Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Lent (Latere)

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on March 31, 2019
Preaching text: Prodigal Son parable.

Our Gospel lesson today is one of the most familiar, most beloved of all Scripture texts. It’s one of the first stories we can remember from Sunday School and one we revisit frequently throughout our lives. We all know it. We all love it. It’s the Prodigal Son.

There is an old saying, “familiarity breeds contempt.” On one level with this story, that’s clearly not true, since this is a beloved parable of Jesus. But I do believe that on another level, it is. There is a way in which our familiarity and fondness for this text can make us miss a lot of its nuance and detail and full message. We, in a sense, take this text for granted. We know what it means, so we don’t need to study it closely or further.

For instance, it’s title and name. “The Prodigal Son.” Who here knows what the word ‘prodigal’ means?

I didn’t for the longest time and I’d imagine most of us don’t. Because the only place we ever use that word is in reference to this story. For the longest time, I thought it was a fancy old-fashioned word for “runaway” or “absent” or some such. After all, the son does leave his family behind, so it fit.

Others have contended it means “bad” or “betraying” or something like that. Also apt, since the son is hardly a bastion of moral behavior. But none of these are correct.

When I say we don’t use the word “prodigal” in modern language, that’s not entirely true. There is another very closely related word that we do use that gives us a hint at its true meaning. That word is the adjective “prodigious.” Most of us, I think, know what this word means. It’s something big, overwhelming, extravagant. That’s a very prodigious boulder.

Prodigal, it turns out, means extravagant, excessive, over-the-top, shamelessly so. And this, of course, describes the son well. He has the audacity to go to his living father and ask for his inheritance, something he would normally only receive after his Dad had died. In a very real sense, he’s saying to his father, “drop dead and give me what is mine.” He then takes this money and spends it all on extravagant over-the-top hedonistic living. He throws money around like a billionaire on a bender.

However, if that’s the true meaning of the word prodigal, then there is another character in the story to whom it applies. And that’s the father. He too is prodigal. He too is extravagant and excessive and over-the-top and shamelessly so. His son comes to him and says the most horrible thing, and rather than tell his offspring to go pound sand (like he should have), he gives in. He divides his property and gives this obnoxious little brat what he wants.

And then it gets better. The son figures out what a jerk he’s been and decides to come home. He creates this prepared speech about how he rightly deserves nothing and wishes to be treated as a slave and so forth and he heads off. And in the distance, the father sees him and he runs to meet him.

Now, we know from the context of the story that this father is reasonably affluent. He has enough money for slaves and still enough that after he divides his property in half for this ungrateful son of his, he still has a very good living. Thus, one can expect a certain aristocratic aire to this man. He would be dressed in fine robes. Now the sorts of robes a man of his stature would wear would be somewhat similar to the alb I wear on Sunday morning. A lot more decorative, but approximately the same cut and length and style.

Now, some of you may have noticed that I tend to trip on this thing at least once every Sunday I wear it. To run in something like this is nigh on impossible. So in order to run to his son, Dad has to hike up his robes. Only then can he dash out to meet his boy. Now, unlike me who’s wearing a nice pair of slacks underneath, Dad would not have had anything on underneath. So imagine a dignified elite man of affluence yanking up his robe and running with his bare legs (and perhaps much more) showing for all the world to see.

How shameless. How extravagant. How over-the-top this behavior is. It’s undignified. It’s crass. It’s improper. But Dad doesn’t care, because that’s his boy come home and he’s going to get to him as fast as he can.

And this dad’s prodigal nature keeps going. As the son starts into his prepared speech, Dad will have none of it. Bring out the best robe. Place the signet ring of our house upon his finger. Kill the fatted calf and prepare a feast. All over-the-top. All extravagant. All excessive. And all for a son who has done anything but deserve them.

That, of course, is the point.

Jesus is using this story to tell us who God is. All the time, because of our sin, we tell God to drop dead. We turn our back on him. We walk away. Time and again we do this throughout our lives. And despite the fact that he should tell us to go pound sand, he lets us do it. And when we come back to ourselves and realize our mistakes and fault, what does God do? He throws his arms around us in a massive bear hug, puts the robe and the ring upon us, and throws a feast for us. Because the beloved has come home and that’s all that matters.

