From Generation to Generation: We See God in Each Other

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If we would only recognize this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advent 4

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

Promises Made, Promises Broken: God's House

Over these past many weeks, we have been moving through the Hebrew scriptures under the theme, Promises Made, Promises Broken. We have learned about the great promises that God has made to humanity. And ways in which humankind has made and often broken promises, both to God and to one another. 

This idea of promise - or covenant - is one of the most important themes in the Bible. The covenants in scripture are the background upon which the entire narrative of God and of God’s story of redemption are built. They’re like the backbone of the Bible. 

From Genesis on, God enters into a series of formal, covenanted relationships, one after another, in order to rescue God’s world. Understanding these divine-human relationship stories are central to our understanding who Jesus is. That for us, is pretty important, isn’t it? So, we’re going to remember, for just a few minutes, these key biblical covenants. 

We began the fall at the beginning. Creation. God made this beautiful world and placed humankind in it to care for it and to partner with God to bring more good out of it. But the humans don’t want to partner with God. They rebel and try to create a world on their own terms. It’s this broken partnership that the Bible gives as an explanation for why we’re stuck in a world of corruption and injustice and death. So God selects a small group of people and makes a new partnership with them. God’s purpose is to use this covenant relationship to renew God’s partnership with all humanity.

There are four central covenants in the Hebrew scripture through which God is forming a covenant family into which all the world will be invited. In the first covenant with Noah, God promises him, his family and all living creatures that God will never again destroy earth. No matter how evil it becomes.

In the second covenant with Abraham, God enters into a partnership with him. And promises Abraham a huge family that will inherit a promised piece of land in Canaan. And that through Abraham and his family, all humanity will be blessed. 

The third covenant is with this huge family that eventually became the nation of Israel. God rescued Israel from bondage in Egypt and promised to make them God’s treasured possession. A holy nation. Set apart. And with whom God would personally dwell in their midst and bring into the land originally promised to Abraham. God would be their God. And they would be God’s people - a kingdom of priests that would show God’s goodness and glory to all the nations. 

Today, we come to the fourth covenant. Beginning last week and continuing today, we find that Israel has entered Canaan, the promised land. Eventually, to be like the surrounding nations, they demanded a king. God appointed Saul. Yet, he fails to obey God. And so, God chooses another king for Israel. David. Son of Jesse. From the tribe of Judah. King David becomes a successful leader, overcoming Israel’s enemies. Uniting the tribes. And establishing Jerusalem as the political center of Israel, where he builds his palace - a “house of cedar.” Then, in the chapter before today’s reading, David restores the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. Making it, not only the political center of Israel, but it’s religious center, as well. It is here where our story begins. In 2nd Samuel, chapter 7.  

Now when the king was settled in his house, and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him, the king said to the prophet Nathan, “See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent.” Nathan said to the king, “Go, do all that you have in mind; for the Lord is with you.”

But that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan: Go and tell my servant David: Thus says the Lord: Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, “Why have you not built me a house of cedar?” Now therefore thus you shall say to my servant David: Thus says the Lord of hosts: I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep to be prince over my people Israel; and I have been with you wherever you went, and have cut off all your enemies from before you; and I will make for you a great name, like the name of the great ones of the earth. And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant them, so that they may live in their own place, and be disturbed no more; and evildoers shall afflict them no more, as formerly, from the time that I appointed judges over my people Israel; and I will give you rest from all your enemies. Moreover the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me. When he commits iniquity, I will punish him with a rod such as mortals use, with blows inflicted by human beings. But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever. In accordance with all these words and with all this vision, Nathan spoke to David. (2 Samuel 7:1-17 NRSV)

One of the first things we notice in this story is that the narrator does not refer to David by name. Instead, he is always called “the king.” This is to underscore that David - and not Saul - is now king. It also underscores his role as the leader of the nation Israel. Yet, when God speaks, beginning in verse 5, God always refers to him as, “my servant, David.” God knows him by name. 

It isn’t long before David gets a grand idea. He has a house to live in. It’s time to build a house for God. Something stable. And permanent. And secure. 

Now it’s not entirely clear here what his motivation is. Was he simply coming from a place of gratitude for all that God had done for him and for Israel? Or maybe this was a way to stay in God’s good graces? Or maybe, just maybe, it was a way for this earthly monarch to attempt to contain the heavenly monarch. To put God in a box. To control God.  

