Seeking: How are we to forgive and be forgiven?

“If your brother or sister sins against you, go and correct them when you are alone together. If they listen to you, then you’ve won over your brother or sister. But if they won’t listen, take with you one or two others so that every word may be established by the mouth of two or three witnesses. But if they still won’t pay attention, report it to the church. If they won’t pay attention even to the church, treat them as you would a Gentile and tax collector. I assure you that whatever you fasten on earth will be fastened in heaven. And whatever you loosen on earth will be loosened in heaven. Again I assure you that if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, then my Father who is in heaven will do it for you. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I’m there with them.”

Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, how many times should I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Should I forgive as many as seven times?”

Jesus said, “Not just seven times, but rather as many as seventy-seven times. Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. When he began to settle accounts, they brought to him a servant who owed him ten thousand bags of gold. Because the servant didn’t have enough to pay it back, the master ordered that he should be sold, along with his wife and children and everything he had, and that the proceeds should be used as payment. But the servant fell down, kneeled before him, and said, ‘Please, be patient with me, and I’ll pay you back.’ The master had compassion on that servant, released him, and forgave the loan.

“When that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him one hundred coins. He grabbed him around the throat and said, ‘Pay me back what you owe me.’

“Then his fellow servant fell down and begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I’ll pay you back.’ But he refused. Instead, he threw him into prison until he paid back his debt.

“When his fellow servants saw what happened, they were deeply offended. They came and told their master all that happened. His master called the first servant and said, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you appealed to me. Shouldn’t you also have mercy on your fellow servant, just as I had mercy on you?’ His master was furious and handed him over to the guard responsible for punishing prisoners, until he had paid the whole debt.

“My heavenly Father will also do the same to you if you don’t forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” --Matthew 18:15-35 (CEB)

I’d like you to think, for just a moment, about how stories help us to picture and imagine things differently than simply hearing someone state an explanation or a rule. As we heard last week, Jesus often uses stories - or parables - to teach. We’re going to have a little fun this morning. I invite you to turn to a neighbor or two and together brainstorm as many parables from the Bible as you can think of in three minutes. Select one person to write them down as you go. Hint: We heard three of them in last week’s reading. Ready? Set. Go. 

Why do you think Jesus chooses to use so many parables in his teaching? Many of Jesus’ parables begin with the words, “the kingdom of God is like…” Jesus is trying to explain to his disciples what life is like in God’s kingdom.

As we continue through the Sundays of Lent, we will be discovering many different glimpses of God’s kingdom. We’ll be asking a lot of questions about these to try to understand how we might learn to live these ways in our present time to help make this community and, then, our broader lives, a little more like God’s kingdom as we await its fulfillment. God will bring the kingdom fully, but we can make our spaces look a little more like it each day. 

Today, Jesus is talking about forgiveness in the kingdom of God. And, particularly, about forgiveness within community. When I use the word “community,” how do you understand that? What are some of your communities? Allow time for responses. 

Matthew, the gospel writer, was writing this for his specific community. It was a community that was under stress. Mostly Jewish, they had been cast out of the temple, out of an entire way of life. On top of that, they were experiencing the very real possibility of persecution. So, part of Matthew’s goal in narrating this parable from Jesus is to help his community learn how to be in relationship with one another, even in the midst of these major stressors.

It begins with civility. I’d like to read a paragraph from a book written by Gilbert Rendle. He is a church consultant who works with resolving church conflict. This is what he writes in the opening introduction to his book, entitled, Behavioral Covenants in Congregations: A Handbook for Honoring Differences: 

My work as a senior consultant with the Alban Institute regularly puts me into working relationships with congregations that are experiencing conflict and in which members exhibit behaviors which stand in contrast to my understanding of the teachings of their faith. I have witnessed small groups in which some members demand that other members leave the room because they do not trust speaking in front of them. I have interviewed congregational members who have leveled accusations against others based not on what they themselves have experienced or witnessed but rather on hearsay information repeated and embellished by friends whose personal preferences were not being met. I have worked with a congregation in which very wealthy and powerful members of the governing board held a formal victory party in the home of one of the leaders to celebrate their success in forcing their rector not only out of the church but out of town as well. He was sufficiently hurt and damaged that he would tell no one, not even his bishop, where he had gone. I have counseled with clergy who have considered or chosen to take legal action against their governing boards, casting all blame on the board rather than accepting their part in a difficult relationship that would require change and the seeking of forgiveness in order to be productive in ministry.

Do any of you know any congregations or clergy like that? (It may be too scary to answer that.) And, now, a harder and, honestly for me, a scary question, do any of you experience any of that here? Or with me? (If your answer is yes to that question, I encourage you to speak to me.)

Rendle goes on to add this: 

Although my relationship as a consultant makes me privy to more extreme examples of uncivil behavior than others who live and work in congregations, all clergy and laity commonly encounter behaviors that fall short of faith standards. I suggest that such behaviors are rooted, in part, in an inheritance based in cultural and congregational assumptions that we are now beginning to understand. Chief among those assumptions is the current notion that as individuals we do not have to defer to the need of the larger group, be it family, congregation, or community.

This book was first written in 1989, then updated in 1999 - nearly 25 years ago. I’m wondering, if we look at our world today, has much changed? Do we demand that our individual rights, or individual beliefs, are more important than communal rights or beliefs? 

What is the goal of conflict? That may seem an odd question, because I don’t think we often consider that there is a goal to conflict. The goal of conflict is reconciliation. Reconciliation with one another so that the community may be whole. Always. That is God’s definition of justice. When there is conflict within community or between community members, the whole community is impacted.

So, what do we do when we experience hurt from another? Jesus gives us a clear cut path. In fact, Jesus orders this clear cut path. First, we go to that sibling to address it. In other words, we don’t go on social media. We don’t triangulate - meaning we don’t go complain about that person to anyone else. We don’t even go to the pastor. We go to that person who has hurt us. And we try to reconcile with them. Period. Notice that, in our text, when 2 or more are gathered, Jesus says he is present. So, if we believe that, how might it change how we approach the person who has hurt us, knowing that Jesus is standing beside us in that conversation? Or how does that change our response if we are the one who has caused the hurt?

