Sermon for the Nativity of Our Lord

Preached on December 23, 2018 at Grace and December 24, 2018 at Canadochly
Preaching text: None

I find more and more that I have a rather ambivalent reaction to this festive holiday. Like many people, my emotions around Christmas are mixed. Some are very positive. Others bittersweet, and still others downright unpleasant. So I’m not always eager to jump on the bandwagon of nostalgia and sentimentality that drives so much of this season. But that’s me. That’s my personal issue on which I’ll dwell no more.

No, most of my ambivalence really comes down to the vast gulf between the way the world celebrates Christmas and what the Church lifts up on this holy night. To the world, this has become a festival of greed, buy buy buy, spend spend spend. He who dies with the most toys wins. You can’t have a real Christmas without...(insert whatever expensive item the retailers are selling this year.)

To the world, this is a festival of saccharine sentiment and nostalgia, as I already mentioned. Pine for those Christmases past when it was Mom, Dad, brother, sister, dog, cat all opening their gifts by the fireplace. Pine for the time when downtown department stores had these amazing displays in their windows on Christmas. Pine for the visits to Santa’s lap and looking through the Sears catalog for your most wanted toy. It’s a time when the lonely find love and everything is perfect. And if it isn’t, you darn well better pretend it is or else.

To the world, this has, somewhat recently, become also a holiday of arrogance. Don’t you dare replace “Merry Christmas” with “Happy Holidays.” Don’t you dare allow those non-Christians to celebrate their winter festivals! This is OUR time. Ours and ours alone, despite the fact that nearly all religions have a winter holiday centered around the solstice and there are also more than a few secular holidays as well (New Years anyone?) But no, they aren’t allowed to exist anymore. It’s Christmas and nothing else. And we won’t dare give those heathens even a portion of our good will and peace towards men and all that Christmas spirit that belongs to us and to us alone.

That’s the world’s Christmas. That’s what it’s become. And we are as caught up in it as anyone. Perhaps willingly. Perhaps reluctantly. It’s insidious and inescapable. But this night we turn to the tiny town of Bethlehem. To a stable behind the inn. Gone is the glitz and the glamour. Gone are the flashing lights and the memories of our childhoods. The guns of the War on Christmas have fallen silent. And all that remains is a child in a manger.

A child that comes to put right what has gone wrong in the world. A child that will make the last first and the first last. A child that will welcome all people into his kingdom. A child who will weep with the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds. A child, a Messiah, who could not be more the antithesis of the world and its view of Christmas if he tried.

In fact, the whole story of the real Christmas flies in the face of what we so often celebrate during this time of year. Mary is a teenager mother and we all know what we normally think of them, accompanied by a man much older who claims to be her husband. Tell me the optics of that aren’t a bit off.

And this teenage mother, when word of her pregnancy comes to her, she bursts into song. And it’s not a “Yay, status quo” song. It's not a "Yay, everything is going to stay the same as it was" song. It’s a “tear it all down and start over song.” Shaming the rich and uplifting the poor. How often does that happen in our world?

And not long after this birth, she and Joseph and the child are chased out of Bethlehem by the threat of marching soldiers. They feel to Egypt as refugees. Probably a good thing they didn’t try to come here, given how we treat those similar at our borders.

No, if this story happened today. If Mary gave birth to a baby in a barn with her much older husband at her side, they would not be lauded. They would not be praised. They’d be condemned. Hated. Seen as leeches upon society at best or downright dangerous radicals at worst. They are literally everything that society teaches us to hate: poor, brown-skinned, homeless, a teenager who clearly made the wrong choices, a predatory man taking advantage, punks wanting to tear down the system, to challenge “the man.” They’re scum or so the world would claim of them.

Is it any wonder then that Christmas as we’ve come to celebrate it has as little to do with them as possible? And yet from these hated outcasts comes the salvation of the world.

That was, of course, intentional. God sent his son into the world so that we would be challenged by him, even in his very birth. Will you welcome this outcast king? Will you follow his Word? Will you work to change the world, to flip it all upside down? To make peace instead of war. To embrace instead of reject. To comfort rather than condemn. To feed rather than starve. To heal rather than harm. To love rather than hate.

That question is before us every day of our lives, but it is most keen I suspect at this time of year. The world throws up a glittering spectacle before us and calls it Christmas. It is meant to obfuscate not merely who Jesus is, but what he is about. It’s not greed. It’s not shallow sentiment. And it certainly is not hatred and rejection. It is the beginning of a kingdom where all that is wrong in this world is made right. Where sin is forgiven. Love has the last word. Where all are welcomed, fed, clothed, and healed. Which Christmas matters most to you? The one that serves our bases desires? Or the one that will one day bring paradise? Your call. Amen.

Sermon for Fourth Advent

Preached at Canadochly on December 23, 2018
Preaching text: Luke 1:46-55

If the season of Advent could be said to have a theme, it is this: “The world is not as it should be, and Christ is coming to make things as they are meant to be.” It echoes out from the apocalyptic readings we get on the first sunday. It is found in the words and the mission of John the Baptist. And we hear it today in Mary’s words of praise that we know as the Magnificat.

The world is broke and God is going to fix it.

This is however not a message of Good News to those who benefit from the brokenness of the world. Or by those who think they will someday or somehow. I’m starting to understand why Advent is not popular and why there’s this great rush to get to Christmas. It’s not unlike the way we approach Easter as well: Rushing along to avoid the crucifixion to get to the resurrection, here we rush to the birth without dwelling on all the messy reasons of why Jesus is being born.

It also explains a great deal of early Christian history. Why the crucifixion occurred and why the early disciples were almost all martyred for the faith. The vision of Advent is transformation of a world that doesn’t necessarily want to be transformed.

Which brings us back to this virgin girl whom God has selected to bear the salvation of the world. His pick is not accidental. Again, in an effort to mute the radical nature of the King she carries in her womb, we’ve made Mary into a demure little creature, pretty, dressed in blue, and completely harmless. But as the words of her song imply, she is anything but.

An increasingly popular song around this time of year is “Mary, did you know?” Well, read the words of the Magnificat again and then ask the title of that song a second time. Of course, she knew. In fact, she knew more than the lyrics of that modern song leads on. She knew that he would be rejected. She knew he would be arrested. She knew she would have to watch him die.

And she also knew that this what it would take. The world is broken and God is going to fix it. Her son was how. His life. His death. And his resurrection.

We portray her as something of a weakling. Yet Mary is one tough cookie, a radical herself, hungry and eager for God to get to work. She was not chosen by accident. This teenage punk (as I’ve called her before) was the perfect vessel for God’s son.

We would do well to emulate her. To think like her. To be as fearless as she. To hunger for what God seeks to do with this lost world. But the question before each of us is do we? Are we? Is there anything of Mary’s fire in us? Or are we comfortable with the world as it is?

Many of us are, of course, very comfortable with the world as it is. Particularly here in America where the true ravages of hunger, poverty, disease, and war are spared most of us. We are the privileged few who do not experience the brokenness of the world except on rare occasions. Often times, we don’t even realize how broken things really are.

But they are quite broken even if we don’t always see it. I had a moment when I saw it just this week. There was an article about a great discovery. Some lucky chap had found a newspaper from the 1770s in his attic. Only one of four such copies still in existence. Incredibly rare find. Worth, to collectors and interested museums, around $18,000. Eighteen grand for a piece of faded newspaper. And then I realized, if I was the one who had found that, and if I had sold it to an interested buyer for $18,000, it still would not be enough to cover a single dose of my medicine that I take to treat my UC.

How on Earth do people do it? Those without insurance or other aid? They don’t. Research suggests that anywhere from 30,000 to 50,000 people die each year in this country from diseases they can’t treat because they can’t afford to. Jesus healed the sick, made the lame to talk, the blind to see. He knew disease was breaking the world. Do we?

It was a tragic scene that crossed our TV screens some weeks ago. A young girl, so emaciated you could count every rib. She became the poster child for the horrific war in Yemen. Seven years old, little Amal Hussain captivated the world after her picture was featured in the New York Times. She also died not long after that photo was taken. Starved to death. Jesus fed the multitudes and called for us to lay down our swords. He knew hunger and war break the world. Do we?

And speaking of tragedies of children, many of us heard this week about Jakelin Caal Maquin, the little Guatemalan refugee girl who died in ICE custody. She too was seven years old. Held in captivity because a portion of our people are frightened without reason of those coming here for a new life. Jesus himself was a refugee at one point, and he was ever eager to welcome the outcast and the stranger. He knew xenophobia, bigotry, and fear break the world. Do we?

