So it’s my tradition, after the prayer of the day, to bring a message to all God’s children and I have something with me that I carry often in my pocket. It’s my keys. Let’s go through what is on my keys. I have a bunch of little pieces of plastic for the various reward programs that stores I attend have. They give me a special coupon if I give them permission to track everything that I buy. I have a library card, ikea card, shop rite, stop shop, and even a card for A&P grocery store which closed in 2015. I probably should throw that card out.
I also have keys for my home and keys for here at the church – like my office, the altar guild room, and the front doors in the sanctuary. And then I have these two keys – keys for my cars. Keys, for cars, are changing so these are a bit old skool. They have little buttons that will unlock doors but also this key that you insert into a door or into the engine to turn it on. You might see different kinds of keys, called FOBs, that allow you to turn your car on as long as you have it on you or in your car. So that shows you what a key does: it helps us enter the car, turn it on, and go.
Now we live in an area where having a car is sort of essential. It’s very difficult to walk to places since we don’t have sidewalks, homes are far apart, and we sometimes need to travel miles to go to school, to fields for sports, to work, and more. Not everyone lives like we do so not everyone needs, wants, or even uses a car. But thinking about what car keys do helps us lean into the story about Jesus we’re going to hear in our second reading from the Bible. Jesus and his friends are traveling around, preaching, teaching, and healing when they near the city of “Caesarea Philippi.” Caesarea Philippi was a newish city that was a very important city – and was named after the Roman Emperor whose title was “Caesar.” The city was full of soldiers, a market place, important government officials, and a lot of different religious buildings that were designed for people who didn’t believe in God. And among those buildings and statues that people thought described the different beings who controlled the universe, influenced lives, etc – was a statue dedicated to an old Roman emperor. Folks were acting and believing and treating as if even the Roman Emperor was someone with power like God or Jesus. It’s there, in sight of those buildings and the Roman military and all these things that said something other than God was in charge of it all – that Jesus asked his friends a question: who do people think I am? The disciples shared what people thought Jesus was. And then Jesus asked “who do you think I am?” and Peter said the Messiah which is a word we don’t use too often but is all about the One who makes God’s love real in our world. Jesus agrees with Peter and promises that his confession – his proclamation about who Jesus is – will be the strong foundation that the church is built on. We continue to think about, proclaim, reflect on who we say Jesus is – and Jesus keeps coming to us to remind us that Jesus is God’s love made real and how that changes the church, our lives, and the world.
Jesus then talks about keys. And the saying is a bit confusing which is why car keys might help us understand what Jesus is saying. Like how a key enables us to decide, with a car, where to go and to go there – Jesus is saying that because we know him, because of our baptism, because of our faith – we are going to jump into the driver’s seat of, like Jesus, helping make God’s love real in the world. That’s going to mean making decisions, making choices, and doing our best to know Jesus, spend time with Jesus, to pray, and to love like Jesus. And while this is a very powerful thing we get to do – it’s also a great responsibility. Jesus is trusting us – in all that we do, even if we don’t drive or don’t have car keys – to make loving decisions. That’s the freedom our faith gives us – the chance to make love, kindness, patience, hope, and mercy at the heart of everything we do because Jesus chooses each of us to, like him, make God’s love real in our world.
Each week, I share a reflection for all children of God. The written manuscript serves as a springboard for what I do. This is from Christ Lutheran Church’s Worship on the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, 8/27/2023.
Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.
The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”
Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.
The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, “This must be one of the Hebrews’ children,” she said. Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”
Exodus 1:8-2:10
My sermon from the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost (August 27, 2023) on Exodus 1:8-2:10.
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So there’s an entire genre of movies, shows, books, and comics devoted to “coming of age” stories. Typically within these stories a young person goes through a series of canon events that matures them into adulthood. Often these tales are funny, tragic, light hearted, or deeply emotional. And we can easily relate to them, even if they’re centered in a culture that isn’t our own, because we have either gone through our “coming of age” stories or hope to have one very soon. These stories remind us of who we are and how we, mostly, consider ourselves to be the mature people God calls us to be. We see ourselves through the eyes of the hero even if they’re going through something we never want to go through ourselves. I wonder, though, what would happen if instead of focusing on the hero, we saw ourselves as part of the wider story. Today’s words from the opening chapters of the book of Exodus are, on some level, the opening lines to a coming of age story that eventually raises Moses up as the person who will lead the Isralites out of slavery and into freedom. But it’s also a story centered on two women who refused to let the wider community rewrite its own history to the detriment of all.
The story begins in the years after Joseph and his family were reconciled. As you might recall from a few weeks ago, Joseph had a pretty traumatic life. Their father, Jacob, had continued the family tradition of naming one child as their favorite at the expense of everyone else. Joseph, instead of trying to keep the peace, wasn’t shy about rubbing this fact in the face of his 11 brothers. In response, the brothers did something horrific: they faked his death and sold him into slavery. Joseph quickly ended up in Egypt where he had no control over the violence done to his body nor the freedom to go wherever he wanted to go. After a series of dramatic events, he ended up as part of the Pharoah’s inner circle and, in the process, gained a lot of political power. But that didn’t really mean much since he was still enslaved. Eventually a famine spread through the entire area and Joseph’s skills enabled Egypt to thrive while everyone suffered. His father and brothers became refugees, coming to Egypt to find food. After a rather dramatic and tearful reunion, Joseph’s brothers were encouraged to settle the entire household inside Egypt itself. Their history up to this moment was pretty complicated but the brothers, Joseph, and the Egyptians, had worked together to build a new community that was more than what they were before. But as the years passed, this story was forgotten. The Egyptians grew suspicious of these people who didn’t look or talk or believe like they did. Their fear enabled the Egyptians to become resentful of these folks who had lived there for generations but were now labeled as foreigners. As the Israelites grew in size, the Egyptians became paranoid. They started to narrow their own history to the point where the Israelites could no longer be a part of it. They enslaved them, forcing them to build the cities that symbolized the might of their kingdom. And when this incredible violence failed to satisfy their xenophobia, they moved into the next stage of what this fear often brings.
Now the next part of the story started with an upside-down request. The Pharaoh ordered midwives to kill all the sons born to Israelite women. He told Shiphrah and Puah, whose vocation was all about bringing life into the world to, instead, do the opposite. Rather than remembering their shared humanity, the Pharaoh chose to let fear consume him, his community, and his people. This was an extreme attempt to end the Israelites’ story and we get the sense that all Egyptians either supported this endeavor or didn’t think that they could, or should, speak up. In light of his power, authority, and a history that pretended to be something other than it was, he assumed this request would be answered and supported. And yet, in the heat of this overwhelming moment, these two midwives said “no.”
