Following Jesus: An Extravagant Life

As we began the gospel of John at the beginning of the year, I mentioned - if you remember - that this gospel was written at a time when the Christian community had likely been expelled from the synagogue. Up until then, they had been likely seen as one sect within Judaism. Their expulsion is one of the reasons why we find, so often, in John, this phrase, “The Jews.” It seems to be a reference to all of the Jews, when, most likely, it is used simply to refer to the religious leaders. This language has often been used as a basis for anti-Semitism in our world. It’s why, as we work our way through John, I often offer correctives, so that the text isn’t misunderstood in this way.

John was written for this early Christian community as it was trying to differentiate itself from Judaism. It was a young community, still trying to fully comprehend who Jesus was and, also, trying to find its own identity apart from the Jewish faith. It’s why we often find Jesus portrayed in opposition to the religious leaders. The wounds were fresh for these early Christians. The only way to make sense of who they were was, once again, in opposition to the leaders of the synagogue who had expelled them.

Tonight’s lesson, on this Ash Wednesday, is actually part two of the story we heard this past Sunday - the story of Jesus healing the blind man and how this angered the Pharisees, ostensibly because he had done this good deed on the Sabbath. We read tonight, beginning with the last verse of Sunday’s lesson and continuing, then, on into chapter 10.

Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you wouldn’t have any sin, but now that you say, ‘We see,” your sin remains.

I assure you that whoever doesn’t enter into the sheep pen through the gate but climbs over the wall is a thief and an outlaw. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The guard at the gate opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. Whenever he has gathered all of his sheep, he goes before them and they follow him, because they know his voice. They won’t follow a stranger but will run away because they don’t know the stranger’s voice.” Those who heard Jesus use this analogy didn’t understand what he was saying.

So Jesus spoke again, “I assure you that I am the gate of the sheep. All who came before me were thieves and outlaws, but the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved. They will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief enters only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that they could have life—indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. When the hired hand sees the wolf coming, he leaves the sheep and runs away. That’s because he isn’t the shepherd; the sheep aren’t really his. So the wolf attacks the sheep and scatters them. He’s only a hired hand and the sheep don’t matter to him.

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own sheep and they know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. I give up my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that don’t belong to this sheep pen. I must lead them too. They will listen to my voice and there will be one flock, with one shepherd.

“This is why the Father loves me: I give up my life so that I can take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I give it up because I want to. I have the right to give it up, and I have the right to take it up again. I received this commandment from my Father.” --John 10:1-18 (CEB)

My dad was a shepherd, of sorts. Many of you already know this. Raising sheep was a central vocation for him. And, even though we eventually added cattle to our stock, it was sheep that produced the primary income for our family ranch.

Honestly, my dad always thought sheep were a little stupid. He would get frustrated and yell at them. Quite often. They were easily led astray. Would frequently get out of the fence. And they, just generally, made him a little crazy.

In the winter time, even though they were out to pasture, my dad would supplement their feed with alfalfa that he’d grown and put up in the summer. I remember the first time I went out with him and my brother in our pickup to feed the sheep then. It was a bumpy ride across the pasture. My dad would drive in the direction he thought the herd might be, then he’d roll down his window and call them. He had a certain way of doing it. “Come boss!” he’d yell. “Come boss!” Over and over again. It wasn’t long before we would see them headed toward our pickup to be fed. As much as my brother and I would try to mimic our dad, they never came for us the way they did for him. Because they knew his voice. 

They are like the sheep in the parable Jesus is telling the Pharisees, as he tries to explain to them who he is. These sheep that hear and follow the voice of the shepherd. 

That Jesus uses a shepherd metaphor here is no accident. This image of a shepherd is borrowed from the Hebrew scriptures, where it is used to refer to God’s chosen leaders, called to tend the flock called Israel. The Pharisees - learned in the Torah as they were - would have caught the reference. 

They might catch the reference, but they didn’t understand the metaphor. So, Jesus tries again, with another. This one about a gate. It’s all very confusing. Perhaps not only for them, but maybe also for us, too.

Finally, Jesus, as he so often does, has no other choice but to more fully explain. He is the Good Shepherd. He will lay down his life for the sheep. Willingly.

