Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on September 27, 2015
Scripture texts: Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29, Mark 9:38-50

Our Gospel lesson today is a bit of a mashup of two teachings of Jesus that don’t seem to fit all that well together. Our story begins with an encounter with a man who is using Christ’s name and power to cast out demons, despite not being one of the disciples, and then concludes with a rather hyperbolic teaching about the dangers of sin and putting obstacles in the path of others.

They may not match up very well, but I can’t imagine a more appropriate text for recent events than this one. We have seen over the last few days and weeks two very contrasting images of Christianity in the public square. Two images that highlight precisely what Jesus has been talking about.

The first is Kentucky county clerk Kim Davis, who has been in the news of late for her adamant refusal to issue marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples as mandated by the recent Supreme Court ruling. She claims that this violates her religious convictions, which is all well and good except that she has used the authority of her office to refuse anyone of her subordinates from issuing said licenses as well. That interference with the function of her government office landed her in jail for several days for contempt of court and gave her an opportunity to claim that she is being persecuted for her faith. A claim often mocked and derided by people who find it ridiculous at best.

The second is the Bishop of Rome, Pope Francis, whose historic visit to our nation has dominated the news cycle for the past week or so. He has visited three of our major cities: Washington, New York, and now Philadelphia (just a stone’s throw away from us here in York county.) He spoke before a joint session of congress, the first pontiff of Rome to do so in history. The new Pope has not been without controversy either. His statements on economics, immigration, and climate change are particularly unsettling to many of the politicians in that chamber on Thursday and his more relaxed attitude towards moral questions like abortion, divorce, and homosexuality is often galling to hardliners in his own church. Many of these opponents have not been silent about what they think of the new Pope and their comments are not very complimentary.

Two images of the Church. Two Christian individuals under critique or perhaps even attack for what they believe. And yet, utterly opposite one another. Neither is part of our particular branch of Christianity, so we could (perhaps somewhat condescendingly) claim that they are like the man in the first part of the Gospel lesson: someone who is not “one of us” who speaks in Christ’s name.

And yet which one better reflects the Christ we serve? Jesus gives us that very criteria. Which one metaphorically gives water to the thirsty in the name of Christ? Which one places a stumbling block before the little ones? The answer should be obvious.

And yet, in fairness to Mrs. Davis, she undoubtedly takes Jesus’ warning about sin in this very passage very seriously. She is quite willing to metaphorically cut off her arm or pluck out her eye to avoid what she sees as sin, desperately trying to save her own soul. But in that act, I feel she’s missed the point of it all.

Because it’s not about us. It’s about them. It’s always about them.

The question Jesus’ teaching here drives us to ask is “who is it for?” Who benefits? Who is harmed? The man who casts out demons in the name of Christ, disciple or not, is helping others; he’s helping “them.” He is harming no one, aiding many, and expanding the kingdom of God. That precisely what Jesus wants. You can almost hear him echo the words of Moses from our first lesson, “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!”

And yet, so many Christians fastidiously seek to avoid sin, in both themselves and others. They stand in judgment over their fellow human beings and slam doors in their faces when they do not meet a particular standard of morality or righteousness. Who is it for? Who benefits? Often the intended beneficiary of such behavior is one’s self. It’s all about me. Look at how much sin I’ve avoided. Look at how good I am.

But who is harmed by such behavior? Everyone, for not only have we placed a stumbling block before someone who might otherwise find God through us, we have ourselves missed the point of the Gospel entirely. In doing so we have committed the very sins Jesus is compelling us to avoid.

On the cross, as Christ struggles to breathe his last breaths, he cries out “It is finished!” Those are some of the most powerful words in all the Gospels. For what do they mean? They mean God’s plan is accomplished and the good news has come to pass for all. Sin is forgiven. Mercy is the order of the day. Because Christ dies, because he gives up his very life for your sake and mine, we don’t have to worry about ourselves. God’s taken care of us. We’re good.

I believe the whole Gospel can be summed up by God saying to every one of us, “You guys can chill. I got this.” But the freedom that comes with that also carries with it a responsibility. We don’t have to worry about ourselves, so we can focus that energy on others.

