Sermon on Lent 5C- March 21, 2010

The Holy Gospel According to John 12:1-8…

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ²There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. ³Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor? ⁶(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) ⁷Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

The Gospel of the Lord…

Have you ever stood on a threshold? I remember when I ate my breakfast on the very first day I was going to be in the office here at IPLC. I was completely terrified, and at the very same time, so excited I was barely able to make it through an entire meal sitting down. I was ready to do the work I had been training for years to do, I wanted to stretch my legs and run right into the work of ministry, and at the same time, I was pretty sure I was going to fall all over myself at every turn.

How many of us have waited for that first day- the first day of a new job, a new marriage, a new move. How many of us have stood on the threshold of retirement, a brand new ministry, or a calling to work that seems beyond our capabilities? These thresholds carry every emotion you can imagine with them- excitement, but fear, hope, but sadness, dreams and visions, but perhaps a nightmare as well.

Today, we stand on a threshold, and we stand here with our ancestors of faith through time. This is the last Sunday of our Lenten season, and so on this day, we say goodbye to the season of repentance and renewal, and look forward to journey to the cross. It is both exciting and scary, standing here. But we don’t stand here alone.

We hear the story of our ancestors as they waited in exile in Babylon. They were not home, and yearned for a new thing- and the prophet Isaiah reminded them of their history- of their journey through the red sea, as they stood at the edge of water, seeing its depth spread before them and heard at their heels the gallop of pharaoh’s army. God brought them through that sea, rescued them from their oppression, led them to the Promised Land- led them home. But now, many years later, they wait in exile, captured by and army and brought out to a place that is not their own. So they stand on the threshold of a new future, a new thing that God is doing, a thing that they can barely perceive, let alone trust. A path is going to be made in the wilderness, a river is about to flow in the desert. And they stand on the threshold of a future so unbelievable that it is almost a dream.

But it isn’t just these wandering Israelites who stand on a threshold, our very Savior waits in that place before the wheels begin turning and death comes closer than any of his friends ever could have imagined. We find him this day at his friends’ house, dining with Martha and Mary. We know these sisters, and we most certainly know their brother. Lazarus dines at the table with them, lest we imagine that death does not fill the room. Lazarus, the friend Jesus wept over, shares this meal with him, Lazarus who is barely out of the tomb in which he was buried, Lazarus who lives because Jesus called him out of death, sits at the table with Jesus, the one who will soon be in his own tomb. The air must have been heavy.

Standing a threshold can make you do crazy things. Sometimes when I find myself in this palce, see something opening in front of me, everything makes me cry. I’ll hear a song, sing a hymn, get an email or hear a kind word, and I just start crying. The edginess of a threshold makes us so vulnerable, so open to feeling the in-breaking of the kingdom that we often find ourselves tearing up. Martha, the sister who plans, finds herself on this threshold preparing another meal. She’s done this before, and she’s complained about it. My guess is, she serves by feeding. But her sister, well, Mary has always been the wild card, in our text for today, she is how she always has been. The meal is interrupted, because this sister Mary comes into the dining room, carrying with her a bottle of perfume that would have cost a year’s wages from an average person, and she breaks it open, uncorks it and pours it on the feet of Jesus. We don’t know if she does it because she is so thankful her brother is alive again, we don’t know if she can see a death that is already being planned for Jesus in Jerusalem, we don’t know if she is just so amazed at who Jesus is that she decides to go all the way down the road of vulnerability and show her love for him the most extravagant of ways. But, in that room with her brother only one foot of out of the grave, Mary pours a year’s worth of wages on the feet of her savior, undoes her long hair, and wipes his feet tenderly with each strand. And the entire house is filled with the fragrance of Mary’s sacrifice.

Standing on the threshold of what is unfolding before them, Mary does what Jesus will soon do over a meal with his friends, tying a towel around his waist and washing their feet. He will remind them that when we love each other, we serve each other. We’ve been told to love one another, because Jesus loved us.

There is a profound weightiness to both of these texts, and a choice. In Isaiah we hear the story of what God has already done, how God has already set the people free, led them through the wilderness, saved them from the oppression and the army of Pharaoh. God has made a path for these wanderers where there never was a path before, and now, as they struggle in exile in Babylon, God says that they ain’t seen nothing yet. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Because a new thing is unfolding, and standing on that threshold, these faithful people can decide to cling desperately to the past, remembering only what God has done, or they can walk boldly into the future, trusting that this new thing is so far beyond their wildest dreams that they can’t even imagine what God has in store for them.

And at the dinner table with a man who is hardly back from the grave, with his two sisters, Jesus says the very same thing. As oil is poured over his feet, and his feet are caressed by the hair of a woman who loved him and whom he loved, Jesus reminds us that we ain’t seen nothing yet. Death is coming, Jesus’ burial is coming, faster than we can imagine, but we ain’t seen nothing yet. Because this is going to be a different kind of death. A death that is beyond our wildest dreams, because God is doing a new thing.

We confront these thresholds all the time. And we get to see the past- the stories of the people of faith who have gone before us, the stories of Mary and Martha and Lazarus, the stories of the Israelites, but also, the stories of the people who used to sit next to us in this very sanctuary, the faithful departed- our mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers and friends. We get to hold on to that past, to the way we have seen God’s hand moving among us and through us, and we stare faithfully into the future, a future that we can barely dream of because God is doing a new thing, here among us, in the midst of us, making ways in the wilderness, making streams in the desert.

Sometimes it seems to get worse before it gets better, and in the next weeks we’ll experience that together. We’ll hear the cries of Hosanna as Jesus comes into Jerusalem, but we’ll also hear the cries of crucify him. We’ll see the joy and the hope and feel the fear and the anger.