One of the interesting things about this story is that we don’t really know who these women were. We never hear their internal thoughts nor discover a coming of age story that describes how they could, in the future, defy the supreme leader in the land. The only thing we’re told is that Shiphrah and Puah feared God. That was all they were equipped with to do the opposite of what the Pharaoh ordered them to do. The word “fear” is a bit confusing in English since we define it as an extremely unpleasant emotion caused by a belief that someone or something is dangerous. We either try to avoid fear at all times or limit it to something manageable like riding a roller coaster or watching a horror movie. Yet the fear Shiphrah and Puah held wasn’t something designed to be overcome nor was it the opposite of faith. It was, instead, rooted in a faith that trusted that their God was always near. Fear is more than a feeling; it’s a signal that we need to slow down and pay attention. Rather than assuming everything is fine with our status quo, fear invites us to notice that something more is around us. Fear can be helpful, keeping us safe during difficult situations. But fear can also consume us, changing how we live our lives today by warping and forgetting the fullness of our story. The fear that grounded Shiphrah and Puah wasn’t the fear that fed the actions of the Egyptians. It was, instead, a reverence that kept them focused on the God who was active in, around, and through them. This fear didn’t consume them; it, instead, helped them to remember who they were and whose they were while being surrounded by another’s unjustified worry and fear. This doesn’t mean they weren’t fearful of the Pharaoh, the Egyptians, and what could happen if they were caught; nor does it mean that they, as human beings, didn’t have their own biases and prejudices that shaped their relationships with others. But rather than letting their fear or the fear around them limit who they could be, the fear of God enabled them to say “no” in spite of everything else that was going around them.
Now when we look at the wider Christian story, we have plenty of examples of Christians using their faith to commit the same kinds of genocidal acts the Egyptians are described as doing within the book of Exodus. And while it would be easy for us to ignore that part of our own history by focusing solely on the heroes of our faith, I’m not sure if that’s the most faithful response. We don’t need to rewrite our story; instead, we need to own it – to point to all the complications and joys and sorrow and evil and good that has shaped us into who we are today. God believes that we, though sinners, have the capacity to grasp the fullness of our history since God, in Jesus, chose to enter that same history and let it grow in the nearly 2000 years since he rose from the dead. Jesus didn’t ignore our complicated story; instead, he faced it head on and, through the Cross, showed us how it can become something more. Our urge to celebrate the Shiphrahs and Puahs of the faith is one that we should embrace as part of our collective coming of age story that shows what the kingdom of God is all about. And yet we also need to remember that we’re not always the heroes we want to be because fear can warp who we truly are. There are times when we will feel as if we’re not equipped to do what needs to be done to share and hold and learn and grow from the complicated history that define our lives and our world. But if a little fear is all that was needed for Shiphrah and Puah to make a difference in their world, your baptism and your faith is all you need to do the same. God knows that your story – your full story – should be known and that it will never limit who, in Christ, you get to be. Rather, you and I and the entire church will continue to grow through our own coming of age story that leads into the age of Christ – where God’s mercy, God’s love, and God’s peace is given to all.
Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Matthew 3:13-17
My sermon from Baptism of our Lord Sunday (January 15, 2023) on Matthew 3:13-17.
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So it’s been over a month since we last hung out with John the Baptist. And we heard the opening part of today’s story way back on December 4th. That, to me, feels like a long time ago since many different things have happened over these last six weeks. For some of us, this new calendar year has gone exactly the way we wanted while others are experiencing incredible heartbreak and sorrow. It’s not easy to put ourselves back into a Biblical moment we heard three weeks before Christmas. But here we are, in the middle of the third chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, sitting with a person dressed in camel skins. John’s preaching, teaching, and wisdom invited all kinds of people to leave the safety of their homes and villages so that they could hear God’s word in a place where no one person was ever in control. John offered a compassionate word to all who came to see him yet he was very suspicious of the religious leaders who tagged along. By the time Jesus arrived, John had baptized dozens or hundreds or maybe even thousands of people in the Jordan River. Their names were never recorded so we don’t know who they were. Yet they all shared the same experience of hearing John’s voice and then entering into the water before heading home to make room for all the others who were on their way. When Jesus arrived, he was like all the other people who had come before him. But once John saw him – we get this unique moment that’s only found in this version of the baptismal story. John saw Jesus and tried his very best to keep him out of the water. Which is why Jesus, the Son of God, did something he didn’t have to do; he pushed past John’s objections and chose to enter the water too.
Now in order to understand where John was coming from, we need to realize that he wasn’t doing what we do around the font. We call both of these experiences baptisms but they’re not the same thing. And the truth is we don’t fully know what John imagined these baptisms to be since nothing in his own voice has come down to us. To get a better sense of what these baptisms might have meant to those around John, we need to take a look at what cleansing rituals looked like within the wider culture. The Rev. Diane G. Chen, in her commentary on this passage, described a little of what these rituals were like. For one, the “Jewish ritual [of] cleansing by immersion in a mikveh, or ritual bath, was practiced as a form of purification [in] the time of John and Jesus.” When one became spiritually unclean – by doing or experiencing something that interrupted the life-giving nature of their relationship with God – a cleansing served as a physical and emotional and spiritual way of strengthening that bond. This cleansing was available whenever it was needed and some Jewish groups, like the Essenes, made this washing a defining characteristic of their community. Some scholars have even wondered if John was an Essene since he made this practice a hallmark of his ministry. We also have evidence, a little after John’s life, of gentiles participating in a ritual cleaning when they converted to Judaism. This invites us to wonder if John thought that what he was doing was initiating people into what God was already doing in the world. And to fully discover what God was up to, the individual who came to the water was encouraged to repent, confessing to those around them of all the ways they got in God’s way through their own selfishness and greed. Admitting that we’re not who we’re supposed to be is never easy and that was especially problematic in the world Jesus lived in. Many of the communities who lived around the Mediterranean Sea, especially the Romans and Greeks, were seeped in a culture defined by honor and shame. Their worth and identity and value was wrapped up in what other people thought of them. A person was expected to amass honor by meeting the cultural expectations of their community. They were to think the right thoughts; marry the right person; and be just the right amount of kind and humble and tough and strong and violent while knowing exactly what their place was in the world. Honor was tied into the hierarchy of their reality and it was shameful to be anything other than what the right kind of people thought they were supposed to be. Going out into the wilderness to see John didn’t really fit into that structure of the world because it required everyone to admit, in public, that they weren’t who others said they were. Visiting John wasn’t showing others that you contained enough self-awareness to be honest about your limitations as a human being. Instead, it showed the people who defined your self-worth something terrifying: that the honor they gave you was misplaced because you confessed your faults.