The Bishop of Rome embodies this very dynamic. The Pope’s positions on many of the most divisive and political issues of the day reveal a deep concern for the care of other people. Why is climate change important to him? Because we need to preserve the earth for the sake of future generations. Why do economics matter to a theologian? Because poverty kills and life is what we are about as Christians. Why does he downplay these age-old sins like divorce and abortion? Because it is far more important to open the door of the church as wide as possible and welcome sinners inside so they may hear the Gospel and become a part of the kingdom.

He’s criticized for those positions, but Jesus too faced his critics for his compassion and care of others. If we are to be condemned by the world for what we believe, then let it be for the right reasons. Let it be because we reflected Christ in what we do and say. Let it be because we cared for others, loved our neighbors, and welcomed the stranger into our midst.

That is what we’re called to be as Christians and that is what Jesus is saying to us in this Gospel lesson. Let others see God through us and let them see care, compassion, healing, peace, justice, forgiveness, mercy, and grace. Not blind legalism, harsh judgment, and self-righteousness, for these are the very stumbling blocks we are called to avoid. Christ came to save the world and he invites us to be a part of that process. And we do that by showing the world who he is by who we are. Amen.

Weekly Devotional for September 20, 2015

Scripture text: Psalm 139:1-18

I mentioned in a sermon some weeks ago the song by Christian singer Steve Taylor, “It’s Harder to Believe Than Not To.” There are times in my life when I realize just how true its lyrics are. Dark clouds are gathering over our nation and our society. Attitudes of racism and sexism, once rightly driven underground out of shame, are becoming acceptable and commonplace again. Hatred and fear of the other is becoming the norm and it is Christians who are often at the forefront of this tidal wave of evil. One friend of mine, a lifelong Christian, has recently all but renounced her faith and it is harder and harder to defend against the often-correct critiques of my growing circle of atheist and non-believer friends towards our religion.

Add to that the encroachment of other evils. Disease seems to be a growing problem in our small community. At Canadochly, we’ve buried two of our most respected and beloved members in the past six months and I know Pastor Schneider has had more than his fair share of funerals at St. John's. Now, at Canadochly, there are two more of our extended family battling life-threatening illnesses as well as at least one prominent member of St. John’s. I’ve spent much of this year battling my own health problems. As if one tidal wave were not enough, another swells.

There are times when it is hard to keep hopeful in the face of darkness. It is so tempting to throw up one’s hands and surrender to it, to give into the hate, anger, and fear ourselves. Despair is a potent enemy indeed. It blinds us to the truth, makes evil appear as good, and can take us down roads we will long regret once we come back to our senses. To paraphrase Star Wars, the road of despair is “quicker, easier, and more seductive,” but it is not better or stronger.

The most powerful truth that despair can blind us to is the constant presence of God in our lives. As the Psalmist reminds us, even the most evil of times cannot hide us away from the God who loves us: “Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you."

In some ways, it is perhaps fitting that I wrestle with these thoughts at the dawn of the Halloween season. This macabre holiday has its origins in an often forgotten church tradition that was meant to dispel despair and evil with laughter and mockery. The whole tradition of costuming on Halloween was to taunt the devil and his allies, to make light of our fears and reveal them for the false threats that they are. “You think you’re scary? Ha! Look at what we can do! You are nothing.”

Boo!

God’s presence reminds us that our fears are illusory. For what is the power of evil, in our society, our lives, or in our bodies, to his might and compassion towards us? He is the one who crafted the stars and galaxies and yet offers himself for our sake, to give us life and love and joy. He who offered up his own son so that death could no longer truly harm us is the one who stands by us through thick and thin.

The one reason it is often hard to believe is how alone we can feel when despair creeps in. But we are never alone. God is always present, always quick to grant strength and comfort in time of need. There is a defiant element to faith. As the storm clouds gather within and without, we can stand tall against any and all threats. We can stand tall because we do not stand alone. God stands with us, now and always.

Sermon for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on September 20, 2015
Scripture text: Mark 9:30-37

It is an iconic and beloved image, and admittedly for this pastor who has done extensive work with children and youth, a favorite of mine: Jesus and the little children. We’ve all seen numerous depictions of this scene and the others like it from the Gospels. It presents an image of the faith that is wholesome, warm, and inviting, highlighting perhaps what is best about our life and practice as Christians.

