The Guarded House: Holding The Scaffolding Lightly

The Embodied Posture And The Text

Before I say a single word this morning, I want to invite you into a physical exercise. Wherever you are sitting, bring your hands out in front of you. Now, close them. Squeeze them into a tight, clenched fist. Squeeze until your knuckles turn white. Feel the tension traveling up your wrists, into your forearms, and tightening your shoulders.

Hold it there for a moment.

This is a universal posture of self-preservation. It is what we do when we are anxious. When we are afraid of what we might lose, or when we are uncertain about the future, our basic human instinct is to clutch tightly. We close our hands around our resources, our workflows, and our lives.

Now, take a deep breath, and let it out. Slowly open your fingers. Turn your hands over so your palms are facing up. Let your hands relax into an open palm. Notice how the tension leaves your arms, how your shoulders drop, and even how your breathing shifts.

With your hands open, listen to our reading today from 1st Timothy, chapter 6.

There is, of course, great benefit in religion, but only for those who are content with what they have. 

We brought nothing into the world, nor have we the power to take anything out. If we have food and clothing, we have all that we need. Those who want to be rich are falling into temptation and a trap. They are letting themselves be captured by foolish and harmful desires which draw us down to ruin and destruction. The love of money is the root of all evil. Some people, in their passion for it, have strayed from the faith and have come to grief amid great pain. 

But you are to flee from these things. As one dedicated to God, strive to be a person of integrity and piety, filled with faith and love, patience and gentleness. Run the great race of faith. Take firm hold of the everlasting life to which you were called when, in the presence of many witnesses, you made your good profession of faith. 

Before God, who gives life to all, and before Christ Jesus, who spoke up as a witness for the truth in front of Pontius Pilate, I charge you to keep God’s command without fault or reproach until our Savior Jesus Christ appears. This appearance God will bring to pass at a chosen time. God alone is the Sovereign over all, the blessed and only ruler above all earthly rulers, who alone possesses immortality, and who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no human being has ever seen or can see. To God be the honor and the everlasting kindom! Amen. 

Warn those who are blessed with this world’s goods not to look down on other people. They are not to put their hope in wealth, for it is uncertain. Instead, they are to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with all that we need for our enjoyment. Tell them they are to do good and be wealthy in good works. They are to be generous and willing to share. In this way, they’ll create a treasure for the future, and guarantee the only life that is real. --1 Tim. 6:6-19 (The Inclusive Bible)

The Posture Of Prolonged Transition

As a community, you have been navigating a long transitional chapter. Two and a half years of a pastoral vacancy, and seven years past a church merger. When a transition runs this long, it is entirely natural for a congregation to experience a deep, hidden exhaustion. We get tired of waiting. We get tired of the uncertainty.

And when that exhaustion settles in, we often unconsciously start acting out of fear. We begin to think, "If we just hold on tight enough to what we have left, we will survive."

We start clutching our funds out of fear of an imaginary rainy day. We clutch our workflows—clinging to the way we’ve always done things because controlling the process gives us a temporary illusion of safety. We even clutch our property, viewing our buildings as liabilities to be protected rather than tools to be used for the neighborhood.

Ask yourself honestly: Where have you noticed this tightening in our church lately? Where are we closing our fists?

Theologian Edward Pillar warns that, when a church becomes consumed by anxiety, it can easily start worshiping its own survival. The preservation of assets promises safety, but it actually keeps us spiritually stuck.

A Warning From The Wilderness

This is a very old spiritual trap. Long before Paul wrote to Timothy, Moses warned the Israelites about it as they stood on the edge of the Promised Land. In our reading from Deuteronomy this morning, he warns them against a specific danger: forgetting where their help comes from once they get comfortable. He says, "Take care that you do not forget the Lord your God... when your gold and silver is multiplied."  

When we get anxious about survival, we fall into the trap of thinking that real ministry, spiritual vitality, and the true abundance of this church are entirely paused until a new pastor arrives. We treat the present moment merely as an obstacle to survive.

But as we heard in the reading, Paul offers a radical alternative: true gain is found when godliness is combined with contentment.

