Author: MASadmin

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Mark 1:9-15

My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 18, 2018) on Mark 1:9-15. Listen to the recording at the bottom of the page or read my manuscript below.

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So if it’s okay, I’d like to do something a tad different today. In honor of Mark’s version of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness being the shortest version we have, I’m going to be a little shorter today too. At merely 1 verse in length, Mark’s description of Jesus’ time in the wilderness lacks the details we might expect. Mark tells us that Satan, the devil, tempted Jesus but we don’t really know what that means. Matthew and Luke will expand that story, giving us details about what Satan will do to the Son of God. But Mark doesn’t do that. Mark, instead, gives us an intriguing detail, inviting us to use our imagination to visualize, expand, and dig into what that detail might mean. And then Mark rushes to the next thing. Jesus was in the wilderness, hanging out with wild animals in an untamed place where only God could be in control – and then Jesus learned that John the Baptist was arrested. John, as we find out later, spoke out against the sexual coercion and abuse the king did in his quest for more power and control. The king tried to silence John only to have Jesus respond instead. Jesus in Mark jumps quickly from his baptism to his preaching and teaching in the world. And If we read this passage too quickly, we might think we’re supposed to skip over those 40 days that are full of trials, hardships, dangers, and mystery. If we read too fast, we can skip past the evil, skip over struggle, and just move on to the next part of the story. But sometimes moving on is something we can’t do. Sometimes we’re in that wilderness, in that evil, in that struggle, and in that place where life is hard. There are times when living through our life rather than just skipping over to the next part is the only thing we can do. And when we’re caught up in those moments, that doesn’t mean God loves us less.

Kate Bowler is a professor of North American Religion at Duke Divinity School. She just released a new book that I haven’t read but it is on its way to my house. It’s called “Everything happens for a reason and other lies I’ve loved.” It’s a memoir of sorts because Kate found herself, at the age of 35 married, with a 1 year old, working her dream job, and living her best shiny and bright life – and then she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. She’s still undergoing treatments but is actively promoting her book, giving interviews, and even launched her own podcast. Her writing and interviews are rooted in being where she’s at: caught up in this moment where her mortality is very real, very present, and where she has to make decisions she never expected to make. She can’t skip or spend her energy on the next part of the story that’s all shiny and bright. She’s living in a moment that’s hard. And she knows it’s hard. And she values those around her who say, out loud, that this is hard. And awful. And full of mystery. If I was describing her story, I’d say she’s living in the wilderness, living in an untamed place, living in her version of Lent but that doesn’t mean God loves her less.

This living in Lent…living in what is hard…is not an easy thing to do. If we had our choice, we won’t really want to be there. Who wants to struggle, and cry, and know that we might not get back to the way we were? Who wants to have to admit that life is going to keep getting harder? And who wants to know how broken they truly are? In a world where every moment is supposed to be about living your best life, living in Lent seems downright strange. Because when we live in Lent, we admit who we truly are. We admit that life isn’t always shiny and bright. And we admit that we will struggle, that we will make mistakes, and that we will try to run away from what’s hard. But there’s one more admission we get to make. We know and trust that we are not the only one who lived through Lent, lived with struggle, and lived with suffering. We know that Jesus did too. And his 40 days with the wild beasts, Satan, and temptation was just one of his Lents, one of many moments when life was hard – like when his friends left him, and denied him, and when he suddenly found himself alone. Jesus didn’t rush through his Lents and he doesn’t ask us too either.

Instead, Jesus knows there are moments when life is hard. There are moments when we wish we could skip to the next part of our story. Living in Lent means living in what’s hard, in what might feel untamed, wild, and full of grief. It’s a moment we aren’t asked to like. And this moment might last way longer than just 1 verse or 40 days or even a decade. But even when we are caught up in those moments, we are not living in them alone. Because the Jesus who was in his wilderness is in yours too. And he isn’t trying to only help you survive. Jesus is here to love us through our Lent and he bring us to the other side.

Amen.

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“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

My sermon from Ash Wednesday Evening Service (February 14, 2018) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21. Listen to the recording at the bottom of the page or read my manuscript below.

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I always expect my ash making for Ash Wednesday to be loud. But so far, the sound has always underwhelmed. You would think, with all the different tools I use to make ashes, that loud sounds would be part of the process. I need a large metal coffee can, a bunch of matches, and a deep stack of dried palm fronds. I take all of this to the barbecue pit outside the church. I have plenty of opportunities to make something loud. I could, for example, drop the metal can and listen to it clang and clang and clang as it rolled down the parking lot. And, when I finally get to the pitl, setup the coffee can, and stuff the palm fronds into it, I should hear a loud WHOOSH as I light the extremely dry, extremely brittle, and extremely fragile palm branches. And since I’m lighting this fire outside, the everyday loudness of the outside world should show up. The cars on Pascack Road usually honk. The giants trucks, as they drive by, rattle and rumble the building. And I’m always on the lookout for a low flying airplane making a dull roar as it prepares to land at Teterboro airport. I even half-expect a fire engine from the Woodcliff Lake Fire Department to stop by with its siren wailing, wondering why there’s so much smoke coming from the grounds of the church. The ash we will use tonight was made in the middle of the day, during the middle of our everyday life. And my everyday life expects some kind of loud noise. But in all the years I’ve burned palms here in Woodcliff Lake, the loud sounds I expect never come. Instead, it’s always the silence that surprises me.

