Sermon: What did Jesus Talk the Most About?

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

Luke 12:32-40

My sermon from the 9th Sunday after Pentecost (August 11, 2019) on Luke 12:32-40.

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What did Jesus talk about the most during his three year long ministry from the Sea of Galilee to Jerusalem? Now, we know Jesus talked about a lot of things. The four gospels attributed to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – are filled with his quotes, conversations, and teachings. Some of those conversations are found in only one of those books while others can be found in up to 3 of them. Scholars have argued that before the four gospels were written, a document was passed around that was just a long list of things Jesus said. Because Jesus was a talker – and what he talked about was varied and vast. So as you reflect on every piece of Jesus’ story that you remember and on every biblical book that you’ve read, what do you think Jesus spent the most time talking about? 

Now, if you said the kingdom of God, then congratulations – you’re correct. The thing Jesus talked about more than anything else during his three year long ministry was about what happens when the kingdom of God comes near. The kingdom of God wasn’t, according to Jesus, something that matches what we imagine a kingdom to be – like a nation or a country with a capital city, borders, political leaders, and the like. Since God holds the entire universe in God’s own hands – if the kingdom of God was just a place, then we’d already know we’re a part of it. Yet God’s kingdom is, according to Jesus, something more: God’s kingdom is really a way of life. It shows up in the relationships and interactions we have with each other. And it’s when the very systems and structures that support our life are reconfigured and re-ordered, so that, in the words of Rev. Matthew Skinner, our whole new reality “[reflects] God’s intentions [for] human flourishing.” God’s kingdom was personified and given flesh in the person of Jesus – who showed us what happens when God’s kingdom comes near: the poor are raised up, the sick are healed, the unwelcomed are included, the hungry are fed, and the brokenness of life is resurrected into something new. God’s kingdom, for Jesus, was always something that was lived out which is why it’s sometimes, so hard to see. God’s kingdom shows up every day – through the big and small interactions we have with one another. 

So now that we know what Jesus talked about the most during his ministry, can you imagine what was number 2 on his list? I’d like to believe that what Jesus talked about after the kingdom of God was some kind of how-to guide so that we could integrate his words into our everyday life. We know that showing love, mercy, and forgiveness can sometimes be really hard – which is why Jesus, several times, reaffirmed our call to love God and our neighbor as ourselves. God’s kingdom is reflected in how we treat, care, and value those we know and those we don’t. So I want the number two thing that Jesus talked about the most to be something that I can use. And the annoying thing is that Jesus gave us exactly that. What Jesus talked about the most after the kingdom of God was about our money and our wealth. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke, in its first two lines, gives us the number 1 and number 2 thing that Jesus talked about the most. Jesus re-affirmed that God wanted God’s kingdom to “take root in the real, lived experiences” of those who followed Him. When we love, serve, and honor the dignity of others like Jesus did, we gain a sense of purpose and joy in our lives. This purpose is rooted in a generosity that begins first in God but is translated through our work and our hands. God’s kingdom, according to Jesus, is built on generosity which why, I think, Jesus spent so much time talking about one of the primary ways we show generosity – through the choices we make when it comes to our money. This is, according to Jesus, part of his how-to guide when it comes to God’s kingdom. After reaffirming that God’s promise of the kingdom is given to those wrapped up in the body of Christ, Jesus told them to “sell your possessions and give alms.” That isn’t the most easy command to follow so we might latch onto the fact that Jesus didn’t say that we should sell all our possessions, giving us an out when we look at all the things we possibly own. But when we spend our time trying to make Jesus’ words easier for us, we miss noticing what he has to say about being generous. The command to sell our possessions and give alms is intimately connected to Jesus’ statement in verse 34. How we spend our money ends up shaping “our [will] and [our] ways of thinking.” If we spend our money only on ourselves, we end up falling into a cycle where we, and no-one else, becomes the focus of it all. Yet when we give to those in need, we can train our mind and our heart to see our neighbors and our world in a new way. When we give, we experience more than just a warm feeling that we’ve done something good. We actually, without realizing it, end up meeting God. Because, as articulated in another gospel, what we do to the least of these – to the poor, to the marginalized, and to those who are truly oppressed – we do Jesus himself. The act of giving is one of the tools we can use to help ourselves see that God is already all around us. 

Yet God’s generosity doesn’t end with money. The almsgiving Jesus had in mind was more than just donating our excess funds to those in need. Generosity, according to Jesus, should be at the core of everything we do and be reflected in all our relationships and interactions. There are other things we can be generous about. There are sacrifices we can make – other kinds of possessions and advantages we can sell – so that all people, friends and strangers, can flourish. This kingdom of God way of life admits and names the inequities and indifference in our world and chooses not to accept that as the status quo. We choose to be generous because God’s kingdom is different from our own. The choices we make when it comes to our money shapes and forms who we are. Yet we already have a different model and experience of life that should do that shaping, instead. We have, through our baptism, our faith, and through the body and blood of Jesus we share each and every week, the promise and the reality that God’s kingdom has already come near. Jesus’s generosity towards us is what shapes, informs, and redefines everything that we do. So We are invited to embrace that generosity – to integrate that part of God’s kingdom into every interaction of our lives – so that our will, our soul, our minds, and even our hearts discover a new treasure where love, mercy, and grace always shines. 

Amen. 
Quotes: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4142

Sermon: Jesus, Inheritance, and I did It

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

Luke 12:13-21

My sermon from the 8th Sunday After Pentecost (August 4, 2019) on Luke 12:13-21.

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Imagine, for a moment, being at home. You’re sitting by the window, watching a thunderstorm head your way. Before too long, the clouds have darken the sky around you and the wind rushes through the trees. I’m going to assume that most of us, at some point, have watched a storm come near. But in our little scenario for today, I’d like you to imagine watching that storm in a different way. For those of us who are not little kids, imagine sitting by that window when you were 3 years old. I want you to think 3 year old thoughts and view the world in a 3 year old kind of way. I want you to sit by the window, stare and wonder. And while you do that, I want you to believe that the storm is more incredible than anything your parents could imagine. 