And lest we think it’s only the big tragedies that hear about in the news, it’s not. No, it’s the inner struggle as well. It’s the brokenness inside us. It’s that compulsion that keeps us going back again and again to cigarettes and alcohol, porn or drugs. It’s that fear of “those people” that has no basis in reality and yet chills our hearts nonetheless. It’s the poison of our hearts and minds, the poison we dare not admit often times even to ourselves. Jesus knew about that too when spoke that what is within corrupts and breaks the world.

This is what Jesus came to change. This is what Jesus came to fix. He came to fix the world and he came to fix you and me, because we can’t do it. Sin prevents that. Even our best efforts are naught without him. But don’t let that discourage you. All good repair jobs take time. And God is at work. He is working in each one of us. He is working in the world, often times through people like us. People who see that brokenness and say aloud “no more.”

Hold onto hope, my friends. Mary’s vision is coming to pass. Her son is born, lived, died, and rose again. The world will be put to right in its time. Not our comfort at the brokenness nor the brokenness itself can stop it. The world is broke and God WILL fix it all. Amen.

Sermon for Third Advent

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on December 16, 2018
Preaching text: Luke 3:7-18

I’ve been seeing this meme show up on Facebook a lot this week. It plays to one of those little games we pastors like to play with our congregations, taking a moment to poke fun at our people by using John the Baptist’s rather harsh words. Of course, y’all are not a brood of vipers. That’s the joke.

And you wouldn’t have been back then either, if somehow we could all jump into a time machine and travel back to those days. John doesn’t launch into this insult until after he starts seeing the Pharisees and other officials start showing up at the Jordan to receive his baptism. Ordinary everyday folk met a very different John than those “important people.”

Now if we had decided to take along in our time machine someone like Donald Trump or Bill Gates, Nancy Pelosi or Elon Musk, Franklin Graham or Pope Frances, we might see the nastier John after all. If we had as guests the power players in government, industry, and religion, John would probably not be happy with us. And that gives us a good clue as to why John throws the insult in the first place: These are the people that should know better. They’re the ones in charge. They’re the ones who’ve been given power and responsibility. And what have they done with it to help the people?

You and I could probably debate all day over that very question. But the fact that there’s a debate implies that these leaders have often not lived up to the expectations set for them by society. They may or may not have tried to do good. They may or may not be sincere when they say they want to serve the people. All that is open to interpretation, often guided by our own biases and opinions. But in John’s day it was far more clear cut. Leaders back then hoarded wealth and power, taught false teachings to justify their behavior, made exceptions for themselves in the laws, and did far more to help themselves than any of the ordinary everyday folk that needed the help. They were indeed a brood of vipers.

So how does one not become a viper in John’s eyes? Well, he tells us. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise...Tax collectors...Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you. Soldiers...Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” These instructions, while quite specific to John’s audience, give us the first glimpse of what Jesus will call the Kingdom of God. If someone is in need, help them. Give of your abundance. Take no more than you need. Be generous, compassionate, and humble.

And that’s precisely what Jesus does when he comes on the scene. When he encounters the sick, he reaches out to heal them. He makes the lame to talk, the blind to see. When people are hungry, he takes bread and fish and multiplies it so that even upwards of 5000 people can be fed to satisfaction. He casts out demons, gives honor to women and children and outcasts and lepers. And he commends those who follow him to do likewise.

And, of course, that now falls to us. What would we do if we had gone back in our time machine back to the Jordan of 30 AD and heard John give these instructions and exhortations? What would we do when we came home to December 2018 in York County?

Luke says that what John is preaching is “good news” at the conclusion of this text. A lot of what John says doesn’t sound like good news to me. It’s harsh and demanding. But those in need, it’s like water in the desert. And while we are not the movers and shakers of society, we are not those who “should know better” as John implies by his insults, we do have much to offer in a world that desperately needs a taste of hope.

The Gospel is just words until we make it real for people. You can tell someone “God loves you” until you are blue in the face and it won’t matter if they’re starving, homeless, brokenhearted, alone, hated, and lost. But give them food, a roof over the head. Give them companionship, acceptance, and a sympathetic ear, and suddenly “God loves you” isn’t so abstract anymore. It becomes real. Why? Because it is easier to believe God loves you when you know one of his followers loves you.

That’s really what John is trying to tell us. Love people. Help people. Give to people who need. Do what the Messiah is going to do or, to us who live 2000 years later, do as the Messiah did. Jesus showed people how much they mattered to God, that their lives were worth something. John the Baptist was just kick starting all that, showing people the way the Messiah would take. When he shows up, this is what you’re going to see. This is how the world will start to work.

Well, John is long gone and Jesus has long since ascended back into heaven. But their vision of a new world is now our inheritance as Christians. What are we going to do with it?

We are now a little more than a week away from Christmas, the one holiday our society dedicates almost universally to these ideals of compassion, generosity, and companionship. And there’s always those sentimentalists who lament “Why can’t we have Christmas all year round?” I’m not particularly keen on the saccharine nostalgia that often fuels such ideas, but I do like the idea of making compassion, generosity, grace, mercy, peace, companionship, and love virtues we practice every day of our lives. Can we do that? Can we show the world the Kingdom of God? John shows us the way. Jesus lived the way. What can we do? Amen.

Sermon for Second Advent

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on December 9, 2018
Preaching text: None

[Pastor's Note: Very much enjoyed my vacation last weekend. It was the first time I'd taken a Sunday off for something other than a medical emergency or a family visit in nearly 4 years.]

Ah, Advent. My favorite season of the Church Year. The time of preparation for the coming of the Lord. We get a dose of apocalypse (last week), John the Baptist (this week and next), and Mother Mary (final week). We hear the ancient prophecies from Isaiah and other Old Testament writings. We see all the steps that lead up to both Jesus’ birth and his arrival on the scene as an adult.

It’s a bit like watching that cable TV show “How It’s Made,” where they show things like how cars are build or Oreos are baked and so forth. In Advent, we see how all the parts come together for this singular moment in human history, when God incarnated as one of us in order to save us all.

At this point in my ministry, I think I’ve preached a thousand sermons on what this is all about. God seeking to save the world, fulfilling the promises he made to Abraham all those centuries before. But part of me wonders if I’m not missing an important point, something that gets lost in all these grand world-changing gestures by the divine.

As it is for a lot of folks, the holiday season can be a bit hard on me emotionally. My depression flares up mightily and I end up wrestling with my demons more than usual, particularly this year in light of my summer of sickness. So, in an effort to stave off some of that, I was watching some inspiring videos on YouTube this week. One was a TED talk by social researcher Brene Brown about vulnerability and the power of being real with people. It really got me thinking about something.

Human beings, by in large, are terrified of vulnerability. We don’t want to be vulnerable. We don’t want to be flawed. And we hide our vulnerable parts; we hide our flaws. We pretend to be something we are not and it makes us absolutely miserable. We treat this misery often times with addictions of all sorts: drugs, alcohol, gambling, pornography, food, you name it. And it’s the malaise that is infecting our society. Why is politics the way it is? Why are we so divided? Because we can’t dare admit (not even to ourselves) that, just maybe, we might be wrong about something. That would make us vulnerable. And we can’t have that.

But where does this fear come from? Simple. We are afraid that if people see us as we truly are, they will reject us. They won’t love us. They won’t want anything to do with us. I know that’s my fear. It’s part of why I’m so open about some of my oddities, my hobbies and interests. It’s an effort to fight off that fear. But lest you think I’m bragging here, there’s a whole lot I don’t let people see also. Things no one sees. Parts of myself that I do not and probably cannot love.

And if we’re honest, we’d all admit the same.

So what does this have to do with Advent and the coming of Jesus? I want to flip the script a little and highlight a truth that can get lost in the midst of everything else. A truth I think we sometimes try to lose. I want us to think about all this prep, all these prophecies, all this energy that God is spending out, not as something he’s doing to save the world, but as something he’s doing to save you.

Yes, you. The whole you. All your beautiful parts that you love to show the world and all the ugliness and weakness you hide away even from yourself. The parts of yourself of which you’re proud and the parts of which you are ashamed. He’s doing all this for you, and for all of who and what you are. Jesus is coming for you.

Sometimes, when I talk about God’s universal love, that’s what gets lost. Yes, of course, God loves everybody and I am part of everybody and you are part of everybody, but that feels abstract and distant. I want to make it personal this time. Intimate, close. For God so loved you, that he sent his only son. That’s just as true.

You know, it’s the very first thing we learn when we become Christians. The very first lesson of Sunday School for those of us raised in the church. God loves you. So simple. So basic. But as we grow older, we become more aware of those ugly parts of ourselves. We come to realize we’re not perfect and some of us are downright flawed. And we doubt that love, because we regret our mistakes and we are embarrassed and ashamed of our ugly parts. We reason that if people knew the whole truth, they’d never want anything to do with us. And since we know also that God does know all those parts, he too wants nothing to do with us.

