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¹Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus.]

² And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

³So he told them this parable: ^11b “There was a man who had two sons. ¹² The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. ¹³A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. ¹⁴When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 

¹⁵So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶ He would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷ But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! ¹⁸ I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 
¹⁹ I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ 

²⁰ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. ²¹Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ ²² But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³ And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, ²⁴ for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate. ²⁵ “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 

²⁶ He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. ³⁰ But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 

³¹Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 30, 2025) on Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32.

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Today’s story from the gospel according to Luke is all about lives that were lived – which is weird to hear on a day when, in a few minutes, we’ll be celebrating a life that is basically brand new. Jesus, who regularly used stories to explore deeper truths about faith, grace, hope, and love, shared with us a family whose life together was a bit complicated. We often identify this story by focusing on the so-called prodigal son, whose wasteful and recklessly extravagant behavior eventually brought them home. The end of the story, then, shapes our interpretation of what Jesus’ words were all about. But we can’t get to the end without all the stuff that comes before. The parable of the prodigal son is full of all the juicy stuff we love to analyze and gossip about. But if we’re still at the beginning of our own story – not even realizing our parents still exist when they cover their eyes while playing peekaboo – a story about lives that were lived feels a bit out of place. Yet I wonder if – on this day of beginnings – that the beginning of Jesus’ story reveals the kind of grace that carries us through whatever comes our way. 

Now, to notice that, I think we need to remember why Jesus told this story in the first place. He was, at this point in Luke’s version of Jesus’ life, taking his last journey to Jerusalem in a very roundabout kind of way. Jesus regularly made it a point to preach, teach, and heal at various places along the way. And since he – and his friends – were always traveling, finding their next meal was always a bit of a challenge. Jesus rarely ever said no to someone who invited him to eat at their table. And he regularly set a place at his table for anyone who came his way. This, though, caused issues since not everyone who visited Jesus were the kind of people we’d want kneeling next to us at the communion rail. These so-called sinners weren’t simply people who considered themselves good but who occasionally made a mistake. Those breaking bread with him included those who were seen as destroying the very fabric of what it meant to be a faithful community in the first place. The tax collectors often used violence and intimidation to funnel money to the Roman soldiers who occupied the land. Their work required them to violate the religious and cultural expectations that shaped who they knew themselves to be. And Jesus not only took the time to listen and care for them; he also ate with them in a very empathetic and merciful kind of way. Giving that kind of focus to those considered unworthy is something we all struggle with today. Yet instead of telling a literal story about the tables we choose to sit at, Jesus told a story about a father and a son whose table could only be described as completely dysfunctional. 

Now we don’t actually know what life was like for this family before the younger one left. Jesus doesn’t tell us if they got along or if any other family were around. All we get in the beginning is a conversation that includes no small talk at all. Rather, the young son went to the day and said “I wish you were dead.” I know that sounds a little harsh since it feels like all he did was ask for money. But the words he chose show how he wanted what he felt he was entitled to once his father was no longer there. Maybe, in our own lives, we’ve said – or imagined – or slammed a door while shouting down the hallway something that sounds a bit similar. Yet the weird thing that makes this entire parable something odd is how, at the beginning, the dad said “okay.” When it comes to Jesus’ stories, it’s always the weird, the absurd, the that-doesn’t-sound-right that provides us the opportunity to deepen our faith. This dad, after his younger child asked for the future to start right now even though his culture didn’t always give younger kids all that much – this dad agreed to do exactly that. And while there might be those among us who have offered – or received – a fairly significant financial gift like a college education, a wedding, a downpayment for a house, or cash to start a business to embrace some kind of new beginning – we don’t usually give the next generation our 401ks and social security payments before they’ve kicked in for ourselves. We, like the father, have our own needs, responsibilities, and callings from God to live out. Maybe, if we had the foresight and luck to know we won’t need our wealth to pay for our future health needs to be a bit more generous than we expect to be. Yet the need to hoard, to be afraid, and to keep what we feel we deserve often limits just how imaginative we get to be. The father had a lot of life yet to live but decided to act as if his future was already over. 

Then, what followed was a story full of excessiveness, unfaithfulness, anger, worry, confusion, mercy, and grace. And it was a grace I’m not even sure the father fully understood since, when the younger son came home, the ring, the sandals, the robe, and the fatted calf he gave no longer belonged to him in the first place. When the father accepted a future that no longer included him, the kid who stayed home received everything else. That son’s anger, frustration, and belief the one who didn’t repent shouldn’t then get a spot at the table is about more than them simply being jealous of the love the father showed. Rather, the dad was abundantly over the top with stuff he, in theory, no longer owned. It wasn’t his to give and yet, when an opportunity came to show grace to the graceless, he couldn’t help but live into a future where love abound. The father didn’t create a new beginning for his younger son when he came back after living his life. Instead, he built it at the start and refused to live – or accept – that their future could be anything else instead. Before the younger son left, his seat at the table was already set. And when he finally caught up to that different kind of future, a ring was placed on his finger and new sandals on his feet. That is, I think, one of the ways to imagine what our life with Christ looks like. We are, already, wrapped up in the new beginning he brought us by living a human life, going to the Cross, and living into the new future God has already brought about. We, as the Ones already made – or about to be made – as part of the body of Christ, have a seat at a table where God’s love never ends. This future was given to us not because we’re perfect, holy, or get everything right. Rather, the beginning we have with our God is the beginning of just how human we get to be. What allows us to be ourselves – to live and grow and face whatever comes next – is the grace that keeps the spot at God’s table for us. And since it’s God’s grace that holds the spot open, we get to extend that same kind of grace to those we’d rather push aside. It’s at Jesus’ table where we learn to listen, to care, to change, and be changed by one another and our God. And while Kennedy (who will baptize later) might find different parts of her life feeling like the father, or the older son, or maybe the younger one who just wished that the future she wanted was starting right now, the God who promises to be with her will carry her into a more holy future where Christ’s love is the beginning that never ends. 

