Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 16, 2017
Preaching text: Matthew 13:1-8

I grew up a city boy, so I certainly can’t claim to be any expert on farming and agriculture. But I think I understand on at least a basic level. You till and plow a field, making it ready for planting. You plant the crops at a particular time of year; generations of farmers have recorded the exact week and day for optimal results and you follow that to the letter. You fertilize and in some cases water (artificially, as in irrigation) the crops as they grow. You use chemicals to drive off pests and weeds. And the end result, you hope, is a bumper crop of whatever you planted and worked so hard to produce.

In other words, it’s everything the sower in Jesus’ parable doesn’t do.

Now, we humans have been farming for thousands of years, so I don’t think this difference is one of their times and ways verses ours. I suspect strongly that any farmers hearing Jesus’ story would have reacted as we do. “That’s not how you sow seeds! It’s wasteful. It’s inefficient. If I was employing that sower, I’d fire him on the spot.”

Which is a big part of Jesus’ point.

The parable is about spreading the Word. It’s about evangelism. But the subtext of the parable is human nature, specifically our need to control everything and to succeed at everything. All that work that we put into growing crops, into agriculture, is intended to control the outcome. We want to see that bumper crop as often as possible and with good reason. That’s our food. That’s our means to survival. That’s the farmer’s means to make a living by selling those crops to people who need to eat them. All important things; all far too important to leave to chance.

So we use our science, we use our technology, we use our centuries of experiences to control the process to ensure an optimal outcome. Failure is not really an option. Many a farmer has faced that. Many a nation and society has experienced famine and the starvation that goes with it. These outcomes are to be avoided at all costs, so we work and we control and we do everything we can to ensure the opposite happens.

All that we do with agriculture we also want to do with people when it comes to spreading our faith. We want to ensure the outcome. We don’t want to fail. We want control.

So we create all these gimmicks and programs and evangelism/outreach plans, all intended to ensure a bumper crop of new converts to sit in our pews. Certain things must be ensured to maximize the outcome. They must be like us; they must want the same things. They can’t rock the boat. They can’t change anything. They just have to show up, sit in the pew, sing the old songs, and put money in the plate. And our church will thrive again.

And none of these sure-fire programs have EVER worked.

Because human beings are not corn or wheat or barley or hay or any other crop. They are thinking feeling creatures who are very savvy about being tricked, manipulated, and used. They do not want to be controlled. They are very quick to figure out that our gimmicks and programs are really about us and not about them.

Jesus shows us the alternative. His sower sprays the seeds everywhere. And a good chunk of it goes into places where it will not thrive. But what does land where it needs to explodes in great success. Jesus’ parable highlights that salvation is not something we can control. The Spirit will act where it will and will save whom it chooses. As he says in John’s Gospel, the Spirit is like the wind, “blow[ing] where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

Truth be told, we don’t even control our own salvation, let alone someone else’s. Yes, we are baptized and we’ve taken those promises on ourselves in confirmation. But we sin all the time. Those promises we made in those rites and sacrament, we break them. If our own salvation was up to us, we’d be toast. But it’s not. It’s up to the Spirit. It’s God’s choice. We cannot control it.

So it is with everyone else. God chooses. And it is he who knows when and where a person becomes good soil. That’s something else about us humans. We don’t stay the same. Allow me to introduce you to Pastor Allen, age 15 (30 years ago). He’s arrogant, selfish, obnoxious, and painfully insecure; crazy about girls and WAY too shy to do anything about it. I'm not that person anymore.

Or I can introduce you to my friend John, who at that same age of 15 was a red-meat-eating gun-loving Go-'Merica Republican, who now at age 45 thinks that President Trump is an idiot.

Or my friend James who at age 21 was quite the libertine: new girl on his arm (and in his bed) every week, drank like a fish (and I don’t mean water), smoked weed when he could and is now a red-blooded pro-family Republican with two adorable kids and thinks President Trump walks on water.

And here we all are, 25 years ago. James and John are the first two on the left.

And yeah, that's me in the front center.

We don’t stay the same and it is God who knows when we are good soil or something else. Which is why he calls us to spread the seed of his Word randomly and constantly. We never know when who we are and what we do will plant the seed that the Spirit will grow, because that’s not up to us.

