The Guarded House: The Power of the Unchained Word and the KISS Rule

Decades ago, before I ever stepped into a seminary library, I served as a court clerk. To be clear—I was a court clerk, not a law clerk. I wasn't the one writing the legal briefs, but I was the expert on courtroom procedure, keeping the whole operation running smoothly, and working side-by-side with the judge every single day.

The judge I worked for lived by a very blunt rule: "Keep It Simple, Stupid"—the KISS rule. He wasn't being mean; he was being merciful. From my seat right next to the bench, I saw how he operated. He knew that whenever lawyers started hiding behind complex legal jargon and endless "word-smithing," they were usually trying to cover up a weak case. Complexity was almost always a mask for a lack of truth.

If you've ever been in a long-term relationship or a marriage, you already know how this works. Think about what happens when you and your partner come home exhausted, anxious, or completely overwhelmed. We don't usually sit down and say, "I am feeling vulnerable, tired, and afraid." Instead, we nitpick. We pick a fight over who left a cup on the counter, how the dishwasher was loaded, or why someone forgot to buy milk. We aren't actually furious about the dishwasher; we’re just running on empty, and it’s easier to argue about something small than to face the deeper stress we’re carrying.

We do the exact same thing in our faith. Talking about God can feel intimidating. So many of us are afraid of saying the wrong thing or getting the theology wrong, so we try to sound smart, or we hide behind churchy jargon. We use big words like sanctification—be honest, if I stopped right now and asked, would most of us even be able to define what sanctification actually means?—or we use internal shorthand like fellowship and stewardship. But really, it’s just a shield to protect ourselves. We get so caught up in worrying about saying the right words that we lose sight of what actually matters.

And why do we do this? Because many of us are exhausted. We’re carrying the heavy weight of a long, hard season, dealing with loss, empty seats, and open positions in our community. Beyond our own walls, we're constantly bombarded by the instability, conflict, and division in the world around us—and that daily weight takes a heavy, quiet toll on our spirit. When we are bone-tired, we pick small fights. We argue over the color of a carpet, the font in the bulletin, or a minor policy detail. We aren't really mad about the font; we're just tired and grieving, using small arguments to hide it. It feels safer to manage a simple administrative task than it does to stand honestly before the living God.

Today, we are invited to step out of that noisy clutter and hear the clear, simple truth of the Gospel.

Let’s anchor ourselves in scripture, from Paul’s second letter to Timothy:

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David—that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.

Remind them of this, and warn them before God that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening. Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved by him, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly explaining the word of truth. –2 Timothy 2:8-15 (NRSVUE)

Paul gives us a powerful contrast: the messenger may be in chains, but the Word of God cannot be chained. 

My old judge’s KISS rule was really just a secular version of Paul’s advice to Timothy. To "rightly explain the word of truth" doesn't mean making faith more complicated. It means stripping away the clutter that confuses people. Keeping it simple isn't about being stupid; it’s about getting out of the way so the truth can do its work.

We are always tempted to put God in a neat administrative box we can manage and control. But God’s Word refuses to stay boxed in. The prophet Jeremiah tried to stay quiet and keep God’s message to himself because it was too hard, but he said it felt like a fire burning in his bones that he couldn't hold in.

Paul writes from a prison cell with that same burning fire. He is in chains, but the message is free. The Gospel isn't a collection of clever theories; it is God actively changing and renewing the world. When we are too tired to hold everything together, God’s unchained Word steps in. It breaks open our neat little boxes and makes things new. It gives us a simple, confident promise: Even when we are faithless, God remains faithful.

We see the ultimate "KISS" rule in action today at the baptismal font. Baptism isn't a complex ritual; it’s the simplest thing in the world. A little water, a few clear words, and a profound promise. We might perform the outward act and pour the water, but it is God who welcomes people in through grace, and it is the Holy Spirit who does the real work—cleansing, renewing, and claiming us as God's own.

In this water, God shows us that divine love doesn't depend on our energy levels, our perfect words, or our ability to control everything. This simple gift gives us what we need to move forward. It tells us that we don't have to pretend to have it all together. We just have to let the Holy Spirit do what we cannot do for ourselves.

So as we leave today, I invite you to drop the defenses. The Psalmist tells us that seeking God’s simple truth is the key to real freedom. We are called to be workers approved by God—not people who never get tired, but people who aren't ashamed to admit when they are weary and need help.

Everything changes the moment we stop relying on our own limited strength. In this place, there is grace enough for us to drop the act, set down the small arguments, and be honest about our weary hearts.

You are held by a God who does not tire, washed by a Spirit that continuously renews, and saved by a Word that can never be chained. So leave the clutter behind. Step out into this week knowing that you are loved, you are forgiven, and you can simply let God be God.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 2, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Birth of the Church: Building God's Beloved Community

We began this preaching series at the end - following the crucifixion, we have walked through the days of the early church, from Jesus’ appearances to his disciples to early days of conflict. Today, we remember that all are welcome in this place, and we are all part of the big picture - God’s picture of gathering all people into beloved community. We read today from the third chapter of Paul’s letter to the Galatians. 

You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you? It was before your eyes that Jesus Christ was publicly exhibited as crucified! The only thing I want to learn from you is this: Did you receive the Spirit by doing the works of the law or by believing what you heard? Are you so foolish? Having started with the Spirit, are you now ending with the flesh? Did you experience so much for nothing?—if it really was for nothing. Well then, does God supply you with the Spirit and work miracles among you by your doing the works of the law, or by your believing what you heard?

Just as Abraham “believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,” so, you see, those who believe are the descendants of Abraham. And the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, declared the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, “All the Gentiles shall be blessed in you.” For this reason, those who believe are blessed with Abraham who believed.

Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise. --Galatians 3:1-9, 23-29 (NRSV)

When I first moved to southern California in 1978, I was a redneck. And I say that in the most honest and true ways. I’d grown up on a ranch. And, although I went to a boarding school for high school, I’d never really experienced life outside that context: northern European, white, rural. 

You can imagine what a culture shock Los Angeles was for me. This sense of cultural difference continued through most of the time I lived there. Even after 20 years, my life was still one of growth and transformation, set in the context of a huge, continuously changing, diverse community.

