Pocket Sized Pastor*

Immediately [Jesus] made the disciples get into a boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Matthew 14:22-33 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 10th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 9, 2020) on Matthew 14:22-33.

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The last boat I was on wasn’t really a boat at all. It was large, brown, and resembled the ships vikings used one thousand years ago. But unlike those vessels that were able to sail across the North Atlantic, the one I was sitting on would have sunk if it was ever placed in water. And that’s because this so-called boat wasn’t designed to float. It was, instead, a ride at an amusement park. I don’t remember it’s name but you’ve probably seen it before. The viking ship was attached to a large device that would swing the ship like a giant pendulum. People, like me and my two oldest kids, chose to pay money to ride such a device. And when it was our turn to take our seats, we had a large cushioned bar resting on our laps and chests as a way to keep us from falling out. At first, the swinging of the boat wasn’t very much. We went back and forth – and then back and forth. But each time the boat swung, we ended up going a little bit higher. Soon, the apex of our swing reached the point where we would, for a moment, find ourselves staring straight down at the ground. Each time that happened, my lizard brain told me that maybe this isn’t that safe. And when the boat finally swung down, it always felt as if my body moved while my heart stayed up on top. I’ve never really enjoyed being terrified and so I was perfectly fine when the ride ended before my kids wanted it too. When we finally stepped off the ride, they were full of energy and ready to go on the next one. I, on the other hand, felt a bit queasy – and I told them to go see if their aunt would ride with them instead. 

The movement of that amusement park ride is designed to be quick, over-the-top, and brief. It also, in some ways, mimics what we might experience if we were on a boat caught in a storm at sea. The waves would force the boat to rock back and forth – back and forth – back and forth. At first, those waves might be small. But as the wind howled and the waves grew larger – a different kind of fear would show up because we would know when this storm would end. As I read today’s story from the gospel according to Matthew, I kept wondering what it was like to be one of the other disciples who sat on that boat. We often focus our attention on Peter in this reading but he wasn’t the only person in the story. Peter was with at least 11 others who were told by Jesus to get in and head to the other side of the sea. As the boat sailed across the waters, a storm blew in and it stopped them in their tracks. I’m pretty sure, as the wind howled, their boat rocked back and forth in the waves. I’m sure it felt as if they were constantly moving – except they weren’t going forward and they couldn’t go back. They were swirling in a storm that was forcing them to stand still. And they were stuck, on the sea, without Jesus who – just a few chapters before, had already shown how he could calm the sea. The other disciples were far from the One who had performed all kinds of miracles and who, right before their trip on the boat, fed thousands of people with a few loaves of bread and two fish. These followers of Jesus were going exactly where Jesus told them to go – but they weren’t following him to pray. Unlike my ride on that fake boat in an amusement park, I knew the fear would end after only a few moments. But while Jesus prayed, night turned into day – and the storm still raged. 

It’s probably safe to say that the terror the disciples felt was a bit tempered because many of them were fishermen. They knew what it was like to be caught in storms – and those who fished probably told the others how to get through this moment. They did the safest thing that they knew how to do. They hunkered down, stayed in the boat, and let the waves rock them. The disciples focused on the things they could control – and they let everything else work the way it would. I don’t think that stopped them from being anxious or afraid. But they did their best to not get hurt. They waited for things to lighten up and to change. And when they could finally see how far they were from shore – they looked out over the sea and saw Jesus walking to them. 

Now, walking on water was something Jesus hadn’t done before. And after being up all night and filled with all the fear, adrenaline, and anxiety storms bring – it makes sense that the disciples had no idea what they were seeing. Their boat was still being rocked by waves – and I bet they focused on Jesus about as well as we could if we’re being rocked by an amusement park ride. Their cry about a “ghost” is more than just them revealing some kind of superstition. It’s also, to me, the cry of followers of Jesus who were exhausted, worn out, scared, and couldn’t possibly believe that there was one more awful thing headed their way. 

Everything the disciples knew – their skills as fishermen, as followers of Jesus, and as human beings – could only hold them up for so long. As the storm raged, it kept changing what they could do and where they could go. It felt, I bet, as if more and more things were being forced upon them and they couldn’t possibly take one more thing. They were on the verge of articulating what someone recently told me: that they just felt like giving up. In the midst of a pandemic, job losses, the working out of racial equity, the current economic uncertainty, and a tropical storm that knocked power out across our area just this week – those things – when added to all the broken relationships, troubles, and tragedies of everyday living – can sometimes be too much. We, like the disciples, cry out for relief; for reassurance; for a break. And we’re not always sure if that break will come. 

Which might be why Jesus’ first response to the cry from the disciples wasn’t to calm the storm. Instead, he walked straight into it – and when the disciples cried out – he told them “take heart; it is I; do not be afraid.” Jesus came to them in the storm instead of waiting for them to get to the otherside. And when he arrived, his first act was to speak a word of comfort and calm. He chose to speak it at a distance – as he traveled towards them – because he knew they needed a word to remind them how much they were loved. Even though they had been separated while Jesus prayed – he never really left their side. Rather, he entered their storm while it raged. And when Peter came up with the great idea to walk on water, Jesus simply said “come.” 