Earlier this week on Twitter, I came across something shared by thousands of people. A mom was watching her little kid watch a storm outside their front window. The kid was lost in their own thoughts and was busy talking to herself. She said, to no one in particular, ““quiet…quiet. Kaboom comin.” And then, right after she said that, a huge crack of thunder filled the air. It was the kind of sound, I imagine, that would make us jump and maybe run away from the window. But not that little girl. Instead, in a whisper her mom could barely hear, she said to herself, “I did it.” The storm wasn’t something that happened to her. Rather, she believed she made the thunder happen. 

Now, I’ve watched way too many movies and read way too many comic books to say that this little girl was wrong. She could be the next Thor, the god of thunder, who is now realizing the full extent of her powers. Yet, what really struck me about that tweet was how I reacted to it in many different ways. I wanted to high five that little girl for having an incredible amount of confidence in herself. And I also felt a little bit like a sap because what she said was pretty adorable. When I first saw that tweet, I literally laughed out loud because I found it funny. But I was also a bit jealous because I know nothing I’ve said will be enjoyed by the same amount of people who saw that mom’s tweet. Yet there was something else there, in our reactions to that tweet, that was left mostly unsaid. What made this tweet funny to us was the assumption that the little girl was being absurd because she didn’t know the limits to her own reality. Those of us who are older and, in theory – wiser, could come up with a dozen reasons to explain why her understanding of her situation was wrong. We have no problem rewriting her experience so that her sense of “I did it” ends up not being true. We’re pretty good at showing other people how their understanding of their reality is wrong. But do we, when were caught up in our own “I did it” moments, have the  gumption, integrity, and ability to analyze ourselves in the very same way? 

Because, as we see in our reading from the gospel according to Luke today, our “I’s” matter. Jesus was approached by someone in the crowd who was going through a family squabble. We don’t know all the details about their story but it’s possible a younger sibling wanted a piece of their family’s inheritance. They had, for cultural or family reasons, possibly received nothing and they wanted Jesus’ to intervene. Their request for an intervention was exactly that: a request that didn’t ask Jesus for his thoughts or his advice. Yet Jesus gave them his opinion anyways by inviting them to listen to a parable. And for the last two thousand years, the church has affectionately named the parable Jesus told: the rich fool. 

Now the key to interpreting this parable is to pay attention to the I’s, that pronoun and letter, in the passage. After the rich farmer noticed his land producing more crops than he could ever use, he asked himself, “What should I do?” That’s a good question – one we should ask when abundance comes our way. Yet notice that question wasn’t directed to anyone but himself. And instead of just talking to himself, he answered himself as well. Not once did he seek out anyone else’s advice or think about anyone but himself. Which shows us the false reality that he lived in. Because there’s no way he could have planted, tended, and harvested such a large amount of food by himself. Other people were needed to make that harvest happen and yet all the rich farmer could say was, “I did it.” We also know, based on our own experience at the garden here at church: you can research, plan, and do everything correctly – but we still can’t make those plants grow. The land produces what it produces – and we don’t have as much control as we wish we did. The rich man could have named this reality, could have said thank you to the workers who made his harvest happen; and he could have thanked God for providing the rain, the sun, and the seed to make the land produce as much as it did. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked out his window at the abundant harvest he didn’t cause to fully happen on its own, and he said to himself, “I did it.” 

We’re pretty good at claiming credit, at saying “I did it” when it suits us. And we’re also quick to deny that kind of credit when something interferes with the story we prefer to tell about ourselves. We often celebrate, high five each other, and act as if we were the players on our favorite sports teams when they win a national championship. We easily make their victory into a version of our own. But we also distance ourselves from those moments in our country or in our collective life together that we claim are not part of who we are. We separate ourselves from the fact that things like mass shootings happen in our country every day – from garlic festivals in California to Walmarts in El Paso and, as I woke up this morning, to bars in Dayton, Ohio. We choose to act as if we are not truly part of this reality that we’re already in. Our “I did its,” when stated without reflection or even gratitude, is an attempt by us to imagine we live in a world different from the one we’re truly in. Yet Jesus chose to stay in the real one – in the place where God’s reality confronts and reveals the truth about our own. God names our hurts, our failures, our brokenness, and the ways we let the focus on ourselves, our love of the “I’s,” blind us from seeing the truth and the people who are around us. God names our world as it truly is – yet God also chooses to not let us stay there. Instead, Jesus is already present here, revealing to us what God’s reality, God’s kingdom, can actually be. When we follow Jesus, when we feed others like he did, heal communities like he did, stand up against violence and hate like he did, and when welcome all people like he did – we end up seeing, in a flash, what God’s kingdom is all about. Now, none of that work is easy. It takes guts and courage to reflect on our “I did it” moments with nuance, humility, and gratefulness. It’ll also take hard truths for each of us to own every one of our communal “I did it” realities – including those things we wish weren’t true. Yet we don’t go about this work on our own. Because, in our baptism and in our faith, we have Jesus. And when we cling to him, hold onto him, and work to align our lives away from ourselves and instead towards God and our neighbor*, our world and our community will end up being rocked by a different kind of thunder: one filled with hope, mercy, and a love that will carry us through every storm. 

Amen. 

*http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4048

Sermon: Paying Attention (with a six month old at home)

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 28, 2019) on Luke 11:1-13.

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You would think, by this point in my life, that I would be pretty good at recognizing when a sixth month old needed to go to sleep. I should, now that I’m on kid number three, be able to notice when she’s only a few minutes away from needing to fall asleep. My real-life training should enable me to swoop in, pick her up, and know exactly what to do so that, after only a few minutes, she’s embraced her naptime zzzs. But there are times when my baby-sleeping skills are not as strong as I expect them to be. I’ll catch her rubbing her eyes and thinking she’s ready for a nap. I pick her up, get her all setup to safely rest for a few hours, and I start carrying her around the house. I then start imagining all the stuff I can get done once she finally falls asleep. Yet that’s when I discover that I didn’t read her correctly. She’s not as tired as I thought she was and since I’m now holding her, she doesn’t want to be put down. The moment I planned to help her fall asleep turns into minutes and maybe hours. It’s not long before I lose feeling right arm while she’s happily talking at me and looking around. It’s not long before the deadpan look of a child needing to fall asleep that I expected to see on her face – is now actually on mine. I end up feeling as if I’m in a sort of a trance, walking around my house and not really seeing what’s in front of me. And it’s at that moment when my sixth month starts getting to work. She’s able to see what I can’t and so, before I know it, she’s grabbing everything that she can. She’s snatching the take-out menus we’ve left out on the counter, the toys scattered on the dinning room table, and all the hand towels and random clothing left around the house. I keep finding her holding things in her hands even though I never see her pick anything up. I swear there are times when I’m pretty sure she’s grabbed stuff that I don’t even own. Yet, when I’m caught up in my own stuff, unable to pay attention to everything that’s around me, she’s still wide-eyed and looking for all the things I can no longer see. She’s able to pay attention when I cannot – and her awareness becomes a defining part of who she is. The ability to always be paying attention is one of the things I think Jesus was trying to get at in our reading from the gospel according to Luke. Today’s passage isn’t only about prayer. Jesus also shared with his friends and with all of us – an insight into what God sees and what God is holding onto in our lives. 

