Vineyards Everywhere

A vineyard is an odd thing to run into. Rarely when driving around New Jersey, walking to class, or heading into the employee break room do we run into a vineyard. But this is the second week in a row that the setting for Jesus’ parable is a vineyard (Matthew 21:33-46). I imagine the vineyard Jesus mentions to be a large field full of grapes wrapping around long sturdy vines full of rich, plump, and juicy grapes. Just thinking about this vineyard makes me want to eat one.

But grapes are not a plant that owners plant and forget about. It doesn’t just grow the right way or make fat juicy grapes on its own. The plants need to be tended and taught to grow along the supports. Bad vines need to be pruned to allow the good vines to thrive. Pests, bugs, and weeds need to be removed. No matter how sturdy or strong or healthy the vines are when they are planted, if the plants are not tended and cared for, their vibrancy, vitality, and life, are wasted.

Our reading from Isaiah (Isaiah 5:1-7) has the prophet channeling God’s voice and pointing out that God has done the heavy lifting for us. God has laid out the good soil, gifting us with the earth itself. With God’s gift of creation comes God’s willingness to be present in our lives, not afraid to walk with us during difficult times. It is with the gift of faith that we see the wideness of God’s generosity.

But like the vines of grapes, tending our faith is part of the gift of faith itself. We’re invited by God to engage in intentional, visible, and tangible ways with what it means to be the body of Christ in the world. How the tending will look will be different for each of us. But as we kick off this year with our Harvest Festival, I invite you to explore if God is calling you to experience a different aspect of life here at Christ Lutheran. Visit the committee tables, write down your name, and find a way to tend and feed your faith in a new way.

Each week, I write a reflection on one of our scripture readings for the week. This is from Christ Lutheran Church’s Worship Bulletin for 10/05/2014.

Bulletin Me

So, as I reported earlier, as I near a congregational vote, I sent out a one page summary to all the members of the congregation. The original idea was to print that resume in the bulletin for the two weeks prior to the vote. That seemed a little too basic to me. Instead, I asked to create something new. I wanted to showcase another side of me and my love for writing devotions and other such things. The idea is to continue to expand their experience of me. Here’s what I wrote for the front of the insert. A slightly modified version of my resume appeared on the back. What do you think?

A Note from the Candidate:

Did you ever have a time in your life when going to church just felt weird? When I returned to church after being away for a long time, the whole experience just felt strange. I would slide into service late, find an open pew or chair in the back, and keep my eye on my neighbors, waiting for cues to stand up, sit down, and sing. The flow of the service, from song to word, offering to announcements, bread to prayer, was something that wasn’t a habit for me. I knew I needed to be here but I needed to relearn what it was like to worship, pray, listen, and be where Jesus is present and proclaimed. I needed to be taught, embodying the words of Psalm 25: “Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.” Sunday mornings became a way for me to not only learn how the church worships but also how to embed God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit in my life. Songs on Sunday became the tunes I hummed while commuting to work. The bread we ate together became the foundation for the brunch I shared with friends after service. The prayers we prayed became the prayers for loved ones, friends, family, and strangers that I carried with me throughout the week. Sunday morning showed me ways to breathe, eat, and live in the Lord all day long.

I’m grateful and looking forward to being with you as we see how the Holy Spirit is moving through _______ Lutheran Church. If I am called to be your pastor, I can’t wait to be taught by you, to learn your stories, struggles, and how Jesus has made his presence known in your life. With the Spirit’s help, I’ll teach, preach, lead, and engage with you what it means to be Lutheran Christians in __________ and Northern New Jersey. We’ll have fun being Christ’s community together and seeing what God is calling us to do and to be!

I invite you to bring your questions, thoughts, and comments during the congregational meeting and vote after worship on the September 28. Turn the page over to see a snippet of my own story as we engage with the next stage of ________ Lutheran Church’s story. I thank God for bringing us this far and can’t wait to see to see what the Spirit has in store next.

