Easter Sermon 2024

Prepared for Transfiguration Lutheran Church in Bloomington, MN

Grace and peace to you from our risen Savior, our Lord Jesus
Christ. Amen.

Can you imagine if saving ourselves was up to us? The women,
Mary Magdalene and Mary, mother of James and Joses, and
Salome, were last seen standing at a distance, taking note of
where Joseph of Arimathea buried their dearest friend, Jesus.
Mark’s Gospel tells us that Joseph of Arimathea was on the
Council, the Sanhedrin, which was one of the authoritative
bodies that condemned Jesus to death. I can imagine the
women feeling angry as they watched Joseph take Jesus off of
the cross and placing him in his family’s tomb. It must have felt
like an insult to them. But they watched so that they would
know where to anoint Jesus after the Sabbath had ended at
sunrise on Sunday morning.

Saturday must have been awful for them, cooped up with the
rest of the disciples, all of whom had scattered at Jesus’ arrest.
Judas handed Jesus over to the temple militia, frustrated that
Jesus would not be the Savior he had in mind. Peter said that
he would stay by Jesus’ side no matter what. Instead, Peter cut
off someone’s ear and denied knowing who Jesus was when he
was questioned by the slave girl of the high priest. James and
John snoozed in the garden of Gethsemane when Jesus asked
them for an hour of their time and support.

Who knows where the other 8 gentleman went off to while the
crowds and hundreds of soldiers mocked, beat, flogged, spit on,
and crucified their beloved teacher?

The women remained with Jesus until the end, but could only
stand in silent horror as he labored in excruciating pain until he
breathed his last. I can’t even imagine the tension, the blame,
the grief, and anger that filled the room on that Sabbath
Saturday. These women had traveled with Jesus for three years
as he preached, taught, cast out demons, performed miracles.

The women fed, supported, strengthened and strategized all
for Jesus and the success of his ministry. Were they seated
around the table at the Last Supper? Did Jesus wash their feet,
too? Did they travel to the garden and watch with horror as
Jesus was arrested and ripped away from his friends? Do they
hide in the courtyard as Peter shouts defiantly that he doesn’t
know a Jesus at all? Do they walk along the road to Golgotha,
the place of the skull, as Jesus is marched to his death, carrying
part of the cross they will hang him on? I am certain that they
listen with dismay as hundreds of soldiers laugh at Jesus as he
dies, the crowds joining in and telling Jesus to save himself. I
am certain that they trembled as Jesus breathes his last and
earth shakes and is covered in darkness.

The women get up with the sun the next day and they have a
job to do. It’s time to anoint the body of their dead king. They
wonder who will roll the massive stone away from the door of
the tomb to allow them to do their work? Maybe some of the
cohort – 480 soldiers – that were present to execute Jesus –
would take pity on them and help. But no one is up and about.
More importantly, there’s no stone. There was a young man,
dressed in a dazzling white robe.

In my favorite translation of the Greek text by the fabulous scholar, Sarah Ruden, the end of Mark’s Gospel reads:
“The young man said to the women, ‘Don’t be stunned. You’re
looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was hung on the stakes. He’s
awakened; he’s not here. See, this is the place where they laid
him. But be on your way, and tell his students, including Peter,
that he’s going ahead of you into Galilee; there you’ll see him,
just as he told you.’ Then the women went bolting out of the
tomb, convulsed and out of their minds with shock. But they
said nothing to anyone, as they were terrified.”

Now before we knock the women for their seeming lack of
faith, there is a parallel story to the resurrection in Mark’s
Gospel: The Transfiguration!

From chapter 9 of Mark’s Gospel from Sarah Ruden’s translation: “On the mountain with Peter,
James and John, Jesus’ form changed before their eyes, and his
clothes turned a glistening, glaring white, to a degree no
laundryman on earth could whiten them. And Elijah along with
Moses was seen by them, and they were talking with Jesus.
Now Peter responded by saying to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, it’s good that
we’re here, so let’s make three shelters, one for you and one
for Moses and one for Elijah.’ Peter didn’t in fact know how he
should respond, since he and the others were terrified. Then a
cloud came and overshadowed them, and a voice came out of
the cloud: ‘This is my son, the beloved – listen to him.’ And the
next moment, when they looked around, they no longer saw
anyone with them except Jesus, him alone.
And when they came down from the mountain, he ordered
them not to describe to anyone what they had seen, until the
son of mankind was awakened from among the dead. And they
kept what he said to themselves, only arguing over what ‘being
awakened from among the dead’ meant.”

As the three disciples and Jesus come down from the moment
after the very confusing and glorious moment of
transfiguration, there is already a huge crowd waiting with the
other disciples. There is a father that brought his little boy to
the disciples for healing, but they were unable to help him.
They brought the child to Jesus; and what it saw Jesus, the
spirit inside seized the boy right away, and he fell to the ground
and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.

The father says, to Jesus, “But if you possibly can, come to our aid – if your
heart goes out to us. But Jesus said to him, ‘If you can! – for
someone who trusts, anything can be done.’ Right away the
child’s father cried out, saying, ‘I do trust – come to the aid of
my failing trust!’…And it [the spirit] cried out and threw the boy into long
convulsions, and then came out of him. And the boy became
like a corpse, so that most of the people said he’d died. But
Jesus seized his hand and roused him and he stood up.”

A dazzling white robe. Fear and longing. Convulsions of terror.
The hand of God raising up a young son. The disciples unable
to say anything out of fear. God is in the midst of all things,
moved out of love for us to give us life and wholeness!

It’s amazing in Mark’s Gospel how often he mentions the
confusion and fear that the disciples experience when they’re
around Jesus. How would you behave around the first person
that was fully God and fully human that you had ever met?
Mark’s Gospel focuses on the fears that humans face. The fear
of being left out and forgotten. The fear of experiencing pain,
shame, or suffering. The fear of being included and fully known.

Mark’s Gospel also focuses on the trust that Jesus longs to
place in our hearts by the power of the Spirit. Jesus does get to
experience moments of total trust sporadically in the Gospel.
The friends of a paralyzed man that lower him on his stretcher
to be touched by Jesus have immense trust in their hearts.
Jesus, seeing their trust, tells the paralyzed man, “Child, you’re
absolved from your offenses.” When the scholars get worked
up in their hearts about Jesus forgiving this man when only God
can, Jesus says, “So that you know the son of mankind has
authority on earth to absolve people from all their offenses –
I’m telling you, stand up, pick up your stretcher, and get along
home.” The people are terrified. Because Jesus brings
forgiveness to anyone that needs it.

The woman with a bleeding disease knows somehow that if she
can just place her hands on the hem of Jesus’ garment, she will
be healed. Jesus feels power going out from him and asks who
has touched him. The disciples think he’s bonkers and say, “You
see this crowd pushing against you so hard and you say, “Who
touched me?” But he went on looking around to see which
woman had done this thing. The woman, terrified and shaking,
came and threw herself at his feet and told him the whole
truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your trust has cured you.”
Jesus says the same thing to Bartimeaus, a blind begger who
cries out to the Son of David, Prince Jesus.

A leader of a synagogue, Jairus, has a daughter who is deathly
ill. While the hubbub is going on about the bleeding woman, his
little daughter dies. Jesus says to him, “Don’t be terrified, only
trust.” He goes into Jairus’ home, takes the girl by the hand and
said, “Talitha koum”, which means, “Little girl or little daughter,
get up.” The people in the house were terrified. Stunned
beyond their capacity to be stunned. Who is this that death
flees from?

