Month: February 2023

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tested by the devil. ² He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward he was famished. ³ The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” ⁴ But he answered, “It is written,
‘One does not live by bread alone,
    but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ”

⁵ Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, ⁶ saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written,
‘He will command his angels concerning you,’
    and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”
⁷ Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ”

⁸ Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, ⁹ and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” ¹⁰ Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written,
‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”
¹¹ Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

Matthew 4:1-11

My sermon from the First Sunday in Lent, (February 26, 2023) on Matthew 4:1-11.

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Every year, the first Sunday of Lent is devoted to the story of what happened to Jesus after his baptism. While his hair was still wet from being immersed in the Jordan river and with the words of God’s love for him ringing in his ears, Jesus was immediately sent into the wilderness. That isn’t the typical response to baptism that happens here since after worship we immediately take pictures in front of the altar before being sent out to whatever restaurant we reserved for a post-church brunch. This movement from church and into the land of omelets and waffles can feel pretty wild since we’re often coordinating the movements of our family members and friends. The stress we experience to get to the baptismal moment can sometimes obscure what that moment is all about. We, like Jesus, hear God’s promise that we are loved, valued, and an essential part of what God is doing in the world. This experience isn’t the culmination of our life with God but rather an opportunity to live into what God’s love is all about. Taking a moment to sit with our baptism and breathing in the promises of God is, I think, an important part of the entire experience. And while we sometimes can’t do that during the baptism itself, it’s something we should do in the day, weeks, and years that follow. Jesus, in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew, feels like he’s doing exactly that: unplugging from the world to pray, ponder, and wonder how God’s promises change everything. Yet this moment of peaceful reflection with all the quiet and lack of stress such a moment might need, isn’t a good description of what a biblical wilderness is all about. The wilderness Jesus went into is scary, untamed, and full of risk. It’s where our strength, intelligence, wisdom, and ability to even trust ourselves breaks down because it’s the kind of place where only God can be in control. 

Now that doesn’t sound like a place very conducive to doing some faithful reflection after experiencing the joy of baptism. Yet that’s exactly where Jesus went and when he got there, he fasted. The fasting he did isn’t like the fasting we sometimes do, which is heavily tied to a diet culture built on body shaming and irresponsible beauty standards that devour the lives of way too many people. Jesus was already in a risky place and his religious practices weren’t designed to make that risk grow. But we get a sense of the reasons for what he was doing if we notice how much time he spent there. The number forty is a biblical number, appearing all over place. It’s a number associated with how long Noah, his family, and the animals on the ark waited before the sea began to recede. When the Isrealites were freed by God from slavery in Egypt, they spent forty years being tempted by their own worries, insecurities, and struggles in the wilderness. Another similar story to this moment in Jesus’ life is when Moses spent 40 days and 40 nights in God’s presence on the top of Mt. Sinai. He was there so long the people wondered if he had abandoned them. The number 40 represents the time it takes for a new thing to arise out of the current moment. Before the next thing comes, life just has to be lived. That isn’t usually what we think about when we imagine what our experiences with God should be like. We want them to be like Jesus’ experience at his baptism – this over the top moment filled with a joy that becomes a real pivot point to who we are. It’s the moment when our prayers are answered, the heavens are opened, and a voice lets us – and everyone else – know that God is right here. Some of us have had that kind of experience yet it isn’t universal and it’s often pretty fleeting. The voice that declares we are beloved is very quickly overshadowed by the voices that say we’re not. Our own failures, hurts, and the way we hurt others can make us wonder how transformational that experience actually was. We chase after these kinds of God moments hoping they’ll be strong enough to withstand that terror that comes when our prayers are met with silence. And while I wish every one of our faith moments could be filled with joy, they often aren’t. Our sorrows, struggles, laughter, and tears are constantly swirling around us. We have to live through temptations, frustrations, worries, and to make many decisions that have no right answers. It would be easier if we could trust ourselves to be like Jesus as he seems to be in today’s story. But what Jesus does in this moment, while powerful, is a bit deceiving since these temptations show up again and again. Jesus doesn’t necessarily overcome these temptations. Instead, he chooses to live through them. 

