Sermon for the First Sunday of Lent

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on March 10, 2019
Preaching text: Luke 4:1-13

It is considered the pinnacle of science fiction writing. As Lord of the Rings is to fantasy, as Citizen Kane is to film, so Dune by Frank Herbert is to science fiction. I’ve read the book probably a half dozen times over my lifetime. It’s a remarkable story and I was thinking about it this week in terms of the temptations that Jesus is offered by the devil in the wilderness. Particularly the second one. “Bow down to me and I will give you all the kingdoms of the world.”

The reason I connect that to Dune is because Paul Atreides, the protagonist of the novel, essentially makes the opposite choice of Jesus to disastrous consequences.

In the novel, Paul comes to the planet Arrakis, also known as Dune, with his royal family and soon discovers that, by coincidence and a bit of luck, he fits the bill of an ancient prophecy among the planet’s native population, a people known as the Fremen. He is essentially the very image of their “mahdi,” their Messiah. When his family’s enemies attack and wipe nearly everyone out, Paul flees into the desert and begins living among the Fremen, using their legend to keep himself alive. He also exploits it to turn the natives into an army he can use to avenge the death of his family. And he unleashes them on his enemies, but soon discovers he can’t control what he’s let loose. And the Fremen jihad spreads across the galaxy, leaving billions dead in its wake.

Promotional Art from the less-that-stellar 1984 film. It does show the Fremen army though.

Herbert wrote the novel in the 1960s in response to the dangers he saw in charismatic leaders throughout the world, people who started with a vision of a new world, but soon turned into murderous tyrants against anyone who did not share their vision. He wrote in response to such people as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, Josef Stalin, Idi Amin, and countless others, who had slaughtered millions in pursuit of their goals.

And to think, had he given in, Jesus could have one just like them.

Of course, he didn’t give in. He told the devil no and ensured that he would go on to do the very opposite thing. Instead of killing for his goals, Jesus would die and in doing so would save us all.

Too bad his Church didn’t quite the message.

That’s been our great sin over the generations, hasn’t it? Founded by a man who called us to serve others to the point of self-sacrifice, the Church has gone on to slaughter, rape, and pillage its way into the history books. Death to the heathen. Convert or die. And we’d justify it by quoting Old Testament texts of the battles of the people of Israel, stories told when our understanding of God was far more limited. But, the truth of it was uglier still. We did it because it was easier. Showing respect, honor, and giving service to others takes too long. Loving and showing compassion is not the quick way to bring people to Christ. Better to scare them into it and if they refuse, just kill them and not worry about it anymore.

That’s not what we’re supposed to be. Not what we’re supposed to be doing.

That was at the heart of the devil’s temptation to begin with. In offering Jesus rulership of the world, he was putting forward the options between what was right and what was easy. And Jesus chose the hard path, the right path, the path that led to the cross and to our salvation. He remained a servant to the end, a servant to all of us.

I wonder what the world would look like if we did the same. If we stopped choosing the easy path, and instead chose as he did, choosing the right, but hard, way. The way of compassion, understanding, honor, respect, and love.

How many more souls might be in these pews if we stopped telling them they’re abominations because of who they love? Would we live in fear of the Muslim if they no longer had reason to fear us? Would our nation be so divided across lines of race and politics and economics, or would be far more united than we are now? Would people be able to hear our message of love and acceptance if they weren’t deafened by our hypocrisy?

Those are hard questions. But these are things we’ve brought on ourselves. Things that have come about because of our fears and our eagerness to remake the world to our vision via the quick and easy path. Have we ever squared with the fact that the world is the way it is because we Christians have made it that way?

We have become Paul Atreides. And the world has suffered for it.

But it’s not too late. Lent is a time of repentance, a word that means to live life differently than you have before. Can we do what we have failed to do so many times before? Can we say no to the devil’s quick and easy path and choose instead, as Jesus did, the way of the cross?

Everyone of us faces that question everyday. How are we going to answer it? Each of us crosses paths with myriad different people everyday. Some are atheist. Some gay. Some poor or rich. All of them, in some way, different from us. Can we love them in spite of that? Can we accept them in spite of that? Can we show them what Jesus was really about? By living a life of service, compassion, and love. The question is before us. What will your answer be? Amen.

Pastor's Note: For those interested in the width and depth of Herbert's series, a great place to learn is this YouTube series

Sermon for Ash Wednesday

Preached at Emanuel Lutheran Church, Freysville, PA on March 6, 2019 (Ecumenical Lenten Service)
Preaching text: Genesis 12:1-8

We’ve all heard the saying “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Nowhere is that more evident than at the very beginning of the Judeo-Christian story. Nowhere is that more evident than with Abraham, the patriarch, the one who started it all.