When the disciples and Jesus are out for a little boat ride, a
storm suddenly whips up the water and waves are crashing into
the boat. In no time at all, the boat was swamped. Jesus was
napping peacefully. The disciples wake him up and asked,
“Teacher, don’t you care that we’re going under? So Jesus got
up, scolded the wine and said to the sea, “Be quiet! Put a
muzzle on it!” And the wind broke up and there was a great
calm. And he said to them, “Don’t you have any trust yet?” The
text says that the fear the disciples had in their hearts was an
overwhelming one. Who is this that the wind and sea obey
him?

In another boat incident, Jesus asks for a little time alone to
pray. The disciples get in their boat to travel to the other side.
Jesus, sees them strained in their rowing, as the wind was
against them. He came in their direction, walking on the sea,
and he intended to pass by them. They saw him walking on the
sea, they thought it was a ghost, and they screamed, since they
all saw him and were horrified. He got into the boat where they
were and the wind stopped. And they were absolutely terrified,
beside themselves.

When Jesus heals the Gerasene demoniac, a man who is
chained up among tombs, and left alone to harm himself and
scream in the night – the people and the disciples are terrified
to see this poor man in his right man, cleaned up and wearing
clothes. Who is this that restores people to community? And
are we ready to receive anyone that comes from Jesus, thirsting
for belonging and love?

Can you imagine if saving ourselves was up to us?

Jesus tells his
disciples on Maundy Thursday after he washes their feet and
feeds them, “You’ll all fall away, because it’s been written, ‘I’ll
strike the shepherd down, and the sheep will be scattered in all
directions. But after I’m awakened, I’ll go ahead of you into
Galilee.” Jesus understands that we will never follow him
perfectly. We don’t have the benefit of being fully God and fully
human.

We will often forget his promises to stay faithful to us, though
we are skittish and scatter when things get difficult. He knows
that there is much in this world to be terrified of. He knows that
the forces of evil never sleep and they are out to confuse and
delude us. He knows that we will get swamped by
circumstances and think that we should be afraid of him and his
power and glory, but he only seeks to share it with us, to cover
us over in his own glory, to crown us with love and eternal life.

Our Lord Jesus has liberated us and the whole cosmos from the
power of death and the devil.
Our Lord Jesus walks to us over the stormy seas to take us by
the hand.
Our Lord Jesus sees us for all that we are – the trust and the
hope that we can trust him and the terror– and loves us
unconditionally anyway. More than that, he prays for us and
wraps us up in garments of eternal life and joy.
Our Lord Jesus embraced his excruciating death on a cross to
show us that there is not one place anywhere that is god-
forsaken.

Our Lord Jesus has ushered in his kingdom where children are
honored, where the vulnerable are protected, where the last
will be first, where the smallest will have seats of honor, where
those wearied by war and violence will have peace, where the
fearful and anxious will have rest, where God will wipe away
every tear from our faces, mourning will be no more, pain and
suffering is ended, and we will be face-to-face with our
gracious and tender-hearted God who will say to us at the end
of the age, “You are my little son. You are my little daughter.
Thank you for your trust in me.”
Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia.
Alleluia!
Alleluia! Amen.

Send That Devil Packing: A Sermon on Luke 4:1-13

 

The season of Lent has arrived. The glorious and bright texts of Epiphany are in the past. It’s time for some nitty, gritty, dusty Lenten texts. God will reveal his power and kindness in new ways to us. Lent is all about quieting our souls and become more intentional about how we spend our time. It’s time for us to really take stock of our hearts and spirits. What’s in there? What’s built up since last Lent? What do we care about? What do we value? We hold in balance the call to repent and discipline our impulsive ways, but also to re-focus on God’s powerful abiding love and power. Our 40-day journey to the cross mirrors Jesus’ 40-day time period spent in the wilderness – only, mercifully, we don’t have to contend with an obnoxious devil. Although today, I would take that spooky landscape with the cliffs and caves and wild beasts and scorching temperatures.

Our Gospel passage for today has everything any good story needs; a force of evil, a brave contender, a dramatic setting, temptation, and Scriptural battles. But the first thing to notice about our text for today is what it says about the Holy Spirit. After Jesus is baptized, the Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness for a time of testing. We just heard that this is God’s Son, but what kind of a Son is he? What will we learn about our Messiah? Will Jesus take advantage of his power as God’s Son to satisfy his own needs and desires? Would Jesus compromise his relationship with the Trinity by failing to acknowledge that God rules over all things?

The Spirit doesn’t just lead Jesus to the wilderness and drop him off with a wave and a, “Have fun, honey!” The Spirit sticks around. The Spirit sustains Jesus to do battle with the forces of evil. The wilderness is a really important testing ground for God’s people.

The people of Israel were birthed after 40 years as God’s covenant people in the wilderness. Moses was called to ministry and was transformed by God into a prophet. Elijah was brought out and formed there, fed by ravens and hanging out with wild animals. This is where John the Baptist begins to prepare his people for the in-breaking of God’s kingdom. Jesus will seek out the wilderness throughout his ministry for opportunities to pray and listen. The wildernesses of our lives aren’t always testing grounds put in front of us by God, but we are promised that when we experience these stark and disturbing places, the Spirit doesn’t abandon us to battle alone.

The Gospel text places us right in the middle of a battle of biblical interpretation. The devil teaches us a really important lesson. Just because someone can quote Scripture doesn’t mean that they are in a relationship with God or care about the ways of God. If the devil can quote and twist Scripture, how easy is it for the rest of us?

But Jesus the Good Shepherd, sets us right by quoting Scripture as well – and because he has an intimate relationship with his Abba, we can be reassured that God is our resting place and power, too. I hadn’t noticed before that Jesus doesn’t say anything in this text that is original to him. Instead, he quotes Deuteronomy three times. The devil tempts Jesus first by telling him to turn the stones into bread. Certainly not something beyond Jesus’ power and he’s probably really hungry. I can’t manage to not eat every two hours, so fasting is not for me. Jesus responds with Deuteronomy 8:3. One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. As my best friend says, “NOT TODAY, SATAN.” Say it with me! “Not today, Satan!”

The second test is about rulership. The devil says that he is the ruler of this world – he manages the world’s kingdoms and political arenas. I know it may feel like that sometimes in our modern setting. But, remember that in the first century, Rome had a death grip on everything about people’s daily lives – economics, religion, household organization, bodies, war – everything.

So, this is really an opportunity for Luke to stick it to the emperor. If Jesus is God, then Caesar is not. If God’s kingdom has no end, Rome’s power isn’t forever. Jesus replies with the ancient Shema prayer. “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.”

Even in the places that seem God-forsaken and hopeless, God reigns and will set all things right. We are always to serve God with our whole hearts, souls, and might – because God is the Ono who graciously abides with us and provides for all of our needs throughout life’s seasons. In the season of Lent, it’s tempting to focus on all that is wrong with us or the world. Confessing our sin is important. But confessing that Jesus is the gracious Lord of all the world and is faithful to those who call upon him is more important. We can’t lose sight of the fact that God is our shelter, our home, our advocate, our friend – and chooses to be. There’s not anyone who isn’t worthy of God’s care and support.

The third test really highlights the devil’s ability to quote Scripture in a way that makes the hearer wonder if they really are worth God’s love and protection –the most dangerous of the three tests for Jesus and for us. That nasty old demon presents wants as needs, lies as truths, and distrust as faith. It’s easy to do. The devil quotes verses 11-12 of Psalm 91, a beloved psalm that was probably used by pilgrims as a prayer upon entering the Temple in Jerusalem. It was also used as a blessing on journeys undertaken.

