Category: Faith

Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.

Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

”If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

”I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.

John 14:8-17,25-27.

My sermon from Pentecost (May 15, 2016) on John 14:8-17,25-27. Listen to the recording at the bottom of the page or read my manuscript below.

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When Jesus speaks, what does he sound like? That’s the question that popped in my head when I read Jesus’ response to Philip today. This scene takes place in the middle of John’s version of the Last Supper. Jesus just washed the disciples feet, shared that he will be betrayed, and told his friends that he won’t be here much longer. And that warning finally gets through to the disciples. Now, these men and women gave up everything to follow Jesus. They left their homes, their families, and their careers. They thought Jesus would start a new era with a revolution by making Jerusalem great again and tossing the occupying Roman army into the sea. But Jesus’ words during this last supper point to something different. The future, suddenly, looks a lot less certain. I imagine something inside Philip – just broke. He immediately recalled everything Jesus said about dying – all the words that pointed to the Cross – and Philip’s mind raced. His heart beat faster. Without a sense of what’s going to happen next, Philip is anxious. So he turns to Jesus and asks for a sign from God – for something that’ll show that everything he believes is going to happen and that, in the end, everything is going to be okay.

And this is the where Jesus’ tone matters. When he responds and says “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?” Do we imagine Jesus sounding patient, kind, and speaking in a whisper? Or do we hear Jesus sounding totally exasperated, like when we our kids or loved one open a fridge full of food and say “There’s nothing to eat.” Like..seriously…Philip, where have you been? That’s the tone – that’s the Jesus – I hear in our gospel reading today. Philip has been there since nearly the beginning. They’ve taken trips together, slept under the stars together, and shared meals all over Israel and beyond. Philip has seen the miracles, seen Jesus do what Jesus does, Philip’s literally seen the signs – and even that’s not enough to extinguish his anxiety and his worry about the future. When Philip walked with Jesus, he carried an expectation of who Jesus is and what’s going to happen next. But if Jesus isn’t going to start a revolution – and with his betrayal and death on the horizon – Philip, in many ways, is undone. His expectations are broken. He pleads to Jesus for another sign – another miracle – to put Philip’s broken expectations back together. Philip is emotional with Jesus – and Jesus is emotional right back. He tells Philip to remember. Remember what he’s seen, who he belongs to, what Jesus has taught. And then, Jesus says, “know what you can control.” Philip can’t control what the future will bring – but there is something that he can do now. He can remember. He can believe. He can love. And Philip can trust that Jesus will be with him, no matter what.

The problem with the future is that we just don’t know it. Our expectations of what’s going to happen next isn’t the guarantee we wish it was. Life is full of too many variables and our anxiety about tomorrow is just…always there. I remember, as a kid in school, spending long nights staring at the ceiling, too anxious to go to sleep, because I wasn’t sure what questions would be on tomorrow’s test or if that special someone I wanted to ask to the prom would say yes. I couldn’t decide what my teachers would ask and I couldn’t decide if my future date was available or if they even liked me. But I could do something about me.I could make sure I studied and covered all the material assigned – and I could do the hard work to be that kind and caring person that even I would like.

So by admitting what we can’t control about tomorrow and focusing on where we’ve come and what we can do now: that’s Jesus’ answer to Philip. Remember – hope – and love: that’s Jesus’ message. But Jesus doesn’t leave things there. He doesn’t tell Philip that this process of looking at the future and looking at today – will be something he has to do on his own. Jesus promises an ally – an advocate, a divine presence that Jesus will give his disciples and who will to put in keep God’s promises always in front of them. And that’s the Spirit. That presence is God’s commitment to us, saying we’re not going through this thing called life on our own. That’s what we’re celebrating today. We might not know what’s going to happen but we do know that in our past, in our presence, and in our future, yesterday, we’ve got God and God’s got us. Faith and love, caring for others and for ourselves, is not something God leaves us to do on our own. Because sometimes we need a flaming tongue of fire to ignite our call to love. Sometimes we need to have others around us who suddenly can speak our language. And sometimes the only sign we get is a memory, a promise, that we were baptized, we were kissed by the water and kissed by God, and that’s all we need to share Christ’s light in the world. Philip walked with Jesus, ate with Jesus, and saw all that Jesus can do. And even Philip needed the Spirit. The Spirit’s holy gift is that we are God’s and God isn’t leaving us on our own. That’s God’s promise. That’s what God’s peace looks like. And that’s the confidence we need to live as the people of God. When we don’t know what tomorrow will bring, the Spirit grabs us to remember our roots, remember where we come from, and remember that God will go to any length – even to death on a cross – for us and for the world. And it’s with this gift, with this Spirit, we can hear Jesus’ words, listen to his voice, and do what he asks: and that’s, in everything, just love.

Amen.

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“See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.” Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates. “It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you with this testimony for the churches. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star.” The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.” And let everyone who hears say, “Come.” And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift. I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book; if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away that person’s share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.

The one who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.