But, the direct approach may not always work. So then, Jesus tells us to take one or two community members with us to speak with that person. To try to find reconciliation. 

And that may not work. It is then to be reported to the entire community. And, if that doesn’t work then, as Jesus says, you should treat them as you would a tax collector or Gentile. But not so fast. Anyone remember how Jesus treated tax collectors and Gentles? That’s right. He took them to lunch. He didn’t cut them off. He took them to lunch. What does that say?

Our relationships matter. Here in this community and outside this place in your other communities. They matter to God, so they should matter to us. 

There’s a flip side to this conflict resolution that we also have to notice - the entire point of the parable Jesus tells. It’s about forgiveness. When we go to someone who has hurt us. And when (notice I said when) - when they acknowledge that they have hurt us and they repent and seek forgiveness from us, we are to forgive them. It doesn’t mean that, depending on the deepness of the hurt, it will happen immediately. In cases of abuse, it may take a lifetime. But, we, if we have been the victim of harm, are also called to do the work of forgiving. Not just within ourselves, but with the perpetrator of harm. As difficult as that may be. To not forgive is to keep ourselves trapped in the effects of the harm. Or as Marjorie Thompson writes, “Forgiveness means the power of the original wound’s power to hold us trapped is broken.” 

Because, ultimately, what is at stake here isn’t just a matter of debt and repayment, or sin and forgiveness, but the balance and integrity - the authenticity - of the community. Because this is the example we have from our Creator. Mercy. Or grace. Which is the thread that holds the kingdom together. 

One final note: In Hebrew there are something like five different words for sin. All different types of sin. But, one of those words defines the sin of not believing you are forgiven. I dare say that some of us - perhaps, many of us - have difficulty believing that we are forgiven by one another. And, even more so that we are forgiven by God.

May we, through the power of the Holy Spirit, live into forgiveness and into being authentic followers of Jesus as we build these authentic communities of faith. Amen.

Preached Sunday, February 26, 2023, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Lent 1

Readings: Matthew 18:15-35; Psalm 32:1-2

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

From Generation to Generation: There's Room for Every Story

A record of the ancestors of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham:

Abraham was the father of Isaac.

Isaac was the father of Jacob.

Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers.

Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah,

whose mother was Tamar.

Perez was the father of Hezron.

Hezron was the father of Aram.

Aram was the father of Amminadab.

Amminadab was the father of Nahshon.

Nahshon was the father of Salmon.

Salmon was the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab.

Boaz was the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth.

Obed was the father of Jesse.

Jesse was the father of David the king.

David was the father of Solomon,

whose mother had been the wife of Uriah.

Solomon was the father of Rehoboam.

Rehoboam was the father of Abijah.

Abijah was the father of Asaph.

Asaph was the father of Jehoshaphat.

Jehoshaphat was the father of Joram.

Joram was the father of Uzziah.

Uzziah was the father of Jotham.

Jotham was the father of Ahaz.

Ahaz was the father of Hezekiah.

Hezekiah was the father of Manasseh.

Manasseh was the father of Amos.

Amos was the father of Josiah.

Josiah was the father of Jechoniah and his brothers.

This was at the time of the exile to Babylon.

After the exile to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Shealtiel.

Shealtiel was the father of Zerubbabel.

Zerubbabel was the father of Abiud.

Abiud was the father of Eliakim

Eliakim was the father of Azor.

Azor was the father of Zadok.

Zadok was the father of Achim.

Achim was the father of Eliud.

Eliud was the father of Eleazar.

Eleazar was the father of Matthan.

Matthan was the father of Jacob.

Jacob was the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary—of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Christ.

So there were fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen generations from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen generations from the exile to Babylon to the Christ. --Matthew 1:1-17 CEB

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

From generation to generation. That is our theme throughout this incarnational season of the church year - this time from Advent through Epiphany. It is taken from Mary’s song of protest and praise - a song sung by her in the midst of challenge. In the midst of her vulnerability. Even in these moments, Mary could see God’s vision. That dream of God captured in the reading from Isaiah that we heard last week and, again, today. Perhaps, repetition is helpful for us - that this vision of God for a new way of being for all nations might be more fully and deeply embedded in us. A vision of peace. Of wholeness. Of shalom.

It was a vision that was bigger than Mary. That is bigger than we are. That Christ comes for our collective liberation. That this work of God’s redemption continues and is meant to be lived out and passed on. From generation to generation.

So, it’s perhaps no surprise that, on this first Sunday of Advent, we begin at the beginning. With Jesus’ family tree.

I’m curious how many of you have done any genealogy work on your own family tree? My work really began with my mother, decades ago, when she created a wall hanging for the 50th anniversary of my paternal grandparents. My brother, a cousin and I have continued that work. Over the past decade or so, thanks to Ancestry.com, that simple wall hanging has grown into an extensive tree reflecting generations in my family. Not only on my father’s side, but on my mother’s, as well.

Why do we do this work of tracing the generations of our families? Although I can’t answer that question for you, for me it has been a way of identifying where I come from. And who I am. In learning the stories of my ancestors, my story is told, too. 

There is, for example, the story of my father’s family. Fourteen children. Four boys and ten girls. A huge family with not alot of money, at least at the beginning. So, their entertainment was to sing together as a family. To play instruments, especially piano and accordion. To go every Friday night to community dances, which happens to be where my mom met my dad. And, because they lived in such a rural place, nearly 40 miles away from the nearest small town, it also meant that my father and his older brother learned how to fly (and crash) a small Cessna, so they could travel to places they might otherwise not have experienced. Perhaps, that’s how I get my travel bug.

If we look at Jesus’ lineage, we see that he, too, comes from a large family. In Matthew, this family is traced all the way back to Abraham. Then to Isaac, then Jacob with his twelve sons. Then to David, who God promised - covenanted with - that his line would never end. On and on Jesus’ line is traced through the chosen nation of Israel and its ancestors. From kings to prophets to priests. To show us two things about his identity. That Jesus embodies the royal lineage of King David, whose line would be carried on by the Promised One, the Messiah. And that he also embodies the covenantal authority of Abraham, through whom all the families of the earth would be blessed. For Matthew’s audience, Jesus may appear to be a simple carpenter, but he is, in fact, the fulfillment of both the promise to Abraham and that of King David. Jesus is the royal successor to David. King. And the promised Messiah. Savior. King and Savior, come to bless all nations. 

