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¹³ “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

¹⁴ “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. ¹⁵ People do not light a lamp and put it under the bushel basket; rather, they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

¹⁷ “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. ¹⁸ For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. ¹⁹ Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. ²⁰ For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 5:13-20 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Epiphany (February 5, 2023) on Matthew 5:13-20.

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I am not a miracle worker but everyday I try to make the impossible happen. Sometimes I’m being silly like pretending my mind is powerful enough to make a parking spot magically appear in front of the store I’m trying to visit. But other times what I’m trying to do is a bit more personal. When I see someone who is sad or who is feeling down, my first instinct is to make them “feel” better. And over the years, I’ve tried to do this by making them laugh or taking them to do something fun. If, however, I’m the reason for why they’re feeling what they’re feeling, I tend to  become a bit defensive and act as if my intentions are more important than what they’re going through. If we’ve ever been told to “calm down” or “just relax” while going through something traumatic, we know how impossible it is to change what another person feels. Yet we keep trying to do that because, I think, we don’t really know how to manage our own feelings when someone else is feeling what they feel. We, instead, teach one another to hide our feelings or we learn how certain feelings among certain kinds of people are more important than others. Our own insecurities, defensiveness, and need to appear happy cause us to push hard against those who wonder if there’s a different way to be. It’s difficult enough for us, on our own, to feel what we feel. And it seems a bit unfair that we, at the same time, have to be around others who feel what they feel too. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is a continuation of what we heard last week. Jesus, after quickly developing a reputation as a healer and a preacher, sat down on a mountain to teach those who came to see him. Jesus, in Matthew’s eyes, is like a new Moses, revealing what life can be like since the kingdom of heaven is near. Way back in the book of Exodus, Moses met God in a cloud on Mt. Sinai and delivered to the people the Ten Commandments. These words from God were given to a community who, for 400 years, had been forced to live a certain way because of their enslavement by the Egyptians. God, after freeing them, gave the Israelites something that was more than simply a list of dos and do nots. They were part of a larger revelation from God about what it means to live together. This revelation is often called the “law” which sounds a bit legalistic. Yet the Hebrew word behind the Greek word in our reading today that was translated as “law” is really all about “teaching.” And while a list of rules provides a structure we can live in, this teaching from God is how we discover what living is meant to be. Jesus, then, began his ministry in Matthew doing exactly that: he taught. And after a series of sayings about God noticing those we usually push aside, Jesus moved the conversation into something odd with a simple “you are.” 

Now it’s not uncommon, when we’re teaching, to focus on what another person “should” do. For example, when we show  others how to cross the street, we tell them they “should” look both ways before they step onto the road. Our “shoulds” do a lot of lifting when we’re teaching others how they should live their lives. Yet it’s very interesting that at this early moment in Jesus’ teaching, he doesn’t use the word “should.” There he was, sitting on a mountain side, looking out at his disciples and a crowd of people who needed to be healed. Jesus didn’t tell any of them that they “should be the salt of the earth” or that they should be “the light of the world.” He, instead, shared how that was already what they were. To the fishermen who left their nets and their families behind on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus told them: “you are the salt of the earth.” To the parents bringing their sick child to see him and to the blind man who had to beg for food, Jesus told them: “you are the light of the world.” In a world that believes only certain kinds of people get to decide what all our “shoulds” should be, Jesus looked at everyone around him and said we’re already something more. 

We, traditionally, are a little more familiar with Jesus’ saying about “light” since we hear it during every baptism. But on this day, I was drawn to Jesus’ comments about salt. Salt is so accessible to us that we often talk about it in a slightly negative way. We, especially as we get older, worry about how much salt is in our diet and we lament at how destructive, though necessary, salt is when ice shows up on our roads. If you went on a scavenger hunt in the church right now, you would find salt in boxes and bags and little glass shakers all over the building. Yet in Jesus’ day, salt was viewed as something, while ordinary, was extremely precious. It was the primary way food was preserved since refrigerators hadn’t been invented yet. And there are descriptions in our Bible of salt being necessary during certain practices and rituals. Our cultural history is so wrapped up in salt that even the word “salary,” which will be a part of today’s annual Congregational Meeting when we talk about the 2023 budget, is derived from a Latin term describing the allowance a soldier received to purchase salt. Salt is very necessary yet Jesus focused on how this very ordinary thing makes an impact on what we do everyday. Salt has a habit of enhancing flavor in whatever we’re eating. And you – the ordinary you, the emotional you, the one who teaches others the “shoulds” we, ourselves, sometimes ignore – you, through baptism and in faith, are a salt enhancing a certain kind of flavor that’s part of our world. 

