Sermon: Don’t Forget Your History

Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”

Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.

The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, “This must be one of the Hebrews’ children,” she said. Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”

Exodus 1:8-2:10

My sermon from the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost (August 27, 2023) on Exodus 1:8-2:10.

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So there’s an entire genre of movies, shows, books, and comics devoted to “coming of age” stories. Typically within these stories a young person goes through a series of canon events that matures them into adulthood. Often these tales are funny, tragic, light hearted, or deeply emotional. And we can easily relate to them, even if they’re centered in a culture that isn’t our own, because we have either gone through our “coming of age” stories or hope to have one very soon. These stories remind us of who we are and how we, mostly, consider ourselves to be the mature people God calls us to be. We see ourselves through the eyes of the hero even if they’re going through something we never want to go through ourselves. I wonder, though, what would happen if instead of focusing on the hero, we saw ourselves as part of the wider story. Today’s words from the opening chapters of the book of Exodus are, on some level, the opening lines to a coming of age story that eventually raises Moses up as the person who will lead the Isralites out of slavery and into freedom. But it’s also a story centered on two women who refused to let the wider community rewrite its own history to the detriment of all.

The story begins in the years after Joseph and his family were reconciled. As you might recall from a few weeks ago, Joseph had a pretty traumatic life. Their father, Jacob, had continued the family tradition of naming one child as their favorite at the expense of everyone else. Joseph, instead of trying to keep the peace, wasn’t shy about rubbing this fact in the face of his 11 brothers. In response, the brothers did something horrific: they faked his death and sold him into slavery. Joseph quickly ended up in Egypt where he had no control over the violence done to his body nor the freedom to go wherever he wanted to go. After a series of dramatic events, he ended up as part of the Pharoah’s inner circle and, in the process, gained a lot of political power. But that didn’t really mean much since he was still enslaved. Eventually a famine spread through the entire area and Joseph’s skills enabled Egypt to thrive while everyone suffered. His father and brothers became refugees, coming to Egypt to find food. After a rather dramatic and tearful reunion, Joseph’s brothers were encouraged to settle the entire household inside Egypt itself. Their history up to this moment was pretty complicated but the brothers, Joseph, and the Egyptians, had worked together to build a new community that was more than what they were before. But as the years passed, this story was forgotten. The Egyptians grew suspicious of these people who didn’t look or talk or believe like they did. Their fear enabled the Egyptians to become resentful of these folks who had lived there for generations but were now labeled as foreigners. As the Israelites grew in size, the Egyptians became paranoid. They started to narrow their own history to the point where the Israelites could no longer be a part of it. They enslaved them, forcing them to build the cities that symbolized the might of their kingdom. And when this incredible violence failed to satisfy their xenophobia, they moved into the next stage of what this fear often brings. 

Now the next part of the story started with an upside-down request. The Pharaoh ordered midwives to kill all the sons born to Israelite women. He told Shiphrah and Puah, whose vocation was all about bringing life into the world to, instead, do the opposite. Rather than remembering their shared humanity, the Pharaoh chose to let fear consume him, his community, and his people. This was an extreme attempt to end the Israelites’ story and we get the sense that all Egyptians either supported this endeavor or didn’t think that they could, or should, speak up. In light of his power, authority, and a history that pretended to be something other than it was, he assumed this request would be answered and supported. And yet, in the heat of this overwhelming moment, these two midwives said “no.” 

One of the interesting things about this story is that we don’t really know who these women were. We never hear their internal thoughts nor discover a coming of age story that describes how they could, in the future, defy the supreme leader in the land. The only thing we’re told is that Shiphrah and Puah feared God. That was all they were equipped with to do the opposite of what the Pharaoh ordered them to do. The word “fear” is a bit confusing in English since we define it as an extremely unpleasant emotion caused by a belief that someone or something is dangerous. We either try to avoid fear at all times or limit it to something manageable like riding a roller coaster or watching a horror movie. Yet the fear Shiphrah and Puah held wasn’t something designed to be overcome nor was it the opposite of faith. It was, instead, rooted in a faith that trusted that their God was always near. Fear is more than a feeling; it’s a signal that we need to slow down and pay attention. Rather than assuming everything is fine with our status quo, fear invites us to notice that something more is around us. Fear can be helpful, keeping us safe during difficult situations. But fear can also consume us, changing how we live our lives today by warping and forgetting the fullness of our story. The fear that grounded Shiphrah and Puah wasn’t the fear that fed the actions of the Egyptians. It was, instead, a reverence that kept them focused on the God who was active in, around, and through them. This fear didn’t consume them; it, instead, helped them to remember who they were and whose they were while being surrounded by another’s unjustified worry and fear. This doesn’t mean they weren’t fearful of the Pharaoh, the Egyptians, and what could happen if they were caught; nor does it mean that they, as human beings, didn’t have their own biases and prejudices that shaped their relationships with others. But rather than letting their fear or the fear around them limit who they could be, the fear of God enabled them to say “no” in spite of everything else that was going around them. 

Now when we look at the wider Christian story, we have plenty of examples of Christians using their faith to commit the same kinds of genocidal acts the Egyptians are described as doing within the book of Exodus. And while it would be easy for us to ignore that part of our own history by focusing solely on the heroes of our faith, I’m not sure if that’s the most faithful response. We don’t need to rewrite our story; instead, we need to own it – to point to all the complications and joys and sorrow and evil and good that has shaped us into who we are today. God believes that we, though sinners, have the capacity to grasp the fullness of our history since God, in Jesus, chose to enter that same history and let it grow in the nearly 2000 years since he rose from the dead. Jesus didn’t ignore our complicated story; instead, he faced it head on and, through the Cross, showed us how it can become something more. Our urge to celebrate the Shiphrahs and Puahs of the faith is one that we should embrace as part of our collective coming of age story that shows what the kingdom of God is all about. And yet we also need to remember that we’re not always the heroes we want to be because fear can warp who we truly are. There are times when we will feel as if we’re not equipped to do what needs to be done to share and hold and learn and grow from the complicated history that define our lives and our world. But if a little fear is all that was needed for Shiphrah and Puah to make a difference in their world, your baptism and your faith is all you need to do the same. God knows that your story – your full story – should be known and that it will never limit who, in Christ, you get to be. Rather, you and I and the entire church will continue to grow through our own coming of age story that leads into the age of Christ – where God’s mercy, God’s love, and God’s peace is given to all. 

Amen

Sermon: A Spiritual Imagination & A Midrash

18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

23 “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,”
which means, “God is with us.” 24 

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.

Matthew 1:18-25 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2022) on Matthew 1:18-25.