Who is Abraham? We know that wasn’t his original name. He was born as Abram, a man of the city of Ur, one of the oldest cities in the world (and was also even in his time.) We know that Ur was a city of Ancient Sumeria, one of the first human civilizations. We know that the Sumerians had their own religion, a pantheon of gods and goddesses that Abram probably began his life worshiping; in fact, according to Jewish tradition, Abram got his start as a carver in his father’s idol shop. But then Yahweh spoke to him and made what probably seemed a ridiculous promise.

“Pack up your family and go all the way across the known world to the land of Canaan and there I will make of you a great nation.”

Now, we don’t know what went through Abraham’s mind when this new god, one he did not know, said this to him. We do know however that Abraham listened to this voice. He packed up with his family and set out. He sojourned in the land of Haran for a time, but eventually made his way to Canaan. He did as God told him to do. He trusted that this strange god knew what he was talking about.

Perhaps it was because the idols he carved had always been mute, no matter how much he prayed, and yet now he was encountering a god who spoke and commanded and promised with authority. Who knows? I think it may be hard for us to understand just how radical Abraham’s behavior was. We’re so used to worshiping God/Yahweh with theologies, and doctrines, and rituals, and rites, and sacraments, and all the trappings of modern religion. Abraham had none of these to tell him who this voice was. In fact, the religion he was abandoning had all that, which probably would have made it a lot more real to him. But there was something about this voice. Something about its promises. Something that made him want to trust and believe.

And that, of course, is why we remember him. His great faith. And that faith is shown to be all the more potent when you remember the content of what God promised him. “I will make of you a great nation...and in you, all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” First off, there is no way Abraham will EVER see the end result of these promises. To be made into a nation will take generation upon generation of time, long past a normal human lifespan. Secondly, to be a blessing to all the world is also something he will never see. We Christians understand that blessing to be Christ, who was born of Abraham’s line many many generations into the future from when Abraham walked the earth.

He was never going to see any of what God had promised and he believed anyway.

And God did not disappoint him. Yes, Abraham did not see it with his mortal eyes, but God fulfilled his promise. From Abraham came Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, and from them came the Hebrew slaves who ran Egypt. From them came Moses who led the people to freedom. After that came Joshua and the Judges. And then came kings and prophets who predicted the coming of Messiah. And from a descendant of Abraham, the Messiah was born, who lived, died, and rose again to be that blessing for all the families of the world. And also from descendants of Abraham came the apostles, who invited us Gentiles into this spiritual family. Hundreds of generations later, we here gathered are part of that promise fulfilled.

And it came to pass despite many things that could have thwarted it. Abraham’s age and Sarah’s barrenness were not barriers to that promise. Nor were all those forces throughout the Biblical times that sought to destroy God’s people. Nor were our own bigotries and petty jealousies that sadly pitted and still sometimes pit Christian against Jew when we are rightly brothers and sisters. God proved faithful time and time again.

I wonder what life would be like if we adopted Abraham’s faith and truly trusted in the promise of God. One of the curious things about Christianity is that every single generation of Christians, from the apostles on down to us, has been convinced that Jesus would return in their lifetime. How many of us here gathered are convinced that we will not see death, but we will instead be raptured or see him coming in the clouds or however we believe Jesus will return? In my experience, it’s a lot of us, if not most.

What I find, however, is that this desire for Christ’s return is driven more by our anxieties about the way of the world than it is for a true eagerness to see God’s plan reach fulfillment. We look around and see a world that seems chaotic and frightening and we throw up our hands and say, “Oh, God, take me away from all this.” God, get me out of here; things are the worst they’ve ever been. Surely, now is the time for your return, because it can’t get any worse.

Any objective view of history will tell you that things in the world are a long way from being the worst they’ve ever been. But this isn’t about objective truth. It’s about our fears and our anxieties; irrational as they may be, but still very real. Yet, in the midst of it all, God says the same thing to us that he said to Abraham. “Stop worrying about it. Here are my promises. Here is my love and grace. Trust in that. I will fulfill them. I will be faithful. Trust me.”

Can we do that?

Tonight is Ash Wednesday. Tonight is when we hear that unpleasant truth that we are “dust and to dust (we) shall return.” We are mortal. We are human beings destined to die. Our span of years on this earth will be what it will be, but it will not be unending and unlimited. But we come here because we worship a God who is unending and who promises a new world, a new creation, a blessing for all that we may not see with our mortal eyes. Can we be faithful to that God the way Abraham was? Knowing that we may not see the fulfillment of his promises in our mortal bodies, but instead through the immortality he grants us through his grace? What would that mean for the way we live our lives in the here and now? If we believe Christ’s return is not tomorrow, but a thousand years from now or maybe more?

