old has been replaced with AGAPE — unconditional love — and so we. have. been. made. new.  Greater faithfulness, deeper peace, fuller grace.  Thanks be to God.  Hallelujah.  AMEN.

February 14 -- That and More (TransfigurationB)

Some of you know I was a youth director before I went to seminary.  And during my time at Holy Trinity in Thousand Oaks, CA working with the junior high kids, a pastor came to serve that church, who I greatly admired.  He was only there for a short time as an interim.  But we know how even short stays with dynamic leaders can be such a gift (I’m thinking of Pastor Elijah here).  This new pastor was so kind to the people of that congregation.  He was very intentional in all of his conversations; he was very good at connecting people with one another; he visited the sick; he met with the youth kids; and he started up a small group program while he was there.  The church grew during his short time.  I knew this man as a kind and loving pastor, truly a shepherding spirit, caring for God’s people, loving them, feeding them with Holy Communion.  He was just so nice.

But the more I listened to his sermons and read his book, I started to realize that he was something more than just a nice, loving pastor.  This man was a prophet for justice and equality for all.  When he preached, it was like the prophet Amos or Isaiah standing in front of us, crying out on behalf of God for peace in our world and for the end of all oppression.  Like Moses, “Let my people go!”  He called us out on our self-centered, white-privileged ways, that fail to extend the same love that we’ve received to the margins: to the immigrant, the stranger, the outcast and the forgotten.  He even talked about justice for the earth and all the creatures of God!  It was the first time I had ever considered that the United States may just be the new Roman Empire, and he reminded us often about Jesus‘ ministry over and against...actually under...the most powerful nation in the world.  We squirmed uncomfortably in our pews, but something cracked me open and I saw him in a new way.   

God is calling us to be more than just a nice place and nice people that gather for worship once a week, he prophesied.  God is calling us to do more than just offer some charity to the poor, offer some generous handouts, down to those who have less.  All these things are good, but God is calling us, he would preach, to be about radical, systemic change, dreaming and risking it all for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, even if it means our lives.  And then he would kindly greet us with a handshake or a hug, always a nice smile, as we came out of the church at the end of our service.   

This pastor I’m talking about is George Johnson...of blessed memory.   He was my friend, he was nice, he was a gentle pastor...but at one point I suddenly started to see him in a new way too.  He was a fiery prophet calling for justice and change, challenging us to risk our lives and be actual disciples, followers of Jesus, not just safe, comfortable believers in Jesus.

As we look at our text today, and as we’ve been looking at the Gospel of Mark in this cold season, I think it can be easy and even tempting to conclude that Jesus is a just prophet for social justice and change.  That’s because he is.  Just like Pastor George was just a kind, loving guy.

Up to this point — Chapter 9 in Mark — Jesus has turned his world on its head with his love and care for the poor and the outcast, with his casting out the demonic systems and illnesses.  Bringing women and children to the center, touching and healing the ritually unclean, the bleeding, the dead, the foreigner.  I mean, he’s advocating truly universal health, education and equality for everyone.  It’s not a detached, complicated, sanitized spirituality with Jesus in the first 9 chapters of Mark.  He’s not hovering, esoterically; he’s rooted and radical and real.  It’s ministry on the ground, and in the trenches — tangible, immediate and welcoming.  Yes?  I’m always amazed how this social justice of Jesus gets suppressed and even denied, many times by Christians themselves, only seeing him as a spiritual savior of individual souls...rather than an incarnate savior of whole communities, particularly, especially those who are oppressed or overlooked.  Mark 1-9 reeks of Jesus’ radical justice agenda.

But, just like good ol’ Pastor George was more than just a nice, sweet pastor — which he was — there was more…

Jesus is more than just a prophet for social justice and radical welcome of the stranger and the outcast — which he is and always will be.  But there’s more...  

And in our text today, a few of the disciples (and us, by the way) get cracked open, and see Jesus in an even larger way.  

This isn’t about getting someone wrong, and suddenly seeing them in a totally new and different way.  (That happens too.)

But this is about getting a person right, but suddenly seeing them in an even more expansive way.  Setting our mind not just on earthly things but even more, on divine things.  

This prophet Jesus (he was such a prophet that some were mistaking him for John the Baptist and Elijah) — this prophet for social justice and change, was even more than that, friends in Christ:

This prophet was God’s own Son.  “Listen to him, listen to his agenda.”  All this stuff he’s been doing, is more than just earthly revolutionary activist-for-change behavior, upturning traditions and challenging assumptions...

(!) This is divine presence come down to be among us...to be for us, and for everyone.  Jesus is God’s Son.  What a way to end this season after Epiphany and move into Lent — with another Epiphany, a divine revealing:  “This is my Son, the Beloved.”  And then a command: “Listen to him.”  

Transfiguration is the mountain top experience of this time of the church year, before we drop down into Lent this week.  

Know that the one you follow, the one who brings children and women to the center, who heals the sick and the demon-possessed, who welcomes the outsider, even if their religion or their appearance is different...know that the one you follow, who calls and empowers the people of his time — and us — to imitate him in this radical business of  — not just donating — but moving aside and faithfully sharing.  Know that that one you follow isn’t just a human prophet for justice.  He’s even more: he’s God’s own Son.  He’s the salvation of the world.  He’s life eternal for you and for all.  He’s love everlasting.  He’s grace and peace that the world cannot give.  He’s freedom and joy.  He’s hope for the future and thanksgiving for the past.  He’s bread and wine, body and blood poured out for you and for...everyone...even the creatures.  He so loves this whole earth, that he gave his whole self away.  
Know that the one who heals the sick and raises the dead raises you too — right now! — from that which holds you down and hold you back from being the beloved child that God has created you to be.  Know that this prophet Jesus, is forgiveness of all your sins, all your self-centered behavior, all your ignorance and shame, and greed and envy.  GONE.  Jesus is God’s Son, not just a social prophet.  And you are made new today because of it!

Your slate has been wiped clean!  And you are being sent back out there, into this Lenten season, into this coming spring, renewed, hopeful, at peace, and ready to serve, pray, fast, and give (just like Jesus did).  

So let’s listen to him, siblings in Christ.  Let’s listen to him.  Let’s hold out our hands, and open our ears and our minds and our hearts, as we move off the icy and foggy mountain top, and listen.  For God’s own son has got something to say and something to give.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

February 7 -- The Jesus Injection (After Epiphany 5B)

Mark’s Gospel is coming at us at high speed — different stories piling up like the snow outside today.  Now, it’s taken us two months to read the whole first chapter of Mark, and we took a week here and there to dip into the Gospel of John and Luke, but just stop and consider for a moment how much and how quickly everything has happened up to this point:

In the very first verses, John first appears on the scene to preach repentance, to baptize and to “prepare the way!” for Jesus.  That lasts about 6 verses.  Then enter Jesus – no birth stories in Mark, no little boy in the temple, just grown up Jesus, ready to go/ready to rock.  And it all starts with a sky-ripping baptism.  That lasts about 3 verses, and then the gut-wrenching temptation in the wilderness.  Matthew and Luke take almost 15 verses to describe what happened to Jesus there; Mark does it in 2.  Then Jesus begins his ministry in Galilee, calls some disciples, and some patterns begin to emerge.  Moving in and out of the synagogue, he preaches and heals, preaching and healing.  We almost settle into a rhythm of this in the book of Mark, and preaching and healing almost become synonymous, and where they happen is not as important as the fact that there is a healthy flow and balance to Jesus’ movement in and out of the worship space (nice reminder for us today).  Whether Jesus is preaching or healing, the end result is that life and health are not just proclaimed gently but injected, like a life-saving shot (in Mark’s almost abrasive style), freely granted, over and against death and all those demonic forces that keep us down.  This just keeps happening, keep watching for it in this Year of Mark.  And let that good message become a part of your movement in and out of your worship space, following the example of Jesus.

“The life and health injection” is certainly the theme on a number of levels in our lesson today.
 
Here in the text, Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law.  She doesn’t even have a name.  (It’s not the first time this happens to women in the Bible.  There are countless nameless women who teach us…and that’s the case here.)  Now, I wonder if perhaps you had, like many who read this text today, an immediate and very natural and appropriate reaction when Simon’s mother-in-law is healed by Jesus.  Did you catch what the first thing she does after is?   It said Jesus took her by the hand lifted her up…the fever leaves her…and she began serving them.  You almost get this impression, that the disciples are like, “Hey Jesus, can you fix her because we’re getting hungry in here?”  At first glance, it’s almost like she’s a victim of Jesus’ healing.  