Now, we could spend time today digging into the nuts and bolts of Luke’s version of the Lord’s prayer. This text and it’s counterpart in the gospel according to Matthew is the foundation for what we’ll recite later in our worship service. But, at this moment, I’m drawn to what starts this whole reading off. After praying in a certain place, one of Jesus’ disciples asked: “Lord, teach us how to pray.” Scripture doesn’t tell us the name of the person who made this request but I’m pretty sure everyone had it in mind. Jesus, the Son of God, was literally walking with them so it made sense to ask him what his prayer life was all about. How does he, the One who was there when everything was created – talk, communicate, and connect with the Father and the Holy Spirit? The “how” in that question seems to imply that the disciples were asking a technical question. They, we think, were looking for some training on what techniques they should use in their own prayer life. That training could, we imagine, be used to make our prayers feel more substantial, proper, and holy. Now, since Jesus followed the disciples’ request with a version of the Lord’s prayer, our interpretation of this passage as some kind of technical manual seems to make sense. And if Jesus had stopped talking at verse 4, then Jesus’ answer would be exactly what we were looking for. The Lord’s Prayer could be seen as some kind of technical training that defined how we connect to the creator of the universe. It could then be like a recipe or a list of magic words that convince us that, if we said the right thing in the right order, then God truly would hear our prayers. 

But that kind of guarantee isn’t a very strong one. Because we end up thinking that the Lord’s Prayer is somehow needed to get God to do something. Prayer, then, becomes a way for us to activate God; to make God move towards us – but only on our terms and after we’ve said the magic words. That kind of God is a God that only works on-demand and who remains pretty silent and pretty quiet until we need them. Yet a God who waits for us to move isn’t really the God we get. Instead, as we remember today on this Christmas in July Sunday, Jesus didn’t wait for us to be ready before Jesus, finally, showed up. There was no one magic word or statement or belief that made God live as a human being on earth. And there was no magic word or something or belief that made Jesus show up in your life. Jesus always comes on his terms – because there is no moment when God’s love isn’t on the move. That’s why, I think, Jesus didn’t stop his words with verse 4. Instead, he continued and his answer stopped being technical. Jesus told a parable about an unexpected guest showing up in the middle of the night. And instead of waiting until the morning to take care of them, Jesus admitted how we might shamelessly, and persistently, do whatever we could to take care of them. We didn’t ask that friend to show up. But since they did – we freely and abundantly serve and love them. 

The Rev. Matthew Skinner, professor at Luther Seminary, recently wrote, “everything about a prayer reveals something about what the pray-er thinks God is like.” And according to Jesus, our God is anything but technical. Our God, instead, is in the business of knowing who we are, where we’ve been, what brings us our greatest joys, and what it is that keeps us up late at night. Our God doesn’t wait for us to say some magic word before getting active in our lives. And that, I think, is one of the reasons why we pray. Not because our words will somehow get God to do whatever it is we want but because God has already made the decision to be with us, no matter what. In our baptism and in our faith, we are united with a Jesus who chose to see us as we truly are. When we are caught up in the busyness of our everyday life, plotting through without the time or the energy to reflect on where we’ve been, where we are going, or where we are right now – we have a Jesus who is already there, holding onto all the things we need to help carry us through. Even when we can’t see it, Jesus is making sure that God’s grace, God’s mercy, God’s forgiveness, and God’s love is being given to you. The God who made you, who came into the world for you, who died for you- sees you, values you, and is already listening to you. Your prayers and your silences are not going unheard because God will, shamelessly and persistently, always love you. 

Amen. 

*Quote: from http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?m=4377&post=5367

Sermon: Who/What is our Home Base?

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set towards Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, ‘Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?’ But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’ To another he said, ‘Follow me.’ But he said, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’ Another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.’ Jesus said to him, ‘No one who puts a hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’

Luke 9:51-62

My sermon from 3rd Sunday after Pentecost (June 30, 2019) on Luke 9:51-62.

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So like many of us, I am a member of my town’s many facebook groups. Some of these groups are restricted to only those who have school aged children or are members of specific soccer teams or families with kids in specific graduating classes. Others, though, are a bit more open, filled with people interested in our local town history or in our rec department or folks who love talking about all of the town’s politics. These groups are great if you’re looking to unload a pile of toys your kids no longer use or if you have suggestions on how the entire town could be better. Yet these facebook groups are more than just a place where we can kvetch. Because if you spend enough time in them, you soon discover the many different kinds of bases that form the center of the communities we call home. These bases can be faith communities, family groups, civic organizations, or points of view. They are the places we turn to when we are going through a crisis or when we need to recharge and stay with what’s comfortable. And these bases really pop out when something unexpected tries to make our neighborhood their new home. For some time, my town was on coyote watch. Every day there were multiple posts from people who saw the coyote – or who didn’t see the coyote – or who expected to see the coyote and wanted to know what they should do when it showed up. Coyote watch wasn’t the first series of random animal facebook posts in my town and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. I’ve seen our town get facebook post happy about hawks, eagles, and foxes who make their holes in the nearby woods. The town’s base doesn’t plan or want or even accept that these animals are now a part of it. So when those creatures find a spot in our neighborhood to lay their heads, we can’t help but post about it. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Luke is a turning point in Luke’s version of Jesus’ story. His public ministry before this point was based in the northern part of Israel, around the Sea of Galilee. But as we hear in verse 51, Jesus knew it was time to head towards Jerusalem. Jesus was now heading towards the Cross – but he did it in a very meandering kind of way. As he left his homebase in Galilee, he showed up in the homebases of others. The village of Samaritans recognized that Jesus’ eyes were turned towards a place not central to their own faith. So they asked Jesus’ followers to, kindly, move along. Yet James and John refused to take this rejection well. They felt that the Samaritans’ response to them was actually a challenge to the base of their own faith. They asked Jesus for permission to cause an incredible amount of violence against them. But Jesus said, “no.” He refused to accept or tolerate violence done in his name. Instead, he kept moving – towards that moment when God’s love and mercy would be publicly visible to all. 

