A few months ago, I joined our local Rotary chapter as their Spiritual Representative. Rotary is a 100 year old organization helping professional and business leaders serve their wider community. It’s a worldwide organization I knew of (and even received a college scholarship from) but one that was a bit of a mystery to me. Prior to my joining, I couldn’t tell you what Rotary did or why they existed. I didn’t know their history or who was attracted to the organization. I knew they existed because their meeting times were posted on signs marking the boundaries of towns. I knew they had a physical presence but I was unaware of what went on in their meeting spaces. It wasn’t until I was invited to participate in the group that I saw their commitment to service and the different projects they support. I’m still learning more about the organization, but I’m looking forward to bringing my Lutheran Christian perspective into a group looking for new ways to nurture our wider community.
At one of their recent meetings, one of the main topics was how to grow the Rotary group. They’re looking to increase membership, and I was surprised with how similar that conversation was to every conversation about membership held in a faith community. People shared their own experiences of the group and how it changed their lives. People also were hopeful the group would grow larger because they wanted others to have the same experiences as them. They also were honest that, a few decades ago, the group was larger, younger and full of a different kind of vitality. But they were also honest that the group wasn’t always welcoming to others. And folks lamented how hard it is for people to commit to things in our modern context.
Many times when conversations like this are held, a lot of energy is spent on wish-casting. We wish things were different, but we’re not sure how to make it so. We feel as if we don’t have the tools, insights or even the permission to make this wish come true. We hope other people with more suitable gifts can do what is needed to make our wish a reality. Our wish is a good wish because we want others to have the same experiences we had. If we felt loved, valued and included, we want others to have the same experience. It isn’t wrong to make wishes, yet we often don’t realize that we already have the gifts needed to invite others into the place that has given us so much grace. What we need is help seeing how that grace has manifested in our lives and how we can, just as we are, invite others to see that same grace also.
That’s one of the reasons why our ongoing sermon-series on cultivating our creative spirit will continue in July. Unlike other organizations, we want to invite others into a deeper relationship with the God who created them, lived and died for them, and will sustain them through all the joys and struggles of life. We can do that by nurturing our ability to see Jesus at work in our lives. Instead of inviting people into church, we can invite them to know Jesus who loves them right now. After we practice seeing Jesus all around us, we’ll move into a short series on joy and happiness (and how they’re not the same thing). My hope is once we near the start of our programming year we’ll move into a series on vocations: what they are, how many we have and how faith is meant for our everyday life. We can, together, learn to see Jesus a little more clearly and in our own particular ways invite others to see Jesus too.
I will seeya in the many different ways we are the church! Pastor Marc
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.
John 20:19-31
My sermon from the 2nd Sunday of Easter (April 11, 2021) on John 20:19-31.
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The Sunday after Easter is typically considered a “low” Sunday at the church. And, if you think about it, that makes sense. Our Easter celebration was full of fresh flowers, special music, fancy hats, and Easter baskets buried in way too many chocolate bunnies. It takes a lot of energy, work, and effort to make Easter joyous especially in the midst of a pandemic. The musicians, the choir, the office staff, the volunteers, and everyone who worshiped online or outdoors – we – whether we realized it or not – gave a lot of ourselves to help each other re-experience the gift of Easter. So it’s totally okay if we feel like we need to take a breath after such a big event. And our attention might be drawn towards other things happening in our life right now. Maybe we have a lot of cleaning to do since we spent the last year mostly at home. Or maybe there’s a giant pile of mulch sitting in our driveway begging us to spread it around the house. Those are a few of the things we get to do during the season of Spring. Yet there might be other things happening in our life making it hard to breathe. There’s that health scare, leaving us and our family feeling incredibly anxious and scared. There’s that ongoing conflict we’re enduring with our loved ones because change is something we all do. And then there’s the reality that we live in communities filled with people who don’t look at the world in the same way. When you add up all life brings and then throw in an ongoing pandemic, it’s sort of amazing any of us has the energy to sit with God. Worship takes effort – and there are times when life gets in the way. So a low Sunday is not an abnormal Sunday. Rather, it is a sign we all have lives to live – and we don’t always have the energy to worship in-person or to open up the church’s facebook page at 10 am on a Sunday. That doesn’t mean being with God isn’t important or that we shouldn’t make worship a priority or that I’m giving you an out when you choose not to be with your faith community. Instead, I’m acknowledging it takes effort to worship and that all of you are a sign of what that effort looks like. But there are days when we are drawn elsewhere – and that’s something Jesus understands very well.
Because as we heard in our reading from the gospel according to John, Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus visited the disciples the evening after the tomb was emptied. In John’s version of the Easter story, Mary Magdalene was the first to see that the stone blocking the tomb had rolled away. She ran and told Peter and the beloved disciple what she saw. They came and confirmed Jesus’ body wasn’t there. Both of them returned to the place where they were staying but Mary stayed. Jesus then revealed himself to her – and she, at first, thought he was a gardener. Yet when he called her by name, she saw what God had done. Jesus gave her a message to share with all the other disciples and so that’s exactly what she did. But Jesus didn’t say he was going to visit them that evening. All they knew was that Mary had seen the Lord and I bet they wished they had seen him too. So when Jesus showed up – that moment must have been bonkers. They had all seen Jesus arrested and killed. They had, in the midst of terror, fled from his side. They witnessed the authorities in this world try to end Jesus’ story. Yet there Jesus was – and their grief, wonder, confusion, and joy must have spilled out all at once. They saw Jesus’ hands and side still wounded – which meant the fullness of Jesus’ story still mattered. It meant their experiences of pain, loss, guilt, and anxiety – were valued – but wouldn’t be the end to their story. Each disciple, in that moment, knew that everything they had gone through was now wrapped up in hope. The text tells us they rejoiced but that word is way too small to describe what they experienced. God’s story would continue – and with the giving of the Holy Spirit through the breath of Jesus – each of them would carry that story into the world.
So I wonder what it felt like to be Thomas when he met up with the disciples after all that happened. We don’t know why he wasn’t there when Jesus showed up but I think scripture gives us space to add in any reason we want. Maybe he had an errand to run or a family member who needed his help. Maybe he was at the doctor, getting something checked out or he was off taking his kid to their next big sporting event. Or, since it was the first day of the week, Thomas might have been at work. I want you to think about the last time you were unable to gather for worship. Think about your reason – and then give that reason to Thomas. His response to his friends, then, makes sense. All he wanted was their experience – which included more than just a visit from Jesus. He also wanted the chance to be there when Jesus showed up. And that meant he needed the opportunity to keep all his attention on God. Every other responsibility and need would have to be taken care of so that he could be where Jesus promised to be. But he, as an individual, couldn’t make that happen. What he needed was a community willing to take care of him so that he could experience Jesus in an intentional and life giving way.