Amen.

From Dollarstore Children’s Sermon. 

Bring two cards from the sign board. The letters I and F 

So it’s my tradition after the prayer of the day to talk to all of God’s children. I brought with me two of the letters we use to put messages on the sideboard. It’s the letters F and I. These letters can spell a couple of words. One is the word FI which doesn’t sound like a real word to me but something giants say in stories like Jack and the Beanstalk. The other word, though, is one we’ll hear in our reading about Jesus today. It’s the word – IF. If is only two letters long but I think it’s a big word because it’s a word that is used for questions. What do you think is a question we could ask that needs the word if? Accept answers. A lot of times, these questions are really a kind of contract. For example, “if you clean up your room, I’ll let you play on the iPad” or “if you give me your ice cream, I’ll be your friend.” Sometimes these questions are simply negotiations that feel fine – but other times that make us wonder if we are who God knows we are. They’re questions that make us think maybe we’re not good enough or kind enough or loved enough to be a friend or to be a part of the popular kids or to even be liked by those around us. If you do this for us, we will do this for you – can be very scary when it seems related to our identity in the world. If is scary – and it’s a question Jesus will be asked a lot today. After he was baptized, he’ll feel compelled to go into the wilderness and while there, evil will come and ask him a lot of “if” questions. This evil force – the devil – everything that is against God – will ask Jesus to be something other than he is. And the devil does this by using the word “if.” If you are the son of God, turn these stones into bread you can eat. If you are the son of God, worship me and I’ll make you the most powerful ruler in the world. If you are the son of God, jump off a high building to force God to take care of you. If – if – if – which implies that Jesus is not. It was a test to prove who he is and to doubt his own story. Yet Jesus doesn’t because he knows who he is. 

There are times when we’ll doubt our own story too. We’ll doubt we’re loved or we matter or we’ll let others around us tell us who were supposed to be instead. But I think it’s important to realize that these questions to Jesus came after his baptism – after a moment when he heard God call him beloved. And that’s because, in your baptism, you’ve already been called beloved too. That doesn’t mean we’re always perfect or that we won’t make mistakes. But whenever someone – or even yourself – wonders if you matter, if you’re important, if you have value, if you’re worth dignity and care and support – know that God has already declared you are loved, that you matter, that you are worth more than you could ever imagine. No one can take away from you that the Creator of the Universe thinks you’re neat. And if we’re loved by the Creatore of everything – then we can live out that love by moving away from always asking others “if” and, instead, shift our words to remember that “since we’re loved – we get to be kind, be patient, to care, to support, and to show others just how much God loves them too.” 

¹⁸ Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹ Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. ²⁰ But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ²² All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

²³ “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,”
which means, “God is with us.” ²⁴ 

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife ²⁵ but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.

Matthew 1:18-25 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2022) on Matthew 1:18-25.

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At today’s 9 am worship, we did something we don’t usually do. We held a kind of pop pageant to teach each other the carol, Good King Wenceslas. You might know the song but I wasn’t aware it was based on an actual person. Over 1000 years ago, a Duke – who was later declared to be a king – was celebrated for his faith and generosity. Stories about his life inspired people all over Europe to take care of others. The carol is based on a legend that might not entirely be true. But it is a kind of imaginative journey that reveals what our faith invites us to do. We, because of Jesus, get to be like Jesus by offering hope to those who need it most. The carol is, I think, a good example of what I often describe as using our “spiritual imagination.” It’s how we add dirt, grime, and real life into our Bible readings like the one we just heard from the gospel according to Matthew. It’s always a bit odd to connect our imagination to faith since we usually want our faith to be anything but pretend. We long for our Jesus to be as real as the bread we touch during communion and as physical as the screen or phone we use to worship. Faith, too often, feels like it’s supposed to simply be one more thought in our head. But when we choose to claim that God’s promises are real, then our imagination becomes a tool to see God at work in our work. Our Bible, I think, teaches us how to do this kind of imaginative work by not sharing every detail of every story. That allows us to ask questions like: how did Mary and Joseph get engaged? And what was Joseph’s internal dialogue like when he struggled knowing if his right to split from Mary was truly right? There is a long history in our faith, borrowed from our Jewish friends, to use our imagination to help make God’s words more real in our lives. These stories are known as a midrash which helps us ask the questions that fill in the gap. A midrash doesn’t contradict scripture but helps to expand with guidance from the Holy Spirit. And when Pastor Kimberly Cooper of St. Timothy’s Lutheran church in Wayne shared with me her midrash on this passage, I asked if I could share it with you. She wrote it after visiting the Holy Land and seeing where this story took place. To me, it’s a great model of what our spiritual imagination invites us to do. And I pray her example will inspire your own as we sit with Joseph who chose his family. 