So as they traveled along the road, someone stopped Jesus and said, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Now, our text doesn’t give us any additional information about this person. We don’t know where they’re from, what they look like, or even why they want to follow Jesus in the first place. Yet they seem very eager – and you’d think Jesus would jump at the chance to have this person follow him. But instead he talked about the homes foxes and birds build; and how the Son of Man, i.e. himself, had no place to call his own. Even though Jesus had a hometown and a large extended family of his own choosing – his home base – that place or community that served as the center for everything else he did – wasn’t what the people around him expected. They believed that Jesus was on a journey taking him to someplace new. Jesus, they imagined, was heading towards a new destination – to a new home base where God’s kingdom of love and mercy would be at the center of everything that they did. Jesus, they thought, would take them out of their current reality and into God’s holy future. They were looking for Jesus to bring them to a new place they could call home – and Jesus, in his own way, said “no.”

Which, I’ll be honest, sounds weird. It’s odd to hear Jesus not encourage someone to join him on his journey. We so often frame our experience of faith as if we’re on a journey that is designed to take us somewhere else. We offer ourselves and others a destination – a place filled with peace, joy, connection, and hope. Our journey with Jesus, we believe, is meant to take us out of where we are now and instead into someplace new. Yet Jesus’ response to the unnamed eager almost follower is an opportunity for us to reimagine who, exactly, Jesus is. Because he isn’t only about taking us somewhere else. Rather, Jesus is about God choosing to enter our story where we are – right now. It’s as if God sees exactly who we are, where we are, and what we’ve decided to make the bases of our life – and God comes to us, anyways. It’s there, in the life and the journey that we’re already on, when God shows up – and points out that our true home base isn’t a neighborhood, a town, or a point of view. Our home base, the source of who we are and who we can become, is always Jesus himself. As baptized and beloved children of God, the goal of our spiritual life isn’t to end up somewhere else. Rather, we’re called to recognize how God is already with us – and how God’s home base is always on the move. 

The Kingdom of God – the environment where God’s love is actualized and made real – isn’t a place. Rather, it’s action – when our faith is less a thing we have and more like a verb compelling us to move just like Jesus did. This movement is centered in love and in hope which sustains us, regardless of the travels, journeys, and transitions that show up in our lives. When we find ourselves feeling defensive or unsettled because something new calls our base their new home; or when we want to turn back to what is comfortable rather than embracing the new challenge right in front of us – that’s when we need to be honest about what our bases actually are. What is it that we default to? What is at the primary center of our life? What is it that keeps us stuck on being comfortable? And what facebook post do we write when our base is disrupted? We are called to take all of that – all our hard truths – all those things we admit take priority over God – and we then lean on Jesus knowing that he is, even now, already with us. In our moments of transition; in our moments of disruption; in our  moments when fear is what we choose to default to – how would our life, our facebook groups, and our neighborhoods be – if, instead, we kept following Jesus who has already given us a new home base to center everything we do? 

Amen.

Sermon: Write the Story

26 Then they arrived at the region of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. 27 As he stepped out on shore, a man from the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had not worn any clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. 28 When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before him, shouting, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me,” 29 for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) 30 Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. 31 They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

32 Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding, and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. 33 Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd stampeded down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

34 When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. 35 Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they became frightened. 36 Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. 37 Then the whole throng of people of the surrounding region of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them, for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. 38 The man from whom the demons had gone out begged that he might be with him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, 39 “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8:26-39 (NRSVUE)

My sermon from 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (June 23, 2019) on Luke 8:26-39.

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How would you, if given the chance, have written today’s story from the gospel according to Luke?

I’ll admit that’s a bit of an odd question because we don’t usually imagine ourselves writing the stories we read in the Bible. For us, living almost 2000 years after these stories were first told, we believe the story is already there. But if we think about it, we often find ourselves being asked to re-tell them. Someone, once, might have asked you what Christmas or Easter is all about. Or you might have been drafted to help teach Sunday School – and you quickly find that every story we share with kids is a paraphrase of the text itself. Or maybe there have been moments when a story from the Bible has popped into your mind exactly when you need it. And you suddenly find yourself re-experiencing that story – but not necessarily reciting the text exactly as it appears. Instead, we sort of re-mix it – and end up with a slightly new story, one rooted in the Bible, but shaped in our own particular way. 

So take a look, one more time, at this text from the gospel according to Luke. What would your re-mix of this story actually be? 

(Pause)

Now, if I had to guess, our remix would probably start in the same way. Jesus was in the borderlands – in the space between where devout practicing Jews lived and where gentiles were far more numerous. Jesus wasn’t in the place we’d expect a Jewish Rabbi to be so our remix should start exactly where he was. He was in the land of the Gerasenes and a man came out to meet him. Part of what makes a good story good – is the amount of details it contains. If there’s too little, our imagination isn’t big enough to see ourselves in the story. And if there’s too much, we end up buried by the amount of information we need to remember. Every detail should invite us deeper into what’s happening. So our re-mix would also include that the man had no clothes and that he lived in the tombs. We would keep all the words the demons shared with Jesus, the fact the community tried to keep him under guard and in shackles as a way to probably protected themselves and him. And our re-mix would totally keep the fact that he was so overwhelmed by forces outside his control that Legion, the name used to designate an entire Roman army, was the proper description of his reality. We might, since we live in the 21st century, want to claim that the man living in the tombs was someone with a mental illness. But we need to be careful. No one can be diagnosed from afar and we have to make sure that we aren’t, unintentionally, reinforcing the unChristian stigmatization we often force upon those living with a mental illness. We do a disservice to our friends and loved ones when we stigmatize them instead of accepting them as real human beings who deserve love and care. The man living in the tombs had been overwhelmed, invaded, and was, on one level, no longer human. And so when those forces were finally cast out, we’d totally keep in our re-mix of the story the really odd detail about the pigs running into the lake.

