From Generation to Generation: We See God in Each Other

In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”

And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home.

Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. And her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. --Luke 1:39-45, 56-58 (CEB)

Holy is God’s name, who shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, for those who honor God. Amen.

Last week I mentioned my extended family on my dad’s side, who, when he died, wrapped their arms around my mother and our family - this extended family of mine. Which is huge!

Every three years we have a family reunion. Over time our numbers, big to begin with, have continued to grow. Generation after generation. Now numbering some 7 generations - maybe you have a family like this, too? These generations who come together every three years to celebrate our ancestors, our history, our sense of humor, our physical attribute (which for my family is a pretty extraordinary nose), and all of the things that make us a family. But, more than anything, we come together because we belong together. We are family. We have been through thick and thin together. Through incredibly hard times and incredibly wonderful times together. They are my family. They know me. They know pretty much everything about me. And I know about them, too. If I show up and something is wrong, they know it. Because we belong together.

Mary and Elizabeth are family like this. They’re blood relatives. Cousins. Just like all of my cousins. But, they’re more than that. They are even more connected because both of them are pregnant by the Holy Spirit. And, at the moment they meet, while our text is not clear that Elizabeth knows that Mary is also pregnant, their babies know. The next generation they are carrying knows that they are kin. That they all belong. Together. 

Certainly, Elizabeth must have sensed Mary’s complex emotions - the fear and the joy and who knows whatever else she must have been feeling. Certainly Mary must have sensed Elizabeth’s joy and awe at the fact that, at her age, she was not only carrying a child, but a prophet who would announce the long-awaited Christ. This is what belonging does. It helps us know one another. Deeply. So that in good times and in bad times, we carry one another’s burdens, celebrate one another’s joys, accompany one another along the way.

Mary and Elizabeth do this. My family and I do this. But here? In this place? Do we belong? Are we committed to this community of faith? 

You and I - all of us -belong to one other. We are made to be together in Christian community. It is a privilege to be in this community. The body of Christ is a reality created by God in Christ in which we are privileged to participate. This is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer speaks to in his essay, Life Together - the privilege that is the fellowship of faith. 

Bonhoeffer is under no illusion about the difficulty and challenge of living with others in the faith. Yet, he writes, that to share the “physical presence of other Christians” is a “gracious anticipation of the last things.” A foretaste of that community to come. Luther wrote that to be in community with other Christians was “grace upon grace” - the “roses and lilies” of the Christian life, so much of which is spent in the midst of a world that seeks to destroy us. 

If we would only recognize this.

You and I have been chosen to be a part of this community. Not by me. Not by any one else in this community. But by God and God alone. Might it be possible that you are here precisely because this is where God wants you to be?

When we choose to be apart from this community, when we go for a time without truly belonging, not being here, we begin to manufacture an identity from that alienation, from being apart. Perhaps we are busy with other priorities. Perhaps, we move away because we are hurt. Or betrayed. Or feel rejected in some way, unable to trust others. Only trusting ourselves. 

But, as theologian Cole Arthur Riley writes, “a life lived with trust only in the self is exhausting. It is not freedom. It is a yoke that falls helplessly and incessantly upon us.” 

We tell ourselves that no one can or will ever understand us or our complexities. We brag about the fact that we’re a “loner” or “independent.” It’s how we numb those wounds we feel. By elevating ourselves above the community, looking down upon it as frivolous. Or needy. Or less enlightened. Or unimportant. When, in truth, we are simply denying our own need - our need to belong.

Life together is messy. That is a fact. And Bonhoeffer cautions how we are respond when this life together gets messy. And difficult. 

It’s easy, when we’re frustrated by one another, to speak about another “covertly,” as he puts it. To scrutinize another, to judge another, to condemn another, to put another in their place, so that one gains a sense of superiority. This, he writes, “does violence to the other.” 

Instead, he says, we should pray for them. Because, no matter how much trouble they may cause, it becomes impossible to condemn or hate another sibling in Christ for whom we pray. 

‘If only,” he continues, “If only one lets go the exasperation that ‘God did not make this person as I would have made them’ and realizes that God gives us people not to dominate and control, but as a way to find divine love” - only if one lets go of this expectation, “can one find the other person an occasion of joy rather than a nuisance and affliction. The difficult part is to accept that God has not created every person in my image,” he writes. But rather, that “every person has been created in God’s image.” 