I wish I could tell each of you that the storms in your lives will come in manageable forms and only one at a time. But we know that’s not true. Our storms sometimes show up all at once – and were left rocking back and forth while practically standing still. In those moments, in the words of Andrew Connors, “simply focusing on Jesus may not necessarily do anything to calm the storm…and no amount of prayer is guaranteed to calm the storms that sometimes rage within every life, within every home.” But we don’t go through these kinds of storms alone. Instead, we have a Jesus who chooses to enter into them. He shows up, in unexpected ways, to grab us as we shout “Lord, save me.” And he does that not because we’re the best sailors or because we never are afraid. He grabs hold of us – because love wouldn’t have it any other way. In a few moments, we’ll affirm the baptismal promises God gifted to Lauren – our confirmand – and all of us. And I hope, as you recite those words, you will hear the word of comfort Jesus has already given to you. The storms in our lives will impact us in ways we can’t always foresee. But the love God has for each of you cannot be destroyed even when we feel like we’re about to fall out of the boat. God loves you. Jesus is with you. And you can take heart – because Jesus is in the midst of your storms – and he is telling you to not be afraid. 

Amen. 

Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Matthew 14:23-31 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 9th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 2, 2020) on Matthew 14:13-21.

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I’m going to start today’s sermon with a question: what do you do with leftovers? 

Well, what I try to do with those bits of food leftover after a meal is to save them. I take what wasn’t eaten and usually store it in a takeout container with a mismatched lid. I tell myself that this food would be perfect to eat the next day and that I should remember where I put it in the fridge. But that mental note doesn’t always stick. And before you know it, that container full of leftovers is pushed to the back of the fridge. When I finally remember that it’s there, it’s no longer food fit for people to eat. Rather, it becomes a kind of science experiment that I used to do at school. I end up tossing those leftovers out – and I take the entire bag of garbage to my garage. Now, I try to be on top of things when it comes to leftovers. Right before I sat down to write this sermon, my lunch consisted of five day old peach cobbler and the last slice from a day old bread boat covered in cheese. Leftovers, to me, can sometimes be the very best part of a meal. Because there’s something special about food that’s all carbs and covered in sauce when it’s eaten on day two. But there are times when leftovers are just leftovers and they never actually get eaten. The mental notes we make for ourselves sort of vanish in the busyness – or lack of busyness – present in our every day lives. Our best intentions can’t always compete with the fact that time moves forward – and that there’s another meal we need to plan for. When the next day comes and if we have the resources to make a choice when it comes to our meal, we might not want to eat what we had the day before. Those leftovers might not fit into the life we’re living right now – especially if we always ate leftovers at the office but we’re now entering the fifth month of working at home. Or maybe leftovers aren’t really something that show up in our life very often. Maybe the meals we make are only meals for one – and we haven’t been to a restaurant in months. Leftovers can sometimes simply be food we are planning to eat. But they can also tell a story about what’s happening and what’s possible in our life right now. 

In today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew, there’s a lot of leftovers. But it started with Jesus not really having anything extra to give. When he heard that John the Baptist was executed by those in power, Jesus wanted to take a moment just for himself. He went by boat to a place where he could be alone because he was, I think, grieving. Jesus went to a wilderness place – but it wasn’t a place where he couldn’t be found. The crowds and people in the towns nearby heard about John’s death too – and so they went out to find Jesus. They noticed him on the boat – and so they gathered along the seashore. Jesus saw them and chose to come ashore. Even though he was grieving, Jesus recognized their need and so he showed compassion while, I think, his heart was already breaking. The grief Jesus experienced didn’t stop him from showing love and so he started healing the sick that were around him. As evening crept near, the disciples finally caught up to Jesus who was surrounded by the crowds. They too – recognized a need – and how no one looked like they really made plans to spend that night in a deserted place. Maybe they, like Jesus, felt compelled to just get out once they heard of John’s death. The urgency of that moment – their fear and uncertainty – didn’t give them the opportunity to pack a few sandwiches before they headed out. The disciples, I think, were moved to show mercy – and so they told Jesus to send them home so that they people could actually be fed. But the mercy Jesus had in mind was different. He wouldn’t let them outsource filling the need that they had already seen. He told them to feed the crowd but the disciples assumed that what they had would never be enough. Their first response was to say they had nothing – except for five loaves and two fishes that would be nothing in a crowd that large anyways. We might want to rag on the disciples a bit because they were with Jesus – and this wasn’t the first miracle Jesus had done. But I do think the disciples were trying to be loving at that moment. And when they noticed a problem in the crowd before the crowd even complained – they recommended what they thought was possible. Their capacity for love and care was large – but Jesus was about to invite them to expand their vision of what was possible. 

So Jesus, after giving thanks, blessed and broke the loaves and fishes. He gave the pieces to the disciples who then turned around and fed the crowd. After everyone ate their fill, the leftover bread and fishes filled twelve large baskets. It wasn’t enough for Jesus to just satisfy the immediate needs of the people gathered around him. He made sure that there were plenty of leftovers. But one of the funny things about this story is that we never hear what happened to those baskets. We never learn if that food was given to the crowd or was stashed away by the disciples to be eaten later. Now, I’m pretty sure anyone with a piece of bread or fish that was blessed and broken by Jesus would’ve made sure that it didn’t end up pushed to the back or bottom of their knapsack. Yet today’s scene ended with those 12 baskets just sitting there. And nothing was used up – or thrown away. 