And in all of it, in the unfolding on Jesus’ passion, in the unfolding of spring, in the movement of our lives, we remember that the threshold of a new season, a new place, a new future, is grounded firmly in what God has already done. In God’s unfailing love and grace. We are grounded in a past faithfulness and look toward a future that is so full of life it is like a dream. A future where paths become clear, even in the wilderness. A future where water flows like rivers, even in a desert. The past, the future, the faithfulness and the promises of our God all find us in this present moment. Right here, people with a past and people with a future, who have the gift to live in the midst of both of these things today. And as the psalmist says, then, on the thresholds of this life, then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with shouts of joy, they said among the nations, the Lord has done, is doing and will do great things for them. Amen, and thanks be to God.

Sermon on Lent 4C- March 14, 2010

The Holy Gospel According to Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32…
Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."
³So he told them this parable: ^11b"There was a man who had two sons. ¹²The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. ¹³A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! ¹⁸I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands." ' ²⁰So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. ²¹Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' ²²But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe — the best one — and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; ²⁴for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.
²⁵Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. ³⁰But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' ³¹Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³²But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'"

The Gospel of the Lord…

Last week we heard a parable with three characters- a vineyard owner, a gardener and his fig tree. It was supposed to surprise us, wake us up, cause us to scratch our heads and ask, is that what Jesus was trying to say? This morning is no different, but perhaps a little harder. Because this morning we confront one of the most well-known and beloved parables found in our holy texts. The parable of the prodigal son.

It is a parable of grace, a parable of forgiveness. It is a parable of homecoming, where fathers hike up their robes and run down the block in order to wrap their arms around their children. We’ve seen it in pictures, most of us have heard it or even taught it in a Sunday School lesson. Which, I must tell you, makes this quite a parable to preach. I’ve heard more than a few sermons on it, and some preachers have gotten a little caught up in presenting this parable as something bright shiny and new, because we just know it too well. They preach it from every angle, from the older brother’s perspective, from the younger brother, from the father, from the other hired hands. One writer even suggested preaching from the perspective of the fatted calf!

I’m not going to try and be that creative with you today. I’m just going to tell you some stories, because what I am most struck by is the way this parable lives among us. So today, we will begin with some modern day parables.

I was called to jury duty this week. I spent most of Monday cramped up in a chair waiting to be called to a courtroom. It was tedious. I was bored. And then, they called panel 21. Along with many others, we filed through the criminal court building and into a courtroom. It was there I saw him. The defendant. He looked like he could be a child. Young. Too young, really. His suit didn’t fit well. It was too big, just like his crime. Accused of murder with a deadly weapon. I made an audible gasp when the judge read the charges, and then I couldn’t stop staring. What happened to you, I thought? What happened to you that brought you here, in a suit that is too big, accused of murdering someone? Don’t you just want to go home? Do you feel so lost, sitting there? Can you even imagine that someone might run down the road, hike up their skirts and flat out run to envelope you in their arms?

Then a chaplain friend of mine called me this week, shook up by a new case. It was the case of a young man, only our age, who had suffered his fair share of depression, who couldn’t go on even one more day. So he took a bottle of pills, and left a note. But not just one note, another handwritten note stuck to his bedroom door to make sure that the hospital knew he had a do not resuscitate order. But what he couldn’t see in the midst of his pain was who was going to be left behind, that his own father would find him and would hold his hand as he lay in a coma and beg him to open his eyes and come home. Perhaps there was no one to help him come to himself, no one to remind him that there was one more place to go as he sat in the midst of the muck and the mire that was all he could see in this life.

I think this is why this parable sticks with us. We can see ourselves and our neighbors in everyone in the text. We have been lost, lost like all of these characters. We have been lost in giving everything away, in being extravagant and lavish in our love and our trust only to face the disappointment of someone we love squandering all we have in dissolute living. We have woken up one day only to find ourselves living among the pigs, so far gone that we don’t know what happened to the grand lives we had planned. And, we have all been standing outside the door, watching the feast and celebration wondering if there really was a place for us, or if the party was always going to be about someone else.

What is supposed to surprise us about this parable? Perhaps that it lives among us, even now. We know what is like to see ourselves and each other lost in the midst of this world, and we know what it means to be found and captured by grace and mercy. Sometimes I am utterly overwhelmed by how much is lost in this world, how many people walk around like the living dead, wishing that someone would even offer them even the pods that the pigs were eating in order to help them feel alive again. Sometimes I am utterly overwhelmed by how often we are so sure that we have gotten where we are all on our own, and the idea of helping one another, of trying to offer a hand to someone in need seems like it somehow throws off the balance of the world, it is just too unfair. But most of all, I am utterly overwhelmed that the father keeps on running down the road, keeps on sharing his inheritance, keeps on giving us the means to try it all on our own, knowing full well that the deepest life is always at home, in relationship with him and with one another.

When we open our eyes to see God’s word living among us, it makes it even harder to remember the beginning of this story. Because our text for today begins as the answer to a question. Jesus is welcoming and eating with some sinners, and so the gathered crowd of religious leaders starts to grumble. And so he tells them three parables- one about a lost sheep, that the shepherd cares so deeply for he is willing to leave all the other 99 sheep out in the pasture in order to find this one. And then he tells the parable of a lost coin, one woman’s tiny coin when she already has nine others, a little coin that she turns her entire household upside down to find. And finally, he tells this story, our parable for today, about three people, and I think more than just one brother who is lost.