But, genealogies give us not only glimpses of the happy or joyful times in our families’ histories, but also stories of challenge and hardship. Sometimes evil. If I look carefully at my grandfather’s history, I learn that the same year he was born, his four-year-old sister died. Two years later, another sister died in childbirth. The following year, when my grandfather was only 3 years old, his mother, my great-grandmother Marian, died at the very young age of 24. Three months later, his father married Marian’s sister, Katherine. If I move to my mother’s side, I find a great-grandfather who was murdered. 

In the midst of the joy of our families, lies tragedy and heartache. Struggle and conflict. And, sometimes, family members who lose their way. This is so with my family. I wonder if it is so of yours.

This complexity is so with Jesus’ family, which contains serious blemishes.

For example, in Jesus’ line, Manasseh and Amon appear - two incredibly evil kings. Or there’s King Jechoniah, an unhappy king who was exiled not once, but twice. Then, notice the women who appear unexpectedly in Matthew’s genealogy, something unusual in ancient times. Many of them experienced their own trauma and heartache. There is Tamar. Jacob’s daughter-in-law whom he impregnated. Or Bathsheba. Unnamed in the family tree, but mentioned as the wife of Uriah, whom David killed so that he could take Bathsheba as his own. And impregnate her with a son she would lose seven days after his birth. Or consider Rahab. A prostitute who hid the Israelite spies as they were scouting out the Promised Land. Or consider Mary herself. A teenager who found herself pregnant and unmarried at a time when such a condition could result in stoning. All of these women, with the exception of Mary, foreigners, often in conflicted circumstances. Yet grafted - adopted - into Jesus’ family tree. Just as you and I have been adopted in, as well. 

What’s your family story? My guess is that it is as messy and wonderful as my family's story. And that of Jesus’ family. In those long lists of names, we remember the trauma and triumph of those who came before. Each name holds a story. And, in Matthew’s genealogy, their story gives way to Christ’s story. A story that encompasses all of our stories, complicated as they are. Weaving them together with generations past and present. Welcoming us in. And inviting us to share Christ’s story and our story, too. Of liberation and freedom. Of peace. Of shalom. With all the generations to come. 

Because, in Christ’s story, there is room for every story. Past. Present. And future. Amen.

Preached December 4, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

First Sunday of Advent

Readings: Matthew 1:1-17; Isaiah 2:1-5 

Living Out the Covenant: Guns and Butter

Assyria’s King Sennacherib marched against all of Judah’s fortified cities and captured them in the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah. Assyria’s king sent his field commander from Lachish, together with a large army, to King Hezekiah at Jerusalem. He stood at the water channel of the Upper Pool, which is on the road to the field where clothes are washed. Hilkiah’s son Eliakim, who was the palace administrator, Shebna the secretary, and Asaph’s son Joah the recorder went out to them.

Then the field commander stood up and shouted in Hebrew at the top of his voice: “Listen to the message of the great king, Assyria’s king. The king says this: Don’t let Hezekiah lie to you. He won’t be able to rescue you. Don’t let Hezekiah persuade you to trust the Lord by saying, ‘The Lord will certainly rescue us. This city won’t be handed over to Assyria’s king.’

“Don’t listen to Hezekiah, because this is what Assyria’s king says: Surrender to me and come out. Then each of you will eat from your own vine and fig tree and drink water from your own well until I come to take you to a land just like your land. It will be a land of grain and new wine, a land of bread and vineyards. Don’t let Hezekiah fool you by saying, ‘The Lord will rescue us.’ Did any of the other gods of the nations save their lands from the power of Assyria’s king? Where are the gods of Hamath and Arpad? Where are the gods of Sepharvaim? Did they rescue Samaria from my power? Which one of the gods from those countries has rescued their land from my power? Will the Lord save Jerusalem from my power?”

When King Hezekiah heard this, he ripped his clothes, covered himself with mourning clothes, and went to the Lord’s temple. He sent Eliakim the palace administrator, Shebna the secretary, and the senior priests to the prophet Isaiah, Amoz’s son. They were all wearing mourning clothes. They said to him, “Hezekiah says this: Today is a day of distress, punishment, and humiliation. It’s as if children are ready to be born, but there’s no strength to see it through. Perhaps the Lord your God heard all the words of the field commander who was sent by his master, Assyria’s king. He insulted the living God! Perhaps he will punish him for the words that the Lord your God has heard. Offer up a prayer for those few people who still survive.”

When King Hezekiah’s servants got to Isaiah, Isaiah said to them, “Say this to your master: The Lord says this: Don’t be afraid at the words you heard, which the officers of Assyria’s king have used to insult me. I’m about to mislead him, so when he hears a rumor, he’ll go back to his own country. Then I’ll have him cut down by the sword in his own land.”

This is what Isaiah, Amoz’s son, saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.

In the days to come

    the mountain of the Lord’s house

    will be the highest of the mountains.

    It will be lifted above the hills;

        peoples will stream to it.

Many nations will go and say,

“Come, let’s go up to the Lord’s mountain,

    to the house of Jacob’s God

        so that he may teach us his ways

        and we may walk in God’s paths.”

Instruction will come from Zion;

    the Lord’s word from Jerusalem.

God will judge between the nations,

    and settle disputes of mighty nations.

Then they will beat their swords into iron plows

    and their spears into pruning tools.

Nation will not take up sword against nation;

    they will no longer learn how to make war. --Isaiah 36:1-3, 13-20; 37:1-7; 2:1-4 

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

Guns and butter. Guns and butter. What do you think is the relationship between guns and butter? Anyone? Anyone study business? Or economics? If you could choose one over the other, which would you choose? Guns? Or butter?

There actually is a relationship between these two things - guns and butter. It comes to us from the study of macroeconomics. (Are your eyes glossing over?) The guns versus butter model shows the relationship between how much a nation invests in its security and defense. And how much it invests in butter. Or, more fully, spending on social things, investing in things that improve or increase social welfare, such as schools, hospitals, parks and roads. Every nation has to decide which balance of guns versus butter best fits its needs - a choice that can be influenced by both external and internal factors. And a choice that can have an impact not only on a nation’s people, but also who are elected as its leaders.