That’s why, I think, John’s objections to Jesus make sense. John knew his own need for God and he worked hard to change the lives of those living with so much honor and shame. Rather than letting others determine who they were, John invited everyone to lean into what made them human in the first place. Their identity and their very being was rooted in what all people bear within them – the image of God. John, I believe, saw his work in the wilderness as a way to strengthen who get to be. So when Jesus came to see him, John told him to stay away from the water because he didn’t need to become anything other than what he was. Yet Jesus chose to affirm the difficult work of helping each other reframe what our lives are meant to be about. Instead of chasing after the opinions of others, he wanted everyone to see themselves as God saw them. This, of course, is terrifying because it means we need to admit all the ways we fail to love God, our neighbors, and ourselves. And we often find it easier – or at least more pragmatic – to let what others say about us become the limit of who we imagine ourselves to be. There are times when these words are meant with the best of intentions, such as we saw when John tried to keep Jesus out of the water since he didn’t need to be changed. But God’s work in the world isn’t only about what we do; it’s also tied to who we’re connected to. The righteousness Jesus mentioned in a very cryptic saying after listening to John’s objections wasn’t about our desire to become a morally good person. It was, for Jesus, a comment about who we’re connected to since righteousness is always related to what we’re seeking and what we believe this life is all about. When John told Jesus to stay out of the water, he did that while surrounded by a crowd of people seeking God. And since God was right there with them, Jesus chose to enter the water to show how God was already seeking them. God chose to lean into our relationship because it’s through our connection with Jesus that we see and hear and discover what living with our God is all about. This journey isn’t always easy and we will, at times, ask the world to provide us with our sense of worth. Yet who you are and who you get to be isn’t defined by what other people say about you. Jesus entered into the water with John to show how God will always choose you. And while the baptism practiced by John isn’t the baptism we do here at church, both tell a wider story of who our God is. God believes that you and your neighbor and every stranger has value and that this God, in Jesus, will live and die and rise to show just how much you matter to God.
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”
When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Matthew 2:1-12
My sermon from Epiphany Sunday (January 8, 2023) on Matthew 2:1-12.
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So way back in high school, I wanted to be an engineer who developed new technologies that transformed people’s lives. I thought a great way to do this was by learning and memorizing equations that described how our universe works. Life, obviously, went in a different direction for me so I’ve forgotten a lot of what I once knew. Yet there’s a weird fact about gravity that I’ve held onto after all these years. Now any two objects with mass, if they’re close enough, will attract each other through gravity. The basic formula to measure that attraction is pretty simple as long as you assume the two objects are symmetrical spheres. We first multiply the two masses together, dividing them by the square of the distance between them, and then multiplying everything by G – the universal gravitational constant. G is very small which is why objects need to be really big before we can see the effects of that attractive force. But even though we can’t see it, that force is always there. Way back in the past, I created a spreadsheet measuring the force of attraction between all kinds of random objects. That document included things like the gravitational force between me and the friend sitting next to me as well as the force between a midwife and the baby they just delivered. Those numbers were ridiculously small but they were never exactly 0. I then wondered what the attractive force might be between me and Jupiter – the fifth planet of the sun which, at its closest, is 365 million miles away from us. That number is, again, ridiculously small and it’s something we can’t feel. But if I remember my math correctly, the attraction between us and Jupiter is greater than the attraction – gravitationally speaking – between us and the person sitting next to us. I still find this whole thing very strange but it helps me to understand the long human history of believing that the stars and planets impact our lives. This belief is more than just noticing how the gravitational forces of Jupiter, the sun, and other large masses help to protect – and sometimes threaten – the planet Earth with asteroids and comets. Instead, there’s an assumption that the things we can’t even feel somehow impact who were meant to be. Astrology is a belief system and practice that’s very old and involves more than just figuring out our signs. Astrology is an attempt to bring a sense of order and purpose to lives that are often filled with way too much chaos. When the magi came to visit Jesus, they weren’t kings looking to meet their new colleague. They were astrologers hoping to make meaning out of the randomness of the universe. And while they were busy keeping themselves open to what might be, an unexpected star showed up.
Now to the magi, the star in the sky was a sign that an important person had been born. For generations, myths and legends and stories had described great heroes and heroines being foretold by a bright light appearing in the sky. This light, either a planet or a comet or a star, was understood to show that new things were on the move. When this star showed up, the magi realized they had some place they need to be. Yet this star wasn’t an ancient form of GPS because God, I think, wanted them to discover the details on their own. These astrologers used their own stories and knowledge and history to discern where they should go. And since an important person was born in the land of ancient Israel, they headed to where other people trained to look at the stars might be. This drew them to visit the court of King Herod who, at the time, had spent a vast amount of money and power and resources to rebuild the holy Temple in Jerusalem. Herod was also a big fan of the Roman Empire because they were the ones who gave him his power. He was a cruel leader who was attracted to power, doing whatever he could to keep it for himself. And one way he did this was by surrounding himself with what we imagine a powerful person would have – like lots of gold, money, palaces, soldiers, and all kinds of advisors. The magi, while strangers in a strange land, were not unfamiliar with dealing with royalty. They were, most likely, from Persia – modern day Iran – and the word magi there was a title for priests who served their king. They might have been the Persian version of the chief priests and scribes that Herod called for advice. Since these astrologers had kept an eye on the sky, they went to where they assumed other skywatchers might be. Yet when they got there, they realized they knew something no one else did. Now there’s a way of interpreting this passage where the magi weren’t really active participants in their own story, simply bouncing around from one place to the other. But since they might have been familiar with the politics and the struggles and the challenges that come with being around those in power, I like to imagine that the magi knew exactly what they were doing. Instead of hiding what they knew or searching for the king on their own, they simply announced what they had seen. They knew it was within Herod’s power to harm them since they brought news he didn’t know. Yet once they saw the divine at work, they refused to keep it to themselves. The magi didn’t fully understand what was going on and they needed the wisdom of others to reveal where Jesus was since nothing about their story showed them as worshiping God. But when the opportunity came to see who this new king might be, they met a little child living in an unassuming home with a mother who was probably only in her teens. It’s at that moment, I think, when they realized something had already been at work before the star shone in the sky. The child in front of them was the opposite of what we assume power is since he needed to be cared for and had no army or advisors to call his own. He wasn’t like these astrologers at all yet God brought these two things together since Jesus was also meant for them. It was then when they saw how they, as outsiders, were actually part of something very inclusive since they were inspired to look up when no one else did. God had already been active in their lives and refused to wait for us to make the first move. And that’s because God’s love is sort of like gravity; even when we can’t feel it, it’s still there, pulling us into a life that is more full and peaceful and honest than it would otherwise be. Our life with God through Jesus invites us to keep our eyes and attention focused on what might be rather than stuck on what we think will keep us powerful and safe. God was already active in the lives of the magi by helping them see what no one else saw. And the same God who was with them will, through grace, help us see how Jesus is meant for each of us too.