Yes, God knows all those things about you, but here’s the thing. He still loved you enough to send his son for you. He always intended to. There was never another option. In fact, I would wager that if you were the only person on Earth who needed Jesus, Jesus would have come anyway. And he would have gone to the cross and risen from the tomb for you and for you alone if that’s what was necessary.

That’s what it means when I say “God loves you.” Because that’s the kind of love it is. It’s not blind to your flaws. It embraces them. There may be parts of yourself that you cannot love. God does.

At Grace, we use a different form of the Confession and Absolution in worship than we do at Canadochly. The words of forgiveness that I speak there begin with the phrase, “God loved us even when we were dead to sin.” That’s a paraphrase of Romans 6, which is arguably one of the greatest chapters in all of the Scriptures. God loves you even with your sin, even with your flaws, even with your shame. He can’t not love you. You are his precious child, worth more to him than anything else. You are worth living for. You are worth dying for.

In spite of all the things you can’t stand about your inner self, God still loves you. And all of this that we celebrate in Advent, the words of John the Baptist about preparing the way, the prophecies that point to the birth of Christ, the song of celebration by John’s father, Zachariah, all of it is because of you. All of it is for you. All of it is so God can be with you forever.

The Scriptures are a great love story; a romance, in a sense. A love story between God and humankind. Or more specifically and perhaps more importantly, a love story between God and you. Amen.

Sermon for Christ the King

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on November 25, 2018
Preaching text: John 18:33-37

Why was Jesus crucified? That’s one of those questions we don’t ask in the church; again, because we think we know the answer. Theologically, we do know the answer. It’s because of us and our sin. But even there, there is some disagreement on precisely how so. What is known as “substitutionary atonement” in scholarly circles is still quite popular; Jesus takes our sin upon himself and dies in our place, taking on the punishment we’ve earned instead of us. I’m fond of what I call “demonstrative atonement,” which is a term I’ve invented myself although there may be a more appropriate scholarly name that I don’t know. The idea is the cross is a demonstration of just how far Christ, and therefore God, is willing to go for the sake of the human race; even to the cross and its horrific death will he go to show how much he loves us.

Demonstrative atonement in a nutshell

I'm on a bit of a tangent here. These don’t really answer the question I’m asking; I'm not asking for the theological reason Jesus died. I'm asking for the legalistic reason he died. What was his crime? Again, the easy answer is “there wasn’t one.” Jesus was killed just because; he was innocent. True, but even tyrannies will create the pretense of some lawbreaking to justify their cruelty. What then was the pretense? One could say “blasphemy,” the charge the religious leaders level against him. But a Roman court would not care about the nuances of Jewish religious law, and it was a Roman court that condemned him.

No, to the Romans, Jesus was a threat because he claimed to be a king. And that would be treason.

The Gospel stories tend to show Pilate as rather blase towards the threat Jesus poses. That’s either because Pilate did not take Jesus seriously or because the Gospels were written in a futile attempt to paint the Romans in a good light by making Pilate sympathetic. But make no mistake. Jesus was seen as a threat by the powers that be. His talk of a Kingdom of God was not going to go by unanswered.

And that shouldn’t be any surprise to us. What is the kingdom of God? It’s nearly impossible to answer that question in its entirety but we do have pieces of that puzzle. It’s a place where the hungry are fed, the sick are healed, the lost are found, the outcast is welcomed, and death is no more. It’s a kingdom of life for all people.

Now compare that to the kingdoms, the nations of this world. Each ruled by a person or persons who derive their position via power. And what power is that? It’s the power of death. It’s the power that says to the hungry, I’ll feed you if you obey me. It says to the sick, I’ll heal you if you obey me. It says to the lost and the outcast, stay that way and serve as an example of what happens to those who defy me. Death is the tool of rulership. Fall in line or die.

Every nation in this world, throughout history and today, operates from that mindset to some degree. Even our own. If you are hungry or sick, yes there are services available, but one must fulfill criteria to receive them; they must obey the rules or be denied what they need. And there are lost and outcast in our midst. Immigrants, people of color, LGBT, Muslims, Jews, and countless others are seen with great suspicion by the majority. We may not kill them (well, not all of them), but they often do live as second class in our midst. Death or the threat thereof still serves to keep people in line.

The kingdom of God turns all of that on its head and it proves a threat to even the most enlightened or civilized societies. If Jesus is king, then Caesar is not. If Jesus is king, then Trump or Obama or Bush or Clinton is not.

For many of its centuries, the Church has tried to have it both ways. The flag and the cross together, perhaps with hopes the cross will sanctify the flag and the nation is represents. The truth is, throughout history and perhaps even now, what happens instead is the flag replaces the cross and the Church plays along with the mainstream of society, becoming the most fanatical defender of the status quo. We justify the power structure. We use Scripture to deny food to the hungry or health to the sick. We use Scripture to create the outcast. And Caesar nods with approval.

But there are those who remember what the kingdom of God is about. Names across history: Thomas Becket, Martin Luther, Joan of Arc, Thomas Cranmer, Jan Hus, Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and hundreds of others. They remembered what the Church is for. They remembered truly who is on the throne: Jesus Christ. They share something else in common. They were all killed by the powers-that-be or very nearly so. They threatened the kingdoms of the world with the kingdom of God and they suffered and/or died just as Jesus did.

Every generation of Christian faces this question. We live in a terrible world, led by unjust people and/or unjust systems. The kingdom we hear of in worship spaces like this is 180 degree opposite of the world outside. Who bears our true allegiance? Do we play along with the world? It’s the safe way, and the way the institutional church has often gone. Or do we defy the ways of the world and seek to bring some small portion of the kingdom of God here and now into this world and in doing so give the world a taste of what is to come?

I’m sure it’s no surprise for anyone who’s heard me preach this long to know that I’ve chosen the latter, whatever it may bring. I remember what God has said to me in his Scriptures. Where I am, you shall be also. Let the world rage. Let it kill me if it must. I am baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and Caesar cannot take that from me. Nor can all the powers of this world. If any of you choose likewise, you can live secure in that truth as well.

But even if you don’t, there is another truth. Caesar’s world will pass away. Christ will come and inaugurate the kingdom in its fullness one day. And the nations will fall. They will be no more and the kingdom where the sick are healed, the poor are fed, the outcast welcomed, and dead live again will come. It will be here and Caesar, or whatever form he might take now, cannot stop it. Bide your time if you feel you must and know that this present darkness will indeed give way to Christ’s unstoppable light. That is our hope. That is our promise. Amen.

Sermon for the 26th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on November 18, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 13:1-8

There is a joke I like to tell about my experiences going to visit Manhattan. You can always tell those who are tourists in NYC, because they're always the ones doing this. (Look up.) I'll confess I'm one of them. Now I've been to NYC dozens of times. I've visited other big cities numerous times as well, yet I am always ALWAYS awestruck by the immense size of the Manhattan skyline. All those skyscrapers, all over the place. Among my myriad interests, I love interesting architecture and Manhattan has that in spades. I get a crick in my neck just taking it all in. As do many many others.

It's easy therefore for me to imagine the disciples in Jesus' day having the same reaction in Jerusalem. While the buildings of that time would not compare to today's architectural wonders, they would be some of the largest and most impressive structures of their time. Antonia fortress, Herod's palace, the Temple, all among some of the largest buildings in the world at that time and would have awestruck anyone who was used to the simple one-story structures of your typical Palestinian village. No wonder they respond to them the way they do in our Gospel lesson today.

Jesus however pours cold water on their mood. "All this that you see will soon no longer exist." He wasn't wrong either. Some 40 years later, the Romans would march into Jerusalem to quell the rebellion there and sack the city, destroying everything: the temple, the palaces, even their own fortress. All would become ruin.

Nothing lasts forever.

Which is a lesson none of us humans are terribly keen on hearing. We hunger for a sort of physical immortality. Even when we're aware of our own death whenever it comes, we hope for something of our life to linger after us, something we created: a story, a work of art, an institution we were a part of, a family, anything that might carry forward a part of us into an infinite future. The greater or more impressive that thing is, the more we reason it will last forever. But they never do.

How many stories were written in the Middle Ages by people not named Chaucer? Do you even remember who he is and his most famous work? How many symphonies were composed by people not named Beethoven or Mozart or Brahms? Will any of them still be remembered in a generation or two? How many buildings built by the great architects of the 18th century still stand? Can you name any of their builders? No, time erodes all. I'm reminded of a line in one of my favorite films, Excalibur, where the wizard Merlin chastises King Arthur and his knights: "For it is the doom of men that they forget."