Redefining Contentment And Godliness

In the ancient world, contentment meant absolute self-sufficiency—needing no one. Today, institutional contentment means massive financial reserves and perfect control over our programs. But the Christian framework flips this entirely: true contentment is rooted in the sufficiency of Christ. It is the freedom of depending on God rather than our own control.

And what is godliness? It isn't a method of scoring points through perfect religious behavior. Godliness is simply "God-with-ness." It is walking with God in the present moment rather than frantically trying to manage the future. It is learning to live along the journey. As another theologian, Jaclyn Williams notes, along the journey is precisely where we learn, grow, and build true community with fellow travelers.

Are we missing the grace available to us right now because we are so focused on the next chapter?

The Vista Mandate: Deploying Abundance

Vista is an established community with deep roots and real resources. By the standards of this world, we are wealthy. Near the end of today's reading, Paul directly addresses people in our position. He commands those who are rich in this present age not to be haughty, or to set their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.

The mandate before us today is to move from a mindset of scarcity to the economy of God’s kingdom. True stewardship is not saving assets out of fear; it is deploying our combined abundance to bless our neighborhood right now.

To do this, we are called to be rich in good works, opening up our property and structures for community care rather than internal comfort. We must be generous, releasing hoarded funds to meet immediate, tangible local needs. Finally, we must be ready to share, shifting our attitude from "Come to us" to "How can we serve you?"

Conclusion: The Life That Really Is Life

True wealth is not found in the survival of an institution. It is found in our loving care for one another and our God-given freedom to hold our structures lightly.

When we unclench our fists, we finally become empty enough to receive the baseline, overflowing abundance of God's kingdom. Let us lift our hands, open our palms, and take hold of the life that really is life.

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached July 19, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Hidden Hands, Daring Choices: The Tapestry of Grace (Ruth 4)

No sooner had Boaz gone up to the gate and sat down there than the next-of-kin of whom Boaz had spoken came passing by. So Boaz said, “Come over; sit down here.” And he went over and sat down. Then Boaz took ten men of the elders of the town and said, “Sit down here,” so they sat down. He then said to the next-of-kin, “Naomi, who has come back from the country of Moab, is selling the parcel of land that belonged to our kinsman Elimelech. So I thought I would tell you of it and say: Buy it in the presence of those sitting here and in the presence of the elders of my people. If you will redeem it, redeem it; but if you will not, tell me, so that I may know; for there is no one prior to you to redeem it, and I come after you.” So he said, “I will redeem it.” Then Boaz said, “The day you acquire the field from the hand of Naomi, you are also acquiring Ruth the Moabite, the widow of the dead man, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance.” At this, the next-of-kin said, “I cannot redeem it for myself without damaging my own inheritance. Take my right of redemption yourself, for I cannot redeem it.”

Now this was the custom in former times in Israel concerning redeeming and exchanging to confirm a transaction: the one took off a sandal and gave it to the other; this was the manner of attesting in Israel. So when the next-of-kin said to Boaz, “Acquire it for yourself,” he took off his sandal. Then Boaz said to the elders and all the people, “You are witnesses today that I have acquired from the hand of Naomi all that belonged to Elimelech and all that belonged to Chilion and Mahlon. I have also acquired Ruth the Moabite, the wife of Mahlon, to be my wife, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance, in order that the name of the dead may not be cut off from his kindred and from the gate of his native place; today you are witnesses.” Then all the people who were at the gate, along with the elders, said, “We are witnesses. May the Lord make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem; and, through the children that the Lord will give you by this young woman, may your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah.”

So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin, and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.” Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom and became his nurse. The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, “A son has been born to Naomi.” They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

Now these are the descendants of Perez: Perez became the father of Hezron, Hezron of Ram, Ram of Amminadab, Amminadab of Nahshon, Nahshon of Salmon, Salmon of Boaz, Boaz of Obed, Obed of Jesse, and Jesse of David. --Ruth 4 (NRSVue)

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One of my favorite things about early summer in Minnesota is the explosion of life all around us. The trees are heavy with new green leaves, and the gardens are beginning to sprout, even if it’s been a little cool lately. In nature, summer feels like a steady state of plenty. It is a "green muchness" that feeds our souls deeper than we often realize.