Revelation 22:12-14,16-21

My sermon from Pentecost (May 8, 2016) on Revelation 22:12-14,16-21. Listen to the recording at the bottom of the page or read my manuscript below.

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How to you end a book about the end? That’s the question I like to imagine John of Patmos struggling with as he was writing the last paragraph of what we call the book of Revelation. In my head, I see him sitting in a poorly lit room, with his manuscript on his lap, and smoke from candles making soot marks on the ceiling. He flips through what he’s written. He re-reads his visions of heaven and he recreates in his mind the vivid and colorful images his words paint for us. He sees the four horsemen, sees God’s holy city descending from heaven, and watches as God’s story of faith, love, and hopes collide with the faith, hope, and fear that the Roman Empire taught and proclaimed. Through Jesus, John knows that God is doing an almost ridiculous thing. Instead of scratching everything and starting over, God is taking what’s already here in this world and making all things new. The broken, the doubting, and even those who do not know God are being transformed. The call from John to the people who hear his words is simple: don’t forget that Jesus is with you through all things. And this relationship isn’t just life-affirming, it’s life changing. John, in the 21 chapters before this, shared so much. But how to end it? Maybe, as he waits for the Spirit to inspire him, he watches as the candlelight flickers, casting shadows on the walls. And as these shadows move and dance, he sees images of the people he’s writing these words to. He sees the 7 churches, the homes they use as sanctuaries, the men and women who lead worship, and the young and old who gather there on Sunday mornings, in the predawn hours, to experience Jesus. And so, as the images of people dance before him, John takes a breath, puts his pen to paper, and the words just come.

Now, this past Friday and Saturday, was the New Jersey Synod’s annual meeting. Our denomination’s regional body met – so the Lutheran churches in NJ, sent their pastors and some of their members to meet for a day and a half to talk about what it’s like being the church in New Jersey. I was there, as well as Joanne Milano and David Crouse. But I did more than just share the joys and struggles we experience here at Christ Lutheran. I also co-lead a workshop over lunch on Friday that was all about church communication. Over 3 dozen folks gathered in a small conference room to talk about social media, facebook, websites, newspapers, and more. And it was great because, in the entire hour and a half, the conversation didn’t stop. People talked. They asked questions. And, after the workshop ended and I returned to the wider churchwide session, there was one question someone asked that wouldn’t stop gnawing at me. I….couldn’t stop thinking about it. We were asked if the New Jersey synod had any tips or tricks on how to use church communication tools to target, and market to, a specific audience. Churches do have a point of view, a message to share, and different parts of our story appeal to different kinds of people. Someone who loves thinking, talking, and mulling over God while in conversation with ancient theologians and modern day scholars might not respond to a message which highlights that our denomination is second only to the Roman Catholics when it comes to providing social services like nursing homes, food programs, and more. Our story needs to speak to different kinds of people and we need to know the people we’re speaking too. And that’s what targeting is about: knowing our audience and knowing our own story, too.

But there’s about a third of God’s story that this question misses. By focusing on who we’re trying to reach or on the story they need to hear, we bypass the message teller. We hope that the right message, or the right story, or the right words or images to share, will do all the work for us. If we just advertise in the right spot, and make sure these ads show up in the right space like during the Super Bowl or we never someone logs into Facebook, everything will just fall into place. Faith will spread. Our pews will fill and the world will be changed. But, in this scenario, the message, in the end, won’t involve us at all. And that’s what got me about the question we were asked. The question wasn’t how we, personally, could share Jesus. The question was assuming that the message, somehow, isn’t meant to come through us. But the medium is the message and it’s hard to admit that God has has called us – to be God’s message tellers. We, who don’t always know what to say, who might not even know what our own faith story is, we’re the ones called to tell and share what God is doing in our lives. And sometimes this story – this message – is obvious. When we feel God active in our lives, that’s easy to share. But sometimes, the most honest thing we can do is admit to others when we don’t sense God – and share that our faith, is sometimes hard. We’re the ones who, in our baptism, are given the job to tell our story and God’s story too. The message without the message teller doesn’t share all of who God is and what God does. God is making all things new but that needs to be pointed out and shared with our family, friends, coworkers, and even strangers. We’re called to point out when we see that new thing, when we see that transformation, even when the one who is new happens to be us.

When the ink of the last paragraph of Revelation finally dried, what John wrote was simply: come. Come and see what God is doing in the world. Come and see what God is doing in my life. Come and see how God loves – and God won’t let our brokenness be the final word for us or for the world. Come and see. Come and notice. Come and share. Because as God’s story bubbles up in our lives – as acts of service, acts of love, and acts of faith suddenly show up and make themselves felt – when we hear God say ‘come’ – we don’t hoard that message for ourselves. We don’t hide it from everyone else. We who hear, we who experience, we who see and know God, we go into our world, to our friends, to our families, and to even strangers – and, like John of Patmos, like the 7 churches he wrote too, we who are imperfect – who are broken – and who mess up – we point to Jesus and say to all: ‘come.’

Amen.

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