The phrase originated around the time of the first World War. In 1914, Chile was the leading world producer of nitrates. What are nitrates used for? Yep. Gunpowder. Chile had taken a neutral stance in the war and, although it continued to provide almost all the nitrates the US needed, it still made us a little nervous that we didn’t have control over the production. This led to the passage of the National Defense Act of 1916. This directed the administration to manufacture nitrates for fertilizer - in times of peace, and munitions in times of war. The media presented this as “guns and butter.” Guns in war time. Butter in peace.

Today’s lesson from Isaiah shows us the tension and complexity in making the choice between guns and butter. As our story opens, Jerusalem is surrounded by the Assyrian army. They’ve ravaged the countryside - knocking off, according to Assyrian history, 46 Judaen cities, all heavily fortified. People from villages surrounding Jerusalem have fled into the city. It’s overcrowded. Resources are stretched. Food is scarce. Water, too. The temple treasury has been depleted by a tribute demanded by the Assyrian king, Sennacharib. Even the king’s treasury - that of King Hezekiah - has been depleted. Jerusalem is under siege. 

At his king’s command, Sennacharib’s field commander approaches the city. King Hezekiah sends out three of his high officials. Yet, it soon becomes clear that the field commander isn’t really interested in talking to them. Instead of speaking to them in Aramaic, the language they request, he speaks to them in Hebrew - a language the people of Jerusalem will understand. Their vernacular. Why? To spread propaganda. Propaganda that is intended to invoke fear in their hearts for what will come. The guns. And propaganda intended to convince them to abandon Jerusalem -- this place of hardship and starvation -- and surrender to him to be taken to a much better place. To a land he describes in eerily familiar words. A land of grain and new wine, a land of bread and vineyards. Think “land of milk and honey.” Think butter.

How easy it would be for the people to fall into this trap! Perhaps, this is what terrifies King Hezekiah so, leading him to tear his clothes, to engage in rituals of mourning, to go to the temple. And to send his officials to seek out the prophet Isaiah. He knows how exhausted his people are. So exhausted that, as our text reads, it’s as though children are ready to be born, but there’s no strength left to see it through.

It’s an interesting verse, this birthing metaphor. It brings us back to other water and birthing images we’ve seen over these past many weeks. The birthing of a new creation from the waters of darkness and chaos. The rebirthing of our world in the story of Noah and the flood after its near total corruption. The birthing of a new nation, chosen to be a people to show all nations the way of God. Then, today’s image. Of a mother about to give birth, but so exhausted that there is little hope that the child can be born. 

Perhaps that’s where you are right now. Tired of things in the world as they are. The wars that cause vast numbers of refugees. The corruption that seems to only get worse. The many divides in our world. The lack of agreement around caring for our planet. Perhaps you are tired, too. Exhausted from the many ways we just seem to fall so sort of any possibility of peace. Much less any vision or hope for the future. 

But, there is an alternative view. A way that is not about the guns, but about the butter. A profound vision of peace. Where nations no longer learn about war. Where people are more concerned with cultivating food than producing weapons. A vision of shalom. 

That’s what we hear from the prophet Isaiah as he, literally, sees the Word of God. And sees God’s future for that remnant in Jerusalem. And for you and me, too.

What will the future hold? Guns? Or butter? 

This new age, envisioned by God, pregnant with possibilities, will take us to the mountaintop. A mountaintop that is less about a place than a way of being. That’s not about restoring the temple or Jerusalem, also high up. But, it’s about our citizenship in God’s kingdom - an upside-down kingdom led by an upside-down king. Christ, the King. Who leads not with guns, but with butter. Who comes sacrificially for us. To show us the way. A way of justice, and mercy, and peace. And who leads us to salvation - to that shalom way of life that ensures wholeness in every way for every one. So that all nations might flourish. So that all people might have fullness. So that we - you and I, included - might live. Forever. With all the butter we can imagine!

Thanks be to God! Amen.

Preached November 20, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Christ the King Sunday

Reading: Isaiah 36:1-3, 13-20; 37:1-7; 2:1-4

Unraveled: Seeking Understanding When Everything Falls Apart

But where can wisdom be found?

    Where does understanding dwell?

No mortal comprehends its worth;

    it cannot be found in the land of the living.

The deep says, “It is not in me”;

    the sea says, “It is not with me.”

It cannot be bought with the finest gold,

    nor can its price be weighed out in silver.

It cannot be bought with the gold of Ophir,

    with precious onyx or lapis lazuli.

Neither gold nor crystal can compare with it,

    nor can it be had for jewels of gold.

Coral and jasper are not worthy of mention;

    the price of wisdom is beyond rubies.

The topaz of Cush cannot compare with it;

    it cannot be bought with pure gold.

Where then does wisdom come from?

    Where does understanding dwell?

It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing,

    concealed even from the birds in the sky.

Destruction and Death say,

    “Only a rumor of it has reached our ears.”

God understands the way to it

    and he alone knows where it dwells,

for he views the ends of the earth

    and sees everything under the heavens.

When he established the force of the wind

    and measured out the waters,

when he made a decree for the rain

    and a path for the thunderstorm,

then he looked at wisdom and appraised it;

    he confirmed it and tested it.

And he said to the human race,

    “The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,

    and to shun evil is understanding.” ---Job 28:12-28 (CEB)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from the Triune God who laid the earth's foundations, set its measurements, and to whom none on earth can compare. Amen.

Over the past year or two I’ve really begun to get into podcasts. My son started me on them - he listens all the time and will regularly share new ones with me that he thinks I might be interested in. One of my favorites is The Daily, which is a daily deep dive into something in the news, often digging deeper into politics here in this country or into events or situations happening in other countries. Throw in a little art and science, and that pretty much covers it. The exploration is usually about things that are happening now. The big and urgent questions of each day. 

But, this past Friday, they did something a little different. Instead of pursuing a current event, the entire podcast was focused on the topic of “cosmic questions.” Questions that often don’t have concrete answers. Big, dreamy existential questions that we don’t have the answers to. Like: “What’s a black hole and why do we care what happens inside?” Or “Is there other life in the universe? And, if so, why don’t we know about it.” One more. “Why do we remember the past and not the future?” You know, the questions at the center of your everyday dinner-time conversation.