But, whatever David’s motivation is here, it is clear that he does not fully understand the nature of God’s grace. Whatever God has already done for David, God will continue to do more. To make for David a great name. To give him rest from all his enemies. And, for Israel, to plant them so they may live in their own place, secure. Where they will no longer be disturbed or afflicted by evildoers. 

But, the promises don’t stop there. It is in the next verses where God pivots on David's use of the word, “house.” Promising unconditionally to make a new kind of “house” for David. Not a dwelling place of cedar, but a dynasty. And from this dynasty, from this royal line, will come a descendant. A Messiah who will rule God’s kingdom. Forever. And ever. And ever.

As we hear this story, I’m struck by its similarities to the Reformation. One of the main catalysts for action at the time of the Reformation was the desire of the church to build a bigger and better house. It was the selling of indulgences to collect funds for this newer, bigger cathedral that set the Reformation in motion. As if God can be contained in a building. 

The story of King David. The story of the Reformation. All of these are stories of God’s great reversals. God recentering the direction of the action, putting God’s promises once again, front and center. And driving the question, “What is God doing?”

In this year 2020 with all the terrible things that have happened and the chaos that seems to surround us. As we have been pushed beyond the walls of our churches into this virtual place is this perhaps, another of God’s great reversals? God recentering us, once again, to ask the question, “What is God doing?” And, as God is once more being placed at the center, how might our own imaginations be reshaped for how we are, in fact, seeking to live out God’s will in our world today? 

What we do know, though, from the stories we have heard this fall is that God keeps God’s promises. It is this that we, as God’s people, cling to today. God keeps God’s promises. And God will find a way - a surprising new way - to be faithful. And, as with David, to shower us with grace upon grace upon grace. 

And so I end this now, where we began this morning. In Psalm 46.

God is our refuge and strength,

    a very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,

    though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;

though its waters roar and foam,

    though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

“Be still, and know that I am God!

    I am exalted among the nations,

    I am exalted in the earth.”

The Lord of hosts is with us;

    the God of Jacob is our refuge. Amen.

Preached October 25, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Reformation Sunday

Readings: 2 Samuel 7:1-17; Luke 1:30-33

The Power of God's Love: Death, the Last Enemy

Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain.

For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them—though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified of God that he raised Christ—whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have died in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled:

“Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

“Where, O death, is your victory?

    Where, O death, is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 15:1-26; 15:51-57 (NRSV)

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

I’ve mentioned before that, when I lived in California, I lived and worked in downtown Los Angeles for several years. Beginning in 1999 and continuing for three years, I would drive to work and pass by the construction site of what would become the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. During that time I watched it grow into a huge, kind of monstrous, 11-story, contemporary cathedral. 

To be honest, the exterior design wasn’t appealing. But the interior was breathtaking - in its simplicity and spirituality. One truly seemed to sense God’s presence in that space.

One aspect of the interior that I particularly love is a series of tapestries that surround the sides and back of the worship space - tapestries designed by artist John Nava. Most prominent are those along the south and north walls. Twenty-five fresco-like tapestries that depict 135 saints and blessed ones from around the world. People like Pope John the 23rd and Mother Teresa, from the 19th and 20th centuries. Or Ignatius Loyola, sainted in the 17th century. But, perhaps the most special figures in these beautiful tapestries are twelve figures that are untitled, including children. That represent the many anonymous holy people in our midst. In this space, one feels surrounded by the communion of saints. 

Now you might wonder why I’m talking about this cathedral and these tapestries, and particularly, the communion of saints. After all, this isn’t All Saints Sunday. It’s not the end of the church year. Yet, it is this communion of saints that Paul refers to in these opening verses of chapter 15, which we just heard. Those from whom the members of the Corinthian congregation have received their tradition of faith. In addressing the dispute over the veracity of the resurrection and the dispute over whether the resurrection of the dead will happen in the last days, Paul begins with a reminder to the church in Corinth. That he has passed a tradition of faith onto them, challenging them to hold on firmly to the message he first proclaimed to them. And that message? That Christ died for their sins and his. That Christ was buried. That he was raised from the dead on the third day. That he appeared to Cephas or Peter, and then to the twelve. And then to more than five hundred brothers and sisters. Then to James, Jesus’ earthly brother. And then to all of the apostles. This roll call of the earliest of the saints. Paul uses it to help them understand that this tradition - this eyewitness testimony to the resurrection - has passed from believer to believer to believer. And then to them. And that Christ’s resurrection from the dead can only be true.

