Seeking - Hard Questions for a Deeper Faith: Is This the Fast I Choose?

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

Then he called a little child over to sit among the disciples, and said, “I assure you that if you don’t turn your lives around and become like this little child, you will definitely not enter the kingdom of heaven. Those who humble themselves like this little child will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

“As for whoever causes these little ones who believe in me to trip and fall into sin, it would be better for them to have a huge stone hung around their necks and be drowned in the bottom of the lake. How terrible it is for the world because of the things that cause people to trip and fall into sin! Such things have to happen, but how terrible it is for the person who causes those things to happen! If your hand or your foot causes you to fall into sin, chop it off and throw it away. It’s better to enter into life crippled or lame than to be thrown into the eternal fire with two hands or two feet. If your eye causes you to fall into sin, tear it out and throw it away. It’s better to enter into life with one eye than to be cast into a burning hell with two eyes. --Matthew 18:1-9 (CEB) 

When my son, Michael, was little, we often had our best conversations before and after I went to work, as I would drive him back and forth to preschool. At one point - about the time he was 3 years old - he began to ask questions. A lot of questions. Endless questions. (Perhaps you have had or are currently having that same experience. Or perhaps you are the one asking those questions.) 

Why is the sun in the sky? He might ask. Because, God placed it there to give us warmth and light during the day. Where does it go when it’s cloudy? It doesn’t go anywhere. The clouds are just covering it up. Where do clouds come from? You get the idea. Questions. A lot of questions. Endless questions.

Today, we begin the season of Lent. We are leaning this year into a theme, entitled Seeking: Hard Questions for a Deeper Faith. I will be asking you a lot of questions. They may, as with my son, feel endless. Yet, asking questions is important. More on that in a little bit. 

So, of course, our text tonight opens with a question. Not a question asked by a child, but by adults. By Jesus’ disciples. Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? I’m not sure there was any ill intent underneath this question. Unlike in the other gospels, there are no disciples that seem to be jostling for power. It is a question asked out of a very cultural framework. An expected way of being that has been learned as part of becoming an adult. That having different status in the world or in a community or among the disciples is just the way it is. 

Notice that, instead of answering them right away, Jesus first calls a little child over to sit among them.

For you and I, while this may see a little unusual, for the disciples it was likely a little scandalous. In the ancient world, righteousness was typically centered on an adult, male worldview. Children were not considered part of the social, religious, or economic world. They were considered insignificant. Especially vulnerable to disease. And hunger. And marginalization. They were seen as being incapable of rational thought. Often viewed with suspicion and seen as being prone to violence and unpredictable outbursts. (Think toddler tantrums.) This behavior strongly contrasted with the preferred norm of an orderly adult. Because of this had no status in this world. None. 

So, for Jesus to call forward a child to use as an illustration for this teaching moment - well, the disciples must have been a little upset by this, especially after asking what, for them in their culture, seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. Because, if one has been inculturated to believe that status is everything (sound familiar?), it might feel a little insulting to be given a show and tell moment that uses a child to teach it. 

Jesus tells them they must be more childlike. Not to be children, but childlike. 

What is it about children that Jesus wants the disciples to see? Is it that naivete - the way in which they look at the world through eyes of wonder? Or perhaps it's, as with my son and his questions, a sense of curiosity about how the world works? Or maybe it’s because of the way children seem to be so teachable, so open to new things and new ways and new people? Or perhaps it’s all of the above?

These verses are part of the fourth of five discourses of Jesus in Matthew - what is known as the community discourse for its instruction on communal living. This discourse was likely written to instruct the early churches on how to build community and to deal with conflicts within the community and between one another.  The childlike nature that Matthew is trying to teach his community through Jesus’ response to the disciples question is that of curiosity. And wonder. And openness. It is a way of life Jesus is inviting them into - a way that is counter-cultural, opposite to what we learn as adults. That is not at all concerned about status, but about ensuring that everyone in the community is lifted up, particularly those who are naive in the faith. Those viewed as insignificant. Those who are the most vulnerable in our faith communities. 