To see how this connects to our faith—and to the end of the Book of Ruth—I want you to picture another landscape. Early in my ministry, I served a church in Goshen, Kentucky, just on the outskirts of Louisville. It is a place of wide-open, rolling green hills that look like waves of deep bluegrass. You can drive for miles past the black and white fences of famous horse farms, where the rich soil makes the grass look painted.

This is the home of farmer and poet Wendell Berry. He has spent his life teaching us that nature moves in reliable cycles. Even the deepest winter deprivation eventually returns to abundant fields and orchards. This is a perfect frame for the end of Ruth. As theologian Parker Palmer writes, summer is when the promises of a difficult season finally come due, repaid with compounded interest.

The climax of Ruth and Naomi’s story takes place at the city gate. In the ancient world, this was the local hub for law and business. Boaz goes there to settle the matter of Naomi’s family land, left behind years ago during the famine. While there, Boaz meets a closer relative to Naomi. The Hebrew text calls him paloni almoni—the ancient version of "Joe Schmo."

Boaz offers Joe the deal. At first, Joe is enthusiastic because he sees a material gain. But then Boaz shares the fine print. By law, buying the land means marrying Ruth—the Moabite foreigner. He must do this to maintain the deceased heir's name on the inheritance.

Suddenly, Joe gets cold feet. He refuses, claiming it will damage his own estate. Joe is living a calculated life of self-preservation. He sees his legacy as a secure stockpile that would be diminished by helping an outsider.

In contrast, Boaz refuses to live with a scarcity mentality. He accepts the legal and social risk. In doing so, he shows us the true meaning of hesed—a word that means far more than steadfast love. It means extraordinary, self-sacrificing faithfulness. Boaz weaves his life into the histories of two destitute widows, trusting that by passing grace around, he creates more of it. 

Choosing this kind of faithful risk requires a deep peace. Wendell Berry wrote about this in his famous 1968 poem, "The Peace of Wild Things." Written during a time of national despair—amid assassinations, racial injustice, and the death of our illusions—his words remind us that we can choose joy and courage. We can lean into a grace that doesn’t depend on our own anxious schemes. He writes:

When despair for the world grows in me

I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief...

For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

When we rest in that grace - when we rest in God’s grace, we can act with courage.

We see this courage ripple out into the community of Bethlehem. When Ruth gives birth to a son, the neighborhood women don’t just watch; they share the joy. They name the child Obed themselves and proclaim, “A son has been born to Naomi!”

These women make a radical statement. They tell Naomi that Ruth is “more to you than seven sons.” In that culture, seven sons represented complete security. Yet, these women declare that Ruth’s faithful love is Naomi’s greatest blessing. Naomi, who returned home entirely empty, now experiences the fullness of generations.

This brings us to the most profound part of this summer harvest. The genealogy at the end of the book reveals that Obed would become the grandfather of King David. Think about what this means. A widow, an immigrant, and a foreigner was the person God chose to join the lineage of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

God took a foreign widow from Moab and made her the foundation of a royal lineage of hope. By choosing community over secure stockpiles of wealth, Boaz, Ruth, and Naomi allowed God to weave their lives into a tapestry of grace. It was a legacy that outlasted them and that changed the history of the world. 

When we hold tight to what we have, we create a world of lack. But when we trust the flow of God’s abundant supply and pass it along, abundance flourishes. Community is the very definition of that abundance. In choosing it, we open ourselves to God, letting God re-shape our empty spaces into a royal inheritance of hope.

And this is the ultimate promise of the harvest: in God's kingdom, no one is an outsider to grace. The borders we build, the secure stockpiles we guard, and the lines we draw between "us" and "them" melt away at the city gate of God's love. Naomi’s once-empty lap was transformed into a space of generational fullness because an outsider was welcomed in.

So as we go forth into this bright summer season, let us open our hearts, open our hands, and expand our circles. Let us trust that when we choose community, we allow God to turn our personal emptiness into a royal legacy of hope. Amen.

