Category: Sermons

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. “But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Luke 12:32-40

My sermon from the 9th Sunday After Pentecost (August 7, 2016) on Luke 12:32-40.

*****

So is anyone else paying attention to the Olympics? I love this time of year because, for two weeks, I basically leave my tv on the entire time. The sounds of Barney and Sesame Street and Spider-man – the shows that are usually on during the day – are replaced by cycling, swimming, gymnastics, and sports I’m reminded every 4 years that they exist – like dressage and race-walking. The sounds of Olympic competition becomes my background soundtrack. I really do love the Olympics – but I might, just might, love the commercials during the Olympics even more. They’re just so…amazing, awe-inspiring, and, usually, head-scratching. Like, that commercial that tries to connect track-and-field athletes with the tires for our cars or the ones that tell us we can be just as unique and awesome as Michael Phelps as long as we buy this car, watch this new tv show, or visit this fast food restaurant. And the commercial that recently got my attention is one for Dick’s Sporting Goods. The commercial claims that all of us, in our bodies, carry tiny bits of gold. It’s in our cells, our hair, and in our blood. With an uplifting soundtrack, and a moving narration, the commercial moves to a climax saying that all of us have the strength – the drive – and the passion of an olympian because the highest concentration of gold in our bodies is found in our heart. We all carry the treasure of an Olympic gold medal winner inside of us – so let’s go out there and buy some sporting equipment. 

When we hear in scripture a reference to the heart, we need to take a moment to step back in time and ask ourselves what those standing around Jesus would have heard. And to do that, we need to sort of turn off our brains because the people around Jesus didn’t have our knowledge of the human body. They didn’t know what each organ did and they didn’t know that our brain, what’s in our head, is the source of who we are. They didn’t know that different parts of the brain control our emotions, our creativity, or that it even stored our memories. For them, the brain was just…there. It wasn’t worth much because the source of who we are – the center of our thoughts, our identity, our desires, and our will came from right here – our heart. The heart represented our entire life because it pumps, through our body, the stuff of life. So today, when Jesus is gathered with his disciples, teaching them about their relationship to God, and those disciples hear the word heart – they’re not thinking of only passion or desire or emotions. Jesus is telling them that where they put their treasure, that’s the center of their entire life. What they do with their money illuminates who they are. We might carry trace amounts of gold in our body but where we put our gold, that tells everyone, and God, a lot about who we are.

Which is exactly why brands and companies love the Olympics just as much as we do. If we just buy this car, visit this resort, wear this perfume, or apply for this credit card, we too, can feel like we’re an Olympic champion. We can be unique, different, and important. We can become somebody just by buying the right pair of shoes or pants or messenger bag. Brands and companies advertise in this way because they know this is how money works. We give our money over and, if we have a positive experience, they get our loyalty. They get a little part of our life. When we need a new item or when we want to purchase a replacement, the first thing that pops into our mind is that brand. It becomes a default option for us. And I…I will totally admit that I am heavily tied to my brands. From my iPhone to my macbook, my Red Converse chucks, pants from Uniqlo, and my Jack Spade bags – I am a walking billboard for brands. And I’d like to say that, when I’m up here on Sunday morning, that brands don’t play a role in my presentation…but they do. From where I buy my stoles to the clergy shirt under my alb – there are brands I default too even when I’m worshipping God. Now, being tied to brands is not necessarily a bad thing. Clergy who are not a five foot, 11 inch middle aged man, have a really hard time finding anything that fits and is cut right. It’s only in the last few years that women finally have clergy shirt brands they can trust even though the Lutheran church has been ordaining women as pastors for over 45 years. For us to live the lives we do, brands play a role in how we present ourselves and make a statement to the world. And I don’t think Jesus is criticizing the brands we buy but he does want us to look at what’s under the surface. When we spend our money, we are giving away a promise of loyalty. So when we spend our gold, how does that spending reflect where God is for us, for our household, and for our community? Whenever we use our treasure, is our faith, is our God, being made visible? Are we making Jesus known? 