It’s a direct contrast to those whom God, through the prophet, calls out in our first text. These are the ones Isaiah is so frustrated with because their priorities are so skewed. People who appear to be deeply religious. Who appear to seek God. Who appear to delight God. Who appear to draw near to God. Their actions, however, are completely disconnected from what they say they believe. In keeping the fast, they think they are seeking God’s ways. But, Isaiah calls out their hypocrisy - as Jesus does with the disciples in a somewhat gentler way. 

The reason that God has not heard their cries or noticed them in their fasting, Isaiah tells them, is because it is entirely self-serving. They observe the fasting rituals, while at the same time they are guilty of oppressing their workers and living in discord with their neighbors. But worse, they neglect those with real need in their communities - the hungry, the homeless, and those without adequate clothing. As theologian Sally McFague so famously said, “If God is absent from this world, it is because we are.” 

Their fast is not God’s fast.

The fast God desires in Isaiah is the same way of living Christ calls the disciples - and us - to in Matthew. To fast from isolationism and stigmatizing and and lean into a way of curiosity and reaching out. To fast from identifying people with status and, rather, focusing on hospitality and welcome. To fast from cynicism and doubt and, instead, marveling with wonder at the ways of God, who seeks to build, to restore, to feed, to cloth, to care, and to repair individuals and communities. A God who seeks to mend the world.

Friends, on this night, as we have put on the metaphorical sackcloth of repentance and have received the ashes that remind us of our own mortality, may we be reminded that there is resurrection after death. And may we live into it with a new way of fasting this season - the fast that we are called to this Lent: to be repairers of the breach and restorers of the street. What a beautiful image of healing and restoration for ourselves, our faith communities, our world! 

And so, here is the first of many questions. Of a lot of questions to come.

Which fast will you choose?

Preached Wednesday, February 22, 2023, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Ash Wednesday

Readings: Matthew 18:1-9, Isaiah 58:1-12, Psalm 146:7c-10

The Call to Serve: Being First

From there Jesus and his followers went through Galilee, but he didn’t want anyone to know it. This was because he was teaching his disciples, “The Human One will be delivered into human hands. They will kill him. Three days after he is killed he will rise up.” But they didn’t understand this kind of talk, and they were afraid to ask him.

They entered Capernaum. When they had come into a house, he asked them, “What were you arguing about during the journey?” They didn’t respond, since on the way they had been debating with each other about who was the greatest. He sat down, called the Twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be least of all and the servant of all.” Jesus reached for a little child, placed him among the Twelve, and embraced him. Then he said, “Whoever welcomes one of these children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me isn’t actually welcoming me but rather the one who sent me.” --Mark 9:30-37 (CEB)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

When I was a child, my mother - as most mother’s do, I think - try to convince their children to eat everything that is on their plate.  (You’ll notice that I learned that lesson well!) One of my mom’s stock phrases to encourage us was to remind us that there were starving children in China. (Perhaps you heard this, too?) As my siblings and I got older, we used to mock my mom, asking her how not eating our food would help these starving Chinese children. Was she going to personally pack up our leftovers and ship them overseas? You can only imagine what a hard time we gave her!

Yet, there was truth behind this saying for her. It was about not wasting our food. The ultimate truth behind this statement was for us to learn to not use more than we needed. Notice, I said needed. And not wanted.

This difference between need and want was something I worked hard at with my own son. While I backed off pushing him to clean his plate, I still tried to teach him to make choices that were moderate choices. To only take as much food as he could actually eat. To live simply and frugally. And to remember that he was part of a vast earth filled with billions of people who were all interconnected and loved by God. And, yes, that wasting food was not a good thing, especially when we knew there we so many others out there who didn’t have as much or even anything to eat. 

Tonight, we come together on this first day of Lent. Ash Wednesday. When we will receive the ashes on our foreheads. And remember our eventual return to that from which we were made. Dust. Earth. And the breath of God. 

In Genesis 2, we hear how God created humankind after God had first made the rest of creation. Forming man out of the dust of the ground. Breathing into his nose the breath of life. If one looks closely at this verse in the Hebrew, we recognize that it’s a Hebrew pun. Adam, meaning human. Adamah, meaning dust of the ground. Humanity - we - are literally people of the dirt. 