And that brings me back to the quote from bell hooks I mentioned last week. When she was asked to define love, she said “Love is a combination of six ingredients: care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust.” Care can look like many things but it can also be our giving others the opportunity to be in the place they need to be. We all are pulled by many things drawing our attention away from what matters most. You each have your own health, housing, food, and financial needs that need to be met. And we all live in a culture that measures our value based on the amount of things we produce. You might not have the time, energy, or resources to create an intentional meeting with God. But what might help you do that is if a group of people took it on themselves to make that happen. They could cook a meal for you so that you didn’t need to go to the store. They might mow your lawn, pick up your laundry, or schedule a vaccine appointment when those become available in the middle of the night. A community can use its resources – including people and money – to help each other have that kind of energy and time. And I think that might have happened the week after the very first Easter. Because, unlike the previous week, Thomas was there. He still hadn’t seen Jesus nor did he have the experiences all the other disciples had. Yet the community did not hold that against him. He was part of a faith community big enough to hold a lot of different experiences of God. Mary’s meeting of Jesus at the tomb did not mean she was more valued than him. Rather, Jesus had gathered them together to care for one another – no matter what. They might have taken it upon themselves to help Thomas be in the place where Jesus was the week before. And so when Jesus did show up, Thomas was able to do something no one else had done up to that point. He declared that Jesus was not only the Lord and not only God – but that he was also “my Lord and my God.” By making sure the people within the community had the time and the energy to be with God – they witnessed a new vision of who Jesus was for the world.
So a low Sunday is never really a low Sunday. Rather, it’s an opportunity to experience Jesus and a chance to recommit ourselves to caring for one another. We get to ask what we can do to help others worship and wonder what might need to change so that everyone has the opportunity to see the love God has for them. That can sound scary because we were able to worship today. We probably would have been in that room on the first Easter evening 2000 years ago. But could we, would we, and might we realize that because Jesus has claimed us as his own – we then are called to look for the Thomas’ in our midst – and do our part to make sure they get to spend time with God too?
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.
When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
My sermon from Maundy Thursday (April 1, 2021) on John 13:1-17, 31b-35.
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So on Monday, I was running about ten minutes late to my first COVID vaccine appointment. During the rush to get my three kids out the door, I forgot to pack some snacks for my two year old. I quickly grabbed a pear, some veggie straws, and a Super Mario Brother water bottle and made a quick detour to daycare. I then headed towards the vaccination center run by Valley Health in Paramus. I had no trouble getting a parking spot near the door and there was literally no line to get in. The only thing I was asked to do before I checked-in was to squirt some sanitizer on my hands and have my temperature checked by a tablet that could tell I was wearing a facemask. On the floor were big blue circles letting me know where I could stand – like a real life version of the board game Candy Land. The circles snaked around the room, inviting me to hop, skip, and jump to the check-in desk. On the desk was a large packet of papers stapled together. I couldn’t read the pages but I assumed it was a long list of everyone who had an appointment. They asked for my name and started flipping through the document in their hands. Some of the pages were covered in yellow highlighter while others were mostly white. They flipped the pages one way, then the other, and then back the other way again. Eventually, they found me – and they added a new row of yellow highlighter to the page. But I was surprised by how much white was around my name. I figured with my lateness, that I’d be one of the last people that checked-in for that timespot. Yet at this time when securing an appointment for a vaccine is still not easy, there were a lot of people who hadn’t checked-in. After getting my name highlighted, I then moved into another CandyLand esque line. And while standing there, I found myself wondering: what was the story of the person who had an appointment but happened to be later than me?
Now, there’s a lot of different reasons why they might be late. Since we live in New Jersey, there’s always the problem of traffic or missing your exit on the Parkway. Or maybe their story was a bit like mine since you rarely get time off being a parent. Nor do you really get much time off as a kid – and it might have taken longer than expected for an elderly parent to safely leave their home and get in their car. Or maybe they were just late because a successful schedule has to navigate everyone else’s schedule too. Those were the kinds of stories that seem the most comfortable to dream up but other stories were possible too. Maybe the person who booked the appointment did it on behalf of someone else who already received their vaccine elsewhere. Or maybe it was for a person working from home who planned to take an extended break but got stuck on a meeting over Zoom that could have really been settled in an email. There’s also the parent or teacher or parent/teacher who was supposed to be covered while teaching in their school but had to make every virtual due to rising virus cases in our area. And then there’s the person who’s unemployment benefits ran out – or hadn’t started – and they need to choose between visiting a food pantry or getting the vaccine. The more I wondered, the more I noticed how simply getting an appointment might not be enough. What was truly needed was a support network able to step into our lives for an hour so we didn’t feel like we had to throw away our shot. Getting the appointment was hard but getting to the appointment could be harder. Caring for each other is often a team sport – and it’s not easy to love one another when you don’t get the support you need, too.