And so those leftovers, I think, are an invitation for us to expand our capacity to see what’s possible in our world. We, like the disciples, often notice a problem but then quickly shift our focus to our limitation. Instead of lingering in the problem, we move into those moments where we assume we aren’t enough. That doesn’t mean – and I’m not saying – that we all need to be optimists or embrace some kind of mantra like positive thinking. But I do wonder if the miracle in today’s story isn’t necessarily the feeding – but the opportunity Jesus gave the disciples to do what they didn’t think was possible. Because even though Jesus broke the bread and blessed it, he gave it to the disciples to feed the crowd. He didn’t take it on himself to do all the work. He knew that the disciples had been moved by mercy – so he gave them something different to help their practice of love grow. It’s not hard for us to linger in the limitations of what we think is possible. Our lives, experiences, and personal histories teach us what is possible and what is not. And that can be good because it helps to keep us safe. But our lives and experiences can also limit what we think is possible for us with God. We are called  to be aware of what’s happening to our families, our neighbors, our country, and our world. We are called to see the needs of people who are not exactly like us. And when we see them, we can choose to focus on the limits of what we think love looks like. But we also have another choice. We can choose to expand our capacity of what love looks like – because God’s kingdom is always so much more. The leftovers of grace that Jesus displayed in this story was just an extension of the work he was already up to. Our reading began with Jesus noticing the crowd, recognizing their needs, and then offering love. Jesus was already busy working before the disciples showed up – and he’s also busy working in our world right now. We can, together, expand our capacity for what love looks like by not letting our limits define what we think God’s limits are too. Because, the truth is, that love always leaves leftovers. And the love God gives you – is a love we can give to each other and to the world – and that love should be big enough to leave leftovers too. 

Amen. 

[Jesus] put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”

He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and reburied; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

“Have you understood all this?” They answered, “Yes.” And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has become a disciple in the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

My sermon from the 8th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 26, 2020) on Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52.

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Two weeks ago, when we last looked at parables – those 40 or so short stories Jesus used in his preaching and teaching – I mentioned a trick that I use to interpret what Jesus said. Now, the word trick might be a little harsh because Jesus’ parables aren’t some kind of secret code that we’re supposed to figure out. Instead, they’re stories we’re invited to sit with for a while. And we get to pay attention to how these words impact our hearts, minds, and bodies. We don’t want to rush past them – thinking we either already know what Jesus was talking about or to assume that our confusion about Jesus’ words means we should ignore them. The trick I shared helps us to become comfortable admitting that, when it comes to Jesus, there are times when we have no idea what he’s talking about. We can, and should, say more often those three words – “I don’t know.” We don’t have to pretend like Jesus’ followers did and say “yes,” immediately after Jesus asked “do you understand?” We can pause, reflect, and still look totally confused while also being incredibly faithful. Jesus gave us permission to say “I don’t know” because that phrase is one of the ways the Spirit uses to reveal the good news Jesus is offering to us – and to the world. 

So what was that trick that I mentioned two weeks ago? 

Well, I invited all of us – when listening to the parables Jesus shared – that we should pay attention to the weird. The weird can be, pretty much, anything. It could be the place where Jesus shared that story or the fact that he repeated a phrase over and over again. The weird could also be the setup for the story itself – filled with characters who wouldn’t normally meet in the first place. Or the weird could be the fact that the characters within the story do things that, on deeper reflection, do not make a lot of sense. Luckily for us, there’s a lot of weird in the many different parables we heard today. And it starts off with a mustard seed being planted in a field. Although the mustard plant was seen in a positive light by some people in the Roman Empire, it wasn’t something you would necessarily plant near your other crops. The mustard plant of the middle east was more like a hardy weedy – one that aggressively took over everything else. Even though it started from a very small seed, the plant couldn’t be controlled. And the one Jesus described was so over-the-top, it turned into a giant tree that even birds could sleep in. It would be pretty weird for a farmer or a gardener to plant a weed like that. 

Then there’s the parable of the woman mixing dough for bread. Now, there’s nothing weird about baking bread but the woman in the parable does something odd. She doesn’t only make enough dough for her family. Instead, she made enough to feed the entire neighborhood. Yet the text is weird because it described the kingdom not as that bread but as yeast – which, in some biblical texts, is actually a bad thing. Yeast was typically described as a corrupting influence – something that wasn’t even allowed in something holy, like the celebration of Passover. It’s really weird to see yeast as something divine when it was also seen as something very dangerous. 

And yet – there’s still more. There’s a person who finds an amazing treasure and chose to hide it in a field. Banks and safe deposit boxes weren’t really a thing 2000 years ago so that could make sense. But then that person sold everything they had to buy that field – and maybe just left that treasure, buried in the ground. We don’t get to hear how that story turned out before we meet a merchant in the business of buying and selling pearls. After finding a specific pearl that they wanted, they chose to destroy their livelihood by getting rid of their inventory to purchase an item that they would never sell. We next hear of a net filled with every kind of fish there was – and were asked to believe that one person could some sort and organize the incredibly the diversity that exists in all the waters of the world. Finally, Jesus ended his series of parables by talking about scribes who were usually hired to work for the master of households – as somehow becoming like the masters themselves. These parables were over-the-top, yet filled with very ordinary things. Jesus described farmers planting; bakers baking; merchants shopping; and fishers fishing. And that, I think, might be the weirdness thing of all: because when do we describe anything as powerful, potent, amazing, and divine like kingdom of heaven and the reign of God – as something that can be summed up by the slightly weird happenings of our ordinary lives?