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At today’s 9 am worship, we did something we don’t usually do. We held a kind of pop pageant to teach each other the carol, Good King Wenceslas. You might know the song but I wasn’t aware it was based on an actual person. Over 1000 years ago, a Duke – who was later declared to be a king – was celebrated for his faith and generosity. Stories about his life inspired people all over Europe to take care of others. The carol is based on a legend that might not entirely be true. But it is a kind of imaginative journey that reveals what our faith invites us to do. We, because of Jesus, get to be like Jesus by offering hope to those who need it most. The carol is, I think, a good example of what I often describe as using our “spiritual imagination.” It’s how we add dirt, grime, and real life into our Bible readings like the one we just heard from the gospel according to Matthew. It’s always a bit odd to connect our imagination to faith since we usually want our faith to be anything but pretend. We long for our Jesus to be as real as the bread we touch during communion and as physical as the screen or phone we use to worship. Faith, too often, feels like it’s supposed to simply be one more thought in our head. But when we choose to claim that God’s promises are real, then our imagination becomes a tool to see God at work in our work. Our Bible, I think, teaches us how to do this kind of imaginative work by not sharing every detail of every story. That allows us to ask questions like: how did Mary and Joseph get engaged? And what was Joseph’s internal dialogue like when he struggled knowing if his right to split from Mary was truly right? There is a long history in our faith, borrowed from our Jewish friends, to use our imagination to help make God’s words more real in our lives. These stories are known as a midrash which helps us ask the questions that fill in the gap. A midrash doesn’t contradict scripture but helps to expand with guidance from the Holy Spirit. And when Pastor Kimberly Cooper of St. Timothy’s Lutheran church in Wayne shared with me her midrash on this passage, I asked if I could share it with you. She wrote it after visiting the Holy Land and seeing where this story took place. To me, it’s a great model of what our spiritual imagination invites us to do. And I pray her example will inspire your own as we sit with Joseph who chose his family. 

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Long ago, in the time of the Roman Empire, in the faraway land of Palestine, there were two cousins, Yoachim and Yakob. Throughout their childhood they ran and played together in the small town of Nazareth. They drove their Torah teacher crazy with their shenanigans when they were meant to be memorizing the law. They chased the chickens from the yard and pretended to be wolves when their sisters were minding the sheep in the fields. They were ornery and smart and the best of friends. When they grew strong enough, they each went to work with their fathers. Yoachim learned the art of weaving rugs and Yakob went to work as a builder. They each found a wife and had children. Yakob’s oldest child was named Yusef. He was a sweet child – nothing like his father and cousin. He loved listening to the Torah teacher and tending the animals. He could hardly contain his excitement when his father invited him to go to the nearby metropolis of [Sepphoris] to build a large bath at the home of a wealthy patron. He watched carefully and learned quickly. When they returned home, they heard the news that Yoachim and [his wife] Hanna had just had another baby, a girl, who they named Miriam. 

Yusef grew to be more and more respected throughout the area as a moral upstanding Pharisee. He worked very hard at the family business of building and carpentry, but always honored the Sabbath and kept it holy. He traveled to [Sepphoris] regularly to work building bigger and bigger homes for the wealthy. He enjoyed the work and took great pleasure in the beautiful finished product. But, he was saddened to see many of the wealthy […] adding mosaics of Roman [gods, their oppressors] in their homes. [His kinsman kept building] bigger and bigger homes, in which they threw lavish parties – […] while becoming less and less inclined to obey the laws of God. On the long walks between Nazareth and [Sepphoris], […] Yakob and Yusef would talk about the high taxes that were crippling their neighbors and making even their own business difficult. Yakob would always say, “one day the Messiah will come like a warrior to defeat these Roman pigs. We will be ruled by God’s anointed instead of the emperor’s representative.”

Yusef believed what was written about the Messiah [… but…] wondered why the LORD was waiting so long to send relief. Why did the LORD allow [some to have so much food] they [could simply throw some] away? And why did the LORD leave others so poor [..] they couldn’t […] go to Jerusalem and make sacrifices at the temple? Where was God in all of this?

At the same time that Yusef was growing to be a man, Miriam was also growing into a serious and hardworking girl. One day Yakob and Yusef visited Yoachim. Hanna and Miriam prepared a meal of fresh bread, goat cheese, olives, and roasted pistachios. Yusef blushed listening to the two older men reminisce over their childhood antics. Then, after the tea was served, Yakob broached the reason for his visit. Was Yoachim interested in a marriage between Miriam and Yusef? Yoachim chuckled and asked what Yusef had to offer. Yusef blushed [while keeping] his eyes away from [looking towards] where Miriam and her mother were working [..]. He had no doubt that both were listening […] to the conversation. 

Yakob raised his eyebrows and said, “what do you have in mind?” 

Yoachim quickly laughed and said, “ah dearest friend, surely you know, I am joking. It would be a huge honor for my lowly daughter to be married to the great Yusef ben Yakob.” 

The tension left Yakob’s shoulders as he grinned broadly. “Of course, we don’t come empty handed. Yusef and I will build a house for them to live in. This week we will go to the synagogue and make the announcement of their engagement public. Although, I know you are a successful man, I hope you will honor us by taking the gift of a she-goat as a bride price.”  […]The men embraced and departed without a nod to the women in the corner. But Yusef [did see] Miriam […] with a slight smile on her lips.

By the end of the next week, all the town had learned that Yusef ben Yakob was to wed Miriam Bat Yoachim. No one was surprised. On the Sabbath, all the Jews gathered to listen to a reading from one of their scrolls. Yusef closed his eyes as he listened to the words from Isaiah, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?” He wondered, is this why the LORD wasn’t sending a warrior to defeat the Romans?  Perhaps the LORD believed that all the people had turned against [God] and were chasing after the Roman gods like the those that lived in [Sepphoris]. […]

The next day Yusef and his father began work on the house for him to live after his marriage to Miriam. As he worked, Yusef prayed to the LORD offering himself, his wife, and all their future children as His servants. He [also] prayed […] for a sign that the LORD had heard him. Yusef did this every day […] but nothing happened. […] The anxiety became too much for him, so when his father asked him to go to [Sepphoris] to collect some more stones, he jumped at the chance. When he arrived, he went straight to the synagogue to seek out the Rabbi.  

The Rabbi was quite old and regarded as the wisest in the area. Yusef found him reading a scroll from the writings of Isaiah. “[…]Excuse me, Rabbi[?]” 

The rabbi looked up with a smile. “Yes, my son, what is your question?”

Yusef said, “Rabbi, I am deeply troubled. […] Here in [Sepphoris] I see [those who] have become so wealthy under Roman rule that they disregard the Torah, the law. I know that in Isaiah it is written, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?’ It makes me wonder if the LORD is wearied of us. How can I let Him know that some of us are still faithful?”

The Rabbi nodded. “Yes, these are very troubling times. It is not so different from the days in which Isaiah wrote these words. At that time, King Ahaz was fighting to keep Jerusalem from being overtaken by the Israelites that didn’t honor the LORD. Ahaz was trembling in fear that he would be defeated. The LORD sent Isaiah to tell him to trust in the LORD by asking for a sign. Ahaz refused to ask for a sign so the LORD answered, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also? Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.’ Immanuel means God is with us. Trust in the signs that the LORD has given and continue to do right in the eyes of the LORD. Direct your family to do the same. This is what you can do.”