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Long ago, in the time of the Roman Empire, in the faraway land of Palestine, there were two cousins, Yoachim and Yakob. Throughout their childhood they ran and played together in the small town of Nazareth. They drove their Torah teacher crazy with their shenanigans when they were meant to be memorizing the law. They chased the chickens from the yard and pretended to be wolves when their sisters were minding the sheep in the fields. They were ornery and smart and the best of friends. When they grew strong enough, they each went to work with their fathers. Yoachim learned the art of weaving rugs and Yakob went to work as a builder. They each found a wife and had children. Yakob’s oldest child was named Yusef. He was a sweet child – nothing like his father and cousin. He loved listening to the Torah teacher and tending the animals. He could hardly contain his excitement when his father invited him to go to the nearby metropolis of [Sepphoris] to build a large bath at the home of a wealthy patron. He watched carefully and learned quickly. When they returned home, they heard the news that Yoachim and [his wife] Hanna had just had another baby, a girl, who they named Miriam. 

Yusef grew to be more and more respected throughout the area as a moral upstanding Pharisee. He worked very hard at the family business of building and carpentry, but always honored the Sabbath and kept it holy. He traveled to [Sepphoris] regularly to work building bigger and bigger homes for the wealthy. He enjoyed the work and took great pleasure in the beautiful finished product. But, he was saddened to see many of the wealthy […] adding mosaics of Roman [gods, their oppressors] in their homes. [His kinsman kept building] bigger and bigger homes, in which they threw lavish parties – […] while becoming less and less inclined to obey the laws of God. On the long walks between Nazareth and [Sepphoris], […] Yakob and Yusef would talk about the high taxes that were crippling their neighbors and making even their own business difficult. Yakob would always say, “one day the Messiah will come like a warrior to defeat these Roman pigs. We will be ruled by God’s anointed instead of the emperor’s representative.”

Yusef believed what was written about the Messiah [… but…] wondered why the LORD was waiting so long to send relief. Why did the LORD allow [some to have so much food] they [could simply throw some] away? And why did the LORD leave others so poor [..] they couldn’t […] go to Jerusalem and make sacrifices at the temple? Where was God in all of this?

At the same time that Yusef was growing to be a man, Miriam was also growing into a serious and hardworking girl. One day Yakob and Yusef visited Yoachim. Hanna and Miriam prepared a meal of fresh bread, goat cheese, olives, and roasted pistachios. Yusef blushed listening to the two older men reminisce over their childhood antics. Then, after the tea was served, Yakob broached the reason for his visit. Was Yoachim interested in a marriage between Miriam and Yusef? Yoachim chuckled and asked what Yusef had to offer. Yusef blushed [while keeping] his eyes away from [looking towards] where Miriam and her mother were working [..]. He had no doubt that both were listening […] to the conversation. 

Yakob raised his eyebrows and said, “what do you have in mind?” 

Yoachim quickly laughed and said, “ah dearest friend, surely you know, I am joking. It would be a huge honor for my lowly daughter to be married to the great Yusef ben Yakob.” 

The tension left Yakob’s shoulders as he grinned broadly. “Of course, we don’t come empty handed. Yusef and I will build a house for them to live in. This week we will go to the synagogue and make the announcement of their engagement public. Although, I know you are a successful man, I hope you will honor us by taking the gift of a she-goat as a bride price.”  […]The men embraced and departed without a nod to the women in the corner. But Yusef [did see] Miriam […] with a slight smile on her lips.

By the end of the next week, all the town had learned that Yusef ben Yakob was to wed Miriam Bat Yoachim. No one was surprised. On the Sabbath, all the Jews gathered to listen to a reading from one of their scrolls. Yusef closed his eyes as he listened to the words from Isaiah, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?” He wondered, is this why the LORD wasn’t sending a warrior to defeat the Romans?  Perhaps the LORD believed that all the people had turned against [God] and were chasing after the Roman gods like the those that lived in [Sepphoris]. […]

The next day Yusef and his father began work on the house for him to live after his marriage to Miriam. As he worked, Yusef prayed to the LORD offering himself, his wife, and all their future children as His servants. He [also] prayed […] for a sign that the LORD had heard him. Yusef did this every day […] but nothing happened. […] The anxiety became too much for him, so when his father asked him to go to [Sepphoris] to collect some more stones, he jumped at the chance. When he arrived, he went straight to the synagogue to seek out the Rabbi.  

The Rabbi was quite old and regarded as the wisest in the area. Yusef found him reading a scroll from the writings of Isaiah. “[…]Excuse me, Rabbi[?]” 

The rabbi looked up with a smile. “Yes, my son, what is your question?”

Yusef said, “Rabbi, I am deeply troubled. […] Here in [Sepphoris] I see [those who] have become so wealthy under Roman rule that they disregard the Torah, the law. I know that in Isaiah it is written, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also?’ It makes me wonder if the LORD is wearied of us. How can I let Him know that some of us are still faithful?”

The Rabbi nodded. “Yes, these are very troubling times. It is not so different from the days in which Isaiah wrote these words. At that time, King Ahaz was fighting to keep Jerusalem from being overtaken by the Israelites that didn’t honor the LORD. Ahaz was trembling in fear that he would be defeated. The LORD sent Isaiah to tell him to trust in the LORD by asking for a sign. Ahaz refused to ask for a sign so the LORD answered, ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary God also? Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.’ Immanuel means God is with us. Trust in the signs that the LORD has given and continue to do right in the eyes of the LORD. Direct your family to do the same. This is what you can do.”