It was then that I began working at the regional body of a public sector labor union. Say or think what you may about a labor union, our primary goal was to help people understand and build power for themselves. We sometimes think that power, and amassing power, is a bad thing. But power can be used constructively. To drive social change, to improve lives, to bring about greater equity and fairness. 

The people I worked with were so diverse. In fact, I, as a white person, was in the minority. I’d never worked in a place quite like this. I’d never been in such close contact on a daily basis with people of color. African-American, Latinx, Asian, Jewish. We were a diverse group. It was here that I first tasted soul food. Or bagels with lox. Or pancit. It was an amazing multi-cultural experience. 

And, yet, there were times when it wasn’t amazing. When we clashed over cultural differences. Or over the ways in which we understood or had experienced life and the work we were doing. Sometimes this led to deep disagreement.

It’s this - this disagreement that can come from our differences - that Paul is talking about in our text today. Last week, we heard the underlying reasons for the conflict between the Jewish and Gentile believers in the churches in Galatia - what we know as present day Turkey. Paul understands that the Galatians churches have become so focused on the argument around practices of the Torah and, particularly, the practice of circumcision. He understands that the churches have become so focused on this argument that they’ve become completely distracted in their faith. That they’ve become so focused on the circumcision agenda, that they’ve forgotten what had been happening in their midst - the amazing transformation work of the Spirit. 

Paul isn’t throwing out the law. His letter is a reaction to those who are saying that the law is paramount. It’s an argument that just the law, for the sake of the law, is not faithful to God. So, Paul reaches back to Abraham and makes the point that God counted Abraham righteous, not because of the law, but because of his faith. Faith came first for Abraham, then the law. And the purpose of the law was not to bind them, but to transform them as a people, to set them apart. So that, from Abraham and his descendants - this people set apart - would come One who would fulfill the law in its entirety. And, in the process, blow the doors of God’s beloved community wide open. 

Or as one theologian puts it: The redefinition of the people of God is now complete. Before the coming of Christ that people’s pride was the law; it was the gift of God which set her apart as a special people, unlike other nations and religions. By attention to the law she sought to maintain her privileged position as the chosen of God. Then the Messiah came, and the question of who really belongs to God’s people was transformed. Christ fulfilled a promise to Abraham which had to do with the expansion of his family as a component in their heritage. The people of God no longer are determined by the law but by Christ, belonging to him, being joined to him in baptism. But to redefine God’s people in this way is to imply revolutionary consequences for the nature of the new fellowship. (Charles Cousar)

So, when Paul gets to that infamous passage - there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, Paul isn’t advocating for some massive social revolution. Instead, he is calling for the Galatian churches, separated by their differences, to remember what connects them. What unites them. And what transforms them into beloved community. It is their unity made possible only through Christ.

The distinctions don’t evaporate. They are simply left powerless. Because the distinctions are cultural constructions, not the will of God. In God through Christ, there is only oneness. And, as the people - the body - of Christ, the Galatians, and we, are called to continue this trajectory. Not of “saving souls,” but of building and expanding beloved community here. And out there.

---

It was unity of purpose that eventually led my co-workers and I to work through our differences. Not in a way that insisted we all be the same or do the work in the same way. But, in a unified way, even in the midst of our diversity of backgrounds, experience, ethnicity or even food.

May this be our desire for the church, which is God’s desire for the church. That, regardless of our differences, our bond to one another is in Christ. And may the Spirit continue to transform us, so that we might continue the work of expanding God’s beloved community in our time and place. Amen.

 

Birth of the Church: Being Radical

Last week, we heard about a conflict in the church in Antioch - a division between Jewish and Gentile Christians - that was resolved through listening and compromise at the first ecumenical council in Jerusalem.

As we near the end of the Narrative Lectionary year, we will be spending this last three weeks in Galatians - Paul’s letter to the churches in Galatia, including the church in Antioch. This letter provides us with a view of Paul’s perspective of the disagreement we first heard about last week. This letter is also central to our Christian faith and our understanding of the doctrine of justification. It is also a letter that is often called the Magna Carta on Christian freedom. 

So, this morning, we read in Galatians, chapters 1 and 2.

You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus.

But when Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood self-condemned; for until certain people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But after they came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction. And the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy, so that even Barnabas was led astray by their hypocrisy. But when I saw that they were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?”

We ourselves are Jews by birth and not Gentile sinners; yet we know that a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ. And we have come to believe in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ, and not by doing the works of the law, because no one will be justified by the works of the law. But if, in our effort to be justified in Christ, we ourselves have been found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? Certainly not! But if I build up again the very things that I once tore down, then I demonstrate that I am a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing. --Galatians 1:13-17; 2:11-21 (NRSV)

Have you ever struggled with playing it safe instead of being radical? 

A few years ago in my former church in Pasadena, we experienced this. For several years, we had professed and believed that we were a hospitable congregation, welcoming all people. And, for the most part, we were.

Yet, we had a problem with the homeless population in our neighborhood. They liked to camp out overnight on the church property. Usually, though, if we gave them a little cash or let them use the phone or internet, or allowed them to stay overnight, well, eventually, they would move on. 

But, then, Monica and Vern arrived. (I’ve changed their names.) They lived in a beat up, broken-down van - a van they parked at the edge of our parking lot. Figuring they would move on as so many others had, we were polite. And helpful. And hopeful that they would eventually leave.

But, they didn’t leave. In fact, they started to push themselves into our congregation. When we opened up on Sunday morning, Vern was right there to help set up tables for morning fellowship. Both of them began coming to Sunday morning Bible study. Monica asked if she could sing in the choir. And on and on. They just continued to push their way in the
congregation.

Now mind you, most congregations would be thrilled with newcomers like this. How often do we proclaim our openness to visitors and our desire for them to become a part of us? How thrilled we would be if newcomers wanted to immediately become so involved!

To be truthful, we weren’t really all that thrilled. We weren’t thrilled because Monica and Vern were so different from us. For one thing, they were homeless. For another, well, they didn’t have regular access to showers. And so, sometimes, they smelled a little. Sometimes, they smelled a lot. They didn’t always say or do the “right” things. They didn’t fit into our norm. Into our small-minded, closed-hearted norm of what our church should look like.