The kingdom of heaven – God’s presence in our life – is weird and Jesus’ words hint at why that is so. We sometimes imagine that when the divine shows up, trumpets sound. Our prayers are answered; God’s might is expressed; and the power of the heavens appears in an over-the-top kind of way. And that, I think, is how we expect God to move in our world. We want a God who is so obvious that we could point that event to our family, friends, and even strangers and they would see that God was here too. We want a big God – who can overcome the big issues in our lives and in our world. And there are times when a big God does show up. But when we act, trust, or believe that God only works in big ways – then we let our expectations of God determine what God can do. And a God who only shows up in big ways is a God who misses the fact that we live most of our life in small doses. The God we want is a God who would have no problem being that large tree in the field or all the bread our neighbors could eat. But that kind of God would miss all the times when we’re just a seed, a sapling, or ingredients that are being gathered into dough. A God who is only big – is a God who would miss that we spent most of our life doing small and ordinary things. Yet we, instead, have a God who is big – but big enough for all the small things too. We have a God who entered the world small – as a newborn and who chose to be cared for and loved by a poor mother and a father who adopted him. We have a God who had angels announce Jesus’ birth not to kings but to shepherds who were watching their flocks in the hills at night. And we have a Jesus’ who was born while his family was on the move, uncertain about what the future would bring. Our God shows up not only in big ways but also in little ways – like in a little wafer, a little drink, in our prayers, our words, and even in the little pixels that make up the screens on our smartphones. We have a Jesus who says that it’s okay to say, “I don’t know” because he already knows you – exactly as you are. Life has a habit of not meeting our expectations. Yet, through our baptism and our faith, we have a God who is busy showing up in all of our ways. The way forward isn’t always clear and there are plenty of moments in our lives that are just weird. But we get to move into the future leaning into the promise God makes to each of you: you, as you are, are valued. You, as you are, are loved. You are allowed to say “I don’t know.” But with God’s love, grace, and guidance – we will live through our unknowns and into the future – that kingdom of heaven – that God is already bringing about. 

Amen. 

That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on a path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched, and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. If you have ears, hear!”

“Hear, then, the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy, yet such a person has no root but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of this age and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”

Matthew 13:1-9,18-23 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 6th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 12, 2020) on Matthew 13:1-9,18-23.

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Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew doesn’t contain the first parable Jesus told. But it does use the word “parable” for the very first time. And that makes sense because Matthew wanted to show that Jesus didn’t only perform miracles or make broad proclamations like “love your neighbor.” Jesus was also a storyteller and he had about 40 stories that he told regularly. We have no idea how often Jesus told these stories – but my hunch is that he told them a lot. And each one of these repeated stories lingered and resonated within the stories the early church told during the 30 to 50 years before the gospels were written down. The stories Jesus told stuck with the followers of Jesus because they, like him, could not be summed up by some kind of simple saying. Rather, the depth of the storyteller was mirrored through the stories they choose to tell. Jesus’ parables, then, invite us to linger with them – in the same kind of way we linger with him.

Yet spending time with parables is more than just trying to figure them out. A parable is designed to be familiar and different all at the same time. Parables are always supposed to be weird. And that weirdness means that our response to them isn’t always going to be the same. We might, like the disciples, ask Jesus – what does planting seeds actually mean? Or – in other parables – we might get what Jesus is saying pretty quickly but we’re not comfortable with the implications Jesus’s words have for our daily life. Parables often feel, at first glance, like they’re easy to grasp. But it’s not long before we realize they’re just out of reach. In a way, parables sort of mimic what Jesus did at the start of our reading today. He got into a boat and went a little ways out, away from the shore. He made sure that everyone in the crowd could see him – and the water from the lake would actually help amplify his voice. But even though he was easily heard and seen – he wasn’t actually easy to get to. Instead, Jesus was at a distance – and in the words of John Proctor, that shows how parables are always “a little harder to get ahold of.” 

And that to me – that inability to fully grasp and hold onto everything within one of Jesus’ stories – is what I mean when I say that parables are weird. Yet that can also be a way we can get deeper into the story itself. When I come across a parable, I usually try to first find that odd thing – that weird thing – that shows up in Jesus’ words. The weirdness might be a word that Jesus repeats, an action by a character in the story, or maybe even the setup for the story itself. Looking for the weird can help us interpret Jesus’ words. But as I sat down to spend time with this parable this week, looking for the weird felt – weird. I don’t know about you – but weirdness seems to be having a big moment in my life right now. Six months ago, when I dreamed of the summer heat, I didn’t imagine that some of us would be spending worship outside within it. We, together, didn’t imagine that we would spend a lot of our time worshipping in our homes. None of us thought we’d have spent all the time we have thinking about shaking hands, wearing facemasks, and who to hug and who to not. The pandemic we are still living through has made our everyday life weird. And that weirdness is centered in uncertainty – that makes planning for the future really hard. I don’t know what tomorrow will look like – I know that it’s going to be weird. And that weirdness doesn’t even include the other parts of our life that are also just weird. Our health; our finances; our employment; our families; and our relationships – there’s stuff we’re carrying that is giving the rest of our life its own flavor of weird. And I don’t even have to be specific about what those things are – because they’re personal to each of us – and yet each one of us might be thinking about it right now. 