I know that drives us crazy. Myself included. I have many friends who are of other faiths or are atheist. I love them all and I care about what may become of them when they die. But I know that God in his infinite mercy chose me to be among his elect. I know that God is love and that he loves each one of them with same fire and passion he does me. I must trust that one day somehow He will find them good soil for his Word. My job, our job, is to scatter the seed, to be Christians, and to be all that that means. To, as I said last week, do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. That’s our seed. And God will take it and run with it. His goal is to save us all. We have our part. Let’s play it. Amen.

Sermon for Justice Sunday

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 9, 2017
Scripture texts: Genesis 4:8-16 , Micah 6:6-8, John 9:1-7

Why Justice? Why are we talking about this? Our question for the day is “How does our faith call us to the work of social justice?" All of these are the same question, just formatted differently, than the question I have argued is the central question of Christianity. That question being “What now?”

You see, we Christians believe that God so loved the world that he send Jesus into it to show us his love. And he did so with miracles of healing and lessons of life, stories of a compassionate kingdom God seeks to create. And, of course, as the ultimate demonstration of that love, he went to the cross, died, and then rose again to grant us the ultimate gift of love, which is life.

The whole salvation thing, we Lutherans in particular among Christians believe is something that’s already been taken care of. Once we are baptized, we’re in. We’re good. All is taken care of. God’s chosen you to be among the elect who will live forever in his kingdom. Debate continues about what God will do with those outside our faith, but even there one thing that is not in question is that it will ultimately be God’s choice and decision on what happens. Salvation is a done deal. It is, as Jesus himself said, finished.

Now, between now and then, we have the whole course of our lives and there emerges that question. “What now?” What are we to do with ourselves? Answering that question is, I believe, one of the central tasks of our Scriptures. And that answer that it provides is “justice.”

I chose today’s texts to illustrate that truth. We begin at the beginning and the famous story of the first murder between Cain and Abel. The question Cain asks of God is the very first question any human asks of God in our Scriptures. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” That’s not coincidental, because I believe it is the question the whole of the Bible spends most of its energy on. Are we our brother’s keeper? Absolutely.

All throughout the Old Testament, you see this. From God’s gift of Torah to the ancient Hebrews with its emphasis on care for “the orphan, the widow, and the stranger in your midst” to continuous call of the prophets to remember the poor and needy, the outcast and rejected. Micah is but one example of that emphasis. “What is it that we are to do?” He essentially asks of God. “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.” comes the reply.

Jesus takes that and runs with it in his own teachings and behavior. He heals the sick, embraces the outcast, makes the blind to see and the lame to walk, and he teaches the disciples to do likewise. To love the neighbor, to care for them, to do good to them. The early Church likewise takes this and runs with it and much of the New Testament, like the Old, is centered on how to “do justice” with our neighbors.

Two thousand years later, that calling hasn’t changed one whit. We are still meant to do justice for our neighbors in Christ’s name. But somewhere along the line we’ve lost that piece. The church has become a bastion of the established order, regardless of whether that establishment is one that strives for justice or not. Care for the poor and needy has become secondary to the need to maintain buildings, to enforce proper doctrine and dogma within its membership, and to fight the culture wars’ battles across society. What happened?

The answer is simple. We took our eyes off Jesus and made it all about us. Focus on adiaphora (unnecessary things) has become central. Fear has replaced faith in our hearts. False teachings have crept into our midst unexamined, even welcomed. And one of the worst of those is the very one Jesus addresses directly in our Gospel lesson today.

I would argue this one of the most insidious foes to our calling for justice, the idea that the life we are given is the life we deserve. All wrapped up nicely for us in the disciples’ question of Jesus, “Whose sin caused this man to be born blind?”

Because, of course, this man had to deserve it somehow. He’s gotten what he’s merited. His blindness is the obvious punishment for what he or those closest to him have done wrong. Just as my own wealth, health, and success in life is proof positive that I’m getting all that I deserve for being such a good and righteous person.

My mocking tone is intentional, but the sad truth is this is everywhere. Why is there poverty? Because people choose to be poor. Because they’re lazy or in some other way degenerate or morally inferior. Why were Trevon Martin or Tamir Rice or Walter Scott shot? Because they clearly did something to deserve it. They wore a hoodie or they ran or they played with a toy gun in the wrong place. Clearly those are all capital crimes, deserving of death. Well, they are if you’re black.

And wealth and power and success? Clearly those people who have such things are worthy of it. But how many of them truly came by it honestly? And how many swindled, cheated, broke laws, hurt people, and found every loophole they could exploit to expand their wealth and power? Far more than we care to admit.

This isn’t justice.