These are big questions. These are..scary questions too. But these questions are not isolated questions. They don’t come out of the blue. Jesus is asking us about how we spend our money just a few moments after he says ‘Do not be afraid.’ This isn’t a question designed to only scare us. It’s a question to pull us back into the arms of the one who is with us, no matter what comes next. When we’re taking our first steps towards some place new, Jesus is with us. When we’re facing a tough decision where no answer seems right, Jesus is with us. When life seems to be going right, Jesus is with us. And when our life is about to end, Jesus is still with us. When the waters of baptism were poured over us, we didn’t only get a Jesus who is always with us – we became part of Jesus’ brand. We became part of what God is doing on earth. We became part of this love that wants nothing more than to serve all. Jesus is reminding us that our spending of our treasure should make known that we are a piece of God’s treasure – a treasure not just for ourselves but for the world. Gold might be in our veins and we might imagine ourselves with a gold medal around our neck one day, but our true gold rests in a Jesus who claims us, love us, and sends us out to spread that love by bringing a word of healing, a word of mercy,and a word of forgiveness, so that this world can become a place where no one is afraid. 

Amen.

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Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

Luke 12:13-21

My sermon from the 8th Sunday After Pentecost (July 31, 2016) on Luke 12:13-21.

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Yesterday, I was in Philadelphia saying goodbye to my Great Uncle Tony. He died earlier this week, just a few weeks after his 89th birthday. He lived a very full life, a man who loved his family, loved God, and loved a good game of pinochle. He spent his last few years living in a small apartment in an assisted living facility. And he loved it there. He attended mass every day, knew every aide, nurse, and resident on his floor, and he would spend hours outside reading and greeting everyone who came by. But before this move, he lived by himself in a condo. So when he moved into this new facility, he had to downsize. He didn’t need all the furniture and things he had. When the moving truck came, it took everything out of his condo, dropped some off at his new place – and put the rest in my Uncle Mike’s basement. My Uncle Mike has done pretty much everything he can to just give that stuff away. Every time I moved, I’d get an email asking if I needed a mirror or a chair or a coffee table cut out of a giant piece of driftwood. I would, politely, turn down this offer down because I already had what I needed. I already had my stuff. My great uncle Tony has gone to meet his maker – but the possessions he used and collected in this life are still here. He wasn’t a rich man but he still had things – those physical artifacts that make our life work – and they’re now in storage, in a basement bigger than his original condo, waiting for someone to come by and use them, one more time. 

Today’s reading from the gospel is about stuff, about money, about our possessions and what possess us. Jesus is in the middle of his long journey to Jerusalem. He’s walking around, healing, feeding, and teaching anyone who he comes into contact with. And it’s during one of these gatherings that someone comes up to him with a demand. Now, we don’t know any of the backstory behind this demand. We don’t know if this person is claiming something they shouldn’t or if they are being cheated by their brother. All we know is that their parents are dead and these parents had enough wealth to leave an inheritance. There’s money and land in their estate and family members are fighting to possess it. This struggle, this conflict, has consumed them to the point where they have no problem standing in a crowd, surrounded by strangers and people they might know, and, in one sentence, lay at the feet of Jesus their entire family drama. They don’t ask Jesus for a teaching, or for healing or for words. They ask Jesus to judge. They plead with Jesus, in a very public way, to side with them and what they want. They want Jesus to act. And so he does, by doing exactly what the other person doesn’t want him to do: instead of proclaiming a decision, Jesus tells a story. 

