Promises of Hope: A Light in the Darkness

 A reading from Isaiah.

Nonetheless, those who were in distress won’t be exhausted. At an earlier time, God cursed the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but later he glorified the way of the sea, the far side of the Jordan, and the Galilee of the nations.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.
    On those living in a pitch-dark land, light has dawned.
You have made the nation great;
    you have increased its joy.
They rejoiced before you as with joy at the harvest,
    as those who divide plunder rejoice.
As on the day of Midian, you’ve shattered the yoke that burdened them,
    the staff on their shoulders,
    and the rod of their oppressor.
Because every boot of the thundering warriors,
    and every garment rolled in blood
    will be burned, fuel for the fire.
A child is born to us, a son is given to us,
    and authority will be on his shoulders.
    He will be named
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.
There will be vast authority and endless peace
    for David’s throne and for his kingdom,
    establishing and sustaining it
    with justice and righteousness
    now and forever.

The zeal of the Lord of heavenly forces will do this.

Alright. Show of hands. Who’s afraid of the dark? Come on, now. Be honest. You know that feeling. That little anxious feeling that, even as an adult, arises inside when it feels like it’s too dark. Just a little too dark.

My fear of the dark began - as, perhaps, for most of us - when I was a child. Honestly, it was thanks to my brother. Like my dad, he was a big practical joker. Always messing with my sister and I.

In the early years of our growing up, my sister and I shared a bedroom. Each night, after the lights had been turned off, we would lie there in complete fear. One of things my brother loved to do was to crawl into our room on his belly. Slither under the bed. And then slowly reach this long, seemingly endless, arm up over the side of our bed and try grab us. We would scream. Move closer into the center of the bed in an attempt to get away from him. And, then, he would laugh. An evil, wicked laugh. As only brothers can do.

Darkness. It still scares me a little today. Maybe because it just feels so uncontrollable. So unknown. So. Dark. 

Darkness was what Judah was experiencing in our text today. With the Assyrians breathing down the necks of Israel in the north, Judah was being pressured to enter into an alliance with Egypt and the northern kingdom. To try to defeat their common enemy. Or, at least, to hold them off even for a little while.

In the previous chapter, Yahweh warns Isaiah not to walk in the way of the wayward people. Isaiah is called not to fear what others fear. But to fear only Yahweh. Isaiah is called not to be in dread of what others dread, but to dread only Yahweh. The text in these preceding verses describes the plight of Yahweh’s people. Who do not “wait.” And who do not place their hope in their God. 

Darkness becomes the metaphor used in chapter 8 to describe these people and their wayward experience. They will experience no dawn. They will be greatly distressed and hungry. They will look everywhere, but will see only distress and darkness. Gloom and anguish. Then, again, Isaiah tells them once more, they will be thrust into thick, thick darkness. 

What is the plight of a people who live only in darkness? A people with no light? With no dawn? With no beginning again? With no hope? Darkness brings only gloom and despair. People walking in darkness walk with hesitancy and fear. Unable to find their direction, they grab onto nothingness as they see to touch something familiar. Something that will give them a perspective. That will help them along the way. 

What are your dark places? Maybe it's the darkness of this pandemic, which once more, especially in other parts of our country and the world, is once again increasing. Maybe it's the darkness of our political world, where compromise has become a dirty word and leaders have become more and more polarized. Unable to truly lead as they have been elected to do. Or maybe it's in our economic life, where we are seeing mass resignations because, as many workers are saying, we’re tired of being treated so poorly for so little. Or maybe it's the darkness of our system of justice that never seems to work for people of color, but just perpetuates “whiteness” again and again.

Maybe the darkness is in your personal life. The darkness of failing health. The darkness of disintegrating relationships. Or the deep, deep darkness of grief and loss. The death of a beloved one. Or the deep grief we are experiencing over these past two years. 

Or maybe the darkness is here. In the church. As we watch fewer and fewer people come in the doors. And it feels as though our way of being is dying a slow. Painful. Death.

What are your dark places? Those places where it feels as though there is just no hope.

I’m reminded of the opening verses that we began this lectionary year with - those beginning words of Genesis. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep. The Spirit of God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light.”

Friends, God was there. In the dark. All along. Present in the darkness and chaos. Working to bring order and light. Perhaps the light then wasn’t for God. But for us. For “those walking in darkness” to “see a great light.” To see God’s saving action that begins in Genesis. And that we read here of in Isaiah. Where Isaiah names the darkness that will be no more. No more burden. Or oppression. Or tramping warriors. Or garments rolled in blood. Perhaps the light is for us today, too. To see that God has been and is at work in our world in the darkness and that, with the light, we can now finally see the saving action of God.

But, is there enough light to break through the darkness? To break through our apathy? Our cynicism? Is there enough light to cause us to ask ourselves once again whether it is enough to penetrate our darkness? Enough light that can shine in and redeem us?

According to Isaiah, yes. Salvation can come. The light is named. A child will be born, Isaiah tells the people, “for us.” The son is given, Isaiah tells the people, “to us.” This ruler to come is called: Wonderful Counselor. Mighty God. Eternal Father. The Prince of Peace. 

Just as God created our beautiful and ordered world out of darkness. Just as God delivered Judah with a new king. So, too, God has delivered us through the light of Jesus Christ. Salvation can come, Isaiah says, because of the zeal of the Lord. What appears to be beyond possibility can be certain. God, through God’s passion and fury, with a great sense of urgency, will see that the light will come. 