Whose sin caused this man to be born blind? The question, on its face, is farcical and it’s meant to be. Because the point of our lives isn’t to affix blame, it’s to provide an answer to injustice. And that’s precisely what Jesus does. He doesn’t tell the disciples whose sin is at fault here; He goes over and he heals the man born blind. He does something about it. He fixes the problem.

So what are we going to do? That’s the challenge our faith presents us. There’s injustice all over this world. People are hungry. People are without shelter. People are sick. People are oppressed under various tyrannies. People are treated unfairly because of their skin color, their language, their economic status, their religion, their sexual orientation, and just about every other category you can think of. The rich have too much and the poor have too little. The strong bully the weak (sometimes from behind a badge or some other symbol of authority).

We are Christians. We are the beloved of God, called to be the disciples of Jesus. What are WE going to do about all that? God (and the world) is waiting for our answer. Amen.

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 2, 2017
Scripture text: Matthew 10:40-42

Easily, my favorite person in the world was my grandfather. We called him Bup, because my 2 year old self had some difficulty with the pronunciation of “Pop.” It was a name he bore proudly for many years. He was a salt-of-the-earth sort of guy, blue collar, hard worker, WWII vet, loving father and grandfather and that took priority. He retired early to be with his family. He was tough as nails but gentle as a dove. He threatened to box my ears together more times than I can count, but he never actually did it. I miss him greatly. He died about 15 years or so ago now.

He was a man of deep faith, always made sure his daughters attended worship, but rarely attended church himself. One day, he told me why. He told me a story of when he was a young man in church, attending worship. This was probably during the 1930s, during the Depression, a time of great struggle and hardship for people. A poor family came into the church to worship. The pastor stopped the service, walked to the back of the church, and asked the newcomers to leave. They were not dressed properly to be there. Humiliated, the family slunk out. Buppy as furious. Said he never wanted to be a part of something that would do that to people in need.

I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t either. “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” And as Jesus claims elsewhere in Matthew’s Gospel, that we find him in the “least of these,” it was painfully obvious that who was not welcome in that church was Jesus himself.

I don’t remember when exactly Bup told me that story, but I’ve known it for a long time and I’ve used it in sermons numerous times. It cuts to the heart of who we see ourselves to be. Is the Church merely a social club for people or is it something more? What are we about? Why are we here?

We’ve been exploring these questions for a number of weeks now as the lectionary is taking us through the Gospel of Matthew. Interestingly enough, in the course of moving, I found my lost copy of Michael Card’s book on the Gospel of Matthew, where he subtitles his work “The Gospel of Identity.”

Well worth the purchase, FYI.

As we close in on Justice Sunday next week, I feel we are being swept along like a boat in rapids. It’s as though we’re being forced to address those central questions time and again. Who are you? Who does God want you to be? What does God want you to be about? And how does one get from where they are and who they are to where God wants them to be?

If I look back upstream in those rapids, I can see my grandfather standing on the shore, as he’s saying to me “If you want to be a man of the church, be one that welcomes Jesus in whatever form he takes.” That’s probably good advice for all of us in answering those central questions of identity. Who are we? Disciples who welcome Jesus, whatever he might look like. I hope we can all say that.

Unfortunately, that’s not a popular stance in this day and age. Few churches today would banish a visitor because of their tattered clothing, but many would be more than willing to excise those alternate sexual identity from their midst. No LGBT here, they would demand. And how many of them enthusiastically support the efforts of our government to keep out refugees and immigrants, people simply looking for a better life than the grinding poverty and brutal violence of much of the Third World?

I hesitate to say this on July 4th weekend, but for a nation of immigrants whose foundations are built on welcoming the “tired,” “poor,” and “tempest tost,” we’re not very welcoming anymore. Is that Christian? Not hardly.

Is that Jesus knocking at our door? Is that Jesus in the immigration center looking at us with pleading eyes? Is that Jesus on the street corner? It very well could be.

As much as I usually detest bumper sticker theology, I have to admit, as time goes on, that WWJD is probably one of the best pithy little sayings one could live by. What would Jesus do? How would he handle these times that we live in? We may not be fully able to guess the answer to that, but we know what he’s already done. We know that he welcomed the stranger and the outcast, one of the most notable was the author of today’s Gospel lesson. Matthew was a hated tax collector, one who was banished from worship due to his profession. We know Jesus loved him regardless of all that. We know Jesus touched and healed lepers who were outcast. That he associated with prostitutes and didn’t care one whit.