But Paul does not stop there. He argues that, if it is true that Christ has been raised from the dead, then it is also true that the Corinthian believers will also be raised from the dead. If this is not true, then their faith has been in vain. Futile. Pitiful. Useless. Without hope. 

But, in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead. And he is the first of what will be many in the last days, when Christ comes a second time. After the kingdom of God, which he has initiated on earth, comes into its fullness. And when all the dead will be raised in bodily form. 

What did this mean for them? What does this mean for us? 

Perhaps Luther says it best: To [Paul] the resurrection is like putting on a beautiful new garment called...immortality. It is [a garment] spun and woven by Christ’s victory. For the victory of Christ [over death] was wrought for the purpose of clothing you with it and of cleansing you from your sin and death, so that nothing of your corruptible body remains…For God did not create man that he should sin and die, but that he should live...This [life] is not brought about in any other way than that we first shed this old, evil garment through death. We must be divested of it entirely, and it must turn into death. (LW 28, p. 2020)

With death we shed our old body, our old garment. This garment that carries with it our misfortunes and frailties. Our error and folly. The evil that we experience on earth. This old garment turns to dust. 

And at the end of days, this new time, this beginning of the new creation will happen when God will raise all the dead and will demonstrate God’s power over the power of death first witnessed in Christ’s resurrection. We will put on our new bodily garment.

It is in that first resurrection, though, that the future of this new world of life has already begun. We, believing in this risen Christ, trusting this tradition of the faith that has been passed onto us over and over throughout the centuries - we live in this in-between time. This time between a world of death and a new world. Of life. This time between - where God in Christ through the Holy Spirit continues to work to bring about new life. New life that is already in our midst, because the future has begun. 

This is the hope that we hold onto as believers in this faith that has been passed onto us through the communion of saints. This is the hope we hold onto as believers in Christ’s resurrection in the midst of this pandemic. This is the hope we hold onto in this time in-between, as we wait to shed our old worn bodily garment and put on our new one - our incorruptible one given to us and to the communion of all the saints. This is what we believe. This is what we hope. This is what we know. 

Or, as Luther writes: Now we say, Scriptum est, but then we shall say, Factum est.

Death has been swallowed up. New life begins. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Preached online May 24, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Easter 7

Readings: 1 Corinthians 15:1-26, 51-57; Mark 12:26-27a; Psalm 1

The Call to Serve: Authority and a Few Other Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caesar’s,” they replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Life We Claim: The Creed - God, Our Creator

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, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.  Genesis 1:1-5 (NRSV)

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

How many of you begin your day with a kiss? Perhaps, in the morning, as you’re preparing to walk out the door and go to work - perhaps you stop briefly to give you husband or your wife a little kiss. Or perhaps, it happens when you drop your children or your grandchildren off at school during the school year. That sweet little face upturned and waiting for a kiss - their sendoff to school. Or maybe, your children or grandchildren are older and, if they are anything like my son was in high school, the last thing he wanted his friends to see was him giving a quick little kiss to his mother before heading into school. 

These small gestures that we share with those we love each day can often happen without much thought. They seem like such a natural part of our lives in relationship with others. Yet, it is these small gestures - those little perfunctory kisses - that bear witness to something that is very deep. And very large. And very profound.


Today, we’re beginning a series on the Creeds. Each week, we recite a creed in worship. Sometimes, it’s the Apostles’ Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Nicene Creed. Sometimes, it’s the Athanasian Creed (Do you even know that one?). And, sometimes, it’s even a new creed that your pastor sneaks into the liturgy. We say the words like we give those kisses. Almost without thinking. Without much thought about what we’re actually saying. 

So, beginning this Trinity Sunday, we are going to take a deeper dive into the Creed. Into the depth of what it is we believe and why we believe it. To find out if there really is anything of substance to hold onto in the church. To ask questions. To be asked questions. To test our minds and our souls. And, particularly, to continue to grow into a kind of spirituality and faith that is not just some free floating, nebulous belief, but a faith comes from someplace. And that is going someplace. Someplace significant.