When Yusef returned home, pondering these things, he found his father and Yoachim waiting for him. Yoachim looked sick and miserable. Yakob looked angry. Yoachim opened his mouth to speak to Yusef, but no words came out. Yusef […] quickly asked, “is it Miriam? Has she been harmed?”

Yakob snorted and said, “she isn’t worth your concern. She has disgraced us all!”

Yoachim shook his head in shame. “I don’t know how this could have happened,” he swallowed and closed his eyes, “but she is with child.” His voice broke at that end and he turned to leave. 

Yusef fell to his knees on the dirt floor. “What?!” His mouth hung open in shock. 

Yakob said, “You must forget her, son, the town will take care of her, as we always take care of such filth.”

Yoachim began to weep […].

The reality of what would happen to Miriam penetrated the fog of Yusef’s shock and grief. “No!” he said hoarsely. And then more loudly, “no, Father, tell no one.” He jumped up and took Yoachim by the arm. “I do not know how this happened […] And I don’t want to know how. But let no harm come to her. Send her away to have the baby, so that no one knows. You are a good family. None of us deserve to have this disgrace.”

Yoachim was surprised, but nodded. “I will send her to my cousin Zechariah. His wife is also expecting and is of an advanced age. No one will bother either of them at this time.” Then he left quickly with his head bowed.

That night Yusef struggled to find sleep. He prayed to the LORD with all the many emotions flooding his soul. One moment he was angry then the next sad. Finally, after many hours, he fell into a troubled sleep. Then “an angel of the LORD appeared to him in a dream and said, “Yusef, son of [David,] do not be afraid to take Miriam as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Yeshua [Jesus], for he will save his people from their sins.” Yusef awoke in a sweat, and thought, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel.” Yusef laughed out loud [and] said, “when I asked for a sign, I had no idea it would be like this!”

Before the sun rose, Yusef went to the home of Yoachim. He went in and found Hannah and Miriam preparing the day’s bread. Hanna looked at him in fear, but Miriam seemed at peace. He asked her to go and raise her father. When Yoachim came, Yusef said, “I will take Miriam to my home now. Tell no one that she has become pregnant by anyone other than myself. For I have heard from the LORD. She and I are both of the line of [King David. And [I think this child] will be the Messiah for whom we are all yearning. I think the LORD has heard our cries and has chosen Miriam to bear the answer. [..] Miriam, will you come [home] with me [..]?”

Both Hanna and Yoachim were shocked into silence. They looked between Miriam and Yusef in confusion. Miriam smiled and said quietly, “yes […] I have heard from the LORD as well. I trust you to protect me and raise this child.” Then looking him in the eye she said, “for God is with us.”

Yusef and Miriam went on to have many other children. He worked hard and lived a good life […] without ever hinting to anyone the special circumstances of Yeshua’s birth. Sometimes he would watch Yeshua and wonder how such a […] kind boy could be the great warrior meant to overthrow the Romans. One day he mentioned his thoughts to Miriam. She smiled and said, “[…You] of all people must know that it takes so much more strength to love those that hurt us than to strike out in anger.”  […]

Amen.

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.
When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Luke 14:1,7-14

My sermon from the 12th Sunday After Pentecost (August 28, 2022) on Luke 14:1,7-14.

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On Friday morning, we did something here at the church we haven’t done in a while: we held a First Communion class. Eight kids, from first through fourth grade, joined me for a class that took us all around the entire building. We first gathered at the tables outside the church office, read our Bibles and wondered where Jesus sat during the Last Supper. We then moved on to the Sonshine room, stood around its long table, and created bread dough that didn’t really hold together. Once the kids’ hands were washed and the flour brushed out of their clothes, we headed to the altar – the table at the heart of our sanctuary. The class was a lot of fun and the kids were amazing. Yet when I reflected afterwards on how everything went, I was struck by how central the tables were. Instead of sitting on the floor or in chairs facing a blackboard, I unintentionally had the kids spend the entire class around a table. Since I planned for us to color and draw pictures of Jesus having a meal, I made sure that part of the lesson had a table big enough for everyone. Once the first part of the lesson was over, we then needed a long table close to a kitchen where we could work in pairs to mix and measure and stir together a whole bunch of ingredients. Finally, as we neared the end of our long class, we went into the sanctuary to spend time talking about what it means to be fed by God. I invited the kids to join me around the altar which I described as Jesus’ table. Jesus, during his earthly ministry, rarely turned down the opportunity to share a meal with others and we often imagine him eating around a table. A table is a piece of furniture that helps to make a meal, a meal because it’s a central thing everything gravitates to. It’s the place where food is served and received; and also where people on opposite sides look at each other while they talk and chew. Many of Jesus’ arguments with his disciples and with others involved who was allowed to sit at the table with him. And while picturing Jesus at a table makes sense for our cultural context, there’s a good chance most of his meals didn’t include a table at all. The piece of furniture in the middle of the room wasn’t central to his story. And as we see in today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, what God keeps central and what we keep central are not always the same thing. 