When Yusef returned home, pondering these things, he found his father and Yoachim waiting for him. Yoachim looked sick and miserable. Yakob looked angry. Yoachim opened his mouth to speak to Yusef, but no words came out. Yusef […] quickly asked, “is it Miriam? Has she been harmed?”

Yakob snorted and said, “she isn’t worth your concern. She has disgraced us all!”

Yoachim shook his head in shame. “I don’t know how this could have happened,” he swallowed and closed his eyes, “but she is with child.” His voice broke at that end and he turned to leave. 

Yusef fell to his knees on the dirt floor. “What?!” His mouth hung open in shock. 

Yakob said, “You must forget her, son, the town will take care of her, as we always take care of such filth.”

Yoachim began to weep […].

The reality of what would happen to Miriam penetrated the fog of Yusef’s shock and grief. “No!” he said hoarsely. And then more loudly, “no, Father, tell no one.” He jumped up and took Yoachim by the arm. “I do not know how this happened […] And I don’t want to know how. But let no harm come to her. Send her away to have the baby, so that no one knows. You are a good family. None of us deserve to have this disgrace.”

Yoachim was surprised, but nodded. “I will send her to my cousin Zechariah. His wife is also expecting and is of an advanced age. No one will bother either of them at this time.” Then he left quickly with his head bowed.

That night Yusef struggled to find sleep. He prayed to the LORD with all the many emotions flooding his soul. One moment he was angry then the next sad. Finally, after many hours, he fell into a troubled sleep. Then “an angel of the LORD appeared to him in a dream and said, “Yusef, son of [David,] do not be afraid to take Miriam as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Yeshua [Jesus], for he will save his people from their sins.” Yusef awoke in a sweat, and thought, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel.” Yusef laughed out loud [and] said, “when I asked for a sign, I had no idea it would be like this!”

Before the sun rose, Yusef went to the home of Yoachim. He went in and found Hannah and Miriam preparing the day’s bread. Hanna looked at him in fear, but Miriam seemed at peace. He asked her to go and raise her father. When Yoachim came, Yusef said, “I will take Miriam to my home now. Tell no one that she has become pregnant by anyone other than myself. For I have heard from the LORD. She and I are both of the line of [King David. And [I think this child] will be the Messiah for whom we are all yearning. I think the LORD has heard our cries and has chosen Miriam to bear the answer. [..] Miriam, will you come [home] with me [..]?”

Both Hanna and Yoachim were shocked into silence. They looked between Miriam and Yusef in confusion. Miriam smiled and said quietly, “yes […] I have heard from the LORD as well. I trust you to protect me and raise this child.” Then looking him in the eye she said, “for God is with us.”

Yusef and Miriam went on to have many other children. He worked hard and lived a good life […] without ever hinting to anyone the special circumstances of Yeshua’s birth. Sometimes he would watch Yeshua and wonder how such a […] kind boy could be the great warrior meant to overthrow the Romans. One day he mentioned his thoughts to Miriam. She smiled and said, “[…You] of all people must know that it takes so much more strength to love those that hurt us than to strike out in anger.”  […]

Amen.

Sermon: If John the Baptist can ask questions, so can you

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

Matthew 11:2-11

My sermon from 3rd Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2022) on Matthew 11:2-11.

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I have never been to prison but I’m well aware that my experience might not be your own because we are a diverse community with many different stories. Many of us have interacted with prisons in many different ways through our callings as police officers, lawyers, aids, paralegals, guards, health care workers, family members, friends, and more. Dealing with the prison system isn’t something that only other people do since we live in the #1 country in the world when it comes to people who are incarcerated. There’s a good chance that, right now, we know someone who’s either been in prison or who has dealt with prisons for a significant part of their lives. And while we might think we know all we should know what prisons are, the stories we hear from people in prison often change our points of view. For the last 45 years or so, we, as a church, have stayed connected to someone who grew up here and is serving a life sentence behind bars. I don’t write to him as much as I would like to but he always responds to the four or six letters I send every year. His letters are always several pages long, written on yellow lined paper in a cursive script that’s not always easy to read. Yet I often find that the stories he shares from his life refine my own understanding of what prison is truly like. It’s important for us, I think, to examine what we think a prison is since being in prison shows up in the Bible all the time. It would be easy for us to assume that a prison today is, in general, similar to what a prison was like 2000 years ago. But as we just heard in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, the prisons of the past had this sort of unique way of making even one of the most faithful people we meet in the Bible – question their God. 

Now last week, we saw John the Baptist teaching and preaching in an untamed place while also describing who he imagined the Messiah to be. The Messiah would be the One who would change the world and they would do this kind of like what a super hot fire does when it comes into contact with metal that’s impure. This super hot fire would burn out the impurities to make the metal better, stronger, and easier to work with. This language, while very Biblical, can also be very problematic when we use it to justify our own hatred and sin. Yet John’s Messiah would be very different because they would change people and their communities into something more. When Jesus came to see John, John confidently declared that this son of Mary would be the One everyone was waiting for. And after baptizing Jesus in the River Jordan, John kept teaching and preaching but was soon arrested and imprisoned. That action served as a kind of catalyst for Jesus’ own public ministry which he developed through his own preaching, teaching, and healing. Now John sat in prison for a significant period of time and soon learned Jesus was out in the world traveling from village to village. John sent his disciples to Jesus to ask him what appears, at first, to be a rather strange question. Before Jesus’ ministry began, John declared that Jesus would be the one who would burn and change the world. And yet when he finally heard what Jesus was up to, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jesus really was who he imagined him to be. 

So what happened? What made John doubt what he had seen and heard from God? Well one way to think about this is to realize that being imprisoned today isn’t the same as being imprisoned in the past. In our country, prisons are designed to be all sorts of things. They are isolating and awful and degrading and rehabilitative all at the same time. But there is an expectation, in theory, that someone in prison will be provided a place to sleep and given food to eat. That doesn’t mean prisons are designed to be safe spaces but there are mechanisms that could be used to hold people accountable if they didn’t provide for those basic needs. That tiny bit of care that society promises to give to those in prison wasn’t something that existed in the ancient world. Instead, when a person was arrested, they were placed in a version of house arrest. There were very rarely buildings designed to hold prisoners or their guards. A home, either belonging to the person who was arrested or to someone else, would then be designated to be their prision and modified to house the prison and those guarding them. Since this home was designed to be a prison, it didn’t have all the basic things we’d expect a prison to have. And one mechanism that wasn’t in place was for the one who imprisoned them to provide food for them or the one who watched them. It was the responsibility of the prisoner to find a way to feed themselves and the guards assigned to watch them. This, obviously, was a rather difficult task since the prisoner couldn’t really leave where they were. They had lost all control and it was their responsibility to care for those who incarcerated them. John, when he was in the wilderness, knew what it was like to live in a place where he had no control. But this situation was very different because he was caught up in a system that, by design, wanted him to die. He was entirely dependent on others sacrificing their own time, energy, and resources to bring him just enough to survive. Nothing about his current experience felt like the world was being made into something new. Instead, it felt like the old world was winning like it always had. John the Baptist had experienced the presence of God in ways that I can barely imagine and yet even he wondered if he had gotten the Messiah wrong. 