And, I wonder, if Jesus sat among us now, if he would tell us other stories. Perhaps a story about how somewhere in this city there sits a man who is young and broken and facing the possibility of a conviction for murder. Or perhaps the story of somewhere in this city where a father is leaning over the bed of his son, wishing that he had the chance to come home again. But it doesn’t end with just the lostness of this life, in our biblical parables or in the world around us.

Because each one of these stories ends with a celebration, a shepherd that rejoices when he finds his sheep, a woman who throws a party for all her neighbors when she shakes out the cushions and finds her coin, a father who kills the fatted calf, invites his hired hands and his friends to celebrate because life has come out of death, what was lost has been found.

We don’t know how this story ends, the best parables never tell us. We don’t know if that older brother waits outside with a scowl on his face and envy in his heart. We don’t know if that younger son becomes a different man because he has been wrapped in this kind of lavish love. I don’t know what will happen to a boy on trail or a family who has lost a son. But we do know that God is a God who searches diligently for us, who will find us no matter how far away we have gone, who will find us even when we are dead in order that we might have life. And we know that our God keeps on throwing parties, keeps on running down the road even when we are far off, keeps on inviting us to the table, because there is always room, there is always a place, there is always abundant grace and mercy to be shared. We had to celebrate and rejoice, he says, because the one who once was dead has found life, the one who was lost, has been found. Amen, and thanks be to God.

Sermon on Lent 3C- March 7, 2010

The Holy Gospel According to Luke 13:1-9…
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. ²He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? ³No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. ⁴Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? ⁵No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."
⁶Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. ⁷So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' ⁸He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. ⁹If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"

The Gospel of the Lord…

Several weeks ago I had one of those moments, that I am sure has afflicted many who listen to the radio in their car. I listen to the radio nearly every time I am in my car, and as most of us know, for many days in the last months pretty much all we heard about what the earthquake and tragedies in Haiti. It was disturbing. I heard reporters start crying as they attempted to describe the devastation. I heard the desperate voices of Haitian Americans describing their numerous and often unfruitful attempts to contact loved ones. But, my moment came a few days after the earthquake as I heard reports about the response of religious leaders. Churches, including ours, jumped to the forefront of providing relief. We, as Lutherans raised millions of dollars to help the efforts of disaster relief. We joined with Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians, and others in responding to the crisis with our efforts. But our response was not the only response. Which leads to my moment. I’m driving along, and I hear that there are some religious leaders out there who are explaining the earthquake as a direct consequence and God’s condemnation for Haiti and Haitians. Their religious practices, which are surely devil worship and voodoo, led to this earthquake, God’s wrath has come down on them. These leaders proclaimed that the Haitians got what they deserved because they made a pact with the devil a long time ago.

I had to pull my car over and pray. I was ashamed that this voice was rising above the proclamation of grace in action provided by so many people of faith. Having heard the cries of children searching for parents, having seen the pictures of bodies lying on bodies, I was angry. You don’t get to put these words of condemnation in the mouth of God.

But this isn’t a new question, because we hear it in the mouths of the crowd gathered around Jesus in our text for this morning. We don’t know much about the events they are describing, but we know that they were both jarring and tragic. Pilate has apparently ordered the death of some Galileans, mingling their blood with sacrifice. And, a tower has fallen, killing 18 people unexpectedly. It is hard to make sense of the why questions. Why were these innocent people murdered? Why did a tower fall on that day at that time? Why did some survive and not others? We heard it in the news reports and the cries coming out of Haiti. Why did some die and others live? Why were there aid workers and missionaries killed, aren’t they good people? What did they do to make this happen to them?

It is when we start coming up with answers that we often end up doing more harm than good. It is when we see the tragic pictures of homes destroyed and people in pain and wonder what they did to bring this destruction upon themselves, and forget that God is sitting in that rubble with them, with a heart that was the first to break. It might be human nature to wonder why bad things happen, and it is probably equally our nature to seek to blame each other rather than live in the pain and the suffering with our brothers and sisters who struggle.

But, Jesus doesn’t give us answers to these great questions. Instead, he asks us to consider our own lives, are they worse sinners, those that have experienced deep pain and tragedy in this life? The answer is no. But, if you don’t repent, you will die as they did.

I read these words about a million times this week. I read them backward and forward, because I wanted to hear promise. And it just sounded like a harsh warning. Unless you repent, you will perish. Ouch.

Tragedy has a way of making us think about our own mortality. I was in college in Michigan when the twin towers fell on 9/11, but within minutes both of my parents were calling me, wanting to make sure I was okay. Hundreds of miles away, seeing those buildings crumble made most of us wonder how long our lives will last. Churches, including mine, were packed that day, as people of faith gathered to pray. Repent or not, the one thing we try to get comfortable talking about here in this sanctuary is that we know we are going to die. None of us can live forever, and sometimes death comes too soon. And it is scary, and it makes us think about how we live today.

So, Jesus tells a parable. Every time that we confront a parable in our gospels, we should be prepared for a shock and surprise, because these stories aren’t fables. When we hear them we are often meant to think that we are one person in the story only realize that who we thought we were doesn’t always end up garnering favor. These parables are supposed to wake us up.

The parable is about a vineyard owner, his gardener and a tree. The landowner goes out to the tree, looking for figs, and finds none. Not a one. He calls over the gardener, cut it down, I have waited for three years, and still nothing- why does it waste the soil? Cut it down! The gardener, quick to reply, asks for just one more year. One more year of putting manure on the roots, one more year of tending, one more year of making sure this little tree gets plenty of water and sun. And the parable ends. We don’t know what happened after that one more year.