Now on this Epiphany Sunday, I’d like to end my sermon with a poem by Jan Richardson. It’s called “Every Given Light” and it goes like this:
There are days we think only so much is given— a glint, a gleam, a light so small we could carry it in the palm of our hand, just enough to let us see the next step, perhaps, into the mystery. There are days grace comes but in shadow, days it gathers itself into the corners, days it seems to turn its gaze sidelong as if distracted, or pondering, or paused. Let it be said this is not that day.
This is the day when grace gives out its radiance, declaring itself to everything in sight. This is the day when every given light bears forth like a star, turning its face toward us with the brilliance that was there all along, that it had saved just for us, just for the joy of seeing us shine.
18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
23 “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” 24
When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.
Matthew 1:18-25 (NRSVue)
My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2022) on Matthew 1:18-25.
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At today’s 9 am worship, we did something we don’t usually do. We held a kind of pop pageant to teach each other the carol, Good King Wenceslas. You might know the song but I wasn’t aware it was based on an actual person. Over 1000 years ago, a Duke – who was later declared to be a king – was celebrated for his faith and generosity. Stories about his life inspired people all over Europe to take care of others. The carol is based on a legend that might not entirely be true. But it is a kind of imaginative journey that reveals what our faith invites us to do. We, because of Jesus, get to be like Jesus by offering hope to those who need it most. The carol is, I think, a good example of what I often describe as using our “spiritual imagination.” It’s how we add dirt, grime, and real life into our Bible readings like the one we just heard from the gospel according to Matthew. It’s always a bit odd to connect our imagination to faith since we usually want our faith to be anything but pretend. We long for our Jesus to be as real as the bread we touch during communion and as physical as the screen or phone we use to worship. Faith, too often, feels like it’s supposed to simply be one more thought in our head. But when we choose to claim that God’s promises are real, then our imagination becomes a tool to see God at work in our work. Our Bible, I think, teaches us how to do this kind of imaginative work by not sharing every detail of every story. That allows us to ask questions like: how did Mary and Joseph get engaged? And what was Joseph’s internal dialogue like when he struggled knowing if his right to split from Mary was truly right? There is a long history in our faith, borrowed from our Jewish friends, to use our imagination to help make God’s words more real in our lives. These stories are known as a midrash which helps us ask the questions that fill in the gap. A midrash doesn’t contradict scripture but helps to expand with guidance from the Holy Spirit. And when Pastor Kimberly Cooper of St. Timothy’s Lutheran church in Wayne shared with me her midrash on this passage, I asked if I could share it with you. She wrote it after visiting the Holy Land and seeing where this story took place. To me, it’s a great model of what our spiritual imagination invites us to do. And I pray her example will inspire your own as we sit with Joseph who chose his family.
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Long ago, in the time of the Roman Empire, in the faraway land of Palestine, there were two cousins, Yoachim and Yakob. Throughout their childhood they ran and played together in the small town of Nazareth. They drove their Torah teacher crazy with their shenanigans when they were meant to be memorizing the law. They chased the chickens from the yard and pretended to be wolves when their sisters were minding the sheep in the fields. They were ornery and smart and the best of friends. When they grew strong enough, they each went to work with their fathers. Yoachim learned the art of weaving rugs and Yakob went to work as a builder. They each found a wife and had children. Yakob’s oldest child was named Yusef. He was a sweet child – nothing like his father and cousin. He loved listening to the Torah teacher and tending the animals. He could hardly contain his excitement when his father invited him to go to the nearby metropolis of [Sepphoris] to build a large bath at the home of a wealthy patron. He watched carefully and learned quickly. When they returned home, they heard the news that Yoachim and [his wife] Hanna had just had another baby, a girl, who they named Miriam.
Yusef grew to be more and more respected throughout the area as a moral upstanding Pharisee. He worked very hard at the family business of building and carpentry, but always honored the Sabbath and kept it holy. He traveled to [Sepphoris] regularly to work building bigger and bigger homes for the wealthy. He enjoyed the work and took great pleasure in the beautiful finished product. But, he was saddened to see many of the wealthy […] adding mosaics of Roman [gods, their oppressors] in their homes. [His kinsman kept building] bigger and bigger homes, in which they threw lavish parties – […] while becoming less and less inclined to obey the laws of God. On the long walks between Nazareth and [Sepphoris], […] Yakob and Yusef would talk about the high taxes that were crippling their neighbors and making even their own business difficult. Yakob would always say, “one day the Messiah will come like a warrior to defeat these Roman pigs. We will be ruled by God’s anointed instead of the emperor’s representative.”
Yusef believed what was written about the Messiah [… but…] wondered why the LORD was waiting so long to send relief. Why did the LORD allow [some to have so much food] they [could simply throw some] away? And why did the LORD leave others so poor [..] they couldn’t […] go to Jerusalem and make sacrifices at the temple? Where was God in all of this?
At the same time that Yusef was growing to be a man, Miriam was also growing into a serious and hardworking girl. One day Yakob and Yusef visited Yoachim. Hanna and Miriam prepared a meal of fresh bread, goat cheese, olives, and roasted pistachios. Yusef blushed listening to the two older men reminisce over their childhood antics. Then, after the tea was served, Yakob broached the reason for his visit. Was Yoachim interested in a marriage between Miriam and Yusef? Yoachim chuckled and asked what Yusef had to offer. Yusef blushed [while keeping] his eyes away from [looking towards] where Miriam and her mother were working [..]. He had no doubt that both were listening […] to the conversation.
Yakob raised his eyebrows and said, “what do you have in mind?”
Yoachim quickly laughed and said, “ah dearest friend, surely you know, I am joking. It would be a huge honor for my lowly daughter to be married to the great Yusef ben Yakob.”
The tension left Yakob’s shoulders as he grinned broadly. “Of course, we don’t come empty handed. Yusef and I will build a house for them to live in. This week we will go to the synagogue and make the announcement of their engagement public. Although, I know you are a successful man, I hope you will honor us by taking the gift of a she-goat as a bride price.” […]The men embraced and departed without a nod to the women in the corner. But Yusef [did see] Miriam […] with a slight smile on her lips.
By the end of the next week, all the town had learned that Yusef ben Yakob was to wed Miriam Bat Yoachim. No one was surprised. On the Sabbath, all the Jews gathered to listen to a reading from one of their scrolls. Yusef closed his eyes as he listened to the words from Isaiah, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?” He wondered, is this why the LORD wasn’t sending a warrior to defeat the Romans? Perhaps the LORD believed that all the people had turned against [God] and were chasing after the Roman gods like the those that lived in [Sepphoris]. […]
The next day Yusef and his father began work on the house for him to live after his marriage to Miriam. As he worked, Yusef prayed to the LORD offering himself, his wife, and all their future children as His servants. He [also] prayed […] for a sign that the LORD had heard him. Yusef did this every day […] but nothing happened. […] The anxiety became too much for him, so when his father asked him to go to [Sepphoris] to collect some more stones, he jumped at the chance. When he arrived, he went straight to the synagogue to seek out the Rabbi.