Indeed we do. Nothing lasts forever.

Jesus reminds us of this and then launches into another warning. Be not so easily impressed by those who come into the world making wild claims. Those who would claim the mantle of Messiah and savior, who say they will build that which will last forever. Many of them will even claim to speak for Christ himself.

We've already seen some of these sorts over the past several centuries. The corrupt popes of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance claimed to speak for Christ, and in Jesus' name, they launched Crusades, Inquisitions, genocides, and witch burnings. Blood upon blood, all in the name of the one who said to love our enemies and to forgive those who persecute and abuse us. Hitler promised a 1000 year Reich and said he would restore Germany to its true Christian origins and yet he washed Europe in the blood of millions before he was stopped. Even today, there are those who claim to follow Christ and yet call upon those who will listen to them to hate those who are different, to destroy the gay or the black or the Latino, who will demand we enslave anew women as was done in past generations, and say this is all God's will. Putin in Russia remains popular despite his brutality precisely because these are his claims and now there are far too many here in American who admire him as well and for those same reasons.

"Deus vult!" God wills it! The call of the Crusaders from a thousand years ago still echoes today and, as it did then, leads only to evil. And that's precisely what happens when we forget who Jesus really is.

It's a sad truth when we look through history to see how many atrocities have been committed by those who claim to follow Christ and yet seem to have no remembrance of his teachings. Jesus loved his enemies, forgave even those who crucified him. He healed the sick, welcomed the stranger, made disciples of the outcast. He welcomes all who came to him: Jew, Samaritan, Greek, Roman. It didn't matter where you came from, what nation claimed your allegiance, or even what gods you worshiped. How many of the charlatans who followed after him and claimed to work in his name did likewise?

Jesus' warning is to remind us that their work will not last, no more so than the impressive buildings of Jerusalem. Their foundation is in human vice and ambition, not in God's true will. If we seek what is truly eternal, what is truly immortal, there's only one place to look: To Jesus himself and not to those who claim to be like him. All else is vanity. All else will fade away.

As we live into the times of tumult that Jesus warned us about, let's not forget Jesus. Let's not forget his teachings or his actions. He who went to the cross and the empty tomb for all of humanity, not just one part or our part. He who loved all, embraced all, forgave all. These are the marks of eternity. These are what will truly last forever. Do not forget. Amen.

Sermon for the 25th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on November 11, 2018
Preaching text: 1 Kings 17:8-16, Mark 12:38-44

“For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

So ends the famous story of the widow’s mite. We’ve heard this tale of Jesus before. He is in the temple, watching the people come in and out, donating their tithes and offerings. Many wealthy people give generously (Good for them), and then comes this widow who gives her literal last two cents into the treasury. Jesus then commends her for this act.

The thing is we never ask why he is so impressed by this woman. The reason we never ask is because we think we already know the answer, but the problem is this is one of the most misunderstood passages in all of Scripture. We think this another story of sacrifice, like Jesus and the rich young man, who is commended to “sell all that (he) has, give to the poor, and then come follow me.” But it’s not that at all.

In fact, Jesus’ instructions to that rich young man give us a clue to his mindset. “Sell all and give to those who lack.” Give to the poor. Can you think of anywhere in Scripture where Jesus said that sort of thing to someone who was already poor? I’ll make it easy on you. You won’t, because it doesn’t exist. Jesus only ever asks that sort of sacrifice of those who have, never of those who have not.

This is not a story about sacrifice. But if it’s not that, what then is it about?

We get a clue in our Old Testament lesson. The prophet Elijah is traveling abroad in the midst of a horrific famine. He comes to the territory of Sidon, following God’s instruction, to the town of Zarephath. There, he encounters a starving widow. He asks her for some food. It’s easy to imagine her giving him some side eye as she says, “The only food I have is enough for one meal for my son and I before we starve and you want some of it?” The prophet then reassures her, that despite all appearances, her food will not run and she and her son will not starve. She then goes and does as he asks.

It’s not hard to guess what this Sidonese widow is thinking. Well, it’s all over anyway. Why not? What’s the hurt when we’re just going to die anyway? I have nothing to lose, so I will trust this stranger and his wild claims.

We have a phrase for that in our language. We call that a “leap of faith.”

And her faith is rewarded. She takes a chance on God and he does not let her down. The food does not run out. She, her son, and the prophet Elijah eat for many days on barely enough to provide a single meal. A miracle, but also a lesson.

Fast forward a few hundred years and we find ourselves back at the temple with Jesus and his disciples. It is, I believe, quite likely that this widow in this place and time is trying to emulate her Sidonese forebear. I have nothing to lose. I have nothing left but these two coins. So I will take a leap of faith and trust that God will provide.

It’s not a story about sacrifice; it’s a story about faith.

Scholars have noted the irony of someone impoverished putting money into the temple treasury, because that was the money the temple officials used to HELP the poor of the community (or, at least, that was what it was supposed to do.) By giving away her pittance, this widow is screaming out to the world, “Save me, because I cannot save myself.”

And boy, are there a lot of lessons in that.

This is why Jesus commends this woman so. She has placed her entire trust in God. That is faith. That is why we’re here. We come to this church each week to pray to God, “Save me, because I cannot save myself.” And we can’t.

The danger of wealth or strength or power or ego or any of the other idols we often bow to is that they trick us into forgetting this simple truth. “We don’t need God,” we lie to ourselves, “we have money or prestige or whatever.” That one of the key reasons Jesus asks the sacrifice of the wealthy and commends them to give away their riches. Not only will it do more work for the kingdom in supporting the poor, but it will pull those people away from its illusory safety and remind them of how much they really need God.

We all do, whether we know it or not, because we cannot save ourselves. Only Christ can. And Christ does because he loves us, giving his very life for our sake on the cross.

That may sound to us a bit like Elijah asking for a cake when we have nothing left: crazy, unrealistic, just nonsense. But we too are called as these widows were to take a leap of faith and trust in God. We are far from having nothing, but that does not mean we need God any less. Trust in him and he will save you. Amen. 

Sermon for the Funeral of Edith Smeltzer

Preached at Canadochly on November 7, 2018
Preaching text: Ephesians 6:1-9, Revelation 7:9-17

We talk about God as a mystery, that there are always things unknown about his nature. This means that as we learn more and more of this mystery, our faith, our religions evolve. New ideas are introduced. Old ones fade away.

Why do I mention this today? Because there was once a time when the worshipers of God did not believe in a life after death. They did not know this was a gift that God was eager and willing to offer, a gift he was planning to give via the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. The ancients believed instead that the best blessings God could give were a long life and many many children and grandchildren.

Well, the ancients may have been somewhat short-sighted, but they weren’t wrong. Many years of life and a prosperous and numerous family are still blessings in these days. And they were gifts granted to Edith in abundance.

That will likely always be my memory of her. I visited her at home numerous times throughout my service as her pastor, bringing conversation and communion to her after she could not come to church on her own. Which, I should add, she did well into her 90s. Anyway, I would come into her bedroom, there at the front of her house, and the whole right-side wall was covered in photographs: wedding pictures, graduation pictures, family portraits, school photos. You name it, it was up there and it all her children and their children and their children. I’d look at those photos every time I was there. We’d often talk about them, about the people in them and the things they’d accomplish in life. Edith was proud of her family.

And I also know her family was proud of her.

When Gene called me about planning this service, he selected a passage from Ephesians that highlighted the loyalty he and his family showed to Edith and the love they had for her. I saw that first hand. Edith would always talk about the fact that pretty much every day, one of her children would stop by to see her. Sometimes, that would even happen when I was there. This was a tight knit family. A family that loved one another, who cared about and for one another. And yes, that truly is a blessing.

It occured to me when I was thinking about how the ancients thought about the blessing of family, it made me realize something. There’s a fringe benefit for God when he showers that blessing on someone, because it’s an opportunity for him to show more of his love. When we look to the future of God’s family, seen by John and recorded by him in the book of Revelation, we see that great host of people of all tribes, nations, colors, and languages. I am reminded again of Edith’s wall. Perhaps not quite so diverse or expansive as John’s vision, but her wall of photos has something in common with that vision. They are both bound by love and loyalty.

I also believe that the people on that wall are among those John saw in his vision. And that is also a blessing.

That’s, of course, because of Jesus and what he did for his family. The family of humanity, of which, of course, Edith was a part. Jesus came to this world, the Son of God incarnate, to reveal to us part of that divine mystery. To show us God’s love for humanity. And he showed that by blessing children, showing hospitality to strangers, and healing the sick. Not coincidentally, all the same things that good loving mothers and grandmothers do for their family. Things that Edith did for many in this room.