And we know that for the sake of all of them and all of us, he went to the cross and died there. We know that for the sake of all of them and us that he was buried and then rose again on the third day. We know that he did this to give us life abundant and eternal out of his love. Time and again, as we read through his Word, we see Jesus saying to us, “I love those people. Love them too.”

The poor, the rich, the gay, the straight, the white, people of color, those who believe in me, and those who don’t. I love them all. Do likewise.

Years ago, when I was a teenager, I used to see Tony Campolo speak. He had this story that he would always share about a trip he took to Honolulu. He had jet lag and so ended up at this bar at 3 in the morning. While he was there, eating, a group of prostitutes came in and Tony couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday.” one lamented. “I’ll be 39 years old and I’ve never had a birthday party.”

Tony sat there and thought for a moment. He turned to the barkeep and asked. “What would it take to throw a party for Agnes?” The barkeep nodded for a moment and two conspired to throw a party.

The next night the whole places was decorated up, streamers, cake, the whole 9 yards. Agnes and her fellow prostitutes came in and were shocked and amazed. Tony handed Agnes the knife to cut the cake and she hesitated, with tears in her eyes. “It’s so perfect, I don’t want to cut it. I want to show it off.” Agnes then took the cake and darted out the door. She took it to show it off to her mother, who lived down the street. She then returned, they cut the cake, and all had a good time.

“What sort of church you preach at?” The barkeep asked Tony. “One that gives birthday parties for hookers at 3am.” Tony replied. “I want to be a part of that church.” said the barkeep.

Wouldn’t we all? Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 25, 2017
Scripture texts: Jeremiah 20:7-13, Romans 6:1-11, Matthew 10:24-39

There’s a great irony in our religion. An amusing one to put it mildly. You see when God enters into your life in a powerful way, you come out of that profound experience transformed. You come out of that experience changed. You come out of that experience a different person than you were before. God is all about change and transformation. He seeks to change the world, to make it a better more suitable place for his beloved. He seeks to change his beloved, to give them new perspective, new ideas, new outlook, new hope, new love. Everything about God is about change.

And the one place we say you can meet this God most powerfully is within an institution that has dedicated itself over its long centuries to doing nothing but resisting change. To the point where it’s even laughable, where people crack jokes about it. How many Christians does it take to change a lightbulb? Change, we don’t do change around here!

Note which one they assign to us Lutherans.

What then are we to do with these Scriptures today? All three of which are about the change and transformation that comes upon us as disciples of Jesus Christ, as believers in a holy God. Jeremiah laments that God has overpowered him and that he can no longer help himself but proclaim God’s word to people who do not wish to hear it. Paul speaks of how we are not meant to continue in sin now that we are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection. And Jesus himself point out that these changes will alienate us from people around us, sometimes to the point of violence.

Of course, maybe those words from Jesus give us a clue about why things have played out in the Church the way they have. Man will set against father, daughters against mothers, and whoever does not take up their cross (a means of death and torture) is not worthy of me. I can very easily imagine for many people hearing those words the last thing they’ll want to do is sign on to this crusade. Most I think would run for the hills. But that’s not really what’s happened.

No, we humans are far too clever for our own good. Rather than flee from the consequences of belief, we found ways to circumvent them. We’ve built up the church with people who want all the benefits, but pay none of the costs. We make church members, not disciples of Jesus. We have our cake and eat it too. Cheap grace abounds.

That is, of course, what Paul was warning us about. It was the church he had witnessed in Corinth and Galatia (where he wrote to them with great frustration.) and now wanted to avoid in Rome. Shall we continue in sin? By no means. My Greek professor in college once pointed out that the modern Bible translates this phrase far too mildly. If you’ll forgive this digression, a more accurate translation would be something like “Shall we continue in sin? Oh, hell no.”

Jesus too highlights the dangers of this sort of wishy-washy I-want-all-the-benefits-without-the- cost-of-discipleship faith. “He who does loves father and mother more than me is not worthy of me” and “those who find their life will lose it.” Jesus pulls no punches here. If you wimp out on the cost of being a disciple, you are not worthy of him.

That is probably our greatest sin as the Church. Not that we cave into our vices too often. Not that we hate more often than we love. But rather that we simply don’t take Jesus, his mission, and his goals seriously enough. We look to the cross and see a nice brass or silver decoration for our church sanctuary, not the true meaning of everything we are and everything we are to be about.