We don’t like to think of ourselves this way. As “dirt people.” Instead, we like to think of ourselves as good. Often, as really good. Or, even the best. The best at what we do. At who we are. Particularly, at being the people of God. I wonder if it’s more cultural than anything else. After all, in our country, we’re all about being first, aren’t we? Maybe that’s why it’s no real surprise to us in tonight’s reading that the disciples are arguing over this very same question. About which one of them is greatest. Or the best. About which one of them is first. This, when just a few verses earlier, Jesus has been trying to teach them about the betrayal and death he will suffer by human hands. By the very hands of dirt people.

This is Jesus’ second of three teachings in Mark of his own death. Each time, scripture tells us that the disciples were agnoeo in Greek. Meaning, ignorant. Not understanding. One wonders if it was willful. Or perhaps it was just easier to remain ignorant. Because to face the truth of what the future would bring might be too frightening. We, as human beings, do not like to talk about death. Whether it is our own death, or the death of loved ones, or even the death of our eco-systems, we don’t like to talk about it, because to do so is to face the reality that everything and everyone eventually dies.

Maybe this is why we like to pretend that global warming isn’t happening, even though the evidence for it is all around us. Perhaps this is why we continue to engage in practices in our own lives that perpetuate it. Our insistence, for example, on continuing to use single-use plastics, even though we know the damage this has done to our environment. Our willful ignorance of our own carbon imprint and our unwillingness to change practices to mitigate it. Our resistance to electing political leaders who will begin to address the devastation we have brought upon our planet, much less even admit that we are the major cause of this, because admitting it would mean that, for us, just as for the disciples, being first is more important than anything else. Perhaps even more important than Jesus’ own sacrifice and death.

Notice that, in his response, Jesus turns the disciples to focus on the children. Children, who, in Jesus’ day had no status, when infant mortality rates often reached 30%, with another 30% of children dead by the age of six, and another 60% percent gone by the age of sixteen. Children always suffered first from famine, war, disease, and dislocation. Childhood in Jesus’ day was a time of terror. 

For many children in our world today, it is also a time of terror. Here in Kentucky alone, over 11 million children live in food insecure households. At least 4 million families with children are being exposed to high levels of lead. Fourteen million families are faced with water bills that they can no longer afford for water often contaminated with pollutants from pesticide, fertilizer runoff, or coal ash.  Those who are last in our world - children and other vulnerable populations - are much more likely than any others to experience the greatest negative effects of global warming. 

Do the disciples care about the children? Do we care about the children? And not just our own children and grandchildren. Do we care about the children in China as well as the rest of the world? Leah Schade writes that “How we treat the most vulnerable in human society...reveals our values. It’s also how we treat the most vulnerable in God’s creation. For example, if we look at a beautiful forested mountain and only value it for the coal or gas or oil beneath its surface and are willing to sacrifice [that mountain] for our short-term needs, then we are, in fact, not following God’s will for ourselves or our children. The well-being of children and the well-being of God’s creation are fundamentally linked.” 

This is why Ash Wednesday and Lent is so important for us. Because it is a season of coming in touch with our own sinfulness, our own need for redemption, and our own mortality. It’s a time for us to learn - to really learn - what it is to be people of the dirt. To be dust and ashes. To give up being first. To learn moderation, as my mother tried to teach us. To care for all of the children and the vulnerable in our world. And to realign ourselves with the earth from which we came and the breath of God which gives us life, before the "dust returns to the earth as it was before and the life-breath returns to God who gave it.”

Return, people of the dirt filled with God’s breath. It is time to return. Amen.

Preached February 26, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday
Readings: Mark 9:30-37; Ecclesiastes 12:1-7; Psalm 32:1-5

Cultivating and Letting Go

Have mercy on me, O God,
    according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
    blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
    and cleanse me from my sin.

For I know my transgressions,
    and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
    and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are justified in your sentence
    and blameless when you pass judgment.
Indeed, I was born guilty,
    a sinner when my mother conceived me.

You desire truth in the inward being;
    therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
    wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
    let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins,
    and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
    and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
    and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
    and sustain in me a willing spirit. Psalm 51:1-12 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Holy Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Comforter. Amen.

Welcome to Ash Wednesday and to Lent. These 40 days (excluding Sundays) are a time where we seek to move into a deeper level of discipleship with God. This year our theme throughout these Wednesday evenings will be that of “Cultivating and Letting Go.” 