In this place. In this community we are known. Our names are known. People know us and know the ugly parts of us. And, yet, we are called to stay. Each one of us. To stay. To see God in one another. When we realize this, when we begin to see the divine in others, we are changed. We begin to see our siblings through the lens of the cross. And recognize that it is we who have failed to serve them.

In this place, our way of being together is a way of being with God. Every relationship, every interaction with one another is mediated by Christ. Bonhoeffer writes, “Human love constructs its own image of the other person, of what he is and what he should become. Spiritual love recognizes the true image of the other person which he has received from Jesus Christ; the image that Jesus Christ embodies and stamps upon all people.” 

This is how we meet God in community. Through each other.

This was Mary’s experience. As she came to Elizabeth, scared and confused as I’m sure she was. Fearful of what the future might bring, Elizabeth could have rejected her. Could have turned her away. And could have done so legitimately and under the law. 

Instead, Elizabeth saw in her the divine - as did her unborn child - leading her to affirm Mary’s blessedness. Which led to Mary’s song. Our first Advent hymn. The most passionate, the wildest, the most revolutionary Advent hymn ever sung. A song about the revolutionary power of God, to break down the structures that divide us, the barriers that separate us, the walls in our hearts that keep us apart, so that we may belong to God. And to one another. From generation to generation.

May we seek to be like Elizabeth. May we see God in this place. May we see God in each other. Amen.

Preached December 18, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Advent 4

Reading: Luke 1:39-45; 56-58; Luke 1:46-55

The Call to Serve: Authority and a Few Other Things

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God, our Father; from Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior; and from the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Comforter. Amen.

These are unusual times we are living in, aren’t they? Such dramatic change in just a week. The cancellation of major festivals, major sporting events, school classes, even worship. A declaration of a world-wide pandemic. Travel restrictions. The shutting down of offices and other buildings. The upheaval in the stock market and the oil market. It might almost feel for us as though we are in the midst of a cosmic change. 

Similarly, the direction of my sermon has changed dramatically from where I first started. Because everything is just changing. Quickly. So, today, I’m going to touch on six different topics that may seem completely unrelated. It is my hope (and my prayer!) that, by the end, I will have been able to weave them together. So, here they are: Authority. Vineyards. Economic systems. David Brooks. Pandemics. And Luther (and a little bit of Bonhoeffer!). 

Topic number one. Authority. The question of authority is at the heart of our text today. It isn’t part of our Gospel reading, but, if you back up to the very end of chapter 11, to the part that just precedes today’s reading, the questions that Jesus is asked by the chief priests, the legal experts, and the elders - in other words, the religious leaders. The two questions they ask of Jesus are: “What kind of authority do you have for doing these things? And who gave it to you?”

You see, since the very beginning of Mark, Jesus has been throwing his authority around all over the place. Healing people who are sick. Restoring sight to the blind. Releasing demons from people. (Demons, who, by the way, know and recognize Jesus’ authority.) The authority of Jesus has been oozing out all over the place. So, when he is asked this question by the religious leaders about his authority, his response is to tell them a parable. About a vineyard. 

Jesus spoke to them in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a pit for the winepress, and built a tower. Then he rented it to tenant farmers and took a trip. When it was time, he sent a servant to collect from the tenants his share of the fruit of the vineyard. But they grabbed the servant, beat him, and sent him away empty-handed. Again the landowner sent another servant to them, but they struck him on the head and treated him disgracefully. He sent another one; that one they killed. The landlord sent many other servants, but the tenants beat some and killed others. Now the landowner had one son whom he loved dearly. He sent him last, thinking, They will respect my son. But those tenant farmers said to each other, ‘This is the heir. Let’s kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ They grabbed him, killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard.

“So what will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy those tenants and give the vineyard to others. Haven’t you read this scripture, The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. The Lord has done this, and it’s amazing in our eyes?”

They wanted to arrest Jesus because they knew that he had told the parable against them. But they were afraid of the crowd, so they left him and went away. --Mark 12:1-12. 

Topic number two. Vineyards. The image of a vineyard is common in scripture. I counted it up yesterday and the word is used 118 times through both testaments. In the Hebrew scripture, there are 95 references alone to the imagery of vineyards. Last fall, we heard a love song about a vineyard in Isaiah 5. Well, really, it was a break up song about a vineyard and its owner, where Israel was portrayed metaphorically as the well-tended, but unproductive vineyard of Yahweh. 