And so, we struggled with being radical people. With being followers of a radical Gospel that teaches us that each one of us is enough and is good enough. That God has done it all for us and for every person. That there is nothing - nothing - we need do to be made righteous. That all of us, whether Jew or Gentile, whether white or black, whether gay or straight, whether binary or non-binary, all of us are made righteous before God through Christ Jesus. That is radical.

But, that’s not all. For too long we have used language that has rejected the validity of the covenant of God with the Jewish people. Parts of this letter, written by Paul, were used in the mid-20th century as a basis to extinguish the lives of millions of people. Even Luther, in his writings, used this part of Galatians to malign the Jews.  Because in large part, we have misconstrued what Paul is saying here. 

After decades of scholarship, it is now generally recognized that first-century Jews didn’t actually think that their “right status” with God came from keeping the Torah. Instead, like us, they believed they were saved solely by God’s grace. But, they also believed that their saved status was demonstrated by their obedience to the Torah, practices that marked them as God’s people, that set them apart. 

So, when Paul writes in chapter 2 that a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith, this is not a diatribe against Judaism and the keeping of the Torah. Paul was a Jew, who kept the Torah religiously. Instead, if we look in the first chapter of Galatians, verse 16, we have a clue. Here Paul notes that Jesus was revealed to be God’s Son so that he might “proclaim him among the Gentiles.” Woven into the letter to the Galatians is a key idea - that the ancient promise of God - the covenant with Abraham to bless all the families of the world through his people - is now being fulfilled by the Messiah, Jesus. Christianity is not superior to Judaism. Rather, as one theologian puts it, “Christianity exists as the gracious fulfillment of the already gracious Judaism. It is the climax of the covenant, fulfilled in Jesus, through whom, as John writes, we have received grace upon grace upon grace. The holy Scripture tells this story - of how God’s past, present and future grace goes forth from Israel to the world through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.

So, when Paul opposes Peter to his face, it’s not because Peter was a legalist, attempting to earn his way into heaven. Instead, Paul is saying Peter was acting hypocritically by leading others in a way that was out of step, even contrary, to the multi-ethnic, cross-cultural, radical nature of the gospel. By refusing to eat with Gentile Christians when a faction of Jewish Christians arrived in Antioch, Peter was essentially saying that there were two classes of Christians, divided by ethnic lines. And that to be a “real” Christian, one must live according to the markers of the Torah. But, Paul was having none of that. Because Paul’s idea of justification by faith in this letter is not an individual act of inclusion, but a communal act of inclusion - bringing the non-Jews into the sect of Jesus believers. It answers the question of who’s in and who’s not. For Paul, because of the radical faithfulness of Christ, nobody is out. Everybody is in. 

Monica and Vern eventually became a beloved part of our Pasadena church. Members. We learned to live into being the radical people of love that the Gospel called us to be. And, when they decided to move on, nearly two years later, we were heartbroken to see them go. 

This is what it means to be radical people of a radical Gospel, whether we are from Galatia or Pasadena, from Goshen or Louisville. To be people reaching out by grace to grab for dear life onto the perfect divine life of Jesus Christ, given for us. To be a new creation, given a new status. Included. Transformed by grace. To love. Deeply. According to the will of our God and Father. 

To God be the glory forever and ever. Amen.

Preached May 9, 2021, online with Grace & Glory Lutheran/Goshen, KY, and Third Lutheran/Louisville, KY.

Easter 6

Readings: Galatians 1:13-17, 2:11-21; Luke 18:9-14

God's Kingdom Announced: The Reign of God

When he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’? But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the paralytic— “I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.” And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”

Jesus went out again beside the sea; the whole crowd gathered around him, and he taught them. As he was walking along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.

And as he sat at dinner in Levi’s house, many tax collectors and sinners were also sitting with Jesus and his disciples—for there were many who followed him. When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, they said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” When Jesus heard this, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

Now John’s disciples and the Pharisees were fasting; and people came and said to him, “Why do John’s disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” Jesus said to them, “The wedding guests cannot fast while the bridegroom is with them, can they? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast on that day.

“No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old cloak; otherwise, the patch pulls away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but one puts new wine into fresh wineskins.”

--Mark 2:1-22 (NRSV)

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

I have a question for all of you. How many of you, when you read a book, before you start, go to the last chapter of the book and read the ending? Come on now, be honest. Let’s see a show of hands.

My sister was like you. It used to make me so crazy! I mean, really, how can you read the ending and then go back and read the book from the beginning. You know how it comes out, then. You miss the suspense, the entire denouement of the book. You know how the major plot line and the minor plot lines will end. What fun is there in this!

I harassed her over and over about this. And, yet, she continued to do it.

It wasn’t until I was in seminary that I had a serious change of heart. So, in seminary, the average pages assigned for reading per class - at least where I attended seminary - was 5,000. Five thousand pages of theological reading. Sometimes, we would have a professor who would cut us a little break. But, usually, by the end of each quarter, I would have read nearly 15,000 pages of theology.

It wasn’t until my last year of seminary that I learned about the Pareto Principle of reading. This method comes from what is called the Pareto Analysis, which comes out of the field of statistics, that tells us that by doing 20% of the work you can achieve 80% of the benefit of doing an entire job. You like this idea, don’t you? I did, too!

So, this transfers to reading with the assumption that only 20% of a book is actually worth reading. And what the Pareto method of reading tells you to do is to skim the book to find out the author’s method to figure out where they put their thesis sentences, whether at the beginning or at the end of a paragraph. Because this is, generally, the model they will use for the entire book. So the practice is to skim the book, but focus on either the beginning or ending of the chapters and of the entire book, depending upon the author’s method. 