I don’t know what it is about Ash Wednesday but, for me, today is a day filled with a very full silence. Even the loud sounds that I know will come, like the bellowing of the organ and the cry of a 3 year old child, seem to be less intense than normal. When I prepared the ashes for today, the clang of the metal can bouncing on the top of the metal grill didn’t disturb me like it’s suppose do. And the pops and crackling of the burning palm fronds was barely audible. I found myself over the last several days falling into an old Ash Wednesday pattern where I keep asking people to repeat themselves because, even though they’re speaking at their normal volume, the silence of this day keeps drowning them out. The sounds of everyday living – from ash making, to cars honking, to the music we sing – on Ash Wednesday, these sounds collide with a day that is already full. Because Ash Wednesday isn’t just another day on the church calendar. Ash Wednesday is an interruption of our everyday expectations.

And this interruption starts with the date itself. For one thing, Ash Wednesday takes place on Wednesday. It shows up in the middle of our week. And it’s never the same date year to year. It can show up in early-February or right next to President’s Day Weekend or skoot all the way into early March. Ash Wednesday can even show up on Valentine’s Day, which it hasn’t done since 1945 but will do again two more times before the year 2030. Ash Wednesday this year has inspired reporters, theologians, pastors, and priests to interrupt their normal routines and have a little fun. They’re busy sharing punny memes online, creating Lent-friendly heart shaped candies, and writing a bunch of articles wondering if it’s okay to eat Chocolate on this first day of Lent. Whatever our expectations for what this 2nd full week of February is supposed to bring, Ash Wednesday shows up, interfering and disrupting our normal routines. It inserts itself, almost without asking, into the busy school, work, sports, and life schedules we’ve already created. And when Ash Wednesday shows up, it does something a little odd. The day isn’t, I think, trying to give us one more thing to do. Even though we’re here at church and some of us will have ashes placed on our face, we’re not here trying to just fill up our time with our actions. Ash Wednesday isn’t a day centered on what we do. You’re here but it isn’t to do something. Rather, you’ are here to rediscover who you really are. Ash Wednesday interrupts the ways we fill up our time and our sense of self-worth by doing and doing and doing – And instead invites to remember who and what we already are. And that Ash Wednesday proclamation is declared during the silence.

There are moments in today’s service that will be silent. There will be long pauses after the readings and space between prayers. There will be times when the silence might feel awkward and you might try to fill it either out loud or with thoughts racing through you mind. But I invite you to hold off, accept that awkward feeling, and just let the silence be. Because that silence isn’t empty. It’s really full of words. And its words are centered in one sentence that begins with the word, “Remember.”

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Dust, on its own, cannot live or move or make much noise. There’s nothing that dust can really do. It cannot fill its time or run around doing all that it can to give it some sense of meaning. When it comes to what is eternal, when it comes to the divine, dust…can’t say much. Instead, dust can only sit in its silence – and wait for a sound that gives it meaning. Wait for a voice that says it matters. Dust needs that word that says its loved. On Ash Wednesday, the silence is a paradoxical kind of place. On one hand, we are confronted by who we are and our own mortality. And yet, in that very same moment, we are assured of the eternal promise God gives to us. Whether you chose to wear the ashen cross on your forehead today or not, all of us carry that mark of Christ. We carry this silent sign of who we are and who we belong to during every moment of our everyday live. And in those moments when we are surrounded by bellowing noise and in others moments when silence is all we have, Jesus promises that you are known and loved. Your imperfections will not cause God to abandon you. And the promise of God’s love for you doesn’t end because of what you ever you’ve gone through. t’s through our connection with Jesus Christ that we learn to stop trying to fill up our lives and we discover how Jesus fills us with His life instead. The silence of this moment, the silence of this Ash Wednesday, is how God interrupts our life right now to tell us that we are known, that we are seen, that we are cared for and that we will be, forever, loved.

Amen.

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As soon as [Jesus and the disciples] left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Mark 1:29-39

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Epiphany (February 4, 2018) on Mark 1:29-39. Listen to the recording at the bottom of the page or read my manuscript below.

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I want to ask you a question: what did you do to prepare yourself to hear scripture today? I’ll be honest and say that sometimes, when I am in the pews, I do nothing to prepare myself for any scripture readings. Some days, just being here feels like it’s all I need to do. I flip open the bulletin, look at the words, and wait for an idea or a phrase or a feeling to jump out at me. Being this kind of passive participant with the Bible is sometimes exactly what we’re supposed to do. But there are more active ways to get ourselves ready to hear God’s word. Over the years, I’ve used a few tricks that might help all of us be a little more engaged with the text. We can, for example, choose to close our bulletin and focus on hearing the words instead of reading them. We can say a quick prayer, asking God to reveal to us what God already knows we need. We can also try to close our ears, mentally blocking out the tone and inflections used by the person reading out loud so that we can have a very personal reading of the text. And if none of those options fit our worship style, we can do something else, something that I like to call the eyebrow test. The first thing we do in the eyebrow test is relax our face. We want our eyebrows and eyes to be free to react to anything that we read or hear. And then, while the text is being read, we pay attention to what our eyes and eyebrows do. If we roll our eyes, blink hard, or raise one eyebrow, that part of the text might be what the Holy Spirit wants us to focus on. So looking back at this reading from Mark, what part of this text caused your eyebrows to move?