At this point in the sermon, we could move on to what Jesus said to John’s disciples. But I think it’s okay to sit with John’s question a little longer – especially if we have questions of our own. The Third Sunday of Advent is usually set aside as a time for us to remember that this season can be filled with joy. Yet too often, the magic of this moment feels very far away. If we truly believe that God is with us, we should wonder why everything is the way it is. And while I wish I had a good answer for that question, I also believe simply asking it is one of the most faithful things we can do. John’s doubt wasn’t a problem that needed to be solved. He was simply living through the fact we are very good at creating, needing, building, and maintaining all kinds of prisons. John’s question was an honest question because he didn’t pretend the world was something that it wasn’t. And while we don’t know how long John waited to ask his question, we do know he was willing to speak it out loud even though there was a chance he wouldn’t receive an answer. He had no idea how long it would take his disciples to find Jesus nor did he know if he would be alive once they returned. Yet he chose to name his truth and ask his question. And that, I think, invites us to do the same. We get to ask our whys, our wonders, and admit to Jesus that life is sometimes harder than it should be. We can give ourselves the grace to admit that we, like John the Baptist, sometimes doubt. And while that might feel as if we don’t have the faith we think we should, it, instead, serves as a reminder of the faith we have already been given. During your baptism, Jesus made the promise to be God-with-you no matter where your life took you. He didn’t make that promise because he knew you would be perfect. He did it because his love couldn’t do anything less. His love is big enough to hold all our questions, all our wonders, and every time we’ve asked Jesus to be Jesus in the here and now. And when it finally feels as if doubt is the only bit of faith we have left, trust that shows you already have all you need to take your place in the kingdom of God.

Amen.

Sermon: what God keeps central (and what we don’t)

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.
When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Luke 14:1,7-14

My sermon from the 12th Sunday After Pentecost (August 28, 2022) on Luke 14:1,7-14.

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On Friday morning, we did something here at the church we haven’t done in a while: we held a First Communion class. Eight kids, from first through fourth grade, joined me for a class that took us all around the entire building. We first gathered at the tables outside the church office, read our Bibles and wondered where Jesus sat during the Last Supper. We then moved on to the Sonshine room, stood around its long table, and created bread dough that didn’t really hold together. Once the kids’ hands were washed and the flour brushed out of their clothes, we headed to the altar – the table at the heart of our sanctuary. The class was a lot of fun and the kids were amazing. Yet when I reflected afterwards on how everything went, I was struck by how central the tables were. Instead of sitting on the floor or in chairs facing a blackboard, I unintentionally had the kids spend the entire class around a table. Since I planned for us to color and draw pictures of Jesus having a meal, I made sure that part of the lesson had a table big enough for everyone. Once the first part of the lesson was over, we then needed a long table close to a kitchen where we could work in pairs to mix and measure and stir together a whole bunch of ingredients. Finally, as we neared the end of our long class, we went into the sanctuary to spend time talking about what it means to be fed by God. I invited the kids to join me around the altar which I described as Jesus’ table. Jesus, during his earthly ministry, rarely turned down the opportunity to share a meal with others and we often imagine him eating around a table. A table is a piece of furniture that helps to make a meal, a meal because it’s a central thing everything gravitates to. It’s the place where food is served and received; and also where people on opposite sides look at each other while they talk and chew. Many of Jesus’ arguments with his disciples and with others involved who was allowed to sit at the table with him. And while picturing Jesus at a table makes sense for our cultural context, there’s a good chance most of his meals didn’t include a table at all. The piece of furniture in the middle of the room wasn’t central to his story. And as we see in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, what God keeps central and what we keep central are not always the same thing. 

So to properly set the scene, we need to imagine what this dinner party looked like. From what we can tell, the host of the meal pretty much followed the cultural expectations of the Greco-Roman world. When Jesus first entered the space, his feet were most likely washed by someone who was probably enslaved before he was invited to then take his seat. But instead of taking a seat at a long table, three or four couches would have been arranged at the center of the room. The scholar Craig Keener described the scene in this way: “These couches did not have backs, so three or four people could recline on each one. Each diner would recline on the left elbow, with their right hand free to take the food in front of them. They would be facing the center of the room, with their feet pointing away from the table.” The table in that space might have been a big piece of wood like we have in our dining rooms today. But I think it was mostly a small tray, big enough to serve one couch, so that the enslaved and servants could walk through the center of the room while cleaning plates, filling glasses, and bringing fresh food to the guests. These kinds of parties were not rushed affairs. Rather, they were an event where people were meant to be seen.

And being seen was something Jesus knew quite a bit about. When he arrived at the party, lots of people’s eyes were on him. Yet his eyes were on everyone else. He noticed all the people who, like him, were invited guests. And he also paid attention to the people others didn’t even notice and those who hadn’t been invited at all. Once everyone was welcomed, the guests had to find a place to sit. And so they began trying to claim spots as close to the host as possible while the host was busy deciding who was worthy of sitting next to them and who wasn’t. It was a very unmusical version of musical chairs, where people’s importance and worth was determined by where they sat. Picking the right spot involved keeping your eyes on the host while hoping they saw you as you saw them. Where you sat in relation to the host showed all the other invited guests the worth you had as a person. And your proximity to the center showed others what you could do for them and gave a hint of what they might be able to do for you. Your seat determined who you could talk to, network with, and the relationships which would help your reputation grow. But if you sat in the wrong spot and chose a couch you weren’t supposed to be on, your worth in the eyes of others would go down. In that dinner party space, your place in relation to the host was central to who you were. So that’s when Jesus reminded everyone that what other people think is not central to God. 

In a space without a table, the most central thing to Jesus was always people. The people he saw in the room included the host, those working the party, and the guests who rushed past Jesus while trying to show others how important and valued they were. Jesus knows that, as human beings, we often pay attention to what other people think about us. We want others to think we’re cool, kind, smart, strong, clever, funny, and that we’re simply worth being around. What other people think about us often impacts what we think about ourselves. And while that can cause problems, we often navigate through this dilemma by strengthening our own sense of self-worth. Yet it’s interesting Jesus doesn’t tell the host or the guests or the enslaved that God’s love for them is enough to show how valued they actually are. Instead, he invites everyone – especially those who have the opportunity to be invited to the party in the first place – to simply act as if everyone truly matters to God. For Jesus, that means practicing a kind of humility that breaks through the social hierarchy we participate in. We don’t have to live as if some people are worth being known while others are not worth being seen. Jesus wasn’t only interested in making sure we always have a place at his table. He also wanted us to look past the table and into the eyes of everyone who is central to him. God’s love is never only for those who we view as worthy; God loves even those who we wouldn’t want to sit next to in the first place. We are invited to keep people, rather than places or spaces or material goods, central to how we live in the world because all people – especially the marginalized, the wounded, the broken, the ill, and those we’ve pushed aside – matter to God.

Amen.