For the early Christian community for whom the gospel was written, this begins to make sense. Like the blind man, in last Sunday's story, whose pilgrimage of faith eventually resulted in his expulsion from the synagogue, so, too, their pilgrimage of faith ended up with an expulsion from their place of safety. A step for them into a religious unknown. Not a step that they took willingly, but one forced on them. Yet, even so, they respond to the call of Jesus - the Good Shepherd - to follow where he leads.

Isn’t this our pilgrimage, too? Isn’t this the path of true faith - faith that requires moving into an unknown future? We as believers in Christ can no more remain complacent in our places of safety than the sheep can remain in the fold and not respond to the call of the Good Shepherd to move to new pasture.

But, here’s the thing. It’s a dangerous world out there. Full of voices and pressures and other things that would seek to confuse us - to turn us away from the voice of our shepherd. Their aim is not for our benefit, but to destroy the flock for their own self-interest, rather than lead us along the true path.

This is why the season of Lent is so important for us. It’s a call for us to return. To come back into the fold. Because, only the Good Shepherd has our best interest at heart. Only the Good Shepherd will lead us through the darkest valley. Only the Good Shepherd will give up his life - willingly give up his life - for us.  

Why would he do this? So that we might live, our text tells us. Not just after we die, but, especially, here and now. Isn’t that the image we hear in Psalm 23? “You set a table for me right in front of my enemies. You bathe my head in oil; my cup is so full it spills over. 

Can you hear the voice of the Shepherd calling you to this amazing and extravagant life?

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that we’ve been in the wilderness over these past few years. It feels as though so much in our world is broken. It feels as though we are so broken. We are broken. We don’t need Ash Wednesday to remind us of our own mortality. We are living it daily.

But, sometimes, doesn’t it take being immersed in the wilderness to begin to see the beauty in it? To notice the wildflowers? The life that finds its way through? 

Tonight, in the wilderness and amidst the dust of our mortality, the Good Shepherd invites us in as we are. Our brokenness, our joy, our gifts and our doubts - all belong to him. He promises to protect us. To guide us. And to love us. Extravagantly. Willingly.

May you hear his voice. May this shepherd's love fill you up and spill over. And may it expand you to overflow with God’s goodness and faithful love. All the days of your life. Amen.

Preached March 2, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville

Ash Wednesday

Readings: John 10:1-18; Psalm 23

 

Invitation to Abundant Life: Living Water

Over these past several weeks, we’ve been hearing stories about Jesus welcoming people into a life filled with abundance. Let’s review those stories to help us remember. You may wish to open a Bible to the Gospel of John to help in the remembering. 

The first place to turn is John, chapter 3. In this story, we heard Jesus’ invitation to Nicodemus. Can you retell that story? Take a look at it to refresh your memory.

Next, we learned about Jesus meeting the woman at the well. That story is found in John, chapter 4. Remember that story? Can you summarize it?

Last week, thanks to Pastor Ron, you learned that Jesus is the Bread of Life. This story is found in John 6:35-59. Can you also remember that story? 

This week, we hear about Jesus being life-giving water. And we also hear about the Holy Spirit. In this story, Jesus continues to invite people into a life of abundance. But, there is an undercurrent of tension that is beginning to follow his movements. Even as Jesus is talking about the Holy Spirit, we also hear in the background about plotting and deception.

Today's story is from John, chapter 7. After you read it, close your eyes and picture in your imagination what is happening. Feel the mood. How it changes as the story progresses.

We read from John, chapter 7. 

On the last and most important day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted,

“All who are thirsty should come to me!
    All who believe in me should drink!
    As the scriptures said concerning me,
        Rivers of living water will flow out from within him.”

Jesus said this concerning the Spirit. Those who believed in him would soon receive the Spirit, but they hadn’t experienced the Spirit yet since Jesus hadn’t yet been glorified.

When some in the crowd heard these words, they said, “This man is truly the prophet.” Others said, “He’s the Christ.” But others said, “The Christ can’t come from Galilee, can he? Didn’t the scripture say that the Christ comes from David’s family and from Bethlehem, David’s village?” So the crowd was divided over Jesus. Some wanted to arrest him, but no one grabbed him.

The guards returned to the chief priests and Pharisees, who asked, “Why didn’t you bring him?”

The guards answered, “No one has ever spoken the way he does.”