But what, exactly, is that flavor supposed to be? Well, I think it’s tied to Jesus’ comments later in the passage about righteousness. Stanley Stowers, in a reflection on this passage, wrote: “We often think that righteousness is a matter of being a better, nicer, more ethical person: the righteous attend church regularly, give when the offering plate is passed, avoid common vices, and treat others kindly…[but for] Jesus…righteousness is concerned with mercy, forgiveness, and, most of all, justice…” It’s a righteousness that takes a look at the living we do together and how that reflects the fullness of our God. God doesn’t need us to “pursue the kind of morality that divides the world into the righteous and the unrighteous” nor does God need us to become a people “whose sense of righteousness denies the reality of grace.” The flavor God is already bringing out in the world is one where we, through acts of mercy and love, notice and see and work hard to make every relationship whole. One way we do this is by letting ourselves and others feel what we feel. We will have to learn how to emotionally handle the times when there is nothing we say or do that can make anything better. We will discover the courage, strength, and humility necessary to say we’re sorry and to never let our intentions be worth more than what people actually experience. We will, in a sense, stop asking ourselves to do the impossible and, instead, do what Jesus did. He, while teaching, sat with the broken, the hurting, the curious, the emotional, and even those who he knew would abandon him in the end. Yet he remained right there – to show how we, as the salt of the earth and the light of the world, can do the very possible thing of living with one another too. 

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 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.

“A disciple is not above the teacher nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!

“So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.^[a] Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

“Everyone, therefore, who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven, but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

Matthew 10:24-39 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 21, 2020) on Matthew 10:24-39.

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This reading from the gospel according to Matthew  – is a bit weird. And I think it’s okay to say that. On a day when some of us will be celebrating Father’s Day, we just heard Jesus talk about sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, turning against each other. We’re also two days from the celebration of Juneteeth –   a holiday marking the moment when enslaved African-Americans in Texas received word that the victorious Union army had declared them free. The legacy of slavery and the impact of racism in our country is being contested almost daily in protests all over the country – and yet we hear Jesus use the language of master and slave which sounds different for us today. It’s also a bit odd to hear the word Beelzebub – which I’m pretty sure I’m mispronouncing. And finally the words Jesus used to describe himself – as one who doesn’t bring peace but, instead, a sword – doesn’t really match the Prince of Peace that we celebrate on Christmas. So what do we do with this collection of sayings that might leave us feeling unsettled and confused? 

Well – the first thing we should do, I think, is to acknowledge the weirdness. The Bible isn’t always going to make us feel comfortable. The Bible is a collection of words from God that actually does something to us. And part of that doing is going to make us feel weird. We’re going to be uncomfortable. We’re going to feel convicted by the text in some ways. Part of our job as followers of Jesus is to be honest about what Jesus’ words are doing to us. We can say that his words about familial bonds troubles us or that we’re confused by what he means about taking up the Cross and following him. We can also admit that it’s more than just one word or phrase in the text that’s making us feel this way. It could be that our lives, caught up in whatever we’re experiencing, is struggling to see the good news Jesus brings. We’re supposed to share with ourselves and others when following Jesus is hard. And we shouldn’t just ignore what we’re feeling or try and hide behind a different text that sounds a bit nicer. 