Sermon: Life Is More Than A Series of Interruptions

Now[Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing

Luke 13:10-17

My sermon from the 11th Sunday After Pentecost (August 21, 2022) on Luke 13:10-17.

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The older I get, the more life feels like it’s mostly a series of interruptions. Most of our interruptions are quite small – like an unexpected phone call or a cat begging for its dinner or even a self-caused interruption when we take a four hour excursion through the land of social media. Yet there are those other kinds of interruptions that seem to change who we are. In today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, our English translation of the ancient Greek language Luke wrote in, introduces us to an unnamed woman who seems to have interrupted Jesus while he was teaching on the sabbath in a synagogue. He was, I imagine, up in the front, speaking in the way he always does. Then, while in almost mid-sentence, Jesus stopped because this bent over woman came in. She, in her own way, interrupted what Jesus was doing which happened quite a bit during Jesus’ ministry. People, in all the gospels, kept getting Jesus’ way, sharing with him their needs, concerns, and even disagreements. Responding to these interruptions was a big part of what Jesus did. And this woman seemed to fit the pattern even though she’s never recorded as asking to be healed. But when I was preparing for this sermon, I noticed how other translations of this text don’t act as if the woman was the interruption. Instead, she’s described as just being there and was among those listening to Jesus while he taught. We don’t know much about her and even her ailment is a bit of a mystery. All we’re given is that for 18 years, she was bent over. And yet during those same years, she was part of this community who gathered together on the sabbath for worship, study, and prayer. The reaction of the crowd after she was healed shows how they were her people and how, even before her healing, she was already one of them. So if she was there while Jesus began to speak, she wasn’t the interruption in the story. Instead, that title really belonged to Jesus because he was there in front of them. As we heard a few weeks ago, Jesus was in the middle of his long round-a-bout journey to Jerusalem. Every day he taught and healed and got into arguments with all kinds of people. When he entered the unnamed synagogue in the unnamed village where this unnamed woman lived, he wasn’t the usual person who got up and taught. Jesus interrupted their normal sabbath routine and this interruption grew when the woman suddenly became visible to him in a way she wasn’t before. When he finally saw her, he stopped all that he was doing, called her over, and interrupted how she had typically celebrated the sabbath over these last 18 years. The healing she received didn’t pretend as if she had never suffered nor did it change her presence within the community she called her own. She still belonged but her life was now a bit different. And once Jesus spoke his words of hope, she kept doing what she had already been doing: praising God with the people who called her their own. 

But that’s when the grumbling started. A leader within the community wasn’t thrilled with what he just saw. Now he wasn’t necessarily upset about the healing itself. Rather, he wasn’t happy that it had happened today. That might sound like a weird thing to be bothered about but we can give him the benefit of the doubt by remembering what it’s like when we’re asked for some professional advice when we’re supposed to be off duty. It’s not uncommon for us to interrupt someone else’s day off when we think they can help us. And once people know who we are and what we do, there’s a chance that every one of our conversations with friends and acquaintances end up feeling like work. On a day when we’re trying to get away from all the other activities that dominate our week, this one word can interrupt our rest by making today feel like every other day. The leader of the synagogue might have known of Jesus’ reputation as a healer – something he had the habit of doing almost every day. Being able to heal others was a gift from God and, in his mind, should have been shared abundantly. Yet the Sabbath was meant to be a break for everyone, including those who could heal. When Jesus interrupted what he was doing on the sabbath to heal a woman with a chronic but non-life threatening ailment, it looked as if Jesus wasn’t taking the Sabbath seriously. He was doing on God’s day what he did every day, blurring what the Sabbath was supposed to be about. The leader of the synagogue felt it was his responsibility to help the entire crowd keep the Sabbath so he did what he could to interrupt the focus they had on Jesus. 

And so, as we can see, today’s story is a story all about interruptions. The entire community was called to interrupt their daily lives by spending one day a week in synagogue with their God. Jesus, while in that space, interrupted their usual flow of worship by teaching and preaching in a community he wasn’t always in. And then, when he noticed this woman, he interrupted what he was doing so that her ongoing condition could be interrupted too. The faith leader believed that Jesus’ actions had interrupted the Sabbath by making this holy day feel like every other day of the week. The Sabbath is more than a day of rest; it’s an interruption to our lives where we intentionally do not go our own way; serve our own interest; or pursue our own affairs. Instead, we spend time with our God who encourages everyone, regardless of age, gender, economic backgrounds, or physical, mental, and spiritual health to just stop and be with God. The Sabbath is how we hear we are loved and the love we’re given transforms who we are and what we do. The Sabbath is how we learn that every other day this week can be something different. The leader of the synagogue was afraid Jesus was trying to turn the Sabbath into something that looked like every other day of the week. But Jesus was there to remind him that through God, with God, and in God – it’s the Sabbath day that transforms what every other day can be about. It’s through this interruption that we gain the rest, care, and insight we need to live through the rest of our lives. And when we embrace the interruptions we are given, we then get to participate in a life with wholeness and hope. 

In a little bit, we’re going to do another thing that doesn’t feel like an interruption but actually is. We’re going to do what we’ve done a lot – and that’s baptize a little child and welcome her, publicly, into the body of Christ. Now Kaylee has already experienced a lot of interruptions to be here today – giving up her normal Sunday morning routine to travel several hours so she can be surrounded by her beloved family. God already knows her, loves her, and values all that she is. Yet today is also when we interrupt who she will be by inviting her into something more. When the water is poured over her head and the seal of the Cross marked on her forehead, she will no longer be defined by what people say about her or by what she thinks about herself. Those opinions and points of view will be interrupted by her identity as a beloved child of God. That identity will be with her, interrupting every part of her life so she can grow into the love God gives her every day. And as she gets bigger, learning all the different ways she can easily interrupt whatever her parents or her brother are doing, she’ll never be able to interrupt how God sees her. Kaylee will now have a lifetime to experience God’s constant interruption of grace, mercy, and love on every sabbath and on every other day in the week. And when all the stuff life brings tries to interrupt God’s love for her, Jesus will be right there, bringing a word of comfort, healing, and hope. 

Amen. 

Sermon: Another side to Jesus, Post Malone, and Us

[Jesus said:] “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain’; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat’; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

Luke 12:49-56

My sermon from the 10th Sunday After Pentecost (August 14, 2022) on Luke 12:49-56.

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When Jesus began the long teaching that we end in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, the first words out of his mouth were: “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” Over the last few weeks, we’ve listened to the story that started when a random person in the crowd demanded Jesus to intervene in a family dispute over an inheritance. They expected Jesus to do what they would do which is why, in response, Jesus told a parable and then kept talking. Over dozens of verses, he offered words about our call to be generous while comforting the worriers around him. But when he got to the end, he told those who followed him that he wasn’t here to bring peace to the earth. There seems to be a bit of a disconnect between where Jesus started this conversation and where he ended. And to me, at least, it isn’t always easy to integrate these two versions of Jesus together. We, somehow, are asked to take the Jesus who gives us peace and merge it with the One who wants to burn everything with fire. That’s really hard to do since we tend to zero in on either Jesus the counselor, Jesus the peacemaker, Jesus the healer, Jesus the judge, or the Jesus who makes us comfortable. We have our own expectations for Jesus but he doesn’t always match what we expect. One of the ways we mature our faith is by learning how to expand our vision of who Jesus is. And once we begin to do that, our expectations change. That sounds like something that might take a lot of work to pull off but I wonder if we already have some of the skills necessary to make that happen. 