It’s a question we don’t ask enough, and yet Abraham’s example compels it out of us. He was faithful. He believed the promises of God despite the fact that he knew he would never see them. Can we set aside our fears and believe as he did? Can we believe beyond our finite lifespans and see the world as God does? As Abraham did? Amen.

Sermon for Transfiguration Sunday

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on March 3, 2019
Preaching text: Luke 9:28-43

Back when I served at my congregation in Davis, WV, one of my duties was to lead a brief chapel service at the local nursing home, Cortland Acres, about every three months or so. The worship service was pretty straight-forward and attendance varied wildly, but for a while there was one woman who I always knew would be there. Mary was in her 80s and struggled mightily with numerous health issues. Diabetes had robbed her of both her legs, but that didn’t matter to her. She was there every time I showed up, to sing and pray and worship God.

She told me once that she had no fear of death, that she knew her Lord was going to take care of her. She was particularly insistent that when she got to the world beyond, that “God was gonna give her a new pair of legs.” She was looking forward to that.

After a few years, Mary died from her illnesses. Those of us who knew her, the staff, the volunteers, the clergy, all talked about her after she passed and one thing kept coming up. “Mary’s got her new legs.”

I was thinking about that this week in light of a number of things. One was a conversation I had with someone who shared a similar courage towards their mortality. Another was my own war with myself as my body decided to do what it likes to do and I spent about half the day in bed on Thursday trying to regain my strength. And the last was the fact that this Sunday was Transfiguration Sunday. All these things intersect in my understanding.

Transfiguration is a bit of a weird holiday in the Church. On one level, it looks like the one time Jesus uses his miraculous powers to “show off.” Transfiguring into this brilliant figure doesn’t seem to serve any particular purpose. No one is healed. No one is fed. No one is raised from the dead. But on another level, I remember that Jesus does nothing by accident or for selfish reasons. So what is this really about? What does Transfiguration mean?

Well, like so many other things that Jesus does, he’s giving us a glimpse of the kingdom.  He shows the disciples his true form, not simply to show off, but to reveal a truth of what is yet to be. What we are now is not what we will be.

That shouldn’t really be any surprise to anyone. We are told, numerous times, that God loves us as we are. And he does. But when God touches our lives, we find that we don’t often stay as we are. We grow, in faith, hope, and love. We become stronger. More courageous. More bold. We become more than we were before.

This is what God’s love does to us. And again, this should not be any real surprise to us. There are other times and places in our lives where this dynamic comes out. Consider what happens when we fall in love with that special man or woman in our lives. How we want to be better, to be more, for their sake. Consider what happens when we give birth to our children and how we want to be more for them. This is what love does. God’s love is no different. It grows us into our full potential.

As Jesus is glorified before the disciples, he shows them (and us) the end result of what love will do for us. We will become, as Scripture has often promised, a new creation.

For those of us who struggle, like myself, with physical ailments, illnesses, and disabilities, this is good news. What we are now will not always be. For those of us who struggle with addiction and vice, this is good news. What we are now will not always be. For those of us who struggle with loneliness, abandonment, and heartache, this is good news. What we are now will not always be. We will be more. Our lives will be more. We will have, as Jesus promised, abundant life.

And not just us alone. For those of us who weep over the state of the world, this is good news. For what the world is will not always be. For those of us who feel for the hungry and the poor, this is good news. For they will not always be so. All will be made new.

Transfiguration is about hope. What is now will not remain so. It be more. It will be greater. It will be glorious. That is the kingdom of God. That is what is coming.

Of course, it’s not here yet. Not in its fullness. And like the disciples, we cannot live on the mountaintop right now. We must return to the world as it is now. Just as Jesus and his disciples did in our Gospel story today. They come back to a world where children are taken by evil spirits, where there is hunger and poverty and sickness and all manner of difficulty.

And we may be impatient for that kingdom to come, as Jesus himself is, but it’s not here yet. So, like Jesus, we have our work to do. Bringing little pieces of the kingdom here and there by showing love and compassion to others. By becoming more our true selves by giving that same faith, hope, and love to others. Piece by piece, act of love by act of love, we grow into the person we are meant to be and bring that kingdom closer for us and for others.

This is the Christian life. Become more than we were before. Helping others see the kingdom we place hope within. When we are out there beyond these walls, that’s the person we’re being called to be. Giving the world a glimpse of transformed and transfigured life. The kingdom that comes. What God is doing with the world. Making all things new. Amen.