Isaiah found this to be true. May we. Amen.

Preached November 21, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.
Reign of Christ Sunday
Readings: Isaiah 9;1-7; John 8:12

Pain and Promise: God Stoops Down

Last week, we began our six week series through Jeremiah and, accompanying this, the Psalms because, just as with us, the songs of the people often express their experience.

We also talked about trauma. And how, after an experience of trauma, it is natural for people - and us - to try to make sense of what has been experienced, to make meaning of it. Much of scripture is an attempt by God’s people to make meaning out of trauma and traumatic experiences. If this is not done - if time is not taken to make sense of the experience, it can have devastating effects. Leaving people isolated and suffering. Leading to the breakdown of community and the broader society. And even leading to a loss of faith. 

Jeremiah and the Psalms offer a way. A way by considering the story of Israel’s exile to help us make sense of our traumatic experience that can help to lead us out of the chaos to a new way of being and a new understanding of God. 

Last week, in our opening texts from Jeremiah, we heard about Jeremiah’s call - two aspects of what God had called him to do. The first could be identified as the problem or the cause - what caused God to call Jeremiah as prophet to Judah.  The people have been going after other gods. They have been oppressors, particularly, of the alien, the orphan, and the widow - those who represent the most vulnerable members in society. The second aspect we heard was the nature of Jeremiah’s call. The reason he was selected by God and sent to the people. A twofold call. First, to dig up and pull down, and to destroy and to demolish. But, then, to build and to plant. 

Today, we move to the potter’s shed. And read from Jeremiah, chapter 18.

Jeremiah received the Lord’s word: Go down to the potter’s house, and I’ll give you instructions about what to do there. So I went down to the potter’s house; he was working on the potter’s wheel. But the piece he was making was flawed while still in his hands, so the potter started on another, as seemed best to him. Then the Lord’s word came to me: House of Israel, can’t I deal with you like this potter, declares the Lord? Like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in mine, house of Israel! At any time I may announce that I will dig up, pull down, and destroy a nation or kingdom; but if that nation I warned turns from its evil, then I’ll relent and not carry out the harm I intended for it. At the same time, I may announce that I will build and plant a nation or kingdom; but if that nation displeases and disobeys me, then I’ll relent and not carry out the good I intended for it. Now say to the people of Judah and those living in Jerusalem: This is what the Lord says: I am a potter preparing a disaster for you; I’m working out a plan against you. So each one of you, turn from your evil ways; reform your ways and your actions. --Jeremiah 18:1-11 (CEB)

It might be hard for us, with our 21st century sensibilities, to accept the image of God as some remote potter, up in heaven, molding and shaping our destiny. Yet, the word in Hebrew used here for “potter” has the same root as the word in Genesis for “creator.” Just as God shaped every beast of the field and the birds, the heavens and the earth and all aspects of creation, so, too, God shaped humankind. From the very dust of the ground.

So, perhaps, it’s not such a stretch for us to imagine God as potter. Molding and shaping us. Sometimes needing to start over because of a flaw or blemish in the clay. There are no specifics as to what the blemish is. Just that, for whatever reason, the potter remakes the piece into another that is pleasing to his eyes. Do you notice, though, that the potter never tosses the defective clay away? But, continues to work it. To mold it and shape it with his hands. To form it into a thing of beauty.

This what God desires for our world and for each of us. That it and we might be things of beauty. That we might be fully transformed and made whole, and then serve in the world to share the fullness we have been given. A wholeness and a fullness that comes Christ. That is offered to each of us. And to everyone. Graciously so. 

But, too, often, as with the people of Judah, we turn to other “gods.” Money, prestige, power - those things that draw us away from God and often result in oppression, as we seek to preserve what we have with no regard to the fullness or lack thereof for others in our world. It’s why at the end of our reading today, there is a call to repent. To turn back from the evil that not only separates us from God, but that separates us from each other. God is affected by this evil. Both the Jeremiah text and the psalm report that God is impacted by the actions of God’s creation - displeased with the defects. Towering above the nations, the psalmist writes, yet stooping down to correct the injustices perpetuated by humankind. 

How do we turn back? How do we center ourselves in the midst of the pull of the world and, particularly, that which would pull us away from God and from God’s desire? This, too, is suggested by the psalmist in the opening words. “Servants of God, praise, praise, the name of the Lord!”

Each week, when we bring our worship, our attention, our ears, our hearts to God in this centering space, we can clear space in our heads and our hearts to discern that which pulls us away from God. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, we can turn back to God and be re-centered again. Reminded, once again, that God is present. That God is not some distant, unmoved creator. But that God comes to us into the chaos. Restores us. And works to bring us and all people into relationship and into community. Because this is God’s plan. It is the purpose of the Great Potter - a purpose that supersedes all others. A plan to mold and shape and create out of our flaw and defect and trauma, a world, here on earth, that is a thing of beauty.

How can we not say, “Hallelujah!” Amen.

Preached June 6, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, KY, and Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

2nd Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Jeremiah 18:1-11, Psalm 113.

Pain and Promise: The Way

We just heard Psalm 1. We often forget that the Psalms are the songs of Israel. Songs of the joy they experienced, both as individuals and collectively as a people. Songs of praise sung to a gracious and benevolent God. Songs of lamentation sung in times of vast despair. And many other types of songs that come out of the lived experience of a people.