John Howell in his book on the Creed shares this lovely legend that circulated in the early church. “...[A]fter the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples that first Pentecost, Peter spoke the words, 'I believe in God the Father Almighty…' And, then Andrew added, 'And in Jesus Christ God’s only Son, our Lord.' And so they went around the table, a dozen disciples, a dozen sentences forming the Apostles’ Creed."

Now, this likely not how it happened. We’re pretty certain that the Apostles’ Creed originated sometime around the end of the 2nd century perhaps in response to a heresy that was being spread. Or, perhaps, they wanted to capture the big story in just a few words. God’s big story. After all, if we look at the Creed, it’s a pretty good summary of the sixty-six books of the Bible, isn’t it? It gives us a bird’s eye view of a story that spans thousands of years - in just thirteen phrases.  It helps us get our arms around the story of God’s mighty acts. Or maybe, it helps God get God’s arms around us.

The word, “creed,” comes from the Latin word, credo. It means “I believe.” This isn’t, though, the same as saying, “I feel,” or “I want,” or “I think.” Instead, it’s saying “God is.” That this is who our God is. And what our God has done. And continues to do. (One of the reasons I particularly like the New Creed, which we spoke throughout the Easter season is that, unlike the Apostles’ and the Nicene creeds, the New Creed, developed by the United Church of Canada, is in the present tense. It’s a reminder for us that this God and this story of God is not only in the past. But it is in our present. And will be in our future.)

So, as Howell writes, "when we say the words 'I believe,' we are, in effect, flinging ourselves upon God. Attaching ourselves to God. It’s the equivalent of 'I promise.' It’s not an opinion we’re expressing. It’s a promise that our lives and our love, our minds and our hearts, and everything we do, are steadfastly set now and in the future on God. And God alone.”

When you say the Creed each week, do you realize the promise you’re making?

The Creed, though, isn’t only about believing. It’s also about remembering. In ancient times, hundreds of Christians under interrogation by the Roman empire, refused to bow down to their gods. They would stand their ground. And declare, “I believe in God the Father almighty maker of heaven and earth…” And on and on through the Creed. Until they were executed.

Long before these moments, they had left their old lives behind. Risking everything by choosing Christianity. Not in the very posh way we choose Christianity today. But, knowingly choosing, and knowing that they could lose everything: families, homes, livelihood. Even lives. New converts were instructed in the faith for months, instruction that included fasting, abstaining from all entertainment and sex, and being prayed over diligently by elders in the church. And then, at an all-night prayer vigil beginning on the eve of Easter (Can you imagine worshiping all night long?), they would wade into a pool of water. And would be questioned: “Do you believe in God the Father almighty? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, God’s Son? Do you believe in the power of the Holy Spirit?”  Do you? Do you?

Then, after their confession of faith, they would be anointed with oil, dressed in white robes, and given a drink of milk and honey - a powerful reminder of the Promised Land and a symbol of their new life in Christ.

Every time we say the Apostles’ Creed, we step into this long, long, flowing river. A two thousand year story of believers, missionaries, and martyrs. 

The word “creed” originally meant “to give my heart to.” When we say the words of the creed - “I believe” we are claiming this life. Not only with the faith that lies within us, but a faith that is also outside of us. A faith that is part of something far bigger than we are. That we can’t even begin to imagine. 

Now, this has been a long introduction to the Creeds - to this life we claim. Before we go this morning, I’d like to briefly look at the First Article. I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

Do you ever wonder why we use Father instead of Mother? We know God is not male. That God has both male and female characteristics. The Bible itself is full of feminine images for God. So, why do we open the Creed by confessing our faith in “God the Father?” Anyone?

We call God “father” for one reason only. Because when Jesus spoke to God, he called God “Abba” - an Aramaic word that a little child would use when curling up on his or her father’s lap. And a word that the same child would use into adulthood as a term of endearment and affection. It’s a word that reflects an intimate relationship. A word that, when Jesus used it, the disciples noticed it. And marveled at his use. Jesus’ whole mission was to invite them to curl up on the lap of almighty God, to look up, and simply say, “Abba.” 