So, right now, our remix sounds exactly like Luke’s telling of the story. We would, like him, name the swineherds who saw everything that happened and who then ran off to tell the entire city about it. When the crowd came out to see what happened, they found the man from the tombs sitting at Jesus’ feet. And that moment feels like it’s the climax of the story. Jesus healed the one who no one imagined would ever be healed. So we might end our re-mix of the story there. But if we continued, our first instinct might be to celebrate what Jesus had done. We would probably do what we think we would do it that same situation. We would make them shout for joy, praise Jesus, and thank God for the healing that had occurred. We’d imagine the crowds and ourselves as the ones who would cheer Jesus on. 

But that’s why our re-mix might not always be the right story that needs to be told. Because, as we read, the crowd didn’t shout for joy. Instead, they were afraid. They had, I think, overtime become comfortable with the man as he was. They couldn’t control him, keep him under guard, or help him live the way they thought he should. He was completely unpredictable – wild and untamed. But they had learned to – accept that. The community grew accustomed to what they thought was possible with the man in the tombs. They couldn’t imagine their relationship with him being any different; so they didn’t even try. He was who he was, and the crowd assumed his story was already written. The man couldn’t help isolating himself from others so the community let that story be there story. Their relationship to each other was defined by staying apart until – when Jesus showed up – the story changed.  

That’s why, I think, the crowd was terrified. And if we had been there, we would have been terrified too. How many times have we let an old story, an old assumption, or an old stereotype be the only story we listen to? Even when we are confronted by a completely new reality, we fall back onto what makes us comfortable. Too often, that’s the story we choose to tell. We surround ourselves with opinions, viewpoints, and voices that reinforce the reality we already choose to accept. We assume we know the story as it’s truly written. We find ourselves making story remixes that challenge everyone else but ourselves. And in that process, we miss seeing what God is already doing in front of us. We miss bearing witness to the story Jesus is already writing down. Because the climax of today’s story isn’t, I think, the healing. Rather, it’s the very last verse when the man who once lived in the tombs begged to live with Jesus instead. Yet Jesus sends him away because our experiences of God are not meant to only be for ourselves. When we meet Jesus, we end up becoming part of a new reality where God’s story remixes our own. No longer are we limited to the old stories of isolation, separation, and the status quo. We have been opened to a new way of life where reconciliation, restoration, and the forming of new life-giving relationships is the focus of what we do. We might imagine that this new way of life depends on us meeting God like the man did in today’s story. Yet, through your baptism, through your faith, and through the fact that the Holy Spirit brought you to be in this place today – means Jesus has already met you. And in the holy communion we are about to share, we will meet him again. When we encounter God, we end up being remixed into the person God knows we can be. Which means, wherever you are, Jesus is too. We can, right now, start writing the rest of our story. Our old assumptions, stereotypes, and all those voices meant to keep us comfortable are not the limit to what we can become. With Jesus, we do not need to be afraid. Instead, you can become exactly who God has already imagined you to be. 

Amen.

Sermon: Jesus does more than just speak

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John 20:19-31

My sermon from the 2nd Sunday of Easter (April 28, 2019) on John 20:19-31.

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One of the things we don’t always notice about Jesus is just how physical he was. We have no problem remembering him as the Son of God but we forget that he was also the son of Mary. Jesus was fully divine but he was also fully human which means he had a human body that did all the things human bodies do. So let’s take a second – and pay attention to what our bodies are doing right now. Notice whatever it’s feeling. Pay attention to what aches. Listen to your stomach as it rumbles. And accept that the yawn you’re about to make is a sign you stayed up way too late. Your body is, for better or worse, doing exactly what bodies do. And Jesus, the Son of God and the Son of Mary, had a body that did those things too. He knew what it was like to ache. He knew pain. And I also believe there were times when Jesus laughed so hard, he literally fell off of whatever he was reclining on. God chose to be bodied and through that body God showed how Love can be embodied too. Jesus’ body wasn’t a costume God wore while Jesus moved from Christmas to Good Friday. Instead, God became incarnate, became human, because our body is where we meet God. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to John is a reading we hear every year on the Sunday after Easter. After walking in the early dawn hours with the women who discovered Jesus’ tomb empty after his crucifixion and death, we take a week before listening to John’s version of what happened later on that first Easter day. The disciples had locked themselves behind a closed door, afraid that the authorities who killed Jesus might soon come after them. We know that many of the disciples heard that the tomb was empty because Mary Magdalene told them about her personal encounter with the risen Jesus. But we get a sense by the actions of the disciples that Mary’s story wasn’t enough. Her words, by themselves, were not able to bring peace because the disciples were filled with anxiety and fear. Some might have been sitting by the cooking fires, eating their feelings while others hadn’t felt hungry in days. Even if some of the disciple were able to tell a joke, their laughter couldn’t hide just how broken and weary their hearts actually were. The disciples didn’t know what to do next – so they ended up staying together. And while they were locked in that room by themselves, Jesus entered and said “peace be with you.” 

But the Jesus in John does more than just speak. He’s, instead, completely there. Everything that made Jesus, Jesus, showed up to those disciples behind that locked door. At first, we might be a little skeptical, seeing as how he either walked through a locked door or materialized out of nothingness in front of his friends. The Jesus we know was embodied and the last time I tried to take my body through a locked door, I didn’t get very far. Jesus’ first movement in this scene made him appear to be immaterial or to have at least transcended beyond what we know the physical world to be. We expect him, then, to be something like an angel or maybe a bit more like we imagine God to be – more divine, more healed, and more perfect. We don’t expect Jesus to keep doing bodily things. And yet – he did. He stood among his friends instead of floating or hovering above them. He showed everyone the spots in his hands where the nails were driven through and the part of his body where the spear pierced his side. Jesus’ resurrected body wasn’t scared. Instead, it’s still hurt, still wounded, and marked by what life had given him. And if that wasn’t enough, Jesus then breathed on everyone in the room…. which sounds a bit gross. How often do we like being breathed on? The smell, the dampness, the sound, and just the act of being breathed on can make us squirm, especially if it’s unexpected or unwanted. And the act of being breathed on is incredibly intimate and very personal. Yet that word “on” probably isn’t the best English translation of the original greek this passage was first written in. We don’t have to worry too much about what kind of Altoid would be able to deal with death-and-resurrection breath because that word should really be “into.” Jesus breathed into his disciples, not just on them. This kind of breath is more than a few bits of exhaled air hitting our face. The breath Jesus gives is the same breath God used way back in Genesis 2 to give life to all of humankind. The disciples, as they see the resurrected Jesus in their midst, do more than bear witness. They are, instead, caught up in a moment of new creation. The very breath of God that formed the universe – now lives in them. The Holy Spirit, the life-energy of God that sustains, creates, and makes all things new, is now part who they are. No longer are they merely people with bodies that are broken, aging, and never doing exactly what we want them to do. Now their bodies, while unchanged, are brand new because they are filled with everything that God uses to give life.