But as is often the case with such familiar and beloved texts, there are certain cliches that seem to tag along. Many preachers this Sunday when speaking on Jesus’ use of a child to make a point to the disciples will likely highlight one of these: the reality that children were not valued in the ancient world in the same way they are today. It follows that to hold up a worthless child as an example of what is best in a disciple is something shocking and unexpected.

I’m not sure I track with this line of thinking anymore. I used to, but not so much now. Given the degree of sacrifice parents are often willing to make for their children in the Bible, I question their supposed lack of value. The sacrifice of Isaac in the Old Testament is a shocking story precisely because Isaac’s life is so valuable to his parents. The holy family flees to Egypt to escape the tyranny of Herod the Great precisely because they love their son Jesus enough to not surrender him to the murder squads.

But not only that, I also question the idea that we here today value our children to a much greater capacity than the ancients once did. Many patterns and behaviors of our society call into question the supposed value we place upon our children. We’re not as good at this as we’d like to think we are.

First off, despite the fondness of these stories here in the church, children are often disparaged and disdained in many churches. They’re considered noisy and disruptive and parents and families with small children are often discouraged from worship in both subtle and direct ways. Youth are considered rather condescendingly as the “future” of the church, a statement that highlights their lack of value as part of the “present” of the church. “Seen and not heard” is still the often the order of the day within the walls of many congregations today.

Our broader society is not much better. The perpetual debate over how our government spends its money often throws our children under the bus. We cut taxes to “save money,” and yet what programs get cut from the lack of funds? Food programs that feed hungry children. Schools and teachers that educate our children. Our political class is more than happy to sacrifice the welfare of children to preserve the perks their campaign donors receive. As comedian George Carlin once observed of these often “pro-life” politicians, “If you’re pre-born, you’re fine; if you’re preschool, you’re...(well, I won’t use the same word he used, but you get the picture.)”

Warning: Profanity (It IS George Carlin, after all.)

And then there’s the news from this week. A young black Muslim student at a Texas school completed a class project to build a clock for his engineering class. He, like many of his peers, brought said clock to school to show to his teacher. He was arrested by police for “making a hoax bomb.” None of his peers were arrested or harassed in any way. Of course, to the bigots of our society, there is nothing more terrifying than a non-white non-Christian kid who’s smart and so something had to be done to put this one back in his place. The clarion call of bullies everywhere.

Clearly an existential threat to our society.

Of course, bullying is another issue where our lack of concern for our children is often highlighted. In fact, there’s still an argument made that bullying is somehow a good thing for children, that it builds character or some other such nonsense. I can assure you from first hand experience that those arguments are bull. I confided in last week’s Sunday School that there was a time in my life when I was seriously contemplating suicide. I admitted that it was over a girl. Seems silly now in hindsight, to react so to a breakup. But when it comes after a lifetime of rejection as a perpetually bullied child, there is a twisted logic to it all. That’s the legacy of what many think is a perfectly okay right of passage for our children. Let them be abused. It’s good for them. The graveyards of our young give mute testimony to how wrong that is. A graveyard I very easily could have been in instead of standing before you now.

One of the most important rules of hiking in the woods is to never get between a mama bear and her cubs. The mama is strong and the cubs are weak and vulnerable, so by instinct it falls to the parent to protect them from all danger. We humans aren’t supposed to be any different. We are meant to protect and nurture children. We could take a lesson from nature itself on that score.

But therein also lies the issue of why we don’t and it goes to the heart of what Jesus is trying to teach us this day. Children are weak and vulnerable and our society worships strength and power above all else. It’s at the heart of the argument the disciples are having among themselves in our Gospel text. Who’s the strongest? Who’s the greatest? That’s what matters to us. That’s why bullies are often admired, the rich are coddled in political circles, people of minority races and religions are discriminated against, and those without voice are thrown under the bus time and again. We worship strength and those things and people that lack it are looked down upon as of less value and purpose.

And Jesus tells us that is who we are to be as his disciples. Weak and vulnerable as little children. Dependent like they are. His perspective is an honest one. Our strength is often an illusion. Our power is far more limited than we’d like to believe it to be. As we heard just last Sunday, “For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” Our power can only win us the world, and were any of us to even succeed in that, he who dies with the most toys is still dead.