It’s why the prayer Jesus taught them begins with “Our Father.” Because, he wanted them to understand that they didn’t have to go it alone. To believe alone. Not only did they have a loving God - a loving Father - to love and protect them, but they also were saved to be part of a community. Part of a family. Part of the body of Christ. It meant, in the words of Tom Wright, that they, like we today, were signing on for the kingdom of God.

The second part of this article looks at the work of God. Creating. It’s the profound work and the profound theological claim that we heard in our reading from Matthew 6. That God is a creator who cares for all that God creates. All of creation. Every creature. A God who clothes the grass (and the lilies) and who will clothe and care for us, too. Because God loves God’s creation. And God loves God’s creatures. And God loves us. As Luther writes in the Large Catechism: “To say “I believe in God the Father’ is to say, ‘I hold and believe that I am a creature of God; that is, that God has given and constantly sustains my body, soul, and life.’”

This is the beauty and the promise we hear in the First Article and throughout the Creed. A promise of a God who loves us deeply. Who desires to be in relationship with us. Who constantly seeks to pull us back into relationship with godself and back into community with others who also seek to believe and to understand this mystery that is the Holy Trinity. This is mystery and this life we claim whenever we speak the words, “I believe.” 


May God help you to live fully into this promise. And this life we claim. Amen.

Preached June 16, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
The Holy Trinity (Pentecost 2)
Readings: Matthew 6:30-34, Genesis 1:1-5.

God's Promise of Jesus: Being Made New

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord,

    make his paths straight.’”

Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

“I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Matthew 3:1-17 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Triune God: Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. Amen.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week about water. As I was thinking about our worship on this day known as the Baptism of Our Lord, my mind began to wander as I was thinking about water.

When you think of water, what comes to mind for you? There are a few things for me. One of them is a memory from my childhood, when I was about seven years old. My dad loved to fish. So, on weekends, when the farm work was finished for the week, we’d travel as family to one of two rivers nearby. If we went an hour or so east, we’d run into the Missouri River - a river that was particularly known for its walleye. If we went a little northwest, we’d come to the Grand River. This was a muddier river and, because of it, was known for its catfish.

It was on one of these fishing trips that we were accompanied by two of my great uncles - Philip and John.

Now, I’m sure you can’t imagine this, but I was kind of a little brat growing up. I was the youngest, a little spoiled, and was kind of sneaky. On this particular fishing trip, I was in pretty rare form. As my dad and my two great uncles stood on the riverbank, casting for catfish, I decided it was my job that day to pester the heck out of them. I decided I would sneak up behind them and pour a small bucket of water on each of them.

Well, this only lasted a few times before my great uncles had had enough of me. The next time I began to sneak up on one of them, they were fully prepared. My Uncle John grabbed me. Then, my Uncle Philip grabbed me. They picked me up, one holding me under my arms and the other holding my feet. They started to swing me back and forth and, then, on the count of three, they promptly threw me in the river.

Now, fortunately, the Grand River was a pretty shallow river. It was more like a creek. And I knew how to swim, so there really wasn’t any danger involved. But, it is an experience I have never forgotten. The water was cold. I was fully clothed and got soaking wet. And I spent the rest of the day, somewhat uncomfortable in my damp clothing. (It was still worth it, though!)

For us, as children, water was something that fun to play in, especially during the warm days of summer. But, for my father, who was a rancher and a farmer, water meant a lot more. We lived in an area that didn’t have irrigation, so the feed crops my father grew were completely reliant upon the weather. 

Water was critical for our animals. There were many times that my father would have to go down to our creek in the winter and break through the ice so that they were able to drink. In the summer, he or my brother were constantly repairing the windmills that pumped water from the ground into big tanks for our livestock to drink. Our family’s livelihood was critically dependent upon water.

In our more urbanized lifestyle today, we rarely have to think about water or its availability. We just turn on the shower and it’s there. Or open the refrigerator door and grab a bottle to drink. And, here, in Louisville, where, last year, we experienced the wettest one on record, we’re almost mindless in how we use water. 

Today’s story is set near water. The Jordan River. It’s where our story opens as we introduced to John the Baptist. Some 30 years has passed between our story last week about Herod and the flight of Joseph and his family to Egypt to escape. Matthew describes him as a voice crying out of the wilderness. He occupies a place on the margins. On the margin of Jerusalem. On the margin of this center of power - this city that is the cultural, religious and political center of Judah. And, yet, even though he is on the margins, John’s ministry draws people out from the city and from the surrounding areas.  Large crowds, our text tells us. So large that John is referenced in all four of the Gospels. And even by Josephus, a Jewish historian from the time. 