Jesus went one step further though. He loved the world so much that he gave his very life for it, dying on a cross for the sake of humanity, for the sake of Edith, for the sake of all of us. And then he rose again to show us that death would have no true hold over us, that eternity awaits those that God loves.

That’s a gift that Edith now has. Another blessing upon her many years and many children.

But that’s also not a gift that she alone receives. It’s here for everyone in this room (everyone in this world technically). I did mention on Sunday that I would bring this up, but that world beyond death belongs to all of us thanks to Jesus. And there will come a day when we will step into that world, and I can pretty much guarantee when that day happens, there’s going to be a big old family reunion for the Smeltzers and Edith will be there waiting.

Until that day, we continue our journeys in this world. We will remember Edith, celebrate our memories of her and grieve her loss. And we will look to the hope of standing before God’s throne with that great mass of people John saw in his vision. Edith will be there. So will we. And nothing would make her happier. Amen.

Sermon for All Saints Sunday

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on Nov 4, 2018
Preaching text: None

The first thing I noticed when I sat down to prepare my sermon for this week was that the assigned texts for All Saints Sunday are the same as the “recommended” texts for your typical funeral service: Isaiah 25, Revelation 21, and John 11. Make the Psalm one earlier (i.e. Psalm 23 instead of 24) and you’ve got the full set.

That got me thinking that maybe I could approach today as if it were a funeral service, a celebration of life in the midst of death. As I reviewed several of my old funeral sermons, I noticed an obvious pattern. They’re all pretty much about the same thing: a recognition of all the wondrous gifts that God gives to us, particularly in light of the presence of death.

The most obvious of those gifts is, of course, life itself. We are given how ever many years we’re given here on this Earth, our time to find a purpose and make an impact on the world and on the lives of others. Most of us really don’t realize that our life is a gift to others, that God gives us to them. The people we impact by being who we are and doing what we do are often unknown to us, mostly because we just don’t think about it. And yet, despite that, their lives would be radically different if not for us.

We talk all the time about the graces that we are given. Not so much about the grace that we are for others.

The funeral service may be the only place we do that. It’s full of language about thanking God for giving our loved ones to us, for remembering them for the impact they’ve had on us, for laughing at the good times they gave us, and so much more. It’s in that moment, when they are gone, when we realize just how much they truly mattered to us.

I wonder, as we list the names today of those who’ve gone before us, those who’ve died recently and those whose memory we still carry years later, did they know? Did they know what they meant to us? Did they know what impact they had? Did they know how much they mattered? Some certainly did. Others, sadly, no.

One of the other graces I speak of in the funeral service is, also of course, the other life that God gives us: eternal life through his son, Jesus Christ. The one who lived, died, and defeated death to bring us all into eternity with him. There is a side effect that wondrous gift in that, not only is it something we receive, but it is also given to those we love. The parting with these lost ones is to be only temporary.

Now I’ve heard critiques of that sort of preaching, that sometimes funeral sermons are more about how we’ll see Grandma in the afterlife instead of Jesus. I can understand that, but I’m not sure God minds. That is, after all, another gift, another grace. It is a feature, not a bug, as we tech nerds sometimes say. After all, God loves us and God loves our loved ones. It was a gift for us to come together the first time. It will also be a gift for us to come together again in the kingdom. If it was a wonderful gift the first time, why not give it again?

For some of us, that might be our second chance. To say what we never got to say in this life, all the things that we regretted holding back on. We may find however that it’s not necessary. With all the gifts and graces that God gives us here on Earth, it’s hard to imagine that it all stops with eternity. No, I think one of the things God gives us in the life beyond death is the chance to see what impact we’ve had on those we left behind.

Christian singer Ray Boltz had a wondrous song many years ago about what might happen when we come to eternity. The song is called “Thank You.” A man has a dream of going to heaven and meeting a series of people who were changed by the life of that man and his Christian witness. I can see God doing that, yet another gift to us: showing us how much of a difference we made in the lives of those who loved us.

Part of me looks forward to that. I know in my life now I continue to be delighted by the person my daughter Emily is growing up to be. It will be fun to watch all the generations of my family yet to be and what they accomplish on this world. Another song I love is from the classic musical Carousel, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” None of us ever do.

The Scriptures tell us of the great cloud of witnesses who look down on us from above. How many of our loved ones are among them, keeping tabs on us, delighting in the person we are and the impact we are having. Another gift, one of so many that God gives.

And, of course, God gives us the gift of himself. Not only do generations past walk with us, but God goes with us too. From the moment of our baptism and probably before, his spirit rests upon us. No matter what we face in life, even death itself, he is always with us.

Death is a frightening thing. It is the one true unknown we all face in life. We do not know what lies beyond, if anything. We believe certainly that there is more than just this world and belief is a powerful thing. God has promised so much, more gifts than we can count. We’ve already received from him so much and there is more to come. This gives me hope. It gives me confidence. Life is more than we know and what we don’t know is not to be feared. God is with us, showering us with graces uncounted. The life of those who went before is a drop in the bucket of the love he is eager to show us. With that, what can death truly do but bring me, bring us, into the presence of that love? Reunite us with those we love and miss so terribly? Graces uncounted. Amen.

Sermon for Reformation Sunday

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 28, 2018
Preaching text: Psalm 46

Today is Reformation Sunday, a day when we remember the work of the great reformers of the Church and why they chose to challenge the status quo of their times. Foremost among these reformers and key to our own identity as Christians is Martin Luther, who started the largest reform movement of the Church during the 16th century. But he's not the only one, nor is he the only major thinker and reformer of our own Lutheran tradition. So I decided to do something different for today. I decided not to talk about Luther and his ideas, but I chose another reformer.

I chose Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Bonhoeffer is a bit more contemporary to us than Luther, as he lived in the first part of the 20th century. He was witness to some of the most significant events of that century and their impact on the life of the Church, both good and bad. In fact, he was smack dab in the middle of much of it. He lived in Germany during the rise of the Nazi party.

The Church in Germany primarily had one of three responses to the rise of fascism and Hitler. The first group, and likely the largest, were those who basically buried their heads in the sand. They saw the brutality, they saw the tyranny. They saw their Jewish neighbors or those who in some way rejected or defied the Nazi regime disappear over time. And they ignored it all. Nope, none of that horrible stuff is happening. It's all fake news, to borrow a modern term. They did this largely out of fear, because they were worried if they spoke up or did something to protest what was happening, they would next. And they weren't wrong about that.

The second group were those who enthusiastically embraced Nazism. They saw Hitler as a champion of Christianity, one who finally had the guts to do what was necessary to those enemies of the Church that society had coddled for too long. Jews were Christ-killers and deserved whatever Hitler did to them. Communists were atheists who likewise deserved destruction. Homosexuals were an abomination before God and Hitler was ready and eager to bring them all to their deserved end. A frightening number of the clergy were among this group, and preached their enthusiastic support for Der Fuhrer every Sunday.

The third group were the bravest of them all, but also the smallest. It was those Christians who saw things as they were. They recognized the evil of their times, the evil of their leaders. And they spoke up. They wrote and they preached against the Nazis, at their risk of their lives. Some got involved with partisan groups, rebels within the Reich who wanted to bring Hitler down for the sake of the nation and of their fellow Germans. Many of these were forced to flee the country. A stalwart few remained behind and many faced the ultimate consequence for their defiance of evil.

Bonhoeffer was among these courageous few.

Bonhoeffer had written extensively about what it meant to be a true disciple of Jesus. He was particularly troubled by what he called "cheap grace." Many Christians, upon hearing the wonder of God's immense grace, had basically decided that was it. They were saved; nothing else mattered. They could steal, live in sin, hate their neighbor, and it didn't matter because God would forgive them. They had their get-out-of-hell-free card, so they could live however they wanted.

Bonhoeffer recognized the contrast between these Christians, which he saw a lot of in the church of his day, and the great paragons of the faith. Those who knew they were forgiven, knew they were saved, and then went forward to spread the Gospel as Jesus had commanded them to. They preached God's grace to those that society hated. They challenged injustice in society. They stood up to tyranny. And it often got them killed. We know their names: Peter and Paul, James and John, Andrew and so many more who were true disciples to Jesus. They understood the cost of their salvation. They understood what it had cost God. It was NOT cheap. It meant the death and suffering of Jesus. It meant the cross. In gratitude for that great sacrifice for their own sake, they went out to change the world.

Bonhoeffer recognized the similarities between his times in Nazi Germany and the times of those apostles, Rome under Nero. And he knew what he was called to do. He formed a splinter church that defied the pro-Nazi stance of the official church body, known as the Confessing Church. They met, preached the true Gospel, and worked to aid their neighbors in the midst of the Nazi tyranny.