No, as weak and vulnerable children, we need a parent who can protect and nurture us from that which threatens us most. Our power cannot stop death. Our strength is impotent before the grave. But there is one who can shield us from this danger, the one Jesus calls Abba. The one who sent him into this world to put right what has gone wrong. The one who will bring him to a cross to face death itself and then on the third day overcome that great power by rising from the tomb.

None of that we can do on our own. Our strength fails us. We are as helpless as little children before the power of sin and death. It is only through a power beyond ourselves that we can hope to overcome this foe. That power is God’s and God’s alone.

Whether we like it or not, we are as little children. Our worship of human strength only brings harm and hurt and ultimately solves nothing of the true problems we face. It accomplishes nothing that truly matters. Our hope can only be found elsewhere. Our hope is found in a God who gives all for our sake. A God whose strength is made manifest in weakness, the weakness of a cross, the weakness of a child dying upon it. Hope for the world. Life for the dying, found in the least likely circumstance possible. Human strength will not save us. Christ dying upon the cross, that is our salvation. Amen.

Weekly Devotion for the week of September 13

Scripture texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24, John 3:13-17 (Appointed for Holy Cross Day, September 14)

I mentioned briefly in my sermon on Sunday a brewing conflict in the heart of Christianity, based largely around a misunderstanding of the identity of Jesus. I stand by those words, since I think there really is a growing division in the Church about who Jesus is and what really mattered to him. The conflict is not new, but it seems to flare up periodically and this seems to be one of those times.

On one side are the legalists, the moralists, and Pharisees of this contemporary age. At the core of their beliefs is the idea that the “rules” matter and matter most. One lives their life in a focused effort on avoiding sin. That, in of itself, is not a bad thing, but it also often manifests as a concerted effort to make others avoid sin as well. Hence, we have a county clerk in Kentucky who refuses to issue marriage licenses to gay couples because she believes she will be held accountable for whatever “sins” those couples commit. God will punish me, not merely for the things I do wrong, but for the things I did not prevent others from doing wrong.

There is a certain logic and rationality to this position. After all, if the goal is to usher in the kingdom of God and to make the world a better place, then it stands to reason that we must squash sin wherever it manifests, both within ourselves and in others. If we fail in this task, the kingdom of God is delayed all the more, the world remains a cesspool, and God is displeased that his plan is not moving forward. We will therefore be held accountable for our part in the failure of God’s plan to advance.

There are a number of problems with this way of thinking, not the least of which is the hubris that God’s plan depends upon us. It doesn’t. It never did. God’s plan relied and relies upon Christ. It relies on his obedience, his sacrifice, his cross. It is by grace that the kingdom is ushered in. It is by forgiveness that sin is ultimately dealt with. It is by sacrifice on the cross that victory is achieved.

In this, there is no logic or rationality. It’s nonsense. One does not win by losing. One does not gain by sacrifice. Where’s the accountability for our actions? Where do our choices for good or for ill matter? It doesn’t make sense that I can be this sinful person and yet be loved, accepted, and embraced by the One without sin. It doesn’t follow.

And yet, that is the truth. “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing.”

Grace is the operative norm of the universe. It is only by God’s grace that we have any hope of salvation. If the legalists were right and it depended upon our slavish avoidance of any and all sin, we would be doomed. We simply cannot live up to that standard. As many have already pointed out, our aforementioned county clerk is herself thrice divorced. She does not live up to the standard she sets for others or herself. None of us could.

But we do not have to. Jesus spells out the plan of salvation to Nicodemus in that famous passage from John 3, a passage so many have memorized and yet so few fully understand. “For God so loved…” God loves humanity. He loves creation. Because of his love, he seeks to save those that he loves, so he acts. He sends his son incarnate. He goes to the cross to be lifted up and die. He rises again on the third day. He does it all for us. It is not earned. It is not merited. We do not deserve this gift, and yet it is given anyway. Not because we’re so wonderful, holy, and sinless, but because God chooses to give the gift of salvation. It’s his call. His choice. It is his decision to save you.