Both ancient Jews and Christians would write Psalm 91:11-12 and wear them in necklaces to be worn as protection. “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.” The devil tells Jesus that it shouldn’t be a problem to leap off the Temple because the angels would be waiting to catch him. Again, Jesus quotes Deuteronomy from chapter 6. “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” How wild that Jesus is God, is being tested, and says to not test God. It boggles the mind.

But the point is that Jesus is on his own mission and he is full of grace and integrity. He refuses to turn stones into bread for his own nourishment or for the entertainment of the devil, but he does feed the hungry. He refuses earthly political power and riches and might, but ushers in God’s reign of justice and peace. He refuses to be another abusive ruler in a long line of abusive rulers. He is our servant king who leads us instead through the wilderness places until we come to rest beside still waters. He doesn’t jump off the roof of the Temple to be caught by angels just because he can, but he goes to the cross in the deep confidence that God would raise him up and open the way to Resurrection for the whole world. That’s a Messiah that I want to know and love. That’s a God I can entrust my heart and spirit to. Psalm 91 reminds us that God promises a reverence for our lives. God takes human life seriously. So seriously, that he was once human, too, and nothing that we experience is alien to him.

During Lent, as we grow in our awareness of God’s nearness, we can recognize that we have a divine friend who walks with us and goes before us in all things. It’s not about what we know, it’s about who we know. God knows that we get easily confused and distracted by the powers in the world. God doesn’t expect us to triumph through all of our temptations or troubles on our own. Jesus is the only One that conquered the devil and his power. When we confess that Jesus is Lord, we too stomp on that old crafty serpent just as Psalm 91 says we will. This Lent, may you know that God is our shelter and our ever-present friend, always ready to uphold us and comfort us. May you do some devil-stomping in this season.

Glory be to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever more shall be. World without end. Amen.

For Unto Us A Child Is Born: A Reflection on Fostering and Pregnancy Loss at the Beginning of Advent

I sincerely love being a foster mom. Sure, some days are full of holy terror. It’s awkward. How do you navigate holidays? How do you talk about family things? How do you help children bear trauma and confusion? What conversations do you strike up and what do you avoid? How do you talk about and around the difficult stuff that you get asked about,  but can’t answer? I rarely know whether I’m making the right decision or doing the right thing. There’s a lot of players in a foster child’s life; the judge, social workers, lawyers, home-based caregivers, therapists, teachers, etc. It’s hard being a temporary parent. I live in the in-between every day. There’s just no possibility of resolution when I want it.  I’ve had to learn how to be a mom that is also a not-quite-mom in the eyes of another.

I adore our foster daughter. She’s a fabulous kid. But like any kid, she has her moments. Often, she gets frustrated with me. I’m an enforcer by nature; there are rules and we follow them because they create goodness and peace in our hearts. One day, she was stomping up the stairs and yelled the thing most foster moms hear, “YOU’RE NOT MY MOM.”

Yeah, that’s true. I didn’t birth her. I didn’t know her until the summer of this year. And yet, before I ever knew her, I was a mom. I am a mom – with or without her presence in my home. A presence I have come to cherish and delight in.

I was expecting my own child and then that child died. But my body is different. I was asking the doctor the other day about when my body would look how it did before pregnancy. The doctor responded that those little changes are permanent. I’ll never be the same after that loss; physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.

I sat down with my foster daughter and asked her about what makes someone a mom – biological or otherwise. She had all kinds of ideas (if we’re honest, many of them having to do with endless fruit snacks and candy – which most days I also wish I had). Love for her looks like endless treats and freedom. People are all the same, aren’t they?

I explained about the baby I lost. But I also explained that moms (and dads) do certain things. We stay calm when kids get angry. We look at the bigger picture. We don’t say mean things just because mean things get flung at us. We serve healthy meals, we enforce bedtime, we make sure teeth get brushed, deodorant gets slapped on, friends and their families are safe to be around. We make sure the seat belt is on, questions have space to be asked, dreams and hopes are fostered and protected. We do homework, we exercise together, we talk through the big, big feelings that creep on us and threaten to overwhelm us. We are brave together and strong together. I fail at many of these tasks on a daily basis. But in that small moment of teaching my foster kid about who I am, I realized I was lecturing…me.

Right after the pregnancy loss, people would say, “You’re still a mom.” I would strongly disagree and turn away in tears. How can you be a mom with nothing to show for it except a weird, changed body? How can you be a mom when there’s no one there to parent and guide? But when my foster kiddo yelled that I wasn’t one, my spirit whispered, “Oh, yes, you are.”

Here we are – entering the season of Advent. My favorite season, though it becomes increasingly harder to feel the same excitement and joy. Here I am, waiting for another to be born. I always feel like I’m waiting and then watching other kids coming into the world. But in this season, I’m waiting for God to be born for me. It’s a radical season, inviting us to be still and know that we are more than consumers and rushers. Advent invites us also to be active in love and God’s holy work in our preparations for receiving  this baby king. I’m a natural speculator and critic. Everything makes me suspicious and cranky. I’m always trying to understand just what exactly God is up to. But Advent always has a way of whispering the truth to me. This Advent, the truth is that I have had a limited view of myself. I am so many things; a pastor, a shepherd, a sister, aunt, cousin, friend. I’m also a mom. This Advent, the truth is that I have a limited view of God’s love and power. God is described as so many things in the Bible; a rock, a refuge, a fortress, a mother hen, a mighty warrior, a tiny infant. God is active in my life. I may not always understand his timing or hopes for me perfectly, but I believe that God is with me and God is for me. He knows what I long for. He knows what I need.

My miracle for this season is that God is instilling peace in my restless heart. Whether or not I ever have a child is always a question that will weigh on me every now and again. But no matter what comes, I’m a mom and that’s never going to change.

The children in my home may come and go. I’ll do my best to parent them and nurture them and love them when they’re in my care. I’m a temporary parent to them here and there and I embrace that, even when it definitely breaks my heart. But God’s love and mercy for me stand forever.

In the text for this coming Sunday, December 2, Jesus launches into an apocalyptic text. Yes, there’s all of the usual stuff that accompanies the end of the world; war and famine and persecution and terror. But at the end of the passage in Luke, Jesus says, “…stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Ready or not, Jesus shows up. He gives me the strength to lift up my head and square my shoulders to face the day. Even when many days lately have felt like little apocalypses.

Despite my circumstances, God is here.

 

 

On Miscarriage.

On September 18, 2017, I lost what would have been my firstborn child.

I was at a pastor’s conference, reveling in old and new faces, attending worship, and enjoying my wonderful luck in getting a room all to myself. I was finally starting to feel like a pastor and not just an outsider in a new community. My husband was at school, teaching children about the wonders of music. Stuff was really looking up.

I started bleeding. I called my new nurse at the clinic I had been going to for my pre-natal check-ups. She said if it continued, I should go in. Or lay down and rest. Or just don’t worry. Whatever. She was supportive, but not entirely clear. I put my feet up. I paced. I sat outside and tried to take deep breaths next to the beautiful lake.

Everything got worse. I found a fellow pastor to drive me to the hospital in Fargo. She was 8 months pregnant with her second child. I laughed like I had lost my marbles and said what a fun thing this would be to share with our grandchildren. A close call, but we would all be fine. We arrived at the hospital and they found me a room immediately. I was certain that it was nothing, just some twinges of pain here and there. Just some bleeding that would all turn out to be fine. The pain intensified and my shock and pride took over.