[In a few moments, I’m going to invite Giorgia and her family up to the front. She’s pretty young, with a lifetime ahead of her to see what bodies can do. She’ll start small, working on getting her fingers into her mouth. But then she’ll crawl, climb, and feel what it’s like to have grass between her toes. She’ll learn to laugh, to feel love, and to hold onto hope. She’ll discover what it’s like to reach her limit and what happens when she goes past it and makes a new personal best. She’ll also learn what it’s like to fail, to mess up, to be anxious, and to sometimes be afraid. Giorgia will soon discover what our life with our bodies is all about. Yet, no matter what, the God who created her will always love her. We will, in a few moments, join everything that makes Giorgia, Giorgia, with everything that makes Jesus, Jesus. She will hear, in the words we share, how God’s story of salvation includes even her. She will feel, with water pouring over her head, how the gift of faith, hope, and love belongs to her. She will smell the olives in the oil that marks her forehead with the promise that Jesus will be with her wherever she goes. And she will see the bright light of a lit candle, knowing that God’s life-giving light now burns in her. She won’t always remember this – but she will have an entire community alongside her as Jesus leads her on the way. Because all of us meet God through our bodies. And it’s these bodies, exactly as they are, that God uses to make everybody discover just how much they are included, welcomed, and loved.

Amen. ]

At the early service, I invited Giorgia and her family up to the front to be baptized. Now, she’s pretty young, with a lifetime ahead of her to see what bodies can do. She’ll start small, working on getting her fingers into her mouth. But then she’ll crawl, climb, and feel what it’s like to have grass between her toes. She’ll learn to laugh, to feel love, and to hold onto hope. She’ll discover what it’s like to reach her limit and what happens when she goes past it and makes a new personal best. She’ll also learn what it’s like to fail, to mess up, to be anxious, and to sometimes be afraid. Giorgia will soon discover what our life with our bodies is all about. Yet, no matter what, the God who created her will always love her. In baptism, we joined everything that made Giorgia, Giorgia, with everything that makes Jesus, Jesus. She heard, in the words we shared, how God’s story of salvation included even her. She felt, with the water pouring over her head, how the gift of faith, hope, and love belonged to her. She smelled the olives in the oil that marked her forehead with the promise that Jesus would be with her wherever she goes. And she saw the bright light of a lit candle, knowing that God’s life-giving light now burns in her. She won’t always remember that – but she now has an entire community alongside her as Jesus leads her on the way. Because all of us meet God through our bodies. And it’s these bodies, exactly as they are, that God uses to make everybody discover just how much they are included, welcomed, and loved.

Amen. 

Sermon: Communion At Home

For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

My sermon from Maundy Thursday (April 16, 2020) on 1 Corinthians 11:23-26.

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There’s a moment at the start of every dinner party I try to host when I stare at a completely empty table and say – to no one in particular – “now what?” It’s sort of a code word I use to help my brain take what I want to do and turn it into reality. I have a vision of what I want the experience to be like and I hope to make that experience a reality for all my guests. And so, yesterday afternoon, as I was standing in the center aisle here at church, I looked around and said to no one – “now what?” We don’t always talk about worship as if it’s a dinner party but, on some level, it is. There’s a little food, a little drink, and special dishes we don’t use for anything else. Our worship includes a lot of words, some music, people who show up early, and others who are always fashionably late. We assume we’re already on the guestlist but we expect that some people will show up that we don’t know. And if we’ve been coming to this dinner party for awhile, we already know where we want to sit before we even step through the front door. Over the last 2000 years, the church has created a worship event that is designed to feed our connection with God and with one another. And that act of feeding and connection is really what the best kind of dinner parties try to pull off. They do not try to impose anything on you; instead, they invite you into an experience that lets you discover more about yourself and about your reality. To make that happen, a dinner party needs to know why it exists and what core essence makes it unique and different. And that’s why, in our reading from 1st Corinthians, Paul took a moment to remind the church what dining with Jesus was all about. 

The church in Corinth was a Christian community that Paul founded sometime in the 40s or early 50s. He was with them for about 18 months before heading off to a new town to plant another church. The church in Corinth, like all churches in Paul’s day, was small – with maybe only two dozen members at most. Yet within this small community, there was an incredible amount of diversity. Some in the community could read while others could not. Some were rich while others struggled to make ends meet. And some who gathered for worship were free, able to move around the city at ease, while others were slaves, with no control over the violence done to their own bodies. Each one of them, had committed themselves to be part of Christ’s church. Yet this new, small, and vibrant faith community – was conflicted. They argued over many different things including who Jesus was and how their faith should inform how they live. We don’t know all the details about every argument in that church but we can infer from Paul’s letters that these conflicts were driving the community apart. Not everyone agreed with everyone else and instead of affirming or living with those differences, they chose to silo themselves off into cliques of their own choosing. They still gathered together as followers of Jesus – but they didn’t have any real regard for one another. 

Now, in the first faith communities, eating together mattered. When they came together to worship, their prayers, conversations, and songs also included a potluck meal. We can imagine they came to church carrying not only their version of morning coffee but also a Roman casserole dish with something for everyone to share. Except – sharing was something the community in Corinth wasn’t doing. And, in fact, the people  weren’t even gathering together at the same time. Those who were financially secure had a little more freedom in what they could bring to worship and when they would show up. Those with money would show up to church first, uncover their hotdish, and start eating. While those who needed to work long hours just to survive would arrive in the worship space a little later only to discover that worshipped had already started without them. The wealthy would have already eaten, leaving nothing for those who could bring only a little. In that communal space, people ended up creating a private meal and worship event only for themselves. In Corinth, being late meant that you were poor. And there was nothing fashionable about having to show up after the event had already started. Those with any kind of financial security started things when they wanted and they could bring whatever they had. They were dictating and creating a church that matched their lifestyle, point of view, and experience. And it was obvious, in that worship space, who was elite and who was not. Worship wasn’t really about spending time with Jesus. Instead, it was becoming another opportunity for the social divisions that mattered in the wider community to manifest themselves even around Jesus’ table. 