And no, it does not make sense. What goes around comes around. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. We’re told time again by the wisdom of the world that such grace does not and cannot exist. But, as Paul writes, it’s not by the wisdom of the world that we will be saved. It will be by the power of God, a power made manifest in weakness, a power seen most keenly in a dying man on a cross.

Thank God for the foolishness of grace. For though it and only through it, we have life and salvation. Amen.

Sermon for the 16th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on September 13, 2015
Scripture text: Mark 8:27-38

One problem some people face, particularly if they are in the public eye, is that their identity is defined more by who people think they are, rather than who they truly are. A famous actor may be confused with their most famous character. For instance, the late Leonard Nimoy, known for his role in the Star Trek TV series, felt he had to title his autobiography “I am NOT Spock.” That should seem obvious; the actor is not his character, but so often isn’t.

Our President is also a good example of this. Seven years ago, Barack Obama swept into office. Many of his opponents were convinced that he was the devil incarnate, ready and eager to doom this nation to destruction. Conversely, many of his supporters were convinced he was the Second Coming of Jesus, ready and eager to usher in a new golden age of prosperity and peace for our country. Lost in the mix was the human being that he is and after seven years of his Presidency, we’ve seen that he is neither as awful as his detractors believed nor as gloriously wonderful as his supporters once claimed. He’s just a guy trying to do a tough job in a tough environment, but no one seems to remember that.

Even I’ve dealt with this to some degree. I remember clearly when Sarah and I were dating when we had the “You’re a WHAT?” moment in regards to what I do for a living. Thankfully, it came after she’d gotten to know the real me somewhat and the expectations and perceptions of who we clergy are and what we’re like did not send her screaming for the hills. But it could have.

Our engagement photo from 2007. Dodged a bullet with the whole "You're a pastor?" bit.

Jesus likewise wrestles with this dynamic. As he performs his miracles of healing, as he teaches his philosophy and theology to the crowds, as he stands up to the powers of the religious establishment of his day, his fame has grown and along with it, the expectations and perceptions of his admirers and his opponents. Who is the real Jesus? Somewhere along the way, that’s getting lost in the shuffle. Does anyone really know who he is?

So, while on an excursion to Caesarea Philippi, Jesus confronts the question with his disciples head on. Who do people say that I am? Who do you say that I am? The choice of venue for this confrontation is intentional. Caesarea Philippi is pretty far afield from Jesus’ normal stomping grounds. He’s out in the hinterlands, away from the crowds, away from all those who are seeking to define him as something other than what he really is.

But it’s also a temple city, a place dedicated to the pagan religions of the day. So Jesus is asking this question in the midst of shrines and monuments dedicated to the pantheon of Greek gods and goddesses. Who do people say that I am? Am I a war god like Ares? Am I a healer like Demeter? Am I wisdom like Athena? Who am I? What am I? Do you even know?

For one thing, Jesus probably wasn't as fond as Ares of standing around naked holding a spear.

It’s a smart play by Jesus, because it forces the disciples to confront the fact that they really DON’T know who Jesus is. Like everyone else, they want him to be who they want him to be. Even when Peter blurts out a seemingly correct answer, that answer is nuanced by his expectations of what the Messiah is. When Jesus begins to explain the truth of his purpose and identity, Peter’s expectations are so shattered that he verbally attacks his teacher. The Messiah Jesus truly is, but he’s not the Messiah you thought he’d be.

How little things have changed.

It’s not hyperbole to say that there is a war brewing in the heart of Christianity. And at the center of that war is this same question. Who do people say that Jesus is? Do we really know?

I grew up in the 70s and 80s. At that time, in the church and the larger society, there was sense of celebration. We’d won the civil rights struggle (a premature thought perhaps, but it was the spirit of those times.) The melting pot that is America was something over which to rejoice. We were brothers and sisters, black, white, Latino, Asian, whatever. I watched Sesame Street with its diverse cast of people of color and didn’t think anything of it. That’s the way the world was. That’s the way the world was supposed to be, full of color and diversity and how great it was that we were all different. I was a kid, of course, too young and blissfully ignorant of such things as bigotry and racism, but I’d like to think I never lost much of that mindset.