We also often forget as one theologian has noted that much of scripture comes out of lived experience. And particularly, out of trauma. Out of people trying to make sense or make meaning of their traumatic experience. Beginning with the banishing of Adam and Eve from the garden, through the flood and its aftermath, to the enslavement and eventual freedom for Israel, to the first destruction of the temple and the Babylonian exile, even to the time of the Christ, living as a subjugated people and the second destruction of the temple - over and over and over again, God’s people have attempted to make meaning of it all and to understand where God might be working in the midst of it.

So, beginning today with Psalm 1 seems right - this song placed at the beginning of all of Israel’s songs. A song that talks about two ways. Two paths. And about what happens to a people when they stray from the path of life, from God and the ways of God.

This is also a similar theme in the book of Jeremiah. Jeremiah - a prophet called by God to help Judah survive. Sometimes harsh and bitter. Sometimes a predictor of the terror to come. And, yet, a prophet and a book that is a quest for meaning and about how, even in the midst of communal disaster, the people of Judah (and we) we might find both the human and the divine. 

And so, today, we begin in Jeremiah. 

The Lord’s word came to me:
“Before I created you in the womb I knew you;
    before you were born I set you apart;
    I made you a prophet to the nations.”
“Ah, Lord God,” I said, “I don’t know how to speak
    because I’m only a child.”
The Lord responded,
    “Don’t say, ‘I’m only a child.’
        Where I send you, you must go;
        what I tell you, you must say.
Don’t be afraid of them,
    because I’m with you to rescue you,”
        declares the Lord.
Then the Lord stretched out his hand,
    touched my mouth, and said to me,
    “I’m putting my words in your mouth.
This very day I appoint you over nations and empires,
    to dig up and pull down,
    to destroy and demolish,
    to build and plant.”

Jeremiah received the Lord’s word: Stand near the gate of the Lord’s temple and proclaim there this message: Listen to the Lord’s word, all you of Judah who enter these gates to worship the Lord. This is what the Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, says: Improve your conduct and your actions, and I will dwell with you in this place. Don’t trust in lies: “This is the Lord’s temple! The Lord’s temple! The Lord’s temple!” No, if you truly reform your ways and your actions; if you treat each other justly; if you stop taking advantage of the immigrant, orphan, or widow; if you don’t shed the blood of the innocent in this place, or go after other gods to your own ruin, only then will I dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave long ago to your ancestors for all time.

And yet you trust in lies that will only hurt you. Will you steal and murder, commit adultery and perjury, sacrifice to Baal and go after other gods that you don’t know, and then come and stand before me in this temple that bears my name, and say, “We are safe,” only to keep on doing all these detestable things? Do you regard this temple, which bears my name, as a hiding place for criminals? I can see what’s going on here, declares the Lord. --Jeremiah 1:10-10; 7:1-11 (CEB)

In 2014 I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It was the result of over 40 years of loss I experienced throughout my life - loss that continued to impact me even after I’d done much work with mental health professionals over that time. The diagnosis was the result of my individual, accumulated experience of trauma. 

Today, though, and over these next several weeks we are not talking about individual trauma. Now that is not to say that some of us, or even all of us, have not experienced some level of individual trauma over these many months. But, we have also experienced collective trauma - trauma that has come over the series of events we’ve experienced together in this time - disaster and its effects that have disrupted our lives on a vast scale, turning them upside down, shaking our world apart, destroying our day-to-day existence and even shattering our understanding of our own reality and even, perhaps, that of God.

It’s normal for us to want to get as far away from this experience as soon and as quickly as we can. It’s likely why there is so little history written about the 1918 pandemic - that, perhaps, there was a rush to put it behind them. Yet, those who deal with disaster and trauma know of its effects if it is not tended to - hidden effects that can leave us isolated, keep us in our own suffering and grief, and, in time, lead to a collapse of faith and trust in one another, in our society, and in God.

Jeremiah was called to serve God’s people in a similar time as ours, an experience that is hinted at even in Psalm 1, a straying from the true path to one that leads to destruction. And collective trauma. This is Jeremiah’s call from God - to both stand with and against the people, to call them out and to call them in, so that they might endure what is to come, that they might live, and that they might yet realize a future that includes a new covenant with God. Or as we just read: to dig up and pull down, to destroy and demolish, to build and plant.

Isn’t Israel’s way our way? Isn’t Israel’s experience our human experience? Over and over again in the narrative of scripture we read of a three-fold pattern of our world, of our human experience.

There is a triune pattern in the world. Creation - Uncreation - Re-creation. Richard Rohr calls it “order, disorder, reorder.” Walter Brueggemann names it orientation, disorientation, reorientation. It is a pattern we see through the entire story of scripture. 

God creates all things. And it is very good. Then, humanity chooses to betray God and we are plunged into a violent system of shame and blame. The violence comes to it’s apex and the world is plunged into a flood of some kind that threatens to destroy everything with chaos. And yet...God turns the flood into a promise. And resurrects humanity into a new covenant.

And then the cycle repeats itself. Again and again. Over and over. God creates. We uncreate. And God re-creates. Life, death, resurrection. It’s how things grow. It’s how we grow.

Or think about it in another way.

If all of reality was singular, was one. Then it would be static. There would be no diversity. No movement. It would be nothing.