Now, there’s a few tricks I’ve learned over the years to help decipher just what Jesus is saying in these stories, in these parables. And the one that I found helpful today is to take Jesus’s words and circle the pronouns. Those I’s and you’s, he’s and she’s, me and mine – they are a window into what Jesus is talking about. The very first pronoun in Jesus’ parable is he, the rich man, who is caught in a dilemma. They are a farmer who earn their wealth through their land. This land – this gift from God that is fed by rain that only God can give – produced abundantly. It produced too much. The rich man has no place to put all this extra stuff. So he has a conversation with himself about what he should do and he comes up with a plan. He’ll tear down his barns and build bigger barns to hold all the abundance that he grew. He’ll rest secure knowing that he has more than enough to keep his life comfortable. In a conversation filled with I statements, the rich man looks to his own wits, his own wisdom, and his own concerns to figure out what he should do with this amazing gift that God has given him. He takes this gift – and stores it, trusting that this abundance will give him life. But there’s a bit of a flaw in his internal conversation. He actually forgets where this gift of abundance comes from. “The crops are mine – the barns are mine…the grain and goods – are all mine. And what is mine is what I trust to give me life.” God is never part of the rich man’s conversation because the man has made his wealth and his possessions the source of his life. He stops trusting God. He, insteads, trusts money. He puts his hope and his security in a bigger barn that he can make. By trusting something other than God as the source of his life, the rich man creates more than just a bigger barn. He creates his own god. He creates an idol. 

When we take this parable and circle the pronouns, we find who the rich man makes as the center of his life: himself. He becomes the source of his life, he becomes his own savior. He’s a person who doesn’t see the gifts he’s received. He only sees what he possess. His trust only extends to himself. He ends up living in a universe of one, a universe of me, myself, and I – and creates a universe of self that’s way too small, with no space even for God. 

When my Uncle Tony died, he left stuff. There are a few old paintings, a lot of 1970s era white and gold furniture, a dozen or so news caps, and a bunch of worn leather loafers sitting in my Uncle Mike’s basement. He was a working class guy, spent over 40 years as a U.S. letter carrier, and whenever you told him about something you’ve done or something you were proud of, he always responded with “holy smoke.” He was never rich, and he didn’t always feel rich, but he did have wealth. He had stuff. He retired from his working life with social security, a government pension, and some long-term care insurance that helped him get the care he needed during the last five years of his life. His wealth always helped him live but his stuff was never his life. He didn’t cling to it for support, nourishment, or hope. He clung to Christ, to his faith, to his church, and to his family because he knew that the universe was bigger than just himself. The source of all he had, the source of his life, was always the Son of God who, 2000 years before, said that life doesn’t consistence in only possessions. Life rests in a God who didn’t send Jesus to be a rich man, who didn’t send Jesus to live in purple robes, gold plated palaces, or ride on a chariot with his name in big letters on the side. Jesus grew up a carpenter’s son, knew fishermen and those who worked with his hands. He called men and women, young and old, rich and poor to be his disciples and sent them off to love the world. And when he was crucified on the cross, he didn’t curse the world but he blessed it, giving new life to all. Christ took his gifts, his wealth, his life – and used it to give everyone a new life too. And with this new life he gives us, we break out of a universe centered on I – and into the universe God made – a universe filled with our families, our neighbors and strangers, friends and even enemies – and we spread this love, this new life, because Christ is our primary treasure – and the rest of our wealth is to spread that love here and throughout this universe that God has made. 

Amen.

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The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What do people gain from all the toil
at which they toil under the sun?
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains for ever.
The sun rises and the sun goes down,
and hurries to the place where it rises.
The wind blows to the south,
and goes round to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.
All streams run to the sea,
but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
there they continue to flow.
All things are wearisome;
more than one can express;
the eye is not satisfied with seeing,
or the ear filled with hearing.
What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Is there a thing of which it is said,
‘See, this is new’?
It has already been,
in the ages before us.
The people of long ago are not remembered,
nor will there be any remembrance
of people yet to come
by those who come after them.

Ecclesiastes 1:1-11

My sermon from the 10th Sunday After Pentecost (July 24, 2016) on Ecclesiastes 1:1-11 & Luke 11:1-11.

*****

“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” 

What image comes to mind when you hear these words from the start of Ecclesiastes? For me, I can’t help but imagine I’m in the middle of a giant industrial warehouse. I’m alone, lost in this great big building, with no idea how I got there or how I can get out. I’m stuck, surrounded on all sides, by the same kind of product, each one only slightly different from the one standing next to it. When I walk up to one and fiddle with the knobs, I notice it’s connected and working. I put my hands in the sink, letting the water flow over them, and then I look up to see my reflection in a mirror in front of me. Now, it might be because my family and I are about to start renovating a bathroom in our house, but when I hear the word vanity – I can’t help but think of a bathroom sink, a quartz countertop, chrome fixtures, and a crisp silver mirror hanging over it all. So when the author of Ecclesiastes claims that everything is vanity – well – I can’t help but imagine an unending expanse of bathroom vanities and their mirrors, creating a reflection not only of myself – but of the whole wide world too. 