So to properly set the scene, we need to imagine what this dinner party looked like. From what we can tell, the host of the meal pretty much followed the cultural expectations of the Greco-Roman world. When Jesus first entered the space, his feet were most likely washed by someone who was probably enslaved before he was invited to then take his seat. But instead of taking a seat at a long table, three or four couches would have been arranged at the center of the room. The scholar Craig Keener described the scene in this way: “These couches did not have backs, so three or four people could recline on each one. Each diner would recline on the left elbow, with their right hand free to take the food in front of them. They would be facing the center of the room, with their feet pointing away from the table.” The table in that space might have been a big piece of wood like we have in our dining rooms today. But I think it was mostly a small tray, big enough to serve one couch, so that the enslaved and servants could walk through the center of the room while cleaning plates, filling glasses, and bringing fresh food to the guests. These kinds of parties were not rushed affairs. Rather, they were an event where people were meant to be seen.

And being seen was something Jesus knew quite a bit about. When he arrived at the party, lots of people’s eyes were on him. Yet his eyes were on everyone else. He noticed all the people who, like him, were invited guests. And he also paid attention to the people others didn’t even notice and those who hadn’t been invited at all. Once everyone was welcomed, the guests had to find a place to sit. And so they began trying to claim spots as close to the host as possible while the host was busy deciding who was worthy of sitting next to them and who wasn’t. It was a very unmusical version of musical chairs, where people’s importance and worth was determined by where they sat. Picking the right spot involved keeping your eyes on the host while hoping they saw you as you saw them. Where you sat in relation to the host showed all the other invited guests the worth you had as a person. And your proximity to the center showed others what you could do for them and gave a hint of what they might be able to do for you. Your seat determined who you could talk to, network with, and the relationships which would help your reputation grow. But if you sat in the wrong spot and chose a couch you weren’t supposed to be on, your worth in the eyes of others would go down. In that dinner party space, your place in relation to the host was central to who you were. So that’s when Jesus reminded everyone that what other people think is not central to God. 

In a space without a table, the most central thing to Jesus was always people. The people he saw in the room included the host, those working the party, and the guests who rushed past Jesus while trying to show others how important and valued they were. Jesus knows that, as human beings, we often pay attention to what other people think about us. We want others to think we’re cool, kind, smart, strong, clever, funny, and that we’re simply worth being around. What other people think about us often impacts what we think about ourselves. And while that can cause problems, we often navigate through this dilemma by strengthening our own sense of self-worth. Yet it’s interesting Jesus doesn’t tell the host or the guests or the enslaved that God’s love for them is enough to show how valued they actually are. Instead, he invites everyone – especially those who have the opportunity to be invited to the party in the first place – to simply act as if everyone truly matters to God. For Jesus, that means practicing a kind of humility that breaks through the social hierarchy we participate in. We don’t have to live as if some people are worth being known while others are not worth being seen. Jesus wasn’t only interested in making sure we always have a place at his table. He also wanted us to look past the table and into the eyes of everyone who is central to him. God’s love is never only for those who we view as worthy; God loves even those who we wouldn’t want to sit next to in the first place. We are invited to keep people, rather than places or spaces or material goods, central to how we live in the world because all people – especially the marginalized, the wounded, the broken, the ill, and those we’ve pushed aside – matter to God.

Amen.

Now[Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing

Luke 13:10-17

My sermon from the 11th Sunday After Pentecost (August 21, 2022) on Luke 13:10-17.

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The older I get, the more life feels like it’s mostly a series of interruptions. Most of our interruptions are quite small – like an unexpected phone call or a cat begging for its dinner or even a self-caused interruption when we take a four hour excursion through the land of social media. Yet there are those other kinds of interruptions that seem to change who we are. In today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, our English translation of the ancient Greek language Luke wrote in, introduces us to an unnamed woman who seems to have interrupted Jesus while he was teaching on the sabbath in a synagogue. He was, I imagine, up in the front, speaking in the way he always does. Then, while in almost mid-sentence, Jesus stopped because this bent over woman came in. She, in her own way, interrupted what Jesus was doing which happened quite a bit during Jesus’ ministry. People, in all the gospels, kept getting Jesus’ way, sharing with him their needs, concerns, and even disagreements. Responding to these interruptions was a big part of what Jesus did. And this woman seemed to fit the pattern even though she’s never recorded as asking to be healed. But when I was preparing for this sermon, I noticed how other translations of this text don’t act as if the woman was the interruption. Instead, she’s described as just being there and was among those listening to Jesus while he taught. We don’t know much about her and even her ailment is a bit of a mystery. All we’re given is that for 18 years, she was bent over. And yet during those same years, she was part of this community who gathered together on the sabbath for worship, study, and prayer. The reaction of the crowd after she was healed shows how they were her people and how, even before her healing, she was already one of them. So if she was there while Jesus began to speak, she wasn’t the interruption in the story. Instead, that title really belonged to Jesus because he was there in front of them. As we heard a few weeks ago, Jesus was in the middle of his long round-a-bout journey to Jerusalem. Every day he taught and healed and got into arguments with all kinds of people. When he entered the unnamed synagogue in the unnamed village where this unnamed woman lived, he wasn’t the usual person who got up and taught. Jesus interrupted their normal sabbath routine and this interruption grew when the woman suddenly became visible to him in a way she wasn’t before. When he finally saw her, he stopped all that he was doing, called her over, and interrupted how she had typically celebrated the sabbath over these last 18 years. The healing she received didn’t pretend as if she had never suffered nor did it change her presence within the community she called her own. She still belonged but her life was now a bit different. And once Jesus spoke his words of hope, she kept doing what she had already been doing: praising God with the people who called her their own. 