The Pharisees replied, “Have you too been deceived? Have any of the leaders believed in him? Has any Pharisee? No, only this crowd, which doesn’t know the Law. And they are under God’s curse!”

Nicodemus, who was one of them and had come to Jesus earlier, said, “Our Law doesn’t judge someone without first hearing him and learning what he is doing, does it?”

They answered him, “You are not from Galilee too, are you? Look it up and you will see that the prophet doesn’t come from Galilee.”

As I read, I invite you to close your eyes and to picture in your imaginations what is happening. Feel the mood and how it changes as the story progresses. (John 7:37-52 CEB)

This story begins with promises. It is set during the Feast of Tabernacles, which we also know as the Festival of Booths or Sukkot. The Feast of Tabernacles was one of three festivals that required, under Jewish law, a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It was a festival of remembering for the people of Israel. Taking them back to their time in the wilderness, after they had been liberated from Egypt. It was a place where they were completely dependent upon God. This festival had two ceremonies, one centered around water and the other around light - two necessities that provided by God in the wilderness. God, who provided their every meal. Who ensured that they had water to drink. Who led them, even in the darkness of the wild places. Without God, Israel would not have survived. With God, Israel had life

As we’ve seen him do earlier in John around other Jewish festivals and practices, Jesus is using this opportunity to re-contextualize this festival around himself. And around who he is. He begins with a promise. Jesus calls out for all who are thirsty.  And, then, he invites them to drink of him. He promises to be life-giving water. This water, he then explains, is the Holy Spirit. Inviting you to use your imagination once more, if you were in the crowd, how might you have felt or what would you have been thinking if you’d heard this invitation and promise from Jesus? Be honest. Time for responses.

Now, let’s think about the second half of the story. We hear voices in the crowd that question the validity of Jesus’ claims - just as some of us might have, too. The temple guards return to the Jewish leaders and tell them what’s been happening. The only one to stand up for Jesus is Nicodemus. But, then, he is quickly outnumbered and put down. Now what are you feeling? What are your thoughts? Are you asking the same questions? Are you getting uncomfortable?

It is easy for us to fall into a pattern of giving pat answers. What I like to call Sunday school answers. But, I wonder if you or I were present that day, which side we would be on and whether we would claim so quickly to be followers of Jesus. 

Over these last two weeks, I participated in a two-week intensive with my doctoral cohort. The first week, the title of our class was “Not Your White Jesus: De-Centering Whiteness and Nurturing an Anti-Racist Community as Christian Formation.” The second week, the class title was “Risking Attention to Embodied Life Together.” Both of these classes talked about who we are as the Church. And, honestly, about who we haven’t been as the Church. It was a hard two weeks with many hard conversations. Painful conversations.

You see, we, as Christians, don’t have a good history here. It really begins with the early Church who, like us, was influenced by culture. By a culture that teaches us to create our own identity by being in opposition to others. By comparing ourselves to others. By being better than others. Or by exerting more power than others. We saw this carried out in the anti-Muslim fervor of the Crusades. We saw this in Luther’s time and in the use of this very scripture against the Jews. We see this in the Church today - how one form of Christianity is more representative than other forms of Christianity. Or how Christians are better than people of other faiths. And, we see it in ways that are even closer to home.  How we have used scripture to exclude people from this abundant life that God offers for everyone and everything that God has created. 

We need this life-giving water Jesus offers, this Holy Spirit. We need to drink of it deeply. Because it is the Spirit - and the Spirit alone - who can transform our hard and divisive hearts. Who can help us, as in the example - the surprising example - of Nicodemus. It is the Spirit alone who can help us understand that discipleship is hard. That pushing back when someone makes a racist comment, or an anti-gay comment, or an anti-conservative or anti-liberal comment, or any comment that “others” people is hard. It is a way of life that requires us to be utterly dependent upon God. That God will guide us through, even in those wilderness moments. As God did for Israel.  

And just as Jesus does. He is the example for us. Jesus. He was willing to cross boundaries. To build relationships with those who had been tossed out or excluded by the community. To die because of it. So that all people - ourselves included - might experience abundant life. Together.

We are getting close to Lent. Over these next weeks, Jesus’ time with his disciples is about to change. His earthly ministry is nearing an end. Next week, we will celebrate the Transfiguration and then we will begin Lent with Ash Wednesday. Will you follow Jesus on this journey? Will you give up your life or even a portion of it to together travel this hard road with him - this road that leads, even in death, to abundant life?