Yours in Christ,
Pastor Marc

Shake It Off: a sermon.

Guest preaching at Grace Lutheran Church, River Edge, NJ.

Lessons: Isaiah 51:1-6; Psalm 138; Romans 12:1-8; Matthew 16:13-20

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So did Peter pause before he answered Jesus’ question?

There’s nothing in the text that says he does. There’s no language to heighten the drama or a little interlude describing Peter’s actions before he speaks. The story goes straight from Jesus’s question – “who do you say that I am?” – to Peter’s response: “You are the Messiah.” If you look at the text in our bulletins, the only things separating Jesus’s question from Peter’s response are a few spaces and the words “Simon Peter answered,” A name, an action, and a comma – that’s our pause. That’s all the text gives us before we hear the answer. And I want to hold what we’re given for just a bit. Because Jesus’ question isn’t just Peter’s question or a question for those early disciples. Jesus’ question is our question too. Our name is in the response too. So what exactly do we say – what do we do – when Jesus comes to us and says – now just who do you say that I am?

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Now, I’m relatively new to this community here at Grace. My family and I just recently started attending services here while we await my own call process at a church nearby. We discovered Grace by googling for preschools and I’m proud to say that our son will be attending school at Grace in two weeks. We’re excited. And we’ve really enjoyed attending worship here. The welcome we’ve received from y’all has been fantastic. We feel blessed by the Holy Spirit to have been brought here. But one thing you might not know about me is that, in my preaching, I have been told that I have a tendency to bring a bit of my love of popular culture into the sermon. And I’m going to continue that streak today and all because Taylor Swift, the pop star, released a new song on Monday that, I think, plays into Jesus’s words today.

In her new song “Shake It Off,” Taylor starts by saying what people say about her. From gossip about her personal life, her relationships, her intelligence, her skills as an artist and pop star – she throws it all out there and she announces she’s not going to let it get to her; she’s going to “shake it off.” She’s not going to let what others say about her deter her from her own life. It’s really a brilliant pop song – and it’ll be a hit because it does what all good pop songs do and touches on a part of our collective lives that we all experience in one way or another – and that has to do with identity. Her identity, my identity, our identity as being part of God’s people ‚Äì Taylor Swift’s song is about that struggle. About who she is. She knows what people say about her. She acknowledges it, names it, and she wrote a hit song to shake all that negativity off.

And you can’t listen to the song and not feel a little happier after you hear it. It’s just so catchy, upbeat, and fun. It is that song that just makes you feel good because, yeah, someone might be gossiping about us, but we’re gonna shake it off. We’re gonna rise above it. We’re gonna be better than that because words are just words and the words that other people say is not what defines who we are or what we can do. Only we, ourselves, can do that. There’s something extremely empowering about this. We get to dictate our own worth and value. We get to claim our own identity and titles. We get to name who we are and what we’re worth, no matter what opposition, gossip, and negativity heads our way. We get to claim an identity and grab hold of it. Others don’t get to define who we are – we do. That’s why the song is so upbeat, exhilarating, and popular – because having someone else put us down for who we are – that is a struggle I think we all can identify with. Standing up and saying “this is who I am and that the haters can’t get to me” – that’s empowering. That’s life giving. That’s a way of looking at life that we try to teach our children, that we ourselves try to model, that we try to live out. We proclaim this is who we are ‚Äì we are not what other people say we are.

So when Jesus asks his disciples what people are saying about him, who the religious and political authorities say he is, he’s playing around with this same question, with these same thoughts about identity. And he hears that the people know that Jesus is something important. They label him a prophet ‚Äì maybe one of the old ones or maybe something brand new. Jesus is big – something important – something that frightens the religious and political authorities. So when Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is – and Peter answers that Jesus is the Messiah – that Jesus is the big deal that will change the world – Jesus answers Peter in a striking way. In fact, Jesus answers in a strange way. He doesn’t do what we’d expect him to do. He doesn’t take that identity – that title – and claim it as his own. If you look at the text, Jesus doesn’t call himself the Messiah. He doesn’t say “I am the Messiah.” Those words are not recorded as coming from Jesus’ lips. Even the last bit in our reading today, we hear that Jesus tells his disciples to not even tell others that he is the Messiah. Jesus doesn’t do what Taylor Swift does – he doesn’t do what I would do – he doesn’t do what he’s suppose to – he doesn’t grab onto that identity and proclaim it from the rooftops.