If we reduce today’s story into simply a battle between Jesus and the forces that defy God, we miss noticing how Jesus’ experience in the wilderness also revealed what was coming next. The struggles laid out in this passage are like the ones that came later as preached, taught, and offered wholeness to all. In his ministry, we see followers who never fully understood him and how they often relied on their own perspectives of faith and power rather than noticing who God was choosing to be. Jesus, whether he was in lands filled with Jews or Gentiles, chose to help those we tend to push aside since every small act of love reveals who our God truly is. From Galilee to Jerusalem and beyond, religious and political authorities couldn’t understand how Jesus centered a life that looked more weak than strong. And when it appeared as if his story was about to end, his friend betrayed him and the rest abandoned him. Jesus didn’t push past these temptations or struggles nor did he, as the Son of God, act as if they did not matter. He, instead, lived through them so that we, with Jesus, could live through them too. 

And that, I think, is gospel – good news. God, in Jesus, refused to let us live without the promise of what our lives can be. This good news wasn’t meant to minimize our lives or pretend as if temptations, frustrations, and the joys where we forget to even notice God aren’t part of a faithful life. Rather, the good news is that our Jesus leads us through life because he lived life. He experienced pain, suffering, sorrow, laughter, smiles, and joys. He will guide us through the indecisions, questions, doubts, and those moments when all we think we have is ourselves. Jesus brings us through the crosses we face everyday and tears down the ones we give to our neighbors. And while we want this good news to push us towards a kind of happiness that fills every one of our days, this good news is what sustains us through whatever comes next. The gospel fleshes out the promises God made to us in our baptism and this is a good news that is offered to all. Yet this gospel is also a bit particular since the lives we live are the lives we live. Each one of us has our own experiences, temptations, struggles, and joys. And your experience of the gospel matters because it’s how we discover that God’s story isn’t complete without your story too. It takes time, a little effort, and some work to gain the words we need to share with others what our personal experience of the gospel is. And we start learning how to do that by paying attention to Jesus’ story and noticing how he is often most faithful to us during the messiest parts of our lives. 

Amen. 

Jesus said: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

My sermon from Ash Wednesday (February 23, 2023) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21.

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A few nights ago when I went to sit down at my dining room table to write this sermon, I let out a big sigh because it was covered in board games. My four year old loves playing games but she hates putting them away. I gently pushed the box for Zingo – which is a game like bingo except the squares are pictures of things like a kite, a sun, a sock, or a snail – carefully out of the way because the box is falling apart. I double checked every fake plastic earring, necklace, ring and silvery crown was safely back in the box for the game “Pretty, Pretty, Princess.” And when my computer made an ugly clanging sound, I realized I forgot to move the metal containing the cards for the game “Go! Sushi!” These games, in theory, help kids develop the skills they need for everyday life like reading, counting, and noticing social cues when we interact with others. Yet the main goal for most of these games is to, simply, win. And I’ll admit that even though I’m a grown adult, there’s still something satisfying about coming out on top when playing a game designed for three year olds. Winning is fun but learning how to lose well involves a lot of patience, weeping, and gnashing of teeth. These games are designed for little kids which means there’s no real payout when we win. All we get is the feeling of satisfaction that comes when we crush our opponent by stealing all their acorns while playing the “Sneaky, Snacky, Squirrel Game.” That feeling is our reward and we keep chasing after it whether we enjoy these games or not. In our culture and context, winning matters and what we win often defines our worth in the eyes of others and ourselves. From a very young age, we invest a lot of time, energy, hope, and faith in always coming out on top. And so that might be why Ash Wednesday, this oddball of a church holiday, still matters.

Now today is strange because we’re not commemorating a specific moment in Jesus – or in anyone else’s – life. This day isn’t like Christmas or Easter or when we remember the faithful who’ve gone before us. We are, instead, beginning a new season of the church year on a rather random day of the week. We are choosing to interrupt our school calendars, our work calendars, our sport calendars, our life calendars, and even our worship calendar to meet on a Wednesday. Compared to what we usually do as a faith community, we’re being a bit extra. And if that wasn’t enough, we’re also making worship itself extra too. In just a few moments, some of us will come up to receive an ashen cross sketched on our foreheads which isn’t something we usually do when we meet. And if that wasn’t enough, we’ll also be doing this in the most public way possible – choosing to broadcast online our later service so that the whole world can see just how different we’re choosing to be. On this unusual day, at this unusual time, while doing something we don’t typically do – we’re doing all we can to make sure we’re noticed. Ash Wednesday isn’t supposed to be a day centered around competition yet if being faithful was a game we played against each other, today would be the day when we’d score a lot of points. It does feel a bit strange to say that yet I can’t help but think about our desire to compete since Jesus, in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew, keeps talking about some kind of reward.