The Rabbi was quite old and regarded as the wisest in the area. Yusef found him reading a scroll from the writings of Isaiah. “[…]Excuse me, Rabbi[?]”
The rabbi looked up with a smile. “Yes, my son, what is your question?”
Yusef said, “Rabbi, I am deeply troubled. […] Here in [Sepphoris] I see [those who] have become so wealthy under Roman rule that they disregard the Torah, the law. I know that in Isaiah it is written, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?’ It makes me wonder if the LORD is wearied of us. How can I let Him know that some of us are still faithful?”
The Rabbi nodded. “Yes, these are very troubling times. It is not so different from the days in which Isaiah wrote these words. At that time, King Ahaz was fighting to keep Jerusalem from being overtaken by the Israelites that didn’t honor the LORD. Ahaz was trembling in fear that he would be defeated. The LORD sent Isaiah to tell him to trust in the LORD by asking for a sign. Ahaz refused to ask for a sign so the LORD answered, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also? Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.’ Immanuel means God is with us. Trust in the signs that the LORD has given and continue to do right in the eyes of the LORD. Direct your family to do the same. This is what you can do.”
When Yusef returned home, pondering these things, he found his father and Yoachim waiting for him. Yoachim looked sick and miserable. Yakob looked angry. Yoachim opened his mouth to speak to Yusef, but no words came out. Yusef […] quickly asked, “is it Miriam? Has she been harmed?”
Yakob snorted and said, “she isn’t worth your concern. She has disgraced us all!”
Yoachim shook his head in shame. “I don’t know how this could have happened,” he swallowed and closed his eyes, “but she is with child.” His voice broke at that end and he turned to leave.
Yusef fell to his knees on the dirt floor. “What?!” His mouth hung open in shock.
Yakob said, “You must forget her, son, the town will take care of her, as we always take care of such filth.”
Yoachim began to weep […].
The reality of what would happen to Miriam penetrated the fog of Yusef’s shock and grief. “No!” he said hoarsely. And then more loudly, “no, Father, tell no one.” He jumped up and took Yoachim by the arm. “I do not know how this happened […] And I don’t want to know how. But let no harm come to her. Send her away to have the baby, so that no one knows. You are a good family. None of us deserve to have this disgrace.”
Yoachim was surprised, but nodded. “I will send her to my cousin Zechariah. His wife is also expecting and is of an advanced age. No one will bother either of them at this time.” Then he left quickly with his head bowed.
That night Yusef struggled to find sleep. He prayed to the LORD with all the many emotions flooding his soul. One moment he was angry then the next sad. Finally, after many hours, he fell into a troubled sleep. Then “an angel of the LORD appeared to him in a dream and said, “Yusef, son of [David,] do not be afraid to take Miriam as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Yeshua [Jesus], for he will save his people from their sins.” Yusef awoke in a sweat, and thought, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel.” Yusef laughed out loud [and] said, “when I asked for a sign, I had no idea it would be like this!”
Before the sun rose, Yusef went to the home of Yoachim. He went in and found Hannah and Miriam preparing the day’s bread. Hanna looked at him in fear, but Miriam seemed at peace. He asked her to go and raise her father. When Yoachim came, Yusef said, “I will take Miriam to my home now. Tell no one that she has become pregnant by anyone other than myself. For I have heard from the LORD. She and I are both of the line of [King David. And [I think this child] will be the Messiah for whom we are all yearning. I think the LORD has heard our cries and has chosen Miriam to bear the answer. [..] Miriam, will you come [home] with me [..]?”
Both Hanna and Yoachim were shocked into silence. They looked between Miriam and Yusef in confusion. Miriam smiled and said quietly, “yes […] I have heard from the LORD as well. I trust you to protect me and raise this child.” Then looking him in the eye she said, “for God is with us.”
Yusef and Miriam went on to have many other children. He worked hard and lived a good life […] without ever hinting to anyone the special circumstances of Yeshua’s birth. Sometimes he would watch Yeshua and wonder how such a […] kind boy could be the great warrior meant to overthrow the Romans. One day he mentioned his thoughts to Miriam. She smiled and said, “[…You] of all people must know that it takes so much more strength to love those that hurt us than to strike out in anger.” […]
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
Matthew 11:2-11
My sermon from 3rd Sunday of Advent (December 11, 2022) on Matthew 11:2-11.
**** I have never been to prison but I’m well aware that my experience might not be your own because we are a diverse community with many different stories. Many of us have interacted with prisons in many different ways through our callings as police officers, lawyers, aids, paralegals, guards, health care workers, family members, friends, and more. Dealing with the prison system isn’t something that only other people do since we live in the #1 country in the world when it comes to people who are incarcerated. There’s a good chance that, right now, we know someone who’s either been in prison or who has dealt with prisons for a significant part of their lives. And while we might think we know all we should know what prisons are, the stories we hear from people in prison often change our points of view. For the last 45 years or so, we, as a church, have stayed connected to someone who grew up here and is serving a life sentence behind bars. I don’t write to him as much as I would like to but he always responds to the four or six letters I send every year. His letters are always several pages long, written on yellow lined paper in a cursive script that’s not always easy to read. Yet I often find that the stories he shares from his life refine my own understanding of what prison is truly like. It’s important for us, I think, to examine what we think a prison is since being in prison shows up in the Bible all the time. It would be easy for us to assume that a prison today is, in general, similar to what a prison was like 2000 years ago. But as we just heard in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, the prisons of the past had this sort of unique way of making even one of the most faithful people we meet in the Bible – question their God.
Now last week, we saw John the Baptist teaching and preaching in an untamed place while also describing who he imagined the Messiah to be. The Messiah would be the One who would change the world and they would do this kind of like what a super hot fire does when it comes into contact with metal that’s impure. This super hot fire would burn out the impurities to make the metal better, stronger, and easier to work with. This language, while very Biblical, can also be very problematic when we use it to justify our own hatred and sin. Yet John’s Messiah would be very different because they would change people and their communities into something more. When Jesus came to see John, John confidently declared that this son of Mary would be the One everyone was waiting for. And after baptizing Jesus in the River Jordan, John kept teaching and preaching but was soon arrested and imprisoned. That action served as a kind of catalyst for Jesus’ own public ministry which he developed through his own preaching, teaching, and healing. Now John sat in prison for a significant period of time and soon learned Jesus was out in the world traveling from village to village. John sent his disciples to Jesus to ask him what appears, at first, to be a rather strange question. Before Jesus’ ministry began, John declared that Jesus would be the one who would burn and change the world. And yet when he finally heard what Jesus was up to, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jesus really was who he imagined him to be.