Instead, Jesus does something very different. Rather than say “I am the Messiah,” he blesses Peter. He makes a promise to Peter about the church – he promises that not even death will overcome what Jesus is doing with them right now. Jesus is making a promise – making a promise that his presence and grace won’t be overcome. Jesus is with his people – with his disciples – with all of us, right now. That’s what the Messiah is. That’s what the Messiah does. That’s how the Messiah empowers. And that’s what it means to claim our identity as being part of His church.

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This question of identity – it is a question that is bigger than a pop song. The struggle over the claiming and ownership of our identity – the opportunity and privilege to stand up, stand strong, and live the way God calls us to be – that’s a struggle that has real consequences. The bullying of gay, lesbian, and transgendered teenagers in schools, the role of race as shown by what’s happening in Ferguson, Missouri, the wars and battles that are raging across Syria, Israel, Palestine, and Iraq right now – identity matters in all of that. There are struggles that can’t just be shaken off. There are struggles in our lives that take more than just a pop song to change. But I think Jesus is modeling something here that we can model. And it goes back to that pause – to that moment after Jesus asks us that question ‚Äì “who do you say that I am” – when our own name is inserted and Jesus is waiting to hear our answer ‚Äì

Now – we will do what Peter does, we will proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah – that Jesus matters – that Jesus changes the world – but we’re invited to do what Jesus does too. We’re shown how to do more. The naming of Jesus as the Messiah leads to the act of blessing. The acknowledgment of Jesus as Messiah leads to the making of promises. The declaration of Jesus as the Messiah brings hope. Imagine living that declaration out. Imagine living that kind of life to everyone that you meet. Jesus here, I believe, is modeling what the people of God, the body of Christ, the church, can do. When Jesus is acknowledged, blessings to others are made. When Jesus is present, promises are made. When Jesus shows up, hope runs free. The church – all of us – we’re that promise. We’re that blessing. We’re that hope. Jesus invites us to live that out in all that we do – to stand with those who are trying desperately to own their identity and to be the people that God calls them to be – we can walk with them, we can live with them, we can acknowledge them and help them live that life.

Because when Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, the story doesn’t end. We know what comes next and Jesus does too. He knows that this story leads straight to the Cross. That’s where the Messiah was going to go. And that journey – that’s a journey he undertakes for all of us – all of us here and everyone outside these doors. Jesus doesn’t give up on people. He won’t give up on his disciples even when they run away from him when he’s arrested or and he doesn’t avoid those who will eventually deny him. No, Jesus continues to be with them. He continues to be present. He continues to love them.

And that’s our call. That’s our pop song – to be Christ-like – to bring love and healing into the world, not because we have the answers or we’re perfect or because we want everyone to be like us. No, we’re invited to go out and love because that’s what the Messiah does – even when it leads to death on the Cross – because Jesus knew, unlike Peter, unlike the religious authorities, unlike the world around him, and unlike even us today – that only through the Cross can each of us, all of us, those here at Grace and outside these walls, only through the Cross, can we finally shake everything off.

Amen.

I am Batman

I will admit that I die a little inside when O is wearing DC comics gear but, well, he looks good in it.

O at the splashpad

O also met his cousin (my first nephew!) today too.

O and Harry!

It’s been a good start to our long weekend in Florida.

Good Soil Living: a sermon.

I wasn’t too nervous preaching before my first call committee today. This sermon was preached at Good Shepherd in Glen Rock, New Jersey. Good Shepherd was my “neutral” site. A call committee traveled to watch me preach and lead as much of the worship as I could today. Only two lessons were printed in the bulletin today but I quoted the epistle reading anyways.