 These thoughts, these ideas were central to one Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Many of you have heard of him, a Lutheran pastor and theologian living under the shadow of Nazi Germany. There, he was witness to precisely what happens when we embrace cheap grace too freely. Evil is excused and it abounds. We turn our backs on those Christ calls us to love and evil expands. We live as the world lives and evil dominates, because it knows the good are too cowardly and too weak to defy it.

Are we living in such times today? We just might, and no, I don’t mean that to point fingers at this or that politician in our government with whom I disagree. I am more concerned with the spirit of rage and hatred that seems to have infected every corner of our society, left and right, young and old, rich and poor. A spirit, that I must confess, has infected even me.

Cheap grace would say I need do nothing and let this spirit run its course within me. God will forgive me anyway. But I am a Christian. I am a disciple of Jesus and I do not wish to be a creature of hate and fury. I wish to be as my Savior was. A person of love, compassion, and mercy. A person who will make a better world by working for justice for ALL people, not merely those who are like me or who agree with my ideas. I want the path of costly grace, because that’s the path Jesus chose. That’s the path of the cross. That’s the path I am called to pursue. And what is costly grace?

Bonhoeffer put it this way...

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: “ye were bought at a price,” and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.

He who does not take up his cross is not worthy of me. Jesus says. I am not worthy of him. Not now. Not ever. Each day, I come again to him and ask him for one more chance. And in his infinite grace, he grants it. I cannot take that lightly. As it did Jeremiah, it compels me to serve, to seek that better world for all God’s beloved. It is who I am meant to be. It is who we are all meant to be. Disciples of Jesus for the sake of the world. Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 18, 2017
Preaching texts: Exodus 19:2-8, Romans 5:1-8, Matthew 9:35-10:23

I had to chuckle at several points when I was reading the Scripture texts for today. The first moment of mirth comes in the First Lesson. Moses stands up before the people and gives this stirring speech about all that God has done for the sake of his Chosen. About how God took them from bondage in Egypt to freedom. How he guided them into the wilderness. About how he’s been with them every step of their journey. Now God says OBEY, trust in my commandments, and the people will be holy and blessing upon the Earth. And the people, stirred in their hearts by this speech, say with one voice, “Yes, we will do all that God has commanded us.”

And then nearly the whole rest of the Old Testament is about all the ways they did exactly the opposite of that.

In fairness to the ancient Hebrews, I think they meant well. Certainly in the moment, they meant every word of that pledge. But then came the fear of the wilderness, the snakes, the starvation, the lack of water, and they wavered. And then they arrived in the Promised Land and what came next was the temptation of other gods whose worship seemed a lot more fun and sexy. Worship that promised them power and they wavered. And they saw the way the world worked everywhere else, with the rich and powerful oppressing the poor and the meek and they thought, hey, I’d like to get on with some of that, and they wavered.

It’s easy to pick on them, laugh at them even, until you remember that we’re just like them.

In the first missionary journey of the Twelve Apostles in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus spends them out specifically only to the descendants of those ancient Hebrews, the Jews. Given the expansive nature of Jesus’ mission and how his salvation is meant for all people everywhere, this might seem an odd start, but there is a logic to it. They are the descendents of those who made that pledge. They are the ones who were taught that ancient story and were told that they, like their forebears, had made a promise to God to obey all his covenant and commandments.

Jesus’ hope is that his disciples will find some among those villages who remember that pledge and are willing once again to obey where their ancestors failed. Sadly, as Jesus himself points out, his expectation is that his disciples will encounter resistance. He gives them contingency plans and warnings about what will happen if the disciples are not welcomed, if they rejected or even persecuted for what they have to say.

It is easy to stand in judgment over those villages in regards to their rejection of Christ until you remember we can be just like them.

Yeah, imagine for a moment a little thought exercise. Let’s transport through time and space this whole Gospel story to Southeastern PA in 2017. Jesus says to his disciples, “Go, go forth into all the towns and villages of York County. Go to York and Red Lion and East Prospect and Yorkana and Manchester. But don’t go to the mosques or temples, but to the churches and there proclaim that the kingdom of God has come near. Go to the ones who have already heard my voice before and remind them of what I have taught and commanded.” What sort of reception would they get?

We’d like to think we’d welcome them with open arms, but would we? When they started reminding us that Jesus was far more about aiding people in need than in policing the sins of others? Stop worrying about gay marriage and start worrying about the starving masses on your streets. Stop worrying about evolution in schools and start worrying about the sick, the poor, the needy, the voiceless. Who cares who’s sleeping with whom when there is violence and hatred in your hearts towards those who are different. Stop the gossip. Stop the self-righteous sanctimony in regards to others. Stop the bigotry and hatred. Do good. Help those in need.