Well, maybe not so much. 

But, it was a fascinating conversation that made me want to do more research and gain more understanding about one particular question they explored. And, as happens frequently, this particular podcast seemed to be perfectly timed with our text today from Job. Because the book of Job is also about a cosmic question. The question of suffering. Why there is suffering in this world? And, perhaps, more specifically, why do bad things happen to good people? 

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Experienced something especially devastating. A diagnosis. A loss. Or maybe several. I doubt there's anyone here who hasn’t had something incredibly hard happen in their lives. And who hasn’t asked the question, “Why, God? Why?” 

That was Job’s experience, too. He - like you and I - was one of the faithful ones. But, as the story goes along he becomes the subject of a cynical bet between God and Satan. A bet to question - really, to test! -  how faithful Job would remain in the face of hardship. And devastation. 

When he loses everything, he, too, asks the question, “Why?” 

Then, his friends show up. They’re not particularly helpful. Maybe you’ve experienced “friends” like this. Who, in the face of deep loss come with platitudes. Like “It’s just God’s plan!” Or “It was for the best!” Or, one of the worst, “Maybe God is punishing you for something you did.” 

Then, after these so-called friends, another one shows up and speaks a poem to him, a poem about Wisdom. It's from this poem from which today's text comes. 

About Wisdom. 

Wisdom is a key figure in the Hebrew scriptures, always in the feminine. Proverbs 8 talks of Wisdom as the one created at the beginning. “I was formed long ages ago, at the very beginning, when the world came to be.” It would only be in the first century that the Church would make the connection between the person of Wisdom in the Hebrew scriptures with that of Christ in the New Testament - particularly, with the idea of logos in the first chapter of John. The Word made flesh. Wisdom embodied in the person of Jesus Christ; then, later, in Christ’s Spirit. One who captures the fullness of God. 

But, in the Hebrew scriptures, Wisdom is identified as a righteous woman, who walks in God’s ways, who seeks justice. Who is seen as both a playful child and a wise architect. A primordial being with the claim that, “whoever finds me finds life and obtains favor from the Lord.” It’s the claim in the last verse of our text today: “The fear of the Lord is wisdom; turning from evil is understanding.” The irony of this particular claim is that it points us exactly to Job and to who Job was. A righteous man. Faithful. A lover of God. 

Not that being righteous. Or faithful. Or a lover of God is a bad thing. But, if we expect that if we do these things or are a righteous person, we will escape hardship. Or difficulty. Or loss. Then, we, like Job, fail to understand. And, if we think, too, that we are experiencing hardship because we haven’t been good enough, we also fail to understand. Like Job, we fail to experience the bigger picture. Of who God is. Who asks Job, “Where were you? Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations? Where were you when I set its measurements? Where were you when I stretched a measuring tape? Where were you?” 

We try so hard to control everything. And when we no longer have control. When everything in our life has unraveled. We, then, finally - hopefully - begin to experience God. And God’s presence. With a sense of wonder of this God, at work at the beginning of our world. At work in the midst of our world in this very moment. God, who does not promise a perfect life or a life without struggle. But, God. Who promises to remain. To be. With us. 

That then is true wisdom. A breathless, awe-filled reverence for God’s mystery and God’s expansiveness. For God’s presence that is beyond what we can control. Or make sense of. Or fully understand. In this life. 

So, close your eyes for just a moment. 

Become aware of your breathing. Listen to its gentle rise and fall. Become aware of being in the presence of God. 

Allow the God of love to look at you. (What’s in that gaze? Acceptance of you as you are is a good start.) Adopt a position of receiving. Stay with that for a moment.

Now, think back over the week. Give thanks for something or someone that brought you light and life. 

Was there a time when you struggled? Bring that to God’s deep, compassionate listening. 

What do you need for the coming week? Let God know.

Then remember that God loves you. And that God will remain faithful. To you.

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

Preached August 21, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 11

Readings: Job 28:12-28; Psalm 42:1-3, 5, 9-11

Living in Hope: A Posture of Christ

If, then, there is any comfort in Christ, any consolation from love, any partnership in the Spirit, any tender affection and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or empty conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he existed in the form of God,
    did not regard equality with God
    as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    assuming human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a human,
    he humbled himself
    and became obedient to the point of death—
    even death on a cross.
Therefore God exalted him even more highly
    and gave him the name
    that is above every other name,
so that at the name given to Jesus
    every knee should bend,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
    that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father.

Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence but much more now in my absence, work on your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure. --Philippians 4:1-13 (NRSV)

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

Like Pr. Elisa last week, I’ve struggled writing this sermon this week. In the midst of all that has happened this week, which we will get to, it’s been one tiny little phrase in the center of this text that has troubled me much. It’s this phrase in verse 7. A reference to Christ emptying himself, specifically “taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.”

If you were here last week and you heard Pr. Elisa’s sermon, one of the theological terms she talked about, one that I’ve mentioned before, too, is the term imago Dei. It’s a theological understanding, based on the creation account in Genesis, that we believe that each person, every human being, is created in the image of God. 

So, what - and this what I struggled with - what does it mean then when we lay this idea beside verse 7 in today’s text where, being born in human likeness meant - at least for Christ - becoming enslaved. What happened to the part about human likeness imaged from the face of God?

So that, among other things, has been my struggle this week. And, by default, it’s yours today, too. Whether you like it or not!

To try to understand this, we need to step back from this small part to look at the whole. These verses are the oldest expression in all of Christian scripture of who Christ is. We teach about this piece of poetry as another proof text of our understanding of the incarnation - of Christ moving from a place of equality with God to that of the human condition. Emptying himself to suffering and death, then to resurrection and restoration. It’s the heart of the Gospel - the heart of the Easter story for us who, on this seventh Easter Sunday, are now returning full circle back to that first Easter Sunday. It’s the heart of who we understand this Christ to be. 