I pray that you will. That you will drink and drink deeply of the life-giving Water Jesus offers. And that, in doing so, you, too, will experience the abundant life. Given by Jesus. For you. For all creation. Amen.

Preached February 27, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Epiphany 7

Readings: John 7:37-52; Psalm 147:1-11

Journey to the Cross: Crossing Boundaries

It all started for me this week with a Facebook post. Now, some of you already know that I am fasting this Lent from social media. But, this post was from Monday in a clergy group discussing this week’s text from Luke 10. It was a new perspective on one of our stories today - the story of Mary and Martha. I’ll share that perspective in just a moment. But, the post led to a long, at times heated, discussion about the traditional interpretation of this story, which seems to pit the acts of service and listening to God’s Word against each other, as well as two sisters.  

What’s also interesting though, today, is that our text includes two stories. The story of Mary and Martha, but also the story that immediately precedes it - of the Good Samaritan. The juxtaposition of stories in scripture is important. And when two stories are placed immediately adjacent and these same two stories are only featured in one of the four gospels, well, it’s time to sit up and take notice. 

We read in Luke, chapter 10, verse 25, where it all begins with a question.

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Notice that the lawyer comes to Jesus not with a good intent, but to test him. The first problem with his question is that he asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. I don’t know about you, but the last time I inherited something, it wasn’t because of anything I’d done. This is the same, isn’t it, with eternal life? We are invited by God into a full life, not by what we do, but by what God does. Grace. 

To answer, Jesus, as he often does, responds with a question or two. “What is written? What do you read?” he asks. A better translation of that second question is “How do you read?” It’s an implication that our perspective and the lens through which we read scripture can drive our interpretation. 

The lawyer responds to Jesus: “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” Again, the full life God calls us to isn’t about what we do. However, to not respond to God’s grace by serving neighbor cheapens God’s actions toward us. Jesus tells him his answer is correct, that doing this will give him life. But, the lawyer isn’t finished yet. He’s got one more question for Jesus. “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus responds with a story, one we know well. Or do we?

We continue with verse 30. Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

We know this story. How the priest and the Levite, both men who should have been the ones to stop and help this man, wounded and dying at the side of the road, pass by him. On the other side, no less. Not even stopping to check his condition. It’s only the Samaritan who stops to help. A man who would have been on the cultural edge of Israel - an “other” in our language today. I don’t think the first two men were evil. Perhaps, as Martin Luther King wrote, they just got the question wrong. The question they ask themselves is “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?” Instead, the Samaritan asks the question, “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” It’s a perspective that is outward looking, teaching us that discipleship in response to God’s grace is focused on service to others, even if it means we cross cultural boundaries. 

Immediately after this exchange, we then move in Luke to the second story for today, beginning at verse 38. Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

We finished the previous story talking about crossing cultural boundaries. These aren't only ethnic or racial boundaries. They are also boundaries of gender. The gospel of Luke crosses boundaries. It features more women in it than the three other gospels combined. Notice in this story that Jesus goes to the home of Mary and Martha. By himself. This, in itself would have been a cultural “no-no.”  

The story of Mary and Martha is familiar to us. We’ve heard it many times before.  It’s a story that as it has traditionally been interpreted pits sister against sister, woman against woman - placing hospitality and service against making time for study. Today, I’d like to offer an alternative perspective, first introduced by theologian Mary Hanson in 2014. It may get a little theologically nerdy. But, I think it’s important to hear this voice, a voice that comes from the cultural edge of theological circles.  

The basic gist behind her perspective is that by repeating for generations the traditional interpretation of this story without re-evaluating it - an interpretation first preached by Origen, a Christian scholar from the third century. Hanson’s claim is that this interpretation has left many unsolved questions and contradictions. One example of this is that it contradicts Jesus’ own words from the beginning of the chapter. Here, Jesus is sending the 70 disciples out into mission. He lifts up the positive aspect of hospitality and service. Then, later on in chapter 22, sets himself up as the example of a “servant.” It’s a direct contradiction to the very things that, under the traditional interpretation of this story, Martha is condemned for. 