Instead, we can use what we’re experiencing as a way to enter the text in a deeper way. If we’re struggling with Jesus’ words – there’s a good chance Jesus’ first followers struggled with those words too. The weirdness we’re feeling invites us to put Jesus’ words back into context – into the narrative of Matthew itself – while also wondering how these words would have sounded to the early disciples. These sayings from Jesus, that sound a bit disjointed and maybe like they don’t really go together, are a continuation of the message Jesus began last week. Jesus gathered together his imperfect disciples – the ones who would eventually deny him, betray him, and abandon him on the Cross – to go out, and do the things Jesus did. They would tell others about Jesus while living out what it means for God’s kingdom to come near. They would heal anyone in need; cast out every demon that fosters pain and suffering at the expense of connection and love; and they would offer hope to all who feel hopeless. Jesus’ knew that their mission wouldn’t be easy. Too often, we are suspicious and threatened by the call to live and love out loud because it forces us to admit that what we’re doing now isn’t always right. The status quo is not God’s kingdom. Rather, it’s just something that we’re used to. We’ve learned, over time, how to at least exist in this specific moment in time. But living for this moment does not mean we’re living for God’s moment. And so there’s a cost that comes with following Jesus – and today’s words give voice to what that cost might look like. 

And what I see in this passage is tension. The family relationships described in verses 35 through 37 are pretty specific. They reflect words shared by the prophet Micah and they name the core relationships at the center of what a family looked like in the ancient Jewish and Greco-Roman world. The ideal back then wasn’t the nuclear family we idealize now. Families were more extensive and the family’s health was seen as the foundation necessary for a good life. Jesus’ words pierced the cultural realities that people used to define who they are. And he didn’t need a real sword to do that. All he needed was his presence; his actions; and his words. Jesus doesn’t come into our life to merely pat ourselves on the back as we keep living the life we’ve always lived. His relationship with us is too busy transforming us – shifting our priorities and our vision of who we are. It’s a transformation that names sin and how we live as if our own point of view is the true center of the universe. It’s a transformation that shows us that there is a God and we’re not it. Jesus gives us a new life where God can be at the center of who we are. It’s a life that we’ll never fully reach during our time on Earth. But it is a vision we get to live into – a tension we embrace – because Jesus is here – and the world is changing because he’s already a part of it.

And it’s changing not because we are perfect or wonderful or always on the right side of history. It’s changing because God just loves. We often read this passage, especially the warning about loving father and mother more than God, as a description of what our priorities should be. We end up creating for ourselves a hierarchy of love – where our love is doled out based on a descending list. As we sketch out what this hierarchy should look like, we put God at the top – and then, as we move down the page, we add children and spouses – parents and families – cousins and best friends – and then maybe a catch-all term for everyone else in the world. But what does that hierarchy of love actually look like? How do we put it into practice? We could define that love through what we do – making each level of hierarchy a reference to what we might do for them. For the stuff near the top, we might choose to listen to them, support them, and offer them a place to stay in their time of need. They would get our love first – while the others, near the bottom, would get whatever we had left over. But if God is at the top – have you done for God what you have already done for your parents, for your children, for your friends, and even your neighbors down the street? 

In the words of Lewis Donelson, “hierarchies of love work only on paper.” Because an absolute expression of love – is just love. Love can be expressed in different ways – but love, as God wants us to love, isn’t always quantifiable. Love is love is love. “[And] when we love our [children; our parents; or our chosen family], we love them absolutely. We do not rank them on a descending list.” The love we express in our relationships – that kind of love that isn’t a transaction but rather an expression of wholeness and hope – that love is at the heart of who God is – and that is the love we are called to share with the world. 

Following Jesus isn’t easy because it asks us to lean into a love that doesn’t just change other people’s lives; it also changes our own. It’s a love that admits hard truths; it’s a love that knows our sin; and it’s a love that will show us we were wrong. The love of God and path of Jesus challenges the status quo – including our understanding of family, community, and who is valued and who is not. And this challenge is going to make it hard to love like God wants us too. But – we are called to make our reverent, life-giving, and loving best guess in everything that we do because we’re not doing this on our own. We have, with us and for us, a God who knows every strand of hair we have – or had – on our head. And this same God, in Jesus, went to the Cross to show us what a love that does not end. Jesus has already changed the world because he lived in it; he died for it; and he now lives again through a body that includes even us. We get to do the hard work of following Jesus because he doesn’t have a hierarchy of love. Instead, he just loves – and that love already includes me and you. 