Would it surprise you to learn that the description of the vineyard in today’s reading is the same description as the one in Isaiah, which was a vineyard with a pit for a winepress and a watchtower?Planted by a man who characterizes the vineyard as his beloved Israel. This beloved community that he has cared for and guided and served. And that has responded, in turn, with injustice and bloodshed.

In Mark’s gospel parable, there’s still a landowner. And a vineyard. But there’s a little twist, added characters to the story. Tenant farmers. And slaves. And a son.

Now, we with our 21st century understanding, might be a little offended by this parable and, particularly, of the imbalance of power between the wealthy landowner and the tenant farmers, who are really sharecroppers. But, if we remember that parables use common elements that are understood by the audience to teach them something they don’t understand, we have to look at this parable with first century eyes.

Because this practice was common under Roman rule. It even has a term connected to it - latifundia. These were great landed estates specializing in crops for export, such as grain, olive oil, or wine. They were the closest example in ancient times to our industrialized agriculture. And their economics depended entirely upon slavery.

Topic number three. Economic systems. If this economic system of Rome sounds familiar, it should. Because, it’s a practice that has been carried down through centuries. Such as by European monarchies who often gave large grants of land to reward services by people to them or their empire - exactly how parts of the US were settled. It’s a model we learned well as we created a similar economy built on slavery. On people. Human beings imported as chattel to prop up and sustain unjust economic systems. That pit poor people against other poor people. That benefit the wealthy. Economic systems that still persist today. 

Whatever we understand about this vineyard, it is clear that something is amiss. That there is a power struggle happening here. Between the owner and the tenants. First, the tenants try to flip the power. Then, the owner takes back the power and gets in new tenants.

Now, I have to stop for just a moment and make a corrective here. For way too long this parable has been used as a parable to talk about the end of Israel as God’s beloved and Christians as the “new tenants” in the story. That the Jews had their shot and now it's time for Christians. This is simply wrong. And hurtful. Because there’s an interesting word in verse 9. The word translated “destroy.” In Greek, it’s a term that is used to describe the destruction of evil as a result of an apocalyptic upheaval. Its use here suggests that the destruction carried out by the landowner is not about a people, but a cosmic battle between good and evil. And that Jesus, the cornerstone, is in the midst of this battle. A battle that will result in the destruction of evil and of evil systems that continue to exploit people and creation. 

And, if you still don’t think that this parable is about economic systems, then look at the very next part of the story. When the religious leaders realize that Jesus is talking about them, they get angry and they want to arrest and destroy him, but they can’t because of the crowd. So, they send others to entrap him. By talking about nothing other than money. And taxes. Boom.

They sent some of the Pharisees and supporters of Herod to trap him in his words. They came to him and said, “Teacher, we know that you’re genuine and you don’t worry about what people think. You don’t show favoritism but teach God’s way as it really is. Does the Law allow people to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay taxes or not?”

Since Jesus recognized their deceit, he said to them, “Why are you testing me? Bring me a coin. Show it to me.” And they brought one. He said to them, “Whose image and inscription is this?”

“Caesar’s,” they replied.

Jesus said to them, “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.” His reply left them overcome with wonder. --Mark 12:13-17. 

The religious leaders send two groups - Pharisees and Herodians - who approach Jesus with flattery and false praise, and then hit him up with a question to which there is no good answer. And Jesus knows it. So, he answers with a non-answer. But, first, he asks them for a coin. And they give him a Roman coin, with a picture of Caesar on it. By giving him this coin, they implicate themselves - that they have bought into an economy that they decry. Because, as Jesus points out, if you participate in an economy, then you have a responsibility. To pay taxes.

But, do you notice that Jesus doesn’t have a coin with the image of Caesar in his pocket? Is this a message that, perhaps, he is rejecting the entire economy of the empire, particularly one that exploits the poor? 

Which brings me to topics number four and five. David Brooks and Pandemics. On Thursday, conservative columnist David Brooks wrote in the NY Times about what pandemics do. How they drive people apart. Because in these moments, fear can drive people. It can drive us away from each other as the possibility of death drives away concern for no one but ourselves and our loved ones. Witness the hoarding and panic buying over these past few days. Witness the privilege that allows us to be able to afford to hoard, when we know that pandemic always hits the poorest and most vulnerable in our community the hardest. All out of fear.

But, it’s not only fear that drives people in times of pandemic. So does shame. Because in the midst of pandemic, hard, life-and-death choices have to be made. They’re being made today. By doctors in Italy, for example, who because of a limited number of ventilators, are having to decide who gets one and who doesn’t.