It’s weird to look for the weird in this really weird time. Yet Jesus never told us that our life wouldn’t be weird. Instead, he promised that in our baptism; in our faith; and because of him – we wouldn’t have to live through that weirdness alone. 

So what’s weird in the parable we just heard? Well – I’m not a very good gardener but even I know that throwing seed on a path or in rocky soil isn’t really the best idea. Seeds need specific things to grow – and their best chance they have is in good soil. Even though we find plants growing in the cracks of sidewalk or among weeds and thorns – we don’t usually put seeds in those places on purpose. Our goal for the seed we put in soil is for a plant to grow and flourish. As a sower, a planter of seed, we want our seed to begin in the best soil possible so that it grows. How the seed reacts to different kinds of soil as seen in our parable – none of that is really odd. Even if the crowd around Jesus was a poor gardener like myself, none of them would be surprised at the seed flourishing in good soil. Our instinct might want to imagine the ways we can be good soil for the faith God has given us. But if we stay with the weird – we see that the soil, the thorns, the rocky boulders, and the birds – do exactly what they’re supposed to do. Those are the bits of Jesus’ story that are easily grasped. Yet the sower throwing seeds with abandon – especially in places where it’s not going to thrive – now that’s downright weird. 

And that weirdness might be where God’s word is speaking to us as we through our weird. The seed is the parable is God’s word – but God’s word is always more than just words spoken a loud or read from a page. God’s Word is also God’s presence – and God’s presence is always filled with a promise. The seed God spreads with abandon – is a promise that God is always with you. You are worthy of God’s love – and God doesn’t limit how much love you are given. When God committed to you in your baptism and through faith, God did not hold back. God fully gave all that God had to you because you really do mean everything to God. 

And that commitment from God is a promise given regardless of the soil our soul currently is in. We will sometimes find ourselves feeling and embracing the presence of the divine – and will see how the presence of God is transforming our life right now. But there are other times – maybe even most of the time – when our soul is well-worn, rocky, and full of thorns. We find ourselves with a faith that’s too complacent – and when something new pops up, our only conclusion is that God must have abandoned us. Or something incredible happens and our life is suddenly filled with a passion for God – but it burns out quickly and without warning. And there are other times when the rest of our life seems to overwhelm our sense of God – and we go weeks, months, or even years not even looking for where God is. Yet through all that different soil of the soul – God’s promise to each of you never fades. God doesn’t let the weirdness of our lives or our times limit what God chooses to do. God already claimed you and me – and holds us together in a Jesus who didn’t run from the weirdness of the world but lived through it. If your soil is rocky, worn down, and full of thorns – you aren’t tilling that ground alone. Because we have been brought into the weird story of a God who loves you, and me, and the world with a love full of mercy; forgiveness; justice; and hope. That love isn’t only meant for the saints, the most faithful, and those who always get everything right. That love, instead, is for us – the imperfect; the well worn; and those who get it wrong more often than we get it right. The soil of your soul is not what makes you who you are. Instead, it’s the truth that Jesus loves you – even through your weird. No matter who you are – or what you’re going through – you aren’t there alone. Instead, you have a gardener who is tending to you – and he will bring you through. 

Amen.

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous, and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

Matthew 10:40-42 (NRSVue)

My sermon from the 4th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (June 28, 2020) on Matthew 10:40-42.

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So I want to start today by asking all of us to notice what’s happening right now. Pay attention to where you’re sitting; the noises that you’re hearing; and recognize that I don’t think you’re sitting in a hard, wooden pew. For almost 4 months now, our body has experienced worship in a different way. We sat on couches, on padded chairs around kitchen tables, and maybe even outdoors on our decks. Worship has been and will be different than it used to be. But worship hasn’t only happened in our homes, online, or – now – in our church parking lots. Worship also happens in and with the bodies that we have right now. 

I know that not all of us have a very good relationship with our bodies. Many of us have been told, either directly or through advertising and our culture that our body isn’t good enough. We’re either too fat or too short; too muscular or not athletic enough. Our wider culture has thoughts about what’s possible with sex, gender, race, and what it means to be healthy. And if we don’t fit in, then we end believing that there must be something wrong with us. This wrongness becomes part of our daily routine as we step on the scale, look in the mirror, and notice that sometimes even the grocery store isn’t design for a body like ours. Bodies are complicated things – and they don’t stay the same. As a kid, our bodies grow and when we’re adult, it sometimes feels like our bodies break down. As we age and experience different health challenges, too often we don’t get to do the things we think we should do. The wrongness we might feel ends up getting bigger in our mind and we start thinking that being human means that we’re really just a mind that happens to have this body. 

But one thing I learned this week, from researcher and author Hillary McBride, is that being human is a very body based experience. And one way we see that is by looking at the amount of messages that pass from our brain to our body. Those messages are impulses transmitted by neurons through our nervous system. These messages regular our heart while also making us more comfortable as we settle back into our chair. Our brain is very busy telling our body a lot of things. But our body is actually telling our brain so much more. For every one impulse from our brain down into our body, our body is busy sending 9 messages to our brain. We want to believe and act as if being human is mostly just a top-down experience. But our body shows that being human really happens from the bottom up. 

Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew wraps up the teaching we’ve been listening to these last few weeks. Jesus had gathered together his imperfect disciples – the ones who would eventually deny him, betray him, and abandon him on the Cross – and he told them to go out and do the things Jesus did. They would share Jesus while also living out what it means for the kingdom of God to come near. That experience of living as followers of Jesus would involve a lot of bodies. The disciples were called to heal bodies; to cast out demons from bodies; and to use their own bodies as bearers of the good news of Jesus Christ. Jesus’ guidance to them included words on what they would carry on their bodies and how their bodily existence would rely on the hospitality of others. This journey was not one without any risk. And so Jesus told them that their words might end up breaking the incarnational relationships of families and households. Yet he also promised that the breaking or breaking down of their bodies would not mean that God loved them any less. In fact, God was already with them exactly as they are. God wasn’t waiting for the disciples to be the best, most beautiful, and most faithful versions of who they thought they should. God knew they wouldn’t be perfect. But God did want them to trust that even now, they were loved. And that love – that connection – and that relationship to Jesus changes everything. 

Now we might imagine that this connection to Jesus sort of stays up here. But faith isn’t always stuck in our heads. Instead, there’s an experience of faith that bubbles up from the bottom. That kind of faith is grounded in our encounters with others because we live in a world full of people who are not us. Our spouses are not us. Our children are definitely not us. And even our best friends who we’ve known our entire lives are still not us. We, as individuals, are unique in our own ways. Yet each of us are beloved children of God – who encounter God daily in amazing, but sometimes hidden, ways. We need each other to point out the ways God has shown up in our lives. We need each other to be that different kind of voice that reminds us we are beautifully and wonderfully made. We need each other to offer a supporting hand that will do something hard like giving us a cup of cold water on a hot summer day. And we need each other to show us that the life we live – a life we tell us ourselves that we are not enough – is a life that is valued by God and that we are worth God’s love. 

And maybe that’s one of the reasons why we, together, are more than just a church. We are also part of the body of Christ. In your baptism and in your faith, you were united with a Jesus who is still active in the world. The words he gave to his disciples 2000 years ago are still words meant for us. Faith isn’t supposed to stay in our heads. Faith is also lived out loud – and that living happens from the bottom up. Through Jesus and his body in the world, we are reminded that we matter to God. And since we do matter to God, we are also called to go out and participate in what Jesus is already doing in the world. Jesus continues to find new ways to show us that our bodies – exactly as they are – can still bear God’s love into the world. We don’t have to wait to be the most perfect version of ourselves before we fully follow Jesus. We can, instead, just be us. We, who are too short, can pray big prayers. We, who feel as if our body is breaking down, can cook a meal to build other bodies up. We, who live in a world where certain bodies do not matter, can reach out and tell others that they are loved. And each one of us can do the hard work of making sure that our communities, our towns, and our neighborhoods are places where all bodies thrive. This bottom-to-top way of living in the world is something that we get to do because Jesus has included us – every part of us – into his holy body. You are valued. You are important. You who is viewed as imperfect in the eyes of the world – is still, in Christ, holy and loved. Let us, together, use our bodies to make Jesus’ body real in our world.

Amen. 

”If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

”I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

John 14:15-21

My sermon from the 6th Sunday of Easter (May 17, 2020) on John 14:15-21.

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So if I counted correctly, this is our 11th Sunday, in a row, where we are worshipping together online and over the phone. Now that’s pretty incredible because when we stopped gathering together in person as a way to keep ourselves and our neighbors safe, we had no idea how long our being apart would take. At the time, way back on March 15th, we were hopeful it would only last a few weeks. But those few weeks have turned into a few months and we’re still not sure when we will be able to safely gather together again in person. Now over these last 11 weeks, you’ve done amazing things. You’ve washed your hands more than you’ve ever done before. You’re wearing masks everytime you go out. You’re donating money and resources to all sorts of non-profits and food pantries. And you keep making phone calls, saying your prayers, and giving your time, talent, and money to your faith community. I know you’re not up to all those things, every day, but you continue to be God’s people in the world – even when you’re just not feeling it. We all want things to go back to normal – yet – you’ve already started living into a new normal – one that might still make us uncomfortable – but one that truly responds to Jesus’ call to love God and our neighbors. If, over these last 11 weeks, you’ve felt like you haven’t been doing much, I want to affirm that you actually have – because you’ve made adjustments in your life to help keep love at the center of who you are. 

So as we think back to where we were over 11 weeks ago – and reflect on the plans we made for ourselves right when this shutdown happened – were there any goals that you made back then that ended up being sort of hard to accomplish? For example, maybe there’s a pile of books on your nightstand that you’ve been meaning to read for months and so you made a promise to yourself that they were going to be read by now. How’s that plan going? 

Or maybe you decided to learn a new language or clean those untouched junk drawers in your kitchen, or maybe you signed-up for a daily aerobics class over Zoom? You promised yourself that your time at home would be “productive.” So how productive have you been? 