Amen.

Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus and Thaddaeus; Simon the Cananaean and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.

These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Do not take a road leading to gentiles, and do not enter a Samaritan town, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.

Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff, for laborers deserve their food. Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it, but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town. Truly I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town.

“I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues, and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them and the gentiles. When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you at that time, for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. Sibling will betray sibling to death and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death, and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. When they persecute you in this town, flee to the next, for truly I tell you, you will not have finished going through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.

Matthew 9:35—10:23

My sermon from the 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (June 14, 2020) on Matthew 9:35—10:23.

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In 1863, a new kind of ad started appearing in newspapers across the country. The ads were simple – boxes of text, submitted by people who either paid to have them published or relied on the generosity of the publishers to print them. These ads showed up in newspapers across the country, including The Christian Record, The Colored Tennessean, The New Orleans Republican, and The Washington Times. And these news ads started to appear while the Civil War was still raging across the Eastern United States. The recent signing of the Emancipation Proclamation and the movements of the Union Army, had led to a number of formerly enslaved African-Americans creating new lives in refugee camps and in places far from where they were formerly enslaved. They carried with them the scars and the memories of what their life used to be like. So some began putting ads in newspapers seeking information about where their family members were. In 2017, a project called “Last Seen” was put together by Vanderbilt University and Mother Bethel AME Church in Philadelphia. Their goal was to digitize and transcribe these kinds of newspaper ads. They first looked at ads from six newspapers and, over a 45 year period, they found over 900 people looking for their family and friends. That number grew as more newspapers were looked at. After a year, the project ended with over 3500 ads in its database. The ads were published from 1863 through the early 1900s. And some of them are pretty heartbreaking to read. One ad from 1866 reads: “Mrs. Elizabeth Williams, who now resides in Marysville, California was formerly owned together with her children, vis: Lydia, William, Allen and Parker, by one John Petty, who lived about six miles from the town of Woodbury, Franklin County, Tennessee. At the time she was the wife of Sandy Rucker, and was familiarly known as Betsy – sometimes called Betsy Petty. About twenty-five years ago, the mother was sold to Mr. Marshal Stroud, by whom, some twelve or fourteen years later, she was, for the second time since purchased by him, taken to Arkansas. She has never seen the above named children since. Any information given concerning them, however, will be gratefully received by one whose love for her children survives the bitterness and hardship of many long years spent in slavery.”

We sometimes imagine that the Civil War was a long time ago. But these ads appeared during the same century many of us were born in and during the lives of our grandparents and parents. Slavery was a system where African-Americans did not have a say in the violence that was done to their bodies and to their relationships. It was designed to destroy families; to obliterate people’s histories; and to break apart every relationship a person had. Slavery was a system of violence that assaulted every part of a person’s heart, will, and soul. Yet individuals and communities refused to let what happened to them – a violence that was legal, constitutional, and supported by those in authority – to have the final say in who they were. Instead, they chose to reach out; to hold onto their histories; and to always be truthful about what happened to them while not letting that evil be the end of their story.

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is pretty harsh. It describes a world that is oppressive and scary. We hear Jesus talk about wolves, acts of betrayal, family members turning against each other, and other acts of violence. We might want to act as if Jesus is only talking about the so-called “other’ – to people who don’t look or sound like us. But Jesus was busy describing communities that disciples knew and were already a part of. They were going to visit towns filled with people who spoke their language, who looked like them, ate like them, and who worshipped in the Temple like they did. And Jesus was calling them to go out into the world and do the very things Jesus was already doing.