And all that might be true.  But I do think it puts a modern lens on the story.  That’s OK.  That’s what we do.  And I think we should always read with critical lenses around gender roles, sexism, racism, xenophobia, and on...

But don’t miss also some of Mark’s major themes that are emerging, even in this first chapter...namely casting out demons and bread/feeding/eating.

Jesus is constantly trying to teach his male disciples about serving and caring for one another.  Emptying themselves of ego, pride, bluster; and instead embodying love, compassion, service and justice for all.  And Simon’s mother-in-law gets that immediately.  Jesus is constantly trying to get the disciples to respond to the life and health he is injecting.  (We’ll see that they’re not getting it as the Gospel goes on.)  It’s almost like they’ve got a high tolerance to the Jesus injection.  Like the vaccine doesn’t take.  But Simon’s mother-in-law is immediately impacted by Jesus’ life-giving shot.  He takes her by the hand, and “it takes.”  

How’s your immunity to Jesus’ life-giving power?  Is the shot only 50% effective?  Is it taking?  You know, those of us who have been around church for years, who have heard this language about grace and forgiveness ad nauseum, week in and week out — we have a tough task, because I imagine we’ve got a pretty high tolerance to the Jesus injection too.  To hear Sunday after Sunday “How vast is God’s grace, through the power and promise of Christ Jesus our sins + are washed away,” “God gave us a gift to set us free, when the waters were poured down on you and me...”, “the peace of Christ be with you always,” again and again...means we’re in danger of producing some pretty potent antibodies to Jesus’ life-giving power and healing.  So were the disciples.  I couldn’t help but laugh thinking about vs. 36-37, where Simon and the others find Jesus and say, “Hey, everyone’s looking for you.”  Hey, you do it, Jesus.  All these people need help, and they go get Jesus.  Great lesson for us – “You do it pastor, you do it church council, you do it bishop, you do it Mr. President, you do it Congress, you do it doctors, you do it teachers, you do it...everyone’s looking for you.”  All these people need help, and like the disciples, maybe we have the tendency to go get the guru to help them.  (It occurs to me :) we don’t say, “Go in peace, and find somebody else to serve.”)

Well, Jesus complies with their request here, actually.  That’s because we’re still in chapter 1.  The further we get into Mark, the more we get the sense that Jesus is constantly injecting this life-giving power into his disciples — it’s going to take a couple shots — they keep resisting, it doesn’t take right away...  
But Simon’s mother-in-law gets it immediately.  She serves.  It is a fore-glimpse of our ministry in Christ.  She is our teacher.  Immediately, she began to serve them.  (Yes I think there’s some sexism built-in.  Always is.  But don’t miss the transformation, the “immediately”, the fact that Jesus’ healing took.)

The life-giving power of Jesus is what we speak of at the end of our worship:  Go in peace, and serve.  That’s not just some catchy little thing to say at the end, and it’s not code for “Good news, this church thing is finally over now you can go home, go back to your life unchanged” – “Go in peace and serve the Lord” means, injected with God’s life-giving power, injected with healing, injected with Christ-light, injected with the promise of divine presence, injected with a peaceful assurance that the whole world is—in fact—in God’s hands despite all the turbulence (that’s the peace that passes all understanding), injected with Jesus himself in the holy waters of the font, bread and wine, injected with grace, GO NOW and share it with others, GO NOW and serve immediately...like Simon’s mother-in-law.  

Jesus injects us again today with life and health over and against the powers that hold us down.  Jesus raises us from our fevered state so that we too might get it, and serve in response.  
And maybe part of that injection is finding quiet space too.  Maybe Sabbath is part of the injection.  This is a rich text today.  It’s not just go work your brains out for the other.  We also see our lord resting, amen?  Vs. 35: “In the morning, while it was still very dark, Jesus went away to a deserted place to pray.” He’s doing that all the time by the way.  As I hand-wrote this passage this week, I had this thought:  “Wait a second, there were still more people that needed healing!  He wasn’t finished!  Jesus himself is going off to a deserted place to pray?”  

Friends part of the injection is taking the moments we need, the downtime we need — Jesus is modeling it — the prayer time we need.  What a gift the snow can be: it slows us down.  It’s like a reminder from God: “Hey, take a quiet place.”  Jesus is always silencing the demons.  Maybe that’s the voices in our heads that never stop — anxiety about the future, traumatic voices from our past, the good and noble things we feel we have to do, the cries from all the people that need us — can you sense a certain FEVER?  But Jesus models for us going a way for a bit, re-calibrating, praying.  That too, friends, is Christ taking us by the hand, like he did with Simon’s mother-in-law, and lifting us up.  That’s the snow day, everybody needs a snow day...no matter your climate.  It makes the fever go away, you see?

This is our God: Lifting us up, healing us, showing us how to slow down, and calling us, from sabbath, back into Gospel action — back and forth, working for justice, offering peace, living in hope, and sharing God’s joy with this world.  This is our God, friends: sheltering us and holding us in the palm of her hand, this day and always.  

                    Thanks be to God.  Amen.



 

November 1 -- Crab Cake Saints (All Saints Sunday A)

Invite you to turn to the person you’re in the room with, or text somebody who needs to hear it: “You are a saint of God, and God’s glory and love shines through you.” Now look in a mirror, or put your phone camera on yourself so you can see yourself, make the sign of the cross on your own forehead and say, “You are a saint of God, and God’s glory and love shines through you.” AMEN.
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At the core of our Lutheran faith is the idea that we are all made saints in our baptisms.  Have you heard this before?  That we are all saints?  We don’t have to die…or labor in Calcutta to be a saint.  Do you believe that?  Do you believe that you are a saint of God and that God’s glory and love really shines through you?

Couple years ago on November 2, I was hanging out with my friend, Father Peter, and he told me, “You know, today is All Soul’s Day.”  I corrected him: “No, that was yesterday, and we call it All Saints Day?”  At which point he tells us that I was getting All Saints and All Souls day “mixed up.”  The good Father explained that All Saints is the day that we honor…the Saints of the church.  And All Souls, November 2 – or in the Mexican tradition Dia de los Muertos, we honor…everybody else who’s died.  
They’re two different days, separated by a long night.

This is of course all true in the Roman Catholic church’s tradition.  Father schooled me there.  And I actually love and appreciate this tradition, the logic (compartmentalizing), and the intentionality of the celebration in practice (the movie Coco), theologically I like that we get the days mixed up!

This week, I tried to make crab cakes...for the first time(!) — (nailed it btw).  I was thinking about this idea of “getting it all mixed up”.  

You throw in the crab with the breadcrumbs, with the mayo, with the seasonings, with the onions, and Worcester...it’s all mixed up, right?  It all goes into the flame, right?  That’s how it is for us today: we’re folded in, mixed together with the great famous saints of the past, with dearly departed loved ones in our own lives (even those that weren’t so kind and perfect), with those who are still with us...and even we ourselves stand in this rushing current of God’s blessing.  All mixed together on today — All Saints Day.  And I like that more.  Rather than celebrating the crab one day, and the breadcrumbs the next, we’re all lumped together here...

 “You are a saint of God too!”  This is a theme that carries over from Reformation Sunday last week.  This idea sets our doctrines apart from our dear Roman Catholic siblings.  Luther lumped us all together, you see?      
    
Can you believe that God names you “Saint” in your baptism? (“St. Daniel”)

And so, that sermon on the mount, that we hear again today — the designated text for All Saints Day this year — is talking about you!  In baptism, you are made whole, despite all appearances and even experiences to the contrary: you are offered/presented with the realm of heaven in this life, you are comforted, you inherit the earth, you are filled, you receive mercy, you can see God, and you are called a child of God!  You are blessed even as people utter all kinds of evil against you; you are blessed even as people revile you and persecute you.  You are the blessed saints of God, all of you…

…not because of anything you’ve done, but because of what God has done.  All Saints Sunday is a natural extension of Reformation Sunday — it’s perfect that they’re back-to-back Sundays.  You are saved by grace, remember, apart from works (what you’ve done) on account of the faith of Jesus Christ!  This was the passage from Scripture that Luther shared with the world, and it turns us all into saints!  In God’s dying, in the way of Christ on the cross, death has been destroyed, and in Christ’s rising from the dead, we too rise.  We are joined to Christ in the waters of baptism, and so we live—in this life—anew!  (Amen?)

Because of this, yes, we get all “mixed up” with both the Saints that the church has honored traditionally and with all those who have gone before us.  Lutherans are messy…because not only are we mixed up with all the traditional Saints of the Church, we’re also mixed up in sin.  