I didn’t know how to ask for help. I didn’t think. I definitely had not read the chapter on pregnancy loss in my baby book, thinking it must be a rare thing. I’ve learned since then. I didn’t realize the toilet in the ER automatically flushed. My brain shielded me from what was happening. Complete, ridiculous denial. Afterwards, after the ultrasound where they informed me there was nothing in there anymore, one of my doctors told me that most likely the heartbeat had stopped at some point. At six weeks, I had had some bleeding, but we saw the ultrasound and that brilliant heartbeat. I heard from many wise individuals that once you saw the heartbeat, you should be okay. That bodies are strange. They do things that don’t make much sense.

But that brilliant heartbeat that we saw on the monitor. Ended. And everything that was growing inside of me, my true miracle, the one who I thought would never be, was gone. Flushed away like refuse. I thought maybe I was dying. That I should die instead. That I deserved it. There must have been something terrible that I had eaten or done or neglected to do. We’re almost a year out from the miscarriage, and most days I feel exactly that way. Like I’m living and I don’t deserve it. Some days are better. God sneaks up on me and reminds me that I’m beloved, that I’m wanted. That I’m held. Other days are worse.

Joy has returned in little moments. In sermons I feel proud of. In saying the Apostles’ creed with my fellow loved ones, through tears sometimes. In the silly moments with my husband. In the face of my foster daughter, when she learns or tries something new, even if she’s uncertain. In my dumb cats. Holding hands with old ladies. Cackling over inappropriate jokes with said old ladies.

But always, the grief and the guilt and the gut punches live on.

Strange things unhinge me completely.

Pro-life billboards used to just be an surreal roadside thing that I really had no input or feelings about. They were just there in the world. Weird, but whatever. You know. “I’m Daddy’s CEO.” “Mommy’s Little Buddy.” “My heart beat 18 days after conception.” “Babies are a gift from God.”  Now when I see one, hot tears fill my eyes immediately. My baby was a gift from God. My baby had a heartbeat that I saw and it filled me with wonder. My baby would have been cherished, held, adored, taught, encouraged. She died. There’s no heartbeat now. No milestones. The crib is stored in our unfinished basement near unopened boxes from our move and cat litter. Didn’t I love my miracle? Didn’t I want her enough? Those billboards kill me and I’m not even the intended audience. I pass at least three or four every time I make a trip to Grand Forks, which is at least once a week for hospital visits.

Baby sections in stores. The lullabies they play every time a child is born at the hospital. The proud pregnancy announcements on the children’s shirts that came before the one in the womb now. The babies that are accidents and the family isn’t sure they want or need another. The babies that are killed at birth that the local newspaper reports on. The pregnancy photo shoots. The baby showers. The Christmas stocking that won’t be hanging in our home. The tiny outfit shoved to the back of my underwear drawer. The pregnancy test that still remains positive despite everything that transpired since last July. The well-meaning comments that I least I know I can get pregnant. The comments that I look like a little child when I feel like an old woman.

I’m a mother with nothing tangible to prove that with.

Since last September, my greatest comfort has been with biblical friends who know suffering best and aren’t here to bullshit about it. Job. Amos. Hosea. Habakkuk. Jeremiah. Naomi. Bathsheba. David. Mary Magdalene. Those guys get it. And it’s not only because they were prophets and apostles with divine messages to impart to the world. It’s because they understood what it was to feel humiliated. Prideful. Angry. Desperately sad. On the edge. Stuck listening to garbage comments by people who didn’t understand the first thing. Caught up in forces beyond their control. What if feels like to have empty hands and arms.

I thank God for my friends – currently in existence and biblical – who have beaten back the darkness with their brave words and presence. For my husband who is always true to himself and honest with me. For members in my congregation who take my hand and whisper, “I know this pain. It sucks. I’m sorry. It’s not right.” For a God that gives me space to rail and rage and then welcomes me in to rest and recharge. For a God I don’t fully understand. For opportunities to get in there and lessen the suffering by a few degrees for others, one child at a time. For the gift of a heart that can break over and over and over again, but is still beating. For a brain that is wonky, sure, but flexible and works to shield me from what I’m not prepared or ready for. That’s what I know today.

The joy of knowing Jesus makes no sense. But it’s real.

Here’s what I’ve learned: Don’t say things you don’t mean or can’t know. Give more hugs, give less lectures. Commit  to the people who make it into existence and fight like hell for their thriving. Tell every last person you meet that they are loved and wanted, even if it seems absurd. Believe in the power of resurrection, even when it seems laughable or too late. God’s timing is bonkers – I don’t know any ways around it. God’s vision involves the healing and wholeness that will come to the whole world. It might not arrive overnight. In fact, don’t expect it to. Accept that not much is in our control, but a mighty amount of things are – especially choosing to love and serve our neighbors and listen when they say something isn’t right. Listen to yourself. Trust people that are worthy of it. It’s okay to be full of rage. Not everyone is built to patiently accept every tragedy that befalls them. Be a good sitting buddy for others who are caught in the darkness. Sing anyway.

 

 

 

 

Shake Up the Dust: A Sermon for Mark 6:1-13

Grace and peace to you, dear friends, from God the Father, Jesus the Son of the Mary, and the Holy Spirit, our wily friend. Amen.

This week’s texts are about adventures and vocations that no one wanted.

Ezekiel, the prophet, has just fallen flat on his face. He’s walking along with a bunch of exiles in Babylon, when suddenly he sees visions of a flaming throne, strange creatures, and giant wheels. Just read Ezekiel 1 if you’re looking for some exciting reading material. Ezekiel, in the middle of the exile, far from home or the Temple or anything that would be comforting and nice, is called by God to be a prophet to people who are angry, afraid, and sad. God says to Ezekiel, “O Mortal, stand up on your feet, and I will speak with you.”

The promise isn’t that Ezekiel will have it easy. This isn’t a great time to be a prophet and to tell the truth about his people’s situation. But God promises that he will speak with Ezekiel. The Holy Spirit is the one that helps Ezekiel to his feet.

And then there’s our old pal, Paul. He, too, had a strange job. Paul was trying to make sense of his vocation. He was called to establish little churches all over the Mediterranean area. He dealt with class divides, vicious competition between Christians, “super apostles” or people that used their knowledge, violence and piety to keep other people under their thumb, imprisonment, beatings, public shamings, etc. But he claims power in his weakness – or in his falling on his face, unraveling on behalf of God. Because that’s what happens to us when we desire to draw close to God – we sometimes fall apart.

So when Paul is boasting of his weakness, he’s not saying he’s too incapable or lowly for his calling. He’s saying that God’s love has pierced him through and now he can’t help but love and long for the best for the little churches he had a hand in founding. He desires God’s closeness and wants the same desire to pierce the hard hearts of his loved ones.

We don’t know what the thorn in his flesh was exactly. If I had to guess, he had many thorns in his side.

God tells Ezekiel not to be afraid of the thorns, or the angry words and actions people will take towards him. Paul proclaims that God tells him three times that God’s grace is sufficient, that power is made perfect in weakness. As people of faith, we forget about this sometimes. We shouldn’t do all that we can to avoid suffering and pain. Those things will come to us, no matter how much we try to avoid anything unpleasant. God promises to speak with us. God promises to give us his holy power and strength so that we don’t have to go it alone.