Learning this method of reading literally cut my reading time by 75% in my last year of seminary. If only I’d known this at the beginning of seminary, rather than the end… :/

So, what’s the whole point of this conversation? Today, in our reading from Mark, we move into
learning about Jesus and Jesus’ ministry, and what the reign of God - the kingdom of God - looks like...because, after all our entire theme for this year has been “Living Out the Kingdom of God.” So, it’s necessary for us to know what this kingdom looks like so that we can actually live it out. In today’s reading, we have three scenes or stories, three pericopes, that seem to have no real relationship to each other. We, first have the story of the healing of the man who is paralyzed and the response of the scribes to Jesus’ healing on the Sabbath. The second scene takes us to dinner. At Levi’s house. Levi, who is a tax collector. Who is extremely wealthy. Who is hated by the Jewish people. Viewed as an outcast. As a sinner. And then we have the third scene - again with the scribes of the Pharisees, the theologians - who challenge Jesus’ eating with “sinners” and that he isn’t fasting like they and John the Baptist’s disciples are. And to whom Jesus responds with three little, micro parables, that don’t seem to really make much sense. Three little parables about a wedding banquet. About a piece of clothing. And about wineskins.

But, my friends, it’s at the end of this story, where we find our beginning. Just as in seminary!

In the first micro parable, Jesus invites the scribes into a thought experiment about fasting at a wedding. Now, We have to remember that Jesus’ listeners didn’t know the end of the story, as we do. They don’t see how this could be interpreted as a foreshadowing of Jesus’ later arrest. Our mini-parable opens on a wedding banquet. And the celebrating and feasting that is happening. Jesus asks the scribes this question: can the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is present? The answer has to be “no.” Why would you fast when the bridegroom - central to the feast - is present. But, then, suddenly the bridegroom is abducted. It is then that the fasting begins. 

The second small parable is about a coat. We don’t really patch clothing much anymore, so it might be a little hard to understand this parable. But, when you’re patching an old garment, you never want to use a patch made of material that hasn’t been pre-shrunk. Because the first time you wash it, it will shrink. And it will pull the rest of the material towards it, making it pucker and not lay flat. Making the patch especially noticeable.

The third parable is similar. But, this time it’s about wineskins. I don’t have much experience with wineskins. But, it makes sense to me that, if you were making wine, you would not want to put your new wine into an old wineskin. Because, the old wineskin has already been used and stretched to its capacity thanks to the fermentation process. If you put new wine into an old wineskin, as the new wine begins to ferment it will stretch the old wineskin, which has already been stretched. And the result will be that the old wineskin will burst.

What these micro-parables teach us is that what is at stake in the dispute between Jesus and scribes is clearly the relationship between old and new. About the past and the future. About time-honored ways and uncharted territory.

But, do you notice that, particularly, the parables about the coat and the wineskin do not make value judgments. That old is better than new. Or vice versa. These mini-lessons do not suggest that old things are bad and new things are good, or that old things are good and new things are bad. No, in fact, if you look closely, the old coat is to be repaired so it can be used. The old wineskin is to be preserved. Even, in the parable about the wedding and fasting, the practice of fasting is not rejected out of hand, but is reserved for a later time and purpose.

These are not texts that tell us to abandon traditions or older expressions of faith out - that those things of faith that we inherit are not necessarily bad things. Likewise, those things that are new are also not to be rejected out of hand. New thinking, new theology comes out of the old. Both are to be looked at. As one Lutheran theologian says, they are to be tested against scripture and against Jesus’ teaching. Those that do not fit are to be discarded, new and old.

All of this takes us back to the opening scene and the forgiveness and healing by Jesus of the man who is paralyzed. Did you hear the first thing that Jesus did for the man who had so cleverly been brought before Jesus for healing? Did you hear that the first thing Jesus did was to forgive this man?

Over many years in the church, we have, perhaps erroneously, distilled the gospel down to one little nugget. That God loves you. But, this story pushes us to take it further. To both hold onto the old, but embrace the new. Yes, God loves you.  But, God forgives you. Because it is forgiveness that brings transformation. Forgiveness that brings healing and wholeness. Forgiveness that brings life and that, then, allows us to bask in that amazing love that God has for all of us, both as individuals and as a community. 

If you doubt the power of forgiveness or, using this week’s Pub Theology topic, if you are skeptical of the transformational power of forgiveness, I invite you to watch this video clip, a film clip of Brandt Jean, brother of Botham Jean, who was so tragically killed by Dallas police officer Amber Guyger in 2018. This is from her sentencing hearing last October. 

There is nothing you can do or that you have done that will separate you from the love of God in Christ. God loves you. God forgives you. Amen.

Preached January 29, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Epiphany 2
Readings: Mark 2:1-22; Isaiah 42:6-9, Psalm 103:6-14

Tuning In: Tuning Into Each Other

Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

You shall not murder.

You shall not commit adultery.

You shall not steal.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.  Exodus 20:12-16 (NRSV)

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to set us free. Amen.

What. Does. Freedom. Look. Like? 

Over these past few weeks, we’ve been working our way through the Ten Commandments. Or, as I like better, God’s Ten Words. Given to Israel on Mount Sinai. Given to Israel after they had been freed by God from slavery in Egypt. 

It’s probably not too difficult for us to imagine what this freedom might have looked like them. Their enslavement had happened gradually. Over hundreds of years. When everything they made with their hands eventually was no longer theirs, but taken by the Egyptians. Where, over time, they lost hope. And they began to feel as though there was no longer a future for them. That everything they owned or that they made had been taken away. Even, after time, their dignity and self-respect.

And, then, unexpectedly, they were freed. We can only imagine what that must have felt like. When Miriam danced with joy and excitement on the shore of the Red Sea, we can begin to get a glance at what freedom looked like for Israel.

What does freedom look like for us today?  We, who claim to live in the freest country in the world. What does freedom look like for us? Any ideas? Call them out. 

Now, here’s another question for you. What is freedom for? That may be a more difficult question. Any ideas?

What would you say to me if I suggested that the commandments are what freedom looks like? Would you think I was a little confused perhaps? After all, how can freedom look like commandments? How can freedom look like rules and boundaries? And, in particular, for us Lutherans who believe that it is only through God’s grace that we are freed--by the Gospel and not by the Law. How is it that the Ten Commandments are what freedom looks like?

Perhaps the best answer to this question is in Paul’s letter to the Galatians. It is there that we read over and over and over again that we are freed not by the works of the law, but through faith in Jesus Christ. Over and over again. We are freed by faith, Paul writes. For freedom Christ has set us free! 