We don’t need to go into that so much today.  I think we’re pretty good at burying ourselves in our sin and mistakes and brokenness.  But, friends, we’re not just sinners, we’re sinner-SAINTS.  (Guy at wedding two weeks ago:  “I got tired of going to church because I realized they’re all just a bunch of sinners, and I don’t need to go to church to hang out with sinners.”  Wish I had said, “But friend, all those sinners are also saints.  You should go to church and see what that’s about.”)

In a little while we name those in our congregation who have died in recent years.  We honor them today as saints:  But we remember them not for themselves and in themselves (even while that’s very important and meaningful to us in our grief), today we remember them not for themselves and in themselves, we name them and celebrate them today because of what God has done through them.  

Think of all the things that God has done through our beloved saints who have gone before us (your pictures/candles/flowers)  God’s love and glory shone through them, didn’t it?  Even in their worst moments.  

At memorial services, most recent here at Bethlehem for me here was for the Frodighs, we gathered around this font (most recent death was Doug Porter, but we haven’t gathered for his funeral yet), most recent service was for dear Roland and Pat Frodigh, where we heard at the font:  “When we were baptized in Christ Jesus, we were baptized into his death.  We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead, we too might live a new life.  For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him a resurrection like his.”  That’s holy scripture, friends.

We trust and believe that we are all given the name saint in our baptism, and sometimes I feel like a broken record saying that, but we sure need to be reminded of it weekly, even daily (as Luther said), because it is so easy to forget.  Some of us can’t even put “Saint” before our name with ease and confidence.  It is so easy (and traditional) to relegate/compartmentalize sainthood, simply to the holier-than-thou...or at least to the dead.  It’s easy to keep it separated in two – All Saints Day and then the Rest-of-Us Days.
 
But this is God’s grace coming at us in these waters, God’s grace coming at us, relentlessly, unapologetically, before many of us can even say a word.  God’s grace crashes down on us and claims us.  Calls us saints from the start...not only at the end!  Promises us eternal life, yes, but God’s grace is so good we are even granted the kingdom/realm of heaven in this life…  That means a flood of comfort when you mourn (that’s not material comfort, it means that when you’ve lost what is most dear to you, only then can you be embraced the One who holds you closest).  God’s grace is so good that we are even granted the inheritance of the earth today, contentment, peace, mercy, a glimpse of God.  God’s grace is so good that you are now called a child of God!  

Of course we’re not perfect, that’s true.  I love Robert Louis Stevenson defines saints as “sinners who never stop trying.”  I’ve got a book that is a proposed calendar for commemorating all those “saints”, for lack of a better word.  Our Roman Catholic siblings have offered so much to God’s church, to us, to me, as they so reverently remember those who have died in the faith.  I think we can only stand to benefit as we peer back into the pages of Christian history.  

Here’s a quote from that book:  ‘When the church praises the saints, it praises God...who has triumphed through them.  Those who are still in the church on earth are supported and encouraged by the fellowship of a throng of witnesses, who fought their way with effort and pain, and who now in the company of the redeemed are watching and supporting the church on earth in its present struggle’”.

Friends in Christ, today we rejoice, for all the blessed saints:  Those who have gone before us, those saints still among us, and those many saints of God…still to come!  “You are a saint of God, and God’s light shines though you.”  Blessed are you.  Blessed are we...for we all stand and often in these days lean on God’s everlasting arms.  AMEN. 

September 27 -- Becoming *Teleios* (Pentecost 17A)

Grace to you and peace from God who creates us from the muddy clay of the earth (I was on the shores of the Chesapeake this week, beautiful muddy earth), from Jesus who bridges us from our primal separation from God because of sin, and from the Holy Spirit, who comforts us when we are afflicted, and who afflicts us when we are comfortable.  Amen.

At first glance this reading might lead us to the simple conclusion and popular aphorism that ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS.  There are two sons.  The father asks them both to go out into the field, one says he’ll go and doesn’t.  The other says he won’t and does.  Jesus makes a model of the latter.  

But, after praying and studying this text, I’m not sure
A-S-L-T-W, is really the lesson here.  


First of all, in my own experience and in the experience of many that I’ve listened too…words sometimes (not always) speak louder than actions.  It’s not pretty or fun to talk about, but the wounds from violent actions (physical abuse) can heal, but the wounds from violent words (emotional/spiritual abuse—insults that cut deep, threats, even just indifference to another’s presence or opinions) sometimes never heal.  So not only is “a.s.l.t.w.” an interpretation of this particular scripture text that I don’t agree with, it’s a saying that I don’t think is even completely accurate.     

So let me share with you a concept that flows through the entire Bible, certainly through the book of Matthew and therefore arches over this passage today...  

Teleios.  The Greek word is teleios.  And it means mature, or complete, or commonly translated as perfect.  Matthew 5:48 (be perfect even as God in heaven is perfect.) or Matthew 19:21 (Jesus said, "If you wish to be perfect go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.")  I think translating teleios as “perfect” gets us headed down the wrong path.  (I’m just full of opinions today, huh?)  “Mature” or “complete” is more like it.  The best way to think about this overarching theme of teleios is to think about it in terms of fruit.  A banana or a pear is teleios — not when it is completely free of blemishes, but  — when it is ready to eat.  When it is ripe.  When it has come to fruition or come full circle.  

So read these texts with that in mind.  “Come to fruition, even as your God in heaven has come to fruition.”  There’s more of a notion of process here, and that’s very important to remember.  

So returning to the two sons, with the concept of teleios—coming to fruition—in mind, let’s look at it again:

Jesus praises the brother who “says no” but “acts yes”…because he is engaged in the process of coming to fruition, he is ripening.  The other brother is not.  The other brother has chosen to reject the opportunity to go out and to work in the vineyard; he has refused the ripening process.  In other words, he has rejected the journey of transformation.

Siblings in Christ, God is calling us this day to engage or perhaps renew our engagement, and enter again into teleios, into the process of coming to fruition as a disciple, a follower of Jesus.  God is calling us into a journey of transformation.

Grace is empty, if the process of discipleship is not evident, if there is a refusal to ripen.  Bonhoeffer called that the “carcass of cheap grace”…If we’re not on the journey of transformation, engaged in the ripening, the coming to fruition, the maturity and completeness, the teleios...then you simply haven’t experienced God’s grace.  The church has failed you.  The pastor has failed you.  When God’s people are saying yes, but acting no, teleios has gone dormant.   

Our Gospel today calls us to the vineyard, to follow Jesus, not just to say that we believe in Jesus.  Our Gospel text for today is about coming full circle.  

One way to illustrate this text is by looking at worship—what we’re in the midst of right now.  Our faith, which is expressed here on Sunday morning, guides us into our week, bringing us to fruition, bringing us full circle.  Worship/Church is more than mere tradition, it’s more than just “what we do/say” on Sunday.

How many of you have ever participated in any sort of theater production?  Been to a dress rehearsal?

You see, worship is a dress rehearsal for Gospel living.  
Think about the purpose of the dress rehearsal:  It solidifies what we already know (lines), introduces something new (costumes), and prepares us for what’s ahead (opening night).  Bringing everything full circle.  

[look the sections at bulletin] Worship too, solidifies what we already know (in the gathering we are reminded and again we receive forgiveness of sins), introduces something new (as together we enter into the Word of God, and new light is shed on our understandings of the saving work of Jesus Christ), and through Bread and Wine, Body and Blood, the waters of the Baptismal font, we are prepared for what’s ahead, we are washed and nourished with heavenly water and food for the journey, the journey of discipleship—we are engaging in the journey of transformation, in teleios...even right now!  

And what follows worship?  What is that Sending all about (“go in peace, remember the poor,” we say today)?  Because we receive forgiveness of sins right at the beginning, flowing from the baptismal font, here in worship, we are able to forgive others during our week.  Coming full circle.  Because there is a proclamation from this Holy Book about God’s love and God’s hope on account of Jesus Christ, we are then enabled to speak words of love and forgiveness. Coming full circle.

Because justice is alive at God’s Holy Table, as all are welcome to the feast of Jesus’ own body, edible grace, then we are empowered to live out that same model of justice and compassion, welcoming and feeding the friend and the stranger alike. Coming full circle.  Because we are sent out with God’s blessing at the end of our worship service, we are filled with the task of sending others, empowering others, inviting others to follow Jesus, calling others back into the love of God…through both our words and our actions. Coming full circle.