It’s been tradition in the church for centuries that Lent is to be a time of giving something up. Perhaps red meat. Or chocolate. Or wine. Or sugar. Or some other thing we might consider a vice. 

I’d like us to rethink this a little bit this year. To consider how we might begin to cultivate those things that bring us into a deeper relationship with God. And to let go of those things that keep us apart from God. Now, I’m not certain if chocolate fits into that category. Perhaps, for some of us it does - that our desire for chocolate overrides our desire for relationship with God. So, I’ll let you figure that out yourselves, okay?

God’s truest desire for us and for all people is shalom. We’ve talked about that concept before - shalom is related to fullness or wholeness. It’s a wholeness of mind, body, and spirit. If someone is suffering, for example, from a lack of food, they are not experiencing shalom. Likewise if someone suffers from a physical affliction or an emotional loss or a spiritual emptiness, shalom is not present for them. Shalom is the wholeness that God desires for us. That, even in the midst of our imperfections - we might be transformed to be the whole people that God has created us to be.

In our weekly studies this Lent, we’ll be using a few different resources. First, will be scripture. Particularly, our focus will be on the Psalms. If you received a Lenten devotional last Sunday (If not, please take one with you tonight.), you may have perhaps noticed that each week’s focus is on a different psalm. Our Wednesday evening conversation will focus on the psalm appointed for the week. As part of our study of the psalms, we’ll be using a model developed by Walter Brueggemann, who is a contemporary Old Testament theologian. The model that he has developed in studying the psalms is that they are structured in a process that is much like our lives: from orientation, to disorientation, to reorientation. More about that in future weeks.

Then, we’ll also be using a book written by Dr. Brene Brown. The entire title of this book is The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are - Your Guide to a Wholehearted Life. Brene Brown is a noted research sociologist, author, and teacher at the University of Houston. She has done extensive research and teaching, written numerous books, and spoken extensively on this subject of “wholeheartedness.” It’s an idea that is the equivalent of shalom - of wholeness, of living fully into who we are and who God has created us to be. 

The heart of Dr. Brown’s research, though, is not wholeheartedness or shalom. The heart of her research is shame. Because, ultimately, it is shame that keeps us from shalom. 

Before we move into this week’s focus, there are two words that we often pair together that we need to define and clarify. We need to look at the difference between guilt and shame. Anyone want to take a shot at this?

Guilt is a recognition that we’ve done something bad. That, we’ve sinned, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Guilt is about our behavior. “I did something bad.” 

Shame, on the other hand, is about who we are. “I am bad.” In our Lutheran understanding, shame is connected to original sin. It was mentioned in our reading tonight in Psalm 51: “Indeed, I was born steeped in wickedness, a sinner from my mother’s womb.” These words take us back to the story of Adam and Eve. And, if you’ve ever looked closely at that story, you may have noticed that shame is the first outcome of sin. 

In the story, after Adam and Eve had eaten the apple, God walks in the garden in the afternoon looking for them. They’ve always been there before. But, this time, God is unable to find them. God calls out to them, “Where are you?” Their response: “We were naked and we didn’t want you to see us naked.” In other words, “we are ashamed.” For Luther, the idea of original sin was related to this shame and the belief of Adam and Eve that they were not good enough. It was not that they ate of the tree forbidden by God. It was that they felt shame: a belief that God could not love them. Even though they were God’s very own creation. Shame comes from a lack of trust in God and in God’s promises of faithfulness, grace, and forgiveness. Stuff that is right out of the first commandment. 

Shame is the fear that we are unlovable. It is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and, therefore, unworthy of love and belonging. When we experience it, we feel disconnected and desperate for worthiness. We’re then more likely to engage in self-destructive behaviors and to attack or shame others. In fact, shame is related to violence, aggression, depression, addiction, eating disorders, and bullying. Children, who use more shame self-talk (I am bad) versus guilt self-talk (I did something bad), struggle with issues of self-worth and self-loathing. We all experience some level of shame.