We worship a prodigal God that loves us so intensely that nothing else matters. Nothing but his love for us. Not propriety. Not dignity. Not the rules. Not what he’s supposed to do with us. Nothing else but love.

And the proof of that is in Christ himself. God incarnate as this man here on Earth does the most prodigal thing ever. He loves us enough to die the most terrible shameful death for us. The death given slaves and traitors: Crucifixion. It’s an excessive death, extravagant in its suffering, and utterly shameful. But none of that matters. All that matters is a fallen humanity that God loves beyond words and that he will pay any price to see us redeemed.

This is our Prodigal God. Who loves you and me and everyone without limit. And this is what he’s done for us. Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday of Lent

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on March 24, 2019
Preaching text: Isaiah 55

Sometime in the 1970s, the West Virginia Council of Churches began a program to establish Sunday morning chapel services in each of the WV State Parks. By 2001, only one remained active, Blackwater Falls, which just so happened to be the park in the town of Davis, WV, where I was called as pastor of the Lutheran Church there. So part of my duties as pastor at St. John’s Lutheran was to conduct the chapel service at the nearby park every Sunday.

I had received a simple liturgy to use and largely decided to keep it as it was. No sense reinventing the wheel. It was prayers and scripture, sermon and blessing. Nothing terribly fancy, but what made it stand out in my mind then and now is its responsive reading. Rather than choose one of the Psalms or a traditional litany prayer of the church, the responsive reading was Isaiah 55.

Thus every week at Blackwater Falls, we heard of how God’s ways and our ways are not the same and that God’s word will fulfill its purpose just as the rain waters the earth. Wonderful poetry, but also a powerful message for troubling times.

Well, Isaiah 55 appears today as our first lesson and the impact of its words are no less powerful eighteen years after I first used them in that chapel service.

Back in 2001, the circumstances of the time were 9/11, the war on terror, and an overarching sense of fear. Today, it’s economic uncertainty, the rise of hate groups, and again an overarching sense of fear. We look out over the width and breadth of our lives and what do we see? What do we feel? One philosopher has said that what afflicts us in these modern days is a sense of “existential angst.” We feel have no purpose, no meaning. The institutions that helped give us that: businesses that employed us, churches that encouraged us, a government that supported us, are all seemingly fading away. And many people feel lost.

So much so that we are truly seeing the results of that. Violence in our schools, our churches, and our businesses, carried out by “lone gunmen.” A massive spike in suicides. A massive spike in overdose deaths. It feels like we’re self-destructing.

And trying, perhaps desperately, to be heard above all the din and clamour of our days is the voice of God. A voice that says “Be calm, my children. My ways are not your ways. What is success to me is not how the world would measure it. What is security to me is not how the world would measure it. What is meaning and purpose to me is not how the world would define those things. My ways are not your ways.”

We spend all our energy chasing after things that do not matter, or as Isaiah would say, stuff that is “not bread” and things which “do not satisfy.” Isn’t that what we discover in life? We chase after wealth and power and safety and yet these things always remain elusive. We see those who have them in abundance and yet, do we really want to live like them? No matter how much wealth they have, it’s not enough. No matter how much power, it’s not enough. They always feel their safety is an illusion. They live in fear and hunger for more, not contentment and peace.

My thoughts are not your thoughts. My ways are not your ways. God says to us.

We look out over the pews of our congregations and see emptiness. We see grey hair and wrinkled faces and so few of the young. We look at numbers of people and numbers of contributions and fear and worry creep into our hearts. But that’s not what God sees. God sees a faithful people, people who pray, people who work to better the lives of others, people who remain stalwart in spite of the difficulties of the world.

That is also what I see when I look out over the lot of you. I see people who reach out to those in need, myself included when my illnesses get the better of me. I see people who care about their neighbors. I see people who take the words of Scripture and the commandments of Christ seriously and live them out in their lives. I see children of God living out their callings in the world and doing what God would have us do. I see a people redeemed and living in hope.

We focus too much on how the world defines success and prosperity and we forget to see how God defines those things. His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are not our thoughts.