But that’s when the grumbling started. A leader within the community wasn’t thrilled with what he just saw. Now he wasn’t necessarily upset about the healing itself. Rather, he wasn’t happy that it had happened today. That might sound like a weird thing to be bothered about but we can give him the benefit of the doubt by remembering what it’s like when we’re asked for some professional advice when we’re supposed to be off duty. It’s not uncommon for us to interrupt someone else’s day off when we think they can help us. And once people know who we are and what we do, there’s a chance that every one of our conversations with friends and acquaintances end up feeling like work. On a day when we’re trying to get away from all the other activities that dominate our week, this one word can interrupt our rest by making today feel like every other day. The leader of the synagogue might have known of Jesus’ reputation as a healer – something he had the habit of doing almost every day. Being able to heal others was a gift from God and, in his mind, should have been shared abundantly. Yet the Sabbath was meant to be a break for everyone, including those who could heal. When Jesus interrupted what he was doing on the sabbath to heal a woman with a chronic but non-life threatening ailment, it looked as if Jesus wasn’t taking the Sabbath seriously. He was doing on God’s day what he did every day, blurring what the Sabbath was supposed to be about. The leader of the synagogue felt it was his responsibility to help the entire crowd keep the Sabbath so he did what he could to interrupt the focus they had on Jesus. 

And so, as we can see, today’s story is a story all about interruptions. The entire community was called to interrupt their daily lives by spending one day a week in synagogue with their God. Jesus, while in that space, interrupted their usual flow of worship by teaching and preaching in a community he wasn’t always in. And then, when he noticed this woman, he interrupted what he was doing so that her ongoing condition could be interrupted too. The faith leader believed that Jesus’ actions had interrupted the Sabbath by making this holy day feel like every other day of the week. The Sabbath is more than a day of rest; it’s an interruption to our lives where we intentionally do not go our own way; serve our own interest; or pursue our own affairs. Instead, we spend time with our God who encourages everyone, regardless of age, gender, economic backgrounds, or physical, mental, and spiritual health to just stop and be with God. The Sabbath is how we hear we are loved and the love we’re given transforms who we are and what we do. The Sabbath is how we learn that every other day this week can be something different. The leader of the synagogue was afraid Jesus was trying to turn the Sabbath into something that looked like every other day of the week. But Jesus was there to remind him that through God, with God, and in God – it’s the Sabbath day that transforms what every other day can be about. It’s through this interruption that we gain the rest, care, and insight we need to live through the rest of our lives. And when we embrace the interruptions we are given, we then get to participate in a life with wholeness and hope. 

In a little bit, we’re going to do another thing that doesn’t feel like an interruption but actually is. We’re going to do what we’ve done a lot – and that’s baptize a little child and welcome her, publicly, into the body of Christ. Now Kaylee has already experienced a lot of interruptions to be here today – giving up her normal Sunday morning routine to travel several hours so she can be surrounded by her beloved family. God already knows her, loves her, and values all that she is. Yet today is also when we interrupt who she will be by inviting her into something more. When the water is poured over her head and the seal of the Cross marked on her forehead, she will no longer be defined by what people say about her or by what she thinks about herself. Those opinions and points of view will be interrupted by her identity as a beloved child of God. That identity will be with her, interrupting every part of her life so she can grow into the love God gives her every day. And as she gets bigger, learning all the different ways she can easily interrupt whatever her parents or her brother are doing, she’ll never be able to interrupt how God sees her. Kaylee will now have a lifetime to experience God’s constant interruption of grace, mercy, and love on every sabbath and on every other day in the week. And when all the stuff life brings tries to interrupt God’s love for her, Jesus will be right there, bringing a word of comfort, healing, and hope. 

Amen. 

He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” ² So he said to them, “When you pray, say:
Father, may your name be revered as holy.
    May your kingdom come.
³     Give us each day our daily bread.
⁴     And forgive us our sins,
        for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
    And do not bring us to the time of trial.”
⁵ And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, ⁶ for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ ⁷ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ ⁸ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
⁹ “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. ¹⁰ For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. ¹¹ Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? ¹² Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? ¹³ If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Luke 11:1-13 (NRSVU)

My sermon from the 7th Sunday after Pentecost (July 24, 2022) on Luke 11:1-13.

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So where do you think Jesus was praying at the beginning of today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke? We’re told Jesus was at a certain place but there’s very little connecting this story to what came before. It reads like a singular scene that could have taken place during any part of Jesus’ life. Luke, out of all the gospel writers, does this a lot and it’s not helpful that our lectionary, the three year cycle of readings we use in worship, often jumps around and between different gospels. There’s no guarantee what we heard last week is chronologically related to what we heard today. Yet this time, there is. Jesus, at the end of chapter 10 was in a certain village, hanging out with two sisters named Martha and Mary. It was there when Martha, an independent woman, did the unlikely thing of inviting this wandering preacher – and his disciples – into her home. After their eating together; drinking together; and teaching Mary as the disciple Jesus said she was, Jesus went to a certain place to pray. And I like to imagine that all Jesus did was sort of step out the front door, seeking peace in the courtyard of Martha’s home. As he prayed, another disciple snuck outside and waited for Jesus to finish. And when Jesus looked up, this unnamed disciple asked Jesus to teach them to pray.