Unless we overcome this, we can never fully experience love and belonging. It is this - a deep sense of love and belonging - that is an irreducible need of all women, men, and children. We are wired this way by God. We are wired to be loved and to belong and to be authentically who God has created us to be. It is our shame that gets in the way of this.

But, we’re afraid to talk about shame. Yet, the less we talk about shame, the more control it has over our lives. And the more control it has over us, the less we are able to find shalom, or the wholeheartedness that God desires for us and for our lives. To find love and belonging and authenticity.

So, what does shame look like? For some of us, it’s moving away from people by withdrawing, hiding, silencing ourselves, and keeping secrets. Some of us move toward others, seeking to appease and to please. And some of us move against others by trying to gain power, by being aggressive, and by using shame to fight shame (like sending mean emails or posting mean things on Facebook). Most of us use all of these at different times with different people.

What do your shame behaviors look like? Well, to answer this, consider these questions: Who do you become when you’re backed into that shame corner? How do you protect yourself when you’re hurt? Do you strike out and hurt back? Do you move away and withdraw? Do you people-please? 

One of the things I do out of shame is to self-protect. Here’s a perfect example of this. Yesterday, I had a text from Lisa May, the pastor at Shiloh. Because I’m going to be gone this coming weekend, she’s covering for me here at Grace & Glory. I sent her a copy of this Sunday’s bulletin. She texted to question me whether I had the right Gospel reading. Now, because she’s preaching twice this week, it’s easy to get confused. She was confusing our Ash Wednesday Gospel reading with Sunday’s reading. This has happened to me. In fact, it happened three days ago. I got confused between the very same two readings. Now, my normal shame-based response would be to reply and correct her, without mentioning that I’d made the very same mistake. Because to admit that I’d made the mistake would mean that I am imperfect, that I make mistakes. But, as this topic of shame has been on my mind, I decided to practice what is called "shame resilience." To stop for a moment, to think about shame and my usual response, and then to practice courage, compassion, and connection - the three things Dr. Brown has found in her research that help us begin to overcome shame. So, instead of only texting Lisa about her mistake, I added that I made the same mistake earlier this week. Lisa’s response? Glad to know it wasn’t just me. 

The more aware we are of our shame responses, the more resilient we can become toward shame. The more we can own our own stories - stories as people of God. Stories of worthiness. Of love. Of belonging. And of authenticity. We become more connected to God and to each other. We experience wholeheartedness. Or the shalom that God desires for us.

Now, this has been a very long introduction to the conversations we’ll be having on these Wednesday evenings. Before I close, though, I’d like to look at tonight’s theme about “Cultivating Joy and Gratitude.” It’s easy to just say we should have more joy and gratitude in our lives. But, this can’t happen unless we let go of scarcity or fear of the dark.

There are many different aspects to scarcity and fear. They can be related to safety and uncertainty, to fear of the dark or the unknown. They can be related to the idea that we’re not enough. (There’s that shame creeping in.) We’re not thin enough, or smart enough, or fit enough, or adequate enough to be loved by God, much less by anyone else. 

So, where in your life are you “not enough?” What aspect of scarcity or fear do you need to let go of to move toward a mindset of sufficiency? To trust in God’s promises - that God will provide for you and preserve you? 

I invite you tonight to begin pruning scarcity and fear away. To begin practicing gratitude. To trust that God loves you, that God will preserve you and provide for you. And that God keeps God’s promises so that you may fully experience joy - the “joy of salvation” referenced in our psalm. A phrase that really means the joy of healing. That you might begin to be healed and to experience the wholeheartedness of shalom.


May God grant it. Amen.

Preached March 6, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday.
Readings: Matthew 18:1-9; Psalm 51:1-12.

Invitation to Abundant Life: In Jesus (Part 2)

Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”

Again the Jews were divided because of these words. Many of them were saying, “He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?” Others were saying, “These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?” John 9:39-41, 10:1-21 (NRSV)

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

This past Sunday, we heard the first of the two-part episode of Jesus’ healing the blind man in the temple on the Sabbath. On Sunday, we were witness to the first six scenes. In the opening scene, we watched as Jesus took the dust of the earth, spat in it, made mud, and rubbed it on the man’s eyes. He then sent him to wash and, when he did, the man could see for the first time in his life. In the next few scenes, we saw the effect of this healing--the Jewish leaders questioning his parents and then the blind man himself, demanding to know who had healed him. We witnessed the fear of his parents--a fear grounded in the unspoken rule that if they named Jesus as the healer they would be cast out of the synagogue and away from their entire community, losing their security and entire support system.  We heard the blind man, when confronted by the Jewish leadership, confess Jesus as the healer, proclaim his divinity, and then, as expected, be cast out of the synagogue. Once again on the edge of society. Our episode on Sunday ended with Jesus finding the man, sight restored, who confessed his faith in Jesus, the Word made flesh standing right there in front of him.