It sounds like Jesus is giving a little shout out to his old cousin John the Baptist, the one who lived on the riverbank and ate locusts and honey calling people to repentance. John warned those gathered crowds that if they didn’t get their lives in order, the coming messiah was going to take an ax to their root system. There were also a few tough lines about unquenchable fire. This might be what makes us read this parable and think it is all about judgment. Repent, or die.

But I don’t think that is what this is about at all, and I think that is the most surprising part. I don’t think this is about threats, I think this is about promise. One more year, the gardener says. One more year, and I refuse to give up. One more year, and I am going to do everything in my power to give this fig tree life. One more year.

It isn’t a threat, repent or die, it is a promise, repentance leads to life. Letting go of the sin and the sorrow that drag us down, being generous of spirit and heart, speaking peace and doing justice, reaching out hands of mercy to brothers and sisters who experience tragedy in this sanctuary and around the world, these are the beginnings of life that bears fruit. These are the signs that this is a good year for figs.

I have been approached on several occasions by street evangelists. Every so often I’ll be walking around, minding my own business, and suddenly there will be someone in front of me, thrusting tracts into my hands with some serious worry about my salvation. If you die tonight, what will happen to your soul? They look at me afraid and concerned.

Perhaps they don’t know that it isn’t fear that will keep me awake at night wondering what will happen. What should be keeping us awake at night is the sheer promise of the gift of life, one more day, one more minute, one more second to proclaim love and forgiveness to the world. One more minute to love boldly. One more second to say we’re sorry. One more moment to choose life, real life, in grace of God. One more hour to spend telling the story of what that gardener has done for us. Amen.

Sermon- 18th Sunday after Pentecost

The Gospel According to Mark 10: 2-16

2 Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’ 3He answered them, ‘What did Moses command you?’ 4They said, ‘Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.’ 5But Jesus said to them, ‘Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. 6But from the beginning of creation, “God made them male and female.” 7“For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife,* 8and the two shall become one flesh.” So they are no longer two, but one flesh. 9Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.’
10 Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. 11He said to them, ‘Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; 12and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.’
Jesus Blesses Little Children
13 People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. 14But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. 15Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ 16And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.

This text is the background for the first sermon I ever preached in this congregation three years ago today. I’ll be the first to tell you that things haven’t gotten any easier! I imagine that none of you are surprised to read this text in the bible- whether divorced, single, married, or some place in between, this text isn’t a secret. I am the child of divorced parents- and I remember hearing these verses read in church and thinking, my parents are in trouble. It seemed that they did not do what God wanted.
Now, it would be easy to spend a little time in the Hebrews text for today, even in the text from Genesis, but the words of this passage from Mark sound out in our sanctuary in such a way that they just beg for us to look deeper. They are the elephant in the room this morning. Let me begin by saying that we wade into this text with some fear and trembling, knowing that each one of us brings an experience to God’s word this morning that is significant. I bring the pain of divorce as I experienced it as a five year old girl. Some of you bring the pain of divorce in your own relationships, or in the relationships of children or loved ones. Too often this text has been used as more of a weapon than a tool. Instead of looking deeply into what Jesus might be saying, holding it gently, this text can become a way of knocking people upside the head. Don’t get divorced. As if that is the only answer to the complicated question of human relationships. To the complexity of our human experience God does not answer with a simple yes or no. Always, always, we read our texts as they are wrapped in grace. So with grace at the forefront of our minds let’s dig a bit deeper.
Our text begins with the Pharisees coming to Jesus once again. Now, it was only a few weeks ago that we remember these Pharisees coming to Jesus to ask a different question. They are a set of religious leaders who are intent on bring the community back to the law. To the Pharisees the ignorance of the law has led to the brokenness of their community, anything but the law puts the people in danger, and moves them further away from the religious structure of the day. And when the Pharisees come to Jesus, we often see a little glimmer of bad intent in their question. They don’t really want to know the answer. They just want Jesus to say the wrong thing, so that the one who says he came to abolish the law, who flagrantly ignores parts of what is so important to these Pharisees might get into some trouble. So, these Pharisees approach Jesus to ask him a question- is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?