Later on in worship, we’ll participate in a ritual we do every Maundy Thursday. After we bring all our concerns up to God and after we celebrate the Lord’s Supper and wash each other’s feet or hands – the altar – the table Jesus has already prepared for us – will be stripped bare. Every candle, parament, and even the plastic we keep under the altar cloth in case I spill some wine, will be removed. Now, since we’re worshipping online, what you’ll see is a video of me doing that in the sanctuary. And while I weave in and out of your screen, you’ll listen to a reading from the gospel according to John. And those verses are actually ones we skipped in the reading right before this sermon. We heard Peter deny Jesus by telling him to not wash his feet. And we heard Jesus give us a new commandment to love one another. Yet sandwiched between those two passages is the one where Judas left Jesus’ table and told the local authorities where he was. We often approach this passage from John in a piecemeal manner by focusing on either Peter’s freakout about Jesus touching his feet or by zeroing in on Jesus’ commandment to love one another. But I wonder what these words sound like if we keep the story whole? What does it mean to hear Peter’s denial, to know what Judas was about to do, and yet see Jesus wash their feet anyways? And how do we hold the truth of that denial and betrayal while listening to Jesus command us to love everyone in a brand new way? When we put the whole story together – the parts that strip ourselves bare and those bits that invite us to wonder – Jesus’ commandment feels different. It has heft and weight and might even be a little scary. Because Jesus didn’t tell us to only love those who are easy to love. Rather, he said we needed to wash the feet of those who do not like us and those who cannot stand us. Now, this wasn’t Jesus telling us to put-up with abuse or to accept a kind of love within our personal relationships that harms who we are. But it does invite a kind of self-reflection looking at the ways we love one another. And even though I can’t see you right now – I know that you, even on your bad days, do your best to share the grace of God everyday. It’s a grace that even surprises you – like when you’re way more patient than you usually are or when you take a moment to offer a true listening ear to a friend. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for you to list all the ways you haven’t loved fully or deeply or as widely as you wanted. Yet I believe you keep loving others anyways because Christ has already made you his own. I know it doesn’t always feel like that but in your baptism and in your faith – the Spirit of God is with you – which means the love of God is with you too. And that kind of love isn’t a love of sentimentality or merely a feeling that would look good on a card from Hallmark. Rather, it’s a love willing to do hard things – giving even the hopeless, hope. Yet the responsibility to love is not one that falls on individuals alone. Because Jesus didn’t pull Peter aside after his denial and tell him to go wash other people’s feet. Rather, he did this among a group of everyone who he gathered around his table. We are given, as a community, the responsibility to help each other love. And that’s not always an easy thing to do. We might find ourselves having to take on a bit more work than we expected or to even listen to a person we’re in conflict with. We might have to learn how to be vulnerable, willing to share the ugly bits of our own story so that those around us realize they’re not going through their pain alone. We get to do the hard work of helping each other love the people around them. How that looks is going to change depending on the situation and circumstance. Yet if we lean on love – and in every situation work hard to do the most loving thing in that moment – we’re doing more than being good people. We’re being Christ’s people – because that’s who you already are. So let’s commit ourselves to help one other love. And may our most reverent best guess centered in mercy, forgiveness, and hope be the sign of how our God chooses to go all-in for us all.
[Jesus said:] “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”
John 3:14-21
My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 14, 2021) on John 3:14-21.
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So for today’s sermon, I want to begin with a question that I’ve been sitting with for awhile: how do we hold the fullness of the past while still living into the future?
You might know that I didn’t grow up in Northern New Jersey. And if I wanted to visit my childhood home, I’d need to drive about 1,792 miles west. My hometown of Littleton, Colorado, was once the southern boundary of the Denver Metropolitan area. But over time, suburban sprawl pushed the boundary outwards. And new cities with hundreds of thousands of people now exist in places where I once watched antelope graze. Now, my high school was Arapahoe High School and it was larger than Pascack Valley and Pascack Hills combined. The school was known for its academics and it has a pretty good soccer team. It probably wouldn’t surprise you to know that I was one of the more nerdy kids while there. And while high school was definitely not perfect, they at least didn’t want our 4 years there to be the peak of our lives. A few years before I attended Arapahoe, there was a bit of a controversy. For decades, their mascot was the Warrior – which could have been very generic. But since the high school was named after one of the Native American tribes that once called the area home, the decision was made to make the mascot a caricature of what white Americans imagined indian warriors to be. The mascot was typically depicted as a face turned to its side. He had piercing anger filled eyes, a high forehead, strong nose, and a mohawk on top. He also wore feathers and other accessories that were actually part of Eastern Native American cultures rather than anything out West. No effort was made to have the mascot fit the Arapaho nation. And for decades, that mascot told a story that remembered why it was called Arapahoe but one that wasn’t interested in looking past its founding. And that’s because the Arapaho nation had been forcibly removed from the area in the late 1870s after the United States broke treaty after treaty it signed with the tribe. Some of its members were eventually moved 500 miles north, to the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. But sometime in the late 1980s, members of the student body, some alumni, and administrators decided to dig deeper into its story. They dug deeper into a vision of history bigger than just the students who ever called Arapahoe High School home. That journey eventually led to the Northern Arapaho Tribe and Arapahoe High School forming a relationship. The relationship included a kind of truth telling, where the school reflected on how the mascot wasn’t telling the full story of its past. It had appropriated a version of an identity while ignoring everything that made that identity what it was. The Tribe told the school they could continue using the Warrior as its mascot but the tribe would teach them what a warrior was all about. A new logo was designed by a member of the tribe, Wilbur Antelope, and was a portrait of their tribal elder, Anthony Sitting Eagle. The two communities promised to visit each other every-other-year, sharing their stories, traditional dances, celebrating accomplishments, and mourning together when crisis struck. Each year, the tribe provided a scholarship for the valedictorian of the high school even though Arapahoe High School is in a very affluent area and the Northern Arapaho Tribe suffers with generational poverty. In the words of Lone Bear, “To [the Northern Arapaho Tribe], being a warrior means going to battle for what’s right, taking care of your family, and passing on knowledge.” And what’s passed on is a full story that does not sugar coat, romanticize, or ignore how the past forms our present and our future. Rather, it faces who we are so that we can become something more.
Today’s reading from John is part of a conversation Jesus had with a man named Nicodemus. The conversation took place at night and I like to imagine it beginning with Jesus sitting alone in a room. The glow from a small oil lamp illuminated his face and he was trying to wind down after a busy day of preaching and teaching. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and instead of blowing out the lamp and pretending he wasn’t there, Jesus opened the door and Nicodemus walked in. The conversation began with Nicodemus making one of those statements that was really a bit of a question. He said he recognized Jesus’ connection to God because “no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Now that affirmed a little of Jesus’ own identity but it might also have been an attempt by Nicodemus to get Jesus to do what we all love to do: and that’s talk about ourselves. By affirming his connection to God, Nicodemus might have wanted some more backstory of how that was possible. Jesus could have then shared his story like we share ours: making himself look a little more faithful; a little smarter; and definitely a lot cooler than he actually was. But he could probably have done something we can’t do: step outside the bounds of history and see how different actions by different people over different time periods formed the complex reality we’re just trying to live in. We’re not always good at holding together the parts of our story we are active participants in and the other bits we are given: like our culture, our background, our opportunities, and those things we assume are just how things are. Nicodemus might have expected Jesus to do the same – to tell a cherry picked version of what it means to be the Son of God. But if Jesus had done that, he wouldn’t have been able to tell his full story – one that was going to include the Cross. So instead of talking about himself, Jesus instead turned the conversation around. He poke and prodded at Nicodemus until Nicodemus suddenly found himself in a fuller version of God’s story; one that wasn’t over quite yet. Because Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only centered on where he was from but, rather, on where he was going. What mastered wasn’t that Jesus was part of the Trinity or that he was there when creation came into being. What made Jesus’ story Jesus’ story was that God entered our lives and our world because God’s love couldn’t do anything less. God wouldn’t let the partial stories of our past, our present, and what we imagine our future to be – to limit what God knows we can be. The story of God’s love can hold the truths of our past and the reality of our present while propelling us into a future that is full of hope.