Our story today tells us that these large crowds included Pharisees and Sadducees, two groups in opposition to each other in Jerusalem. Each fighting for power in Jerusalem. It’s no wonder that John calls them “You brood of vipers.” It's the start of a conflict that begins with John and, as we move through our Matthew text, we’ll see that it continues with Jesus. Our story also begins to show us a difference in the ministries of John and Jesus. John, who’s ministry is removed from the central location of the powerful elite. Jesus, who’s ministry begins on the margins, but will move into the centers of power, bringing challenge and conflict.

There is one thing, though, in today’s story the connects everything. It is the water. Or, more specifically, the water of baptism. 


Last September, we began our lectionary cycle with the story of Noah and the great flood. This is often called the second creation story. God’s reboot of creation. When water was used to cleanse a world that had become so very evil. A way for God to start over with a human creation to whom God had given free will. A human creation that, even after the flood, consistently seemed to separate itself from God and seek power for itself. 

How interesting it is that God then uses this same, simple element of water and with God’s Word claims us as God’s own. In baptism. Where, with the water and the Word, we are washed clean through the power of Christ’s cleansing death. Claimed, just as Jesus was claimed, as God’s beloved ones. God’s own. In whom God finds happiness. This is the power of our baptism. The power of the water with God’s Word. As Luther writes, “Baptism is an external sign...which so separates us from the world [so that]...now baptized we are thereby known as a people of Christ.” 

He speaks of the threefold aspects of our baptisms: the sign, its significance, and of faith. That the sign consists of the physical thrusting into water in the name of the Triune God--Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But, particularly, that we are not left there, but are drawn out again. He uses a German expression: aus der Taufe gehoben, which means that we are "lifted up" out of the baptismal water. 

This is the second aspect of our baptisms, then. The significance of our baptisms. That it is a dying to sin and resurrection in God’s grace. Where our old person - our old sinful person - is drowned. And a new person, born in grace, comes forth and arises. It is a washing of regeneration. A being made new. This significance, though, Luther writes, is not completely fulfilled in this life. Our spiritual baptisms, the complete drowning of sin, last as long as we live and are completed only in death. We give ourselves up to the sacrament of baptism, claiming our desire to die, together with our sins, and to be made new. God accepts this desire and grants us baptism. And, from that hour, begins to make us new people, by pouring into us God’s grace through the Holy Spirit. 

That, then, leads us to the third aspect of baptism: faith. Faith means that we firmly believe all of this. That we believe that, with our baptism, we have entered into a covenant with God to fight against sin and to slay it, while God promises to be merciful to us, to deal graciously with us, and to not judge us with severity. Luther writes that this faith is the most necessary aspect because it is the ground of our comfort. Philip Britts, who was a British writer and poet, pastor and naturalist from 70 years go, writes that “Faith is like water at the roots...If we have faith, we can face the sun, we can turn the heat and the light into life-giving fruits, into love...Faith is a gift like the rain and, like the rain, it is something to be watched for and prayed for and waited for.” 

This is baptism, then. Christ the water, incarnating God’s water of creation, flowing continuously in the Spirit, who waters the believers, who, then, themselves, become the spring of living water in the world.

In the water of baptism, with God’s Word, we are made new. So walk wet. Remember your baptism. Remember that God has created you for God’s purposes. It is God and not sin that holds a claim on your life. 

In your bulletin, you have a small piece of paper. I invite you now to reflect upon an area of your life that requires renewal, repentance, or a new beginning. Pray about this in silent confession. Write or draw something on your paper to symbolize it. And, then, when you are ready, come to the font and submerge your paper in the water and watch it dissolve. And give thanks to God for the chance to begin again. To, once again, be made new. Amen.

Preached January 13, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Epiphany 1
Readings: Matthew 3:1-17, Psalm 2:7-8

Faith in God's Promises: Leadership and Courage

When Mordecai learned all that had been done, Mordecai tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and ashes, and went through the city, wailing with a loud and bitter cry; he went up to the entrance of the king’s gate, for no one might enter the king’s gate clothed with sackcloth. In every province, wherever the king’s command and his decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, with fasting and weeping and lamenting, and most of them lay in sackcloth and ashes.