And yet now, 30-40 years later, I look out over people frothing with rage over anyone and everyone who is even remotely different from they are. And rather than stand against it as it should and as it once did, I find the church often at the forefront of this fear and hatred, urging it on. We claim bigotry and discrimination as a religious right, say that this is what Jesus would have wanted. Is it really? Or have we confused him, like so many did before, with something else?

Christianity? To quote The Princess Bride, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

“Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly.” Those are the words that Peter can’t handle. Neither can many of us. They are words of defeat. Words of sacrifice. Words of giving, when what we want is to take, to win, and to surrender nothing of our preconceptions, prejudices, and power towards the world and other people..

Who do say that I am? Are we going to listen to Jesus tell us who he really is and what he came to do, words recorded in the Holy Scriptures that we so often fail to read, or are we going to put words in his mouth based on what WE want of him? Setting our minds on human things indeed.

Salvation will not be won by conquest. Christ is no war god that wins by strength and violence. He is not Ares, no matter how much, then or now, we wish him to be. If Jesus had been who we claim him to be, who we DEMAND he be, the plan would have failed. There would be no cross, no empty tomb, and no salvation for us or for anyone.

The ultimate blasphemy we humans commit is how we often try to tell God how to do his business, as if we know better than he how to run this universe. It’s the ultimate statement of human hubris and arrogance. But we do not know better. Our way would have damned us all. Peter demands Jesus conform to our way and if Jesus had listened and obeyed, all would be lost. No wonder Peter is called “Satan,” everything that God had worked for, everything that he had planned would come to naught in that one moment. Evil would triumph.

Is that really what we want? It’s what we’re asking for. It’s what we’re demanding. Telling Jesus, yet again, to turn his back on his true purpose, on his true self to satisfy our fears, our anxieties, and our hatreds, not realizing what the consequences of that really will be.

That’s not faith. Faith is, instead, to trust that God does know what he’s doing, that his teachings are correct, and his commandments just. He tells us to love one another when it’s so much easier to hate. He tells us to sacrifice when we hunger for more and more of everything. He tells us to do as he did, to take up a cross for the sake of others, to embrace what seems to be defeat to win true victory.

None of these things are intuitive or logical, which is why it takes faith to follow through. To believe that God really does know what he’s doing. That his plan will work and that salvation will be won not through an act of conquest, but of sacrifice. A man dying on a cross for the sake of the whole world. That man is Jesus and that’s who he is. That’s who he really is. Not a warrior. Not a conqueror. Not a man of power declaring some of us sub-human and unworthy of attention or rights because of our skin color or who we want to marry. No, he’s a sacrifice. He’s a slave. He’s the one standing in our place on that cross so that we may have life and not death. That’s who Jesus really is. He’s the one who given us all by giving all of himself. Amen.

Weekly Devotional for September 6, 2015

Scripture texts: Joshua 6:1-21, Hebrews 11:29-12:2 (Appointed for Monday, Sept 7)

Ok, there’s a little trip in the Way-back for folks. I remember that song from when I was a kid in children’s choir at St. Paul, so it’s definitely a memory for me.

Of course, many of us remember the story on which the old Gospel song is based as well; the story that shows up in the daily lectionary this week from the book of Joshua. A famous story about a famous (or perhaps infamous, depending on your perspective) battle. Joshua gives instruction from God to his soldiers to march around the city seven times over the course of a week and on the seventh day, they blow their trumpets, the walls of city collapse, and the Israelites rush in to victory.

Archaeological evidence at the site of the city points to their being some accuracy to the Biblical account of this battle. The walls of the city did collapse by some cause, although whether the account in Joshua is literally accurate or an embellishment of the real events is open to some debate. Regardless, the collapse of the city paved the way for the Israelites to establish themselves more fully in the Promised Land. A great boon, in whatever form, for the people of God.

And this has generally been the view of the story throughout history, regardless of whether it passes a modern standard for historical accuracy or not. Metaphor is often as important, if not more important, in stories of faith than a literal or accurate read.

Like many of the stories of the Exodus, the battle of Jericho follows a pattern. The people encounter a difficulty, an impasse, or some other threat or danger. God then provides a way out, proving once again his faithfulness to his people.