Now to flesh out this wondering a bit, I’m going to tell a story about something that happened on Thursday night. In a studio in Los Angeles, a bunch of social media influencers, content creators, podcasters, youtube stars, and professional players gathered together to watch two people play the fantasy trading card game: Magic: the Gathering. If you don’t know the game,  two players compete against one another using decks of cards full of things you might see in The Lord of the Rings. Most of the people in that space wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone who doesn’t play the game. Yet the creme de la creme of this corner of geekdom was there and among them was Austin Richard Post. He is, if you don’t recognize the name, a big fan who plays Magic with his friends and regularly appears on different podcasts and youtube channels talking about the game. He was one of the two people there to play and he radiated joy. He talked; he joked; and he did his very best to celebrate those around him. He was in awe of all Magic: the Gathering stars who were with him. And I found it kind of cool to see Austin nerd out because I once had the opportunity to see him in-person. A couple of years ago, I was standing in the middle of Times Square, waiting for the New Year’s Eve ball to drop. Austin was wearing a pink suit and was being escorted through the crowd by a police detail, a camera crew, and half a dozen media handlers. He walked right past me and he was incredibly kind to those in the crowd who shouted his name. But instead of calling him Austin, they used his professional name: Post Malone. Post Malone has sold over 80 million copies of his albums worldwide and has played in dozens of stadiums and coliseums. He’s a popstar who’s won 10 Billboard Music Awards, three American Music Awards, one MTV Video Music Award, and has been nominated for a Grammy nine times. He’s a celebrity living the life we would expect but he’s also a geek who plays a card game. It isn’t unusual to learn that a celebrity has a different side we don’t always see. Sometimes that knowledge confirms our prior expectations. Yet every once in a while, something new expands our vision of who this person actually is. Those are the moments that invite us to change our expectations and they are not limited to only the celebrities we happen to pay attention to. These experiences show up in relationships we have with our family, friends, and neighbors. And since we’ve had these kinds of experiences many different times, we already know how we should handle the Jesus we don’t expect. 

Yet we also know we have options on what to do when the unexpected information shows up. Sometimes, for example, we might choose to ignore the new thing we just learned, letting our prior expectations define who, to us, they’ll always be. We also, though, might choose to be antagonistic, purposefully pushing against this new thing. Yet a healthier, more gentle, and more life giving approach would be to let these situations open us to change. We don’t need to be embarrassed by our past interactions with the other person and we can be thankful they’ve taken the risk to share a bit more of who they truly are. This new information might be hard for us to integrate into ourselves since it might change how we imagined our relationship would go. Yet the expectations we had were never written in stone and we always have the power to learn and grow. Sometimes we might forget this new bit of information, letting our old expectations come roaring back. But when that happens, we can apologize and not let our feelings or our embarrassment or even a sense of entitlement stop us from taking the responsibility of making this new thing a part of our lives. That’s not always an easy thing for us to do but it is how we refine our expectations, perspectives, and actions so that we can be as loving as God wants us to be. 

And that, I think, is a throughline that ties the entire Jesus of Luke chapter 12 – together. In the beginning, the crowd expected Jesus to be a judge who would rule like them and who would match every one of their expectations. Yet he was there to do something more. The fire and division Jesus brought would move through every one of our current expectations, even those expectations rooted in our families, our cultures, and our nation, and refine them, like a refiner’s fire, into the values of the Kingdom of God. Part of the work of faith is discovering how the expectations we didn’t know we carried inside us don’t actually have to limit the love God calls us to share. The peace we assume comes when all our expectations are met will be broken by the peace Jesus shares that won’t allow us to get in the way of God. What Jesus brings into our lives and into our world is a new reality where God’s love is at the heart of it all. We’ve already had practice dealing with new bits of information, knowledge, and wisdom that expand our vision of who people are. And so Jesus invites us to use those same skills on him so that we can move past our own expectations and towards the expectations of God. That’s a big ask because we’re not always sure exactly what God’s expectations look like in our lives. Yet the Jesus of Luke chapter 12 reminds us that the values of the kingdom are shown in the life and actions of Christ. If we want to know what this refining fire from God might look like in our world, all we need to do is return to another parable Jesus shared: where a person noticed someone who was their enemy and yet stopped, tended to their wounds, and gave out of their abundance so that person they shouldn’t love would be healed and thrived. 

Amen.

Sermon: Controlling What We Can Control – Jesus and Don’t Worry

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. “But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Luke 12:32-40

My sermon from the 9th Sunday after Pentecost (August 7, 2022) on Luke 12:32-40.

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It’s not typical for a meeting with financial advisors to help me prep for Sunday morning. But earlier this week, a Zoom meeting between the investment managers, trustees, and beneficiaries of the Ana and Dominick Ricci Foundation helped me see today’s text in a slightly different way. Now every year, we, along with several other organizations, receive money from this foundation which was created by a couple who made CLC their spiritual home. It’s our tradition to use this generous gift to increase our ministry here at the church and to make an impact all over the world. Usually by this point in the year, you would have received many invitations to nominate projects, non-profits, charities, and other ministries we, as a congregation, should support. However, that hasn’t happened, because we haven’t received this year’s money from the foundation. Your church council has been working with the other beneficiaries to move this whole thing along. But we can only control what we can control; and there’s not a lot we can do until the trustees cut the checks. Our meeting earlier this week included a long conversation about some of the issues tying everything up. Yet we also took some time to listen to a presentation given by the foundation’s investment managers. With the recent declines in the stock market, the weirdness within the bond market, and the violality all around us – it’s not surprising that the foundation has a little less money today than it did in January. The investment team overseeing the fund was there to talk through this current moment, using their skills, knowledge, and expertise to describe what’s happening in the financial markets. They named and identified those things they were worried about and were honest about all the things they couldn’t control. Yet even during this weird moment, they saw opportunities so that the foundation could keep making a difference in Northern New Jersey. They didn’t claim any special foresight into what the future might bring. But they did control what they could control by staying focused on why the foundation exists in the first place. Through the stories told by those who knew the Ricci’s and who had been touched by their generosity, the investment team had a sense of what this fund is supposed to do. And rather than let their worries about the future be the only thing that guided them, they let a different story shape what they recommended to do next. 