Now, I won't go into the theological and exegetical details of her perspective now. I will in our Learning time after worship today. Hanson’s premise is that both Mary and Martha are known to be “sitters at the feet of Jesus, listening to his words,” a phrase that is often simply used to describe being a disciple. But, here’s the interesting part. Her claim is that Mary is not even present. That she is away from the house, leaving all of the work for Martha. But, this isn’t necessarily household work we’re talking about. The word for work in Greek comes from the room diakonia, which, is where we get the phrase “diaconal minister” from. The implication is not that Martha is distracted by household work, but potentially by her work of ministry, which might include leadership in a house church. She’s feeling overwhelmed and overburdened and is asking Jesus to tell Mary to return to help her. Where is Mary? Our text never tells us, but there are hints earlier in the chapter. Is it possible that Mary was one of the 70 sent out to evangelize? Whatever the case, when Jesus notes that she is “worried and distracted” it is not a reference to a boiling pot on a stove. There’s a sense in the Greek words used here that there much more going on, perhaps even a sense of unrest or disturbance for which Martha is deeply concerned over Mary’s well-being, wherever she may be. 

It’s only been since Wednesday that we heard the words of Jesus about what it means to leave people and things behind to follow him. If we are open to the interpretation of this story, it’s a lesson for us in discipleship and it’s costs, as with the story of the Samaritan. For Martha, it means the emotional stress of leadership and, also, the possibility of deep concern for her own sister’s welfare. For the Samaritan, it's about concern for neighbor, especially when it might put us or our perspective at risk.   

Discipleship is not intended to be easy. It may require hard decisions. It may demand risk and sacrifice. It may also require, as we see in Luke’s gospel, listening to other voices, especially those that have not been heard. 

But, we have an example to follow. In Jesus, who gives the ultimate sacrifice and who moves across boundaries and borders to change our world. As we journey alongside him to the cross this Lent, may we be reminded once again what it means to be his disciples. And may God renew us as we travel. Amen. 

Preached February 21, 2021, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church and Third Lutheran Church.

First Sunday of Lent.

Readings: Luke 10:25-42, Psalm 15

The Power of the Kingdom: Who Are You?

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

Welcome to Transfiguration Sunday and to the end of the Epiphany season! 

Several weeks ago, we talked about the meaning of this word, epiphany. Anyone want to venture a definition? An epiphany can be an idea, a new thought, perhaps even a new understanding. The season of Epiphany is quite similar. It’s a season of revelation, of stories that tell us who Jesus is.

If you think all the way back to early January, when we first moved into the gospel of Mark, do you remember how the gospel opened? “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Soon after, at Jesus’ baptism, we heard the voice from heaven speaking directly to Jesus - “You are my Son, the Beloved,” confirming that this Jesus is the Christ, the Anointed One, the Messiah long promised. We know this, but, so far only the demons have been able to figure it out, too. The disciples just don’t seem to get it.

This is likely why, in the story just before today’s reading, we witness Jesus healing a blind man. Twice. Because the first time, it doesn’t take. At least not fully. Like the blind man, the disciples are beginning to see, but not clearly. At least, not yet.

Then, we come to the first part of today’s lesson. From Mark, chapter 8. 

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” --Mark 8:27-33 (NRSV)

This portion of our reading, often called the “Confession of Peter,” is the literary hinge for the Gospel of Mark. It’s both an ending to the first half of the Gospel and an introduction to the second half.  We are transitioning from Galilee in the north in the first half to Jerusalem in the south in the second. After today’s story, we will begin this journey to the south. To Jerusalem. And to what awaits Jesus there. 

But it has been in Galilee where the main question that Jesus is being asked is “Who are you?” Soon the question will change to “Why are you here?” But, before this happens, Jesus is about to give the disciples a little quiz. To decide how good their sight is. Or isn’t.

“Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asks them.  Immediately, Peter jumps in with a response. “You are the Christ,” he says. We might applaud and cheer him for getting it so right. Except he has gotten it so wrong. Because, Peter doesn’t see. He doesn’t understand who this Jesus is. He has in his mind the traditional picture of the Messiah, of the Christ - a political figure who would wield power and authority and who would free the Jewish people from Roman occupation, restoring the line of King David. This is who Peter understands Jesus to be. It is a picture that he and many others have created in their minds as to what this Messiah will be like, adopting their own idea, rather than God’s idea. An image that is perhaps intensified by the fact that they are in Caesarea Philippi, named in honor of Emperor Augustus Caesar, and the seat of power for the Roman government in this region. 