If all reality was split in two, divided between this and that, between us and them, there would only be division. A dualistic or binary system. This is where most of us get stuck. We think the world is divided between God and creation. Between heaven and hell. Between good people and bad people. Between absolute right and absolute wrong. Between us and them. 

But there is a third way. 

The movement of God is to keep these dualities, these binaries, from destroying each other. To use the tension between them to instead open up a new life of hope and possibility. Because, again, this is how we grow.

We start in simple consciousness as children. Life is good and ordered.

We grow into adolescence and begin to focus on our individuality - the things that divide and that define us from each other. We construct our false selves in a way that separates us from each other. That often leads us to division and violence. 

But there is this third way. The way where Jesus invites us to take up our cross and follow him. This third way is the way of Jesus. The way to which we have been called, just as the early disciples were called.

And, yet, in John 16, Jesus tells the disciples that, though he has much to tell them, they are not yet ready to bear it. But, he promises that the Spirit will guide them (and us) in the way of the cross and in the life of resurrection and rebirth. 

Because this is who God is. A Triune God. A threefold God. Three persons, one Godhead. The Trinity. A God who is dynamic and ever changing. Self-emptying. Loving. Ever expanding and inclusive. Creating and sustaining. Working to bring about the unity and harmony of all living things so that all creation might live in shalom. A God who is in relationship within God’s self, but, more importantly, a God who is in relationship with us. A God who can move into the darkest places of our collective trauma to reveal life to us, even when all we can see is death.

As we continue to move through Jeremiah and the Psalms, may begin to understand that this God was the God of the psalmists. This God was the God of Jeremiah and the people of Judah. This is our God, too. Ever creating and re-creating. Always bring us from death to life.

And for this, we say, “Thanks be to God!” Amen.

Preached May 30, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, and Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

Trinity Sunday

Readings: Jeremiah 1:10-10; 7:1-11; Psalm 1

Promises Made, Promises Kept: Comfort, Comfort!

Comfort, O comfort my people,
    says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that she has served her term,
    that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
    double for all her sins.

A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all people shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

A voice says, “Cry out!”
    And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass,
    their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
    when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
    surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
    but the word of our God will stand forever.
Get you up to a high mountain,
    O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
    O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
    lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
    “Here is your God!”
See, the Lord God comes with might,
    and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
    and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
    he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
    and gently lead the mother sheep. --Isaiah 40:1-11 (NRSV)


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

After the orchestral overture, every performance of the Messiah begins with this Tenor solo. “Comfort ye. Comfort ye my people.” 

This past week, along with a couple of our members, I attended a Messiah sing-along at Our Savior’s Lutheran. If you’ve never participated in one, I encourage you to go.  I’ve both heard and sung the Messiah a lot. In high school, our choir performed parts of it. In college, I sang in several performances of it. And, since then, I’ve listened to it numerous times, as well as participated in sing-alongs in California, Texas, and, now, here. One could say that I know this piece of music well.

There was one thing I forgot, though. While I know the words well and know that the entire work is based on scripture, I’d forgotten that the first third of it is based on Isaiah 40, which is our text today. It’s a text written from a place of exile. Or at least this part is. Because Isaiah is believed to have been written in two, perhaps even three different parts at different times. The first part, ending with chapter 39, was written before the destruction of Jerusalem. Before the defeat and exile of Judah by the Babylonians. There is a marked difference, though, between chapter 39 and chapter 40 - chapter 40 identified as the beginning of Second Isaiah. This difference was first identified by careful readers of scripture in the 12th century, who noticed that it came from a person and a time quite different from that of First Isaiah, chapters 1-39. 

Today’s text is set about 50 years after the remainder of the Jewish people have been dispersed throughout the empire. The empire itself has now been defeated by Cyrus the Great of Persia. The one whom the Hebrew scriptures call the Messiah. Not Jesus - who we, with our New Testament lenses - identify as the Messiah, but Cyrus the Great. Because it is this Persian - this Messiah - who will restore remnants of the Jewish people to their homeland.  It is this good news of a coming second exodus to the promised land that begins with Isaiah 40, our reading for this morning.

“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.” The reading opens in the divine court. God Almighty is imagined seated on a throne, surrounded by many courtiers. Some of these are the former gods of the Canaanites. Others are specific Israelite figure who will attend the divine king. Admission to this court, to this divine council, can make one a prophet in Israel. It is to this divine council that God speaks these opening words of consolation. In the Hebrew, they are an imperative plural. A command directed to many. “Comfort my people,” God the Almighty God commands God’s court. “Jerusalem has served her term. Her penalty has been paid. Speak tenderly to her.”

One rabbi in Jewish thought argues that it was God who needed to be comforted rather than the people. He argued that, if someone owns a vineyard and thieves enter it and destroy it, who is it who needs the comfort - the vineyard, or its owner? Or, if someone burns down a house, who needs comforting, the owners of the house or the structure that burned? This rabbinic midrash argues that it is God’s house (the temple) that has been burned, and God’s vineyard (the people) who have been destroyed. We should be comforting God, not expecting God to comfort us, writes this wise Jewish rabbi.