Now faith should mean more to us than simply a spiritual version of passing Go while playing Monopoly. Yet our competitive culture, our love of games, and our need for winners and losers come into deeper focus when God talks about a reward. The rewards we typically seek are tied, I think, to what we experience while playing games. We want something tangible, physical, emotional, and spiritual so that all our struggles, frustrations, and failures become worth it. A reward only really has value when no one else can have it. And these rewards are something not everyone can win. When Jesus sat down to sketch out a vision of living in the world in his great sermon on the mount, it’s not hard to interpret his teachings as a way to win at faith. By the time he gets to today’s reading,we want to hear about those who aren’t quite up to snuff when it comes to being with God. Jesus, in chapter 6, isn’t putting down the practice of faith manifested in the act of giving money, praying, and being more intentional about noticing the abundant resources you already have. These are biblical behaviors rooted in Jesus’ own Jewish community and he told all who followed him to do the same. Jesus wasn’t calling into question what these practices were but he was calling out those who lost sight of why they do what they do. Jesus is inviting everyone to be a little more transparent, a little more reflective, and a little more honest about what living their faith actually means. Do we do what we do because we want to be seen or because we want to think of ourselves as a good person or because this is just what we’ve always done or because we seek a reward that requires others to be in a competition with us? Is living the faith about chasing after some kind of reward or does it have more to do with why this ashen cross is traced on our forehead to reveal the cross that was already placed there during our baptism?

These big questions show that Jesus was doing more than simply changing the scores different faith practices earn when it comes to being with God. Jesus promised that there was something beyond our need to always be competitive. The games we play are not the games God plays because God’s love is so much more. We need Ash Wednesday to interrupt our week, our lives, our motivations, our competitions, our games, and the faith that focuses way too much on creating winners and losers. Jesus, through the Cross, took it upon himself to end every game we create and play because none of us could do what God has already done. We, through our greed, worry, anxiety, anger, fear, self-centeredness, and sin often try to game faith by declaring who is in, who is out, and making up the rules needed to win a so-called eternal life. Yet God chose to do what we couldn’t do which was to refuse to compete with us at all. Jesus simply lived and loved and healed and prayed and taught and welcomed and promised that we are not defined by what we win or what we lose. Our worth – your worth – the world’s worth- is simply defined by who – and whose – we are. Ash Wednesday is when we, as a community, interrupt the competitions we wrap ourselves in and declare the truth of who we are. We are human. We are mortal. We are sinners. And there is no game you play that will ever make God love you more.

Amen.

¹³ “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

¹⁴ “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. ¹⁵ People do not light a lamp and put it under the bushel basket; rather, they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

¹⁷ “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. ¹⁸ For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. ¹⁹ Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. ²⁰ For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 5:13-20 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Epiphany (February 5, 2023) on Matthew 5:13-20.

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I am not a miracle worker but everyday I try to make the impossible happen. Sometimes I’m being silly like pretending my mind is powerful enough to make a parking spot magically appear in front of the store I’m trying to visit. But other times what I’m trying to do is a bit more personal. When I see someone who is sad or who is feeling down, my first instinct is to make them “feel” better. And over the years, I’ve tried to do this by making them laugh or taking them to do something fun. If, however, I’m the reason for why they’re feeling what they’re feeling, I tend to  become a bit defensive and act as if my intentions are more important than what they’re going through. If we’ve ever been told to “calm down” or “just relax” while going through something traumatic, we know how impossible it is to change what another person feels. Yet we keep trying to do that because, I think, we don’t really know how to manage our own feelings when someone else is feeling what they feel. We, instead, teach one another to hide our feelings or we learn how certain feelings among certain kinds of people are more important than others. Our own insecurities, defensiveness, and need to appear happy cause us to push hard against those who wonder if there’s a different way to be. It’s difficult enough for us, on our own, to feel what we feel. And it seems a bit unfair that we, at the same time, have to be around others who feel what they feel too. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is a continuation of what we heard last week. Jesus, after quickly developing a reputation as a healer and a preacher, sat down on a mountain to teach those who came to see him. Jesus, in Matthew’s eyes, is like a new Moses, revealing what life can be like since the kingdom of heaven is near. Way back in the book of Exodus, Moses met God in a cloud on Mt. Sinai and delivered to the people the Ten Commandments. These words from God were given to a community who, for 400 years, had been forced to live a certain way because of their enslavement by the Egyptians. God, after freeing them, gave the Israelites something that was more than simply a list of dos and do nots. They were part of a larger revelation from God about what it means to live together. This revelation is often called the “law” which sounds a bit legalistic. Yet the Hebrew word behind the Greek word in our reading today that was translated as “law” is really all about “teaching.” And while a list of rules provides a structure we can live in, this teaching from God is how we discover what living is meant to be. Jesus, then, began his ministry in Matthew doing exactly that: he taught. And after a series of sayings about God noticing those we usually push aside, Jesus moved the conversation into something odd with a simple “you are.” 