Or maybe you choose to focus on staying mentally well during this time apart. You made a promise to yourself not to read too much news, to only look at instagram once a day, and to eat well and exercise as a way to live through the constant anxiety and worry and frustration we’re all experiencing. How has staying mentally healthy gone for you so far? 

When I look back at the goals I made for myself prior to our first online-only worship service on March 15th, I’m not sure quite sure how to put into words exactly what I’m feeling. Because none of those goals were, necessarily, wrong or bad or silly. But they were goals that didn’t really understand what the next chapter of my life would be like. We knew, I think, that life would be different but we didn’t realize how different. And as we reflect on where we’ve been and what we’ve done, these past 11 weeks might feel a little empty. Or maybe super full – but full of none of the things that you expected or planned for. The downtime we expected to have when we stopped gathering together wasn’t really downtime at all. Because we were busy, consciously or unconsciously, making shifts in our life to just survive. That survival meant that we became teachers or learned how to manage parents-and-students over zoom, email, and conference call. That survival meant that we figured out new places to find toilet paper and which food pantries were still taking donations and giving out food. That survival meant finding new ways to connect to each other, especially if we live alone. And that survival meant that we still don’t really know how to balance everything that’s swirling within us – because we’re living through a lot of change we didn’t plan for and that we don’t want. That doesn’t mean we didn’t find moments of joy and laughter and kindness during these last 11 Sundays. But it does mean that this is still hard – and it will keep being hard – until a vaccine of some kind is found and made widely available. There might be a lot of promises that you made to yourself over these last 11 weeks that you haven’t fully kept. And that might be because promises are hard – especially when we’re living through something we never expected in the first place. 

Once again, our reading today from the gospel according to John, is Jesus’ attempt to prepare his disciples for what’s next. He gathered them together to share a meal, to wash their feet, and spent three chapters trying to talk to them about what was about to come. The disciples had heard Jesus talk about the various promises that God had made to them. But they had, at the same time, not really realized the promises about God’s promises that they made to themselves. When Jesus healed the sick, casted out demons, and displayed all those signs of God’s kingdom coming near – the promise they internalized from their experience of Jesus – was one that couldn’t live through the Cross. To them, Jesus was powerful; he was strong, mighty, and above all things. There was nothing on earth, they believed, that could withstand the one who even raised Lazarus from the dead. The disciples couldn’t really imagine that Jesus would experience a complete human life – one that included betrayal, sadness, hurt, and even death. As Jesus taught and proclaimed God’s promise of love in the world – the disciples made a promise to themselves that Jesus was full of power and all they needed was to stay with him. They heard the words Jesus said; they experienced his presence in the world; but the promises they made to themselves about what being with Jesus was all about – were promises that needed to be broken. The disciples couldn’t love God and the world like they should if they stayed locked onto promises that would die, like Jesus, on the Cross. 

So Jesus, then, made his own promise – one that didn’t depend on how talented or faithful the disciples were. He told them that, no matter what, they would never be alone. The Holy Spirit, God’s love active in the world, would envelop them, filling them a love that would never end. The “if” at the start of verse 15 isn’t meant to sound conditional, as if Jesus’ love for us depends on our choosing of him. Rather, the “if” is wrapped up in a bigger promise – rooted in the relationship Jesus has already gifted to us. Through our baptism and through the gift of faith, Jesus made himself a part of who we are. We get to love ourselves and others like Jesus does because the Spirit lets us focus on the promises that carry us through all of life’s unexpected moments. These promises let us be honest about our current reality and how hard things are. Yet these promises also proclaim good news  – because you are loved. There might be a lot of promises that we continue to make during this pandemic that we will struggle to keep. But we will also choose to lean into the promise Jesus has already given to us. Let that promise of love and hope – invite you to make different kinds of promises to yourselves and to the world; promises that help you love yourself and that give grace to your neighbors, family, and friends. It’s okay if you never read all those books on your nightstand and if your junk drawers are still full of junk once we gather together again in person – because the Holy Spirit is already keeping you grounded in the eternal promise: and God’s love is with you – even now. 

Amen. 

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

And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.

Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

John 14:1-14

My sermon from 5th Sunday of Easter (May 10, 2020) on John 14:1-14.

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So, one of the things you might not know about me is that I am a manuscript preacher. And a manuscript preacher writes out pretty much everything they’re going to say. Usually, when I’m in the sanctuary, you can watch me scroll through my iPad as I keep track of where I am in my sermon. But right now – I’m staring at you – and there’s no there’s no manuscript or piece of paper or ipad in sight. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my preaching style. Rather, I’m using a teleprompter – one that I made out of an old iPad, a broken picture frame, some cardboard, and a lot of duct tape. Through the magic of technology, you can’t see the words as they scroll automatically down the screen. But if you watch my eyes closely, you might see them jump around quickly – and that’s a sign I’ve lost my place and I’m trying to catch up. Now there are times when I might change a word or add a sentence as I preach – but I pretty much rely on a manuscript to bring this word to you. Not every preacher needs a manuscript and there are days when I wish a few bullet points and an outline was all I needed. But for me, a manuscript does more than just help me stay on track. It also provides an opportunity for me to stay grounded in this moment. As I write, I have to read and refine and edit everything that I type. I need to do work on the text to make it sound at least somewhat understandable. Yet that working on the text – is also a moment for the text to work on me. And the text is always bigger than just the words appearing on the teleprompter’s screen. The text also includes whatever the Holy Spirit is revealing to us through the words Jesus just spoke. Those words aren’t always easy to hear because they could be challenging or upsetting or just hard to comprehend. But they also might be hard to hear because we’re not really grounded in this moment. Last week, I invited all the children of God to play the silent game with me – even though we were doing it through our screens. Now I don’t know what happened at your house – but at mine – the silent game really didn’t happen. There were too many action figures to play with, a cat busy chasing a bright red ping pong ball around the room, and multiple computer devices and screens working so that I could bring the worship to you. There are times when the noise we’re living through makes Jesus’ words physically hard to hear. 