The reading continues with a command in verse 3, from one of the members of the divine court. To prepare a way. We, in the 21st century, should easily understand what it might take to build this highway back. To knock down the mountains, to level out the valleys, to make the ground even so that the route will be smooth and even. So that it will be easy to traverse. But the meaning here in Hebrew is not entirely clear. It can be interpreted in two ways: that the way is being made for God to return to God’s people, or that the way is being made for God’s people to return to God. However one might interpret this, the meaning is clear: God and God’s people are no longer to be apart. The exodus that follows this new and level highway will once again bring them in grand procession back to Jerusalem. In a procession so grand that, in fact, “all flesh” will see it.

It is God who has engineered this return. Not human beings, whose qualities wither and face. But, God, with the power and steadfastness of God’s Word. God has made this happen. God, who is strong and mighty, who protects God’s people. God, who is also gentle and tender, caring for God’s flock as a shepherd cares for her sheep. God comes with a reward, not as God had once come with punishment. This coming will bring freedom and happiness. This coming will bring joy to the people at last.

It’s so tempting for us to interpret this text with our New Testament lenses as a prophetic text, announcing the eventual birth of John the Baptist - that messenger bringing the good news of Jesus. But, what if we were to simply let this text from Second Isaiah stand on its own? What meaning might it have for us, as God’s people in our context?

Perhaps it's a recognition that all of us, in some form, in some way in our lives, like Israel, have experienced trauma. Now we have not experienced displacement, unlike many others in our world today. But trauma still exists in our lives, however it may manifest itself. Perhaps, it's the loss of a spouse. Or a child. A health diagnosis, or an unexpected hospitalization. Perhaps it’s the loss of a job, or a house, or a way of life. Perhaps, it’s the loss of our youth, or our independence. I dare say that each one of us has experienced trauma at some point, or at many points, in our lives.

And, for a time, we may walk away from God. And from church, from the community of God’s people as we try to make sense of our hurt and our loss. Yet, eventually, God works in our hearts to bring us back. Not only to God, but, to each other. Because it is here, in this place, among God’s people, where we who need comfort receive it. Where we give it to those who need it. The command to comfort in Isaiah 40 is an imperative plural. We are to comfort. We are to receive comfort. Here. With God, among God’s people, in God’s church. It is why God is always working to bring us back.

Earlier this year, an important, contemporary theologian died. His name was Eugene Peterson. You might know him best as the author of “The Message Bible,” an influential paraphrase of scripture intended to make its message understandable for us in this time and place. At his funeral, his son Leif eulogized him, revealing that he used to joke with his father and tell him that he really “only had one sermon, one message” even though he had spent decades in creatively sharing the Bible with people in new ways. “It’s almost laughable how you fooled them,” his son wrote. “How for 30 years every week you made them think you were saying something new. They thought you were a magician in your long black robe hiding so much in your ample sleeves, always pulling out something fresh and making them think it was just for them.”

“But they didn’t know how simple it all was. They were blind to your secret,” Leif Peterson said. It was a secret he knew, though, because it was what his father had been telling him every night for 50 years. It’s a secret we know, because it’s the same message we hear in our Isaiah text today and in every part of scripture we read and listen to Sunday after Sunday after Sunday and in between.

What is this secret that Eugene Peterson whispered nightly to his son? This good news for the people of Isaiah’s day? This message for us?

God loves you.
God forgives you.
God is coming after you.
God is relentless.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, December 8, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Advent 2
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11, Psalm 85, Mark 1:1-4

Our Sin, God's Faithfulness: Who is Your King?

Grace and peace to you from God, our Creator, our Redeemer, and our Sustainer. Amen.

At the beginning of worship this morning, we talked about discoveries. About finding things during excavations. Things that have been hidden for a time. Have you ever put something in a “safe place” and then forgotten where that something was? How many of you have ever bought Christmas presents weeks or months ahead of time, put them somewhere in your home, and, then, when it comes time to wrap and give them, can no longer find them? Welcome to my world!

Our story today is a story of discovery. For the past few weeks, we’ve been reading in the prophets. Today, we are turning to second Kings, chapters 22 and 23. For the first several minutes today, we’re going to work our way through the text, section by section. Let’s begin our discovery by reading at verse 1. 

Josiah was eight years old when he began to reign; he reigned thirty-one years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Jedidah daughter of Adaiah of Bozkath. He did what was right in the sight of the Lord, and walked in all the way of his father David; he did not turn aside to the right or to the left. --2 Kings 22:1-2 (NRSV)

Our story is set during the reign of King Josiah. We are about 100 years after the setting of last week’s reading in Isaiah, around 620 BC, in the southern kingdom. Josiah has just become king, at the ripe age of 8 years old. The northern kingdom has fallen. Although Assyria has already begun to encroach into Judah, Jerusalem still stands. Josiah’s reign happens about 35 years before the Assyrian empire will collapse and the Babylonians will come from the south and defeat and capture Jerusalem, and exile the Jewish people from their homeland. We are near the end, near the catastrophic failure of the line of King David. About 586 BC.

We’ve talked before about these historical texts in the Hebrew scripture, that they are theological histories. Each of these stories has elements from actual history, but they are not written for historical purposes, but for theological reasons. They present clear theologies, clear understandings of the way the world works or is supposed to work. There is a lot of what we might call confirmation bias - finding evidence of God in history. It’s often what we like to do in our own lives, when we look at something in our own histories and believe we can seek the hand of God at work. 