That was pretty much the disciples’ message. Stop what you’re doing now and remember what you’re supposed to be about. Remember what your ancestors in the faith were supposed to do. Stop fussing over all this other garbage that’s been added on in the name of religion and get back to what really matters.

Some churches would buy into that, but far too many I suspect in these times would throw those disciples out on their hindquarters. And we would dare to stand in judgment over the ancient Jews for doing the same thing? We’re often no better at listening to Jesus than they were.

 None of us walked into the church, whenever we first did so, with the intention of rejecting Christ. We entered in good faith, meaning to do all that Jesus asked of us. But, like those Hebrews in the wilderness, we have wavered. The fears and temptations of the world have overwhelmed us. We’ve mistaken false gods for Christ. We caved to our vices and baser natures more than once. We have wavered. We have failed. Just like they did.

And that brings us to Paul and his letter to Rome. This wonderfully succinct summary of the real Gospel in Christ reminds us that Christ came not to save perfect people because there are none. None of us, Jew or Greek, have obeyed God in perfection. We’ve all failed and we’ve all faltered. But God gave himself for the sake of the ungodly, for the sake of sinners, for the sake of all of us.

I think that’s part of the reason Paul cracks the joke he does in this passage (this is the second place I had a chuckle in these lessons). No one would die for the “righteous,” because people are often only righteous in the sense of religion and its cumbersome rules and unnecessary things that we humans have heaped upon it through our personal agendas. A good person? Well, maybe, and that’s different from being righteous. But Jesus doesn’t care about either. He dies for all. All of us failures and rejects. We’ve turned our back on God and God forgives us for the sake of Jesus.

Are we the righteous? Sometimes far too often, pumped up on things that don’t matter and believing ourselves superior as a result. Are we the good? Well, sometimes, but not always. But what we really are is the forgiven. The ones for whom Christ lived, died, and rose again. In the end, that’s the only identity that really matters. Amen.

Sermon for Trinity Sunday 2017

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 11, 2017
Preaching texts: Genesis 1:26-31, Matthew 28:16-20

I am thrilled beyond words today. There is nothing that I do as a pastor that I like better than what I am about to do. In a very short time, we will gather around the font. Water will be poured. Prayers spoken. Pledges made. And little Joyce Elizabeth Frederick will become a baptized child of God.

It seems fitting and right that we do this on Trinity Sunday. For in the themes and thoughts of this day, we see clearly the whole purpose of this sacrament, a sacrament not just given to Joyce but was once also given to all of us at some point in our lives. We baptize in the name of the Trinity, because God in his three persons reveals all the ways he loves and embraces us.

The Creation story from Genesis shows us the first form of that love. It states explicitly that God creates humankind. Now regardless of whether you believe that happens through some divine magic or through scientific process, the key point is how God sees humanity as something special even above and beyond the rest of creation. It is we who are made imago dei, in the image of God, and it is we who are declared not merely “good,” but “very good.”

Think about that for a moment. There is something of the divine essence in each one of us; God has placed something of himself in each of us. Even before the water comes upon our head, God loves us. He created us. He made us. He crafted us from the very stuff of stars and planets, knowing everything of who we are. Each one of us unique, “fearfully and wonderfully made” as I often quote from the Psalmist. Each one of us a masterpiece of the master crafter.

In the occasional moments of spare time that I get, I like to build models and paint fantasy miniatures. My wife and mother-in-law knit. My father and father-in-law both love to garden. My daughter draws and paints. If you have a creative hobby like these, you know the passion you place into your work. How you want it come out just right so that beauty can thrive in your work. Think about that in terms of what God creates. Think of the passion he’s put behind creating each one of us. The love, the care, in making us who we are.

But that’s hardly the only way God love us. Jesus, of course, stands at the pinnacle of that love expressed. Think about it for a moment. Long long before any of us were born, God put into motion a plan for our salvation, a means to spare us from the nightmare of death and sin. He made a promise to a man named Abraham, that from his family and descendents would come a blessing for all people. Generations passed and that blessing came to pass in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Every Sunday, we gather here at church to hear that story anew. Of how God so loved the world that he sent his son into the world to save it. We walk through that story, beginning in Advent with the rumors and predictions of his birth. We move to Christmas celebrating his birth and into Epiphany with all the “firsts” of his ministry on Earth. We journey to Jerusalem in Lent and witness his Passion in Holy Week. We celebrate his rising again in Easter. And all along this journey, we hear time and again of the wonders of the kingdom he seeks to bring about. A kingdom with no sickness, pain, mourning, or death. All a gift to those whom God loves.