Preached Sunday, June 21, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

 

Filling the Empty Jars: Finding Abundance in a Wounded World

 I want to begin this morning not with some grand theological statement, but with a simple story about a story. We’re going to look at a familiar passage today - a wedding feast, a worried mother, and a miracle of abundance. I pray that we might hear it in a new way, because I believe that this ancient story of a party that almost failed speaks directly into the heart of the wounds and divisions we have felt so sharply in our broader community this past week. 

For nearly two decades, this pottery jar has been sitting on the bookshelf in my home. It has traveled with me from place to place and has served one purpose. It holds used wine corks. Every time a bottle has been opened to celebrate a birth, an anniversary, a new job, or just the simple gift of a family dinner, the cork has gone into this jar. Over twenty years, it has - as you can imagine - become wonderfully, ridiculously full. It’s a reminder for me of laughter, and community, and moments when life felt generous and the wine overflowed. It is, for me, a jar of abundance.

It feels this week, though, like the jars of our city, our state, our nation are empty. That we, as a community, have run out. That the peace is gone. That the sense of safety in neighborhoods is gone. Our hope - God’s hope - for a shared, common life feels like it’s run dry. 

This was a hard week in Minneapolis. We learned of the shooting of Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old mother and poet in our city. We are feeling the anxiety of federal ICE agents present, not just in Minneapolis, but in Buffalo and St. Cloud, and in my hometown of Monticello, disrupting the delicate stability of families and communities. We are exhausted by a political climate that seems to demand that we choose a side, when all we want - I believe - is to mend the tearing fabric of our communities. Our jars of patience, of trust, of civic grace feel empty. 

How do we move toward healing? We are reminded that the only path to a blessing is through the wound itself. Our call this week is not to look away, but to find the courage to touch the wound of our community’s grief. This is where the Word meets us, where Christ meets us. Not in a place of strength, but in a moment of scarcity.  

So, the question this story from Cana forces us to ask is this: In a world where things are constantly running dry, where do we find a hope that is truly abundant?

To understand where we are in John’s Gospel, we must remember where we have just been. We are just past the Prologue, that great cosmic poem that declares that the same Word, the same Voice that spoke light into darkness in Genesis, has now “become flesh and moved into the neighborhood,” as Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message. The God who created the world has not abandoned it, but has come back to begin the work of re-creating it, of mending what was broken. This wedding at Cana is not just a miracle; it is the first sign of that new creation breaking into our scratchy, wounded world. 

A reading from John, chapter 2.

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the person in charge of the banquet.” So they took it. When the person in charge tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), that person called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. --John 2:1-11 (NRSVue)

Did you hear it? That moment of tension, of human friction in the story? “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.” This isn’t the response of a callous son, but of the Word-made-Flesh counting the cost. 

Jesus understands that the moment he steps out of the quiet life of a carpenter’s son and into the public work of mending the world, the clock starts ticking. The path to revealing his glory is the path to the cross. His “hour” is the hour of his death, resurrection, and ascension. 

In this slight moment of hesitation, Jesus gives us a hint of the immense personal cost of re-creation. He knows that to fill the world’s empty jars, he will need to be emptied himself.

His reluctance is a gift to us, because it validates our own. In a week like this one, faced with the pain of our city, don’t we all feel that same hesitation? Don’t we want to say, “What concern is that to me? I am tired. This is too complicated.” Jesus understands that feeling. He knows deeply the weariness that comes with confronting the world’s brokenness.

But then there is Mary. 

In John’s Gospel, she is the first to touch the wound - the advocate who sees the coming social shame, the scarcity of wine that threatens the community’s joy. She refuses to look away. 

She doesn’t offer a solution or a 5-point plan. She simply stands in the gap and speaks the honest and authentic truth to the One with the power to act: “They have no wine.” She compels a response, not with a command to her son, but with a simple statement of need. 

It is in this moment that Mary models for us our primary assignment: to stand in proximity to the pain, to see the emptiness others might ignore, and to raise the needs of the marginalized. It is her courage, her persistent faith, that will be met, not with some heavenly spectacle, but with the most ordinary of objects.