Simple answer- yes. Moses wrote the law, so it is lawful. These Pharisees obviously know the answer- they are teachers of the law! But, it is even trickier to answer than at first glance. First, the Jewish community was divided on the interpretation of the law. Some suggested that a man could only divorce his wife if she committed adultery. Other communities suggested that it was permissible if she did anything that displeased him. Rarely, if ever, could a woman divorce her husband. And, not only that, but we ought not forget that only a few chapters ago Jesus’ own cousin, John the Baptist, lost his head after condemning the King for divorcing his wife in order to marry his brother’s wife. So, this question of divorce has a lot riding on it.
So we have this question hanging in the air, and it appears that Jesus isn’t ready to give a simple answer. Is it lawful to divorce? Why doesn’t he just answer yes or no? Why not give a simple answer to this simple question? Apparently, because it isn’t so simple. When faced with this tricky questions Jesus has a way of leaving the question behind and bring scripture to the foreground.
So he tells them the story from the beginning when God created. God made all of creation that they might be joined together. And the hardness of heart buried deep within that creation got in the way, and Moses wrote for the people the commandment. What God has joined together, no one should separate. That’s all Jesus tells those questioning Pharisees. The rest comes later.
Many of us have heard these words used as a way to explain who should and shouldn’t be allowed to get married. I don’t think Jesus is saying much about that here, actually. He is saying some pretty difficult stuff, especially for us who are so frequently touched by divorce.
But, let’s keep going. Alone with the disciples Jesus goes even further, saying that whoever divorces and marries another commits adultery.
Geez. We could do some textual backflips and try to make it seem like Jesus wasn’t really saying what he said. I don’t think that is fair to this text. We can just say it is bound in time and walk away. Or we can even say that if something like this exists in scripture than this is not the kind of community we want to be a part of. But, imagine with me that Jesus is saying something difficult about divorce. And here’s what I think he is saying:
Divorce hurts. Divorce hurts. As the child of a divorce, I can tell you, Jesus is right, it hurts. Divorce hurts and God cares. Divorce is literally the ripping apart of two that have become one. And when we rip apart relationships it just plain hurts. I don’t care if you are married in a church, in a courtroom or in another kind of ceremony that seals your union- when we unite in those intimate ways with the person most important in our lives, when that relationship breaks, when that vulnerable, intimate relationship is ended it hurts. It hurts and God grieves.
I think the greatest lesson we can gather from this text is not about divorce being a yes or a no, but about divorce being something that goes against God’s intention for our creation. Anyone who has been touched by divorce knows this to be true. This is not what a family would choose, this is not what partners would choose. But it happens, and when it does, we come with deep grief, and deep pain. Knowing this is not how anyone wanted it to be. Now, please hear this, divorce is not tied to salvation. Divorce is not even tied to God’s love for you. You need not be concerned about your salvation, because that is a gift of grace through faith. And because we know that God loves us, despite ourselves, even when we break covenantal relationships with each other, we can hear this text with new ears. When our community is broken, especially when our community is broken by divorce, God deeply cares. God’s care for the most vulnerable, for children, for widows, for those plunged into the vulnerability of life by the act of divorce, God deeply cares. Jesus deeply cares. What has been brought together can only be broken by the most painful of actions.
But beyond the question of divorce, Jesus seems a bit more confused and distressed by the hardheartedness that wins the day. Men are permitted to divorce their wives when something better comes along, casting these women out with no safety net because their hearts are hardened. The disciples ignore the plight of children being brought to Jesus in order to receive a healing touch because their hearts are hardened. What Jesus cares most deeply about, in our text, is those who are left out, those who are most broken, most vulnerable, most alone. The work of God through Jesus is always to bring unity, to bring healing where things and people have been torn apart.
When we come to the table together, we are broken and we are hurting, we are divorced and we are married, single and in committed relationships, we are men and we are women, we are children and we are adults. God cares, God cares deeply for us, whatever we bring to the table, because that is who God is. Jesus cares for the most vulnerable above all else, seeking to heal what is broken in our world and in our lives. And because of that deep care, we are able to eat of one bread and one body, we take the flesh of Christ into our own flesh, and we are recreated, healed, and united. Our hard heartedness might fall away, for just a moment. That we might see in this bread and wine the one who is most concerned, who is most grieved by our brokenness, who is most with us in our pain and in our struggle. The one who can never be torn from us, because we have been joined to Christ in baptism. And what God has brought together in this, no one, even ourselves, can ever separate. Amen, and thanks be to God.