When Esther’s maids and her eunuchs came and told her, the queen was deeply distressed; she sent garments to clothe Mordecai, so that he might take off his sackcloth; but he would not accept them. Then Esther called for Hathach, one of the king’s eunuchs, who had been appointed to attend her, and ordered him to go to Mordecai to learn what was happening and why. Hathach went out to Mordecai in the open square of the city in front of the king’s gate, and Mordecai told him all that had happened to him, and the exact sum of money that Haman had promised to pay into the king’s treasuries for the destruction of the Jews. Mordecai also gave him a copy of the written decree issued in Susa for their destruction, that he might show it to Esther, explain it to her, and charge her to go to the king to make supplication to him and entreat him for her people.

Hathach went and told Esther what Mordecai had said. Then Esther spoke to Hathach and gave him a message for Mordecai, saying, “All the king’s servants and the people of the king’s provinces know that if any man or woman goes to the king inside the inner court without being called, there is but one law—all alike are to be put to death. Only if the king holds out the golden scepter to someone, may that person live. I myself have not been called to come in to the king for thirty days.” When they told Mordecai what Esther had said, Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, “Do not think that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” Then Esther said in reply to Mordecai, “Go, gather all the Jews to be found in Susa, and hold a fast on my behalf, and neither eat nor drink for three days, night or day. I and my maids will also fast as you do. After that I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish.” Mordecai then went away and did everything as Esther had ordered him. Esther 4:1-17 (NRSV)

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

Esther. Our reading on this Second Sunday of Advent is from the book of Esther. I’m curious. How many of you know the story of Esther? (There’s no shame here.)

Esther is the Bible’s version of novellas. It’s like the novellas that are so popular in Mexican culture - stories that, on their surface, may seem a little silly or comedic, but that have serious undertones. Esther is also one of only two books in scripture that are named after women. (Can you name the other one?) And, one more note...nowhere in Esther is God mentioned. But, more on that later.

So, what’s the backstory? The story of Esther is set in roughly the fourth century B.C. We’ve progressed in time from last week’s reading in Habakkuk, which was set before the destruction of the temple and of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. Under the Babylonians, the people of Judah were exiled - sent away to other parts of the empire. But, then, God sent another ruler - Cyrus the Great from Persia - to conquer Babylon. The Persians now are in power. Cyrus has allowed some Jews to return to Jerusalem. Yet, there are others who have married, settled and made these foreign lands their homes. Who stay. Who continue to live as a religious minority in the heart of the powerful Persian empire. Within the city of Susa.

This is the setting for today’s story. For Esther’s story. Now, Esther is an unlikely heroine. She is an orphan. Like the exiled Jews, she has no security or identify or family roots. She is taken in by her cousin, Mordecai, who becomes her foster parent. Yet, this living situation is short-lived. Esther is very beautiful. And when the king - King Ahasuerus, who is better known as Xerxes - when he dismisses his queen because she has refused to obey him, Xerxes sends his officials out into the city and surrounding area. To find all of the beautiful women - beautiful virgins - and bring them back. To create a harem. Which will allow Xerxes to audition them. One by one. Until he finds the right one to be his queen.  

Esther is swept up in this search and taken from Mordecai’s home to the palace. It is there that she is thrown into the political and sexual intrigue of the royal court.

Soon it is Esther’s turn to audition. She is prepared for her audition. She is given six months of treatment with pleasant-smelling creams. And another six months with fragrant oils. She is given carefully chosen foods to eat. She is given seven servants and moved with them into the best rooms in the harem. After a year has passed, it is her turn to audition before Xerxes. 

We are told in chapter 3, that the king loved Esther more than all the other women. That she had won his love and his favor more than all the others. He placed the royal crown on her head and made her his queen. And then he held a lavish feast - “the feast of Esther” - for the entire court. He declared a public holiday. And gave out gifts with royal generosity. It was a huge celebration for Esther, the new queen.

But, Esther had a problem. She had a secret. No one, including the king - no one knew that she was Jewish. No one knew that her name really wasn’t Esther, but that it was Hadassah. As she was being taken to the king’s harem, her foster father Mordecai tells her not to tell anyone. Not to share her family background. Or her race. And, so, she hadn’t. She’d kept her secret.