Lessons: Isaiah 55:10-13; Psalm 65:(1-8), 9-13; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

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So what does it mean to be good soil?

That sounds like the right question to ask today, after hearing these words from Jesus. But the one that I always find myself asking is slightly different and a little more personal. I don’t want to know what it means to be good soil – I want to know if I am good soil. Like, if you were able to add me up, take all my parts – my strengths, faults, joys, and sins – am I good soil? I think that’s the question many of us hear when we meet Jesus’ words today. He’s speaking a parable – a short little story that’s using something familiar to illustrate God’s kingdom. Jesus is on a boat, a little ways from the shore of a lake, and I imagine he’s shouting to make sure this large crowd of people can hear him, and he’s telling them this story where a sower – a farmer – is just throwing seeds, not caring where they land. Later, the disciples ask Jesus what this story was all about – because I think they had that same question we have – they were asking if they were good soil. They were asking if they were getting it right. I mean, they’re the first disciples, they left their jobs, their families, and are wandering with Jesus from town to town, lake shore to lake shore, teaching and preaching about the amazing things that Jesus is doing and saying. It almost goes without saying that if anyone is good soil, those first disciples would be it. But they asked that question – am I good soil ‚Äì because that’s a nagging question that never stops nibbling because how do you measure, when it comes to being faithful, Godly, a Good Christian, what it means to be good enough? When it comes to living, how do we live a good soil life?

I’ve been thinking about soil a lot recently and not just because of this parable. You see, two weeks ago, my family and I left Manhattan and moved out here. We’re renting a house and we have this strange thing called a yard – maybe you’ve heard of them. And everything is so green. This is something I’m not use too. I’m use to concrete slaps, asphalt, or, if I’m lucky, a little flower box that I can lay out on a fire escape. But not anymore. I’ve actually got a yard that I have to mow and weed, trim and water, and pay attention to.

And the yard that I’m tending – it’s completely overgrown. When we first rolled in, the grass in the front was a foot tall, vines wrapped around the drains and trees, and the bushes are huge. This is a yard that has not been taken care of for awhile and it shows. But it’s good soil because when you grab a hold of it and put it in your hand, it’s dark, moist, and smells so earthy. And everything just grows – the weeds alongside the flowers – everything just goes up and up. That’s what good soil looks like – that’s what good soil grows – everything just keeps going up and up and up. And that’s what the good soil Christian life should look like, right? We just keep going up and up and up. Our prayers seem a little more spiritual. We might remember to say grace at every meal. Our kids make it to confirmation class on time and we make sure that forgetting our Sunday morning coffee doesn’t get in the way of saying hello to the new person who walks in.

But maybe Jesus is saying something slightly different to us today. And it goes back to that handful of dirt that I picked up in my new yard. Because if you grab it, touch it, it smells good. It looks good. This is good soil. But this is soil that I had nothing to do with. Two weeks ago was the first time I stood on it. Two weeks ago was the first time I reach down and grabbed it. The house I’m living in is 60 years old – I had nothing to do with making this good soil. I didn’t help this soil choose to be good – Nature and Creation took care of that. All I did was sign a lease, move in, and I now find myself living in and with good soil. I didn’t cause the good soil – but I do need to figure out how to live in it.

And that’s what we’re supposed to do. Jesus isn’t telling us to be good soil – Jesus is calling us to live as if we are already good soil.