These books from Joshua through Kings are called Deuteronomistic histories - histories that are read through the lens of Deuteronomy - the book in the Torah that gave Israel an understanding of what an ideal king should be, even before there were any kings. In these first verses, King Josiah begins his reign as an 8 year old. Verse 2 says that he did “what was right in the sight of the Lord.” That he did not “turn aside to the right or to the left.” This is direct language from Deuteronomy about what a good king should look like. There are only three kings in scripture described in this way: David, Hezekiah, and Josiah.

The book of Chronicles in two parts is a companion to the book of Kings. It expands in areas where Kings doesn’t. So, if we turn to 2nd Chronicles, chapter 34, we read what it looks like for a king to do what is right in the sight of God, to not turn aside to the right or to the left. Chronicles tells us that, in Josiah’s eighth year, he began to seek God. At 12, he began to purge Judah and Jerusalem of the “high places,” the shrines where people would go to worship the Baals, which, as I mentioned last week, were representative of all the gods that the people had begun to worship. All of the other gods except for the true God. Josiah not only purged the “high places,” but removed the incense altars, the sacred poles, the carved and cast images and the priests that had distracted the people from the true God. All of the cultural artifacts that had pulled them away from God.

This is what a good leader does. A good leader turns to God and then works to turn his or her people to God.

We read on. 

In the eighteenth year of King Josiah, the king sent Shaphan son of Azaliah, son of Meshullam, the secretary, to the house of the Lord, saying, “Go up to the high priest Hilkiah, and have him count the entire sum of the money that has been brought into the house of the Lord, which the keepers of the threshold have collected from the people; let it be given into the hand of the workers who have the oversight of the house of the Lord; let them give it to the workers who are at the house of the Lord, repairing the house, that is, to the carpenters, to the builders, to the masons; and let them use it to buy timber and quarried stone to repair the house. But no accounting shall be asked from them for the money that is delivered into their hand, for they deal honestly.”

The high priest Hilkiah said to Shaphan the secretary, “I have found the book of the law in the house of the Lord.” When Hilkiah gave the book to Shaphan, he read it. Then Shaphan the secretary came to the king, and reported to the king, “Your servants have emptied out the money that was found in the house, and have delivered it into the hand of the workers who have oversight of the house of the Lord.” Shaphan the secretary informed the king, “The priest Hilkiah has given me a book.” Shaphan then read it aloud to the king. --2 Kings 22:3-10 (NRSV)

Part of Josiah’s reform was to begin restoration of the temple in Jerusalem, which had fallen into disrepair. We get a true sense of Josiah’s leadership and of his people here. That Josiah trusted them to do the right things. To live in upright and honest ways because this was how he lived and how he led them. There was no need to double-check the work of the temple workers, because they could be trusted. Just as their leader could be trusted.

It is in the midst of the temple repair that a discovery is made. The book of the law. The Torah. Which included in it, the book of Deuteronomy - this guide book for how a king should lead. Josiah asks that this newly-discovered book be read aloud to him.

When the king heard the words of the book of the law, he tore his clothes. Then the king commanded the priest Hilkiah, Ahikam son of Shaphan, Achbor son of Micaiah, Shaphan the secretary, and the king’s servant Asaiah, saying, “Go, inquire of the Lord for me, for the people, and for all Judah, concerning the words of this book that has been found; for great is the wrath of the Lord that is kindled against us, because our ancestors did not obey the words of this book, to do according to all that is written concerning us.” --2 Kings 22:11-13 (NRSV) 

When Josiah hears the words, he tears his clothes. In the Jewish tradition, this represents that something very bad has happened. So, he sends his advisors to go to God’s prophet to inquire of God. One must wonder if this is our first step when something bad has happened to us. Or the first place our leaders turn. Do we seek God’s guidance first?

So the priest Hilkiah, Ahikam, Achbor, Shaphan, and Asaiah went to the prophetess Huldah the wife of Shallum son of Tikvah, son of Harhas, keeper of the wardrobe; she resided in Jerusalem in the Second Quarter, where they consulted her. She declared to them, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Tell the man who sent you to me, Thus says the Lord, I will indeed bring disaster on this place and on its inhabitants—all the words of the book that the king of Judah has read. Because they have abandoned me and have made offerings to other gods, so that they have provoked me to anger with all the work of their hands, therefore my wrath will be kindled against this place, and it will not be quenched. But as to the king of Judah, who sent you to inquire of the Lord, thus shall you say to him, Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Regarding the words that you have heard, because your heart was penitent, and you humbled yourself before the Lord, when you heard how I spoke against this place, and against its inhabitants, that they should become a desolation and a curse, and because you have torn your clothes and wept before me, I also have heard you, says the Lord. Therefore, I will gather you to your ancestors, and you shall be gathered to your grave in peace; your eyes shall not see all the disaster that I will bring on this place.” They took the message back to the king. --2 Kings 22:14-20 (NRSV) 

If Josiah thought he had heard bad news before, this news is so much worse. “You’ll be okay for right now, but the future for your country will be no more.” It is news that God will not change God’s plan even though the people have turned back and re-committed themselves to God. Or that they are now walking in God’s ways. The prophetess Huldah does not have hopeful words for the kingdom of Judah. Because choices have consequences.