That sense of reflection is at the heart of Ecclesiastes. This book is expressed from the point of view of the Teacher – an elder who, after a lifetime of living, – is now reflecting on what they’ve done, where they’ve been, and what was worthwhile. The book is about meaning. So Ecclesiastes feels like a grandparent telling us to pull over a chair, sit down, and listen as they share their advice on life. And the very first thing this elder says is…vanity – everything is vanity. Now, the Hebrew word translated as vanity can be translated in many different ways. Meaninglessness, nonsense, and emptiness all work. So the second verse can also read as simply, “Everything is meaningless.” That’s sort of a downer, a depressing way to start a reflection on life in this world. We might expect to hear some kinder, more optimistic words, when an elder shares their story. But the Teacher does the opposite. Instead of beginning with our expectations, the Teacher removes them. Our understanding of what gives our lives meaning is not where the Teacher begins. The Teacher doesn’t start this search for meaning by looking at our work, our hobbies, our family, or where we come from. The Teacher starts looks with us into our mirror and starts at nothing – the very beginning of it all. 

Now, looking into a mirror is hard because a mirror, especially the mirror God holds up to us, can’t hide all we want it too. When we look into a mirror, we’re looking forward as our past and present stares right back at us. The days, months, and years of our lives – the things we’ve done and the things that have happened to us are all right there, carried on our face or lying just underneath the surface. Each wrinkle and gray hair, each sunspot or scar, contains our story. And the longer we stare, the more imperfections we fine and the more failures we remember. When we, like the Teacher in Ecclesiastes, look into the faith-filled mirror that God gives us, we are not invited to romanticize what we see. We’re here to honestly see our scars, see our wounds, see when our sin has made itself known in our lives and in the lives of others. The faith-filled life is a life that does more than look forward. A faith-filled life looks backwards; a faith-filled life reflects. This kind of life admits its sin – the ways we personally forget our God and the ways our communities fail to live the way God wants us too. As we stare in the mirror, looking at ourselves, looking for our meaning – the imperfections, fears, anxiety, and concerns stare right back at us. This isn’t the meaning we necessarily want to see. And all we want to do is use that water in the sink below to wash this grime of life, away.  

I don’t think the disciples, when they asked Jesus how to pray, I don’t think they expected to hear Jesus talk about meaning. They were truly just asking for some insight in how they should talk to God. And I’ll admit that I read their request a little cynically. I hear a little competition in their words. They remind Jesus that even John the Baptist taught his followers how to pray – so Jesus should teach his disciples too. By knowing the right way to talk to God, the disciples might gain a way to get God on their side. They might get God to grant them what they want. But Jesus, in the Lord’s Prayer and in the parables that follow, flips their script. He changes their expectations because praying to God is always a prayer with God.  It’s a conversation with the one who created us, the one who loves us, and the one who walk with us. Prayer is about being united with the one who is the source of who we are. It’s about connecting with the one who gives us meaning. In the words of Henri Nouwen, “Prayer uncovers the hidden motives and unacknowledged wounds that shape our relationships.” Prayer lets us stare at the mirror above the vanity, see all of who we are and yet still hear what God wants each of us to know – that we are loved. “That we are God’s beloved son and God’s beloved daughter.” The disciples wanted to know what they could get from prayer. Jesus tells them to ask for anything, being all their concerns and wants and desires to God because when we pray, we are greeted by the God’s own Spirit who gives us our entire life, identity, and meaning. 

Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer isn’t exactly the prayer we share each Sunday. The one we will say later is fuller, with bits and pieces added to it from the gospel according to Matthew and from our own church tradition. And we say this prayer over and over again, like a mantra, a manifesto of sorts, because it’s a prayer that recognizes who we are and whose we are. In the quest for meaning, we can lose sight that we are already worth more than we could ever admit. We are loved by this God who not only walks for us, but who stares in the mirror with us, and sees a new way forward. In the Cross, our limits, our sins, our imperfections staring at us are met by God’s gracious gaze. In Jesus, our meaning is nestled in the life God gave us, showing us all that life can bring. And in our baptism, the water pouring out from the faucets of our vanity is used to unite us with our God who says that this world, and all who are in it, are loved. Our meaning begins in the God who created us, the God who lives with us, and this God who redeems us. We are not limited by the meaning we earn, the meaning we chase, or the meaning the world gives us. We matter because God says we do. That’s our meaning. That’s our value. That’s the gift God gives us, helping us look at ourselves, look at our world, look and see all that is just vanity – and then take a step away from our reflection, away from our vanity, and into this wider world that God loves. 

Amen.

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Now as they [Jesus and his disciples] went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Luke 10:38-42

My sermon from the 9th Sunday After Pentecost (July 17, 2016) on Luke 10:38-42.

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After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, “Peace to this house!” And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, “Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.”

‘Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.’

The seventy returned with joy, saying, ‘Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!’ He said to them, ‘I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.’

Luke 10:1-11,16-20

My sermon from the 7th Sunday After Pentecost (July 3, 2016) on Luke 10:1-11,16-20.

*******

What does the kingdom of God look like? That’s the question – that’s gnawing on me today. And it’s seems fitting, on this July 4th weekend, to think about kingdoms. This is the weekend when my social media feeds are filled with images of the founding fathers and mothers wearing sunglasses with the caption “we Brexit’d before it was cool.” We are celebrating the new future that some men and women imagined for themselves in 1776, a future away from the British Kingdom. So Jesus’ words about God’s kingdom isn’t strange to us but…it’s still a little odd because we don’t have kings. We don’t live in a kingdom. That’s a word that belongs in  fantasy books and tv shows like Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones. Words like emperors, kings, queens, and lords – are words that are always at arm’s-length from us because we don’t live with, or under, them. There’s a gap between us and Jesus’ words, a distance between what’s spoke out-loud and the meaning that we readily grab onto. We live embedded in the American ideal where all people, through the power of voting and representation, have some say in how the government rules and functions. Even when such an ideal fails to embrace everyone who calls the United States home, we react almost instinctively against anything that takes that power away. When we watch state governments gerrymander congressional districts so that one side always wins or when they pass laws that unduly target the voting rights of African-Americans, Hispanics, or even spouses who took their partners’ last names when they married, these violations become personal because we know what’s being taken away. We know that another person’s authority is being removed. We understand that because that’s what we live. But the ideal kingdom – the word as Jesus is using it today – is different because a kingdom is centered around the king, around the ruler. In Jesus’ day, the Roman Emperor was on top, with appointed governors and small puppet kings serving as his representation on the ground. Power didn’t trickle down from the top because power, and authority, was stuck at the top. The people listening to these stories of Jesus – the people who would welcome these disciples that Jesus sent out – they were part of a kingdom where authority and power belonged to someone else. The disciples and their future hosts – they just lived there. So when Jesus sends out his disciples, two by two, to go ahead of him – he reminds each of them that something extraordinary is happening. These disciples aren’t only going to share stories about Jesus with people they haven’t met yet. These disciples are giving voice and embodying just what the kingdom of God is. They are bearing witness to God’s kingdom – God’s authority – God’s power – entering our kingdoms and sharing a vision of what God’s kingdom actually looks like. 

And that vision – involves food. 

Now, Jesus gave this set of 70 disciples – or 72 – depending on the translation – special instructions. Unlike the 12 apostles who were sent out earlier, Jesus offers these 70 a more detailed briefing. He tells them to bring nothing with them – not even a bag or an extra pair of sandals. And when they arrive in the place where they are going, the first words out of their mouth is “peace.” That’s what these 70 are bringing. But this peace is more than just a feeling of peace, they’re not just bringing a sense of calm.  Jesus is telling to them to bring actual peace into the homes they’re visiting. And this kind of peace is only happens when community, and relationships, are formed. The barriers, fears, mistrust, and anxieties that put distance between us and others – Jesus’ disciples are to bridge that reality with His peace. For peace to happen, a connection between people and Jesus is being offered – and that connection happens best around meals. 