Sermon- 17th Sunday after Pentecost

The Gospel According to Mark 9:38-50

38 John said to him, ‘Teacher, we saw someone* casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.’ 39But Jesus said, ‘Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterwards to speak evil of me. 40Whoever is not against us is for us. 41For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
Temptations to Sin
42 ‘If any of you put a stumbling-block before one of these little ones who believe in me,* it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. 43If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell,* to the unquenchable fire.* 45And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell.*,* 47And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell,* 48where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.
49 ‘For everyone will be salted with fire.* 50Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it?* Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.’

$7,909.62, 24 hours, not one single set of verses read together. This is the stuff of Salvation on the Small Screen, a book written by an emerging church Lutheran pastor named Nadia Bolz-Weber. She is challenged to spend 24 consecutive hours watching Trinity Broadcast Network, a 24 hour cable channel dedicated commercial free, inspirational programming.
$7,909.62 is the total of all the items offered for sale on this commercial free channel. Dvd’s, bibles, even Faberge style eggs. 24 hours is the challenge. Recording her responses and the responses of family and friends fill the pages of her book. She calls her task- Christian Fear Factor.
Now, I lived my own little share of Christian Fear Factor in college. I grew up Lutheran, along with all that might mean. No one ever told me growing up that I needed to ask Jesus into my heart, we didn’t talk a lot about the devil, Sunday texts were always from the lectionary, not to supplement a sermon series, I never heard the phrase spiritual warfare until college. I could talk up and down about saint and sinner, I knew pretty much all the words to A Mighty Fortress, I was a big fan of Martin Luther.
So, I pack myself up, and for a reason I still don’t truly understand, I drove down to Hope College, a small Christian Reformed school in West Michigan. I am one of the few Lutherans on campus, and everyone else seems to know music I’ve never heard before, in fact, they seem to know a Jesus I’ve never met before. They can pull verses out of the bible like no tomorrow. And, because I’m in college, and because I have always had a bit of a rebellious streak, I decide that I’m going to be the liberal Lutheran voice on campus.
All of this sets the scene for an evening during my senior year. We had worship three times a week, and a big worship service on Sunday evenings. I’m there, with all my friends, none of whom are Lutheran, and most who think I’m a little off my rocker. Worship is great, I’ll give it that. The huge worship space is packed. It is energetic and enthusiastic. People are there because they really love Jesus. Worship ends, and another student taps me on the shoulder. Brooke, he says, I just have to tell you, God’s laying this on my heart, I’m worried about your salvation.
Wait. I’m Lutheran. We aren’t a people who can worry about our salvation. We can’t do it, because we know once we start we’ll never stop. So we give all the stuff of salvation over to God. That’s what my people do- we trust in grace alone. We don’t worry.
For the writer of Salvation on the Small Screen, and for myself, I must tell you, I would really like to get some of the disciples from our gospel today with me to say, “We saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he is not with us!” I’d like to get a little Joshua response from our Old Testament lesson and say, “They don’t get to prophesy! Lord you must stop them!”
For those of us that gather here Sunday after Sunday, my deep hope is that we are Lutheran for a reason. It isn’t just because this is the closest church and we don’t want to have to walk too far on a Sunday morning. I hope that in this place we have found a way of seeing God that seems true, that bears the fruits of the spirit, that soothes our souls and connects us with something bigger than ourselves. I’m a Lutheran pastor because I love being a Lutheran- I love living into the questions, I love that we don’t know all the answers, we have such a deep theological tradition that I really can’t imagine being anything else.
The disciples and I are of the same tribe. They are nine chapters into the gospel of Mark, and even if they keep getting confused and they always seem to be one step behind, they aren’t going anywhere yet. They are following Jesus, even when he keeps telling them things they don’t want to hear. They want to be with him, maybe even be like him.
So, no surprise, when someone starts casting out demons in Jesus’ name they are the first to put a stop to that crazy business. You don’t get to do that unless you are with us, you don’t get to do that unless you are one of us. I mean, how is Jesus supposed to know that these demon casters are even good theologians? How is he supposed to know that they are worthy of the ability to cast out demons? We must remember, only a few scenes earlier in our text, the disciples themselves couldn’t cast a demon out, so how can these outsiders be doing the business of disciples?
It’s pretty scary when we get a glimpse into the methods God will use to bring about the kingdom. It’s pretty scary to look straight in the face of someone who is worried about my salvation because I’m a bit too liberal, and realize that God is going to use him, just like God uses me to bring about God’s purpose for the world. God is going to use the Lutherans and the evangelicals and everyone else in between, and that is a hard truth, because it means that those holes in our theology? They are getting filled by someone else. Those thin parts of our tradition? Someone else might be getting it a bit closer to right than us.
But, that does not mean that anything goes. I can tell you, if you leave this sanctuary this morning and start quizzing people at work about their salvation, you’ve probably missed the point. Because, there are consequences, and Jesus makes them all sound pretty harsh. Cut off your hand, pluck out your eye, cut off your leg. Put a millstone around your neck and jump in Lake Michigan. Cause a little one to stumble, and it would be better to lose your tongue than continue on that path.
This is the part I would rather ignore. Jesus just sounds harsh. He is demanding and serious, and not warm and fuzzy and holding babies like last week. There is fire and salt, and body part plucking. Jesus sounds like he should be the first one in line to tell that renegade demon caster that he better get with them or he is against them. Jesus is not kidding around when it comes to sin, and the stumbling of believers.
This is serious stuff, the stuff of sin and relationship to one another. The stuff of God’s kingdom and the ways that we break our relationships with others and with God. How serious? Serious enough that we ought to be cutting off those parts of ourselves that cause others to stumble, serious enough that we don’t just pretend everything is okay, we know that we get it wrong again and again and again. Law and gospel is the stuff of our lives- and the law is not a teeny tiny blip on the screen- we ought not live in ways that break down our neighbors, that silence them and cut them off from God, we ought not teach in ways that break relationship with God, or reinforce sins of injustice. But along with that law, we always see gospel. The Gospel of freedom, the gospel of promise, the gospel that is our salvation.
God uses all of us, broken sinners with incorrect teaching and broken relationships. God uses us, even when we seek to silence one another. Knowing who God is, and how far God will go, and who gets to be in the circle with us, it is pretty scary stuff. As in the book of Numbers, the Lord has put the spirit on you, on me, on our friends who disagree with us, and on disciples who just don’t get it. And for that, with fear and faith, we say, thanks be to God. Amen.

Sermon- 16th Sunday after Pentecost

The Gospel According to Mark 9:30-37
30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.’ 32But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Who Is the Greatest?
33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ 34But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. 35He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’ 36Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.