As the second and final part of the episode opens tonight, Jesus confronts the Jewish leaders--”I have come into the world to exercise judgment so that those who don’t see can see and those who see will become blind.” The Pharisees respond, “Surely we aren’t blind, are we?” 

We, these 2,000 years later don’t have the benefit of hearing the inflection voices. Were they asking sincerely, perhaps questioning their own level of sight and understanding? Or was their question asked sarcastically, blind to their own ignorance and unwillingness to believe? Jesus’ response to them suggests the latter--”If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

Jesus then moves into a discourse--a speech--that we commonly know as the “Good Shepherd” discourse. We’ve heard this many times before, haven’t we? “The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep...the sheep listen to his voice...I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus proclaims. “I came so that they could have life--indeed, so that they could have life abundantly,” or as the Common English Bible translates it, “so that they could live life to the fullest.” 

Have any of you ever been a shepherd? Or worked with sheep? A colleague of mine recently shared a video of Christopher Lange, a sheep farmer in Norway. The video, which was filmed by his friend Oyvind Kleiveland, was intended to test the question of whether sheep only obey their master’s voice. As it plays, we see several people attempt to call the sheep home, finishing with the shepherd, Mr. Lange, himself. Let’s watch. 

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day in Lent. It is the day in which we are reminded of our own mortality. Of the darkness of our existence apart from God. The blind man was also reminded of his own mortality. Of the darkness of his existence. He was living it in his daily reality, begging for sustenance, completely dependent upon others for his life. His was a dark, mortal, finite existence without God. 

Jesus broke into his darkness. And using the very dust and ashes that were the symbol of his mortality, restored his sight and with it, the ability to live life abundantly. To live life to the fullest. And, then, when he was cast out of the synagogue, Jesus sought him out again. Just as the shepherd in tonight’s video called his sheep, Jesus called the blind man by name, bringing him into intimate relationship. With Jesus, his Good Shepherd. 

On this day, our Good Shepherd calls us, too, just like the blind man. Our Shepherd calls us out of our own blindness with a voice we know. Calls us back into intimate relationship with him. Calls us into a deeper place, a place of sustenance, a place of community. A place of abundant life--where we might live life to the fullest. And, then, takes the dust of our own mortality and marks us with the cross. With his cross.

Sight. Intimate relationship. Sustenance. Community. Abundant life. These are all what God desires for us and what God promises to us as we journey through this Lenten season. May we continue to hear our shepherd’s call so that we might, along with the blind man, always proclaim, “Lord, I believe.” 

God grant it. Amen.

Preached on , February 14, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday
Readings: Psalm 23; John 9:39-41, 10:1-21

Singing the Song of Lent

The film, “Remember the Titans,” is based on a true story, set in the 1970s in Alexandria, Virginia.  For years, schools have been segregated between black and white.  Under a federal order to integrate, two schools, one white and one black, are forced to close and form T.C. Williams High School, a fully integrated school.

The white head football coach of the Titans is replaced by an African-American coach from North Carolina, Coach Herman Boone, who is played in the movie by Denzel Washington.  There are deep tensions on the team, between black and white players, between black and white parents, between black and white coaches.  There are deep tensions in the city.  

Then the team goes on a two-week training camp--a boot camp of sorts--in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania--the site of the deadliest battle in the Civil War, a site of massive casualties for both Union and Confederate troops over three days.  It is there, at training camp in Gettysburg, where our scene begins.  Let’s watch!

The message for these young men was that, just like the soldiers in the Civil War, they, too, were part of a struggle that was much bigger than themselves.  A monumental struggle.  Something long--spanning history.   Something epic.  Something that has spanned the arc of our nation’s history into their own time and even into our time.