But what kind of meals? The disciples are told to sit at the table – and eat whatever is given you. The host is invited to give these visitors whatever they have. Now those words “just eat it” are…well…terrifying if we’re a picky eater. These are words my parents used on me when I would stare, blankly, at the food that they placed in front of me. The disciples aren’t invited to pack their own lunch or pick and chose something they like from a menu. They’re told to just eat. These disciples are bringing peace, they’re bringing connection, but they’re also asked to participate in that relationship as well. They are invited to receive what is offered in return, to eat something strange and different, and embrace everything that meals offer. Meals are always more than just food. They’re events where people share conversation and share each other. The disciples will learn who is sick and who is suffering. They’ll learn who is celebrating and who is concerned about the future. The disciples will discover who their hosts really are. Their hosts are not kings and queens. They are people living in someone else’s kingdom. But Jesus cares about who they are and the lives they are living because they are living in God’s creation. The disciples during these meals will share Jesus and, in the process, discover what God is doing in the lives of the people they’re meeting. 

So peace, food, connection with God and with each other – that’s a bit of what God’s kingdom looks like. This peace is a peace that forces us to meet someone we don’t know and for both of us to lose our fear of the other. This connection involves seeing the job that Jesus has given all of us – to participate in what God is doing in the world and form relationships with all who God loves. And this food…well…this food is everything. The food Jesus tells his disciples to eat isn’t just the food that’s local to Israel or the Middle East. Even though Jesus’ earthly ministry stays pretty local, Jesus isn’t telling his disciples to only eat the food that they know. The number 70 is more than a number; it’s an old, biblical, symbol that represents all the nations other than the Jewish people. 70 disciples are sent to visit 70 nations. All the disciples are sent to visit all people. And when we get there, when we enter their homes and bring God’s peace, we’re going to embrace celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain’s motto and  “try anything, at least once.” Because when we eat, we recognize differences and what makes us different. But we also see that our kingdoms and nations do not compare to God’s kingdom of love and care. In Christ’s cross, God brings all of us into the One body of Jesus Christ. And it’s through this one body of Christ, that God’s kingdom of love, connection, peace and hope is shared through all of us. This is God’s vision for the world. This is what God’s kingdom is all about. The kingdom of God is here – and we’re to live that kingdom out, right now. 

Amen.

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Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me” — for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8:26-39

My sermon from the 5th Sunday After Pentecost (June 19, 2016) on Luke 8:26-39.

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So as I sat down to write this morning’s manuscript, the word “tombs” is the one that jumped out at me. It’s a word that is just a little too fresh for me today. Yesterday, this community of faith stood among the tombs and graves of Westwood Cemetery to bury Christopher, one of our own. As I walked through that graveyard, my eyes scanned the manicured lawn, stared at the beautifully carved tombstones, and noticed that many of these graves are still visited. There is something very pristine and clean about many modern graveyards. We expect them to look like a cross between a golf course and secluded public park. We want to know that this place – this sacred geography – is actually cared for and maintained. So as I passed by and read the surnames on the tombstones – noticing the germans, the italians, the brits, and the occasional korean and chinese – my mind couldn’t help but think about another 49 graves being filled this weekend. Last Sunday morning, as we worshipped together in this piece of sacred geography, the news of the hate-filled terrorist attack at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando was making itself known. By the time I started 9 am worship, we heard rumors that there could be a dozen people dead. By the time I was in the middle of my sermon at the 10:30 service, that number was near 50 with another 53 wounded. The vast majority of them were young, lesbian, gay, bi, or transgender, and, like me, latinos, latinas, and people of color. They were there to experience Latin night – to hear Bachata, Reggaeton, Salsa – all the music that makes my hips sway and my feet move even if I’ve never heard the song before. The latin@ pulse is something we’re just born with – and, last Sunday morning, 49 pulses were cut short because of who they were, who they loved, and by the demons that fed one man’s evil. So today there are 49 new graves in clean and pristine graveyards with Mexican, Puerto-Rican, and Dominican surnames on the tombs. 