The power of this first sign in John lies not just in its amazing outcome, but in its humble materials. The miracle happens in six stone water jars - jars intended for the Jewish rites of purification. These jars represent for us the systems, the laws, the religious and civic structures of our world. They are the very containers we build to hold our society together. They are the containers meant to serve the rituals that keep a community ordered and clean.

Notice what Jesus doesn’t do. He doesn’t smash them. He doesn’t discard the law or the tradition they represent. He respects them as vessels. But he shows us a profound truth - that any law, any system, any structure is ultimately empty if it does not produce the “wine” of human flourishing, of mercy, of justice, of abundant life for everyone. Everyone. 

Let’s bring this home to our present circumstance. We can see our community as a great wedding feast, a place where families are trying to build lives of joy and stability. This week, that feast has been disrupted. 

Our deepest traditions - shared across every political divide - hold the integrity of the family and the stability of the household as sacred, as gifts from God. When any force - federal or otherwise - tears at that fabric and creates chaos where there should be order, we must ask if it is truly serving its God-given purpose. Martin Luther taught that civil authorities are meant to be a “mask of God,” a means through which God protects and provides for the world. But when the actions of any authority result in a mother being torn from her children, that authority ceases to wear the mask of God’s protection. And instead wears a mask of chaos.

Our call today, then, is not to pick a political side, but to ask a theological question. To look at our societal “jars” - our systems of justice, our structures for community safety, our governmental policies - and to ask whether these systems are functioning as vessels of life-giving water. Or whether they are merely cold empty stones that testify to a failing celebration.

After she points out the problem, Mary turns to the servants and gives them what becomes the central command for us this morning. It is a wonderfully Christ-centered, non-partisan call to action: “Do whatever he tells you.”

I know that many of us feel helpless in the face of such large, systemic problems. We feel exhausted and wonder what we could possibly do. But, notice that Mary’s command isn’t to solve the whole world’s wine shortage. And Jesus’ command isn’t to invent a new beverage out of thin air. It’s a call to a simple, next step. “Fill the jars with water.” It’s a call to radical obedience in the small, next right thing. The servants weren’t asked to understand the miracle, only to carry the water.

So what might “doing whatever he tells you” look like for us this week, whether it is in Minneapolis or here in Clearwater? It might not be a grand gesture. It might be taking the time to listen with compassion to a neighbor who is grieving, without feeling the need to offer a solution. Or it might mean stepping out of our silos to seek truth beyond the headlines and political talking points, and committing to understanding our society’s pain, which is so much more complex than 60-second TikTok videos or Facebook posts. Or perhaps it means becoming the “legal observers” of our own hearts, confessing the moments where we have valued our own comfort over our neighbor’s pain. “Doing whatever he tells you” for us means mending the small tears in our own corner of society’s fabric, one relationship at a time.

It is in these small acts of obedience that we, like the servants, position ourselves to witness the miracle. We don’t make the wine. But we are called to fill the jars. 

The core message of this first sign and the foundational promise of the Gospel is this: that even when our personal wine runs out, even when our community’s jars are empty, even when we are exhausted and hesitant, our God is a God of surprising, overwhelming abundance. 

The chief steward, tasting the water that had become wine, says to the bridegroom, “But you have kept the good wine until now.” This is the promise of re-creation. It says to us that even in a week of grief, even in a nation of deep division, God is not finished. God is still in the business of transformation. And God is saving the best for last. 

So, go, now, as the people of the Word. Remember that the Voice that knit the stars together is the same Voice that was cradled in the manger. He is the Word who stepped into the scratchy mess of our world, who moved toward the jars even when He was hesitant, and who mends the torn fabric of our communities with the wine of his grace. 

May you have the courage to hear your neighbor’s cry, the strength to touch the wounds of our communities, and the hope to know that the New Creation has already begun. Amen.

Preached Sunday, January 11, 2026, at Rejoice Lutheran Church, Clearwater, MN.

First Sunday after Epiphany

Unraveled: Sarah Laughs

The Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre while he sat at the entrance of his tent in the day’s heat. He looked up and suddenly saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from his tent entrance to greet them and bowed deeply. He said, “Sirs, if you would be so kind, don’t just pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought so you may wash your feet and refresh yourselves under the tree. Let me offer you a little bread so you will feel stronger, and after that you may leave your servant and go on your way—since you have visited your servant.”