So what happened? What made John doubt what he had seen and heard from God? Well one way to think about this is to realize that being imprisoned today isn’t the same as being imprisoned in the past. In our country, prisons are designed to be all sorts of things. They are isolating and awful and degrading and rehabilitative all at the same time. But there is an expectation, in theory, that someone in prison will be provided a place to sleep and given food to eat. That doesn’t mean prisons are designed to be safe spaces but there are mechanisms that could be used to hold people accountable if they didn’t provide for those basic needs. That tiny bit of care that society promises to give to those in prison wasn’t something that existed in the ancient world. Instead, when a person was arrested, they were placed in a version of house arrest. There were very rarely buildings designed to hold prisoners or their guards. A home, either belonging to the person who was arrested or to someone else, would then be designated to be their prision and modified to house the prison and those guarding them. Since this home was designed to be a prison, it didn’t have all the basic things we’d expect a prison to have. And one mechanism that wasn’t in place was for the one who imprisoned them to provide food for them or the one who watched them. It was the responsibility of the prisoner to find a way to feed themselves and the guards assigned to watch them. This, obviously, was a rather difficult task since the prisoner couldn’t really leave where they were. They had lost all control and it was their responsibility to care for those who incarcerated them. John, when he was in the wilderness, knew what it was like to live in a place where he had no control. But this situation was very different because he was caught up in a system that, by design, wanted him to die. He was entirely dependent on others sacrificing their own time, energy, and resources to bring him just enough to survive. Nothing about his current experience felt like the world was being made into something new. Instead, it felt like the old world was winning like it always had. John the Baptist had experienced the presence of God in ways that I can barely imagine and yet even he wondered if he had gotten the Messiah wrong.
At this point in the sermon, we could move on to what Jesus said to John’s disciples. But I think it’s okay to sit with John’s question a little longer – especially if we have questions of our own. The Third Sunday of Advent is usually set aside as a time for us to remember that this season can be filled with joy. Yet too often, the magic of this moment feels very far away. If we truly believe that God is with us, we should wonder why everything is the way it is. And while I wish I had a good answer for that question, I also believe simply asking it is one of the most faithful things we can do. John’s doubt wasn’t a problem that needed to be solved. He was simply living through the fact we are very good at creating, needing, building, and maintaining all kinds of prisons. John’s question was an honest question because he didn’t pretend the world was something that it wasn’t. And while we don’t know how long John waited to ask his question, we do know he was willing to speak it out loud even though there was a chance he wouldn’t receive an answer. He had no idea how long it would take his disciples to find Jesus nor did he know if he would be alive once they returned. Yet he chose to name his truth and ask his question. And that, I think, invites us to do the same. We get to ask our whys, our wonders, and admit to Jesus that life is sometimes harder than it should be. We can give ourselves the grace to admit that we, like John the Baptist, sometimes doubt. And while that might feel as if we don’t have the faith we think we should, it, instead, serves as a reminder of the faith we have already been given. During your baptism, Jesus made the promise to be God-with-you no matter where your life took you. He didn’t make that promise because he knew you would be perfect. He did it because his love couldn’t do anything less. His love is big enough to hold all our questions, all our wonders, and every time we’ve asked Jesus to be Jesus in the here and now. And when it finally feels as if doubt is the only bit of faith we have left, trust that shows you already have all you need to take your place in the kingdom of God.
On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
Luke 14:1,7-14
My sermon from the 12th Sunday After Pentecost (August 28, 2022) on Luke 14:1,7-14.
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On Friday morning, we did something here at the church we haven’t done in a while: we held a First Communion class. Eight kids, from first through fourth grade, joined me for a class that took us all around the entire building. We first gathered at the tables outside the church office, read our Bibles and wondered where Jesus sat during the Last Supper. We then moved on to the Sonshine room, stood around its long table, and created bread dough that didn’t really hold together. Once the kids’ hands were washed and the flour brushed out of their clothes, we headed to the altar – the table at the heart of our sanctuary. The class was a lot of fun and the kids were amazing. Yet when I reflected afterwards on how everything went, I was struck by how central the tables were. Instead of sitting on the floor or in chairs facing a blackboard, I unintentionally had the kids spend the entire class around a table. Since I planned for us to color and draw pictures of Jesus having a meal, I made sure that part of the lesson had a table big enough for everyone. Once the first part of the lesson was over, we then needed a long table close to a kitchen where we could work in pairs to mix and measure and stir together a whole bunch of ingredients. Finally, as we neared the end of our long class, we went into the sanctuary to spend time talking about what it means to be fed by God. I invited the kids to join me around the altar which I described as Jesus’ table. Jesus, during his earthly ministry, rarely turned down the opportunity to share a meal with others and we often imagine him eating around a table. A table is a piece of furniture that helps to make a meal, a meal because it’s a central thing everything gravitates to. It’s the place where food is served and received; and also where people on opposite sides look at each other while they talk and chew. Many of Jesus’ arguments with his disciples and with others involved who was allowed to sit at the table with him. And while picturing Jesus at a table makes sense for our cultural context, there’s a good chance most of his meals didn’t include a table at all. The piece of furniture in the middle of the room wasn’t central to his story. And as we see in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, what God keeps central and what we keep central are not always the same thing.
So to properly set the scene, we need to imagine what this dinner party looked like. From what we can tell, the host of the meal pretty much followed the cultural expectations of the Greco-Roman world. When Jesus first entered the space, his feet were most likely washed by someone who was probably enslaved before he was invited to then take his seat. But instead of taking a seat at a long table, three or four couches would have been arranged at the center of the room. The scholar Craig Keener described the scene in this way: “These couches did not have backs, so three or four people could recline on each one. Each diner would recline on the left elbow, with their right hand free to take the food in front of them. They would be facing the center of the room, with their feet pointing away from the table.” The table in that space might have been a big piece of wood like we have in our dining rooms today. But I think it was mostly a small tray, big enough to serve one couch, so that the enslaved and servants could walk through the center of the room while cleaning plates, filling glasses, and bringing fresh food to the guests. These kinds of parties were not rushed affairs. Rather, they were an event where people were meant to be seen.