For me, my eyebrows went up at verse 33. Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law and the first thing she does is serve the men around her. Now, that might not have been the part of the text that you noticed. But when I shared this text with my colleagues and friends, Simon’s mother-in-law made a lot of eyebrows move. We talked about why that was and a movement happening in our culture right now kept coming up. In this moment when #metoo is making an impact in many different areas of our society, our expectations of ourselves and others are being confronted. There was an expectation for Simon’s mother-in-law to serve and so she did. But expectations can be problematic. It was expected, that if you worked in certain corporate offices or professions or fields – you would be harassed. And it was expected that you would accept that harassment if you wanted to further your career. It was expected that your boss or supervisor would make a pass at you and, if you reported it, you would be ignored or punished or your harasser would be reassigned to a place where no one would know what they had done. Survivors of harassment and assault would be stuck, not knowing who would believe them. Women in this situations banned together, alerting each other to the people and systems who enabled this hostile behavior to continue. It was expected, and through a collective silence accepted, that those with any kind of power would, and could, harass their subordinates. Not everyone did that but too many people, too many men, took advantage of their power over others to spiritually, physically, and emotionally hurt the people around them. It was power, not lust, that gave them what they want. And since these harassers were famous, rich, creative, or successful, they got away with what they did. Their victims couldn’t walk or run away because the rest of us, for years, chose not to believe those who were victimized. We assumed that those with power over others have a right to that power and we gave them the benefit of the doubt. But that benefit is usually all they need to harm so many others.

Now, most of us had never heard of #metoo until just a few months ago. But it’s a movement that was started over a decade ago by Tarana Burke, as a way to support women of color who experienced sexual harassment and abuse. By creating a space where a survivor could tell their story, #metoo has brought to light the kind of expectations women and some men were supposed to put up with. Even the church, through it’s #churchtoo movement, is being confronted by the stories of women and men, especially women clergy, who are regularly harassed and abused. This movement is making an impact in every part of our life where one person has power or authority over another. And it’s about time that it has. For too long, this kind of violence has been tolerated because it was expected. Too many people, through no fault of their own, have had to live through these experiences. Not every survivor will feel safe enough to share their story. But those who do, who know they will have to live with the consequences that come with sharing their stories in a world that doesn’t want to hear them, these women and some men have helped, I hope, to unravel our expectations of what power is supposed to do. And in that process, they are revealing the kind of power that Jesus exercises and shares.

Because power, as Jesus shows, always lifts the vulnerable up. Jesus, when he entered Simon’s house, is immediately told about Simon’s mother-in-law. She is ill, with a fever. And in an era without ibuprofen and Tylenol, she is, most likely, dying. Simon tells Jesus all of his mother in law’s hurts, pain, and suffering because she can’t do that herself. And that’s when Jesus goes to her. He sees her. He takes her by the hand and lifts her up before she is fully healed. Before Simon’s mother-in-law is made well, Jesus helps her up, giving her the dignity she deserves because she is made in the image of God. It’s only after her story is heard and believed, after she is given her dignity and status as a true human being, that she is made whole. Power, as Jesus shows us, doesn’t hurt the vulnerable. Those with power are called to lift others up, not because they and the vulnerable are perfect but because Jesus is.

And then, after all of that, Simon’s mother in law serves. And it’s okay to be uncomfortable with that. She still lived in a world full of expectations. But after this encounter with Jesus, she is now able to thrive. She now has new life. And giving others new life is just what Jesus does. This new life isn’t something Jesus only gave to people he encountered 2000 years ago. That new life is something Jesus has already given to each of us. Jesus made a promise to each of us in our baptism that his love isn’t defined by how others view us. And he renews this promise of new life to us every day, helping us to love others in the same way he love us. So that means we get to hear these #metoo stories and then change. We get to redo our expectations of what it means to be in relationships with people who we have power and authority over. We get to believe the women and men who are survivors, to lift them up, and then give them what they need to thrive. And we are asked look back into our own past, to admit the wrongs we did or saw or experienced, and to not let “that’s just the way it was” be our excuse. Because, in our baptism, we were shown a new way to live. And, in Jesus’ life, we were given a new image of what power in God’s world is supposed to look like. Power is suppose to serve and not make those without power serve us. But when power over others moved the world to nail Jesus to the Cross, God resurrected Jesus from the grave, because God will always has the final word. And in those moments when the behavior at work or at church or at school make our eyebrow go up or worse, Jesus calls all of us to lift the survivors of harassment and assault up, and to give them the dignity, mercy, and new life that Jesus has already given to us.

Amen.

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