Thus, we can easily understand why Peter, even after all the time spent with Jesus, would still believe that this was who Jesus was. Because it was this Messiah that fit who Peter was and what he really wanted. Peter and so many others.

Don’t we do the same thing? We fashion Jesus out of who we are and what we want in a savior. Maybe it’s a savior to swoop down and save us when we are done something foolish or made a bad choice. A savior of convenience, who we quickly forget then when things are better. 

Or maybe we try to co-opt Jesus for our own political ends. With both the political left and right in our country trying to claim (or reclaim) Jesus as their own. Each creating an image of the Jesus they want and then co-opting him for their own purposes. To defend their actions. To support a position. To  justify a cause.

Who are you? The answer to that question will identify what your Jesus looks like. Because chances are you, as I, have created Jesus in your image, for your own needs, and as you want him to be.
Just as Jesus did with Peter, he does with us. Rebuking us for thinking human thoughts instead of God’s thoughts.

Who is Jesus? What does it take to be his disciple? We, like Peter and the rest of the disciples, soon find this out. 

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” And he said to them, “Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power.” --Mark 8:34-9:1 (NRSV)

Jesus tells us to take up our cross. To take up our instrument of death and follow him. Because, to be Jesus’ disciple means we must lose our lives. Our selves. And, particularly, our image of the Messiah as we want him to be. 

One wonders what Peter was thinking after all this. After his picture of who the Messiah was, of who Jesus was had been blown to smithereens. But, soon after, we find ourselves with him and other disciples in a mountaintop experience. 

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. --Mark 9:2-8 (NRSV)

If Peter had been confused before, think of how he felt now. As they watched Jesus transfigured. Saw his face glowing. His clothing turning bright. Witnessing the appearance of Elijah - that great prophet. And Moses - that great law giver. Jesus, surrounded symbolically by the “Law and the Prophets.” And the fulfillment of them. And then that voice from heaven. This time speaking directly to them. This is my Son. Listen to him! It’s no wonder Peter wanted to stay there. To bask in that experience for a little bit. To build a few tents and just camp out there. Because the words Jesus had spoken a few days before, about taking up one’s instrument of death, had stuck with him. Perhaps, terrified him a bit. Here, on the mountain top, he felt safe and secure, basking in the light of Jesus, the very Son of God. 

Sisters and brothers, just as our story today is a literary hinge in the Gospel of Mark, so this Transfiguration Sunday is a hinge between Epiphany and Lent. Between the revelation of who Jesus is and the answer to the question of why he has come. It’s tempting for us to want to stay here, on the mountaintop, where it feels safe and secure. Where we are centered. Where we, like Peter, bask in the glory of God. 

But, this is not who we have been called to be. Instead, we are called down off the mountain, into the messiness and grittiness of our daily lives. Into our communities. Freed as we are to be in service to this place. And, knowing that, as we journey, Jesus accompanies us as he did Peter and the disciples. Teaching us who he is, why he came, and reminding us who we are. Every step of every day for the rest of our lives, into all eternity.

May we bask in the light of our Savior this day. But, may we then gladly go out to be in service to all the world. Amen. 

Preached February 23, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
The Transfiguration of Our Lord
Readings: Mark 8:27-9:8; Malachi 4:4-6; Psalm 27:1-4

Cultivating and Letting Go

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


May God grant it. Amen.

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

Invitation to Abundant Life: In Jesus (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God grant it. Amen.

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

I Pledge Allegiance

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Sound familiar? For some of us it brings back distant memories from childhood, standing at the start of each school day, hand to heart, pledging allegiance to the flag of our country and all that that means.

For some of us, it may reflect what we do every day, in school as a student or teacher, as a scout leader or any other vocation where we regularly pledge allegiance to our country.

Pledging allegiance. This is the topic of our text today. Pledging allegiance.

Now I know that, so often, as we’ve heard this story of Jesus being tempted (or tested, which is another translation of the word), so much of our focus has been on sin and on the devil. On resisting temptation and the forces of evil.  