They responded, “Fine. Do just as you have said.”

So Abraham hurried to Sarah at his tent and said, “Hurry! Knead three seahs of the finest flour and make some baked goods!” Abraham ran to the cattle, took a healthy young calf, and gave it to a young servant, who prepared it quickly. Then Abraham took butter, milk, and the calf that had been prepared, put the food in front of them, and stood under the tree near them as they ate.

They said to him, “Where’s your wife Sarah?”

And he said, “Right here in the tent.”

Then one of the men said, “I will definitely return to you about this time next year. Then your wife Sarah will have a son!”

Sarah was listening at the tent door behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were both very old. Sarah was no longer menstruating. So Sarah laughed to herself, thinking, I’m no longer able to have children and my husband’s old.

The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Me give birth? At my age?’ Is anything too difficult for the Lord? When I return to you about this time next year, Sarah will have a son.”

Sarah lied and said, “I didn’t laugh,” because she was frightened.

But he said, “No, you laughed.”

The Lord was attentive to Sarah just as he had said, and the Lord carried out just what he had promised her. She became pregnant and gave birth to a son for Abraham when he was old, at the very time God had told him. Abraham named his son—the one Sarah bore him—Isaac. Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old just as God had commanded him. Abraham was 100 years old when his son Isaac was born. Sarah said, “God has given me laughter. Everyone who hears about it will laugh with me.” She said, “Who could have told Abraham that Sarah would nurse sons? But now I’ve given birth to a son when he was old!” --Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7 (CEB) 

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

The Festival of the Trinity. The one Sunday and the one topic that every pastor loves to preach on. Yeah, not so much.

Yesterday, as we closed Synod Assembly with worship, we heard a sermon by Deacon Mary Ann Schwabe. She was the representative from churchwide, from the national body of the ELCA, there, among other things, to bring greetings from Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton. She opened her message with a quote about the Holy Trinity. About the impossibility of explaining the Trinity. A quote from Luther, who wrote: "To deny the Trinity is to risk our salvation. To try to explain the Trinity is to risk our insanity."

You see, try as theologians might, we don’t fully understand the Trinity. This Godhead made up of three Persons: Parent/Creator, Son/Redeemer, and Spirit/Sustainer. And to try to explain it is probably, as Luther suggested, inviting insanity.

So, for the moment, I’m not going to try. Although we will return to this topic in just a second or two.

Instead, I’d like to turn to our primary text today - this story about Abraham and Sarah. Really, a story about Sarah. And her laughter.

Early in the week, when I was exegeting this text before leaving for Muncie, I can’t even begin to tell you how many different interpretations and explanations there were about why Sarah laughed in this story. Some suggested she laughed from amusement - from an image of she, at the age of 90, and her husband Abraham, nearing 100, making a baby together. Some suggested that she laughed at the preposterous idea that, at the age of 90, post-menopausal, there was even any remote possibility of her conceiving a child. Others suggested that her laughter came from a place of deep bitterness over the fact that she and Abraham had not had the child - the heir - long promised by God. And yet others wrote that her laughter was from disbelief, from doubt about what the visitor - rather, the three visitors (pay attention to that especially on this Trinity Sunday) predicted - that Sarah was laughing in disbelief, doubt, and perhaps even scorn over the very possibility.

Perhaps all of these explanations of Sarah’s laughter are true, because much had happened before our story today. God had promised Abraham and Sarah to make of them a great nation. Then, after this hadn’t happened and after Sarah had moved beyond child-bearing age, she had taken matters into her own hands, giving Hagar, her servant girl to Abraham. Forcing her into surrogacy. Then, growing jealous when Hagar became pregnant with Ishmael, Abraham’s first-born son. All of this then followed by a visit, at the age of 90, from these three strangers whom we, from the outside looking in, know to be God - strangers who tell her that by next year at this time she will have a son. Her laughter must have come from all of these different places: from amusement, and bitterness, and grief, and even pure glee at the absurdity of it all. 