So Paul reached into the traditions he was given to remind the church that, because of Jesus, we live with a different set of values. In this, the earliest written record of Holy Communion that we have, Paul laid out the essence of what Jesus’ dinner party is all about. The “now what?” of Jesus’ table wasn’t focused on the design of the dishware, the menu, or the look of the centerpieces. The Lord’s table, instead, is an inclusive event that does not distinguish between rich and poor nor does it let our divisions get in the way of what Jesus has already done. As followers of Christ, as those with faith, and as those who have been baptized – Jesus has already made a place at His table for you. Our seat doesn’t depend on how much money we make, on what food we can bring, or even if we believe we truly belong there. The “now what?” of knowing Jesus is all about sitting with him and making sure we don’t get in the way of anyone Jesus’ calls to sit by our side. We live this way because: Jesus once gathered his friends and took bread, telling them this was his body and they should eat. Jesus also took a cup, gave thanks, and told them to drink. Paul reminded the community in Corinth, and he reminds us, that the essence of the dinner party Jesus throws is one where God’s love overcomes the social divisions we love to perpetuate. When we gather around His table, our “now what?” isn’t to keep the barriers between us up because we are not here by ourselves. We are here with God and everyone Jesus calls. We are to be with each other – because that’s how we become the diverse, loving, inviting, empowering, caring, loving, and united people God has designed us to be. 

Amen.

Sermon: The Odd-Ball Savior We Need

After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,
“Blessed is the king
    who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
    and glory in the highest heaven!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Luke 19:28-40

My sermon from Palm & Passion Sunday (April 14, 2019) on Luke 19:28-40.

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Did you notice, while standing in the narthex, that our reading from the gospel according to Luke doesn’t mention palm branches at all? Now, if you’re a regular attendee of Palm Sunday, you sort of expect having a palm branch given to you along with a worship bulletin. But if this is your first Palm Sunday or if Luke’s version of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem is the only one you know, then our blessing of palms today might feel a little odd. Nothing in our gospel reading mentioned foliage or branches. Instead, Luke couldn’t stop talking about cloaks. Cloaks are one of those pieces of clothing that we don’t see often but they are making a comeback. They’re worn like a coat but they’re lose and they hang at our shoulders. Cloaks can be really fun, with a hood, pockets, and sometimes are brightly colored. And in Jesus’ day, if you could afford to own a coat, you really owned a cloak. These outer garments were the default clothing people wore as they wandered around Jerusalem’s marketplace. They were everywhere and they became, for Luke, the primary item people used to show just how important Jesus was. Cloaks were used to create a saddle for Jesus and people threw them onto the road to welcome Jesus as he passed. If we treated our coats and out jackets today like we do our palms, we could insist that the blessing of the palms really should be a blessing of our jackets. And instead of waving our palms branches above our heads as we entered the sanctuary, we could have swung our jackets wildly and with abandon. Or, if we were looking for something a little bit more authentic, we could throw our jackets onto the floor and let everyone walk on them. Both of these kinds of garment traditions might make us a bit uncomfortable as we worry about being smacked in the face by a faithfully swung leather jacket or upset that our favorite hoodie might have tons of people stepping on it. None of these are, of course, things I’m going to ask you to do. But when we spend time with those words and phrases of today’s gospel that, for us, seem to be a bit different, a bit unique, and even a little bit off, we discover our odd-ball piece of Jesus’ story that God wants each of us to make as our own. 

Because when we notice our odd-ball piece of scripture, there’s a good chance the people around us don’t see that verse in the same exact way. They might be able to see why it’s a bit off. But that word from God doesn’t necessarily speak to them in the same way it speaks to you. They don’t find themselves struggling with it. They’re not super interested in asking questions about it. They can move on to the very next sentence in their Bible reading while we just can’t. And when that’s happened, we’ve discovered a word or a phrase or an entire biblical story that God wants us to chew on. God wants us to ask questions, to do research, and to spend time trying to figure out why we can’t get this odd-ball piece of Scripture out of hearts and minds. Sometimes, this process of questioning, of spending time with the story, can take years or even a lifetime as the intensity of the words fade in and out of our lives. And overtime, the odd-ball bits of Scripture sort of morph into an odd-ball moment of awe, as we ponder everything we can about it. The more we sit with it, the more we notice, and the more we keep our odd-ball pieces of scripture close to us, we one day notice how that part of God’s story has suddenly become part or ours. The texts we encounter in the Bible are not meant to be read Sunday morning and then forgotten during brunch. They are, instead, meant to linger within us – giving us an opportunity to experience what it’s like to live with God’s Word. Our living with the text doesn’t always mean we’ll know exactly what it means. And it doesn’t mean that our reasons for sitting with it will always remain the same. When we end up living with part of God’s story, there’s a good chance we couldn’t share with those around us exactly why this one piece of Scripture speaks so deeply to us. Yet when we let our odd-ball texts of Scripture sit in our hearts and hang out in minds, we end up integrating God’s word into our own. 

I can’t personally imagine being so caught up in a parade that it feels completely right to toss my favorite jacket onto the road so that someone else could walk on it. And I’m pretty sure, if I knew that was expected of me, I would leave my beloved red Ocean City hoodie or my fake leather jacket at home and replace them with something hanging right outside my office on the clothing racks for our Trash and Treasure rummage sale. Now, I know what Jesus was doing as he entered the city of Jerusalem. His followers were busy creating a scrappy, unsophisticated, and small version of a Roman military parade that was used to welcome victorious generals and emperors into the cities they came to visit. In fact, it’s possible that when Jesus entered Jerusalem, Pontius Pilate and his legion of Roman soldiers were being welcome and celebrated in the exact same way on the other side of town. Only one of those parades was revealing God’s truth while the other was celebrating the image of truth, power, strength, and victory as we always imagine it to be. Yet even the disciples were unaware of what Jesus was about to do. Even though I know what happens next in Jesus’ story, I’m still left wondering what it would take for me to take off my jacket and place it on the ground as a way to welcome Jesus’ divine gift of love that truly knows no bound. That’s one of my personal reasons why the story of Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem is something I still chew on. It’s a story that asks me to reflect on the love I already know; to examine the love I’ve already received; to recognize the gift that I’ve already been given because I’ve encountered Jesus and I know Jesus knows me. Yet, when Jesus shows up – whether in the face of a stranger, of the oppressed, of those who are hurting, those who are afraid, or those who have no home or no home to return to – what will I do when I find myself caught up in the parade Jesus is already marching in? 