We are not a “gathering of eagles around a carcass of cheap grace,” on Sunday mornings.  Worship for us is more than just a going through the motions each week.  Worship is a dress rehearsal for Gospel living, a modeling of God’s very will being done here on earth “as it is in heaven.”  

Here we are caught in the undertow of grace, here we are swept up in the process of coming full circle, in the ripening, in the coming to be the people God has molded us, breathed into us, redeemed us, and filled us anew to be!

You know, I went to some vineyards here in Northern Virginia recently...last week.  It was good to look out over the vineyards (and enjoy a nice blend of grapes), but I was thinking about how could I align even better my own words with my actions.  After all, we’re coming into the stewardship season, the season of giving back with joyful hearts, what God has first given us.  

And I am pondering what I might give up or take on during these days.  Not just discipleship disciplines in Lent: what kinds of faith actions can we put into practice now, in response to the grace that God has first given us?    Let’s make these a faith-moves together.  Let’s do teleios together — might look different for each of us.  Some might give up meat after seeing the impact that consumption has on the planet, others might write letters, others might try tithing, others might volunteer, or protest, or make phone calls to members of this congregation.  Words and actions lining up, you see, I’m pondering this myself, and even if I had something to share I’m not sure I’d want to roll it out here in a sermon in some grand exposition of my faithfulness...I’m praying on it...  

But if I am going to speak about compassion and justice, I have to ask how I might start to act more in that direction.

Pay attention this week to the nudgings of the Spirit, that’s how the Holy Spirit works…quiet ways.

Where is God whispering to you this week, how is that gracious and loving Holy Spirit is afflicting the comfortable areas of your life.  How is God inviting you to have your words and your actions come full circle?  How are you becoming teleios?   Because I have no doubt that God is working on you.
        
As that complicated Holy Spirit continues to nudge you, at the very same time, may God’s loving arms of mercy and peace wrap around you and fill you with all-goodness and grace, even today, even now, and forever more.  AMEN.

August 16 -- Preaching Up Here, Living Down There (Pentecost 11A)

Especially when our kids were younger than they are now, there were some words in our house that we just didn’t say.  This is still true to some extent, but they’ve learned and understand a lot more now.   But back in the day when they were little…we taught our Micah and Katie that they are words we don’t say under our roof:  We don’t say hate.  “But Daddy other people say ‘hate’ all the time,” Micah questioned, “and my teacher said it’s not a bad word.”  That may be true, Micah, but we don’t use that word.  We don’t say ‘stupid’.  And we don’t say ‘idiot’.  We don’t say ‘shut up’.  And we don’t say ‘fat’, either.  

Somehow, Heather and I in all our parental omniscience from up here came to the conclusion that canceling these words out of our household vocabulary is good thing down there.

The problem is, when we slip.  When I’m watching a Cubs baseball game and blurt out, “Uh, I hate AJ Perzinski!”  When I’m reading the newspaper in the living room, while Katie is doing her homework in the kitchen, and suddenly I completely lose all awareness of where I am, and shout “I can’t believe it!  This guy’s an idiot; I wish he would shut up!  He so stupid, I hate him.”   OK...a bit of hyperbole there.  But you know I slipped up...

And in each of these circumstances we/I then had to engage in the tricky parental activity of explaining ourselves, probably apologizing, maybe making amends or exceptions, but always-always including an affirmation that they’re right, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that.”  I said we shouldn’t say those words, and here I am saying them myself...  

Great is your faithfulness to what we said, Micah.  Great is your faithfulness to what we said, Katie.  But here we are: sloshing about.  

It’s one thing to preach it.  It’s something much different to live it.  Good teaching can trickle down from up here.  But great faith sloshes around down there.  

Our Gospel passage today starts out with some great teaching from up here:  Jesus again is crumbling up the Pharisees’ neatly sliced world…this time with a lesson on purity.  It’s not what goes into the mouth that’s unclean.  It’s what comes out of it.  Words.

But Jesus isn’t just teaching us not to swear.
 
Let’s not get too caught up with just bad words like stupid or idiot or fat, and whole bunch of others that unfortunately we all know.  

I’ve known people who “swear like sailors” (some of them are sailors...and have hearts of gold.  [pause]  Their words might be foul but their hearts burn with purity.  Their intentions are compassionate.  Maybe you’ve known people like this too.  While others, proud of their purity and squeaky clean mouths, shoot daggers and explode gossip with their curse-less words.  Sure we should watch our language, but Jesus isn’t teaching us here not to swear.  

He’s teaching about heart surgery.  

The heart, you see, in that culture, was understood to be the source our thoughts and our decisions about how to live in the world.  Jesus is teaching us about slicing away all that harms us and our neighbors and our world.  That’s a good teaching from up there.

But it’s one thing to preach it.  It’s something much different to live it.  The story goes on, in our text today, and it says that Jesus left his pulpit.  He left that place and went away to a different region.  He left the pureness-of-heart-lecture notes on the stand, came down to another region, and this is where it gets sloppy, sloshes around:

A woman approaches, who is not from his tribe.  A strange woman, a Syro-phoenician.  Jesus grew up a neighborhood where such women were despised.

  
They were hated, stupid, idiots who needed to shut up, who were always encroaching on his people – the real chosen Jews, not these half-bred aliens.  Do you see what’s happening here?

And so, Jesus – JESUS, the prince of peace, the one who just got done preaching about purity of heart – calls her a dog:  “It’s not fair to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”  A dog!  Do you know how dirty dogs were then?  Not adorable, housebroken, little pooches that we bless when we do the Blessing of the Animals...dogs as glimpses of God.  No, dogs back then were mangy, flee-bitten mutts, that were as irritating as flies.  And calling a person a dog, that as offensive as a white person calling a black person a word that we won’t even print in the paper.  A dog, he calls her.  

It’s one thing to preach it.  It’s something much different to live it.  

What do we do with this text where our precious Jesus himself is falling for the same old racial slurs, the same old arrogance, the same old self-righteousness, the same old divisions, the same old hatred that has plagued generations and cultures throughout history, and still plagues us today?!  Words escalate to threats; and threats to violence; and violence to wars.  There’s nothing new there.

This is a side of Jesus, that many are tempted either to ignore, or rationalize away, or defend…as if the Savior of the world needed saving.  I can’t explain Jesus out of this offense, out of his calling this woman a dog.

But I can share with you what I see happening, ultimately:  [sloppiness, thanks be to God, even if we don’t want sloppiness—and none of us do, we want neat and tidy, clear cut, like the Pharisees, where life is a set of rules to keep and roles to fill.  But the gift is sloppiness.]  I see Jesus, fully Divine and fully human, coming down from on high…to be in the mix of it all.   Good teaching can trickle down from up there.  But great faith sloshes around down here.  It’s one thing to preach it, it’s another thing to live it.

And in this case, God surprises us again, as a Syrophoenician woman, calls Jesus out.   Watch how she responds; not by hitting back; not by going away:  “Yes Lord,” she says, “but even the dogs eat the bread from the master’s table.”  I might be a dog, but I’m still hungry.  I’m broken alright, which is why I need the bread that only you can give.  She doesn’t fight back with hateful words, and she doesn’t back away either.  

She stands up strong and demonstrates faith.  She makes a statement of faith:  Only you, Jesus, offer the bread that I need, the healing that I need, the salvation which you have prepared.

And something must have snapped in Jesus, for immediately his tone changes and then he affirms her.  (Forget the tricky explaining, like when my child catches me using a word that’s off limits—I can’t explain that.)  We’ll just have to jump to the affirmation.  “Woman, great is your faith.” In a way, I’m not sure who’s helping/forgiving/blessing who.  What is clear, is that Jesus is with her.  Not up there.  He’s in the mix, down here as sloppy as it all can.

And that’s the heart of the Gospel.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, it’s not always neat and clean unfortunately, but we have a Christ who gets close, who plunges into the mix.

We have a Christ who kneels down, who takes our hand and we take his.  We have a God who doesn’t stay up there, but who always enters into the sloshiness of life down here.  Good teaching can trickle down from up there.  But great faith sloshes around down here.  

It’s one thing to preach it.  And I pray daily that we can preach a good thing up here, up at the church.  (But we/I don’t always—sometimes the preacher’s words from up here are winded, or fake, or confusing or sometimes just wrong.)  Good teaching and preaching can trickle down from up here.  But the real action is down there, down in our living rooms and kitchens and basements, down in our offices and stores and on the roads.  Great faith is down there, sloshing around.  And man, it sloshes, it’s sloppy, and messy and soggy.   It ain’t easy— this practice of purity of heart, this discipline of choosing words of compassion not violence.  It ain’t easy staying in touch with each other, in relationship with one another and with the stranger and with the world.  It ain’t easy, remaining faithful, coming back, giving ourselves to the rhythms of the church and nudgings of the Spirit.  And as soon as I’m finished preaching up here, I’m right back down there, sloshing around…and thank God we slosh around together.