But, mostly, it would seem, at least to me, that Sarah’s laughter comes from disbelief. From a lack of belief in the future God has promised both her and Abraham. A disbelief that, by the following year, is completely unraveled by the gift of her son, Isaac. Whose very name means “laughter.” 

I mentioned at the beginning of worship this morning that, for 12 weeks, we will be hearing 12 different stories or resilience from Scripture. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been hearing the word - resilience - a lot over the past several months. This past week, I read a definition for this word in a Psychology Today article: Resilience is the psychological quality that allows some people to be knocked down by the adversities of life and come back at least as strong as before. Rather than letting difficulties, or traumatic events, or failure overcome them and drain their resolve, people who are resilient find a way to change course. To heal emotionally. And to continue moving forward.

In a related article I also read that people of faith are often more highly resilient. Because, in some ways, faith is synonymous with hope. Both faith and hope allow us to see a future beyond the present moment. But, it is faith that helps us more readily understand and accept that our present difficulties are part of the path to a better future. That’s the nature of faith. The nature of belief. To be able to see the connections between our present situation and the future. The opposite of this is disbelief. It's disbelief that led, in large part, to Sarah's laughter. Because, after all that had happened, after all she'd experienced, she was no longer able to see the future God had promised for her. And for Abraham. 

I wonder how many people in our world today lack this kind of faith. This belief in the future. And, really, is it any wonder that they do? Every day we are witness to a world that just seems to be struggling. To be hurting so deeply. Even to be falling apart. 

Or maybe it’s not just the world that seems to be so unsettled. Perhaps, we’re experiencing it in our own lives. An unexpected illness. Or a deep loss. Or even confusion about who we are and where we are at in our lives. Where it feels as though the future is so uncertain, so dark and cloudy. Or even, perhaps, when it feels as though there is no future. 

It is then - just as for Sarah - that, as one contemporary theologian puts it, it is then that our loving and relational God, the mysterious Trinity comes and invites us in. To abide in the holy. To admit the difficulties of the present. And the truth of what is unknown. To stop hiding behind false statements and facade of sureness. And to, once again, be reminded of the future God has in store for us. A future of abundance and wholeness. Of lives filled with hope and faith and love. And, especially, of lives that are full of laughter - the joyous laughter that comes from trusting God and living into the hope of that future God has promised for you and me, and for all people - a future given to us through the unexplainable presence and power of God, known as parent and Creator, as Word made flesh, and as life-giving Breath. 

Praise be to God! Amen.

Preached June 12, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian, Prospect.

Holy Trinity

Readings: Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7; Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19

Invitation to Abundant Life: Living in Light

Today and next week, we read two stories back to back that are a study in contrasts. 

Today, we hear about Nicodemus. A man. A Pharisee. A Jewish religious leader. Who comes to meet Jesus at night. Next week, you’ll hear the story of a woman. A Samaritan and an outsider. Who is unnamed. Who meets Jesus at noon - the brightest time of day. The conversation with Nicodemus in this week’s text will last for nine verses. The conversation with the unnamed woman next week will last for twenty-six verses.

But, today, our focus is the first person in this study in contrasts. Nicodemus. We begin today’s reading with the last two verses of last week’s text at the end of chapter 2. In the Greek these verses are much more closely connected to the beginning of the next chapter than they appear in English. They also foreshadow what we will hear today in this story about Nicodemus. So, we begin by reading these transitional verses and continue into chapter 3. We’re reading today in two parts.

While Jesus was in Jerusalem for the Passover Festival, many believed in his name because they saw the miraculous signs that he did. But Jesus didn’t trust himself to them because he knew all people. He didn’t need anyone to tell him about human nature, for he knew what human nature was.

There was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a Jewish leader. He came to Jesus at night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one could do these miraculous signs that you do unless God is with him.”

Jesus answered, “I assure you, unless someone is born anew, it’s not possible to see God’s kingdom.”

Nicodemus asked, “How is it possible for an adult to be born? It’s impossible to enter the mother’s womb for a second time and be born, isn’t it?”

Jesus answered, “I assure you, unless someone is born of water and the Spirit, it’s not possible to enter God’s kingdom. Whatever is born of the flesh is flesh, and whatever is born of the Spirit is spirit. Don’t be surprised that I said to you, ‘You must be born anew.’ God’s Spirit blows wherever it wishes. You hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. It’s the same with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Nicodemus said, “How are these things possible?”