But that’s really only part of the story of these verses. We know the social and political context of the Roman Empire at the time this letter was written. Those who ran the Roman Empire put up stone monuments to celebrate its power. These images reflect Roman emperors holding female figures by the hair, women with anguished faces and twisted bodies. They were not just simple statues celebrating emperors who were considered “sons of God,” but statues that celebrated the empire’s power over the people - men and women alike - that it had enslaved. 

This hymn in verses six to eleven is a rejection of this kind of power. It celebrates Christ as one who is in the form of God and equal to God. And, if we look at verse 6, which reads that Christ did not “regard equality with God as something to be exploited” - the Greek word for exploited is much harsher than our English translation. It means rape and robbery. In other words, this divine power that Christ held did not include the right to dominate. Or to subdue people. And, in fact, this Christ hymn argues that Jesus took on the form of a slave - of one raped and robbed and exploited. And that he was executed on the cross as a criminal - enslaved by empire. 

Domination. Conquest. Exploitation. All of these are contrary to divine power. The death and resurrection of Jesus rejects our human displays of power and violence by taking on the form of those who were the recipients of such power and violence. To show us a different way than violence, fear and death. A way of humility. Of self-giving. Of being open to the cries of those who are enslaved.

Which brings me to this week. 

It began on Sunday. Even as we carried the previous week’s events of Buffalo and Laguna Woods and, here in Louisville, the incident with the Christian Academy...even as we carried these events into the week, on Sunday we learned of decades of the abuse, particularly of women, in the Southern Baptist Convention. Decades during which their abusers were preserved and protected. And the voices of these women silenced. And, in the silencing, abused over and over and over again. Perhaps there is a reason God appears to be dismantling the Church (capital C) as we know it.

Then, Tuesday came. And with it, another mass shooting, the 214th mass shooting of the year here in the US. There have been 2 more since then. This, as you well know, was another shooting in an elementary school: 19 children and 2 teachers, each of whom we named today as we began worship. 

Do we hear their cries? Do we hear the cries of the voiceless in our world? The people who are enslaved by human displays of power and violence at any cost? Do we hear their cries? When will we begin to listen? And to act? 

This hymn, perhaps written by Paul, is not a theological statement, but an ethical statement of how we, who have been saved by Christ, are called to act on behalf of those who have been enslaved by the human condition - the desire for power and domination at all costs. To hear their cries. To listen to their voices. To reject the simple binaries of good and bad, or who’s right or who’s wrong. To experience and take on the posture of Christ. And then, to act. To become in practice what we already are in Christ. 

To act is what Paul means at the end of today’s text, when he speaks of the need for us to work on our own salvation with fear and trembling, to continue the work already begun in us by God. And, then, "to will and to work for God’s good pleasure" in a posture of Christ.

Because, if we are all in truth created in the image of God then every child gunned down in Texas is my child. And your child. Every person of color killed is my sister or brother. And your sister or brother. And every grieving family is my family. And your family. Because we are all connected, one to the other, created by God, part of the human family that God created in God’s image. And God’s good pleasure is that we act on behalf of our family. Our human family.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he existed in the form of God,

    did not regard equality with God

    as something to be grasped,

but emptied himself,

    taking the form of a slave,

    assuming human likeness.

And being found in appearance as a human,

    he humbled himself

    and became obedient to the point of death—

    even death on a cross.

Therefore God exalted him even more highly

    and gave him the name

    that is above every other name,

so that at the name given to Jesus

    every knee should bend,

    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and every tongue should confess

    that Jesus Christ is Lord,

    to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Preached May 29, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian, Prospect.

Seventh Sunday of Easter

Readings: Philippians 2:1-13, Luke 6:43-45

 

Partners and Promise: Breaking Barriers

Last week, as we began our four week series in Ephesians, I mentioned to you the general consensus among theologians that this letter was not written by Paul. For some of you, this may be a little unsettling. Yet, we know that this was a way of doing things in the first century. We also know that this letter was used widely in the early church and was accepted as authoritative by church leaders when the canon - the collection of writings that make up our Christian Bible - was decided.

One of the reasons that it has been determined that this is not Paul’s letter is because the author of Ephesians goes a little further than Paul in a few areas. One of these relates to Christian baptism. Both authors write of baptism as a death and resurrection. That in our baptisms we die to an old way of being and are raised to a new person in Christ. Paul is careful to locate that resurrection with Christ into a future time - at the fullness of time. We heard this today in the Romans text: “we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”

The Ephesians author goes further than Paul - saying that Christians have already been raised with Christ. And, therefore, are already part of Christ's heavenly kingdom. Just a few verses before our reading today, the author to the Ephesians writes these famous verses: “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved - and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.” The writer continues: “so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God - not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” 

This idea, that through our baptisms we are already part of Christ’s heavenly kingdom then sets the stage for our reading today, which begins to unpack the mystery of God’s plan mentioned last week. The mystery of the new thing that God is doing.

We read today in Ephesians, chapter 2.

11Remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called “the uncircumcision” by those who are called “the circumcision”—a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands—12remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. 13But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. 14For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. 15He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, 16and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. 17So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; 18for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. 19So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, 20built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. 21In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; 22in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God. --Ephesians 2:11-22 (CEB)

Who is your enemy? That may be a startling way to begin. But, who is your enemy? This is really the question that is being asked here.

To understand this, we need to grasp the huge divide between Jews and Gentiles in the first century. The Gentiles to the Jews were anyone and everyone who were not Jewish. There was deep hostility between Jews and Gentiles - hostility that was bound up with the law, which created personal and social antagonism between them. The laws, for example, that made eating with or intermarrying with Gentiles often led Jews to have contempt for Gentiles, regarding them as less than human. In response, then, Gentiles would often regard Jews with suspicion, considering them inhospitable and hateful to non-Jews. They would engage in prejudicial acts against the Jews.  This mutual animosity was one of the uglier elements of the first century world.

We might think of the relationship between Lutherans and Roman Catholics. My family is half Lutheran and half Catholic. When I was young, my aunt, who was Lutheran, fell in love with and married my uncle, who was Roman Catholic. It was scandalous in my family. So scandalous that my grandmother did not speak to my aunt for decades. Perhaps something like this has happened in your family. Where the barriers - the divisions - that arise, that we create, deeply harm relationships. 