And thank God we slosh around with Jesus, who enters the sloppiness of this life and stays, maybe even more than we wanted.  Who banters back and forth with us, albeit sometimes a struggle.  Who names and commends our great faith:  “Women, great is your faith.  Men, great is your faith.  All siblings in Christ, great is your faith. Remember that I’m down here with you, and I’ll never leave.”   AMEN.
—

HoD: ‘O God Why Are You Silent’ from the Lament section of our hymnal.  Woman calling Jesus out, asking for what we need.  Great is her faithfulness and ours too as we sing this with our hearts, and demand Christ’s healing in our lives and our world.  And Christ responds.

June 28 -- ELCAirB&B Hospitality (After Pentecost 4A)

Whoever welcomes you, welcomes Jesus.

I’ve had this dream since the pre- and for a post-COVID world...of setting up a system of Lutherans around the country, who would be on a list of open homes for fellow traveling ELCA Lutherans.  The connection would be through the churches.  Part of a congregations’ annual report to the national church offices would be reporting the number of open B&B households in that congregation.  We could call it Lutheran-Couch-Surfers-of-America, or something.  The Friendly Lutheran Hostel Network or ELCAirB&B?

Wouldn’t that be wonderful if anywhere you traveled, you had a great place to stay?  Not great because of the free wi-fi or continental breakfast, but great because you would always be housed by friends, even if they were strangers at first.

I actually believe this already exists (just unofficially), because I’ve tried it a number of times, and it’s amazing!  I’ve called up a number of churches over the years in the towns and cities I’m traveling through, and I just ask.  I usually start small and ask if I can stay in the church building.  I’ll explain my connection to the larger church, talk about my travel plans, and that I’m just looking for a place to stay, wondering if I could just put a sleeping bag in their youth room, or even crash on a pew.  I’ve done this solo, and we done this as a little family-of-4.

And in the course of that request and new connection, I’d get to meet the pastor, about 2 or 3 other members, see another Lutheran church, their bulletin boards and offices and landscapes and sanctuary — I’ve done this in Louisville, Kentucky, Atlanta, GA, Amarillo, TX.  One time we called a church in El Paso, TX, and that time, the pastor just invited us over to her house for the night.  Single woman in her 50’s, just opened the door for us and even gave us dinner (and breakfast)…and even put out some toys on the living room floor that she brought home from the church nursery.  Yet another time, the pastor simply put us in touch with an amazing family, (who is still on our Christmas card list) in Durango, Colorado.  Micah and Katie were little at the time, and this family had 2 sweet high school-aged daughters who were so excited to host little kids, they made up little Mickey and Minnie mouse beds in the basement and even had a box of legos and crayons on each of their pillows!  The Holiday Inn had nothing on our Lutheran Hospitality Network!  And of course our hosts always just laugh in our faces if (or when) we ask if we could give them a little money for their trouble...they laugh because it sounds as silly as relatives asking if they can pay you to stay at your house overnight.

Jesus says today in the Gospel: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.”  So put yourself in a position to be welcomed, right!  That way people can meet Jesus.
Do you think our hosts met Jesus through our showing up, road weary, cranky kids, flustered passers through?

We have a text before us that is about hospitality.

It turns out that my idea of a safe-homes-network is not new at all:  It’s a very tame version actually of the type of hospitality that is always offered throughout the Middle East, both in ancient Jesus days and even today!  It’s deeply imbedded in Middle Eastern culture to open your door and offer food, drink, and lodging to total strangers.  I’m talking about offering hospitality just among Lutherans, like a little club.  But has anyone ever been exposed to Middle Eastern hospitality?  It extends way beyond religious, ethnic, national and cultural boundaries!

I had a colleague once, who’s passionate about Palestine and taking people to the Holy Land.  He’s traveled by himself all over the Middle East, and on one of his first trips there, I remember he told us this story about how his lodging plans fell through at the very last minute...I mean the day before his flight over.

So a friend of a friend gave him an email, and he contacted a total stranger a day before he was set to arrive from the United States, and asked if could stay just for a night or two while he figured out what he was going to do.  Can you imagine?

And this family, lets him — a total stranger — ~25 years old, big, white guy with a bushy blond beard and a thick upper-Midwestern build to go with his accent, into their home and demanded that he be their guest for his entire stay in the Holy Land, about 2 months!  The town where they lived was a little town called Bethlehem.  No joke.  And he later but very quickly learned that this wasn’t just some crazy, nice family:  this kind of welcome toward strangers is cultural.  He felt all special and lucky at first—“I really struck gold here”—until he realized that anyone would be treated this way.  He was sure that if we were traveling unarmed and vulnerable, we would all be afforded the same kind of treatment, regardless of our religion or anything else, if we just asked.

There’s a certain vulnerability in just asking though.

There’s a blog online that I like to look at around Epiphany in January, when we reflect on the Journey of the magi — the three wise men, as they’re popularly conceived.   And this blog is about these three modern-day-Americans who literally traveled the ancient Fertile Crescent by camelback about 10 years ago — from Bagdad to Bethlehem.  They started in September and got there at Christmas time.  Their pictures are astounding, but it’s the really same story about hospitality as my friend who studied in Bethlehem.

Here’s a quote from one of the travelers:  “It is almost absurd, sitting in these peoples' homes and sharing lunch with them, being offered a bed for the night, and their brotherhood. This is Iraq, and if they are the enemy, who needs friends?”

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.  Whoever offers just a cup of cold water…”

Sisters and brothers, friends in Christ, we have such wonderful opportunities before us all the time — even now — to both give and receive hospitality, even as simple as giving/receiving a cup of cold water.  That might look a little different in a COVID-world, so we now have to think about what the COVID-world’s equivalent is, but the opportunity to “offer a cup of cold water, a bed for the night, some shade” is there as much as it ever was.  Jesus invites us again today to be on both sides, to expose ourselves to both sides, of hospitality.  Discipleship is not one-sided — have you noticed that?  We’re always saying Jesus sends the disciples out to be welcomers...here again he sends them/us to be  welcomed.  When was the last time you were welcomed by a stranger?

I counted this morning: if you come into Bethlehem Lutheran here in Fairfax, right now, and are looking around you will see the word “WELCOME” at least six times (in six different places) before you even step into this sanctuary.  That’s wonderful!  And hopefully on a Sunday morning, a visitor will hear that word many more times from us.  (printed 6+ times in worship folder too)

But we also need to allow ourselves to be welcomed.

Ministry is really all about welcome, isn’t it?  Both sides of welcome, though.  Being a follower of Jesus is really about hospitality—both sides of hospitality.  We are called both to welcome and to be welcomed.  (It’s always a blessed exercise in humility to pick up the phone and ask for a bed for the night, for a cup of cold water; it’s tough to expose ourselves to hospitality.)

But when hospitality happens, Christ is there.  That’s what’s at the heart:  Christ is moving in and with and around and between both welcomer and welcomed; Christ was working in and with and around and between both that wonderful church family in Durango and me and my family, as we crashed for the night; Christ is alive in and with and around and between both the Palestinians of Bethlehem and my friend; Christ was breathing, in and with and around and between both the modern-day-3-American-wise men and every one of their hosts across the Middle East desert.

And Christ is there every time you show up — on either side — of even the smallest act of hospitality: a cup of cold water, a welcoming post, kind note in the comments column, an offer (or an acceptance) of a gift or a bite to eat or a spare bed, or a coat, or a respectful nod.

And I am thinking at the moment, Bethlehem family, that we need to work on being welcomed way more than we do on welcoming others.  I think it’s tougher for lots of us to be received, than to be in the “driver’s seat” receiving others — you know what I mean?  It’s way harder, on one hand, to ask “Would you host/welcome me?” than it is to say, “Of course I will.”  But on the other hand, this is good news, because accepting the kindness of strangers, simply opening your hands and receiving hospitality, is actually way less work on our part.  All you have to do is show up, ask.  We need to work on doing less work.  Can I maybe get an Amen?

“What can we do?” is the question we keep wrestling with in our White Fragility conversations.  I know I wrote it myself, “White people, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”  What can we do?  Maybe some of what we can do is “expose ourselves to being welcomed”?  There’s a real vulnerability in that.  Receive hospitality, when it comes our way, even ask for it: “Would you welcome me?”  What would that look like?  “Would you host me?”