Now it’s not uncommon, when we’re teaching, to focus on what another person “should” do. For example, when we show  others how to cross the street, we tell them they “should” look both ways before they step onto the road. Our “shoulds” do a lot of lifting when we’re teaching others how they should live their lives. Yet it’s very interesting that at this early moment in Jesus’ teaching, he doesn’t use the word “should.” There he was, sitting on a mountain side, looking out at his disciples and a crowd of people who needed to be healed. Jesus didn’t tell any of them that they “should be the salt of the earth” or that they should be “the light of the world.” He, instead, shared how that was already what they were. To the fishermen who left their nets and their families behind on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus told them: “you are the salt of the earth.” To the parents bringing their sick child to see him and to the blind man who had to beg for food, Jesus told them: “you are the light of the world.” In a world that believes only certain kinds of people get to decide what all our “shoulds” should be, Jesus looked at everyone around him and said we’re already something more. 

We, traditionally, are a little more familiar with Jesus’ saying about “light” since we hear it during every baptism. But on this day, I was drawn to Jesus’ comments about salt. Salt is so accessible to us that we often talk about it in a slightly negative way. We, especially as we get older, worry about how much salt is in our diet and we lament at how destructive, though necessary, salt is when ice shows up on our roads. If you went on a scavenger hunt in the church right now, you would find salt in boxes and bags and little glass shakers all over the building. Yet in Jesus’ day, salt was viewed as something, while ordinary, was extremely precious. It was the primary way food was preserved since refrigerators hadn’t been invented yet. And there are descriptions in our Bible of salt being necessary during certain practices and rituals. Our cultural history is so wrapped up in salt that even the word “salary,” which will be a part of today’s annual Congregational Meeting when we talk about the 2023 budget, is derived from a Latin term describing the allowance a soldier received to purchase salt. Salt is very necessary yet Jesus focused on how this very ordinary thing makes an impact on what we do everyday. Salt has a habit of enhancing flavor in whatever we’re eating. And you – the ordinary you, the emotional you, the one who teaches others the “shoulds” we, ourselves, sometimes ignore – you, through baptism and in faith, are a salt enhancing a certain kind of flavor that’s part of our world. 

But what, exactly, is that flavor supposed to be? Well, I think it’s tied to Jesus’ comments later in the passage about righteousness. Stanley Stowers, in a reflection on this passage, wrote: “We often think that righteousness is a matter of being a better, nicer, more ethical person: the righteous attend church regularly, give when the offering plate is passed, avoid common vices, and treat others kindly…[but for] Jesus…righteousness is concerned with mercy, forgiveness, and, most of all, justice…” It’s a righteousness that takes a look at the living we do together and how that reflects the fullness of our God. God doesn’t need us to “pursue the kind of morality that divides the world into the righteous and the unrighteous” nor does God need us to become a people “whose sense of righteousness denies the reality of grace.” The flavor God is already bringing out in the world is one where we, through acts of mercy and love, notice and see and work hard to make every relationship whole. One way we do this is by letting ourselves and others feel what we feel. We will have to learn how to emotionally handle the times when there is nothing we say or do that can make anything better. We will discover the courage, strength, and humility necessary to say we’re sorry and to never let our intentions be worth more than what people actually experience. We will, in a sense, stop asking ourselves to do the impossible and, instead, do what Jesus did. He, while teaching, sat with the broken, the hurting, the curious, the emotional, and even those who he knew would abandon him in the end. Yet he remained right there – to show how we, as the salt of the earth and the light of the world, can do the very possible thing of living with one another too. 

Amen.