“You can only control what you can control” is something we’ve all probably said at many different times in our lives. But it’s pretty amazing how fleeting those words are because we’re very good at worrying about what we can’t control. Some of our worries might feel small while others are exactly as big as we think they are. We worry about our families, our friends, our situations, and about what tomorrow might bring. And while some worrying is completely normal and necessary for us to thrive, there’s also a different kind of worry that seems to grow and grow and grow. When we worry about the basic necessities of life and about the well-being of ourselves and our loved ones, that’s us being human and is why God gives us a community to help carry all the worries we hold. But there are other worries that sort of take on a life of their own, becoming a story we tell ourselves over and over again. These kinds of worries create an imaginary future filled with our greatest fears because we can’t see how our tomorrow could be any different. Now there are moments when we can no longer manage our worries by ourselves and you are not a failure or weak or unfaithful if you seek out professional psychiatric help. Accepting help is one of the most Christian things you can do because it lets someone else fulfill their calling and ministry. We, as a people, worry and there are times when that worry is just too much; which might be why Jesus, after sharing a short story about a person trying to control their own future, then told the disciples: “not to worry.” 

Saying “don’t worry,” doesn’t mean we won’t. And I don’t think Jesus was turning “worrying” into some kind of sin. Rather, I wonder if he was inviting us to make sure we’re telling a real story about ourselves and our world. Like I said last week, the parable of the rich fool wasn’t only about God’s call for us to be generous. It’s also about the story we tell ourselves. The rich fool told a story that was so small, it didn’t have space for his neighbors or for God. And after sharing that story to the crowd, Jesus looked at his own disciples. This ragtag group of followers had left their homes, their families, and the future they expected – to go and see what this Jesus thing was all about. Their lives and their story had been transformed, challenged, and upended in ways outside their control. And they, as we see in scripture over and over again, were “worriers.” Jesus kept pushing them into a new future they couldn’t imagine through the situations and relationships that broke through the boundaries we’ve built between each other. Those who followed Jesus had every right to worry because their future always seemed to be slipping a little bit outside their control. So that’s why, I think, Jesus took a moment to look at them with compassion and remind them of the one story that would never let them go. 

God’s love for them – and for us – isn’t pretend and we’ve been given a promise that we, no matter what, belong. Through our baptism, our faith, and in the Lord’s supper we celebrate each week, we are given a tangible reminder of how we are part of God’s story and how God’s story is part of us. We will never be able to control all the things we want to control because we live in a world where sometimes the things that shouldn’t happen – do. There are too many broken hearts for us to become a people who never worry. That story is one we can never ignore but we can trust in the other story Jesus tells us. Your worries are not the limit of who you are or the limit of who you can become. Your worries are real – but God’s presence in your life is real too. When your worries become too much, you can ask for help and those around you should respond with love and care. But when you find yourself with a sudden abundance of money or time or energy or an incredible feeling of peace, Jesus invites you to share all that you have with those whose worries are interfering with their ability to see God. And when we care and love and serve each other, we take on the real story of who we’re meant to be. Instead of letting our worries become our only story, we can listen to the story Jesus tells us about who and whose we are. And when we do that – which is never easy and requires us to return to Jesus over and over again as new worries pop up – we then let the love God first gave us be what helps us lessen all the other worries in our world. 

Amen.

Sermon: Sharing Our Faith Story

Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

Luke 12:13-21

My sermon from the 8th Sunday After Pentecost (July 31, 2012) on Luke 12:13-21.

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For the last 7 months, the New Jersey Synod has hosted a monthly gathering for people to talk about evangelism. Evangelism is a church word that sounds scary but it’s really just telling others how their story is already part of God’s story. That sounds pretty simple but we know it isn’t because, for better or worse, Jesus has chosen us to do this kind of work. We tend to avoid practicing evangelism because we’re not sure how to do it. We also worry we’ll come off as being like one of THOSE kinds of christians who we view as super judgemental and hypocritical. There’s also the worry people around us might get really defensive when we talk about something that has made a personal difference in our lives. We want our sharing of Jesus to be very authentic while shielded from any chance at rejection. That’s why we typically stay quiet, choosing to live our lives like Jesus rather than telling others why we do what we do. The series put on by the New Jersey Synod has tried to give us the tools necessary to share our faith with others. And one way we do that is by sharing with others our faith story. 

Now a faith story is simply a description of our personal encounter with God. These encounters with the divine can sometimes be really big, full of spiritual fireworks that make everyone go “wow.” Yet these encounters can also be so rooted in our everyday lives we don’t even notice them until we take a moment to reflect on our story. You, right now, have a faith story worthy to be shared. And one way we can discover that story is by going through a few mental exercises that get us to look back. The NJ Synod gave participants a list of different questions to answer. For example, we were asked to “tell about a time when you didn’t think you could have made it through a situation if God had not been there to bring you through it.” Or we could “tell about a time when you heard God speaking to you through another person or situation.” These prompts invite us to reflect on our personal story while noticing how God was already a part of it. God is an active participant in your life and when we know our faith story, we can then share Jesus with others. Stories are powerful which is why Jesus told a lot of stories to the people around him. Yet it’s also interesting that he, unlike us, rarely named God in any of the parables he shared. God wasn’t explicitly identified in the parable of the good samaritan, the parable of the prodigal son, or in any of the others. But in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, God showed up to change one rich fool’s story into something more. 

Jesus told this story after someone asked him to intervene in family squabble. We don’t know much about it though it’s possible a younger sibling wanted a piece of their family’s inheritance. They had, for cultural or family reasons, received nothing and they wanted Jesus, the Son of God, to get busy in their family fight. But instead of simply asking Jesus for help, they told Jesus how to act. With only a few words, this someone revealed to everyone a bit of their story. We discovered how they truly believed that Jesus had the authority and the power to change the outcome of their situation. They also, of course, trusted that they were right. Jesus would and should do exactly what they wanted because that’s how things were supposed to be. And while this someone might have had a legitimate bone to pick with their brother, Jesus wondered if they truly wanted the “One who was there when the universe was made” to get involved. There’s never a guarantee Jesus will do what we want him to do and yet the person in the crowd couldn’t imagine their story going in any other way. So that’s when Jesus decided to tell a different story that, for the first time, mentioned God. 

Now the key to interpreting this parable is to pay attention to who is involved in the conversation the rich man had. After noticing how the land had produced more crops than he could ever use, he wondered: “what should I do?” That question, by itself, is one we should ask when any kind of abundance comes our way. Yet instead of reflecting on his story – on where this abundance came from; on how it was produced; and how his faith informed – or didn’t inform his responsibilities to be generous – he stayed focused on himself. The “I’s” and “my” and “will” show how small his story was. Rather than bearing witness on how this bounty depended on a number of other workers to create and required the kind of weather only God could control, he told himself: “I did it.” It was his land, his grain, his goods, and his work that made it happen. By talking and thinking about no one else, the answer to “what should I do?” was all about himself. So that’s when God showed up, announcing how the story the rich man told about himself wasn’t a real story after all. 