Yet we know that these disciples weren’t always the most faithful, the most generous, or the most holy. And sometimes they were really bad at following Jesus. For example, Peter would eventually deny even knowing Jesus while Judas would be the one who turned Jesus in to the authorities. The tax collectors in their group had a different relationship with these communities because their job made them close with the Romans who occupied and controlled the land. Their profession needed that Empire to continue – while Simon the Cananaean, was probably a zealot – a revolutionary who did everything he could to make the Roman occupation end. The disciples were a ragtag group of people who were not perfect, fully faithful, or without doubts. Yet they were the ones Jesus called and made part of his mission in the world. The truth about who the disciples were – the fullness of their imperfect story – was not the final determinant of who they were. Instead, they would proclaim that the kingdom of heaven was near. They would cure the sick; raise the dead; and cast out every kind of demon. The disciples would embody and live out a different truth that knew that God’s love for the world was made tangible in the presence of Jesus. And that Jesus would, in the end, be at the heart of who they were.
But the truth about Jesus is also an opportunity for us to admit the truths about us and our world. It’s why, on this Sunday, we’re remembering the Emanuel 9 – who chose to proclaim and surround themselves with God’s word while offering hospitality to the one who killed them. It’s why we remember that their killer grew up in an ELCA church, attended Sunday School, Confirmation Classes, and heard sermons on our call to love our neighbors as ourselves. And yet he still made white supremacy the primary story of his life. It’s why we can be honest that we live in a society where racism is real and that African-Americans continue to be denied opportunities because of the color of their skin. That reality is documented in countless statistics, from wealth inequality to incarceration rates to even health outcomes. This racism shows up in unexpected places – like healthcare of mothers – and how black women are two to three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women. It doesn’t matter how rich or educated these women are. If they are black, their outcomes are worse – because of old racist attitudes about standards for pain and healthcare that still exist. These attitudes don’t just appear in thin air. They are passed down and taught through our culture and the stories we choose to tell. We, as a community, say that certain stories matter more than others – and we see that in our retelling of the Civil War. Growing up, the stories I heard centered on battles, soldiers, generals, and the so-called notion of “states rights.”

I never heard about the ads from formerly enslaved people who showed us how slavery did everything it could to destroy who they were. We choose to focus on the people we put onto pedestals – rather than on the violent institution of slavery which, through Reconstruction, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights movements, and even today – still impacts people, communities, churches, and our nation. I wonder what our communities would be like today if we had chosen stories that focused more truly on this harder truth.

Yet – even though this hard truth is part of who we are – it’s not the only truth about what we can become. Because, as we hear in our reading today, Jesus reminds his disciples that God’s kingdom has come. God, through Jesus, is already in our world – telling a new story centered in justice, reconciliation, and love. In our baptism, and in our faith, we are connected to Jesus who is already moving in our world and giving us a different truth that should be at the center of our story. He also promises to equip us so that we can admit hard truths that will impact our view of ourselves, our families, and our communities. And that truth-telling lets us be bearers of peace into troubled communities that are sick and full of all kinds of demons. Through Jesus, we get to be Jesus to all kinds of people. And we do this not because we are perfect, wonderful, and always faithful. Rather, we do this because we are Jesus’ disciples – imperfect people that proclaim that life can be experienced in a different way.

Out of the 3594 ads listed on “Last Seen,” only 16 describe reunions that happened. In one of those announcements, a daughter who was one month old when her mother was sold to someone else, found her almost 31 years later. I don’t know if that story of reconnection was normal or very unique. But I know we can, together, choose to live as if reconciliation, hope, and love is what God’s kingdom is all about. Jesus is already active in our world, offering a perfect love that we struggle with. Yet we get to live as if God’s kingdom is here – and that God’s truth is actually true. Together, we proclaim that God is present; that the Spirit is active in the world; and that Jesus has already been among us, showing us the truth about who we are, and yet, through the Cross, saving us from ourselves. Jesus has already chosen you to be part of his ragtag and imperfect team meant to bring love, mercy, and hope into the world. This is a mission we‘re already a part of. It’s a mission Jesus is already living out. It requires us to name and express hard truths that will trouble us. Yet those hard truths will help us see a more righteous truth – that God loves you; that God loves your neighbor; that God loves the world – and those truths are ones we can truly live out.

Amen.