As followers of Jesus, we sometimes struggle with the fullness of our story. When we examine bits and pieces of our history – the parts that are personal and the parts that include the people who came before us – we’re not always ready to celebrate its true beauty or admit how harsh it actually was. We tend to add a buffer to the story so that we can be isolated ourselves from history. Yet we seem to know how interconnected our stories actually are because we take personally any judgment leveled against the past. It’s okay to be proud or sad or indifferent or excited about the story of who we are and the story we tell about ourselves. But that story of our past was never meant to justify the future God already has in mind for us. Because when you were baptized and graced with faith in God – you were given a promise that your yesterday and your today will not be the limit of your tomorrow. Rather, the love of God would be gifted to you and the Son of God – Jesus Christ himself – would be a companion with you through whatever life brings your way. No longer are you limited to the story you tell about yourself. You are wrapped up in the story of God who sent Jesus not to condemn the world but to save it. And that future doesn’t begin tomorrow – it begins today. We get to tell a fuller story of who we are; where we’ve come from; and how we inherited things beyond our control. Yet we don’t need to be limited by what the past says we can be; instead, we can embrace the future as God declares it will be. And that future is full of love; full of welcome; full of inclusion; full of new life; and full of people just like you – those who have sometimes made bad choices; sometimes denied the dignity of others; sometimes failed to see the image of God in their neighbor; and – at our best – have loved complete strangers just like Jesus loves us. We get to be oriented towards God’s future rather than by our limited view of our past. And we get to live that way right now – because your eternal life has already started.
Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
Mark 8:31-38
My sermon from First Sunday in Lent (February 28, 2021) on Mark 8:31-38.
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One of the easiest ways to cause a problem in your relationship is to speak up in a very public setting. For example, let’s say you’re out with friends and everyone was having fun. One of your friends made a light hearted comment and then you, without thinking, turned that comment into a joke at their expense. Or maybe your coworker was telling a story but left out something that’s a little embarrassing. That little detail had no bearing on the outcome of the story but you couldn’t help to speak up and reveal what they didn’t want you to share. Or maybe you and your loved one were having an argument. It was simmering for a while and it wasn’t resolved. You were starting to feel a little bit resentful and while staying up way too late scrolling through social media, you made a post, turning your private conflict into one that’s now very public. Not everything in our relationships is designed for public consumption. And I know, personally, how easy it is to create drama by inadvertently crossing that line. We don’t always mean to call attention to our friends in a way that makes them defensive. But it’s sometimes easier doing that than telling them, “we need to talk.” What we need to do is own up to the truth that these kinds of one-on-one conversations are really hard. They aren’t always easy but they can be the one thing we’re supposed to do. So I wonder if Peter, in our reading today from the gospel according to Mark, was trying to do a hard thing. I know he usually gets a bad wrap when we read this passage because it takes a certain amount of gumption to messiah-splain to the Son of God. Yet if Peter really wanted to call out Jesus in an unintentional or difficult way, I imagine he would have done so in front of all the disciples. Instead Peter waited for an opportunity to pull Jesus aside and say, “hey, we need to talk.” Peter did the hard thing – and Jesus responded by doing everything you’re not supposed to do when tending to a relationship.
Now before we go too deep into Jesus’ actions, it’s important to set the stage of what’s happening in our reading. Jesus and his followers were approaching the city of Caesarea Philippi. Caesarea was founded by Herod the Great’s son – Herod Philip – and his kingdom included parts of Galilee, Syria, and Jordan. Caesarea Philippi became the administrative center of his little empire which is why he named it after himself. But Herod Philip also decided to use the name of the city to flatter the person who gave him his power. Caesarea was named after Caesar – aka the Roman Emperor. Herod Philip ruled the area because the Roman Empire, which controlled the region, let him rule. Without their authority and power, Herod was nothing. So he filled the city with Roman imagery, Roman statues, and they even built a temple honoring the Roman Emperors outside the city. As Jesus and his disciples neared this very Roman looking city, Peter confessed that Jesus was the Messiah. Peter’s confession was more than just a theological or spiritual statement. It was also a political one – because if Jesus is Lord – that means the Emperor – and those who supported him – were not. By saying Jesus was the Messiah, Peter was proclaiming that the structure of power in our world was about to change. Jesus’ ministry wasn’t only only about taking care of people’s souls; he was also going to take care of their bodies, their ideologies, and the ways they live with one another. Jesus’ good news for the poor was literally that – good news for the marginalized; the pushed aside; and those without power. But any good news for them was also anything but for those who enjoyed power in the here and now. Peter couldn’t wait to see God’s compassion for the marginalized realized in his lifetime. But when Jesus started talking about suffering, pain, and this…thing used by the Roman Empire to maintain their power and control – Peter felt compelled to say to Jesus: “hey, we need to talk.” Peter wasn’t being malicious but he couldn’t imagine God’s love bringing about a kind of conflict where the Empire, rather than Jesus, would win.
Now, I don’t know what Peter expected when he pulled Jesus aside – but he probably didn’t plan for his private conversation to become very public. Not only did Jesus bring their conversation back to the disciples – he then included the entire crowd. In fact, we’re still reading about Jesus calling Peter “Satan” 2000 years later – which is usually not really a great way to keep a relationship with each other. Peter, after witnessing Jesus’ fame grow and after experiencing Jesus’ power, assumed Jesus would install himself into a position of authority that held power over others. Jesus would become a kind of benevolent emperor – a kinder version of the type of ruler they had all grown up with. But Jesus, as the Son of God, didn’t need to be installed in to power. He already had it. The difference, however, was that he wasn’t interested in what we imagine power to be all about. What he wanted – what he practiced – and what he taught – was a power with others and one that would heal the world. It’s why he ate meals with sinners and hung out with the poor rather than the rich. It’s why he healed people on the sabbath – not letting people suffer even one day more. And it’s why he wouldn’t allow the maintaining of the status quo interfere with the giving – and sharing – of life. In the words of Ira Digger, “Mark is saying that the Son of God will not dial down his ministry to spare his own life, or even to ease his suffering. His commitment to the healing of humanity literally knows no limits.” The power Jesus lived out was a power meant to help others – regardless of their social status, their identities, their genders, their ages, or their wealth – to thrive. His mission in the world was, by default, going to disrupt the world. And so that’s why the world’s response to that kind of disruption – is always the Cross.