It’s a deeply biblical and theological question too, friends:  
“Would you welcome me?  Would you host me?” — to open ourselves to welcome, to accept the love and grace of another.  This is deeply Christian.

Work on doing less work, hard workers.  And instead — just receive the very grace and hospitality, the very welcome of God.

Faith itself is a work-less gift, it cannot be earned or acquired, it can only be received, symbolized in the splashing of the baptismal water.  All you can do is accept the welcome that God has for you.  Nothing you can do to earn it.

Friends, when there is welcome, when there is grace, there is God.  AMEN.

April 5 -- Palm Sunday

Grace to you and peace from Jesus — who enters through our gates in peace, who comes into our cities...and into our homes, who makes our living rooms and kitchens and bedrooms a sanctuary, a place of peace and holiness.  Amen.

Friends in Christ, I continue to find myself thinking and saying “now more than ever”...as these unprecedented, uncharted, unnerving days roll by, and as we prepare for the days ahead:  “Now more than ever.”

Now more than ever, we are sharing in a collective, communal gratitude and grief:
Gratitude for all the blessings that sometimes maybe we once took for granted.  Blessings of family and friends..  The blessings of art and music, entertainment and comedians.  The blessings of science...and technology.  The blessings of nature, and all the beauty outside...wherever we live.  Now more than ever.  The blessings of food and farmers who grow our food, and truck drivers who deliver our food, the blessings of cooks and grocery clerks.  The blessings of mail deliverers.  The blessings of teachers, who educate our children.  The blessings of health and blessings of health care professionals...the list really could go on and on.  Anyone keeping a gratitude journal during this time?  Now more than ever.

And, now more than ever we are sharing in a collective, communal grief (OK to hold gratitude and grief together, not one or the other):  for all that’s been lost:  all that’s been cancelled, all the trips and events, all the sports and theatre, graduations ceremonies and concerts and vacations and on-site learning opportunities.  Just dinners with friends and family.  This list could go on and on too.  Now more than ever.

And here we are today, at the beginning of Holy Week, the highest, most holy and theologically central days in our Christian year and faith.  And here we all are at home: I think there’s grief and gratitude there too...

I don’t think I need to spell out the sad stuff of not being together at the church building, but one of the gratitudes, is the chance to PONDER the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem today...and his Last Supper, his command that we love one another, his trial, torture, death, burial and finally his resurrection.  Perhaps we can ponder these...now more than ever.  Perhaps we can pray and study and think….NMTE.

I spent some time early this morning looking at arial footage on YouTube of the ancient road from Jericho to Jerusalem, which goes right through Bethphage, past the Mount of Olives, down into the Kidron Valley and then finally up into the city gates of Jerusalem.  [Posted.]  And I found myself pondering—unlike previous years, honestly—the dry, desert dangers, especially this last leg of Jesus journey from Galilee, the road from Jericho to Jerusalem.  I’ve never been there, but I felt like I went this morning...technological blessings, right?

The relief Jesus and his disciples must have felt when they got to that room in Bethphage: a cool shelter and a place to rest, after being exposed to the harsh elements all day.  Thirsty just watching.  I found myself pondering Jesus looking out over Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, before descending into the Kidron Valley and up to the city walls, knowing what was coming for him in just a few days.

I spent some time this week, even pondering donkeys (Jesus rides in on a donkey)!  Here’s what I learned about donkeys: They’re not dumb, as they’re often described popularly.  Mules are stubborn, as the saying goes, but their stubbornness is all in an effort to protect… themselves and their families, their colts.  They’ve been used as pack animals and even for riding for the more treacherous trails, like at the Grand Canyon, because they’re trustworthy to make better decisions than even horses about keeping you and your things safe.  That’s the stubbornness!  It’s about safety…(or salvation?)  

And did you know this about donkeys?!  Once they’ve bonded to a herd of sheep or cattle or goats or even people, during they night they will bray out a warning to the herd when the donkey senses danger, and then the donkey will even chase down and trample the threat.  They are fierce!  (Shrek :)

OK,  I hope these extra colors to the story I’m offering, add a little more to your pondering this Holy Week.  

—
It’s like this unprecedented time that we’re in is a chance for each of us to climb up, into our own isolated tower.  And here, we could keep the curtains shut...or we could ponder, we could let the light stream in and gaze at the great, colorful landscape, see a far greater view than that view we normally see from down in the midst of our busy streets and stores and schools.  I’m not trying to do a silver lining thing.  It’s just a fact, we’re isolated, towered up, right now, and we’ve got an opportunity to “ponder out the window” at the diverse vista — to see, to take in all the gratitude and all the grief.  ‘Overwhelming’ is the word I keep hearing/using these days.

—
And here’s what Jesus offers this Palm Sunday, as we look out:
Presence - he comes through our gates, meets you in your moment.  Did you get that?  Jesus comes to you—not the other way around.  Jesus shows up where you are.  Christ traverses the harsh, dangerous roads to come alongside you.  Now more than ever.
Humility - he takes the form of a janitor, someone who cleans the bathroom, exposing himself to germs, and doesn’t get paid enough.  Read Philippians again.
Gentleness - in a season where many are not gentle:  words are cruel, actions are selfish.  People grabbing for themselves.  Hoarding.   Rushing to beat everyone else out and to the last ...whatever...on the shelf or on Amazon, Jesus rides into town on a donkey.  And offers gentleness.  Last year, I got a lot more into this as I contrasted Jesus and Divine Peace with Pilate and the Peace of Rome, which of course wasn’t peace at all: it was peace through force and military intimidation.  Bullying on a geo-political scale.  But Jesus offers us God’s peace, gentleness.  And rest.  Now more than ever.
And finally friends in Christ, and a the heart, Jesus offers us salvation.  The people cried out Hosanna, “Lord, save us.”  I don’t think, Hosanna has ever shouldered more meaning and timeliness, NMTE.  Jesus, save us, from the oppression and pain under which we find ourselves.  Save us from the fear and the sickness and the fatigue and the isolation.  Save us, Lord.  Come to our aid!
And, friends — I don’t offer this lightly —
Christ. Does. Save. Us.

That’s what this Holy Week journey, this journey to the cross, this pondering, is all about.  Christ does save us.  Jesus answers our ‘hosannas’.  It might not be what we expected...
...and we have an opportunity this week to ponder from the vista, to take the long overwhelming view, to see and hold it all together.  The pain and the promise.  The horror and the hope.  The loss and the life abundant that is ours, even today.
Jesus meets you now.  Christ embraces you, even when no one else can.  And saves us and this whole world, in love, in peace.  Now more than ever.   Amen.

March 29 -- Fifth Sunday in Lent

Grace to you and peace from Jesus Christ, who raises the dead. Amen.

What strikes me about this text this time around — we’ve seen this before and there’s so much here — but what strikes me now, is that Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life” not at the end, after Lazarus is all raised and showered and fresh and alive, but when death is stinking and things are at their worst.  

There’s a scene right at the beginning of the next chapter where Jesus is actually sitting at a banquet table with Lazarus and Mary and Martha.  Everyone’s together, food is being served, wine is being poured.  You can easily imagine the good smells and the hearty laughter at the table one chapter past this point.  But that’s not where Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life...everyone who lives in me will never die.”  Jesus says this, at exactly the moment when Lazarus is stone cold dead, 4-stinkin’-days-dead in the tomb, when Martha comes at him in bitterness and blame: “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”  (And of course, beneath the anger is always sadness and fear.)  

Friends in Christ, Jesus isn’t just with us in the banquet times — the parties, and the family feasts, and the full sanctuaries — Jesus is with us through it all.  Jesus doesn’t say “I am the resurrection and the life” at the sun-shiny glorious end: he says it right smack in the cloudy-cold-muddy middle.

And we’re in the middle now.  In the cloudy-cold-muddy middle.  Deep in the muddy valley.  Shadows and fears all around.  Slogging through our days.  Anxious and angry.  Sad and afraid.    

We’re right smack in the middle of it, these days.  In this unprecedented season of Lent, this quarantine, this Covid-19 nightmare.  We’ll never forget this time.  But, friends, we have a God who is here with us, in it.

—

And this God, this one Jesus Christ does several things with us, in the cloudy-cold-muddy middle: First of all, Jesus weeps.  

What is that about?!  Especially in the Gospel of John!?  