Jesus sends out the disciples two by two after having a painful time in his hometown. People, with their thorny words, followed him around. Jesus comes from a long tradition of prophets being mocked, ignored and despised. God basically says to Ezekiel, “People will either listen or they won’t. They get salty and their words will sting. Have fun, Zeke!”

While Jesus was teaching in the synagogue, people said, probably in a stage whisper or, if they’re as obnoxious as Mark is writing them to be, were probably not even bothering to whisper. “Where does this man get all of these ideas? Who does he think he is? Why can’t he be responsible and settle down, like a good firstborn? How is this carpenter’s son (if Joseph is even his father) able to work with such power? Don’t we know his brothers and sisters? Why does he think he’s so special?” The people were offended that the little boy and teenager they saw running around their village was claiming to be the Messiah and had the audacity to turn around and start teaching with authority and power.

We forget the scandal of the Gospel. The scandal of God becoming a human being, living and laughing, eating and sleeping, crying and singing. Attending weddings and festivals. God was arrested and killed for being too love and grace-filled for us to handle. He died, quoting Psalm 22, a psalm written by a distraught writer to God. God is always speaking back to us in our grief and fear.

We are always trying to keep Jesus nice and safe. We want to hear that he loves us and he does. We want to hear that he’s for us, and he is. But in our Gospels, Jesus, the Son of God, was a real person who had a clear understanding of just how petty, stubborn and downright evil people can be. He understands that sometimes, we withhold love and hospitality – we clench it tight and give it out in small measure to people who are easy to love. This is what he encountered. This is what he knew the disciples would encounter, and he sends them out anyway to rely on the generosity of others.

He tells them to take no bread, no money, no extra clothing. He tells them that some people will be unkind and inhospitable. In the ancient world, guests and strangers were to be attended to. Members of the household would wash the feet of those traveling. Shaking the dust off of one’s feet was a sign of protest that the people you met in that village neglected their duty to God and to humankind. But even though the disciples encountered a lot of thorny people – there was much beauty and celebration in God’s good creation, too.

The text says that they were able to cast out demons, to banish evil power, to anoint and bless others who were sick and suffering with oil. They were able to do this because they were powered by God’s abiding love and the love of God reflected in others. We forget that being part of a faith community means that we rely on the kindness of others. How often do we rely on people outside of these walls? How often do we practice asking for comfort and friendship from other church communities? How often do we go, two by two, to greet and anoint people where we find ourselves? Something exciting to think about trying.

We are called to faithfulness and truth-telling, not success. Sometimes, our Spirit-filled actions will meet glowering faces and nasty words spoken under someone else’s breath. We’re called to speak on. Sometimes, people will refuse to open their hearts and their doors to the suffering in the world. We’re called to shake the dust and keep on moving for the sake of our neighbor.

We’re called to endure rejection sometimes as the church. We are to be the body of Christ, set apart for service. We leave the results and successes up to God. God’s love is not controllable. We can’t keep it contained and tidy. God loves all that he made with reckless abandon. That’s not always very attractive to those of us who think only certain people should be rained on with the blessings of God. My heart and soul get just as crusty as the next person’s. But the sooner we long for all people to experience God’s mercy, grace and love, the better. This world of humanity is overwhelming, frustrating and saddening. We have always had issues in the human family.

But this world is a wonderful world because God made it and works each and every day to redeem it and move it closer to his vision for wholeness and peace. We can take part in that difficult work. So, mortal, stand up on your feet. Speak the truth to power and privilege. Give a word of warning. Give a word of comfort. God’s power lives in you. Shake up the dust.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and evermore shall be. World without end.

Get Uncomfortable: A Sermon for Mark 3:20-35

Grace and peace to you, dear friends, from God our Father, Jesus our Savior and Friend, and the Holy Spirit, our Life-Giver.

Well, we find ourselves back in the Gospel of Mark for the summer months. It’s worth noting the characters we have for today. We’re only in chapter 3 and the crowd is back. They keep rushing Jesus every chance that they get. Mark, famous for his abrupt language and break-neck pacing, has shown the crowd gathered around Jesus seven times before this occurrence.

The second set of characters are members from Jesus’ own family. They seek to seize him and hide him away. In their defense, they are probably afraid of losing him. They’re worried about him. He keeps attracting crowds and drawing the attention of the leading groups. They’ve decided that Jesus needs to be kept out of the spotlight.

The third cast of characters are the scribes. The scribes were very well-respected. They held a lot of authority and functioned as wisdom-dispensers for the Temple. They recognize that Jesus has a lot of power and are threatened by this power. They know he’s not a fake and he’s not a magician. But they determine that his power is demonic instead of divine. The scribes have missed God’s power when it was right in front of them. This is what Jesus is talking about when he talks about unforgivable sin. He’s talking about blasphemy against the Holy Spirit – the refusal to recognize when God’s holy power is at work in the world. The scribes, in announcing that Jesus’ power is demonic, are ignoring God’s healing for the world. They’ve decided that there’s no hope in God’s work.

They have witnessed people being freed from their demons, people restored to health and opportunity, restored to one another and their families and communities. And they call it hellish. They decide that God’s freedom can’t be counted on. The religious elites – a small, but important section of ancient, Jewish life – are acting out of fear. Their hearts and minds have hardened.

Last week, Jesus expressed deep grief over the Pharisees’ behavior. They kept waiting for Jesus to break laws and step over lines to heal other people. And of course, he did again and again. And now the scribes have pronounced that Jesus’ power comes not from God, but from evil forces. I’m sure Jesus is deeply grieved by this, but he’s angry as well. Because these scribes have seen the power of God in person and have dismissed it. It seems everyone in the Gospel text for today are stuck. The scribes have decided God’s not at work. Jesus’ family would rather save face than watch God save lives and unbind people.

Jesus wants us to be careful and alert in our lives of faith. I will admit that there have been times in my life that God was at work, creating me or a situation anew. And it was too wonderful for me, so I closed my eyes or turned away.

Jesus makes it clear to the scribes that their assessment is woefully incorrect. He tells them that his own ministry binds Satan. Jesus’ ministry restores people to life and relationships, which evil has no interest in. Evil separates, alienates, mocks, threatens. Jesus’ presence heals, soothes, empowers, and inspires. A house divided cannot stand. Jesus’ reign is here. Satan’s house is crumbling.

For the past four weeks, I have been studying the book of Revelation with a small group. The book of Revelation makes it clear that there are two forces at war; God’s divine goodness and mercy go up against demonic forces that hold sway over his good creation, especially humanity. John, the author of Revelation, doesn’t want people to be deceived. What they love, they will worship. And if we gave honest stock of our hearts and souls, I think we would find something else replaces God from time to time. The Gospel of Mark also operates under the understanding that we can choose between two reigns. We can follow Jesus and learn to be joyful, free, patient, healed, and whole. Or we can follow the evil forces in this world that tell us we can have it all if we’re willing to wrestle for power and influence, possessions and even people. We can live in the peace that passes human understanding, or we can live in fear and paranoia.

The reign of God is here, but it is challenged mightily by the forces of evil, which Revelation says are doomed to fail and will be conquered by the Lamb of God. They rage and flail and make a big ol’ scene because their time is up. Will you side with healing and wholeness for all people or will you only look to your own interests and live the way evil hopes you will?

The Gospel of Mark turns its attention back to Jesus’ family members. Again, they’re worried about him. He says dangerous things all the time to people in power, which as we know, will get him killed. But they misunderstand his purposes for ushering in a new kingdom and they doubt his power and the incredible love and mercy for those who are stuck in houses of evil’s oppression. Jesus re-draws the lines of family. He asks, “Who are my mother and brothers? And looking at those who sat around him, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

In Jesus’ culture – and probably our own as well – this is shocking. People are defined by their lineage and familial resources. One’s stability, opportunity, financial success, safety nets, identity – all of this is found in bloodline relationships.