Now this unnamed disciple had, most likely, been sitting at the feet of Jesus just a few moments before. And they, I think, were pretty familiar with what Jesus does. Their relationship had history and so this probably wasn’t the first time this disciple saw Jesus pray. There’s also a good chance that they, themselves, had a long history of prayer since they, like Jesus, were Jewish. The book of psalms, which we’ve been listening to this summer, was their prayer book and it was common to pray in the morning, in the evening, and at the beginning and ending of meals. They, as regular prayers, also had a rich experience using their own words to communicate with God. It’s safe to say this unnamed disciple bugging Jesus in the courtyard of Martha’s home knew what it was like to be an active participant in a life of prayer. That nuance about their story was something I hadn’t really noticed before since I assumed they were seeking a how-to guide when talking to God. But there might be more to this story since, out of the blue, this unnamed disciple made sure to include the name of John the Baptist in their question.

John, like Jesus, was a teacher and he also pulled together his own group of disciples. We don’t know much about them except they were drawn to this man who was teaching, preaching, and baptizing in the wilderness. They, like countless others, saw how, through God and through John’s witness, they had an opportunity for a different kind of life. The disciples of John were, like Jesus, faithful and followed him even after he was killed by King Herod. Some, though, switched from following John to following Jesus even when John was alive. And I wonder if this unnamed disciple was one of them. If that’s true, then their own life had been full of ups and downs and all kinds of changes as they grew in their connection to God. They, themselves, had seen their life of faith change as new people, new places, new ideas, and new experiences transformed them. Their life with faith had included saying prayers in a variety of settings with all kinds of people. And since they prayed, they knew what it was like to have some, but not all, of their prayers answered. The ebb and flow of their life of faith, full of unexpected challenges and changes, probably even included moments when they felt alienated from God, from people, or even didn’t really think about God at all. They were a disciple who had lived their life and while outside Martha’s home, they found themselves with the opportunity to ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

And that’s exactly what Jesus did. He shared a version of a prayer we’ll title as the Lord’s prayer – acting as if it, somehow, belongs to him. But the disciple who asked this question didn’t ask Jesus to repeat the prayers he had just brought to God. Instead, he asked to be taught which means the Lord’s prayer is really our prayer. And Luke’s version of this prayer shows how personal it’s supposed to be since the “our Father” simply begins with “Father.” The father Jesus imagines in this moment isn’t necessarily defined or limited by our experiences of having a father, being a father, or living with a father who was anything but. This father is, I think, reflected and enhanced by where they were at that particular moment. Jesus and this disciple were in the courtyard of Martha’s home after having experienced a hospitality that was stretched and expanded by the welcome Jesus gave to all. Martha and her sister were brought into the fullness of being with God while surrounded by disciples who had heard Jesus share the parable of the good Samaritan and who had depended on the hospitality of strangers when Jesus sent them to bring peace to the homes of people who were thought to be their enemies. This Father was more than a creator of the universe who demanded and expected a kind of reverence based on hierarchy and power. This God was also a God of welcome and inclusion who wanted us, in prayer, to always be ourselves. And one of the tools Jesus gave us to do all of this was the Lord’s Prayer. It, with only a few words and sentences, makes sure we hold any part of ourselves back from God. It describes how we diminish the name of God by acting as if God is merely an extension of our own opinions and ideas. These words also admit that our world, our lives, and every so-called kingdom we build fail to fully reflect the love God made real on the Cross. We, on a personal level, plead not only for the resources we need to thrive but also push back against the habit of hoarding God’s gifts of food, money, and other things as we seek to secure our future at the expense of everyone else. And, at the end, these words from Jesus invite us to ask God to carry us through every trial we face since life isn’t easy. In essence, this prayer helps us admit the ways we’ve failed to be hospitable to ourselves and others while, at the same time, letting these words guide us into practicing the kind of hospitality Jesus experienced and showed to Martha and Mary. He wanted them to always be human and he invites us, especially in our prayers, to do the same. We, through baptism and faith, have already been welcomed into a relationship big enough to hold us through what our lives might bring. And this connection to God stretches, moves, expands, and changes no matter where life takes us. The prayer Jesus taught us is a promise that God has already made the decision to be with us, no matter what because Jesus is Emmanuel. Wherever you are in your journey with God, may your prayers never pretend you’re something you’re not. You can be with God like that pushy friend who won’t hold back because God’s own hospitality towards us expects nothing less.

Amen.

¹⁸ Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹ Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. ²⁰ But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ²² All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

²³ “Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,”
which means, “God is with us.” ²⁴ 

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife ²⁵ but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.

Matthew 1:18-25 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 22, 2019) on Matthew 1:18-25.

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I’m sure you know we’re only two days away from Christmas Eve. And if you’re like me, just saying those words out loud makes you feel pretty anxious. There’s still a lot that I need to do – and even though I know Christmas Eve comes whether we’re ready or not – I hope it at least waits until after the bulletins are printed, the presents are wrapped, and the cookies and milk for Santa are placed where they’re supposed to be.