But it was not enough. He knew the only way the evil woud be stopped was with another evil: the murder of Hitler. He wrestled with what it would mean to take that next step. Committing sin to stop a greater sin. As Luther himself had counseled, when confronted with such an evil choice, pick one and let God handle the rest.

So Bonhoeffer entered into a conspiracy to assassinate the Fuhrer. Unfortunately, the conspiracy was uncovered and Bonhoeffer was arrested. He was sent to a concentration camp and executed.

In living as a disciple of Jesus, he met the fate of one. And as a result, he is considered among the greatest of the modern martyrs.

Bonhoeffer rightly understood something that has plagued the Church since it first gained official sanction under Constantine in the 5th century. The Church has often been way too comfortable with the power system of the status quo. We have often been defenders of the establishment, instead of its challengers. And when evil has emerged in that establishment, the Church has often either turned a blind eye to it or has fervently embraced the evil.

And that embrace of evil has often had dire consequences for the Gospel. We are rightly called hypocrites by many in society because we preach good and often do evil. The Church in Europe has never recovered from its embrace of the Nazi evil. Only tiny fraction of the populace there are active in the life of the Church. You think pews are empty here. You should see how churches are in Germany now.

Which brings us to ourselves and to today. There are evils in our society. Hatred, racism, abuse of the poor, misogyny, homophobia, Islamophobia, and countless others. Far too many of these are supported by our fellow Christians. But we must ask ourselves. What does Christ think of these things? He who gave his life for the sake of all people, regardless of who or what they are, what would he say to them or to us? Are we truly his disciples? Are we willing to stand up to evil? Or are we too accustomed to cheap grace? Tough questions. Questions whose answers may have dire consequences either way. Bonhoeffer died to do what was right, as did so many before and since. Can we do likewise?

The church is in need of reform yet again, as it always does. Human sin prevents the church from remaining pure as it should, so we must constantly be vigilant to the evil within it and within ourselves. We can be at the forefront of that reform, remaking the Church into what it once was and to what it's meant to be. Or we can watch the Church wither away because it will not live up to its own creeds and beliefs. The choice is ours. Amen.

Sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 21, 2018
Preaching text: Isaiah 53:4-12

Well, I had a sermon. I thought it was a good one. Talked about how Jesus came to heal the world rather than conquer it as James and John seem to want him to. But it all felt a bit abstract. A bit distant. After recent events, I didn’t feel it was going to work.

And what events am I referring to? Well, where do I start? There is, of course, Ken’s suicide which has left Regina and her family, especially his son Gunnar, lost and adrift in a sea of pain and emotions. They’re asking all the usual questions. Why did this happen? What could have been done? I don’t know if any of those questions have any real answers. I do know that mental illness is a terrible thing. I know it destroys lives, as it obviously did here.

I wish I could say that was the only horrible thing that’s happened lately. It’s not even the only thing related to mental illness that I’ve encountered. I have a good friend at my D&D group on Wednesdays. Iraq War veteran. Helped volunteer at the charity fundraiser event last weekend for Bodhana Group. Good man. He admitted to me this week that his PTSD is getting the better of him and he’s been thinking of suicide himself. I told him when he gets that low to call me. I don’t know what I’ll say if he does, but I’ll do my damnedest to keep him alive.

Another friend that I see at my gaming group each Wednesday, she’s a young woman, mid-30s in age. Widowed. The anniversary of her husband’s passing from terminal cancer was just a couple weeks ago. I called her the day of and, not unexpectedly, I got a blubbering mess on the other end of the phone. A lot of pain. A lot of questions. Why did he die? Why was such a good man taken from this world? I didn’t have the answers; I mostly listened and offered what sympathy I could. It seems I’ve had that conversation a lot in my time. How many have we buried due to cancer? How many people do we know have lost their lives to that dread disease and left us who love them to wrestle with the aftermath?

A third person at my gaming group. Teenage girl, I think she’s 17, maybe 18. Came over to me a few weeks ago to thank me for raising the issue of sexual abuse of women in a sermon. She didn’t hear the sermon, but I’d shared some of what I’d preached about on Facebook. She said “Thank you for raising that issue, because when it happened to me, no one believed me either.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Just as I didn’t know what to say when one friend told me decades ago about her rape or my one ex-girlfriend told me about hers or another friend told me of her experiences of abuse. Or the three sisters who were at my youth group in WV who were sexually abused by family. All that pain. All that trauma. And they’re not the only ones. There are even more who’ve admitted much the same to me.

Why share all this? I want to open people’s eyes to the pain and anguish that real people go through every day in our world. In some cases, it’s pain that kills. In other cases, it’s pain that makes people long for death. It’s very real and it’s everywhere. Maybe in some of you.

Take all that and multiply it across years and decades and centuries. Multiply it for every generation of humankind who’s ever lived. Do that and then realize that’s why Jesus came. That’s what all this is really about. It’s about a God who does love this world and the people in it. A God who weeps when we weep, who hurts when we hurt, but who also has a plan to do something about it all. He sent Jesus. He sent his son to take all the pain of the world upon himself. For “he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.”

This is what it’s all about. Why we come here every week. It’s about the healing of the world. It’s about the healing of you and me with all of our pain. It’s about the healing of all those out there whom God loves and all of their pain. It’s about putting right what is going wrong in so many lives. It’s about fixing this broken world and all the pain and anguish it inflicts upon us. It’s about curing every disease and binding up every broken heart. It’s about companionship for those who are alone, rescue for those in danger, life for those who are dying.

This is what the cross means. It’s why Jesus chose it. Why God chose to endure pain and agony himself. He did it to put the world right, to make it as it was meant to be.

I long for those promises to come to into their fullness. I’m downright impatient for it at times, because I see people I love hurting and I want them made well. I suspect there’s some of that in everyone of us. We’d have to be pretty heartless not to care about those closest to us when they’re in pain or struggling with illness or heartache. How often is our prayer like those in John’s vision in Revelation, “How long, O Lord?” I wish I knew the answer. But I do know that day is coming. A day when the last trumpet will sound and all will finally be put right. A day when Jesus’ sacrifice will benefit all the people of the world as it was promised to Abraham. When my friends and all those who hurt will have their tears wiped away, their bodies and minds restored, and their hearts put back together.

Come quickly, Lord. Amen.

Sermon for the 21st Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 14, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 10:17-31

There is a theological idea out there that there is no such thing as a true atheist. Of course, there are plenty of people who claim openly to have no belief in any sort of deity, who say that reality has no room for the metaphysical or the supernatural. However, this theory claims that even such people as these have a “god” to which they hold allegiance, something in which they place their ultimate trust, something they will not question or criticize.

Often the god of such people is something tangible, not something supernatural or mythological but rather something of this world. It is their own ego or the luxury of wealth or it is the cold facts of science. The options could be endless. And while it is easy for us to point fingers at unbelievers and claim that their “gods” are folly, it is also easy to forget that many religious people also cling to such gods over the course of their lives. Many of the people in pews such as these have another god that they worship, and in some cases cling to even more so than Christ.

That, of course, is the context of our Gospel lesson today. Jesus encounters a wealthy young man who has a dual allegiance. He is a moral upright figure, yet holds to his riches and will not surrender them. His “true god” is money and his relationship to Yahweh is akin to how a philandering husband may keep a mistress on the side. Yahweh is his “side god” and wealth holds his greatest loyalty.

He is far from alone in that.

No, there are a lot of folks even today who have a “true god” they place their full trust and confidence in, and while they may sit in the pews of a church each week, they only keep Jesus around as their “side god.” They hedge their bets. They trust their “true god” for salvation in this life and use Jesus as their ticket to the life beyond.

Like the rich young man of the story, many of these folks hold to money and wealth as their “true god.” There’s a whole portion of the church that now teaches faith is a means to achieving wealth and prosperity in this life. We call this, appropriately enough, the “prosperity gospel.” Believe hard enough and God will make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Christ becomes a means to an end. And that’s a good clue where one’s allegiance lies. If Jesus is the means to something instead of your end goal, it’s a good bet you’ve got another “true god” than him.

Power is another “true god” for many. How many of us have had to deal with that one person who once given some measure of authority turns into a raging tyrant? The office bully, the tyrannical boss? Now my perspective is that of the church, and I grew up in a very conflicted divided congregation as a child. We had them all. The bullying altar guild lady, the demanding top giver, the monstrous organist, and (to be fair) the tyrannical pastor. People whose power and authority was not to be questioned or criticized. Their word was law and God help you if you dared to stand up to them. I’ve been lucky in my adult ministry. With one notable exception on my internship, I’ve managed to avoid pretty much all of these types as a pastor myself. But they are out there. People whose power is their “true god.”