Pastor Adam Sornchai says this in his reflection on this passage from the Gospel of Mark, “A pastor once taught me that the saying, ‘blood is thicker than water’ is actually an insult to Christians. It is the waters of baptism, not a bloodline, that makes us sisters and brothers; it is those waters that unite us with one another and with the triune God. How have we experienced the new reality that ‘water is thicker than blood?”

It doesn’t matter who your parents and grandparents are. We can make new families based on God’s hopes for the world. Actually, we must make new families in order to partner with God.

Water is thicker than blood. People that followed Jesus often lost their families and relationships, especially in the early church, so this would have been sweet news.

May you know that Jesus has bound the powers of evil so that you can live in freedom. May you know that Jesus calls you his brothers and sisters, making God your Father and Mother. May you let the Holy Spirit give you imagination, hope, and liveliness this week. May you open your eyes to all that God is doing in your life and not fear it.

I would like to close with one of my favorite poems, “For Longing,” by John O’Donohue:

Blessed be the longing that brought you here and quickens your soul with wonder.

May you have the courage to listen to the voice of desires that disturbs you when you have settled for something safe.

May you have the wisdom to enter generously into your own unease

To discover the new direction your longing wants you to take.

May the forms of your belonging – in love, creativity and friendship – be equal to the grandeur and the call of your soul

may you come to accept your longing as

divine urgency. May you know the urgency with which God longs for you.

Amen. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit as it was in the beginning, is now and evermore shall be. World without end.

Come and See: A Sermon for 1 Samuel 3:1-10 & John 1:43-51

 

1 Samuel 3:1-10

John 1:43-51

 

Last week, we talked about God’s voice and the fact that God chooses us, every time, over and over again. At the baptism of Jesus, God tore the sky apart to speak to us. In 16 chapters, Mark uses the word ‘immediately’ 42 times. The Greek in the Gospel of Mark is urgent and exciting. The sky was torn apart. Jesus appeared in the wilderness. I really encourage you to go wild when you read verbs in the Gospel of Mark. Suddenly, a dove comes spiraling down from heaven. The language is so beautiful and abrupt and sharp. But this week, our texts come from 1 Samuel and the Gospel of John, beautiful books in their own right. John takes his time and his Greek is much more polished, but he does something wonderful in this story. He expresses that most things we experience are beyond language.

Jesus goes to Galilee and finds Philip. Jesus simply says, “Follow me.” Philip runs to go and find Nathanael and says, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” What did Jesus say or do to tip Phillip off that he was the one they had hoped for? Nathanael says what anyone at the time would say, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Rude, right? Nazareth is a small, deeply impoverished village. Nathanael wondered what good thing could God do through that place? That’s the wonderful thing about God. He comes from an embarrassing place like all of us do.

Philip, understanding that Nathanael won’t understand just by being told, tells him to “Come and see.” This is the wild part. Jesus says that he saw Nathanael sitting under a tree and that he’s an honest guy. Nathanael says, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” He gives Jesus three titles in a row. He went from being good old, skeptical Nathanael to a believer and a prophet in an instant. How is this possible? What is it about Jesus that causes this kind of transformation? This is the question that is put to all of us this morning. I want you to think about a time in your life where everything changed because of Jesus, but you didn’t exactly know how or why.

In the first lesson we heard about a little boy named Samuel who grew up to be one of the most beloved leaders and prophets in Israel. The text says that there weren’t many dreams or visions in his time. Although, Samuel comes from some powerful stock. His mother, Hannah, sings a beautiful song when she finds she’s finally pregnant with her firstborn son. It’s one of the treasures of ancient literature. She gives Samuel to the Temple to be raised there by the prophet Eli. Some years go by and we find Samuel cuddled up near the Ark of God when he hears God’s voice. This is one of my favorite stories. God is calling Samuel by name, but Samuel only knows the presence of his old friend and mentor, Eli. Eli eventually figures out what’s going on and tells him to lay back down and simply say, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” I love Samuel’s response when he hears God’s voice. He says, “Hineni” which means “Here am I.” How often do we say that when we sense the nudges and whispers of God? How often do we live with our ears wide open, ready to say, “Speak, for your servant is listening?” when God comes calling?

When I was a little girl, I went through abuse at the hands of a neighbor. I don’t say this to make you feel sad for me and it’s not even the main part of the story. I had been to Sunday School, I heard about God and his care for us, but I had no experience of his love. My parents bought me a special tent covering for my bed. I had so much fear and stress at work in my little body. I loved my tent bed. When I read about Samuel cuddling near the Ark of God, I thought about my tent bed and how it brought me comfort without words. One night, I was snuggled up in my tent bed with all of my stuffed animals and the snacks I wasn’t supposed to be eating and suddenly, there was this vivid light. It wasn’t my night light and it wasn’t coming from streetlights or the moon. I was wrapped in this incredible warmth and peace. And even though I was five or so years old, I knew that this was what people meant when they talked about God and throughout my life, no matter how dark or sad, I can feel that warmth even now. And it reminds me that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will never overcome it.

When I read the texts for today, I thought, “How do we help people hear and see Jesus in us?” And I realized that we can’t really do that with words. We have to invite them to see, hear, and taste Jesus for themselves in worship, in community, in their experiences. We have to be willing to be mentors to each other. We have to be willing to say, “Something happened to me and I can’t explain it, but I know that God is here now.” I can preach until I’m blue in the face and that doesn’t necessarily mean that I can shove folks into believing in the Living Son of God. We’re limited. Philip tells Nathanael to come and see because how would he begin to explain the presence and power of Jesus? Nathanael’s heart and spirit are changed in an instant because he understands that Jesus knows him fully after a few short sentences. Little Samuel had ears that were open to mystery because he had a mentor who lived that way. Who can you be a mentor to? How will you allow your ears to open? Our God is so wonderful. Where does God meet you? Where will God surprise you today and in this week?

God is actively calling you. How does his voice sound in your life? It’s going to sound differently for each of us. It’s not going to feel the same way. Maybe you’re here today because you feel that the Lord’s voice and vision are rare these days, like 1 Samuel says.

Maybe you feel that God is distant or distracted. Maybe his voice has fallen silent. Maybe like Samuel, you need to snuggle up close to the Ark of God. Like me, you need a flicker of light. Jesus has appeared in our lives and has lead us here to this church with the invitation, “Follow me.” He leads us into neighborhoods, into the world, into each other’s lives, into places that are dimly lit to show each other that God’s voice is not rare in these trying times, that his calling is not just for the few. In our texts for today, we meet a God who calls children, who enters the dusty places in our hearts and spirits, who calls and speaks through the old and the wise. The newly baptized Jesus, son of Joseph, the guy from the wrong town,  Rabbi and good teacher, Son of God and King of Israel walks right into our lives, invites us to follow, and the skies are torn apart with possibilities, light, and life. That’s good news.

 

Amen.

The Voice of God: A Sermon for Psalm 29 & Mark 1:4-11

 

Grace and peace to you, dear friends, from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Brother and Friend. 