If you’ve been listening to my interpretations of John’s Gospel over the months, I continually find Jesus to be completely in control, cool and calm.  He loves everyone, but I haven’t seen him lose it before.  After all, Jesus is all divine.  There’s no question about that, according to John.  All these signs, all these miracles (last week: blind man...feeding 5000, walks on water) all these signs all point to his divinity.   

So what’s he cryin’ about!?  He has the power to raise Lazarus! 

If any of us had the power to raise the dead, if I had the power to raise the dead, I’d show up to your house after the  death of your loved one, and I’d be like, “Step aside everyone!  Check this out!”  I don’t think tears would be my issue.  If we had dead-raising powers, we might be serious and stoic, maybe for dramatic effect, but we’d know we had a miracle up our sleeve.  I’m being trite.  Here’s my point:

Jesus, on the other hand, weeps!  Ponder that this week, this long season of quarantine.  I think one could write a doctoral dissertation on this shortest verse in all of Scripture, especially because it’s John’s Gospel, where Jesus is all in control and calm.  I don’t have the answer as to what that’s all about, but I will say:  Jesus weeping points to Divinity also.  

This is not counted as one of the 7 signs, but I think it should be: What kind of a God cries?!  

Ours does.  Tears say, “I’m with you.”  Ever been with a friend when you were really hurting, who didn’t have an answer or any wise words, but just started crying with you?  I’ve never felt so heard, so understood, so accompanied, so embraced.  

Did you see these clips of Hoda on the “TODAY Show”?  Always so professional, so scripted and in control.  This week...after talking with Drew Brees how kindness is also contagious and both saying “We love you” to each other...she just lost it.

And that’s just a tiny glimpse of our God, who so deeply and completely hears, understands, accompanies and loves us.  Maybe that’s what those tears were about...

Christ is here, right smack in the middle of our pain, of our sorrow, of our fear, of our losses, of our anxieties and of our tears.  All this happens — not after the raising and unbinding — but before it, when things really, literally stink!  God is there, present, loving, weeping.  Never felt so embraced.

—

And then, the final sign — the raising of Lazarus is the final sign of the Gospel of John.  The whole second half of the book of John is the Passion narrative.  So this is it, and what a finale this is to (what’s been called) the Book of Signs, the first half of John’s Gospel!

Hearken back to the first sign, when Jesus turned the water to wine back in Chapter 2 of John:  Mary, who was there then and is here at the tomb of Lazarus as well (and will be at the cross), said back at the wedding, “Do whatever he tells you.”  Do you remember that?  She said this to the servants:  “Do whatever he tells you.”  

As Jesus’ seven signs unfold through John’s narrative, Jesus is always giving a command, telling his “sheep” to do something:

whether it’s “fill the jars with water,” or “take up your mat and walk,” or “gather whatever food is left over,” “go wash in the pool of Sent”...and today, “Lazarus, come out!...Unbind him and let him go!”  

Let’s heed Mary’s advice: “Do whatever Jesus tells you.”  Why?  Because when we do what Jesus tells us to do, good things happen…that is, God’s glory is revealed.  When we listen, when we trust, then we see and walk and eat and rise from the dead...and finally understand.

We’re all sheep of the Good Shepherd, remember?  And sometimes we go astray.  And God’s gonna love us and forgive us even when we fail miserably at listening, trusting, seeing and understanding Jesus (that’s the trust of Luke’s Gospel: God’s gonna hold us no matter what)…

But our life becomes abundant when we follow Mary’s advice, and “do whatever Christ tells us to do.”  Today:  Come out!

— 

Not only has Jesus given sight to the blind, health to the sick, food to the hungry, and brought a crazy-good party to the wedding feast in Cana...and to all our feasts and party days over the years, right?!  (In these isolating days, I hope you’re doing some good reflecting and giving thanks for all the blessings of family and community during these days when we’re cut off from that.  I’m going through a lot of pictures and videos of good times.)  Not only has Christ done all this, given us all this, he even raises the dead!

He even brings us through our valleys, through our losses, through our pain, definitely through our tears, through death itself, and gives us life, and life abundant...not just ventilator life, but family and friends and laughter and banquet tables.

This life is ours even now, even in the mud — not just at the Great Feast That is To Come — this “resurrection and life” is ours right now, right smack in the middle.  Right here in our valley of the shadow of death, the Shepherd is with us.  

Now that’s something worth celebrating!  That’s not just a silver lining:  That’s the center.  That’s the center of our gathering.  That’s the center of our faith.  That’s the center of our hope.  That’s the rock in a weary land.  That’s the cross.  

This life abundant, this abiding Jesus, this raising of the dead, this coming out, this rock in a weary land is yours today, 

and through this valley.

and always.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

March 22 -- Fourth Sunday in Lent

So many ways to go here!  We’ve just eaten a banquet of grace-filled, Gospel words...not a Grubhub fast-food leave-it-on-your-doorstep delivery, but our Bible readings this and every Sunday are like a long dining hall table of every kind of food, and family of all generations and from all over the world gathered around, and we pray and feast).  But I’d like to focus on that pool where Jesus tells the blind man to wash: what that meant then, and how this speaks to each of us today.
—
First, Jesus puts mud in his eyes.  I know I’ve spoken before about that great toast that I grew up with: before clinking glasses,  “Here’s mud in your eye!”  That comes from this passage.  “Here’s to seeing things in a new and healthy way!” First Jesus puts mud in his eyes, and then he tells him to go wash off that mud...

This is the 6th sign of Jesus in the Gospel of John.  The 1st you  might remember (anyone know?) is the water-to-wine.  Next Jesus heals the royal official’s son, he heals the paralytic, he feeds the 5000, walks on water.  Then the blind man today.  Then Lazarus.)  All signs point to Jesus’ divinity.
7 signs all together in John.  And it’s no coincidence that there are also 7 days of creation, way back in Genesis.  Jesus is re-creating, re-newing, re-defining, re-freshing the whole creation in these 7 signs.  So, hear these stories and wonders of Jesus in a cosmic, universal context.  They’re always about/symbolizing much more than just one person being healed (or even 5000 being fed) a long time ago...

So today is the 6th sign, right here in the mud of “quarantine”, 40 days, Lent.  Jesus puts mud in the blind man’s eyes and then tells him to “Go wash in the Pool of Siloam (which means Sent).” Go wash in the Sending Waters.

So what does it mean to wash in the Pool of Sent?  In the Sending Bath?  Sounds like a baptismal font to me!  ;)
—
[page/scroll through your worship folder]
See the sections in the box G-W-M-S?
What’s the longest section?  Trick question: Sending...

So again, what does it mean to be washed in the Sending Waters?  In the Pool of Sent (or Siloam)?

The once-blind man’s story gives us some ideas to instruct us for the “longest part of the worship service”:

First of all, being washed in the Sending waters means being healed!  Christ heals us too!  What are your “blind spots”?  Think about that this week.  And know that Jesus puts mud in our eyes too and sends us also past the Sent Pool and out into our lives anew, re-freshed, re-created, re-defined, re-visioning!  Our gathering, even like this, even virtually, around the scripture — ancient words and prayers of Christians who have been backed into corners before — Christ is the mud in our eyes, and then as we pass by those holy waters on the way out  (why we have the font at the back) we have been made new!  Being washed means that we are healed, sisters and brothers, friends in Christ!  We are forgiven and cleaned!

Being washed in “Sent” also means being honest.  “All I know is that once I was blind but now I see.”  Here’s what I know.  Pay attention to your experience.  I feel like 9x out of 10 when a person changes their mind about something (maybe this has happened to you?), it’s not because of a new doctrine that got rammed down their throat; it’s because of an experience:

*All I know is that once I never really cared that deeply for protecting the environment, for example, but then I spent a week in the Rockies hiking and camping…
*All I know is that I was taught that gay people were bad, but then I worked next to Larry…one of the kindest people I know.
*All I know is that I always thought Christians were judgmental and insular and even cruel, and then I came to Bethlehem…

The blind man reminds us to pay attention, and be honest about our experiences, how they affect us, and how they change us.  We could remain unchanged, even with our sight restored… [pause]  But not the blind man: “All I know is that once I was blind, but now I can see.”  For the blind man, everything changes after his sight is restored.

Being washed in the Sending waters also means facing opposition and even aggression calmly.  Did you see how he did that.  He just stuck to his truth calmly, even while the inevitable opposition came on strong.  This breaks with the way it’s “supposed to be,” you see.  The blind man stays calm —and we see — faithful.  He’s not swayed by the fire and fury, the violence of the opposition.