Paul writes that we can’t rely on the law for our freedom, but solely on Christ. It is through Christ’s action that we receive freedom. Just as Israel received freedom through God’s actions.

So, then, how does freedom look like the commandments? Like the Law?

Paul continues on. Since you have been freed by Christ, now use that freedom. Use it to submit to your neighbor in love. Because freedom isn’t true freedom without boundaries. Freedom isn’t when our children fear gun violence in school, but when we take steps to ensure that they are safe. Freedom isn’t when newly-arrived asylum-seekers have their children torn away from them, but when we seek to ensure that families are preserved and children protected. Freedom isn’t when one feels so alone and hopeless that suicide is the only option, but when they are sought out and loved. Freedom is not the endless satisfaction of every sexual impulse, but the commitment of two people to each other. Freedom isn’t when the powerful take whatever they want, but when we respect the property of others and do our best to help them maintain and keep it. Freedom isn’t when the strong dominate the weak, but when the bodies and lives of all people are respected. 

The purpose of the law is not your best life now, but your neighbor’s best life now. And, since we’re stuck here waiting the fullness of all of God’s kingdom to be re-knit into a new creation, God says to us, “As long as you’re here in this condition, love your neighbor.” And, then God says, “Let me be explicit. Make sure everyone gets a day off each week. Take care of your parents and of the elderly. Don’t kill. Don’t steal. Don’t have sex with someone else’s spouse. Don’t hurt your neighbor or damage their reputation with your words. Don’t desire your neighbor’s stuff. That’s how you love your neighbor.” 

The point of the law is not to make our sinful souls into self-help projects, but to turn one neighbor towards the other. It’s not about self-improvement, but about neighbor-improvement. Note that in our first reading, which we have heard every Sunday for the past three Sundays. Note that in it Jesus says, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” which is the second greatest commandment after loving God. The law is like a fence around everything our neighbor values (and we value): property, relationship, reputation, and life.

What are the things that you value? What are the values that you think are basic to living together in community? Perhaps it’s valuing diversity. Perhaps it’s respecting the voices of everyone, regardless of wealth or power. As we move through the rest of our worship, I invite you to find that Post-It note in your bulletin and to write down those things that are important for us to live in community--not just here in this place, but also in our world. Then, as you leave today, there is a map of Oldham County on the wall in the fellowship hall. I invite you to post them there. On the place where we are in community together. 

Because, dear friends, the law isn’t about us. It’s about our neighbor. That is the good news of the second table of the commandments. That God loves our neighbor so much that God gives us the law. And, that God gives our neighbor the exact same law. 


We have been set free in Christ to love God and to love and serve our neighbor. May we do so today, tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives. Amen.

Living in Hope: Sharing the Hope of Jesus

While Paul was waiting for them in Athens, he was deeply distressed to see that the city was full of idols. So he argued in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and also in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. Also some Epicurean and Stoic philosophers debated with him. Some said, “What does this babbler want to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a proclaimer of foreign divinities.” (This was because he was telling the good news about Jesus and the resurrection.) So they took him and brought him to the Areopagus and asked him, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? It sounds rather strange to us, so we would like to know what it means.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners living there would spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new.

Then Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor he made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for him and find him—though indeed he is not far from each one of us. For ‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said,

‘For we too are his offspring.’

Since we are God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the deity is like gold, or silver, or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of mortals. While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.”

When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, “We will hear you again about this.” At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them. Acts 17:16-34 (NRSV)

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

The Apostle Paul never expected to end up in Athens. Yes, it’s that same Athens--the ancient city in Greece that we still know today.  A center of trade and learning. People came from across Greece and throughout the Mediterranean area to this cosmopolitan city, a place that laid the cultural foundations for all of western civilization.

Paul never intended to end up here. He did not travel to Athens in search of converts to "The Way." After he and Silas left Philippi, which was the setting for our story last week, they continued west to Thessalonica. There, in Thessalonica, Paul and Silas were so successful, sharing the Good News in the synagogue, that several were convinced, including a few Jews, a larger number of Greeks, and several prominent women. 

But other members of the synagogue weren’t as convinced. In fact, they were jealous and, eventually, formed a mob and started a riot. Paul and Silas were sent on to Berea to avoid trouble. 

There, too, they began in the Jewish synagogue. This time, the Beroean Jews were more “honorable” than those in Thessalonica. Many of them eagerly came to faith, including--the text notes--a number of reputable Greek women and many Greek men. Yet, it wasn’t long before the Jews from Thessalonica found out that Paul and Silas were in Beroea. They followed them there, once again, upsetting and disturbing the crowd.  This time, the brothers and sisters sent Paul away, while Silas and a new disciple, named Timothy, remained behind. Paul’s escorts took him to Athens and then returned to Beroea with instructions from Paul that Silas and Timothy were to meet him in Athens as quickly as possible.

It’s here where our story picks up today. Paul has just arrived in Athens.

As he waited for Silas and Timothy, Paul began to explore the city, to get to know its culture and its people. Ancient historians describe Athens as a very religious place. And Athenians as very intellectually curious. Luke writes in Acts that the people of Athens “spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new.” They were always looking for the next, new thing or the next, new philosophy. After all, this was the home of Demosthenes and Socrates. Of Plato and Aristotle. Of Sophocles and Euripides. Of these masters of thought. The people of Athens were a people obsessed with ideas, especially those that are new and startling. 

So, Paul begins his exploration. And as he is walking around he notices the vast number of statues. One ancient historian writes that Athens had over 30,000 public statues, plus countless private ones. In our world today, statues honor people. But, in Athens, statues honored gods. Many different gods. One writer wrote that it was easier to find a god than a man in Athens.

Paul notices this. And, eventually, it becomes too much for him to handle. He can no longer wait in obscurity, but loses it--deeply distressed by all of these religious shrines and statues scattered throughout the city. Having lost his restraint, he begins to have discussions with Jews and other worshippers in the synagogues, as well as with Gentiles he can corner in the marketplace.

Eventually a group of them get excited. And while some of this group dismiss Paul as a “babbler”--as someone who picks up bits of ideas with no ability to pull them together, others, who are always eager to talk about new things, recognize that he is saying something about some gods from some distant land. About someone called “Jesus.” And, maybe, about another god called “Resurrection.”