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet:
“Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
    humble and mounted on a donkey,
        and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
“Hosanna to the Son of David!
    Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

Matthew 21:1-11 (NRSVue)

My sermon from Palm & Passion Sunday (April 5, 2020) on Matthew 21:1-11.

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I don’t usually include props in my sermon but since you’re zoomed in right now, I figured today could be a little different. Before I sat here, I stopped by our church’s utility closet to pick something up. A utility closet is where we store stuff that we use at the church to make sure it stays clean and safe. And our closet is, thanks to the Property Committee, really well organized. It’s full of extension cords, paint rollers, screwdrivers, screws, paper towels, and this – toilet paper. Now toilet paper has been in the news recently because everyone seems to be buying it and no store seems to have it. A few nights ago, someone posted in one of my town’s many facebook groups that the local grocery store had just put out a pallet full of toilet paper. People, of course, were excited and they quickly shared their excitement by leaving comments on the post. Some people thanked the person who shared and then headed to the store. Others made jokes and posted funny pictures. Still more left comments lamenting our current situation. And then there additional people wondering why so many people were hoarding toilet paper that they didn’t need. Those last comments are one of the stories we’ve been telling ourselves constantly over this last month. When we go to the store and see barren shelves, we wonder what it is that other people are doing and why there’s nothing there for us. Toilet paper has, in many ways, become a symbol of the moment we’re living in right now. There are pizza shops where, when you order a pizza, they give you a roll of toilet paper. And there are jokes all over the internet where toilet paper has become like another form of currency. Every time a roll of TP shows up in a store or online, it’s not long before the story about other people hoarding supplies pops up. But – I’m not sure if the story about TP is really the story we’re telling. Because the shortage we see at stores is because our wider story has changed. We’re now spending most of our time at home and we no longer need our offices or schools to be stocked full of paper products. The companies that kept those places full of what they needed were not designed to cater to the ways we live at home. Rarely, if ever, is a roll of toilet paper in someone’s home the size of a hubcap. Yet that’s the standard size we see in offices, buildings, and at school. The paper companies that serve business and schools usually do not serve the consumers at home. So when we made the choice to stay at home because we wanted to keep other people safe, what changed was our entire story. The system we use to keep our stores stocked with all kinds of paper products was not designed for the story we’re currently living in. 

One of the things that struck me about today’s story from the gospel according to Matthew is the very last question that we hear. As Jesus entered Jerusalem, the entire city wondered out loud: “who is this?” This moment is unique to Matthew and it hints at his vision of this moment being sort of this large and over-the-top kind of moment. The passage began with Jesus doing a slightly excessive thing, and asking for 2 animals to be brought to him rather than just one. And then, as he rode the donkey into the city, a large crowd led the way. People climbed trees to break off branches so they could wave them in the air. And still more took off their cloaks and jackets, throwing them onto the dirt road, so that no dust could be kicked up and obscure this over-the-top sort of moment. The crowds that surrounded Jesus kept shouting the words “Hosanna” and named Jesus as the son of David – and the one who comes in the name of the Lord. In Matthew’s version of this story, Jesus’ arrival into Jerusalem is anything but quiet. The crowd is large and the shouts even larger. News about his arrival quickly floods the city and overwhelms whatever else was going on. No longer was the city of Jerusalem preoccupied by its everyday story. Jesus’ arrival changed that. Instead, the city seethed in confession by the arrival of this person and this movement that came from somewhere else. And Matthew lets the entire city speak out loud – as it wonders just who this Jesus is. 