Now Mordecai worked at the King’s Gate. One of the king’s officials was named Haman. Haman was an Amalekite, people who were enemies of Judah. Every time Haman passed by the King’s Gate, all of the workers would bow facedown to him, because the king had ordered it. All of the workers, except one. Mordecai. At first Haman didn’t notice. But, when the other workers mentioned this to him, he began to pay attention, and to see that Mordecai wasn’t kneeling or bowing down to him. Haman became very angry. He decided to kill not only Mordecai, but all of the Jews throughout the entire Persian kingdom.

So Haman went to the king. And convinced the king to issue an order. To exterminate all of the Jews, young and old, even women and little children. This was to happen one day in the near future. All of them would be killed. All of their property would also be seized on that day. The order was posted throughout the kingdom.

It is at this point where our story today opens. When Mordecai learns about the order, he is not silent. He tears his clothes, dresses in mourning clothes, puts ashes on his head, and then goes into the heart of the city and begins to cry out. Loudly. And bitterly. He begins to mourn. As more of the Jews hear about the order, they, too, begin to mourn and cry out.

Word of this reaches Esther in the palace. She sends Mordecai everyday clothing to wear, but he rejects it. Then, she sends one of her servants to go to Mordecai and to find out why he is acting this way. Her servant returns with the full story. It also includes a request from Mordecai to Esther - that she go to the king to seek his kindness and his help for her people.

When Esther hears this, she becomes afraid. Even in her position as queen, she does not recognize her own power and privilege. She is afraid that if she enters the king’s inner courtyard without a direct summons from him, that she will be put to death. Not to mention the fact that the king doesn’t know that she is a Jew.

When Mordecai hears how afraid she is, he sends word to her. He tells her that, even though she is queen, she will not be spared from the order. But that, because of her position, she is in exact place she needs to be to help her people. “Maybe,” Mordecai says to her. “Maybe it was for such a time as this that you came to be part of the royal family.” Finally, Esther sends word back. “Tell the Jews to fast and to pray for me. I will go to the king. Even though it’s against the law, I will go to him. If I am to die, then die I will.”

One of the most interesting aspects of the book of Esther, as I mentioned before, is that nowhere in the entire book is God mentioned. Nowhere in the book are there any theophanies - where God appears to a human. Nowhere in the book are there any angels who appear, saying, “Do not be afraid.” Nowhere in the book are there any prophets sent directly to the people by God. God is hidden in Esther’s story. Just as God is often hidden in our stories.

But, just because God is hidden, doesn’t mean that God is not at work. Esther’s story is a story about how we are to live as people of God. People who have been freed through the gift of life in Jesus Christ, given to us by God. But people who must still live and act in this world. How are we to act as people of God when the forces of death, evil, and violence seem so prominent. And the forces of God - the forces of life - seem so hidden. How are we to act?

Luther speaks to this directly in his writings on the two kingdoms. That our lives are a struggle between two cities: the city of God, which consists of those who love God and are obedient to God. And the city of the earth, which consists of those who love themselves and are dominated by the sin of pride. How are we to live and act in this world as God’s people especially when the values of this earthly kingdom conflict with our understanding of God’s kingdom?

How are we to live and act as countries put up border walls, yet we know that in God’s kingdom there are no borders? How are we to live and act when people are called “illegal,” but we know that God has created all people, and that Christ died on the cross for all people, and so that, in God’s kingdom, no one is illegal? How are we to live and act when the world tells us to find our security in weaponry, yet we know that our security is to be found in God? How are we to live and act in the world when the forces of death, evil and violence seem so prominent. And seem to be winning. And the forces of God seem hidden.

Perhaps it is for such a time as this. Perhaps it is for such a time as this that you and I have been called.  Like Esther, to act on the side of life. Even when it seems that God is nowhere to be found. Perhaps it is for such a time as this that you and I have been called to a place of courage. And leadership. And discipleship. Called to act on the side of life. On God’s side. Together. Even when it seems that God is hidden. Knowing that God continues to be at work in our world. Through us.

Perhaps it is for such a time as this. Amen.

Preached December 9, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Advent 2
Readings: Esther 4:1-17; Matthew 5:13-16