So, they rush him to a place called the Areopagus, or Mars Hill. Now, in earlier times, Mars Hill was the place where court cases were heard. By Paul’s time, this was the place where the city’s governing authorities were located. So, when these Athenians rush Paul to Mars Hill, it is because they want their political leadership to hear what he is saying. They want their most powerful and intellectual people to hear what Paul has to say. It as though Paul were taken to face the equivalent today of the faculty of Harvard University.

They politely ask him to explain his “strange” new message. 


This is the thing about the Gospel. No matter how intellectual. Or no matter how noble or inaccessible a population seems to be, the Gospel will always find an audience. And, even more, it will speak in the language of that audience. It will find common ground with some of the basic assumptions of that audience. And, it may even reveal their shortsightedness in the process.

The God of Jesus Christ has as much to do with Athens as with Jerusalem. The Word of God belongs in this place, as it belongs in every place. And, by the end of Acts, the Good News will be proclaimed in Rome--the center of the empire.

So, Paul begins to speak to the Athenians. He catches their attention immediately when he speaks about an altar he has seen on his exploration of the city. An altar dedicated to “an unknown god.” He then declares to them “an unknown God” that he wants to introduce them to. And to help them understand that the religious symbols, or the rituals, or the objects we devise can never capture or fully represent God. Perhaps the people of Athens already know this. Perhaps their altar to an unknown god shows they understand the limits of human comprehension. 

I wonder if we’re not a little like the people of Athens. We, too, try to capture God and to define who God is in our own religious symbols, or in the rituals we practice, or in the words we say. Do we, like them, understand the limits of human understanding? We, who live 2,000 years later after the expansion of western civilization and thought. Post-Enlightenment people, who have watched or even participated in scientific discovery; who have been witness to a new, wondrous digital age, or to space exploration, or to medical breakthroughs. Do we, like the Athenians, understand the limits of human understanding, especially as it relates to our search for God? How do we find God, if it is not in the holy things we construct--our religious symbols, our rituals, our words?

I wonder if we’re not a lot like the people of Athens.

It is here that Paul begins. He points to human existence and to the natural order of creation. It is in these places that God beckons them (and us) to search for God. It is in these places where God may be found. 

You see, we, like the Athenians, are nearer to God than we might realize. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that God is nearer to us, dwelling among us. Reaching out to us. If only we might notice.

In 2016, as I was in the last half of my internship in Southeast Minnesota, one day a man walked into my office. I knew this man, this member, or at least I knew who he was. I’d had one of his children in confirmation. He had a reputation in the congregation as someone who was a pretty hard father, one who never showed any emotion other than anger, one who could be difficult to deal with.


When he walked into my office, it was the first time I had actually met him. He stood in the doorway and talked. Over and over he talked. Well, he ranted really. About how horrible the government was. About how horrible people were. About how everyone was out to get him. About how he had been laid off from his job. And about how he had been unable to find work in over a year. 

For an hour he ranted. It was hard to even get a word in edgewise.

And then he left. Over the course of the next couple of months, he did this two more times. Standing in the door to my office. Ranting and raving. Over and over again. He was so angry. 

One morning, he came into my office and sat down. He put his head down on my desk and he began to cry. All those months of feeling unworthy. All those months of being unable to support his family. All those months of feeling as though God had abandoned him. All those months of anger at God. All of it came pouring out that morning in his tears and his sobs. It was then and there, in the midst of his very human existence, that he experienced the nearness of God.  

You see, my friends, we are often the biggest roadblocks to finding God. In our anger or our disappointment. In our sadness or our grief, we are unable to see how close God is to us. It is only when we repent. When, with the nudge of the Holy Spirit, we turn back to God. We begin to truly see and experience God. We begin to see the life given to us in Jesus’ death and resurrection. We experience the nearness of God--the presence of Jesus--incarnate in Word and sacrament. We experience communion with the Divine.

This was Paul’s message to the Athenians. It is our message--our Easter message--as well. It is about a promise that God makes to us in Jesus. That God is not an unknown God, but a God who comes to us. A God who promises to be near us. Who promises to change us. And, especially, who promises us a future.

This is the God we know and find. Right here. In the midst of our messy human existence and throughout all of creation.

Amen.

Readings: John 1:16-18, Acts 17:16-31.
Easter 5
Preached April 29, 2018 at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.: 

Questions

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” John 1:35-51 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh. Amen.

Happy new year to all of you!

I hope you had a restful time during the holidays, perhaps with family, perhaps busy doing a bunch of fun things, or perhaps, especially, with the cold weather we’ve been having, just staying at home where it’s warm, where you can bundle up on the sofa in your pajamas with a hot cup of coffee or tea and read a book. Or call up friends. Or watch a few football (or soccer) games.

How many of you binge-watch TV? Come on now, let’s be honest. I’ll admit it. I do.

It started back when my son was in high school and college. This was before the time we had Netflix or Hulu or access through our Smart TV’s to endless seasons of the vast variety of shows we now can watch. It was the time when you waited each year for full set of DVD’s to come out of the last season of your favorite show--whatever that was! The first time we sat and binge-watched like that was with several seasons of “West Wing.” Do you remember that show? My son and I loved it! For nearly 6 days we watched episode after episode after episode. We’d take little breaks to get up, go outside and walk--to get a little exercise. And to eat. Then, we go back at it. We watched hours and hours of television in the days between Christmas and New Year’s. It probably doesn’t seem like fun, but it was. It was a time for us to be together, doing something we could enjoy together.

Now I still like to binge-watch, although not quite at that extreme level. Over the past couple of weeks, in the evenings, I’ve been watching a show on Netflix called, “The Ranch.” Have any of you seen it? The show takes place on the fictional Iron River Ranch in the fictitious small town of Garrison, Colorado. It details the life of the Bennetts, a family consisting of a rancher father, played by Sam Elliott; his divorced wife, played by Debra Winter, and their two sons, played by Ashton Kutcher and Danny Masterson. 