The author of Hebrews takes this pattern and runs with it, fitting the story of the battle into the larger pattern of God’s faithfulness to his people throughout the ages. Name-dropping dozens of Old Testament figures in a few short verses, the author makes the point that these paragons of the faith saw only some of the promises given to them fulfilled, but lived in trust that since God had proven faithful in some things, that He would come through for the rest.

That’s a good lesson for all of us to take to heart. Again, step into the Way-back and look at the whole of your life. How many times has God come through for you so far? How many times have you witnessed Him at work in lives of people that you know? How much evidence have you seen that God has already been faithful in some of the promises given to you? And if faithful in the little things, will He not prove faithful in the big ones?

We all have been given an immense promise, a pledge of life and blessing for all eternity. God has secured this blessing through the life, death, and resurrection of his son. And we are very much like those Old Testament figures, living in the midst of promises fulfilled so far only in part, yet we await the full measure of what we have been pledged. It’s sometimes a tough place to be, caught between the “already” and the “not-quite-yet,” but that’s where we are. We wait. We hope. We believe. Amen.

Sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church and St. John's Lutheran, New Freedom on September 6, 2015
Scripture text: Mark 7:24-37

Today’s Gospel lesson is always a challenge to us preachers. It contains an obvious problem: what to do about Jesus? One of my seminary professors, when he was to preach on this text in chapel, summed it up nicely. “There’s no getting around it. Jesus acts like a jerk.” And he does. A person in need comes to him with sincerity and vulnerability and not only does he turn his back on them, refusing at the first the requested miracle, but he insults the woman by calling her a dog.

What to do about Jesus here? Some scholars have said his encounter with this Syro-phoenician woman is a turning point in his ministry, that when she turns the insult back on him in faith and in confidence, it reveals to Jesus that the new covenant is meant for all people, not just the Jews. I don’t buy that. I don’t buy that because I know that Jesus is fully aware that the old covenant was meant for all people. It is very clear that the promises given to Abraham would produce a blessing for “all families” of the world. And if that was true for thousands of years before Jesus was born, why would it suddenly stop now?

What’s going on in this story? What sort of game is Jesus playing here, because I am convinced it’s a game. Jesus is a very clever man and he likes to toy with people’s expectations. He is using this woman and her astounding unshakable faith to drive home a point to the rest of us. But what is that point?

I’ve read this story hundreds of times, but this week was the first time something new jumped out at me. It was the first time I really looked at what Jesus says to the woman. “It is not fair...” What a curious way to put things. A clue perhaps to what this is all about.

Of course, we are all about fairness. We like things to be fair. Everyone is equal. Everything is simple. All variables accounted for and controlled. Justice is done. The right and good outcome is achieved and everyone walks away with what they deserve. That’s fairness...or so we think.

But that’s not how life plays out.

Is it fair that students who have put years of work and thousands upon thousands of dollars into a degree in higher education come out to a job market with only minimum wage jobs that will leave them with a burden of debt and financial insolvency for decades if not the rest of their life? Is that fair?

Is it fair that people are condemned to be brutalized by crime, discrimination, poverty, and murder simply because their skin color is darker than ours? Is that fair?

Is it fair that people must brave crossing the sea to lands that do not want them because back home they are trapped between a brutal dictator and a group of fanatics with a fetish for cutting off the heads of those they don’t like? Is that fair? Is it fair that people flee to this country because back home they have the choice between criminal cartels and radical revolutionaries all bent on murder and destruction?

Is it fair that good people die of disease and accident? Is it fair that the best of us are taken too soon? Honesty, what is fair in our world anymore? I don’t know. Not much.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. What is fair about this innocent child tormented by demonic powers? What did this child do to deserve such a fate? Is she so different from the refugees in Europe or the African-Americans stuck in the ghetto or Freddie as he battles against deadly cancer? Do they deserve their fate? Has life been fair to them? And do we care that it hasn’t?

That’s not a question we really want to answer, is it?

But it is the question Jesus wants to answer. Fair doesn’t work. Fair isn’t good enough. Fair, as we practice it in this world, leaves people behind. Fair helps the established. Fair helps the powerful. Fair helps the privileged. And that’s probably why we don’t mind that things aren’t very fair for a lot of people out there. They’re not us.