But, the Ephesians author argues here - but Christ has demolished this law, this barrier between Jews and Gentiles, between Lutherans and Roman Catholics. To take it further, between black and white, gay and straight, liberal and conservative, and on and on. By demolishing the law, Christ has made each person part of the heavenly kingdom. Taking two divisive elements and creating one new person that transcends the two. A new creation. This is the claim of Ephesians.

And going further, the Church is the place where the results of this peacemaking by Christ, this embodiment of peace by Christ, is to be seen. Verses 15 and 16 from today’s reading: He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it.” 

If Christ has done this for Jew and Gentile, then Christ has done this wherever there is division, whether that division is caused by tradition, by class, by color, by nation, by groups of nations or by whatever it is that divides us. And we, in the Church, in this temple where God dwells, are called to be the example of what it is to embody peace. To move into the places in relationships that are uncomfortable. To cross the barriers that exist. Through our relationship with Christ and our relationship with one another, we are being shaped into a sanctuary that is fully fit for God.

So, back to my opening question. Who is your enemy? What are the relationships in your life that are characterized by division. Whether that division comes as a result of color or class or even just personality? Christ calls us to move beyond the division, to work to repair these relationships in our lives and in our church.

This morning, I invite you to sit silently for a few minutes before we sing our hymn of the day. What are these relationships that need tending in your life? Make a note in your bulletin of one of them. Then, add one step you can make, one uncomfortable step you can make, that begins to bridge the divide in that relationship. And trust that Christ will be in the midst of it overcoming the barriers that exist. Amen.

Preached July 18, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, and Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Ephesians 2:11-22, Romans 6:1-11, Psalm 84

Journey to the Cross: A Different Kind of King

The journey of Jesus to the cross is nearing its end. It has been a long journey, from Galilee in the north, detouring through Samaria, to Jerusalem. Nine chapters of Luke’s narrative that culminate in chapter 19, with the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into this city that is the heart and soul of the Jewish people. His entry is timed with the festival of the Passover, a time when believers from across Judea would travel to the city, to the temple, to offer sacrifices and remember this important historical action by God to free God’s people from bondage.

It’s no wonder, then, that the large crowd of disciples that Jesus had gathered along the way were so excited. Because they knew the ancient promise of the Messiah. The ancestor of King David. Son of David, long promised by God, who would free them from this new bondage through Roman occupation. Who promised to restore Israel once again.

The symbolism of Jesus’ entry in Jerusalem, riding a donkey over a path strewn with cloaks and branches, was not lost on those who were witnesses to this event. This was exactly how Israel’s kings would enter the city. It was exactly how the prophet Zechariah had foretold the entry of God’s future ruler. “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

The people were certain this Jesus, this Nazarene, was he. The Christ. The Messiah. 
But, here’s the problem. We heard a hint of this problem near the end of the processional gospel we listened to earlier, when the Pharisees want the people once again to “Shush!” The problem is that the people do not understand the nature of this promised king, thinking that he will be a conqueror. One who will come with authority. One who will dominate. One who will overthrow Rome. Because that is what kings do, right? That is what great leaders do, right? That is what this Messiah will do, right?

There is a political implication to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. It’s why the Pharisees want Jesus to tell the crowd to be quiet. They understand that this is a politically charged situation. That Jesus’ disciples and, eventually, Jesus himself must be silenced. Because to do otherwise would mean rebellion. The Pharisees are trying to walk a fine political line between open rebellion and complete capitulation before Roman authorities. The response Jesus gives them is paradoxical. He does not want to claim the kingdom his disciples understand or desire. Yet, he accepts their acclamation, justified as it is, yet recognizing that in the coming week he will define for them his kingdom by his example.

Which brings us to the last portion of today’s text in chapter 19. A scene that is found only in the gospel of Luke. Beginning at verse 41.

As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.”

If you, even you, Jerusalem, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace. 

Jesus knows that, in spite of the welcome he has received, things will not go well for him in Jerusalem. Because, Jerusalem and its people. Because Jerusalem, its people, and all of the believers do not understand who Jesus is. What the peace is that he is ushering in. And what this peace will bring. 

Because, they desire a different kind of peace. One that does not last for eternity. It is a peace that comes out of rebellion and war. Domination and victory. It is no different than our present attempts at peace. We trust the peace of weapons and armaments - that comes from violence. We trust the peace of vigilance and self-protection, the peace of isolation from those we fear. We find it difficult to practice the peace of trusting one another. The peace of generosity and abundance. The peace of love. Jesus, who wept over Jerusalem that day still weeps over us. Our cities. Our nations.

But, the reign of this king, this Messiah-king, is a reign of freedom from our ways of violence and all else that keeps us in captivity. It is a universal reign of freedom. Release to the captives. Recovery of sight to the blind. Good news to the poor. Wholeness and abundance for all people.

This king’s crown is a crown of thorns. His throne, a splintered wooden cross. His exaltation, not coming in a horse-drawn chariot amidst the cheer of the crowd, but in being raised upon a cross amidst the jeers and ridicule of the masses. Through his death and resurrection, this king, who refuses to be an earthly king, makes his royal entry by way of a cross and an empty tomb. For this kind of king, even if all people - and we - were silent, the very stones themselves would cry out.

Thanks be to God for this kind of king. Amen.

Preached March 28, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Palm-Passion Sunday

Readings: Luke 19:29-44; Psalm 118:19-23

Out of the Whirlwind: Finding Life

Last week, you heard Pastor Ron preach on the creation story of Job.  For four chapters, God responds to Job with this story of creation and the way in which God has ordered creation. Out of the whirlwind, God has finally responded to Job. Not with an answer to his question about why he is suffering. But about how God is a creator God. Who loves and nourishes creation each and every day. In the first part of our lesson today, God’s speech continues. 

Last week you were introduced to one particularly dangerous and wild creature. In this portion of today’s reading, you will meet a second. Leviathan - that huge sea-being created by God.

God speaks out of the whirlwind. 

“Can you pull in the sea beast, Leviathan, with a hook and tie his tongue with a rope? 

Can you put a cord through his nose or snap his jaw with an anchor? 

Will he beg you over and over for mercy, or flatter you with flowery speech? 