But, these hard choices are not all that drives shame. As Brooks was researching the 1918 flu pandemic for his column, he was surprised by how few books or plays had been written about it. He wrote that roughly 675,000 American lost their lives in that one year, compared with 53,000 dead in the four-year period of World War 1. Yet, little was written about it. It seemed to leave almost no mark in culture. Why? Because, when it was over, people would not talk about it because they were ashamed at how they had responded. With one exception. Healthcare workers. Who responded then, as they do today, with heroism and compassion.

Which brings me to my final topic. Number six. Luther. (And that little bit of Bonhoeffer!) In 1527, ten years after the Reformation, the bubonic plague, which had been winding its way through Europe, struck Wittenberg, Germany. The political leader of this area, Elector John, fearing for the safety of Luther and the other professors at Wittenberg University, ordered them to leave town. Luther, along with another professor, refused. Instead he stayed to minister to those who were sick and frightened. Seventeen days later, there were 18 deaths, including the wife of the mayor, who died in Luther’s arms. Eventually, the plague receded. Yet soon after, clergy from a neighboring town now affected by it, wrote him a letter to ask his advice. Whether they should stay to serve the community or whether they should leave to preserve their own lives.

Here’s what he had to say. “This I well know, that if it were Christ or his mother who were laid low by illness, everybody would be so solicitous and would gladly become a servant or helper. Everyone would want to be bold and fearless; nobody would flee but everyone would come running….If you wish to serve Christ and to wait on him, very well, you have your sick neighbor close at hand. Go to him and serve him, and you will surely find Christ in him….”

In addition, he also said was that, in the process of serving our neighbor, we were to use our brains. To follow careful safety precautions. To use care to prohibit spread. All of the things that we are doing today.

Now, just a little bit of Bonhoeffer. After being arrested, Bonhoeffer was imprisoned for some time as he awaited his fate. It was in this time that he truly began to reflect what it meant to be human. And to be true community. To be a beloved community. He wrote: "To be Christian does not mean to live in a specified religious way...but, it means to be human, not a particular human type. Christ creates true humanity in us. It is not religious acts that a Christian does, but participation in the suffering of Christ in worldly life.” 

Dear friends, we are in unusual times. Are they part of some apocalyptic cosmic change to overturn unjust economic systems in our world? I don’t know. But, what I do know is that we have been created to be in beloved community with one another and with the world, especially where there is suffering, because this is where we will find Christ. We have been called to serve those here in our congregation and in the world who are most vulnerable and at risk. To take care to stop the spread of this disease. And, mostly, to love and support one another in this time of fear and anxiety. 

We do this, not because it will gain us salvation, but because salvation has already been gained for us. By God’s authority in Christ, who is our chief cornerstone and our true vine. Who frees us and, then, nourishes us so that we might go out into the world and with the Holy Spirit beside us bear fruit in the beloved vineyard of God. 

May God guide and keep us in this time. Amen.

Preached during virtual worship on Sunday, March 15, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Lent 3
Reading: Mark 12:1-17

Chaos and Confusion

Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said, “You say so.” But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.

Now at the festival the governor was accustomed to release a prisoner for the crowd, anyone whom they wanted. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So after they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over. While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Then he asked, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified!”

So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Then the people as a whole answered, “His blood be on us and on our children!” So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”

Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, ‘I am God’s Son.’” The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.

From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” Matthew 27:11-54 (NRSV)

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They’d been with Jesus for nearly three years, this man they called, “Rabbi.” He had called them to simply come and follow him. And, they had. Over these years, they had traveled with Jesus throughout the Galilean countryside and beyond--in all the places away from the powerful center of Jerusalem. Along the way, among a variety of characters, they had witnessed Jesus reveal more and more who he was. Characters that included Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the blind man to whom Jesus had given sight, and Lazarus and his sisters and the never-before witnessed miracle in which Jesus had brought Lazarus back to life after having been dead for four full days.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had listened to Jesus tell them what it would mean to be his disciple. To “take up the cross.”  How they were to engage in active nonviolent resistance when confronted with oppression and violence. How the integrity of what they said and did mattered. How they were to love others. Not just friends and families. But, also enemies. 