Now it’s a bit strange to talk about Jesus’ ministry of healing in the midst of an ongoing pandemic. I know too many people who’ve been infected by COVID-19 in just the last few weeks. If there’s anything I want right now, it’s Jesus’ healing of the world. But I’m also mindful of how I want that healing to just be a return to how things were. We all want this disruption to end but that doesn’t mean we’re always open to the kind of disruption Jesus’ healing actually brings. We want a return to normal but Jesus was never in the business of letting things remain the same. God always comes to us in love and that’s why we try to resist it. We want Jesus to move in our world but only on our terms. We are fine with God’s love as long as we don’t have to give up our ideas of freedom, of power, of position, or our points of view. We’re okay with Jesus as long as Jesus doesn’t ask us and our communities to change too much. And we assume that good news can only be good if it caters to us. Yet God won’t let us get in the way of a love and a hope and a way of being in the world that lets God be God and lets let’s life, not the Cross, be what we share with all. There is a cost to being a disciple of Jesus – and that means we are called to give up ways we resist what God is doing in our world. We need to give up limiting who deserves love and who doesn’t; we need to give up limiting our attention to only people who are like us; we need to give up the ways our social status and power requires others to make adjustments for us; and we need to lean into relationships with all people instead of only a chosen few. We need – in a way – to be like Peter and Jesus. We need to refuse to give up on one another. Because even when Peter thought Jesus got it wrong and when Jesus called out Peter for all time – they doubled down their commitment to each other. Even when we get our relationship wrong; even when we say something we shouldn’t; and even when something private becomes way too public; we can commit ourselves to being Jesus’ good news in our world. And this is something we can do because in your baptism, in your faith, and in this very moment – Jesus has already made the promise to never give up on you.
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 17, 2021) on Matthew 6:1-6,16-21.
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So I’d like to start tonight’s sermon with a little experiment. Take a look at everyone who surrounds you. If you’re by yourself, think about a few neighbors or family members or friends. Take a moment to really focus on everything that makes them who they are. Examine their clothes, the features of their face, the way they laugh, and the opinions they hold. Make sure your entire focus is directed at them. And then – once you feel as if you are totally absorbing who they are – make a detailed list of everyone of their sins.
Now, if your eyes just grew wide, know that mine did too. And the truth is that I don’t actually want you to make such a list – especially since I want the rest of your night with your spouse, your children, and your friends to be peaceful. But I do wonder what your reaction was to that request. Did your eyes, like mine, get big? Were you surprised to be asked to make such a list on the first day of Lent? Or did you notice that you already had such a list in mind? You might have found yourself, in a split second, feeling full of judgement. You started criticizing their choice in jeans, the ways they eat, and how you’re always the one who makes plans to connect with family and friends. Your list could have included things you’ve brought up before or maybe only things you’ve kept to yourself. And it might have been surprising to see how many minor annoyances we automatically label as sins. Not everything that bugs us is necessarily a sin but we all struggle to live as if God’s kingdom has come near. Every day, we have to do the hard work of living with the fact that not everyone in the world thinks or acts like us. But we are pretty good at identifying other people’s problems. That doesn’t mean we’re actually right in the conclusions we draw, but we’re really efficient when it comes to seeing what we imagine to be other people’s sins. I wonder if we do that because human beings can be very outward focus. Our eyes look outside of us and our ears are tuned to listen to what’s around us. Even the voice we speak sounds much different from the voice we hear in our heads. In some ways, we are designed to be outward facing at all times. And it can take work to shift our focus towards ourselves.
So what if I asked you to make a different kind of list. Instead of asking you to name the sins other people have – what would it be like to make a detailed list of your own? What would it take to name all the ways you act as if you are the center of the world and how hard it is to believe that we’re not? Our initial list might feel pretty general but I bet we could make it be as detailed as the list we made about others. This list wouldn’t be a tool we use to harm our sense of self – to enhance the lies the world – or our selves – tell us. Rather, it would simply be an attempt to list the truths we refuse to hide. And it would be a list that God already knows. A shift from looking outwards and cultivating what’s inside of us – is one of the things, I think, Jesus is getting at in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew.
Now this passage is one we read every Ash Wednesday and it comes from the middle of Jesus’ great sermon on the mount. Matthew placed that sermon at the start of Jesus’ ministry – an attempt, I think, to try and describe what fueled the inner life of Christ. For Matthew, the presence of God was fleshed out not only in the reality of Jesus but also in his preaching and teaching. He wanted to give us a sense of what fueled Jesus and helped him change the lives of so many people who were outside of him. And that interplay between who we are, whose we are, and how that impacts the world around us – was something Jesus touched on often. He knew that faith and God’s love took seriously who we really are. That includes not only what we do but also what we think, what we believe, and what we feel. He was mindful of every relationship that we have and how outward focus we can be. Yet everything we live through and everything we do is experienced, expressed, and generated by our body and our mind. When we focus on what outsides of us, that focus still comes from somewhere. And Jesus wanted us to be mindful of who we are so that we can become the people God knows we can be.
So when we listen to Jesus’ words about hypocrites, we shouldn’t just blankly dismiss the people he talked about. They – like us – were people practicing their faith. They prayed. They fasted. They made financial gifts to their faith communities and those who are in need. They took time to nurture their relationship with God – and yet Jesus was aware of how easy the life of faith can become so outwardly focused, it forgets where that focus comes from. And if the fuel for our faith relies primarily on the attention others give us, then our faith actually becomes unsustainable. Because there will be times when the attention we receive will be harmful or non-existent. And there will be moments when grief, sadness, pain, and suffering make it too hard to believe. We might even find ourselves too busy for God or having so much joy in our life that we end up acting as if we do need any more God. What sustains our faith cannot depend on what others – or ourselves – give to us. Rather, we need God and the promise that Jesus will never let us go.