But Jesus, of course, does not remain on Earth forever. The story we walk through every year comes to its close at Ascension, when Jesus returns to the Father. But before that, he gives us his marching orders and final promise. And here’s where things get a little rough, maybe even a little scary.

This great and wondrous love that we’ve received is not meant to be hoarded amongst ourselves. But it is to be shown and demonstrated and taught across the world. We are to share it with others, to spread the good news of the kingdom to all who will hear. “Go ye therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey all that I have commanded you.” Jesus final words to his disciples becomes our calling as Christians.

Little Joyce is receiving that calling today as well, just as we all did on the day of our own baptism. To dedicate our lives to the spreading of this kingdom, and all that goes with it. To embrace the outcast, to feed the hungry, to aid the poor, to heal the sick. TO LOVE THE UNLOVEABLE because that’s what Jesus would do.

Time and again, human history has shown us how dangerous doing those things can be. That’s why it’s scary. That’s why it’s rough. We live in a world and a society that teaches us those who are less fortunate than we deserve nothing of our help. And if we seek to help them, there will be blowback. There always has been. History is littered with the names of martyrs who sought to do as Christ did and died for it. And while we’d like to think that’s a relic of history, as the news has shown us lately, people are still dying for doing what is right and good and beautiful in this world.

But here’s where Jesus’ final promise comes into play. “Lo, I am with you always.” He sends upon us his Holy Spirit, so that wherever we go and whatever we do God goes with us. We are never alone in life. The one who loves us beyond language and expression stands beside us in all things. From the greatest triumph to the most difficult trial, God is there, lending his strength, hope, endurance, and whatever else we may need.

This is the world Joyce is stepping into today, to be one of us, a disciple of Jesus Christ. One created wondrously by the Father, one saved by the blood of Jesus, and one with whom the Spirit stands in all things. This is who she is. This is who we are. Beloved of the Trinity. Children of God. The ones who are loved beyond words. Amen.

Sermon for Pentecost Sunday 2017

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 4, 2017
Scripture: Acts 2:1-21

Pastor's Note: Life has been wondrous chaos this past week. My daughter, wife, and I have moved into a new townhouse and we're still unpacking boxes galore. It was also Synod Assembly weekend, and attendance at that event is mandated for us ELCA pastors. Suffice to say, there was little time this week to prepare a sermon.

Thankfully, as he has for the past several years, Bishop James Dunlop released a sermon for his pastors to use on Synod Assembly weekend. I have taken his manuscript and modified it somewhat for my context, but most of the thoughts below are his and not mine (although I agree wholeheartedly with his points.) I wanted to give proper credit to the origin of this sermon.

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I’ve enjoyed, for much of my life, being a dog owner. It’s a source of great joy and fun, but sometimes it can be frustrating. Dogs, of course, cannot speak outside of a few yips, barks, and the occasional growl. So when they want something, they look at you with a bit of longing in their eyes and that’s all the clue you get. Do they want outside? A treat? Some attention? Play a game? Who knows?

At times you wish there was a translator, a dog whisperer, someone fluent in “canine” who could speak on their behalf, telling you want they need or want. Paging Caesar Milan.

But language – the lack of words – is the problem only some of the time. Sometimes the problem is that they don’t really know what they want. They don’t know what to want, let alone how to ask for it. How frustrating is that!? Frustrating for them AND us!

Not knowing what we want -- that is what Paul is talking about in Romans. “When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (Romans 8:15-16). And again: “Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).

This is not a new problem. We live in a broken world, a world marred by sin and death. And we are a rebellious people, living in bondage to sin, and we can’t free ourselves. I wonder if we even know what to want, let alone whether we have the words to describe it. We in the Christian church try to align ourselves with God’s mission in the world. In many ways, that is what Pentecost is about. A re-dedication of ourselves to the mission God has set before us. Trying to make what we want into the same thing that God wants. Our mission, our purpose, our lives, in alignment with God’s will.

It’s not always easy to perform that mission. As I’ve mentioned numerous times before, Christianity is under threat. It can be a dangerous thing to be Christian. In some places we see threats from those who persecute, injure, or kill Christians.