The world has always gone through cycles of chaos and order, violence and peace. Any cursory view of our history reveals that. We should not be surprised at the upheaval of our times. Our parents went through similar, as did theirs, as will our children and grandchildren in years yet to be. It is the way of things in this sinful and broken world. Focusing too much on the negative and the unpleasant runs the risk that Nietzsche warned us about: Stare too long into the abyss and it stares back.

Instead, look to the good. Look to God and you’ll find him at work. You’ll find him in your lives, in your own work, your compassion, your prayers, your hopes. You’ll find him in the face of strangers grateful for welcome and aid. You’ll find him in the face of friends whom you support and care for. Nothing that has happened in our times or any other time has stopped God from fulfilling his promises to us. His covenant is everlasting, a steadfast sure love not just for David, but for all of us.

Nothing that has happened in our times or any other time has stopped God from loving you. Christ is still risen. The tomb is still empty. Your salvation is still yours and it always will be. God will not forsake us, no matter whether the times be favorable or unfavorable.

Why then do we fear? His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are not our thoughts. They are higher, more lasting, and will not fail. The promise is sure, my friends. His promise to you. His promise to the church. His promise to the world. They remain and always will. Do not fear. Do not let the world get you down. Live to the good and strive to see the world as God does. Amen.

Sermon for the Second Sunday of Lent/St. Patrick's Day

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on March 17, 2019
Preaching text:

I want to do something a little different today, but something I think is appropriate. I spoke last week at great length about the dangers of taking the quick and easy way to spread the faith of Christianity, a path that the Church has often taken, is still tempted to take, and has led to the death and suffering of countless millions of people. It is our great sin and one we should not be eager to repeat if we truly wish to follow in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.

What I want to do today is tell the story of a man who got it right. A man whose commemorative festival just so happens to fall on today: Saint Patrick. Now most of us know little about the man other than his association with Ireland and the celebration of Irish heritage that usually involves raucous behavior and copious amounts of green beer. We Lutherans don’t really acknowledge him much at all, given that he’s a saint of the Catholic tradition who is not one of the original apostles or evangelists. That’s unfortunate, because he stands as a true paragon of the faith and man who should be a role-model to all of us, regardless of whether we are Catholic or Protestant.

Patrick was born in Roman Britain sometime in the late 4th-early 5th century. He was not born Irish, but a Briton, ancestors to the modern Welsh people. He was born into a Christian family but did not take religion seriously in his young life. Around age 16, the Irish came calling.

The Irish of this time were a violent savage marauding people similar to the later Vikings. They attacked Roman Britain frequently and. In one of their raids, they took young Patrick prisoner and hauled him back to Ireland as a slave. Patrick was commanded to tend sheep for his captor.

It was a brutal life. Cold, starving, and under frequent threat of punishment or even death, Patrick endured for six long years. Somewhere in the midst of that time, he gained some knowledge of the Irish religion, a druidic pagan faith that venerated a number of hero gods and goddesses and also had a healthy (and rather superstitious) respect for nature. But despite this, what truly deepened in him was his Christianity, believing God was giving him the strength to endure his captivity.

After those six years, he managed to escape and flee back to Britain. Thankful for his freedom, he entered the priesthood and was extensively trained. He then made the remarkable choice, in part influenced by a famous bishop of the time, to return to Ireland as a missionary.

Patrick was not initially welcomed by the Irish, but he persisted. Using his knowledge of their beliefs, he found ways to proclaim Christ that the Irish could understand. You honor courage and self-sacrifice? Let me tell you of Jesus, who faced down death itself for those he loved. You respect the natural world? Let me show you how God, the creator, is in every leaf and blade of grass. People responded to his respect and honor of their pagan ways and began to convert to Patrick’s somewhat unique interpretation of Christianity. As time went on, the vast majority of the island became Christian.

Patrick could have shown up with an army. He could have told the Irish chiefs “Convert or die.” He could have had his vengeance upon the people who enslaved him. He did none of these things, but instead forgave his captors and used their own pagan beliefs and superstitions to communicate the Gospel. The end result was the only bloodless conversion of a nation of people in Christian history.

Which is kind of sad when you think about it. There should have been far more than that.