Then the king directed that all the elders of Judah and Jerusalem should be gathered to him. The king went up to the house of the Lord, and with him went all the people of Judah, all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the priests, the prophets, and all the people, both small and great; he read in their hearing all the words of the book of the covenant that had been found in the house of the Lord. The king stood by the pillar and made a covenant before the Lord, to follow the Lord, keeping his commandments, his decrees, and his statutes, with all his heart and all his soul, to perform the words of this covenant that were written in this book. All the people joined in the covenant. --2 Kings 23:1-3 (NRSV) 

So what does Josiah do with the information that Jerusalem will be doomed? He gathers everyone together. All Jerusalem. And he reads all of the discovered scroll - the Torah or the instruction - to them. Publicly. All of it. Following the command found in Deuteronomy 31, that the king will command everyone to assemble and read the words. To re-commit themselves to the covenant. And so, with Josiah knowing the eventual doom that will come to Jerusalem, he reads scripture to them. And then he, knowing their fate but not telling the people their fate, will, with them, re-commit. And by the end of chapter 23, we find a king and a people who are fully in. Who have shed the artifacts of culture that have pulled them away. And who have committed themselves to God once again. This is the highest point for God’s people since King David.

This is a hard text. What are we to do with this story? What sense of it are we to make for ourselves? We, who are on the other side of history from this text? Knowing the eventual destruction of Jerusalem, the exile of the people, the loss of the temple - their religious center?

Friends, our choices today have consequences. If not for us, then for future generations. There are any number of issues I might point out here: climate change; the growing gap between rich and poor; our selfish focus in the church on individual salvation rather than the shalom, the wholeness of the entire community; a government we have elected that, day after day, we learn is more and more corrupt, whether you watch Fox News or MSNBC. All of our choices have consequences. If not immediate, then in the future. 

What are we to do in the midst of this, in this unknown times, wondering if our own future destruction is only years away? King Josiah helps us in this respect. Even when it seems there is no hope, we turn to the Word. It is here in reading scripture that we are pointed back to God. Where, in the Word made manifest in the form of a baby king, we find hope for the future. A promised future - God’s promised future - of peace. Where all are fed, where all are restored to community, where creation is made whole, where only justice and righteousness reign.

And so as we wait for that future of the reign of Christ, we live as people of God, shedding the artifacts and things that distract us from God. Following God’s command, first given in Deuteronomy, then expanded by our King and Savior Jesus Christ, through whom all of us have been freed. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. And your neighbor as yourself.” Amen.

Preached November 24, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Christ the King Sunday
Readings: 2 Kings 22:1-20, 23:1-3; Luke 24:30-32, Psalm 105:1-6 

Keeping Up Appearances

The Lord said to Samuel, “How long are you going to grieve over Saul? I have rejected him as king over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and get going. I’m sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem because I have found my next king among his sons.”

“How can I do that?” Samuel asked. “When Saul hears of it he’ll kill me!”

“Take a heifer with you,” the Lord replied, “and say, ‘I have come to make a sacrifice to the Lord.’ Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will make clear to you what you should do. You will anoint for me the person I point out to you.”

Samuel did what the Lord instructed. When he came to Bethlehem, the city elders came to meet him. They were shaking with fear. “Do you come in peace?” they asked.

“Yes,” Samuel answered. “I’ve come to make a sacrifice to the Lord. Now make yourselves holy, then come with me to the sacrifice.” Samuel made Jesse and his sons holy and invited them to the sacrifice as well.

When they arrived, Samuel looked at Eliab and thought, That must be the Lord’s anointed right in front.

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Have no regard for his appearance or stature, because I haven’t selected him. God doesn’t look at things like humans do. Humans see only what is visible to the eyes, but the Lord sees into the heart.”

Next Jesse called for Abinadab, who presented himself to Samuel, but he said, “The Lord hasn’t chosen this one either.” So Jesse presented Shammah, but Samuel said, “No, the Lord hasn’t chosen this one.” Jesse presented seven of his sons to Samuel, but Samuel said to Jesse, “The Lord hasn’t picked any of these.” Then Samuel asked Jesse, “Is that all of your boys?”

“There is still the youngest one,” Jesse answered, “but he’s out keeping the sheep.”

“Send for him,” Samuel told Jesse, “because we can’t proceed until he gets here.”

So Jesse sent and brought him in. He was reddish brown, had beautiful eyes, and was good-looking. The Lord said, “That’s the one. Go anoint him.” So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him right there in front of his brothers. The Lord’s spirit came over David from that point forward.

Then Samuel left and went to Ramah. 1 Samuel 16:1-13 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Triune God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Our text today from first Samuel opens with this words from from first Samuel opens with these words from the Lord to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul?”

These words give us a hint that not all has gone well with the first king of Israel--the king we learned last week that Samuel would anoint. The king demanded by the people so that they could be “like all the other nations.”

In the time between last week’s calling of Samuel and today’s lesson, time has, once again, passed. Samuel’s sons--who would have been expected to move into his role as prophet-judge over Israel--have perverted the system, just like Samuel’s predecessor, Eli.

The people have used this systemic corruption to make a demand of God for a king. The political threat of the neighboring Philistines continues to over them. And, instead of having faith in God’s ability to prosper or even sustain them as a nation, they demand through Samuel that God give them a human king. 

God decides to give them what it is they think they want. In 1 Samuel 8, God says to Samuel, “Comply with the people’s request--everything they ask of you--because they haven’t rejected you. No, they’ve rejected me as king over them. They are doing to you only what they’ve been doing to me from the day I brought them out of Egypt to this very minute, abandoning me and worshipping other gods. So comply with their request, but give them a clear warning, telling them how the king will rule over them.”