Until we are. Funny how that works sometimes. What then? What happens we’re the ones left behind? What happens when life deals us a bad hand? What happens when things stop being fair for us?

Fair isn’t good enough. We need something better. What we need is grace. And it is grace that Jesus provides.

Grace is when we given what we do not deserve. Grace is when we are given life when we have failed to promote life in others. Grace is when we are forgiven when we keep screwing up time and time again. Grace is when we are given blessings beyond measure despite the fact that we’ve turned our back on God more times than we can count. Grace isn’t fair...and thank God it isn’t.

Grace is what this woman receives. It’s what her child receives. It’s what she came to ask for. She didn’t want what was fair. She wanted something better and Jesus provides. With a word, the demon is gone. She didn’t get what was fair. She got grace instead.

So what about us? How many of us are living lives filled with what is fair? Are you getting what you think you deserve? Is everything working out the way you always hoped and always envisioned? Probably not. Fair isn’t good enough for us either. We need grace.

And it is grace that Christ provides. You know, when you think about it, Jesus’ life wasn’t very fair either. It’s not very fair that God’s son had to leave his heavenly throne to come down here in the muck and mire of this world. It’s not very fair that he got stuck with a bunch of bumbling idiots as disciples. It’s not very fair that he had to die on the cross. None of that’s fair.

That should be us up there on that cross. But it’s not. It’s him; it’s Jesus standing in our stead, bringing that blessing promised to Abraham that would be for all people. Grace to a world in desperate need of it. Grace to you and to me. Better than fair. Better by far than what is deserved. Better because we need better. Amen.

Weekly Devotion for August 30, 2015

Scripture text: Isaiah 32:1-8 (Appointed for Friday, September 4)

One of the drawbacks of trying to keep abreast of current events is that one can very quickly become discouraged by the state of the world. One has to go in with a couple of tools at their disposal to avoid this fate, not the least of which is acknowledging the old press saying about “If it bleeds, it leads.” Media tends to exaggerate, making things appear worse than they truly are. Hype and hyperbole are the order of the day.

But some things you just can’t mitigate or avoid. I was disheartened greatly by two recent deaths. The first was Lenny Robinson, a wealthy Marylander who used his wealth to purchase a Lamborghini and a Batman costume and went around to hospitals to entertain sick children as the superhero. The second was Kyle Jean Baptiste, the first African-American to land the lead role in my favorite musical Les Miserables. Good people, trendsetters and role models, taken too soon. No hype. No exaggeration here. Just two senseless deaths.

Life is hard and the older we all get the more it seem to become so. Easy to believe that everything is just going to hell, that it’s all getting worse and the best and most noble of us are going to fall prey to corruption, cynicism, or death. Good and innocent people are being murdered or dying of disease and accident unexpectedly. Our slate of candidates for the Presidency seems determined to outdo one another in how nasty, bigoted, and cruel they can be. Given the number of indictments and investigations surrounding several of them, it seems clear many are rather ethnically-challenged. Hardly the statesmen we once knew that ran for that office. There are protests in the streets, a world refugee crisis (to which our own immigrant issues are, in fact, related), and imminent threat of global warning. No wonder people are discouraged and frightened by the world today.

But human beings being what they are, I suspect that none of this is really new. Previous generations faced the threat of nuclear annihilation during the Cold War, the threat of fascism during WWII, tyrant kings in the 18th century, and the Black Death in the 14th century to name just a few. Life has never been easy. There was never a golden age in the past that we lost somewhere. Things have always been this way.

When the prophecies of Isaiah were being recorded, it did not happen in some idyllic world that we’ve long forgotten. Things were pretty rotten then too. And yet, the word of God that came to the prophet was a word of hope. Here is what the world will become once the kingdom of God comes in its fullness. There will be justice and peace. The blind will see. The deaf will hear. No longer will villainy and folly be rewarded.

This word is no less powerful today than it was thousands of years ago. Despite the ugliness we see around us, the cycle of time is moving us toward that idyllic future. The kingdom is coming. For all the nightmares of our world, God is still in charge and his plan is still operative. The future that He envisions is coming. A world of hope is on its way.

So I try to remember that in the midst of rough times in a rough world. As Martin Luther King once famously said, the “arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” The Peaceable Kingdom is coming. Trust in that.