This parable Jesus shared wasn’t only about the obvious: that those with enough should share their wealth in the ways God intended. Jesus was also very concerned about how the stories we tell ourselves can create a life that has no room for our neighbors or for God. We should celebrate, point to, and be honest about how through guts, tears, and perseverance, we should say “I did it.” But we also need to see all the people, resources, opportunities, and support we were given to say that in the first place. That’s not easy to do in our American pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of culture. We’re taught that our “I” never really needs a “we” to help us thrive. If we actually admitted all the help we needed to be who we are, we’re afraid we’d lose our sense of independence and reveal to others how vulnerable and fragile we truly are. That’s the story we don’t typically want to share with ourselves. But it is the story about ourselves God already knows. God invites us to admit our hurts, our failures, our brokenness, and our need for help. God wants us to be honest about our worries about the future and how our insecurities often get in the way of being generous to others. We need to move beyond the focus on the “I” and turn towards the “we” that through baptism and faith, you are already a part of. You, right now, are more than just you because you are part of the body of Christ. You are part of a “we” even in those moments when your “I” feels so small and broken. And that, I think, is a big part of what our faith stories are all about. They are the moments when we see ourselves as we truly are and how God shows up anyways. It’s hard to admit to others the ways we’re not as strong or mighty or as put together as we would want them to believe. Yet during our most imperfect moments, God shows up to say you are loved. That’s the story we get to share and show others since God loves them too. 

Amen.

Sermon: Being Taught

He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” 2 So he said to them, “When you pray, say:
Father, may your name be revered as holy.
    May your kingdom come.
3     Give us each day our daily bread.
4     And forgive us our sins,
        for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
    And do not bring us to the time of trial.”
5 And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, 6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ 7 And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
9 “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? 12 Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? 13 If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Luke 11:1-13 (NRSVU)

My sermon from the 7th Sunday after Pentecost (July 24, 2022) on Luke 11:1-13.

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So where do you think Jesus was praying at the beginning of today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke? We’re told Jesus was at a certain place but there’s very little connecting this story to what came before. It reads like a singular scene that could have taken place during any part of Jesus’ life. Luke, out of all the gospel writers, does this a lot and it’s not helpful that our lectionary, the three year cycle of readings we use in worship, often jumps around and between different gospels. There’s no guarantee what we heard last week is chronologically related to what we heard today. Yet this time, there is. Jesus, at the end of chapter 10 was in a certain village, hanging out with two sisters named Martha and Mary. It was there when Martha, an independent woman, did the unlikely thing of inviting this wandering preacher – and his disciples – into her home. After their eating together; drinking together; and teaching Mary as the disciple Jesus said she was, Jesus went to a certain place to pray. And I like to imagine that all Jesus did was sort of step out the front door, seeking peace in the courtyard of Martha’s home. As he prayed, another disciple snuck outside and waited for Jesus to finish. And when Jesus looked up, this unnamed disciple asked Jesus to teach them to pray.

Now this unnamed disciple had, most likely, been sitting at the feet of Jesus just a few moments before. And they, I think, were pretty familiar with what Jesus does. Their relationship had history and so this probably wasn’t the first time this disciple saw Jesus pray. There’s also a good chance that they, themselves, had a long history of prayer since they, like Jesus, were Jewish. The book of psalms, which we’ve been listening to this summer, was their prayer book and it was common to pray in the morning, in the evening, and at the beginning and ending of meals. They, as regular prayers, also had a rich experience using their own words to communicate with God. It’s safe to say this unnamed disciple bugging Jesus in the courtyard of Martha’s home knew what it was like to be an active participant in a life of prayer. That nuance about their story was something I hadn’t really noticed before since I assumed they were seeking a how-to guide when talking to God. But there might be more to this story since, out of the blue, this unnamed disciple made sure to include the name of John the Baptist in their question.

John, like Jesus, was a teacher and he also pulled together his own group of disciples. We don’t know much about them except they were drawn to this man who was teaching, preaching, and baptizing in the wilderness. They, like countless others, saw how, through God and through John’s witness, they had an opportunity for a different kind of life. The disciples of John were, like Jesus, faithful and followed him even after he was killed by King Herod. Some, though, switched from following John to following Jesus even when John was alive. And I wonder if this unnamed disciple was one of them. If that’s true, then their own life had been full of ups and downs and all kinds of changes as they grew in their connection to God. They, themselves, had seen their life of faith change as new people, new places, new ideas, and new experiences transformed them. Their life with faith had included saying prayers in a variety of settings with all kinds of people. And since they prayed, they knew what it was like to have some, but not all, of their prayers answered. The ebb and flow of their life of faith, full of unexpected challenges and changes, probably even included moments when they felt alienated from God, from people, or even didn’t really think about God at all. They were a disciple who had lived their life and while outside Martha’s home, they found themselves with the opportunity to ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

And that’s exactly what Jesus did. He shared a version of a prayer we’ll title as the Lord’s prayer – acting as if it, somehow, belongs to him. But the disciple who asked this question didn’t ask Jesus to repeat the prayers he had just brought to God. Instead, he asked to be taught which means the Lord’s prayer is really our prayer. And Luke’s version of this prayer shows how personal it’s supposed to be since the “our Father” simply begins with “Father.” The father Jesus imagines in this moment isn’t necessarily defined or limited by our experiences of having a father, being a father, or living with a father who was anything but. This father is, I think, reflected and enhanced by where they were at that particular moment. Jesus and this disciple were in the courtyard of Martha’s home after having experienced a hospitality that was stretched and expanded by the welcome Jesus gave to all. Martha and her sister were brought into the fullness of being with God while surrounded by disciples who had heard Jesus share the parable of the good Samaritan and who had depended on the hospitality of strangers when Jesus sent them to bring peace to the homes of people who were thought to be their enemies. This Father was more than a creator of the universe who demanded and expected a kind of reverence based on hierarchy and power. This God was also a God of welcome and inclusion who wanted us, in prayer, to always be ourselves. And one of the tools Jesus gave us to do all of this was the Lord’s Prayer. It, with only a few words and sentences, makes sure we hold any part of ourselves back from God. It describes how we diminish the name of God by acting as if God is merely an extension of our own opinions and ideas. These words also admit that our world, our lives, and every so-called kingdom we build fail to fully reflect the love God made real on the Cross. We, on a personal level, plead not only for the resources we need to thrive but also push back against the habit of hoarding God’s gifts of food, money, and other things as we seek to secure our future at the expense of everyone else. And, at the end, these words from Jesus invite us to ask God to carry us through every trial we face since life isn’t easy. In essence, this prayer helps us admit the ways we’ve failed to be hospitable to ourselves and others while, at the same time, letting these words guide us into practicing the kind of hospitality Jesus experienced and showed to Martha and Mary. He wanted them to always be human and he invites us, especially in our prayers, to do the same. We, through baptism and faith, have already been welcomed into a relationship big enough to hold us through what our lives might bring. And this connection to God stretches, moves, expands, and changes no matter where life takes us. The prayer Jesus taught us is a promise that God has already made the decision to be with us, no matter what because Jesus is Emmanuel. Wherever you are in your journey with God, may your prayers never pretend you’re something you’re not. You can be with God like that pushy friend who won’t hold back because God’s own hospitality towards us expects nothing less.

Amen.