That question – who is Jesus – has been our question this entire season of Lent. Each week, we’ve spent time during the sermon thinking about that moment when Jesus felt very real to us. Using that moment as the source of our faith story, we’ve been working on how to share that story with others. And we did that by finishing a series of sentences. We started by setting the stage for our story with the sentence: “Once upon a time there was…” We then kept our story going by describing a part of what our normal life was life by finishing the sentence “And every day…” But then Jesus showed up – and we noticed it right away or only saw it later, when we looked back at our life and realized that Jesus had been a part of it for a very long time. So we then added to our faith story by finishing the sentence “Until one day…” “And because of that…” our life shifted and changed. Last week, we described how that change sort of climaxed in our lives by finishing the sentence “Until finally…” Yet we know that the climax of the story isn’t the end of it. Rather, it’s the start of a new moment in our lives when the story that we tell becomes fully part of who we are. This pandemic that we’re living through wasn’t one that any of us planned for. We didn’t want it to come. We didn’t want it to impact Bergen County, our friends, our neighbors, and even ourselves as much as it has. We, together, have no idea when it will end. And we’re not sure when we’ll be able to go to the store again and be greeted by a mountain of toilet paper that we can freely buy. There’s a lot to our current story that we don’t know. But – there’s something we can add to that story by focusing on the question the city shouted out in today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew. When the city asked the question, they actually received an answer. And though the answer stated in the Bible is important – what I’m more struck by is who it is that does the answering. It’s not just the disciples who answer who Jesus is. Nor is it only specific people – those who knew him his entire life, or those he healed, or those he fed with a few loaves of bread and fishes. Rather, it’s the crowd – the entire crowd – that gets to answer. That crowd wasn’t made up of only one kind of person. It was diverse – filled with people of all sorts of backgrounds and all sorts of experiences. Each one of them, if you asked them who Jesus was, would have given different answers based on their personal experiences of Jesus Christ. Yet, together, their stories pointed to a wider story – that Jesus was someone who made a difference in their lives. The Jesus who came to us in our baptism, in our faith, and in that moment that we’re trying to share right now – is still here. He’s still with you. And he’s still an active part of your life as you learn to live into this new story of pandemic, barren shelves, and looking for rolls of toilet paper. So as we finish this Lenten series on telling our story – I invite you to reflect on what your life was like after Jesus was real to you. What new story did you find yourself living out? And then finish this sentence: “And ever since then…” 

Amen.

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tested by the devil. ² He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward he was famished. ³ The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” ⁴ But he answered, “It is written,
‘One does not live by bread alone,
    but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ”

⁵ Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, ⁶ saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written,
‘He will command his angels concerning you,’
    and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”
⁷ Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ”

⁸ Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, ⁹ and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” ¹⁰ Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written,
‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”
¹¹ Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

Matthew 4:1-11 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the First Sunday in Lent, (March 1, 2020) on Matthew 4:1-11.

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One of the quirks of today’s story from the gospel according to Matthew is that we never hear why the devil chose this moment to tempt Jesus. There’s no flashback scene showing us the many ways the devil and Jesus didn’t get along. And there aren’t even a few words giving us insight into the devil’s planning for this moment. All we know is that after Jesus was baptized, God’s Spirit led him into the wilderness. Now, if we were writing this story, we might want to make the characters’ motivation more explicit. We could, for example, start our version of the story before the world was even made – and include some great battle between good and evil. Jesus and the devil would, at some point, stare at each other and then fight, sharing a few one-liners that would make any Marvel Superhero Movie proud. After the initial fight, we would then see the devil always lurking in the background. But we would also try to make it clear why the devil went after Jesus as an adult instead of, say, when Jesus was 9 or 10. We would make each temptation connected to the back Jesus and the devil both shared and each one would feel more personal and deadly than the last. I’m pretty sure that if we were the ones telling this story, we would use way more words than Matthew did. Because telling stories and making them come alive for others is actually hard. Storytelling is something that we can all do but it’s a skill that takes time for us to develop. And one of the core elements in storytelling – focusing on what’s central – isn’t always an easy thing to suss out. 

So that makes me wonder, what do you think is central in this temptation of Jesus story? Now, I plan to share what I think is central but before that, I want you to answer that question for yourself. If you had to make this story real for someone else – where would your focus be? 