“You faithless generation- how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you?”
They were afraid. They were afraid, and they seem to be afraid pretty much all the time. Perhaps it is because it was only one scene earlier when Jesus said that to them, ‘how much longer must I put up with you?’ At every turn, these twelve disciples just don’t understand. They just don’t believe. They just can’t figure him out. And Jesus is starting to get a little short with them. How much longer must I put up with you?
He is talking about dying again. They still don’t understand, it is a bit of a refrain in the gospel of Mark. Jesus tells them what is in store, and they don’t really know what he is talking about. But, surely they remember him yelling at them only moments earlier, when a little boy lay sick and possessed by a demon, foaming at the mouth and writhing on the ground. The disciples can’t cast it out. They don’t know why. Jesus makes it look so simple. And then Jesus is stern with them, and they still don’t know what they have done wrong, and it just gets more confusing and so they stop talking.
Well, that is not exactly true. They stop talking about Jesus dying. They stop asking questions. When they don’t understand, instead of confessing him to be the Messiah like Peter last week, those gathered disciples remain silent. They are afraid to say anything, because they seem to keep landing on the wrong thing. They are afraid to ask Jesus, because he seems tired of their questions and they never seem to get it right.
So, because the dying stuff seems to be the most confusing, the disciples choose to take the silent approach. But, they aren’t ready to remain silent on all questions. In fact, on their walk from Galilee to Capernum, they are having a pretty heated argument- about who is the greatest.
Bizarre, right? I mean, who among us walks with a friend and lists out all those things that make us the greatest? We’re smart, charming, earn a good salary, volunteer for the right committees, have a happy family, find time to go to the gym… this is not the way we have been raised to talk about ourselves. Who among us wonders if they are the greatest? But, argue on this point those disciples do.
Who among them is the greatest? We don’t know if they resolve the argument, or if they are each harboring one really great comeback to defend or assert their position when Jesus asks them what they have been talking about. Silence. When it comes to telling Jesus what is knocking around in their heads, nothing seems to come out of their mouths. Maybe because they are afraid again. Afraid to ask the wrong questions, say the wrong things, not get it one more time.
It is easy to get afraid these days. There is a fair amount of fear going around in the larger Lutheran church. Not too many weeks ago, the greater church made some decisions regarding sexuality that are pretty tough for some to swallow. As I heard speakers at that churchwide assembly, many of them cried because it felt like the church they knew has been ripped away from them. But, other speakers would come to the microphone and cry because it felt as if the church they loved left them high and dry once they thought about bringing their same sex partner around to worship.
The fear has been building for a long time. Fear for some that the church will split in half, that we won’t be the people we have always been. Fear for others that they just can’t take another no, they just can’t take another disappointment, they just can’t deny their call to ministry and their sexual orientation anymore.
The fear is building. Some people are talking about leaving, some churches are wondering if they can still be a part of the ELCA anymore. The fear is building. Some are talking about death. The death of our faith. The death of the ELCA. Some say it is inevitable. Others suggest that we have just taken the first step toward being the church Jesus calls us to be.
When the fear builds, it seems like some of us get a little silent, and start the wrong conversation. We start talking about which churches are the most accepting, which churches are the most progressive, which churches are stuck in the past, which ones are inevitably going to leave. Urban, rural, suburban, inner city. The lines get drawn. Who is happy and who is sad? Who is angry and who rejoices? Who is the greatest at welcoming? Who is the greatest at remaining true to the gospel?
We might not be willing to say it out loud, but a lot of us are talking about who is the greatest among us, and we’re missing the point. It isn’t about who is growing and who is dying. It is easy to spend our time talking about growth rates when we’re just plain afraid. It is easy to make lists and congratulate ourselves or think longer and harder about snappy comebacks for those who disagree with us.
Ordering ourselves when we are afraid is the easiest of things. Marking our territory, making a list of who is in and who is out makes the fear a little less poignant, a little less severe. Congratulating ourselves or wondering if now is time to walk away doesn’t help us to live into the fear, it just makes its boundaries even more clear.
Jesus tells those disciples, that all the ordering, all the one-upping, all the self-congratulation, it really isn’t the main thing anymore. The main thing is being a servant. The main thing is being last of all, not first. The main thing isn’t self-congratulation, but self-service.
They sit around him, and Jesus takes a child and puts it in their midst. It seems like it must be a pretty cute scene, right? A baby held in the arms of Jesus, welcomed into the circle. But it isn’t meant to be cute. It isn’t meant to be cuddly. Children, in the ancient world, were the most disposable of commodities, they often didn’t live into adulthood, and weren’t of much value until they could serve the family. So Jesus isn’t giving these disciples a lesson in loving babies, he’s giving them a lesson in seeing the world through new eyes. If they are looking for Jesus, they ought to be looking to those on the outside of the circle. That’s where he is going to be. That’s where God is going to be.
The fear turns us in on ourselves, but Jesus isn’t having any of that. Those left out in the cold, those who can’t see God anymore, it is in their company that Jesus is going to be hanging out. Because that is what he does- that’s the kind of God he is. Not the God of the self-congratulators, but a God of the losers and the broken.
After the votes made by our larger church, many wept openly. I was certainly getting out the Kleenex myself. I couldn’t help but cry for my brothers and sisters who finally feel like they have a place here. And I couldn’t help but cry for my brothers and sisters who were walking out. Who couldn’t stay with us anymore. It isn’t about ordering who won and who lost. It isn’t about that at all. It is about seeing the fear and the uncertainty in our future, and living in the midst of all of it. Holding our brothers and sisters in pain and in joy, and being a community with all of them. Finding Jesus in the midst of all of them. Not because anyone is the greatest, but because all are broken, and need a God exactly like ours. A God who hangs out with the lost, the ignored and the broken, who is found always with the last and the least. Amen, and thanks be to God.

5th Sunday after Easter Sermon

Today is a day of incredibly rich texts. We hear from 1st John about love, love that conquers all, centered in a life that is full of the spirit. We love because we have been loved, we love because when we dare to love each other, we encounter the God that we cannot see. We love because God is love, God is the love that we breathe in on a bright spring morning, and the love that shelters us in the storm. And then we read the gospel of John and hear the words of Jesus reminding us just where that love comes from- a love that abides in us, not as a threat, but as a promise. God abides in us, Jesus hangs around inside of us. We cannot do anything apart from God, because God is all around us, inside each one of us, cleansing us and helping us to bear fruit.

There are so many possible sermons today that we could be here for hours, just reveling in these texts. A friend of mine tells the story that in one congregation, if the pastor got on a bit of a roll, tried to preach on everything , the congregation, instead of shouting amen, would start to shout, can’t preach it all pastor! In order to prevent your eyes from glazing over, we’re going to spend our morning carrying these rich texts from this fifth Sunday after Easter with us as we encounter the story of the Ethiopian Eunuch.

We have dropped into the book of Acts pretty far into the narrative. It is after Pentecost. The spirit of God has descended on the people, and they have received these crazy tongues of fire. They have been sent out literally burning with the Holy Spirit. And things are getting a little intense. They have been called to go and spread the gospel to the entire world, and at times that world is not prepared for the message they are bringing.

Philip and his colleagues have been preaching and teaching and doing some miracles. They have been waiting tables and feeding people, and the spirit of God has been moving. But there is severe persecution of this budding church. Only a chapter earlier in the book of Acts, Stephen, a contemporary of Philip and another apostle has been stoned to death because of his words. Saul who will soon encounter God on his journey has not yet been renamed Paul and seeks to kill and destroy the church and all who profess to be Christians.