And being seen was something Jesus knew quite a bit about. When he arrived at the party, lots of people’s eyes were on him. Yet his eyes were on everyone else. He noticed all the people who, like him, were invited guests. And he also paid attention to the people others didn’t even notice and those who hadn’t been invited at all. Once everyone was welcomed, the guests had to find a place to sit. And so they began trying to claim spots as close to the host as possible while the host was busy deciding who was worthy of sitting next to them and who wasn’t. It was a very unmusical version of musical chairs, where people’s importance and worth was determined by where they sat. Picking the right spot involved keeping your eyes on the host while hoping they saw you as you saw them. Where you sat in relation to the host showed all the other invited guests the worth you had as a person. And your proximity to the center showed others what you could do for them and gave a hint of what they might be able to do for you. Your seat determined who you could talk to, network with, and the relationships which would help your reputation grow. But if you sat in the wrong spot and chose a couch you weren’t supposed to be on, your worth in the eyes of others would go down. In that dinner party space, your place in relation to the host was central to who you were. So that’s when Jesus reminded everyone that what other people think is not central to God.
In a space without a table, the most central thing to Jesus was always people. The people he saw in the room included the host, those working the party, and the guests who rushed past Jesus while trying to show others how important and valued they were. Jesus knows that, as human beings, we often pay attention to what other people think about us. We want others to think we’re cool, kind, smart, strong, clever, funny, and that we’re simply worth being around. What other people think about us often impacts what we think about ourselves. And while that can cause problems, we often navigate through this dilemma by strengthening our own sense of self-worth. Yet it’s interesting Jesus doesn’t tell the host or the guests or the enslaved that God’s love for them is enough to show how valued they actually are. Instead, he invites everyone – especially those who have the opportunity to be invited to the party in the first place – to simply act as if everyone truly matters to God. For Jesus, that means practicing a kind of humility that breaks through the social hierarchy we participate in. We don’t have to live as if some people are worth being known while others are not worth being seen. Jesus wasn’t only interested in making sure we always have a place at his table. He also wanted us to look past the table and into the eyes of everyone who is central to him. God’s love is never only for those who we view as worthy; God loves even those who we wouldn’t want to sit next to in the first place. We are invited to keep people, rather than places or spaces or material goods, central to how we live in the world because all people – especially the marginalized, the wounded, the broken, the ill, and those we’ve pushed aside – matter to God.
Now[Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing
Luke 13:10-17
My sermon from the 11th Sunday After Pentecost (August 21, 2022) on Luke 13:10-17.
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The older I get, the more life feels like it’s mostly a series of interruptions. Most of our interruptions are quite small – like an unexpected phone call or a cat begging for its dinner or even a self-caused interruption when we take a four hour excursion through the land of social media. Yet there are those other kinds of interruptions that seem to change who we are. In today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, our English translation of the ancient Greek language Luke wrote in, introduces us to an unnamed woman who seems to have interrupted Jesus while he was teaching on the sabbath in a synagogue. He was, I imagine, up in the front, speaking in the way he always does. Then, while in almost mid-sentence, Jesus stopped because this bent over woman came in. She, in her own way, interrupted what Jesus was doing which happened quite a bit during Jesus’ ministry. People, in all the gospels, kept getting Jesus’ way, sharing with him their needs, concerns, and even disagreements. Responding to these interruptions was a big part of what Jesus did. And this woman seemed to fit the pattern even though she’s never recorded as asking to be healed. But when I was preparing for this sermon, I noticed how other translations of this text don’t act as if the woman was the interruption. Instead, she’s described as just being there and was among those listening to Jesus while he taught. We don’t know much about her and even her ailment is a bit of a mystery. All we’re given is that for 18 years, she was bent over. And yet during those same years, she was part of this community who gathered together on the sabbath for worship, study, and prayer. The reaction of the crowd after she was healed shows how they were her people and how, even before her healing, she was already one of them. So if she was there while Jesus began to speak, she wasn’t the interruption in the story. Instead, that title really belonged to Jesus because he was there in front of them. As we heard a few weeks ago, Jesus was in the middle of his long round-a-bout journey to Jerusalem. Every day he taught and healed and got into arguments with all kinds of people. When he entered the unnamed synagogue in the unnamed village where this unnamed woman lived, he wasn’t the usual person who got up and taught. Jesus interrupted their normal sabbath routine and this interruption grew when the woman suddenly became visible to him in a way she wasn’t before. When he finally saw her, he stopped all that he was doing, called her over, and interrupted how she had typically celebrated the sabbath over these last 18 years. The healing she received didn’t pretend as if she had never suffered nor did it change her presence within the community she called her own. She still belonged but her life was now a bit different. And once Jesus spoke his words of hope, she kept doing what she had already been doing: praising God with the people who called her their own.
But that’s when the grumbling started. A leader within the community wasn’t thrilled with what he just saw. Now he wasn’t necessarily upset about the healing itself. Rather, he wasn’t happy that it had happened today. That might sound like a weird thing to be bothered about but we can give him the benefit of the doubt by remembering what it’s like when we’re asked for some professional advice when we’re supposed to be off duty. It’s not uncommon for us to interrupt someone else’s day off when we think they can help us. And once people know who we are and what we do, there’s a chance that every one of our conversations with friends and acquaintances end up feeling like work. On a day when we’re trying to get away from all the other activities that dominate our week, this one word can interrupt our rest by making today feel like every other day. The leader of the synagogue might have known of Jesus’ reputation as a healer – something he had the habit of doing almost every day. Being able to heal others was a gift from God and, in his mind, should have been shared abundantly. Yet the Sabbath was meant to be a break for everyone, including those who could heal. When Jesus interrupted what he was doing on the sabbath to heal a woman with a chronic but non-life threatening ailment, it looked as if Jesus wasn’t taking the Sabbath seriously. He was doing on God’s day what he did every day, blurring what the Sabbath was supposed to be about. The leader of the synagogue felt it was his responsibility to help the entire crowd keep the Sabbath so he did what he could to interrupt the focus they had on Jesus.
And so, as we can see, today’s story is a story all about interruptions. The entire community was called to interrupt their daily lives by spending one day a week in synagogue with their God. Jesus, while in that space, interrupted their usual flow of worship by teaching and preaching in a community he wasn’t always in. And then, when he noticed this woman, he interrupted what he was doing so that her ongoing condition could be interrupted too. The faith leader believed that Jesus’ actions had interrupted the Sabbath by making this holy day feel like every other day of the week. The Sabbath is more than a day of rest; it’s an interruption to our lives where we intentionally do not go our own way; serve our own interest; or pursue our own affairs. Instead, we spend time with our God who encourages everyone, regardless of age, gender, economic backgrounds, or physical, mental, and spiritual health to just stop and be with God. The Sabbath is how we hear we are loved and the love we’re given transforms who we are and what we do. The Sabbath is how we learn that every other day this week can be something different. The leader of the synagogue was afraid Jesus was trying to turn the Sabbath into something that looked like every other day of the week. But Jesus was there to remind him that through God, with God, and in God – it’s the Sabbath day that transforms what every other day can be about. It’s through this interruption that we gain the rest, care, and insight we need to live through the rest of our lives. And when we embrace the interruptions we are given, we then get to participate in a life with wholeness and hope.