We’ve also seen an upsurge of another “true god” of late, the god of hate. Although, in truth, it’s really the god of self-superiority. Yes, it manifests as hate, hate of people of color, hate of gays, hate of women, hate of foreigners, but it’s origins lie in the idolatry of self. I’m white, that makes me better than others. I’m straight, I’m male, I’m American, etc. I’m superior as a result and should be treated as such. I deserve to have society bend over backwards to please me. Many of these are in the church as well and see Jesus again as an ardent supporter of their ideology. But like with the prosperity gospel, if Jesus is just a means to an end, it’s a good bet you’re not really worshipping Jesus.

Such idolatry would be among the greatest of sins, a violation of the first commandment: You shall have no other gods. And yet we have so many. But what does Jesus do when he encounters such a person? What does he do with such a sinner?

The first thing he does is he’s honest. When the young man begins the conversation, Jesus gives a mild rebuke. “No one is good but God alone.” He acknowledges that truth we humans would like to hide away from: we are all sinners. He also calls the young man out for his idolatry of wealth, commends him to surrender his riches, and yet he knows the man cannot do it.

But he also does something else, something which is even more important than his honesty. As Jesus is talking to the young man, Mark tells us that Jesus loves him. Love? Why? He’s betrayed God. He’s surrendered his soul to greed. Yeah. Jesus loves him anyway.

It’s not too many chapters after this where Jesus is arrested, taken to trial, convicted, and put to death on a cross. Jesus did all that for the sake of this man, because he loved him, in spite of his disloyalty, in spite of his idolatry. Jesus loved him enough to die for him.

You see, Jesus understands something. We can’t really help it. The lures of this world are many. We are drawn away all the time by the allure of money or power or ego or tribal identity or any number of countless other things. It’s what makes achieving salvation so impossible for us. But as Jesus himself says, what is impossible for us is possible for God. And so God, in the form of Jesus, goes to the cross for our sake, for all of us cast in the mold of this rich young man, trapped by divided loyalties and idolatries we sometimes aren’t even aware of. He does this, because he loves us.

Now, he loves us but he’s also honest with us. And it’s rarely a pleasant thing to be called out for our allegiance to another god. I find it interesting that the rich young man walks away saddened by Jesus’ demand of him. My experience is that people typically are angry when their true gods are questioned or criticized. But we need that jolt. We need to remember that we are sinners, that our gods will not save us, and there is a better god than all of them, one who gives all for our sake. One who does what we cannot do. One who does what is impossible for us. That is a true god. That is god we come here to worship each week. The one who can and does save us. Amen.

Sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached on September 15, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 7:17-23

A couple weeks ago, reports came across our newsfeeds and TVs. Another mass shooting, this time at a video game tournament in Florida. Almost without pause to remember the dead and injured, the pundits were on to pontificate about the dangers of video game culture. Are these games turning our young people violent?

It was all even more ridiculous than usual. The game being played at the tournament was Madden Football, a game no more violent than the sport enjoyed by millions each weekend throughout the coming fall months. If a football video game makes people violent, how is it not the same for the millions of people watching the Ravens, the Cowboys, the Steelers, the Nittany Lions, the Hokies, and every peewee, midget, high school, college, and pro football game played across the country each weekend? That’s, of course, a question no one is supposed to raise, because it reveals the folly of this sort of scapegoating.

The real truth is one we don’t want to admit, so we cast about looking for any alternative, no matter how disprovable or ridiculous. The simple fact is, despite what we want to believe, is that people are not always innately good. Some are downright evil, selfish, and uncaring of others. And in a society where they have easy access to powerful weapons, violence of this sort is bound to happen. But the real problem, as Jesus points out, is the evil within each of us.

For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within.

That’s what we don’t want to admit to. That these evil things are within each one of us and sometimes we let them out to often disastrous consequences. This is sin. This is that which separates us one from another and from God. And none of us are immune.

Many years ago, I was rolling up a new character for a tabletop roleplaying game. It was a horror game and the premise was that we were all playing vampires. I was a little short on creativity at the time, so I asked myself a simple question. What sort of person would I be if I chose evil instead of good? That will be the character I play-act in this game.

It proved to be, at the same time, both one of the most enlightening exercises I’ve ever engaged and one of the most terrifying (perhaps that’s appropriate for a horror game were one is supposed to be scared.) My alter ego was NOT a nice person. He was ambitious, cruel, violent, lustful, angry, vengeful, and selfish. Everything I strive not to be. And yet, I came to realize, that WAS me if I had chosen a different course in life. That could still be me if I chose differently now. He was what I was capable of and it is not a pretty picture.

I’m not proud of that part of myself, but I can’t admit that it isn’t real. I keep it buried as much as I am able. That is the choice I make. I choose the good. I choose to, in as much as I am able, to follow in the footsteps of the one who also chose to give his life on a cross for my sake. When Jesus says to love my neighbor, help the helpless, love the unlovable, I seek to embrace that. That’s who I want to be. That’s who I choose to try to be.

And I suspect that’s true to varying degrees for all of us here present. We all have our dark sides. Some of us are more familiar with them than others. Some of us, perhaps with regret, have embraced that part of ourselves more than we should over the course of our lives. Others have been better at keeping that part of ourselves buried and inactive, perhaps even to the point where we’ve fooled ourselves into thinking we’re incapable of evil. But the truth is, we’re all sinners and we’ve all done evil, sometimes without even realizing it, with more frequency in our lives that we’d like to think about. We don’t want to be this way, and yet we are.

So what do we do about it? Well, the bad news is there’s not much we can. Because this is our inner nature, there will always be times when we let our dark sides slip out. An angry word, an impatient shortcut, a lustful glance, and hundreds of other manifestations plague us most every day. Some of us may even be capable of far worse, like shooting up a video game tournament. I certainly hope not, but that is part of who we are. Sinful, evil, broken, lost.

But that’s also why God did what we did. Christ came to conquer sin and evil with his love because we can’t. His devotion to God’s plan, one that drove him even to death on a cross, was to stand as proof of how far God will go to forgive our sins and Christ rising from the dead was proof that evil will not have the last word in our lives. Your sins are forgiven. God has seen to that.

And because of that sacrifice, because of the torment Christ endured for your sake and mine, we should not cheapen his endeavor by taking that forgiveness for granted. And while yes, even that would be forgiven by God’s immense grace, but what about the world around us? As the Jacksonville Madden Tournament gives testimony, there are a lot of people out there who do not choose the good. It falls to us to show them why they should. There is a better way than this horrible violence that we are seeing so often in our society. A better way than the hate and anger and fear that we see in so many.

You and I don’t want to live like that. We don’t because we have been taught by one who says that love and compassion is the answer. And we’ve seen that here in this place. Not everyone here agrees. Not everyone here has the same outlook or opinions. And yet, for the most part, we live in harmony. This doesn’t just have to be within these walls. Yes, there is evil within all of us, but also imago dei, made in the image of God and there is good too. Help the world choose the good. Amen.

Sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 7, 2018
Preaching texts: Genesis 2:18-24, Mark 10:2-16

Last Sunday, our Old Testament lesson was one of a number of stories from the Exodus where the people of God were complaining about something (Numbers 11:4-6). They didn’t like the food. They were tired of the desert. They all wanted to go back to Egypt. They wanted to go back into bondage. Now that might seem odd. Why would anyone want to go willingly into slavery? But this is a pretty typical pattern for stories during the wilderness journey. There are very few stories from that portion of the Bible that don’t begin with the Israelites bellyaching about something and then expressing their desire to go back into slavery.

There’s a reason for that, of course, and that reason too might seem a bit odd. You see, the people didn’t really want freedom, they didn’t really want to be liberated from bondage. They thought they did, but then they realized something. Freedom brings with it certain responsibilities. They would have to take care of themselves. They would have to take care of one another. They would have to depend on their neighbors for survival, for success, and their neighbors would, in turn, have to depend on them. And it was all just too much work. Easier to be a slave where you didn’t have to worry about all that. Let the Egyptians take care of everything.

This ties into our Gospel lesson today. Jesus references an Exodus era law when he is confronted with the question of divorce, but he also adds a bit of commentary. “Because of your hardness of heart Moses wrote this commandment for you.” It was the same hardness of heart that was behind all the complaining and all the bellyaching and all the desire to go back into bondage. They didn’t want to take care of one another. They didn’t want that responsibility. Not in marriage and not in society.

And that’s a bit of a problem.

You see marriage and the family, which we see the origins of in our Old Testament lesson this week, is the fundamental building block of human society. And it is a relationship built upon the idea that these two people are pledging to care for one another, to support one another, to build each other up, to make their lives richer and better by their efforts. As human society expands outward from that family unit, the expectation from God is that these families will not only do that sort of care within themselves, but also with other families, with their neighbors. Human civilization will build itself up and thrive based on its ability for each of its component parts to support each other. We depend on one another. We support one another. We care for one another. And we thrive as a result.