I find it interesting because it reminds me so much of my own family and my upbringing on a ranch. It is the story of complex family relationships--the tug of war for attention that can take place in families, the unwillingness to bend or compromise, and, particularly, the inability to express feeling and emotion--how it’s so much easier to express judgment and criticism than love and pride. It’s the story of one family and their deeply-intertwined relationships, as they attempt to negotiate who they are in the midst of what seems to be constant turmoil and change.

It’s into a similar time that the Gospel of John was written. Historians believe that John was written much later than the synoptic Gospels--Matthew, Mark, and Luke. That it was written at the very end of the 1st century, soon after the destruction, for the second time, of the temple in Jerusalem by the Romans.

If you remember from our lessons last fall, the temple was the center of worship for all Israel from the days of King Solomon. It was first destroyed by the Babylonians and the Jewish people exiled. After they returned from that exile, the temple was built again. We call this the Second Temple period. Once again, the new temple in Jerusalem became the center of worship for all of the Jews. So you can imagine how devastating it would be to see, for a second time--to see this central spiritual place, this place where the Jews believed God was truly present, destroyed by Rome in the year 70. 

By the time of Gospel of John, the Jewish community was in the process of reevaluating what Judaism looked like without the Temple. One response was to reject those who weren’t “Jewish” enough, such as the Jewish Christians. Those who we identify as the early disciples. Many of them found themselves cut off. From their synagogues. Even from their families. They were forced to form new communities and to begin to define themselves apart from Judaism as a minority within a hostile empire. To figure out new relationships. And to negotiate who they were in the midst of what seemed to be constant turmoil and change.

Relationships. In John, it is all about relationships. In John, faith is about relationship. About building new relationships. About strengthening old relationships. About winding a path through the complexity of relationships. In John, when you believe in God. When you believe that Jesus is the Son of God--the Word made flesh. Then, you enter into relationship with God. 

This is what is happening in our lesson today. John the baptizer (except in the Gospel of John he’s not called “the baptizer;” instead, he’s called a “witness”)...In our lesson today, John knows that it is time for him to release his followers to Jesus. John knows that he is not the Promised One. John knows that he is called to witness to this Human One. And so, as Jesus walks by John and his followers, he testifies to them. “Look! Here is the “Lamb of God.”

For John’s disciples, these Jewish Christians, the phrase “Lamb of God” has great significance. What it instantly brings to mind for them is the Passover. The significant festival that celebrates God’s deliverance of Israel from Egypt. For them, the Passover signifies protection, lineage, deliverance. And, mostly, it represents God’s promise of relationship.

John’s disciples hear this in John’s words. It makes them curious. As a result, their attention is redirected away from John to Jesus. They begin to follow Jesus to learn more. Jesus sees them following, he turns and says, “What are you looking for?” This can also be translated as “What are you seeking?”

This is one thing about the Gospel of John. Words often have dual meanings. “What are you looking for?” can also be translated “What are you seeking?”

“What are you seeking?” Jesus asks them.

Their response? Not really an answer, but a question. “Where are you staying?” Which can be translated, “Where are you abiding?” 

You see, the defining thing in John is not the where but the who. With whom are you abiding. Because abiding has duration. It isn’t short term. It’s not unneeded or unnecessary. Abiding is what meaningful relationship looks like. It is there where the disciples will find what they are looking for. Where they will discover the person, rather than the location. Where, as the relationship unfolds, all of their needs will be provided. Their fundamental bodily needs. But, mostly, their fundamental need for relationship.

Jesus invites them in. “Come and see.” Do you notice that there is no judgment? No demand for repentance? Jesus simply invites them into this relationship. Jesus finds people and invites them in. And, soon, the disciples will do the same. Following Jesus’ own actions. Inviting others to “come and see.” 

Like the disciples, we, have a fundamental need for relationship. Jesus invites us in, too. 
Come and see. Come into this relationship and see the divine become human. Come and see God being revealed. Gradually. Not in one chapter or in a few months. But over a lifetime. Over an abundant life time. 


What are you looking for? What are you seeking? Come and see. Amen.

Preached Sunday, January 7, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Second Sunday after Epiphany
Readings: Psalm 66:1-5, John 1:35-51

Finding God

Then Laban said to Jacob, “Because you are my kinsman, should you therefore serve me for nothing? Tell me, what shall your wages be?” Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah’s eyes were lovely, and Rachel was graceful and beautiful. Jacob loved Rachel; so he said, “I will serve you seven years for your younger daughter Rachel.” Laban said, “It is better that I give her to you than that I should give her to any other man; stay with me.” So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her.

Then Jacob said to Laban, “Give me my wife that I may go in to her, for my time is completed.” So Laban gathered together all the people of the place, and made a feast. But in the evening he took his daughter Leah and brought her to Jacob; and he went in to her. (Laban gave his maid Zilpah to his daughter Leah to be her maid.) When morning came, it was Leah! And Jacob said to Laban, “What is this you have done to me? Did I not serve with you for Rachel? Why then have you deceived me?” Laban said, “This is not done in our country—giving the younger before the firstborn. Complete the week of this one, and we will give you the other also in return for serving me another seven years.” Jacob did so, and completed her week; then Laban gave him his daughter Rachel as a wife.  Genesis 29:15-28 (NRSV)

I am Leah. Daughter of Laban. Daughter-in-law of Isaac and Rebekah. Wife of Jacob. The oldest of two daughters. Sister of Rachel, like me, also a wife of Jacob.

You remember me, don’t you? The wife that Jacob didn’t love. The daughter with weak eyes. Your translation of the story doesn’t tell the truth. My eyes were weak, which meant they lacked lustre. They didn’t sparkle. Between my sister and I, I was the plain one, unattractive. My sister, Rachel, she was was graceful and beautiful. It was Rachel who first caught Jacob’s attention at the well that day.

Another well romance, you say? Yes. Because it was the only place where we could come into contact with men. With our potential future husbands.

When Jacob met Rachel that day at the well, he’d been there for awhile talking with the shepherds. Bragging really. He asked them why they waited to gather all of the sheep at the well before they removed the lid--suggesting it would be more efficient for them to water the sheep as they arrived and then continue to graze them as others arrived and were watered. The shepherds, well, I’m sure they rolled their eyes at this newcomer, this stranger. Who seemed to know everything. 