But I continue to be concerned about the threats to Christianity within our own culture. Threats even by some who profess the faith! When preachers talk about how our culture undermines Christian values, many of them often speak of sexual immorality and how prayer has been taken out of schools. But I am not concerned about those things.

My concerns are more with our fundamental principles of the Christian faith and the attack on those very principles within and by our society. An insidious assault on the core of our faith. Attacks and assaults that we, too, sometimes enable and promote.

As Christians, we are meant to hold that all people are children of God. As Paul reminds us, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male or female for all are one in Christ (Galatians 3:28). Yet even in our Christian nation, the sins of racism, sexism, and xenophobia pervade. And rather than being shocked, we gloss over it. Or maybe we even make excuses for it.

We dismiss vulgar, demeaning sexual comments as harmless “locker room talk.” When people complain they are insulted or offended by boorish language, we say they are being overly sensitive. 

Faced with legitimate complaints of prejudice, persecution or violence, we blame the victim. A woman is sexually assaulted, and we say, “She was asking for it. Look how she was dressed.” No one asks, “Who asks to be assaulted?” 

When a person of color is hassled, harmed, or even killed in an upscale part of town, we say, “What did they expect, walking through a white neighborhood?” And nobody asks the question, “Why is there such a thing as a white neighborhood?”

There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male or female for all are one in Christ 

Christ calls us to care for the poor, the sick, the hungry, the naked, those imprisoned, and yet the narrative our culture puts forth is that we should NOT help them. They don’t deserve help. Poverty is their own fault. It is their state of mind. And that’s just not true.

I have worked in rural and urban congregations for pretty much the entirety of my ministry. I have worked in soup kitchens and food pantries. I have met hungry people who are struggling. I’ve seen physically disabled people who can’t work, parents who can’t feed their families despite working multiple part-time minimum-wage jobs with no benefits.

The last thing they want is to be given handout, but they have no other choice. They are desperate. They are needy. They are God’s children. They are our brothers and sisters. 

Throughout our nation, the wealthiest the world has ever seen, 1 in 5 children is at risk for hunger every day. It shows the injustice of our economic system that does not reward everyone equally, or even sufficiently. No one asks the question, “Why do we live with inequity?”

We’re often too afraid to ask those critical questions because they are divisive. In these polarized times, the answer to them often splits along partisan lines. But we are the Church, the body of Christ in this world and we are called to make this a better world. That should be our priority beyond whether we are Democrat or Republican. At the risk of “meddlin’,” for many Christians, their political allegiance trumps their identity as a disciple of Jesus. Culture matters more than faith.

But that culture tells us that a person’s value is based on what they contribute to society, which is measured by how much wealth they have. Thus, the rich are more valuable than the poor. In other words, just being human, despite being created imago dei, has no value. One’s value is based solely on the economic. And that is as far from a Christian perspective as one can get.

Instead we believe that every human being is a gift from God and has intrinsic value. Jesus tells us that God cares so deeply about each one of us, loves and knows us so intimately that Jesus came to live, die, and rise again for our sakes. God loves us, and Jesus commands us to spread that love to our neighbors. And not just love from afar, but hands-on love, by taking care of our neighbors. In the 25th chapter of Matthew, Jesus calls us to care for the poor, the sick, the hungry, the naked, those imprisoned. For in so doing we will encounter Christ.

We are to be the voice for the voiceless, the strength of the powerless.

Martin Luther said, “Know that to serve God is nothing else than to serve your neighbor and do good to him in love, be it child, wife, servant, enemy, friend. … If you do not find yourself among the needy and the poor, where the Gospel shows us Christ, then you may know that your faith is not right, and that you have not yet tasted of Christ’s benevolence and work for you.”

Brother Martin speaks a lot more harshly than I probably would. But his point stands. This is who we are and who we are meant to be. This is what we are called to do. It trumps all else. It is no time to slack. We look about and see systematic hate, poverty, destruction of the climate, and so many other forms of sin. The world NEEDS us, perhaps now more than ever.

This is God’s mission. This is his plan. And we are called to participate in this plan, just as the first apostles were called to participate in it on that first Pentecost.

So here we are on this Pentecost in 2017. Called anew to God’s mission. We, like my two dogs, may not always know what to do or what we want or what we need or even how to express it, but we trust in God’s spirit as our ancestors in the faith did. We know he has a plan. We know we are a part of that plan, a plan to make a better world, a better life, an eternal and abundant life. For us and for all the world. Go! We have work to do. That better world awaits. Amen.