But there’s also all the other stuff that we bring to this moment even though we’re just sitting on the couch or staring at our phone as we walk to the kitchen to grab our second breakfast. It’s that nagging feeling of anxiety as we worry about what’s going to happen next. It’s the feeling that we’re missing out on stuff because this pandemic is making us live in ways we don’t want to. And it’s all the stuff that makes us sad because we’ve canceled graduations, proms, our travel plans, and we can’t even visit the mothering figures in our lives on this Mother’s Day. All these emotions and feelings of worry, anxiety, and fear – all of that is also an expression of grief. We are grieving because our expectations for what this moment should be like has been undone. We don’t know when we’ll see our friends again in person or when we’ll feel safe enough to get on an airplane and visit our parents. We mourn friends and loved ones who are still sick or And for those who are living alone, the lack of actual human touch from those we care about is a cause of our grief because we can’t even get a hug from a friend. There’s a lot going on in this moment – and we might find ourselves lashing out against the people around us or even society itself. It’s easy to get mad, frustrated, and to blame everyone else for this grief that’s in our lives. And we probably are struggling putting words to the sensation that our heart, our mind, and our soul feels heavy – weighed down by all the broken expectations, broken plans, and broken promises present in our current reality. It’s hard to be truly grounded in this moment – because we’re carrying with us a lot of stuff. 

And that, I think, is what Jesus’ words today are all about. Jesus recognizes grief – and he chooses to speak a word into it. He is, in the words we just heard, gathered with his friends, sharing one last meal. They’ve broken bread, shared a drink, and Jesus has even knelt down and washed each of their feet. They’re now in the second part of their shared meal and are busy talking and sharing stories. Now, in John, Jesus is always one step ahead of everyone else. He knows where he’s been, what he’s doing, and where he’s going next. Jesus knows that Judas has just left his side, about the guide the authorities back to Jesus to arrest him. Jesus knows that the Cross is about to come and so he chooses, in this moment, speak specifically to those closest to him. We get in trouble with this passage if we forget that Jesus was speaking and responding to specific people in a specific place. His words were not meant to be taken out of context and used to define who is and who isn’t loved by God. Jesus, instead, is responding to his friends – who have a sense that their expectations are about to be undone. They realize that Jesus is saying something unsettling here – and they, filled with anxiety, begin to grieve. They don’t really understand what they’re feeling or sensing or why their hearts are suddenly heavy. All they know is that Jesus seems to be preparing them for something…and that makes them afraid. Thomas gives voice to that grief, naming that he has no idea where Jesus is going or what’s going to happen next. And if our hearts are feeling heavy right now, we shouldn’t rush through Thomas’ words. We should sit with them, ground ourselves in them, because his heaviness and our heaviness can be one and the same. Thomas’ words, I think, give voice to our moment – with all of its emotional ups and downs, complexity and nuance. Thomas realized that the direction and track he thought he was on was being derailed by actors and actions beyond his control. And in that moment, he turned towards Jesus and named his grief, admitted his fears, and asked for help. 

And so Jesus did the one thing God always does for us. He listened. He heard what Thomas was saying and he responded with a promise. But that promise didn’t say that everything would be okay or that Thomas wouldn’t have to struggle or suffer or sometimes be afraid. Nor did Jesus downplay or ignore or act as if everything Thomas was feeling was somehow silly and a sign that Thomas really didn’t believe. Instead, Jesus saw grief buckling Thomas’ heart – and so he spoke a word pointing to the love God had for him. It wasn’t the anxiety or fear that truly defined who Thomas was. Rather, it was the fact that Jesus had already claimed him as his own – and that no fear, or anxiety, or heavy heat would ever cause that to change. When the ground under Thomas shifted and every expectation and hope came undone in a giant pile of anxiety, Jesus pointed to a different kind of ground that Thomas did not create or maintain on his own. What truly grounded him was the One who is, no matter what, always with us. And that love from Christ, rooted in a life lived for all, is the truth that leads us into God’s way of love. 

If you, like me, try to find different ways to ground yourself in this pandemic moment – I invite you to ground yourself in Christ. His love for you knows no end and his boundless compassion surrounds you. The grief you feel is real – yet it is a grief that, with Christ, we can live through. Make sure, as you are able, to be like Thomas. Name your grief. Name your fears. Be honest in all the ways this situation just stinks. And then, when you are able, listen to the promise Jesus has already made to you. You are part of His body. You are one with Christ. You are defined by love – and not by fear or anxiety or sorrow. Jesus is, even now, with you. And his love for you is the ground that will never shift away from you. 

Amen.