Just imagine if you had to do everything yourself. You had to process the gas for your car. You had to build your car. You had to forge the metal for it and design its engine. You had to pave the road on which you drove it. The number of things we take for granted because someone else in human civilization has done them for us is mind boggling. We cannot live without one another.

And yet, we humans perpetually want a divorce from one another. We don’t want to care for each other. It’s too much work. It’s too much trouble. Besides, I don’t even like those people. I don’t want my neighbors to thrive. I hate them. They frighten me. They want too much from me. I want a divorce. And that’s when the system starts to break down.


Don’t take my word for it. Just look at the world we live in. We are divided, conflicted, hostile towards one another in countless ways. Nation vs. nation. Race vs. race. Men vs. women. Young vs. old. We perpetually seek the divorce from those we are pledged to care for and it’s just as bitter as anything that make take place between two estranged spouses. Perhaps even more so. (I can't think of any failed marriages that led to the deaths of millions like our wars often do.)

Even the story that immediately follows our OT text reflects this division and brokenness. We know that story well. Eve takes the apple, gives some to Adam, they eat in defiance of God’s command. And when God inquires as to why, all they do is blame. “You gave me this woman and she did it. The snake did it. It’s not my fault.” Once again, we refuse to take responsibility. Not for ourselves and not for one another.

This is a big part of why Jesus came. This is sin. This is how it manifests in the world. We divide. We separate. We divorce. From God and also from one another. So what does Christ do? He seeks to bind us together again. We prays to his Father in the High Priestly Prayer that we “be one.” That this language reflects the marriage covenant is not coincidental.

Nor is it coincidence that we often speak of the celebration of Christ’s return as a marriage feast. Who is getting married? Christ and the Church. And yet, Jesus himself tells us that in this world, we find him in the last, the least, and the lost. Matthew records his famous story (Matthew 25: 31-46) that Jesus is in the imprisoned, the sick, the poor, and all those we are so often eager to divide away from. Our union with God in Christ and our union with our neighbors are intertwined. We cannot be one with God unless we are one with our fellow human beings.

So what then are we to do? Christ has come. He has lived, died, and defeated death on our behalf. He has, as per his half of the marriage covenant, taken care of us. Now he calls us to do the same for others, for our neighbors. And yet look at the world we live in. In this world, we don’t treat young people right. We don’t treat people of color right. We don’t treat LGBT right. And we don’t treat women right, particularly those who are victims of sexual abuse and assault. We don’t treat the poor right. We don’t treat the aged right. We don’t treat the sick right. The list is endless. We are constantly divorcing ourselves from those God has called us to love, to care about, to take responsibility for. And that’s wrong. This is not God’s plan for our world.

We are free because Christ took our sins upon himself and died on a cross. He did this out of love for us. But like the ancient Israelites, our freedom comes with a responsibility. We are to love our neighbors, our enemies, all those who are not like us, because Christ died for them out of love just as much as he did us. We cannot cheapen his sacrifice by turning our backs upon those who need us. For we are truly one family. We are all beloved of our Father. And he wants us to act like it. Will we? I leave that question for you to answer. Amen.

Sermon for the 19th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached on September 30, 2018 at Grace and Canadochly
Preaching text: Mark 9:38-50

We seem to be running with a theme again in our Gospel lessons. Last Sunday, Jesus brought to us one of his famous illustrations of the kingdom of God that used children as an example for us to emulate and follow. Today, he does something similar, offering a stern warning to those who would bring harm to children and their journey of faith by saying “it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.” Jesus is getting his best mafioso on and claiming that if you harm a child, or cause one to struggle, you should “sleep with the fishes.”

Most of us may chuckle at that image; Jesus as mob boss. We may also chuckle at the warning. Who of us would ever wish harm to a child? Most of us are parents and some grandparents. We love our kids and would never wish ill on any of them. I think of Emily, now 15. She’s one of the most amazing people I know. She’s smart, clever, creative, headstrong, opinionated, strong, and beautiful. The whole package. Watching her grow into an adult has been a delight and a privilege. I want what’s best for her. I want her to have the best life she can.

I suspect that’s true of all of us who have raised children or are now watching our children raise theirs. But then, I look at the world we are leaving as their inheritance and I pause. I truly wonder if we want what’s best for them after all. Because I am ashamed of what we are leaving them, what they are receiving from us as a legacy. The mess that we have made that we are demanding they clean up.

We’ve got massive flooding in the Carolinas. Record wildfires in California. Three thousand dead last year from a hurricane in Puerto Rico. Heck, even locally, we’ve had three 10-year floods in five months. The evidence of climate change is becoming irrefutable, but our leaders? It’s not real. It’s a conspiracy. Of course, many of them are well-paid via campaign contributions from the fossil fuel industry and we all know how important that is. Oil and gas profits matter. My daughter’s life, future, and dreams, not so much.

We continue to see a plague of mass shootings. Schoolchildren run drills to prepare them in case of an “active shooter.” There have been rallys calling for changes, any changes, that might stem the tide of slaughter, but our leaders again do nothing. Of course, many of them are well-paid via campaign contributions from the NRA and from the firearms industry and we all know how important that is. Their profits matter. My daughter’s life, future, and dreams, not so much.

We gripe and complain about the behavior of millennials, those adults who were children not so long ago. We talk about how lazy and entitled they are, but also we refuse to look at the facts. They go to school and pay 30x what their parents’ generation paid for college. They try to buy homes and find the housing market is 10x what their parents paid. And god help them if they get sick. And the jobs we offer them? Minimum wage, with no benefits. Yeah, they’re so entitled. And the generation that follows after them, my daughter’s generation? What about her? What will she have to pay for the basics of the American Dream when her life, future, and dreams clearly don’t matter.

I think about Sandy’s grandson. He’s such a fine young man and he brightens this space whenever he is here. But I’m frightened for him. I’m scared because there are SO many people out there to whom he is nothing but (forgive my language) a nigger. And those people think they are entitled to deny him his right to vote, his right to have a home of his own, his right to a job, and, in the worst case, they just might pull out a gun and shoot him for no other reason than his skin color. And these people who would do this are called “very fine people” by our leaders because white comfort and white privilege matter, but not the lives of young black men.

And then there’s this farce in Washington that we’ve been watching all week. Where wrinkly corrupt old men are bending over backwards to say that rape is ok, that women deserve it when it happens, that men should be excused because “boys will be boys” and he was drunk “so it doesn’t matter.” My daughter is listening to that, listening to being told it’s okay for someone to violate her. People who have been so violated and are carrying that pain with them everyday are listening to that. All so the privilege of being a man must be upheld, and the lives and sexual autonomy of women like my daughter don’t matter.

Of course, we know why that circus is going on. All so one side can get the vote they want on the SCOTUS for abortion. I don’t talk about abortion much; I feel as a man I don’t really have a say in the autonomy of women’s bodies. But since we’re talking about causing no harm to children, perhaps I should speak to it. It seems to me that there are better ways of addressing the issue than making dirtbag excuses to cover for a flawed SCOTUS nominee. Perhaps we should make a better effort to prevent unwanted pregnancies by making birth control more widely available. Or, in those cases when there are unwanted children, making adoption more easily and readily available, particularly for LGBT couples who want children.

It’s that time of year when actor Neil Patrick Harris and his husband post their yearly Halloween pics with their kids. They’re always so creative with their costumes, but do know what I see when I look at those pictures? I see a loving family. You know what else I see? I see two kids who weren’t aborted because they had a loving home to welcome them in. I don’t think Emily is LGBT, but if she were, I’d want her to have every chance to have a family of her own. Because her life matters to me, no matter who or what she is.

Are we feeling the millstone? I am. What kind of world are we leaving our kids anyway? Is this really what we want? Is this really what Jesus would want us to do? I talk a lot in here about changing the world, about making the world a better place for all people, because I believe wholeheartedly that’s what we’re called to do and be as the Church of Jesus Christ. But it’s one thing to motivate ourselves into that calling for strangers we will never know. It’s another thing entirely when we’re talking about our children and grandchildren. Once we’re gone, this world will be theirs, what’s left of it anyway.

Jesus loves the little children. When we were little children, it was one of the first things we were taught in this place. It’s past time we made that real, for all the children of the world who will inherit what we leave behind. If we love our kids and grandkids, and I believe we do, we owe them better than this world we are creating, a world of hate, greed, and selfishness. They deserve better than that from us. And Jesus, I think, would agree. Amen.