Eventually, though, these young men began to understand.  They began to come together.  And in the process, they were changed.  Their coaches and parents were changed.  The entire community was changed.

You and I are also part of something epic.  Something monumental.  A part of a story that spans the entire arc of history, beginning with the creation of our world, the deliverance of Israel out of slavery, the coming of the Messiah to, once and for all, deliver all people from sin into forgiveness, from death into life, from slavery into freedom.  

You and I are part of God’s story.  

Today, we begin the liturgical season of Lent.  In the early church, Lent was a time of learning, just like a training camp.  A journey for those new in the faith to prepare for their baptisms and to receive holy communion for the first time.  

During this time, they would immerse themselves in the three traditional disciplines of Lent--almsgiving, or caring for the poor; fasting; and immersing themselves in Scripture and prayer.

At the end of Lent came the Three Days, or the Triduum.  The Triduum was one service that began on Maundy Thursday, continued on Good Friday, and culminated with Easter Vigil on the evening before Easter Sunday. During the Three Days, these new believers would remember the movements of Christ during Holy Week--the Passover meal, Jesus’ death on the cross, and his resurrection.  And, at the culmination of the Easter Vigil, they would be baptized. And they would celebrate how they had been joined with Christ in his death and resurrection and delivered from sin and death to righteousness and freedom.  

The key to this Lenten journey for the new believers was conversion, or as the ancients put it, a change, a turning from one way of walking to another, from one way of life to a new way.  For these new believers, Christianity was not simply something more to do or to take on, but it was a complete change, a totally new way of living. And, in a pagan world, a world where Christians were a very small minority, it was a change that could also result in their death.

Like those early believers, we’re on a journey, too.  Now, it isn’t a journey that, for most of us, will result in a martyr’s death.  But, it is a journey of dying.  Dying to our old selves, dying to our old way of living.  And, for us, Lent is an opportunity in that journey to step back a bit, both as individuals and as a community.  To step back and take an inventory.  To take an inventory of our hearts. 

In the last verse of our lesson for this evening, we read these words, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  

What does your heart look like?  Where is your treasure?   

In 2 Corinthians, Paul writes that “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

You are the righteousness of God.  Where your heart is reflects how you are living into being that righteousness of God.  How are you living now? Are you living in a way that reflects the wonder, the gratitude, the joy that is our life in Christ?  Too often our lives rest in the anticipation of a future life with God, rather than living life in the here and now and in the assurance of God’s presence in the here and now.  

Now, living into that wonder and gratitude and joy that is our life in Christ doesn’t ignore the brokenness or the suffering that is so present in our world today.  It doesn’t deny our own brokenness or our own complicity in that suffering.   

Yet wrapped into these realistic truths of our broken human existence is a greater truth--the truth of the resurrection. 

In Romans 6, Paul writes, “We have been buried with him through baptism into death, in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so also we may live a new way of life.”

Today, on Ash Wednesday, we remember our mortality.  Without Christ, we face a sure and permanent death.  Yet, death is not the end for us.  In our baptism, we have been joined with Christ in his death and his resurrection.  Lent doesn’t have to be a season of mourning and sacrifice.  It is okay for us to have joy during Lent, to lean into the life that is ours as resurrected people of Christ.  To step back and to wonder and see with gratitude where God is at work in our lives, in our church, in our community and in our world.  

And it is okay to sing.

So, sing!  Sing during this season of Lent.  Sing the song of the epic story that spans the entire arc of salvation history.  Sing the song of deliverance sung by Miriam at the Red Sea, by Mary at the angel’s announcement, by the angels at Christ’s birth, by Simeon in witness to the Messiah, by the early Christians in a hostile, pagan world, by Luther in a medieval world of reform, by the faithful leaders of the Civil Rights movement as they marched for freedom, by the whole church today and by all the church triumphant.  

At the end of Lent, you will look back and you will see how you have been changed by this song.  This song of joy and wonder.  This song of humble awe and gratitude.  This song of Jesus, who is with us here and now, and forever into all eternity.  Amen.

Preached March 1, 2017, at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday
Readings: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; Psalm 51:1-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b - 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21