I think that can be so instructive for us these days amid a global pandemic.  Staying calm.  Staying faithful.  Not being swept up in the fire and fury.  Here’s what I know: God is good.  Christ showers us with grace, with new ways of looking at things, with creativity as our vision is radically adjusted, and that the Holy Spirit binds us together and sends us to be hope and joy and peace and grace for one another and for this world...even if we’re doing that from quarantine, from the complicated isolation of this unprecedented, 40-day Lent.

Finally, being washed in Sent means worshipping Jesus...even while others don’t believe or “see”.  Vs. 38:  “He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshiped him.”

On this Fourth Sunday in Lent we too fall down and worship Jesus.  We entrust ourselves to Christ’s mud touch and care and transformative healing and restoration once again.

We give thanks for all that God has done for us — we show that thanksgiving in our tithing and our offerings, and our songs of praise.  ‘Worship’ means worthy.  What is worthy of our sacrifice?  That’s the true object of our worship.  People make sacrifices and put their trust — i.e. people worship — all kinds of things.  The blind man worships Jesus…who loves us, whether we fall down, worship and recognize him or not.
Whether we see it or not.  (Sing with children, “Jesus loves me when I’m good...Jesus loves me when I’m bad…”)

But friends, that gift of new vision is ours this day.  This pool is right over there…We are bathed in those ever-flowing waters of the “Sending”.  And in that, is the peace that passes all human understanding.

That peace is ours this day, and always, in Jesus’ name.  Amen.

March 8 -- Second Sunday in Lent

Consider the thoughts that keep you up at night.  I think those thoughts give us real insight into what is important to us, what really concerns us, or what must be confronted in the day/s ahead.  What are the insights that come to you in the wee hours of the morning, the ideas – like skittish deer that creep up to the creek at dawn?  One sound, one distraction and they’re gone again.  Do you write those ideas down?

I always used to get really frustrated about waking up in the wee hours of the morning, trying to force myself back to sleep.  (I still do sometimes, thinking about all the things for which I need my rest when the sun comes up.)  But I once had a colleague, a friend, a mentor—when I was complaining to her about being awake against my will the night before—say, “Oh, don’t you just love those nights?  Holy time.  I thank God every time I am awakened in the night for no external reason.  That silence, that peace, that time alone with God.  I write, I sit in the darkness, sometimes I just walk around the house.  It is such a gift.”  I always try to think of her perspective when I wake up during the night, mind churning.

Nicodemus, in our Gospel text, must have had one of those rough nights.  I wonder if he couldn’t sleep.  Something was keeping him up too.  This episode follows the dramatic scene in the previous chapter where Jesus overturns the money tables in the temple.  In John, already in Chapter 2, Jesus is driving out the money changers!  And Nicodemus, one of the Pharisees, one of the good teachers and keepers of Jewish law had seen it all.  And something about what he saw or what Jesus said, was keeping him awake.

Nicodemus was a lot like a good Lutheran, by all cultural standards.  He had been in the church for years, he had family that had been in the church for years.  He was one of those legacy members.  He had roots.  He could tell stories about his father and mother and their faithful involvements with the church…the Jewish equivalents to altar guild, choir, confirmation, all the bible study groups.  He knew all the traditional songs, he had watched all the new trends come and go, he had been on councils and committees, he understood the flow of the religious calendar, and he had long eaten the traditional dishes – the ancient Jewish versions of carrot jello, cheesy pasta casserole, lemon bars.  He really knew everything there was to know about religious life.  And the more he thought about it, in those wee morning hours, the more he felt like he really should be the one instructing and inspiring and impressing Jesus.  His words and actions ought to be keeping Jesus awake at night, not the other way around.  Do you know anyone like Nicodemus?  Are you like Nicodemus?  Nicodemus was like a good, salt-of-the-earth Lutheran.  He was one of the charters, on all the boards, the keeper of memories and customs and the great “how we’ve always done it.”  There was a formula for being religious and Nicodemus knew it.  

But something has rocked his safe and familiar world.  There’s something that shook him a little the day before, and he needs to iron it out, clear it up, smooth it over, so he can get back to sleep.  He probably just misunderstood Jesus in that big public display the day before.  “Jesus couldn’t have really meant what it seemed like he was saying, could he?” Nicodemus just needed to clear it up, a little one-on-one time oughta do the trick…(maybe the ancient equivalent to a “strongly worded email”)

Do you think we uber-faithful types could ever have our boats rocked, our tables turned, by Jesus like that?  Could we, who have heard before the message of salvation like 1000x, we who have sung the hymns of the faith, and sampled the potlucks and congregational meetings through the years, like Nicodemus, really have anything more to learn…from one of the most popular passages in the entire Bible – John 3:16 and surrounding verses?      

You know, on a few occasions I’ve had people say to me, regulars, salt-of-the-earth Lutherans say, “You know, I wish [so-and-so] could have been here to hear this message today.  They would have really benefited.”  I think I understand that sentiment…usually comes from a place of concern and love for a close relative or friend, but sometimes it’s almost as if John 3:16, for example, isn’t really for the good church people anymore.  “Yeah, yeah, we’ve already heard this; wish all those others could hear it.”  But “God so loved the world...” is for all of us!  There is more room for all of us to grow in faith, thanks be to God.  Kierkegaard said that the hardest people to reach with the Gospel are Christians.  Either we think we already know it all, maybe like Nicodemus, or we just can’t seem to trust that it’s for us too – the gifts of God.  And the gifts of God are life in the Spirit, unconditional love and grace in the face of our faults.  Rebirth – a gift from God…this is what Jesus discusses with Nicodemus.  Life in the light.  

Rebirth is really all about baptism.  In fact, “being born again” was always a reference in the Christian church to being made new in Christ by water and the Spirit (i.e. baptism)…

until the 20th century, when some made it into a formula:  

Some Christians, mostly in the United States, felt that Christianity was being seriously threatened by the Enlightenment and other philosophical movements in Europe, and started talking (and making threats of their own) about being born again as a formula to avoid the fires of hell.  Every single one of us then grew up in — at least the remnant or the ripple, if not the center — of that early 20th c. theological reaction.  

But we aren’t “born again” by decision or formula.  Decision and formula has nothing to do with Jesus’ main thrust in the Gospel of John!  Rebirth in Christ’s love is what God decides to do for us, and we mark that in baptism with words and water and oil.  God (subject) so loves the world (object).  All we can do is open our hands and trust – “whosoever trusts that God so dearly loves this world, that God was made flesh and embedded into this earth”…all we can do is trust that, and then life in the Spirit is ours.  Trusting that God so loves this world, we then have joy – not “surface joy”, deep joy.  Not just after we die…we will live joyfully and eternally starting now.  Trust is a journey (great Lenten theme), it takes the community of faithful people around you.  And it takes openness, willingness to quiet ourselves and receive a gift (like welcoming a sleepless night), putting down the phone, or the worship folder, and just listening for God.  Sometimes, those of us church folks have the hardest time receiving gifts.  We’re used to giving gifts, not receiving them.  We’re used to offering of ourselves our time and our money.  But this gift of faith, this visit from Christ, is for us too.  (And it comes long before we do any offering.)

I love the honesty of Nicodemus.  His participation in his faith.  His engaging what he always understood to be true.  And his openness to a change in perspective...  

You know, we see Nicodemus again at the end of John: We see Nicodemus “who had first come to Jesus by night” gently taking Jesus’ body down from the cross, wrapping it in linen and anointing it with expensive spices, and laying him in the tomb.  Something changed for this Pharisee.

And I give thanks for a Gospel story of a powerful man struggling with Jesus under the cover of darkness.  Darkness gives us some space to be honest.  In other words, thank God for the night.  Sometimes there are things that are difficult to say by day…even to my spouse Heather.  But if we can lay in the dark at night and say what we need to say, I give thanks for that space, that darkness, to be honest.  Night time and darkness is not just for wickedness and deceit, as it’s often imaged.  The shadows give us some space to be honest before God.  Pillow talk with the Divine, this Lenten season. 

Once again, we may say in the safety and silence of darkness, “God here I am, a sinner, you know my thoughts and my wrongdoings, shortcomings.   And you love me anyway.  I am struggling to be honest about who I am.  Put me back together, God, in this safe space, in the cover of night.  Put me back together to be the human being that you made me to be.  Give me courage.  Give me wisdom.  Give me the willingness to trust in you.”  And God responds to us once again, “I so love you; I so love this world.  Trust and know that I am your God.  I will not forsake you.  And I will give you peace...I will give you rest.”  AMEN.