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.

Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on September 23, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 9:30-37

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

I have a particular fondness for scenes such as this from the life of Jesus. Many of you have undoubtedly noticed that I quote another such scene when doing my blessing for children who do not yet commune: “Jesus said ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, for the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these.’” Back in my house, one of my prized possessions is the Precious Moments “Jesus and the Little Children,” which appropriate has each child in the set a different race/ethnicity. (I wear my liberal bona fides openly.)

But what is it about children that makes Jesus so eager to use them as examples in all these wonderful stories? I know many people are quick to say it’s their innocence, but I’m no fool when it comes to that. I remember well the cruelty of my peer when I was myself a child, so I’ll confess to a bit of cynicism in that regard. No, I don’t think it’s innocence, but rather another I-word: ignorance.

That’s a loaded phrase I’ll admit, usually used insultingly and pejoratively. That’s not my intention here. Nor do I necessarily mean to imply that ignorance is always a good thing. There is a very big difference between the ignorance shown by children and the ignorance we often find in adults. Adult ignorance is closed, hard, inflexible. It’s the reflex we employ to do anything to avoid admitting we’re wrong about something.

Adult ignorance is the sort of thing that allows people to disbelieve climate change when the overwhelming consensus among experts says it is very real. Adult ignorance is source of Creationists, who refuse to believe God could create the world any other way than as written in Genesis. Adult ignorance allowed the Germans to ignore what their eyes and ears saw right in front of them as the Nazis herded the Jews off to their deaths. Adult ignorance makes the Religious Right, those self-appointed guardians of family, purity, and morality, turn a blind eye to sexual predators, endorse corrupt politicians, and support unethical and dishonest clergy and businessmen. All done so people can deny even undeniable truth when it contradicts their own biases and beliefs.

But that’s not the kind of ignorance I’m talking about. Child ignorance is different. It’s a tabula rasa, a blank slate. It’s open to whatever experience life brings. Children are sponges, taking in everything without judgment or evaluation. Everything is magical to them. Everything is new. Everything is wondrous and magnificent. Everything produces that rarest of spiritual virtues: awe.

THAT is what draws Jesus to children. Because they are the ones who see the world the most like God himself does.

I said last week that “everything has value” and this is how. It’s not hard for me to imagine God’s spirit casting itself across the universe and him saying to the angels “Look at this nebula. Look at this planet. Look at this plant. This building. This painting. Listen to that bird. That symphony. Taste this food. Smell this fragrance. Isn’t it all wonderful?”

When was the last time you had your breath taken away? The last time you heard a song that gave you goosebumps or saw something of such magnificent beauty that your eyes just grew wide in wonder? Those moments are rare and yet I am increasingly convinced that God wants those sorts of moments to be everyday for us. Being right ceases to matter. Being top dog becomes irrelevant. All there is is the wonder of the creation God has made and all the beauty of everything therein.

I’ve been lucky. God has granted me two such moments in the past week or so and I was doubly lucky to be able to share them with people of my congregations. The first was last Sunday when we were cleaning the rail trail for GWOH. At one point, the Dietz’s and I chances upon a single Morning Glory blossom sticking up out of the fallen leaves. Because of the shade of its location, the plant didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to blooming at that time and yet there it was. A moment of beauty and we all stopped and stared for a bit, taking it in. A moment of wonder.

The other took place when I was in the hospital and Kathy came to visit me. At one point in our conversation, we got to talking about art and I mentioned my fondness for visiting the Philadelphia Museum of Art when I lived there and when I go back to visit. One painting in particular always causes me to catch my breath. It’s called the Moorish Chief and I keep a copy of it as the background of my cell phone. I showed her the pic and she too was taken by its magnificence. I could sit in that museum in front of that picture and stare at it all day long and not consider that wasted time. Because it is such a thing of wonder.

That’s why Jesus so loves the little children. They have not lost that sense of wonder of the world. The same wonder that God himself shows to it and to us. It’s those kind of eyes with which God looks at each one of us. Yes, we commit sin and make mistakes, but we are imago dei and we reflect what he meant to be the best of himself in ourselves. That’s why we’re so precious to him. That’s why he loves us. We are magnificent. We are wondrous. We are, I mean this in its literal sense, awesome.

That’s why we’re worth it. It’s why he came, was born, went to the cross, died, and rose again.

In a few minutes, after I conclude this sermon, we are going to move around this space and “pass the peace” with one another. We do it every Sunday. I want to do something different today. When we do that, I want you to all to tell each other how beautiful you are, how magnificent, how wondrous. I want you to see one another, as best you can, as God does. I want you to look at one another with those child eyes again. That’s what it means to be a child of God. To see and to be seen as the wonder you are. Amen.