 

There are few things I love more than a royal psalm of praise. Psalm 29 has everything you would want to see on the silver screen; the voice of the Lord thunders over mighty waters, it busts up trees and whirls the oaks around! The voice of the Lord is like a dancing flame. The voice of the Lord strikes with flashes of lightning and shakes the desert. The voice of the Lord causes all to cry, “Glory!” in amazement. (I always read that line in a Southern accent.) The Lord sits enthroned over the flood, the Lord is king forever. Yes, yes, yes! I want to see all of that action in a movie. I would probably cast Oprah or Harrison Ford or Morgan Freeman for the part of God. 

 

But the most important part of the psalm is the voice of God. The poet mentions it seven times. I want to talk about what God’s voice does. Psalm 29 is reflecting about the way God’s voice changes our reality. Throughout the Bible, we are given many wonderful stories about the marvels God’s Words bring to human life. In the very beginning, God’s voice alone calls the whole world and all that is in it into being. There were a lot of other creation stories around in the ancient Near Eastern world. All of them were incredibly violent and bloody, involving the clash of gods and monsters.

 

Not so in the Hebrew Bible; God’s voice has the power to create and make order just through the power of spoken word. In our psalm for today, the poet reminds us that God’s voice alone can bust through our indifference or hard-heartedness like a mighty whirlwind through a forest grove. Sometimes, we need God’s voice to break through a lot of fear and darkness and grief to reach us. We want to be swept away in God’s wonder, and unable to stop ourselves, whisper or shout, “Glory!”

 

But we also have stories showcasing the ability of God’s voice to soothe and comfort us in his tender mercy. The prophet, Elijah, in the book of I Kings is on the run. The queen, Jezebel, is out to take his life. The Bible says the Word of the Lord came to him and told him to stand on the mountain because the Lord was going to pass by. A mighty wind swirled around him, but God wasn’t in the wind. An earthquake shook the ground all around Elijah, but God wasn’t in it. A fire broke loose, but God wasn’t in the fire. And then there was a quiet whisper. After Elijah experienced this, he was able to continue on with his ministry. Sometimes, we need God’s love to whisper to us because we wouldn’t be able to hear any more than that. 

 

At the baptism of Jesus, God’s voice is heard over the splashing of the water and the din of gathered people. The Greek says that the heavens are rent asunder – schizomenous – torn in a way that they could never be put back together. The heavens weren’t “opened” as some gentle translations report. They were split. God’s Spirit tears through the air like a dove and swan-dives, (or I guess dove-dives) into Jesus. This is a grand entrance! And it signals something very important. If you can’t put the heavens back together, there’s no reversing anything. There’s no going back for God.

 

Jesus as God’s Word made flesh, busts through anything and everything that might keep us from God’s love and voice. During Advent, we waited patiently and politely for the arrival of God in human form and the Gospel of Mark wastes no time in saying that he’s here. It’s time. And we have to figure out how to make room and prepare a new way for Jesus to be central in our hearts and lives in 2018 because the Spirit is going to dove-dive right into us as well. 

 

God voice says to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well-pleased.” This is the first we see of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. There’s no birth story, no wonder teen Jesus, no family narratives, no genealogy to show his Davidic pedigree. There’s just John’s voice crying in the wilderness that something incredible is going to happen and that we better get ready. There’s just Jesus, appearing suddenly to take on the sadness and sins of the world. There’s just God’s voice, sounding in the astonished ears of all the people waiting to be baptized.

 

The story begins right in the middle of the action, which is where we are. There’s nothing boring about being people of faith. For God so loved the world that in his excitement the skies were torn apart to be near us. For God so loved the world that he got baptized to stand in solidarity with hopeful sinners. For God so loved the world that he ignites and excites people with his voice and Spirit. 

 

“You are mine, the Beloved, and with you I am well-pleased.” The miracle of faith is that we know that God says this same thing to each and every one of us. The voice that called the universe into being, lifted up prophets and visionaries, rescues people over and over again, and spoke with and through our beloved Jesus —- that voice calls us Beloved. That astounds me. God’s voice alone changes everything. Knowing that we are beloved changes us. What will we hear at the beginning of this new year? How will we be transformed? Confronted by the Gospel of Mark telling us that the time has been fulfilled and God will never leave us, what will we be empowered to do? 

 

This week, I want you to think about the power of the spoken word. What can you say to your neighbor or to people you meet around town that will make them feel loved by God? What do you need to hear? Do you need God’s voice to rush through the winds to greet you and overwhelm you with its joyous power? Or do you need God to gently whisper to you that he’s with you, healing you at this very moment. 

 

Know that God understands your deepest need. Know that Jesus is with us and for us, no matter the obstacles or the difficulties. Know that this family of faith gathered here today will serve as God’s voice to encourage and support you. Happy New Year. May God’s Spirit propel us to marvelous action and wonder. 

 

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and evermore shall be. World without end. Amen. 

Though the Fig Tree Does Not Blossom: A Sermon for the Longest Night

Habakkuk 2: 1-4, 3:17-19

I will stand at my watchpost, and station myself on the rampart; I will keep watch to see what he will say to me, and what God will answer concerning my complaint. Then the Lord answered me and said: Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it. For there is still a vision for the appointed time, it speaks of the end and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay. Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by faith.

Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails,
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold,
and there is no herd in the stalls,
¹⁸ yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will exult in the God of my salvation.
¹⁹ God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
and makes me tread upon the heights.

Revelation 21:1-7

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.

 

Grace and peace to you, dear friends, from God our Comforter and Jesus our Brother and Friend. Amen.

From a young age, I have always had a special love for the Old Testament prophets. Prophets tell the truth. Prophets tap into God’s truest feelings and will. Prophets were unafraid to ask God challenging questions and speak up for those who were suffering, including themselves. Habakkuk, in his book, asks God important questions of faith. “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help and you will not listen? Or cry to you, ‘Violence!’ and you will not save. Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Why do you look on the treacherous, and are silent when the wicked swallow those more righteous than they?”

Habakkuk shows us that a crucial part of being a faithful person involves speaking truthfully to God about how we experience life. Habakkuk puts all these questions to God, and then goes to a high place to wait and see what God will do. Above the noise and confusion, Habakkuk watches the horizon. In chapter 2, God answers him and says, “For there is still a vision for the appointed time, it speaks of the end and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait it; it will surely come.”

There is a vision, a future, to come for us. Habakkuk teaches us something else that is crucial to a life of faith; waiting. Advent is an important part of the year for church life because it teaches us to live in between God’s promises given to us by the prophets and a fulfillment of these promises. All of us gathered here today probably feel like we’re living in an “in between” place.

We have lost someone dear to us or we are here to love and care for someone in the middle of their grief. We wonder what God is up to. We wonder how the world simply moves on when we feel stuck. We wonder why death and grief are parts of our life on earth. We wonder how we will find the strength to get into the festivities of the season. In our homes and town, there are memories and stories laying around all over the place. My husband and I have lived here for four months and suffered a great loss in September. We struggle with the same thing Habakkuk did; God’s timing. God’s timing is different from our own and that’s hard.

But there is a vision that whispers to us in our sadness. We go about our lives as best we can amidst our grief. Sometimes people are insensitive and cruel. We wonder why we have to experience such loss and then not have it acknowledged and tenderly cared for at all times. Habakkuk voices this same injustice in his prayers and welcomes us to share our truest feelings, too. Tonight, you don’t have to be put together. Tonight, there’s no need for a mask. Tonight, you are welcome as your fullest self and God invites you to it.