It isn’t a safe time, but the spirit continues to push these apostles out into the world to spread the news. Philip has been sent to Samaria, and we all remember stories of those low-down, no good Samaritans. It was a Samaritan woman that met Jesus in the heat of the day at the well, it was a Samaritan man who unexpectedly stopped to help the one left beaten on the side of the road. Not much was expected of Samaritans, and to imagine that Samaritans would become believers was almost like a pipe dream.

And yet it happens in the book of Acts. Philip’s preaching has people falling on their knees, demons running for the hills, the paralyzed walking and the sick leaping for joy at their cure. He is, without a doubt, rocking the pulpit. You might want to consider him the Billy Graham of his generation. People know his name, they flock to him in order to see miraculous signs and hear amazing preaching. People were receiving the spirit left and right.

Yet then we hear that in a dream, God tells Philip to leave Samaria. He is to go south, on a wilderness road. It is important to note here that whenever you see the word wilderness in our biblical text it usually designates a place you don’t want to be. The wilderness is usually a place of desolation, a place of temptation, a place full of danger and uncertainty. Our famous preacher has a dream, and in that dream he is sent out on a road of danger and desolation. Had it been you or me, I imagine we might have had something to say about such a call. People in Samaria are converting like crazy, Philip is growing in fame and reputation, and if I were him, I’d really be into staying put. But Philip doesn’t even appear to bat an eye, just packs his things and heads out to where God is calling him. Perhaps he had heard that passage from John- knew without God he couldn’t do anything and so he was ready to follow God’s lead and not his own. Perhaps he had heard about Jesus being the vine, pruning him, abiding with him in order that he might bear good fruit. Philip was preaching, teaching and doing miracles, but it appears that he knew better than most of us- he knew that this life he was leading wasn’t going to lead up to much unless he kept listening and doing the work of God.

So here we are, with famous preacher Philip on a wilderness road in the middle of the day. And suddenly a chariot comes by. Inside it is an Ethiopian eunuch. He is reading the scripture, something usually done aloud, and Philip hears him. This is the wilderness road moment, it is the moment when being called makes sense, as that chariot rolls by, and Philip hears the book of Isaiah being read, it all comes together. He is here for this very reason, and without pausing for a breath, Philip is at the door of that chariot and asking that Ethiopian if he understands what he is reading.

“How can I, unless someone guides me?” he says. And now, let’s pause here for a minute. We have Philip, super preacher extraordinaire, on a wilderness road and now inside the chariot of this Ethiopian eunuch. We have an Ethiopian Eunuch who is a treasurer of the queen, considered only half a man and not allowed into the temple because of his disability. He’s reading scripture, but he is not sure he understands what he is reading. They talk, Philip sharing the stories of Jesus Christ, the eunuch asking the questions no one has answered for him before.
And here is the most amazing part of the story. On that journey, as they talk and ask questions, as the spirit moves between them, on that dry, desolate wilderness road, they come upon a pool of water. The chariot stops. The eunuch looks at Philip and says, “what is to keep me from being baptized?”

This is the million dollar question for that eunuch on the road, and for us gathered today. Just last week we celebrated four baptisms. In the coming weeks we will celebrate even more, as we rejoice with families in this congregation who are ready to make promises to their children around our life together. They are going to bring those babies and toddlers to the waters of baptism- and the question we have to ask is, “what is to keep them from being baptized?”
For that travelling eunuch we know what was to keep him out of those waters. He wasn’t even allowed in the temple because the world considered him a half man. He wasn’t from Jerusalem, wasn’t even a Jew by birth. He didn’t understand the scripture, he wasn’t in the in-crowd, and honestly, he was a sinner to boot. For those of us that gather at these waters, the same is true. We’re lost sinners, broken, and breaking, people who seek to follow Christ and get lost on the way every time. What is to prevent us from being baptized? I’ll be the first to tell you, everything. Everything is to prevent us from being baptized, because it is in baptism that we become a part of God’s eternal family. It is in baptism that we call ourselves Christians, it is in the waters of baptism that we believe we find salvation and freedom. What is to prevent us? Everything. All the things we do to turn our backs on the promise, all the sins we have committed and are going to commit. Everything should keep us out of those waters.

But what that Ethiopian Eunuch discovered on that wilderness road, and what we discover in baptism, is that it isn’t about us. If we were the ones doing the work, than everything would stand in our way. If we were the ones who had to live up to the promise, than everything would be against us. What is to prevent us from being baptized? What is to prevent us, when we know it isn’t about us, but it is about God? Nothing stands in our way, nothing blocks us from the waters of baptism, because we aren’t the ones doing the action. It is God. God meets us in the water and God’s promises wash over us, despite ourselves, regardless of ourselves. God meets us in the water no matter who we are- liars, lepers, famous preachers, lonely people, broken people, sinners. God meets us in the water and there is nothing to stand in our way, because of who God is. The promise is for everyone. The promise is bigger than we could ever imagine. The promise of grace is wildly inclusive.

The eunuch goes away from that place rejoicing. He rejoices wet, covered in waters of baptism, he rejoices because his questions were answered. What is to prevent him from being baptized? What is to prevent him from becoming a part of our eternal family? With God, with radical inclusive grace, nothing. Nothing. So let’s rejoice. Let’s rejoice with wonder at this gift. Let’s rejoice because love has triumphed again. Love has conquered death. Love has covered us with water and called us God’s own. Despite ourselves, only because of God. Amen, and thanks be to God.