They explained to Jacob why they did this--that the stone covering the well was so heavy that they needed several men to remove it, so need to wait until shepherds gathered and could do it together. No one shepherd could lift the stone by himself.

It was about this time that Rachel approached the well with her flock. The shepherds who were there told him who she was--that she was the daughter of his uncle. Cousin of Jacob. Then, Jacob felt the need to display his own strength. For the shepherds. But, mostly, I think for Rachel. Jacob rolled the stone covering off the well, entirely on his own. He watered Rachel’s flock. It was, then, that Jacob told Rachel who he was. That he was our kin. He kissed her. And he wept, as was often customary. 

Rachel ran to tell our father, who then ran to meet Jacob at the well. There, my father embraced Jacob, kissed him, and invited him into our house, where Jacob told his story. Everything. The story you heard last week--how he had tricked his brother, Esau, out of his birthright and his blessing. How Esau had become so angry he vowed to kill his brother, Jacob. How Rebekah their mother, who favored Jacob, sent him away for a few days to escape Esau’s wrath. How Jacob had traveled the long distance to our homeland. And how, during his trip, he had seen God and been blessed by God.

Everything that had happened to him he shared with my father. Hearing it, my father acknowledged that Jacob was indeed our flesh and blood. And he welcomed Jacob into our household.

It was about a month later, after Jacob had been working beside my father for no wages, that my father approached him. My father told Jacob that, even though he was our relative, there was no need for him to work for free. He asked Jacob what he would like to be paid. 

It was then that Jacob named his price. He had fallen in love with my sister. My younger sister, Rachel. Jacob told my father that he wanted to marry Rachel. My younger sister. 

You know how wrong this is, don’t you? It was our custom that the oldest daughter would be married first. That I should have been the first to be married. That if any sister were to marry Jacob, it should have been me. 

Yet, I had no voice in the decision. Neither did Rachel. My father agreed with Jacob that he could marry my sister. But, because, Jacob was destitute and had no property or belongs, he could not offer my father the bride price. And so, in exchange for it, my father told Jacob that he would have to work for my father for seven years. 

What could Jacob do? He had no leverage against my father. He had nothing to offer him for my sister. So, Jacob agreed. It was a handsome bride price for my father, who knew Jacob had nothing else to offer and who was so shrewd in negotiating the agreement.

Time passed. Seven years. I think, though, for Jacob it felt like only a few days. He was so enamored with my sister. Finally, the time came for the two of them to be married.

It was a week-long celebration in our custom. A week of festivities and rituals that brought our entire family and community together to celebrate the joyous occasion. Of the marriage of Jacob and my younger sister. The wedding that should have been my wedding.

It customary that at the end of the week, the marriage would be consummated. The wedding night. 

It was on this night that my father came to me. He directed that I put on my veil--one that would cover my face fully. And, then, he led me into the wedding chamber. Into the room that was to have been the room where Jacob and my sister would consummate their marriage. Instead, he told me that I would be a substitute for Rachel. 

I had no say in the matter whatsoever. Neither did Rachel. I knew this would cause hard feelings--harder feelings--between my sister and I. And, yet, what could I do? It was not my place to disagree with my father.

I’ve never fully understood why he did this. Why my father tricked Jacob. Perhaps, he understood how much he had flaunted tradition by agreeing to give Rachel, his youngest, away. Rather than me first, as his oldest. Perhaps he understood how upset I’d been.

Or, perhaps, he knew that, as soon as Jacob married Rachel, he would be leaving to return to his homeland. To be with his family in Canaan. To take Rachel away from us. So far away that we would likely never see her again.

Or, perhaps, it was simply because he had seen how hard Jacob worked. Harder that most of his other men. And that it had cost my father little, except for his daughter. Perhaps his plan all along was to get another seven years of free labor out of Jacob.

Whatever the reason, I became Jacob’s first wife. Head of his household. In the dark.

When jacob awoke the next morning and saw it was me in his bed instead of Rachel, he was furious. He ran to my father. “What have you done to me?” he said. “Didn’t I work for you to have Rachel? Why did you betray me?”

Do you see the irony here? The trickster tricking the trickster. What is the saying you have? “What goes around, comes around.” It was as though God was teaching Jacob a lesson for all of the ways in which he had tricked his own brother. That Jacob was reaping what he had sowed.

What messiness there is in our families! Tricks and deceit. Sibling rivalry. Brokenness.

And lest you sit there comfortably on this Sunday morning and condemn my family and our actions or our culture, you might look in the mirror yourselves. If you did, you might see that you and your families are no different. There is no “them” here. We are you. You are us. We are all far from perfect. Messy. Broken. We hurt each other intentionally and unintentionally. We act in our own best interest and against the greater good of others in our families. We fail to ask those who have no power about decisions that impact their lives. 

To look into the midst of our family--and of your family--is to look straight into human brokenness. To look on our culture negatively is to hold up a mirror to your world that still judges individuals on their appearance and treats women as less than men.

So, where--where in the midst of this messiness and brokenness--are we to find God? To find the Good News? The Gospel? Where is it to be found?

The Scriptures tell of the story of my husband’s ancestors--Abraham and Sarah--warts and all. It isn’t cleaned up to impress anyone or to give you impossible and unattainable role models for moral living. We are all faithful and sinful. We are all blessed by God and cursed by our own actions. We are all saints and sinners.

In Psalm 105 earlier, you read that “God remembers his covenant forever, the word he commanded to a thousand generations, which he made with Abraham, the solemn pledge he swore to Isaac. God set it up as binding law for Jacob, my husband, as an eternal covenant for Israel.” 

In our stories--yours and mine--God continues to work. To move God’s plan forward. God is present because God keeps God’s promises to a sinful humanity. God is faithful when we are busy managing our lives. Even if we don’t see it at first or have a hard time finding it, God is there. God loves us--the broken families of the world. God loves us so much that God will send his son to “the sons of Israel” and, by extension, to you and to all people. 

This is the good news. For you and for me. And for all people. Of all time. And all place. 

“O give thanks to the Lord,” the psalmist writes. “Call on his name, make known his deeds among the peoples.” 

May this be our response. For all time. Amen.