So, Samuel does. But he warns them what a monarchy will look like: a military draft, forced labor, taxation, and eventual tyranny (all of which will eventually come true). The human king they so desperately want so they can be just “like all of the other nations” will eventually become their oppressor.

Saul is anointed by Samuel as king over Israel. There are indications at the beginning of Saul’s story that his masculinity was an important factor in his choice. That his “height” and his “physical prowess” were important in the choice, even though he was from the smallest clan of the smallest tribe of Israel. And, although, he began his reign as king with a humble heart, it was not long, before arrogance and his ego began to take over and he began to make choices that were not consistent with God’s instruction.

Soon, everything began to fall apart.

It is here where our story today picks up. Samuel is grieving Saul’s disobedience. But, God has already moved on, deciding that Saul’s monarchy will not continue. So, God directs Samuel to go to Bethlehem. That there, in Bethlehem, Samuel will find the new king and anoint him.

As Samuel approaches Bethlehem, the village elders approach him. They are nervous. It is never a good thing, in their mind, that God’s prophet is coming to their village. Yet, Samuel assures them that he is there in peace--that he has come to make sacrifice to God. He invites them to prepare themselves for the sacrifice--to make themselves ritually clean--and to join him. Samuel also invites Jesse to make sacrifice. Jesse, grandson of Boaz and Ruth, and a descendant of Perez, son of Judah. Jesse’s line can be traced all the way back to Judah. Jesse, who’s name means “man of God.”

It is from Jesse’s lineage--from his sons--that Israel’s new king will come.

Samuel sees Jesse’s oldest son, Eliab, and thinks, “This must be him, right in front.” Perhaps it was his appearance, perhaps he looked as Samuel thought a king should look, perhaps tall and handsome--the way we like our leaders to look.

Yet, he isn’t God’s choice. God says to Samuel,” Pay no attention to his appearance or his stature. Because I don’t look at things like humans do. I look beyond appearances. I look at the heart.”

So Samuel continues. Son after son, he moves through Jesse’s family. When he reaches the seventh one, the last one there, he says to Jesse, “Are there any more? Is that all of them?

Jesse says that there is. One more. The youngest. The one that is out in the pastures keeping the sheep.

Samuel asks Jesse to send for him. When he arrives, Samuel sees that he is ruddy-looking (remember Esau?) and that he had beautiful eyes. That he was good-looking. God, though, saw his heart and said to Samuel, “He’s the one! Anoint him!”

Samuel took the oil he’d brought with him--the ram’s horn full of oil--and poured it over the youngest son’s head, anointing him as the new king of Israel. Our text says that “the Lord’s spirit came over David from that point forward.”

David would go on to become the greatest king that Israel would have. And, it would be through David’s line, through his lineage, that another, even greater, King would come. A Messiah.

How do we make sense for ourselves of this story? How do we make our own meaning from it? How does it inform us today in the 21st century? After all, the days of kings and monarchies, of warring neighbors, of oppression and oppressive structures, are gone or nearly gone! Aren’t they? We are so much more enlightened than the Israel of the past. Aren’t we? We don’t choose our leaders--or anyone else, for that matter--based on outward appearances! We don’t look to our leaders to be our very own, self-selected saviors! Do we? We certainly don’t reject God, failing to trust that God will prosper and sustain us! Do we? 

Do we?

I think we do. I think we are not all that different than Israel. I think we look at outward appearances because we want to be just like everyone else. And, I think we fail, regularly, to look inside and see the heart of others.

God does. God sees the hearts of others. God sees our hearts. Even in the midst of doubt and fear and failure, God sees our hearts.  And God loves us anyway. And God promises to prosper and sustain us. If we only believe it.

A few years into his monarchy, David--this great king of Israel--tripped up. He made some huge mistakes. When Samuel confronted him, he realized how deeply he had abandoned God and wrote this prayer:

Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean,
    scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life.
Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,
    set these once-broken bones to dancing.
Don’t look too close for blemishes,
    give me a clean bill of health.
God, make a fresh start in me,
    shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.
Don’t throw me out with the trash,
    or fail to breathe holiness in me.
Bring me back from gray exile,
    put a fresh wind in my sails!
Give me a job teaching rebels your ways
    so the lost can find their way home.
Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God,
    and I’ll sing anthems to your life-giving ways.

Today, after worship, we will hold a congregational meeting. At this meeting, we will elect our leadership for the next year. We will approve our budget for next year. And we will begin to envision where God is leading our congregation. Next week we will commit to funding that vision. And in two weeks, we will celebrate our 20th anniversary and invite our entire community to participate in that vision.

Where do you see yourself in that vision? Are you perhaps, like David, suffering from once-broken bones, blemished and gray, trying to survive the chaos of your life, feeling as though you have been tossed out with the trash? Or are you, perhaps, like Israel, believing that God can’t be relied upon, that we can only rely upon ourselves.

May we learn from Israel and trust that God has in mind to prosper and sustain us. May we pray like David that God might breathe holiness in us and put fresh wind in our sails! May we do the work of God--teaching rebels God’s ways so that all people might find their way home. Back to a God who loves them. And who loves us. Deeply.

May David’s prayer be our prayer. May God continue to make fresh starts in us so that we might continue to sing songs to God's life-giving way. Amen.

Preached October 22, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

20th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 51:10-14; John 7:24.