After Patrick’s death, a whole slew of legends sprang up around him, as if he’d become one of the Irish hero gods himself. We’ve all heard how he chased the snakes out of Ireland. That’s not true, since there have never been snakes in Ireland. The story of him using the clover to describe the Trinity is also legendary, but is consistent with Patrick’s approach to religion and evangelism. He used what they knew to tell them of God.

So what’s the takeaway for us? As much as we might be loath to admit it, we are increasingly living in non-Christian times. The people we encounter on the streets and at our workplaces and schools have almost no knowledge of Jesus. And a good bit of what they do know is distorted by the work of charlatans and grifters who’ve corrupted the name of Christ for their own selfish ends. They are the modern pagans, not all that different than the Irish of Patrick’s day.

How can we reach them? We can talk to them of grace and love, but it often seems as though we speak a different language entirely than what they know. We must find their language, their legends, their beliefs, and work from there, as Patrick did. They know sports. They know pop culture. They know music. All of which we can use to show them Jesus.

That’s part of the reason you hear me pepper my sermons with pop culture references. I’m trying to speak the language of these times. I’m a great admirer of Patrick and I want to follow Jesus the way he did as best I can.

Again, we are confronted with a choice. How do we show Christ to the people we encounter? Do we honor, respect, and love them? Or are we standoffish, antagonistic, and arrogant in the superiority of our beliefs? Christians have done both these approaches over the generations. And while I wish I could say the latter doesn’t work, it has in the past, but I doubt Jesus would much approve. His way is love, service, and sacrifice. It is honor and respect, welcome and acceptance. Patrick knew this. He lived it. And so can we. Amen.

What's Been Going On...

I write this on my 11th wedding anniversary. Kind of a weird day. I'm not exactly celebrating. I didn't celebrate twelve months ago either. It was clear then what was coming. And now it's arrived.

You may be wondering why I haven't updated this sermon blog in almost two months. You may be wondering why I've been somewhat evasive on Facebook or in person about my personal life. You may be wondering why I've scrubbed said Facebook page of nearly every reference to Sarah.

Sarah and I are separating. Our marriage is over.

We made this decision together. As I imply above, it's been inevitable for a while now. We're just not working out. Relationships are hard enough. But we've had to deal with financial struggle, medical issues, car accidents, disability, and plenty of mistakes along the way. We've truly had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at us. And we did not endure to come out the other side like some Hallmark Channel movie. Not many do who've been through what we have.

In less than two weeks, I'm moving to a new apartment in York, PA. Right downtown, less than one block from the square. Looking forward to the move. It should be the beginning of an exciting chapter in my life. I'm hoping to embrace the city life: the cafes, the theater, the craft beer pubs, the restaurants, the baseball stadium, the market, all soon to be within walking distance of my house.

My professional life will not change. I'm still pastor of Grace and Canadochly. In fact, I'll be within walking distance of Grace also in the new place and no farther from Canadochly than I am now.

As for what Sarah is doing, I am uncertain. I know that she too is moving, since neither of us chose to renew the lease on the townhouse here in Red Lion. I know that she has boxes packed and loaded up throughout the townhouse. I know she wants to keep Emily in the same school district. Other than that, I don't know much else. I do know we are trying to keep things civil and amicable. I know I hope to remain friends with this woman with whom I've spent the last 13-14 years of my life. I know I want to remain a part of Emily's life. On all those things, we shall see.

Right now, my focus is on getting my life sorted into the new place and new circumstances. Hence, the sermon blog has been on hiatus for a while, but that should change in the near future.

I am hoping to get the new apartment up and running quickly. I want it to be a social hub for my friends here in the York area. I've got one of the best groups of gaming geek friends that I've ever had, one to rival the group from Virginia Tech. And if any of those VT friends want to take a trip to visit, the door will be open. You'll fit in with the York nerds just fine. (I promise I won't kill any PCs in the first round of combat. RE: Greg.)

Wish me luck in these coming months. It's a bittersweet moment. There are times when I'm angry and sad. Other times when I'm hopeful and excited. Mix of both. But life is about change and mine is about to change big time.

God bless

Allen

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.