They’d been sent out, too. Sent to participate in the same mission of Jesus--to proclaim the same message--that God’s kingdom was at hand. Jesus had given them authority,. The same God-given authority to preach and to heal and to forgive. They’d gone out. They’d gone out, knowing how hard this mission would be. That in speaking truth to power they would be oppressed and harassed. That suffering would be inevitable. That participating in Jesus’ mission meant taking up his cross.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had heard Jesus tell them that he would eventually die at the hands of the religious and the political elite. How they wouldn’t...how they couldn’t...how they didn’t want to believe him. How their thoughts had been expressed by Peter so forcefully when he challenged Jesus. Saying that, “No!” this wouldn’t happen. And watching Jesus shut him down. Oh, how distressed they had been. 

They had also heard him say that he would be raised. Something they did not, could not understand. 

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had witnessed--had accompanied--Jesus riding into Jerusalem. On a donkey. As though he was mocking the Roman authorities. Making his entrance into Jerusalem in the midst of the Passover celebration. A Jerusalem that had swelled in size by several hundred thousand people. People who had come from the countryside to the temple to celebrate this holy festival. People who had heard of Jesus or who had heard him speak. 
They had seen the crowds respond to Jesus as he entered triumphantly into the city. How the huge crowds had welcomed and had shouted their “Hosannas!” and other songs of acclaim. They had retrieved the donkey for Jesus with unexpected ease. They knew the ambivalence of his riding this donkey--that it was a royal animal that had carried previous representatives of God’s reign--King Solomon and others. And, yet, that it was an everyday beast of burden--a symbol of scorn. They saw the contradictions in the extravagant welcome of Jesus by the crowd while he was, at the same time, seated upon this lowly animal, the same animal that had carried his mother to Bethlehem to give birth to him in a stable, of all places.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had heard that the religious authorities were conspiring against Jesus. They had heard that one of their own was involved. How distressed they had been! And when Jesus told them they would all desert him that night--the night they celebrated the Passover together--they heard Peter boast that he would never abandon Jesus. 

They had been there in the garden that night. In Gethsemane. How they had wanted to stay awake as Jesus asked them. How they had failed. And then, they had seen the soldiers come with Judas. One of their own had grabbed a sword, trying to violently resist, and had been quickly condemned by Jesus. 

They had been there that night. And then, they had deserted Jesus and run. Just as he said they would.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had seen the week start out so well. They had seen the throngs greet Jesus as the Messiah, with the expectation that he had come to overthrow the Romans--their political captors. Jesus had been treated as the king they knew he was.

And, then, quickly. Within just a few short days, it had all dissolved into madness. The king they knew, the Messiah they thought had come to make a regime change, this Jesus, their teacher and friend, now arrested, convicted, and tortured. And, then, crucified.  Like a common criminal. One of the cruelest means of execution, reserved for non-citizens and for the socially rejected. For rebellious foreigners, violent criminals, robbers, slaves--for all those on the margins. Jesus. Shamed and humiliated.

Chaos and confusion. I think this is what the disciples were thinking. And feeling. Their entire lives. Their entire way of thinking. Their entire world. Turned upside down. Dissolving into chaos and confusion.


Chaos and confusion. This was something Dietrich Bonhoeffer also knew about. It was on this day in 1945--on April 9th, 1945--that Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran theologian and pastor, was shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. He had studied theology in Germany and the United States and had pastored a church in London before choosing to return to Germany to resist the rise to power of Adolf Hitler. He was eventually arrested and, on this day 72 years ago, put to death.  

Just like the disciples, Bonhoeffer knew about chaos and confusion. And, yet, he, like the disciples, knew that this was what discipleship was all about. In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, which he wrote in prison while awaiting his execution, Bonhoeffer wrote, “[God says this]: Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend - it must transcend all comprehension. Plunge into the deep waters beyond your own comprehension, and I will help you to comprehend even as I do. Bewilderment is the true comprehension. Not to know where you are going is the true knowledge. My comprehension transcends yours.”

It is in the midst of the chaos and confusion that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion and brokenness of the world, into our own brokenness--it is there that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where people do not have enough to eat or they lack decent healthcare, God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where it seems there is a mass shooting nearly every day, or terrorism is our first thought after any incident, God breaks in. Or even in the chaos and confusion of a world where a political leader uses nerve gas on his own people, a refugee people that nearly the entire world has rejected, God breaks in. 

This is what we believe. This is what we trust. This is what we know because it is in the chaos and confusion of Jesus’ crucifixion and death that God broke in and raised him from the dead. And it is in the midst of our own chaos and confusion that God has broken in and has brought us new life. In Christ.

And that is why we shout, right along with the crowd that Palm Sunday, “Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Amen.

Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
April 9, 2017 - Palm Sunday
Readings: Matthew 21:1-11, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 27:11-54