Now, that’s a hard thing. I mean, we all made it to church today – so that should count for something – but we also know who we are. If we took a second to think back over this last week, we’d probably find at least one moment where we didn’t love our neighbor. Maybe more. We all have those moments. And, if we’re honest, that’s not what it means to be good soil. We wouldn’t get mad at a coworker, or our son, our spouse, or that person who didn’t signal before the changed lanes in front of us. We wouldn’t let our own busy lives distract us from that friend in need who reached out to us but we just had to say no because we had one last errand to run. And we wouldn’t forget to say our prayers last night. If we were good soil, we wouldn’t forget all those things. We’d be perfect. But we’re not. And, the thing is, Jesus knows that. Jesus gets it. He knows we’re not perfect – he knows those disciples he’s talking to aren’t perfect either. This is the same group that will deny Jesus three times, will desert him when he’s dying on the cross, and will doubt the women who run to the tomb and tell the world that he’s raised. We’re never going to be the good soil we think we should be – but we can live like we are by knowing who’s we are. We belong to Jesus – he’s our good soil – he’s the moist, true, earthy, heavenly, ground that we can stand on. We’ve been baptized. We’ve been grabbed by the Holy Spirit to be here today. We’ve been touched by God and, in a moment, when we share that bit of bread and that bit of drink, we’re going to be nourished by that good soil that has been gifted to us.

We can’t choose that kind of soil. We can’t create that kind of soil. But Jesus can, and he does, and he gifts it to us. Because we are his, he is ours, and Jesus isn’t looking for only the good soil – he’s not looking for dirt – he’s looking for sowers.

Jesus’s parable isn’t only about the soil; it’s about the sowing. And what exactly is being seeded out? Words and stories. Hearing the word of the kingdom is a sharing, it’s a giving, and this sharing is what Jesus is calling us to be and do. Going out and telling others how God has made a difference in your life – that’s sowing. Telling your coworkers that you actually went to church today, that’s sowing. Making sure your grandkids come with you to church when they visit from out of town, that’s sowing. Even opening up Facebook on your iPhone and checking in at Good Shepherd – that’s sowing too.

Jesus, in this parable, is encouraging us. He’s telling us that not all soil is the same. We’re going to try some things and it’s just not going to work. The stewardship campaign that we spend 5 months planning is going to fall short. A new Sunday School curriculum is going to fall flat. The friend we mention Jesus to is going to completely tune us out. But we’re not called to live only for results – we’re called to keep sowing, keep trying, keep praying, and keep asking God to make us good soil so that we can keep sharing the good news that God is present, that Jesus loves us, that God has claimed us, and that we’re not doing this on our own. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans, “there’s no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” We’re not asked to wait until we are good soil to proclaim that God has impacted our life. No, we’re called to live as if we are already good soil because Jesus has claimed us and Christ is in us.

We’re called to sow. We’re called to plant. We’re called to try new things and to throw our faith filled seeds everywhere, with abandon because, in our baptism, God has claimed us. God has grabbed us. God graced us. Jesus is given to us and he is our good soil – so let’s go live that out.

Amen.

New house, same as the – no, wait, it is nothing like the old house

I haven’t lived in a house in a long time. Well, let me qualify that statement a bit. While living in NYC, I spent my time in houses converted into apartments (some better than others) but I’ve never lived as an adult as the primary occupant of a complete house. I’m living that dream now.

It is daunting.

I’m still renting and we moved into a house that has been a rental for probably 40 years. And it looks like it. The inside has only been partially renovated. The kitchen was rebuilt at some point but just built on top of the original floor. We can still see the old floor through some of the bottom cabinets. The garage door is original to the house (built in the 50s) and its paint is peeling. Every window has at least 4 different hardware sets for blinds or curtains and most of it has been painted over. Also, we can see that the owner originally painted over wallpaper rather than remove the wall paper itself. Random closets were installed and there is a million nails and random hooks stuck in the walls. There’s also baseboard heaters that come off when you breathe on them. It’s a mess of a house but we’re making it our own. We’re removing all the random hardware, fixing up cracks, sanding the rusted bits, taking down all the random cables entering the building, cleaning up the yard (and figuring out how to mow it), and just fixing up everything. We’ll paint. We’ll make this place look great. I’m just not sure how long it’ll take.

House living is different.

Here are a few pictures of some of the things we’re dealing with. You can follow along on my instagram.

Cable

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