In a little bit, we’re going to do another thing that doesn’t feel like an interruption but actually is. We’re going to do what we’ve done a lot – and that’s baptize a little child and welcome her, publicly, into the body of Christ. Now Kaylee has already experienced a lot of interruptions to be here today – giving up her normal Sunday morning routine to travel several hours so she can be surrounded by her beloved family. God already knows her, loves her, and values all that she is. Yet today is also when we interrupt who she will be by inviting her into something more. When the water is poured over her head and the seal of the Cross marked on her forehead, she will no longer be defined by what people say about her or by what she thinks about herself. Those opinions and points of view will be interrupted by her identity as a beloved child of God. That identity will be with her, interrupting every part of her life so she can grow into the love God gives her every day. And as she gets bigger, learning all the different ways she can easily interrupt whatever her parents or her brother are doing, she’ll never be able to interrupt how God sees her. Kaylee will now have a lifetime to experience God’s constant interruption of grace, mercy, and love on every sabbath and on every other day in the week. And when all the stuff life brings tries to interrupt God’s love for her, Jesus will be right there, bringing a word of comfort, healing, and hope.
[Jesus said:] “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”
He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain’; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat’; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”
Luke 12:49-56
My sermon from the 10th Sunday After Pentecost (August 14, 2022) on Luke 12:49-56.
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When Jesus began the long teaching that we end in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, the first words out of his mouth were: “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” Over the last few weeks, we’ve listened to the story that started when a random person in the crowd demanded Jesus to intervene in a family dispute over an inheritance. They expected Jesus to do what they would do which is why, in response, Jesus told a parable and then kept talking. Over dozens of verses, he offered words about our call to be generous while comforting the worriers around him. But when he got to the end, he told those who followed him that he wasn’t here to bring peace to the earth. There seems to be a bit of a disconnect between where Jesus started this conversation and where he ended. And to me, at least, it isn’t always easy to integrate these two versions of Jesus together. We, somehow, are asked to take the Jesus who gives us peace and merge it with the One who wants to burn everything with fire. That’s really hard to do since we tend to zero in on either Jesus the counselor, Jesus the peacemaker, Jesus the healer, Jesus the judge, or the Jesus who makes us comfortable. We have our own expectations for Jesus but he doesn’t always match what we expect. One of the ways we mature our faith is by learning how to expand our vision of who Jesus is. And once we begin to do that, our expectations change. That sounds like something that might take a lot of work to pull off but I wonder if we already have some of the skills necessary to make that happen.
Now to flesh out this wondering a bit, I’m going to tell a story about something that happened on Thursday night. In a studio in Los Angeles, a bunch of social media influencers, content creators, podcasters, youtube stars, and professional players gathered together to watch two people play the fantasy trading card game: Magic: the Gathering. If you don’t know the game, two players compete against one another using decks of cards full of things you might see in The Lord of the Rings. Most of the people in that space wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone who doesn’t play the game. Yet the creme de la creme of this corner of geekdom was there and among them was Austin Richard Post. He is, if you don’t recognize the name, a big fan who plays Magic with his friends and regularly appears on different podcasts and youtube channels talking about the game. He was one of the two people there to play and he radiated joy. He talked; he joked; and he did his very best to celebrate those around him. He was in awe of all Magic: the Gathering stars who were with him. And I found it kind of cool to see Austin nerd out because I once had the opportunity to see him in-person. A couple of years ago, I was standing in the middle of Times Square, waiting for the New Year’s Eve ball to drop. Austin was wearing a pink suit and was being escorted through the crowd by a police detail, a camera crew, and half a dozen media handlers. He walked right past me and he was incredibly kind to those in the crowd who shouted his name. But instead of calling him Austin, they used his professional name: Post Malone. Post Malone has sold over 80 million copies of his albums worldwide and has played in dozens of stadiums and coliseums. He’s a popstar who’s won 10 Billboard Music Awards, three American Music Awards, one MTV Video Music Award, and has been nominated for a Grammy nine times. He’s a celebrity living the life we would expect but he’s also a geek who plays a card game. It isn’t unusual to learn that a celebrity has a different side we don’t always see. Sometimes that knowledge confirms our prior expectations. Yet every once in a while, something new expands our vision of who this person actually is. Those are the moments that invite us to change our expectations and they are not limited to only the celebrities we happen to pay attention to. These experiences show up in relationships we have with our family, friends, and neighbors. And since we’ve had these kinds of experiences many different times, we already know how we should handle the Jesus we don’t expect.
Yet we also know we have options on what to do when the unexpected information shows up. Sometimes, for example, we might choose to ignore the new thing we just learned, letting our prior expectations define who, to us, they’ll always be. We also, though, might choose to be antagonistic, purposefully pushing against this new thing. Yet a healthier, more gentle, and more life giving approach would be to let these situations open us to change. We don’t need to be embarrassed by our past interactions with the other person and we can be thankful they’ve taken the risk to share a bit more of who they truly are. This new information might be hard for us to integrate into ourselves since it might change how we imagined our relationship would go. Yet the expectations we had were never written in stone and we always have the power to learn and grow. Sometimes we might forget this new bit of information, letting our old expectations come roaring back. But when that happens, we can apologize and not let our feelings or our embarrassment or even a sense of entitlement stop us from taking the responsibility of making this new thing a part of our lives. That’s not always an easy thing for us to do but it is how we refine our expectations, perspectives, and actions so that we can be as loving as God wants us to be.
And that, I think, is a throughline that ties the entire Jesus of Luke chapter 12 – together. In the beginning, the crowd expected Jesus to be a judge who would rule like them and who would match every one of their expectations. Yet he was there to do something more. The fire and division Jesus brought would move through every one of our current expectations, even those expectations rooted in our families, our cultures, and our nation, and refine them, like a refiner’s fire, into the values of the Kingdom of God. Part of the work of faith is discovering how the expectations we didn’t know we carried inside us don’t actually have to limit the love God calls us to share. The peace we assume comes when all our expectations are met will be broken by the peace Jesus shares that won’t allow us to get in the way of God. What Jesus brings into our lives and into our world is a new reality where God’s love is at the heart of it all. We’ve already had practice dealing with new bits of information, knowledge, and wisdom that expand our vision of who people are. And so Jesus invites us to use those same skills on him so that we can move past our own expectations and towards the expectations of God. That’s a big ask because we’re not always sure exactly what God’s expectations look like in our lives. Yet the Jesus of Luke chapter 12 reminds us that the values of the kingdom are shown in the life and actions of Christ. If we want to know what this refining fire from God might look like in our world, all we need to do is return to another parable Jesus shared: where a person noticed someone who was their enemy and yet stopped, tended to their wounds, and gave out of their abundance so that person they shouldn’t love would be healed and thrived.