Traditionally, this text has always come during Lent, those 40 days when we are so focused on giving up our vices. Whether it’s chocolate, Facebook, failing to work out. Whatever it is. Lent is the time it seems to try to give something up, to deprive ourselves.  And a time, if you’re like me, when we fail. Inevitably.

I think we’ve really misunderstood and, perhaps, even misused this text as an example from Jesus of how to resist temptation. How to resist sin. (As though this is something we can even do.)

No, instead, I think this text speaks to us about allegiance. About pledging allegiance. About to whom or to what we pledge our allegiance.

So, let’s look at it. 

During the past season of Epiphany we’ve jumped around a bit in our Matthew gospel. We moved from Jesus’ baptism and fast forwarded to his ministry of healing and teaching and proclaiming the coming of God’s kingdom. We ended last Sunday on the mountaintop and witnessed God affirming both Jesus as God’s Son and the path chosen for him.

Today’s text pushes us backwards in time, to the period just after Jesus’ baptism. The Holy Spirit has led Jesus into the wilderness to be tested. To see if he is ready for the task that God has sent him for. Jesus has fasted - a widespread and valued act of devotion in his time. He has done this over 40 days (Hmmm. Does that number sound familiar?) And now Jesus is ready to face the Devil. 

It is no accident that Jesus is here. He is not lost. He is not being punished for something wrong he has done.

No, Jesus, has been led by the Holy Spirit to this very place for a purpose. To be tested. The debate he is about to enter into with the Devil, or Diabolos in the Greek, is really an assessment tool. A threefold test, or more rather, proof, of his readiness as God’s beloved Son for the mission that God has entrusted to him.

This past Wednesday, we talked briefly about the history of the 40 days of Lent. Traditionally, it was a time of learning for those newer to the faith. A time to devote themselves to the traditional disciplines of Lent-- caring for the poor, fasting, and immersion in Scripture and prayer. It was 40 days of devotion and fasting - very much like Jesus’ period of 40 days in the wilderness. And, also, like that of Jesus, it was a time of preparation for their own test, the assessment of their own readiness to embark upon the mission that God had called them to and entrusted them with. 

That test, for these early believers, would come on the eve of Easter, at the Easter Vigil, when they would be baptized. Early in the baptismal rite, they would be asked three questions. Tests, really. Just as the Devil tested Jesus with three questions, so, too, these new believers would be tested, or questioned, as part of their baptism. 

We take the same test. The same assessment. The same pledge of allegiance. If you open your hymnals to page 229 you will see these three questions. We call them the three renunciations:

Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?

Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?

Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?

These three questions are the same ones that have been asked for thousands of years in the church. These are the same questions asked of Jesus in the wilderness. To whom will you pledge allegiance? Who will you follow? In whom will you put your trust?

Will you pledge allegiance to the forces of darkness that defy God? Will you follow the powers of this world or of our culture that rebel from and seek to deny God? Will you trust yourself instead of putting your trust in God?

Like Jesus in the wilderness, we take the test. And in our baptisms we pledge our allegiance to God. To follow God. To trust God.

Yet, unlike Jesus, we have miserably failed in our own pledge of allegiance to God. Our pledge to follow God. To trust God. 

And, yet, this is the promise of the Gospel: God with us. Jesus has gone before us, even to the most forsaken places of the wilderness. He meets us in the most difficult tests of our lives. There is no place so desolate, so distant, so challenging, the Jesus has not already been there. There is no test so great that Jesus has not overcome it. 

All of this, Jesus has done for us. So that, even in our failure, we pass the test.

Over these next 40 days, we will be looking at our baptismal promises. We will be studying them, what they mean for us as individuals and what they mean for us as a community. We tell this amazing story of how God is with us in Jesus--the one who passed the test for us. As we look more deeply at our baptismal promises, I pray that we will become more of that story that we tell. That we will become the story we tell so we may more fully share that story in word and deed.

And, so, during these 40 days of Lent, I have a reminder of this for you. It is a wilderness stone, of sorts. A stone for you to carry with you each day. 

When those moments come when you are tested, you might hold it in your hand and remember that Jesus has passed the test for you and for me. That Jesus knows all of the difficulties and the heartaches and the challenges we face. And that, in Jesus, God has promised to be with us as we go about our work of sharing this Good News in the work we do and in the words we say…

”I pledge allegiance to my God.”

May God help us to all live more fully into this pledge. Amen.