When you find a piece of scripture that’s a bit odd, a bit off, and one that makes you want to gnaw on it – just chew. Because that’s a sign that you’ve already stepped into Jesus’ story – and God has already started the process of making His story your own. 

Amen.

Sermon: In the Present

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

John 12:1-8

My sermon from the Fifth Sunday in Lent (April 7, 2019) on John 12:1-8.

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On Thursday morning, I was sitting in my office in the middle of a conference call when odd messages started popping up. At first, these messages showed up in my email. But then came the texts. And before you know it, I was getting phone calls, asking me weird questions about something I didn’t really understand. Many different people from this church seemed to be responding to an email I never sent. They wanted to know why I, out of the blue, needed them to buy some gift cards. I didn’t and that’s when I realized we were being scammed. Now, as a pastor, I’m used to being scammed. Every few weeks or so, I receive an email or phone call from someone asking for money. Since asking for help is one of the hardest things a person can do, I have a personal policy where I believe every story someone tells me. I believe them when they mention their recent medical trauma. I believe them when they describe the family they’re taking care of. I believe them when they talk about the tank of gas they need to make it to their next job interview. And I believe them when they mention they only need a hotel room for one night because they’ve got a place lined up right after that. I believe them because that’s sometimes true. And when I let them know how I can help, you can hear the tone of their voice change when they suddenly realize they’re being heard. But when a scam is taking place, that’s all pretend. The story we’re told isn’t real no matter how much detail they put into it. A scammer knows how to use our trust, our relationships, and our empathy against us. Someone went to our church website, noticed my contact information, and created a fake gmail account pretending to be me. They then, I think, tried to find email addresses for anyone listed on our website. When they found one, they immediately sent that person a note, hoping you believed it came from me. Once you replied, their ask would follow. All they needed was for you to go buy a few gift cards and send them electronically. At that point, it probably felt weird because I was asking you something I’ve never asked before and the emails I sent you never used your name. But, you’d ask yourself, what if Pastor Marc was really asking for help? And that’s exactly what the scammer hoped you would think. They tried to use the strength of our relationship and your generous nature to make a quick buck for themselves. Once your money was sent, it was as good as spent – and the scammer would go find another faith community to target in the same exact way. 

When it comes to scams, if something feels off, it probably is. As your pastor, I would not personally ask you to buy gift cards via email nor act as if I didn’t know who you are. When it comes to emails, phone calls, and anything we see online, we need to approach these situations with the same kind of suspicion we bring to the internet every April Fool’s Day. If it feels weird, it probably is. Our feeling of unease in those moments is not something we should quickly push aside. Instead, we should stay there, knowing that sitting with unease isn’t comfortable but it can be holy. And that kind of holy moment might actually be a gift from God. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to John asks us to sit with a lot of unease. In the verses immediately prior to this one, people wondered if Jesus would risk coming to the Passover festival knowing that the religious and political authorities were planning to arrest him. What they didn’t realize was that he was already on his way. A few days before Passover, Jesus stopped in the village of Bethany, two miles outside of Jerusalem. Jesus’ old friends Lazarus, Mary, and Martha lived there and so they invited him to dinner. I imagine their meal was full of the kind of conversation, laughter, and joy that only comes when we dine with old friends. Yet, Jesus was eating with someone that wasn’t only a friend. He was breaking bread with the man that he, a few chapters before, raised from the dead. That dinner party in Bethany was a moment that shouldn’t have happened. Yet because Jesus was at the table, our expectations were replaced by the new thing God was doing. The unease we feel when we realize who was on that guest list is how we notice how holy that moment already was. Without our unease, Mary’s response to Jesus seems a little weird and a bit off. But when we pull up a chair and take our place at His table, Mary’s response to Jesus is the only reasonable response when God shows up. 

Because when God shows up, there’s nothing about it that’s pretend. Jesus is never anything but Jesus no matter where he is. He’s Jesus when he’s raising Lazarus from the dead and he’s still Jesus when he’s sitting at Lazarus’ table, chewing on a piece of bread. Jesus is the one who patiently taught his disciples even though they never quite knew who he was. And Jesus is Jesus when he’s welcoming the unwelcomed, offering them seat at the Lord’s table. Jesus was Jesus back then on his final journey to Jerusalem and he’s still Jesus, right now, when he shows up in our lives, in the bread, in the drink, and in the ways we love one another. Jesus never takes a day off from being himself even though he knows the risk being Jesus entails. Not everyone will choose to sit with his guest list nor will we always trust that the gifts of faith, hope, love will transform us into something new. We will, through our own experiences of sin and brokenness, believe that being as wise as serpents means we can never truly be as gentle as doves. We will be scammed and, over time, use that as an excuse to live a life thinking we’re safeguarding ourselves from death but, in reality, we’re denying ourselves true life. In the words of Michael Koppel, “so often we… store up precious resources – whether material, spiritual, or emotional – with the intention to use them eventually, yet the activity of saving can itself consume our lives and limit the opportunity for the outpouring of gifts. Our inclination may be to hold back, [afraid] that sharing the resources means losing them, unaware that some resources can become activated only through wholehearted offering.” When we are in the presence of Jesus, can we truly hold back? Mary couldn’t help but be grateful for God’s presence around and within her even though she knew the kinds of scams people played. Mary refused to let what others do be what defined her. Instead, she leaned on Jesus who never stopped being Jesus to her. As we go about our lives, we will face many situations that feel a little bit off, filling us with unease. But we can trust that unease because that might be how God shows us a new holy moment in our lives and how Jesus is already with us, leading the way. 

Amen.