Will he make a pact with you to run errands and serve you the rest of your life? 

Will you play with him like a bird, or put a leash on him for your children? 

Will you display him in the marketplace so that shoppers can haggle over his price? 

Can you shoot him full of arrows or drive a fishing spear into his head? 

Should you lay your hand on him, you would never remember the battle - won’t live to tell the story. 

Any hope of controlling him would be delusional. 

The sight of him makes one stumble. 

If you can’t hold your own against this fierce creature, how can you stand before me? 

Who can confront me and get away with it? 

I am in charge of this - everything under heaven is mine. I run this universe!” --Job 41:1-8

If Job hasn’t been brought to his knees by the earlier part of God’s response, he can only fall to them now. “Who are you?” God asks him. “Who are you that you think you are in control of this world? The universe? The cosmos? Who are you?”

There is an ancient myth that this Leviathan represents chaos. Perhaps that’s an appropriate thought for the times we are in. But I wonder if, here, Leviathan isn’t better characterized by the Leviathan written about by Thomas Hobbes, the 17th century British philosopher. Hobbes challenges us to consider that the Leviathan - this great monster of chaos - is actually within us all. That when we begin to believe that we are in control of this universe, we have succumbed to it and to the chaos it brings with it. Perhaps, this is God’s purpose with these words. Not to condemn Job for his self-centeredness and his focus on his own suffering. Because isn’t that what suffering brings us to do - to curl in upon ourselves? To focus only on ourselves and our own pain? Perhaps God’s purpose with Job (and with us) is to break open his vision. To reframe his perspective. To say to him, “You think you know about the world and about my justice, but you don’t! You don’t!”

God is re-orienting Job to a new vision, a non-human centered vision of the world. Teaching him humility. To give him a new vision, a new perspective. To invite him to look around. To breathe. And to live.

How will Job respond? We hear his answer in chapter 42.

“I’m convinced. I know you can do anything; no plan of yours can be opposed successfully. You asked, “Who is this muddying the water, confusing the issue, second-guessing my purposes?’ I admit it. It was me. I have spoken about things I didn’t understand, wonders beyond my own comprehension. You said, ‘Listen and I will speak; Let me ask the questions and you give the answers.” I admit, my ears had heard about you, rumors of you. But now, my own eyes have seen you. Firsthand. Therefore, I relent. And find comfort on dust and ashes - in my own humanity.” --Job 42:1-6

At the beginning of the book of Job, Satan argued with God that God had created the world in such a way that the righteous were kept from all harm - that God had placed a fence around them to protect them. This was the same worldview that Job and his friends also held - that the world was ordered in such a way that the righteous are rewarded and the wicked are punished. It’s the picture we had of Job at the beginning - a “blameless and upright man who feared God and turned away from evil.” A man who made sacrifices for his children preemptively - just in case. His was a very ordered world, where one’s righteousness produced prosperity.

But that world was shattered and collapsed around him in ashes. And, eventually, Job reached a second and different conclusion about the order of the cosmos, accusing God of fencing him in. Of creating a protective hedge so tightly that it feels as though he is being suffocated. 

These two conclusions - these two worldviews - are spoken by Satan and Job in the earlier chapters of the book. But, when God speaks, beginning in chapter 38 and continuing to this morning, both perspectives are called into question. The created order is not what any of them thought or imagined. The world is not a perfectly safe place for humanity. But, it is an ordered place and it is a place of profound beauty and freedom. And, within it, there is a place for humanity. Not for dominion, but for humility and wonder. God invites Job into this world and into God’s vision, to see the world in a new way. To reorient himself. To understand that he is not the center of the cosmos. To see the world from God’s point of view and to understand in a new way his place in that world. 

Our reading continues in chapter 42.

After God had finished speaking to Job, he turned to Eliphaz the Temanite and said, “I’m angry at you and your two friends because you haven’t spoken about me correctly as did my servant Job. So now, take seven bulls and seven rams, go to my servant Job, and prepare an entirely burned offering for yourselves. Job my servant will pray for you, and I will act favorably by not making fools of you because you didn’t speak correctly, as did my servant Job.”

Eliphaz from Teman, Bildad from Shuah, and Zophar from naamah did what the Lord told them; and the Lord accepted Job’s prayer.

After Job had interceded for his friends, God restored his fortune. And then doubled it! All his brothers and sisters and friends came to him and ate food with him in his house. They comforted and consoled him for all the trouble God had brought him. Each one of gave him a qesitah and a gold ring. Then the Lord blessed Job’s latter days more than his former ones. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, one thousand yoke of oxen, and one thousand female donkeys. He also had seven sons and three daughters. He named one Jemimah (or Dove); a second, Keziah (or Cinnamon); and the third Keren-Happuch (or Darkeyes). No women in all the land were as beautiful as Job’s daughters; and their father gave an inheritance to them along with their brothers. After this, Job lived 140 years and saw four generations of his children. Then Job died, old and satisfied. --Job 42:7-17

Job gets it. And responds by praying for his friends. And by having more children, including three beautiful daughters to whom he gives names that reflect their beauty. And, then, in an act unheard of in ancient Israel, Job gives them an inheritance along with their brothers. We see a transformed Job. Transformed by his own suffering and led by God to open his eyes to the beauty and grace of the world around him. To have hope in it and in God’s ordering of it. To breathe. To live. And to give his children the same freedom that God gives all creation - freedom to be fully who they have been created to be. 

At the beginning of our lectionary year, I wondered if Job was right for us this summer. Who could have known then what we know now? We are witness to the truth that the world is not perfectly safe for humanity. 

Yet, we, like Job, are called to a new vision of our world. To open our eyes to the beauty and grace of the world that God has created. To view it and all that God has made from a place of humility and wonder. And to have hope in it and in God’s ordering of it. And, then, like Job to breathe. And to live into our humanity and the freedom given to us by God, won for us by Christ’s act on the cross. So that we might fully be the whole and gracious and loving people God has created us to be. And that we might live in a world that, even though sometimes doesn’t feel safe, trust that God orders it and is in control.

May this be our lesson and learning in this time from the book of Job. Amen.

Preached July 12, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 6

Readings: Psalm 150; Job 41:1-8; 42:1-17