Now, one of those things I’d like to do in the next two days is to make sure that our red and blue activity bags that kids can use during worship are ready for Christmas Eve. I want to make sure that all the books, toys, crayons, colored pencils, word searches, and coloring pages inside those bags are up-to-date and clean.. And since I’m a bit of a church geek, I’d also like to make what in those bags match our church season. But that’s not always easy. If you do a quick google image search for Christmas coloring pages, there are plenty available with an older looking Joseph, a Mary who doesn’t look like she just gave birth, and a newborn Jesus who can already hold his head up without help or support. They’re pages that show the characters but they don’t tell the whole story. However, last year, I found a different kind of coloring page. Mary was resting on a bed of straw and she looked completely exhausted. Joseph sat a few feet away from her, giving Mary the space she needed. But Joseph wasn’t asleep, tending to the donkey, or chatting with some random shepherds. Instead, he was busy holding Jesus – gently rocking him while Mary slept. In our Lutheran tradition, we don’t always see Joseph in this way. He’s usually depicted like he is in our creche – faithful, righteous, and kneeling besides Jesus. But then we sort of forget his place in the rest of Jesus’ story because the Bible doesn’t mention him very much. Once Jesus grew up and was preaching around the Sea of Galilee, his mom was the only one the gospels mention by name. Yet our reading today from the gospel according to Matthew invites us, I think, to spend a little more time with Joseph – especially when he was living through his version of Christmas Eve.
Our passage begins with Joseph facing a dilemma: the woman he’s engaged to was pregnant. Unlike the gospel according to Luke, the gospel of Matthew doesn’t have any backstory to this moment at all. Mary enters the story pregnant – and Matthew zeroed in on Joseph’s reaction. We find out, pretty quickly, what his decision eventually was. But we hear very little about the mental, emotional, and spiritual process that led to his making that choice. There’s a gap at the start of Joseph’s story that we can either zoom past or we choose to stay there. And on this fourth Sunday of Advent, I think we’re invited to be in that gap between verses 18 and 19. That gap lets us use our imagination – to see what we would have done if our fiance showed up pregnant. What questions would you have asked? What thoughts would have raced through your mind? And if we take seriously our family history, our cultural background, and what it’s like to be here in Northern New Jersey in the 21st century – what would you do if you were Joseph and Mary came to you?

The process of asking those questions – of being honest with ourselves about what our life is actually like – is the same process we can use to imagine Joseph in his story. And as we reflect on what we would do in that situation – we have to admit that knowing the right thing is something that’s not always easy to figure out. Joseph’s background as a first century Jew living near the Sea of Galilee and influenced by the Greco-Roman economic, cultural, and political systems that informed how people lived their lives – that mix of culture, tradition, and way of life – had something to say about his situation. Because Joseph lived in a place where traditions and legal systems around engagement, marriage, the role of women, inheritance, and property defined what being married and being engaged. And Joseph, raised in that cultural system, probably assumed that there were certain things that worked a certain way because that’s just how things were done. Joseph’s upbringing within his context would have shaped and informed the process his thoughts and feelings would take once Mary showed him what was new. Plus, if his family and friends knew about the situation, they probably had no problem telling Joseph exactly what he should do – giving him their free advice whenever he saw them. It’s also possible that Joseph visited his local synagogue, participated in various religious rituals, an even prayed – hoping that God would tell him what to do. We have no idea if Joseph really did any of those things. But we can imagine that this man, who God wanted a parent for Jesus, did what we would have done: taking what makes us who we are – our personality, our story, our experiences, our background, and our influences – to form his choice. And even with all of that, with everything that made him who he was, when God showed up to him in Mary – Joseph said no. He couldn’t, as faithful and good and righteous as he was, see that Christmas was coming. So God, once again, broke into this world – sending an angel during Joseph’s waiting for Christmas – letting him know that, ready or not, Christmas would come.

It’s hard to imagine that the devoted, righteous, and faithful person we imagine and portray in our creche and in our children coloring would also be the same kind of person who, when faced with Jesus, would first say “no.” Yet his no did not stop Christmas. God chose to do what God always does – to continue to bring God’s kingdom near – but this time God’s kingdom showed up in a new way because God lived and experienced human life up close and personal. And when God showed up, even Joseph couldn’t imagine that this was how God would expand what love, mercy, and forgiveness might be like. So today, when we’re sooo close to Christmas that our anxiety and excitement has blended into one almost unbearable mess, we’re reminded that God still comes. It isn’t our goodness, faithfulness, or righteousness that defines what God will do. Rather God, through the Holy Spirit, moves into our world and into our lives, opening us to what’s possible with Jesus Christ. And those possibilities are not limited by our imagination, culture, context, or by anything ever describe as “just the way things are.” Rather, the only limit to what God is up to is God’s limitless love for all.

Now we might know that we’re nowhere near as righteous as Joseph. Yet we are wrapped up in our own waiting for Christ – and we, like him, need the Holy Spirit to intervene. As we worship, pray, and share in holy communion – we are reminded that we are here because the Holy Spirit continues, in a myriad of ways, to come to us – working God’s grace on our hearts, souls, and minds. We, through the Spirit, are being transformed. And even though we might not feel more righteous today than we did yesterday, God’s Spirit is helping us to become a more active participant in what God is doing in the world. Because even Joseph, when he was face-to-face with what God was doing in the world, chose to send God away. But as the story kept going, he eventually found himself letting Mary sleep while he held God’s new and holy presence in his arms. As we wait for Christmas Eve to come, know that it doesn’t depend on us. Jesus does, and will, come. And as he does, love will grow.

Amen.