[pause]

Now, if you didn’t come up with an answer, that’s okay. Because, like I said, storytelling is hard.  And there’s a lot of things in this story about Jesus that we could make the center. It would be helpful if we had a model for storytelling that we could easily use to re-tell this Jesus story. Lucky for us, we see storytelling at work everyday. And some of these storytellers, we pay lots of money to watch their movies, buy their t-shirts, and own their toys. One of those kinds of storytellers that’s popular in my house is the animation studio Pixar. Since 1995, they’ve made some of the most popular movies in the world including Cars, Finding Nemo, Toy Story, and Coco. Their use of computer animation is pretty unique and defines their signature styles. But they also have a pattern they follow when it comes to telling their stories. And this method of storytelling that is what makes their movies about what toys do when we’re not looking or what jobs the monsters in our closets have – actually work. From what I’ve been told, their format follows a basic six part outline. It begins with: “Once upon a time there was…” They then expand their  initial environment by adding “And every day…” But then something happens and they move into “Until one day…” The story then cycles through its ups and downs by repeating the phrase “And because of that…” over and over again. Eventually, the story then moves towards a resolution with “Until finally…” The story ends not with “and happily ever after,” but it sets up for a sequel with: “And ever since then…” This six part outline of telling a story is something we’ll spend time doing during Lent. And since today is the First Sunday in Lent, let’s focus on that first part: “Once upon a time there was…” 

Because that opening, I think, is what sets the tone for what’s central in the story. It helps reveal the characters, the setting, and gives hints at what’s possible. Today’s reading from Matthew isn’t at the start of the book but the devil, I think, knows what’s central to the entire story. And the tempter revealed why he reached out to Jesus now by repeating the same phrase at the start of the first two temptations. Although it’s possible to act as if the tempter was asking a real question when they said “if you are the Son of God,” I find the tempter’s words in that moment to be way more sarcastic. The tempter knew who Jesus was because, right before this moment, Jesus was publicly identified by God as God’s Son during baptism. That declaration wasn’t hidden and it wasn’t meant only for the crowd gathered around Jesus that day.  It was a word that made Jesus the center of the world’s story – and so, in response, the forces that wanted to be at the center instead, had to respond. The temptations, I don’t think, were not the central element of this story. Rather, it was Jesus himself. The tempter wanted to challenge Jesus’ own self-understanding. By poking at his very identity, the tempter was hoping Jesus would stumble. Instead of keeping himself at the center of the story, the tempter tried to make personal desires, a sense of self-importance, and the lust of power and control, be that focus instead. The devil knew Jesus’ story would end if there was anything else that stood at its center. But Jesus, instead, refused to let anything else stand in the place where he belonged. 

Yet I’m pretty sure we’re all familiar with what it’s like to live lives where isn’t always at the center. We can get so wrapped up in the busyness of our lives that we end up giving permission to something else to define the heart of who we are. This shifting away from Jesus is something we can choose to do – but this shift also happens without our being aware it has. It sort of sneaks up on us and we find ourselves living lives where self-interest, personal desires, and power over others defines the choices we make as individuals and as a community. Instead of living in love, we live in fear. Instead of taking a risk and showing mercy, we ignore those in need. Instead of staying open to the diversity within the body of Christ and in our world, we close ranks around those who already think, believe, and act like we do. We think Jesus is at the center of our story – but we end up putting our trust, focus, and identity into everything else. 

Today’s story, I think, is less about avoiding temptation and more about keeping Jesus at the center of our story. It’s the belief that the story of who we are cannot be fully told unless the Jesus who claimed us in baptism and in faith is part of the story we tell. And we need to learn – and relearn – how to tell it. Our faith story is exactly that – our own. It doesn’t have to be as big and wild as a Pixar movie to be meaningful and true. Instead, it just needs to be ours – honest, authentic, and that names the moments when Jesus felt present and when he didn’t. Our faith story, as we grow, will change and evolve. But by telling the story, we give witness to the truth that Jesus refuses to give up on us, no no matter how many other things we make central. So, this Lent, let’s learn how to re-tell your faith story. Think about your faith and that moment when Jesus became real to you. It could start with a parent, a grandparent, or yourself. It could involve a specific place, a specific time of your life, or a specific experience you had. Start thinking about who Jesus is to you – and let’s have the Pixar model of storytelling help you tell your Jesus story. And we can start by using that space in the back of the bulletin by my reflection to finish that sentence: “Once upon a time there was…”

Amen.