Our next prophetic voice comes to us from the book of Revelation. John, the writer of the book, was writing from the island of Patmos off the coast of Turkey. He was most likely a religious refugee during the Jewish-Roman Wars. Like Habakkuk, he had seen his fair share of violence and loss and suddenly received the wild visions found in the book of Revelation. And what is this ultimate vision? John sees that the old order of death, suffering, loss, and grief will be done away with. God will make his home among us and all will live in joy, comfort, and light. God will wipe away all of our tears and all things will be made new. When we get past all of the glitter and presents and cards and decorations, this is what Christmas is really about.

God choosing to live among us, to carry our sorrows in his heart. To be born among us as a little child to lead us all into a kingdom where those who are mourning are comforted, those who are desperate for relief find it, those who are overwhelmed can find a safe place to rest. Isaiah writes that God will clothe us garlands and anoint us with the oil of gladness instead of mourning and the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. Only God’s vision can transform us. God tells Habakkuk and John – separated by hundreds of years – to write the vision that will bring healing to their communities. Habakkuk gives us this incredible song of trust at the end of his book.

“Though the fig tree does not blossom,
and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails,
and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold,
and there is no herd in the stalls,
¹⁸ yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will exult in the God of my salvation.
¹⁹ God, the Lord, is my strength.”

Habakkuk recognizes that sometimes, based on his outward circumstances, it can look like God is absent. But the Holy Spirit allows him to sing this incredible song as he is waiting and watching to see what new thing God will do. He has incredible trust that he can speak openly to God, that he can share the vision of things to come, and that he can rest in the understanding that God’s time is not the same as our own.

I say this prayer to myself each morning. At first, after our loss, it felt cruel, silly and untrue. For the last few months, it has given me strength and courage to face the day and to serve my people. In the middle of winter, it can feel like there isn’t much life to be found. The cold and bitter air can add to our feelings of sorrow. But the vision is swirling all around us, like the falling snow. God always has beauty and hope in store for us. Someday, we will reach a place of healing. It doesn’t have to be today and it doesn’t have to be soon. But God’s ultimate plan for us is to dwell with us, to live among us in total light and joy and comfort, giving us a song to sing for all eternity.

I wish for blessings of peace and comfort to cover your hearts and spirits. I pray for God to give you a new vision that will ease your sorrow. I pray for the Holy Spirit to give you the strength and the courage to sing a new song in time. I pray that you find companions in this community who are willing to wait with you to catch a glimpse of hope. I pray that you’ll be able to bring all of your sorrows and questions to lay in the manger with the One who came to bring you a future and a hope.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and evermore shall be. World without end.

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Mighty Warrior Carrying Tiny Lambs: A Sermon for Advent, Week 2

 

Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

 

 

The opening of Mark’s Gospel orients us around two key figures: John the Baptist and Jesus. Mark wants to highlight that John the Baptist sets himself apart not only by his exciting fashion choices, but also because he is Jesus’ herald, the one who announces the arrival of God’s chosen Messiah in the world. Mark writes that John is the one who cries out from the wilderness. The quotation chosen by Mark at the beginning of his Gospel is from Isaiah, but also made up of words from Exodus and Malachi. The words from Exodus are addressed to Israel, wandering in the desert. Malachi and Isaiah both announce the coming of God himself to save and set things right.

We often think or talk about wilderness experiences being a negative thing, but for the ancient Israelites, this was the place that God led them by pillars of cloud and fire to a new way of life. God walked directly with them and dwelt among them. This, for the prophets, was the golden age. Messianic groups like the Essenes established themselves in the desert, waiting for the Messiah to appear. The desert monks and nuns of ancient Egypt preferred living in caves because the desert refined and purified their hearts and spirits. The wilderness is where holy things happen – for the ancients and for us.

John’s camel-hair frock and diet of locusts mark him out as a man of the wilderness – these things are part of a nomad’s life. His outfit of camel and a leather belt mark him as a prophet, because they echo a description of the important prophet, Elijah, who worked many  miracles in God’s name. Because he’s dressed like Elijah and there was a long-standing tradition that Elijah would return to prepare the way for the Messiah, we see how important John the Baptist was in the eyes of the country folk. John’s father was the high priest, Zechariah and his mother was Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin. John opted for outdoor ministry instead of Temple life.

John says something very interesting in our text. He says that the one to follow him will be mightier than he – I don’t know if you noticed, but John is not a particularly powerful person in the world’s eyes. He’s a yelling nomad. He also says that he won’t be fit to untie the Messiah’s sandals. Biblical scholar, Morna Hooker writes, “The action of unfastening sandals was regarded as the most menial of all the tasks performed by a slave. It is said in the Talmud that a disciple must do for his teacher everything that a slave will do for his master, except this one act.”

To further show the contrast between John and Jesus, John says that he baptizes with water – which isn’t out of the ordinary for his peers at the time. Baptism is also a Jewish ritual. When the Essenes – a group who believed the Messiah would return to the world in the desert – moved out into the wilderness, they performed these water rituals often because they stopped participating in the Temple life. So the idea that baptism could have a forgiving power wasn’t completely new. But, the ritual could be completed as often as the person wanted.

John introduces something new when he presents the act as a once-and-for-all action that joins them to God’s kingdom. But John says that the one to come will baptize with the Holy Spirit, a long-awaited promise handed down to us by the prophets Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Joel. John is helping others to prepare and repent, Jesus brings the power to heal and forgive. The prophet Ezekiel says in chapter 36, “I shall pour clean water over you and you shall be cleansed…I shall give you a new heart, and put a new spirit in you; I shall remove the heart of stone from your bodies and give you a heart of flesh instead. I shall put my spirit within you, and make you keep my laws and sincerely respect my ordinances.”

So, in this new baptism, God not only cleanses and forgives his people, but he also joins them together as one body and gives them a Spirit of power, kindness, truth, and righteousness. I recently found out that righteousness for ancient Jewish people simply meant that a person would be loyal to a relationship. It doesn’t mean that a righteous person is perfect, but rather takes a relationship seriously and does their best to maintain it despite their hardships and suffering. God’s Spirit renews us, especially when we wait and work in hope. Isaiah’s text points to the astonishing love of God.

The Jewish exiles are returning home under Emperor  Cyrus the Great of Persia. Last week, I talked about how they ran into some difficulty living all together again with folks that were left behind, but this part of the text is sheer joy at the prospect of returning home on a straight path that God has created for them. Isaiah writes that all people are grass, meaning they’re not constant and they struggle to be faithful. The people have sinned and turned from God, but God stayed true. People are fragile and make mistakes, but God is merciful and strong. People in the ancient world were comfortable seeing God as a warrior. But in Isaiah, the warrior, with a mighty, battle arm, scoops people right up and carries them like little lambs close to his bosom. This is how God chooses to be. Even though God has incredible power and might, God chose to arrive on the scene as an infant. Although God could have crushed all of the enemies of his people, he reached out to them in love instead.

What kind of startling comfort are you hoping for this Advent? Isaiah’s people were in pain, expecting more wandering and more time in exile. They were living with their eyes clenched close in fear of more punishment, and instead, God carries them safely home. In Mark’s Gospel, it’s clear that John was expecting God himself to show up on the scene and bring his overwhelming holiness and righteous judgment along with him, but Jesus appears and humbly asks to be baptized just like everyone else gathered there. I pray this week that God would comfort you in unexpected ways. I pray that we would open our spirits up to the surprising and tender ways God interacts with us and our world. I pray that God would send joy and support to you. Isaiah writes about how frail and short human life is, and it’s true. But we worship and love a God who also lived a frail and short life and he lives now to bring us endless hope for whatever we face.

 

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit – as it was in the beginning, is now, and evermore shall be – world without end.