So what is a practice of faith that keeps Jesus close to us and helps us hold onto the fuel for the life we actually live? Well, one answer to that question comes from the verses we didn’t hear today. In the gap between verses 6 and 16 – Matthew included this:
“Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
Those verses probably sound familiar and that’s because they’re Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. And that prayer is more than just something we recite because Jesus told us too. Rather, he knew that these words serve as a kind of corrective when we default to an outward focused identity. When we pray the Lord’s prayer – we are reminding ourselves that there is a God – and that we’re not it. We hold tight to the truth that God’s kingdom will come; that our food, clothing, shelter, and wealth are gifts; and that God is leading us even when we are too busy to notice Jesus in our life. This prayer reminds us that God’s forgiveness is what helps us forgive others. And that the gift of faith is sustained not by what we do, or what we read, or what we are taught. But that faith itself is a gift from God – and the fuel for the life we are called to live. When we tend to ourselves, we are taking care of what God uses to love the world. The Lord’s prayer is just one of the gifts God gave us to cultivate a faithful inner life. God also gave us the gift of therapy, the gift medication, and the gift that each one of us can learn to truly listen to the people around us. And that might be one way we can lean into this season of Lent. We can take these 40 days and 6 Sundays as an opportunity to tend to what fuels us. Because the list of sins – the one we make for other people and the one we make ourselves – is not the sum of what the life of faith is all about. Rather, in your baptism and in your faith – you are given the gifts of hope, peace, love, and Jesus himself – to fuel who you truly are. Jesus expects those who follow him to practice their faith – which is why he said “when” rather than “if” all over this passage. So that’s something we can do – in church, in our homes, with our families, and even on our own. We can tend to ourselves so that the true treasures of heaven can be expressed in our lives, in our loves, and in the hope God gifts to the world.
After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one that knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
Revelation 7:9-17
My sermon from All Saints’ Day (November 1, 2020) on Revelation 7:9-17.
A few weeks ago, during my weekly bible study with other Lutheran pastors in our area, the conversation somehow turned to graphic novels. Now, if you’ve heard me preach before, you know talking about the bible and comic books is pretty on brand for me. But sometimes I even surprise myself at how nerdy I can be. The graphic novel we were discussing was about the life of Martin Luther. We dug deep into its plot, the art, and who might enjoy receiving the book as a gift. All of that is pretty basic stuff but then I took the conversation one step further by pointing out how text and the art interacted on the page. One of the neat things about comic books is that you get to physically see the choices the writer and artist made to tell their story. And sometimes the written words are more important than anything else. Every character in every panel is required to say, out loud, exactly what they’re doing and thinking. And in those comics, you don’t even need pictures to fully understand what’s going on. But other comics let the art tell the story. Instead of using a mountain of words to control how we experience it, they let our imagination do the work. The art invites us to step into the story and discover what it’s all about. When the book of Revelation appeared 1900 years ago, graphic novels didn’t exist. But we can use our experience of reading comics as a way to dig deeper into the book itself. If we chose to read Revelation as if it’s a comic book using a mountain of words to control our experience of it, then maybe it really is some strange roadmap describing the end of the world. But if we let the words in Revelation create an art focused graphic novel in our heads – then we might connect with the book in a different way. Revelation isn’t, I believe, a chronological step-by-step guide to the end of the world. Rather, it’s a series of intersecting images, spiraling into one another, so that we see hope during a difficult time.
Today’s reading from Revelation takes place during a very specific cycle in the book. The Lamb, aka Jesus, has begun to break open a series of seven seals on a very large scroll. When the first seal was broken, a horseman appeared wielding a bow and riding a white horse. We’re told they were given a crown and commanded to conquer. The second, third, and forth seals brought even more horsemen of the apocalypse. The author only used a few words to describe who they were – such as identifying their weapons, the color of their horses, and what their missions are in the world. Each one was invited to disrupt the world through war, violence, uncertainty, disease, and economic suffering. The very thin outline we’re given is enough for our minds to fill in the rest. And the picture we form of them would fit in any elaborate Halloween display or next to the fiery eyed horse statue that welcomes you to Denver International Airport. As we create this page of our graphic novel in our heads, we might find ourselves filled with different kinds of emotions. We might feel anxious, worried, and maybe concerned because we know there’s three more seals to go. The book of Revelation moves quickly and when the fifth seal was broken, we got to see everyone who was martyred for their faith. If that wasn’t emotionally charged enough, the six seal really lets our imagination run wild. We’re told that a great earthquake shook the entire world and the sun turned black. The moon became like blood and the stars fell from the sky. So with that terrifying page of the graphic novel we’re creating in our heads finally done – we’re asked to do an anxiety inducing thing. We’re told to turn the page and see what the breaking of the seventh seal might bring.
But before that happens – the story is interrupted by our reading today. The violence violence, destruction, and dread from the previous page has been replaced by a heavenly choir that’s so large, it can’t be counted. Every nation, tribe, race, and gender is gathered in that space. And unlike the four horsemen that were released earlier, the choir wears merely their baptismal gowns and a palm branch as their swords. The terrifying images we just heard are met by a mass of humanity that’s busy singing in a place where hunger, thirst, worry, and tears are no more. This isn’t the page we expect to see. We were ready for more death and destruction because we’re full of uncertainty since we don’t know what the breaking of the seventh seal would bring. But what we get, instead, is an image of what it’s like to be with God. The page of doom and gloom is side-by-side with the page of love and peace. We might want to act as if we can stay on one page rather than on the other. Yet we can’t because the seventh seal will be broken. The uncertainty rooted in that doom and gloom is met by this truth of who we are. In Christ, through faith, and in our baptism – we are always beloved children of God. And in the face of whatever might come – God’s promise doesn’t change.
If we were, right now, to name every uncertainty in our life – this sermon would probably be pretty long. There’s a lot of things about the future we don’t know – and much of that is rooted in a worsening pandemic that we’re all living through. There’s also the upcoming election and the concerns about what might happen in the days and weeks to come. And there’s all those other concerns – like, can our school stay open? Can we visit family during the holidays? Will our job ever come back or will we be employed come December? That’s a lot to hold on top of all the other struggles we deal with that most people know nothing about. I think each one of us would love some positive interruptions to our story that would make all the uncertainties feel way more sure. There are days when the doom and gloom of those six opened seals feels a tad more real than the image of a choir singing around the throne. And that might be why – when things seem the most uncertain – God chose to interrupt the story so that you could remember who you are. You are, right now, loved. And you are already with God. No matter what comes – and no matter what will come – your spot in the heavenly choir is already rooted in the one who lived, died, and rose for you.
Now if that promise from God is a little difficult to hear today, I then invite you to remember those in your life who were embraced by that promise and make sure to light a candle for them today. The promise of love; the promise of justice; the promise of mercy and the gift of the Holy Spirit inspired every special person who made a difference in your lives. Their inclusion in God’s eternal choir is what helped them, in their own broken and holy ways, to let that page of love and peace speak a word of grace into that page of gloom. Even if our time with them was too short and even if there were uncertainties that were left unsettled, they will always be our saints because Jesus never left them. They, with God’s help, offered us a different kind of story that took seriously everything life brings and showed us what God’s love is all about. The saints of our lives have a place in God’s choir. And when you build the graphic novel of the book of Revelation in your mind – make sure you picture them in that choir. Pay attention to the song they’re singing because God kept singing through every one of their uncertainties. And once you’ve added them to that paeg in your graphic novel – make sure to take one long good look at that scene. Because – whether you realize it or not – you’re singing with them too.
Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
John 8:31-36
My sermon from Reformation Sunday (October 25, 2020) on John 8:31-36.
It was Holy Week, 1521, when a summons arrived in Wittenberg ordering Martin Luther to appear in the German city of Worms. The Holy Roman Emperor, Charles the Fifth, had gathered together all the dukes, princes, and other political leaders of what would become modern Germany – to figure what to do with Luther. For over 4 years, Luther had created quite a stir by challenging the structure, practices, and beliefs of the church and wider society. He had, on a whim, attempted to organize an academic debate with his fellow university professors by posting 95 statements about faith and God on a church door. He had no idea if anyone would actually read what he wrote – but he believed it was important, so he tagged his archbishop by mailing him a copy. Luther, at the time, was a Roman Catholic monk and he wasn’t interested in starting a movement or creating a new flavor of Christianity. But the archbishop recognized that even these early half-formed thoughts might lead to trouble. It didn’t take long before the Pope excommunicated Luther from the Catholic church while, at the same time, Luther’s ideas spread everywhere and became Europe’s first best selling author. Luther wrote as if he was literally running out of time – because he always assumed he was. His writings, teachings, and sermons challenged what others taught about what following Jesus was all about. For him, the story of God was about love coming down. Every good work you did, every worship service you attended, every prayer you uttered, and every bible passage you memorized wouldn’t make God love you any more than God already did. The Christian life wasn’t about trying to be good enough to gain God’s love but it was, instead, about living as if God actually loved you. The gift of faith, the spirit of hope, and the life-giving power of forgiveness was not something you earned but were given. And God, in Jesus, had already done the work to give your life meaning, value, and purpose. That radical idea is still a radical today, regardless of whatever flavor of Christianity you claim as your own. Luther knew how knowing you belong matters in a world that’s always asking you to prove that you do. So when the summons arrived ordering him to see the Emperor, he went. But he didn’t know if he would ever see home again.
When Luther appeared in Worms, he stood before the Emperor twice. On the first day, in the words of Lyndal Romper, “the press of people was so great [in the meeting room] that [Luther] had to be taken through a garden and then…a side entrance [to get inside.] Luther walked past the ranks of German princes, some of whom shouted encouragement. The very splendor of the event must have been intimidating for the monk in his simple black cassock. The princes and nobles crowded into the room were all dressed in their finery, sumptuous cloaks, golden chains, jewelry, and dazzling headwear; and then there was the emperor himself in his magnificent robes…In front of Luther, on a bench, was a pile of …his books, bound specifically for the occasion.” Luther was instructed to simply answer whatever was asked. The meeting started and the very first questions was: were those his books – and would he recant, retract, everything that he wrote. The Emperor decided that Luther wouldn’t be allowed to give a speech or debate any of his ideas. He would simply answer with a yes or a no. Luther, in response, asked to delay the proceedings for one extra day and he spent the night drafting his response. The next day, the hall was so overcrowded that some of the princes had to stand and the room was dark, lit only by torches. Luther gave a three part response, defending his writings. He believed that some of writings preached “God’s word simply and clearly,” and in others “he had [merely] attacked false teachings.” A few of his writings were so valued, Luther said, that even his enemies were “compelled to admit…[that they] worthy to be read…” He was a tiny bit remorseful that he was rude in some of his writings to his contractors. But overall, Luther refused to recant unless those gathered there could show he was wrong. And in a line that’s basically canon for our Lutheran movement, he ended his address to the Emperor with these words: “Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason…I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not retract anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” And in words that only appear in documents published after by Luther’s supporters, he concluded with: “I cannot do otherwise, here I stand, may God help me. Amen.”
In reconstructions of this scene shown in movies, books, and graphic novels – that “here I stand” imagines Luther as a kind of pillar standing before the onslaught of an approaching storm. If you’ve ever seen videos of large waves pounding a formidable lighthouse, then you know the kinds of emotions that are being tapped into for this moment. He’s like an underdog but with a kind of strength, willpower, and the knowledge of being “right,” that we love to celebrate. It’s the same sort of thinking that makes sure every comic book has one scene where the hero is almost defeated but then, in the words of Wolverine, says something like “you’ve taken your best shot; now it’s my turn.” It’s also why, as a country, our national anthem is centered on a flag flying over a bombed out fort. We act as if the strength of an idea, person, or a community is measured not in overt power, but also through what it faces and endures. Being that unmovable pillar is something we aspire to be – especially when we’re living with uncertainty, chaos, and certain challenges that upend who we thought ourselves to be.
But I wonder if there’s another perspective that also describes this part of Luther’s story. Because we know that none of us will ever truly be that pillar of faith, truth, and strength in every moment of our lives. We will doubt; ask questions; and have to live through situations where every choice is bad. And if that’s not enough, there are also moments when we’ve done nothing wrong – but a health scare, a layoff, a broken relationship, or another tragedy will remind us how fragile we are. There will always be stories where we, and others, live out the goodness that shows what God’s love is all about. But we will also stumble, flail, and find ourselves failing to be the hero in every part of our lives. We can’t always be an immovable pillar and even Luther failed to live up to that ideal. Later in life, he became quite antisemitic and he wrote things used to justify violence against the powerless and poor. If, as followers of Jesus, our worth was defined by every moment of our life, I’m not sure if all our “here I stand” moments would ever outweigh everything else. We all need to learn how to live through these “waves” that overpower us – including the ones we cause.
And that’s why today, Luther’s “here I stand” doesn’t feel like a pillar facing a wave of power. Instead, it sounds like an acknowledgement that, in Christ, Luther learned how to tread water. Because, as we heard in the story read for the children’s message, Luther knew what it was like for his life to change. He grew up during the beginning stages of capitalism and his dad was a successful manager of mines. Luther went to college to become a lawyer, to help with the family business. But after a storm almost took his life, he changed – and fulfilled a vow to become a monk. While in the monastery, he struggled – assuming he wasn’t good enough for love. So he went to college, earned a theology degree, and became a university professor at a brand new school. It was there, while reading and teaching scripture, he recognized the truth we all share. In Christ, and through baptism, faith, and everyday life – God’s grace comes to you again and again because you belong to God and you are loved. After that, his life changed again and the truths he previously knew grew into something new. Through the act of teaching, preaching, and writing – his experience of Jesus kept changing him. And he knew that even when the waves of life overcome us, the love of God for you doesn’t change. As Lutheran Christians, we don’t accept everything Luther said or did was an accurate reflection of the gospel of Jesus Christ. There are parts of his story that we celebrate and other parts we rightly condemn. Yet when he stood before the emperor, what he knew in that moment was what the grace of God was all about. God’s grace doesn’t stop our life from being human. We get to experience joy, happiness, and amazing moments of love. But we also get to cry, feel sad, and find ourselves living through a kind of mental and emotional fog that doesn’t feel like it will end. Living as a Christian is hard but when we live with Christ, that’s where our true life is found. You have your place with God. You already belong. And even when everything about you changes, God’s love for you never will.
Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.
Matthew 22:15-22
My sermon from the 20th Sunday after Pentecost (October 18, 2020) on Matthew 22:15-22.
So on Friday, as I tried to get my kids out the door and on their way to school, I made the mistake of checking the app their teachers use to communicate with parents. Now I knew I did not have time to do anything special because the rush out the door is always hard enough. But – I looked at my notifications anyway and there, in big letters, was a simple request for money. The school was hosting a fundraiser to support a charity our church knows very well – Josephine’s Garden – which helps children and families who are dealing with cancer. Each child was asked to bring in $2 dollars and I knew this was something my family could and should support. Yet this was a problem because I didn’t have any dollar bills to give because physically carrying cash is something I don’t do very often. One of the changes that’s been sped up in our community by the pandemic has been a decline in the use of physical cash to pay for things. Here at church, half of your financial gifts are received electronically and the rest is given via paper checks. Very few physical bills are left in our offering plate each week. And that reflects my own lifestyle as well. If I had to open my wallet and describe the thing I use to buy goods and services, I would show you a piece of plastic with the words “use of this card is subject to cardmember agreement” written on it. Some of you, if asked to do the same, might even show off a specific app on your phone. Money is important in our society and we make a ton of decisions based solely on how much money we will receive. But money as a tangible object – as something we look at, hold, and feel, is becoming less and less of a thing in our lives. But on Friday, physical money was what I needed. And I had 3 minutes to get 4 $1 dollar bills to my kids before they headed out the door.
Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is about money. Money and wealth was the number two thing Jesus talked about – second only to the kingdom of God. Jesus and his first followers, although rarely described as having money, relied on it – and Matthew tells us they were supported financially by women. Jesus knew that our view of money and how we use it lets others know who we really are. And so Jesus had to talk about money because we let money define not only our humanity but also who we know God to be. This story from Matthew is a continuation of a conversation we’ve been listening to for weeks. It began with Jesus going to the Temple – a physical place where God promised to be. Jesus, as he entered that holy site, got angry and he physically threw tables, while chasing out merchants who were selling the animals necessary for religious rituals and also the moneychangers who exchanged one kind of currency for another. Over the next several days, Jesus returned to the Temple to preach and teach. A small crowd gathered around him and his actions drew the attention of the spiritual and political leaders in Jerusalem. Those leaders came to Jesus and they asked him a question: they wondered by what authority he was doing all the things he did. Jesus, as we heard a few weeks ago, almost immediately responded by asking a question. The leaders heard the question – and they hesitated to answer. That delay sort of became a defining characteristic of the back and forth between Jesus and those leaders. Their hesitation and their unwillingness to answer that question shaped Jesus’ ongoing response to them. He shared with them parables – short stories designed to get them to think and to respond. He told them about two sons who were told to go work in a farmer’s field; and about tenants who tried to steal the land they were working on. Jesus even described a wedding banquet where a king invited random people to celebrate the party with him. During each story, Jesus poked and prodded the political and religious leaders by asking them questions. He wanted to hear what was on the tip of their tongues because he knew that our first answer sometimes reveals the truth about who we actually are. And after every question, the leaders immediately responded – showing that the lives we live don’t always match what we think our lives are actually about.
So when the leaders, once again, tried to get Jesus to say something that would endanger his life or discredit his teachings, Jesus didn’t change how he operated. He asked for a coin and those who he was talking to immediately produced it. The Roman Empire who occupied what was once the kingdom of Israel required everyone to pay taxes. And those taxes needed to be paid in Roman money which was actual physical coin. On each coin was the image of the emperor who made it and it was full of symbols illustrating their power and might. The coin given to Jesus while he was in the Temple might have described the emperor as divine, as a son of the gods, and bore the image of the Emperor, someday, ruling the world. People needed that coin to pay the tax and so when Jesus asked for it, they already had it. The leaders who asked Jesus that question weren’t interested in an answer that might change how they lived their lives. Instead, they were looking for an answer that might have cost Jesus his. So Jesus turned their question around – and he invited them to take a hard look at the lives they were already living.
Jesus’ parables are sometimes weird, absurd, and might be a bit difficult to understand. But they are often a mirror – asking us to take a real good look at who we truly are. And, for me, that’s what today’s parable is all about. Money is always more than just money because how we view, handle, and spend it reflects our values, experiences, and who we know God to be. The coin Jesus physically touched represented everything the Roman Empire stood for. It embodied a sense of entitlement that imagined that the entire world belonged to them. Power, wealth, and even mercy was a tool to be used against others for the attainment of that goal. The life imagined by that coin was a life that didn’t have much room for the kingdom of God. So instead of only looking at the coin he was given, Jesus held up a mirror so that we could take a look at ourselves. Because we too, like that coin, bear an image and the image we carry is the image of God. We were, through God’s handiwork, made to reflect everything that God represents. And as the baptized and faithful members of the body of Christ, we get to bring Jesus into every interaction that we have. You are not only beautifully and wonderfully made just as you are – you are also called to be imitators of the Lord because Jesus has already claimed you as his own. You are priceless in the eyes of God because Christ died for you. And since you are worth everything to God, we get to live our lives in a way that makes God’s love tangible and real.
Now, in the future, I hope Victoria will let me know how this passage sounds when the physical form of money becomes a relic of the past. But even when the tooth fairy starts sending money for loose teeth via Venmo and our teachers make fundraising requests via Apple Pay, the question about how we live our life still remains. Do we choose to live through the lens of dollars and cents or do we trust that we are actually loved and that our world truly belongs to God? Today, through the gift of baptism, Victoria has been gifted a new life that will let her live out her answer to that question because she will not face the trials of this world alone. Instead she, like all of us, has been given a Savior who will show her what God’s kingdom is all about. And when Jesus holds a mirror in front of her, letting her everything that makes her – her – I pray that she’ll also see the eternal promise that was given to her today – because Jesus is already part of her – and through His love, she will always be with God.