But the manicured and well cared for look that we know and expect is not where Jesus finds himself in today’s gospel reading. Jesus has crossed the sea of Galilee, heading to the other side where Gentiles lived, to a place founded by Alexander the Great. Instead of synagogues, in the center of the city are giant temples dedicated to Greek and Roman gods. The fields outside aren’t filled with sheep; they’re filled with pigs. Jesus is out of his Jewish-comfort zone, in the land of the others, and making waves in a place he shouldn’t. He’s going to meet and miggle with the wrong kind of people. And it’s when he steps off the boat – setting his foot on the shore – he runs into this man from the tombs. 

Now, what kind of tombs does this man live in? I don’t believe we’re suppose to think he lives in the intentionally well-cared graveyards of today. What comes to mind is a graveyard that dark, dank, and downright spooky. His tombs belong in some B-rated horror movie. And this man does too. He comes to Jesus dirty, unkempt, and totally naked. I imagine his skin is covered in dirt and grime and broken chains as bracelets are around his wrists. He lives where the dead live, he’s surrounded by pigs,many he’s tormented by unclean spirits. He’s completely unclean. This man that Jesus encounters isn’t just physically repulsive, according to Jesus’ own tradition, he’s spiritually repulsive too. Once Jesus steps off the boat – and sees this man – he knows all of that. He knows exactly who this man is and what Jesus is suppose to do. But before a word is said, before a conversation has started, and even before the man sees Jesus – Jesus orders those unclean spirits out. 

Now, the man tries to get out of this. He tells Jesus to leave him alone. He doesn’t ask for healing. Instead, he asks to remain with his demons – to be alone – to be kept away from the community. The demons we see in scripture are not just evil beings. They’re more than B-movie terrors. They spend their time breaking the relationships between God and people. They want to keep their victims isolated and alone. And the only way to do that is to infect more than just individuals. These demons infect entire communities too. They make it so that the person who is different is sent to live chained and bound in the tombs. Jesus is doing more in this story than healing one man and destroying an almost comical amount of bacon. Jesus is changing the sacred geography of the land of the Gerasenes. The man who lived among the dead is told to go into the city of the living and tell God’s story. He’s heading home to a place full of different gods, different idols, and people so distracted by their busy-ness,they can’t even notice what God is doing. Jesus took a place of sacred difference, of tombs and cities, of relationships and isolation, and Jesus created a new space for healing and connection. The land of the Gerasenes – the land of the Gentiles and the unclean – is given a new destiny and purpose. The manicured place of living is mixed with the dark and dank of the tombs. And that…scares everyone. 

When Jesus set sail across the Sea of Galilee – he was on a journey of shouldn’ts. He shouldn’t have gone, he shouldn’t have stepped onto the shore, and he shouldn’t have interacted with that unclean man in the tombs. That kind of sacred geography is centered in shouldn’ts. But Jesus isn’t about shouldn’ts. When he shows up, the sacred geography of every place changes. The places we claim to be cities of life and the places we claim to be cities of death – that difference is undone. All places are opportunities for life. All places are sacred to God. The inside/outsider narrative we setup is replaced with a narrative of God’s desire for love and healing; for God’s narrative of new life found in new and unexpected relationships. I don’t know what the full response to the attack in Orlando should be . My heart is still too broken – too full of grief at the loss of my Latin@ sisters and brothers. But I do know that Jesus has changed the sacred geography of all places. Even a place where terrible things happen can be a place where life comes. Every shore, every field, every mountain, every country, and every city is called to be a place of healing. Jesus has already done the hard work of going where he shouldn’t – going to the land of the others, eating and drinking with sinners, forgiving the sins of the unforgivable, and walking to die on the Cross. Through Jesus, healing has already begun. We already know what Jesus has done. The question for us, though, is just how much healing are we going to try to bring too?

Amen.  

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[Jesus said] “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.”

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

John 14:1-6

My sermon to honor the memory of C. (June 18, 2016) on John 14:1-6.

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