“Jesus answered, “You are a teacher of Israel and you don’t know these things? I assure you that we speak about what we know and testify about what we have seen, but you don’t receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you don’t believe, how will you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? --John 2:23 - John 12 (CEB)

This play of light and darkness, of night and day, is a frequent theme in John. 

Remember the Prologue - “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Nicodemus comes in the dark. To come in the dark suggests, in John, one who comes in a state of unbelief. To come in the dark suggests that one neither understands, nor fully believes in who Jesus is.

There’s this back and forth dialogue between Jesus and Nicodemus, who appears to be speaking on behalf of a group, perhaps the rest of the Pharisees. Perhaps the Jewish leaders. It’s not clear in our text. But, he’s come to find out more about Jesus. He asks honest questions. He’s seen the signs. So, he recognizes that this Jesus is one from God. But he misses that this Jesus is God.

Jesus doesn’t really help him out here. Nicodemus takes Jesus literally, when he says that he must be born anew. What? Are you saying I have to be put back in my mother’s womb again? This word in Greek actually has two simultaneous meanings. Born anew - referencing a physical change. And born from above - representing a spiritual change. Nicodemus doesn’t really get it. And Jesus doesn’t really help him out. Our minds immediately go to baptism. But, Nicodemus doesn’t have that connection. He won’t get it. Finishing the conversation with these words, “How is possible?”

It’s at this point that Jesus seems to turn from Nicodemus and address an audience. The pronoun you moves from the singular to the plural. Perhaps his words are for all of the Jewish leaders. Perhaps, his words are for all those who only believe in the signs, who lack a level of faith that leads to a complete change - a rebirth into a new community. And an entirely new way of life. 

Our story continues in verse 13.

No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from heaven, the Human One. Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so must the Human One be lifted up so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won’t perish but will have eternal life. God didn’t send his Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him isn’t judged; whoever doesn’t believe in him is already judged, because they don’t believe in the name of God’s only Son.

“This is the basis for judgment: The light came into the world, and people loved darkness more than the light, for their actions are evil. All who do wicked things hate the light and don’t come to the light for fear that their actions will be exposed to the light. Whoever does the truth comes to the light so that it can be seen that their actions were done in God.” --John 3:13-21 (CEB)

In the midst of this, we hear what is likely the most famous verse in scripture. John 3:16. We hear this so often, it’s almost become meaningless to us, doesn’t it? But there are a couple of things to look at more closely here.

First, when we think of the phrase “eternal life”, we often think of unending life, particularly of life after death. Of heaven. But, a better reading of this is abundant life, which is the life God desires for us. Here and now. And in the future. A life of freedom. And of truth. A life that is free from the shame of our own darkness. Those things we keep hidden. Of which we are most ashamed. Our mistakes. How we treat - or mistreat - those we love the most. More broadly, our thirst for power in this world. Our marginalization of people who don’t think like us. Or look like us. Or live like us. 

Then, there’s this word “perish.” It’s in a reflexive voice. Meaning that the subject of this verb is affected by its own action. In other words, the perishing Jesus is talking about in this most famous verse in Scripture is a perishing of our own making. God’s own Son has come to save us from ourselves. Because we would choose to live in darkness. Yet God, through the Holy Spirit works faith in our hearts. Notice I said that the Spirit works faith in us. We don’t have the capacity to choose. It is God at work in us. Yet, we can refuse to receive that faith. To hang onto the darkness in us. And to the darkness of this world. To perish through our own making.

But, here’s the thing. God doesn’t come to us in Jesus to condemn us. Or anyone else.

God’s approach to us is all about love. God does this horrible thing - let’s name it, it is a horrible thing that God is doing. To give up God’s Son to die on the cross. For us. In love. So, that we might experience abundant life. A life of freedom and joy. A life of openness and trust. A life lived in the light and with others living in the light. People whose actions reflect that light.

The Nicodemuses of the world might be able to say all the right things, but until they put their lives on the line for the faith, in John’s gospel, they are still people who “love darkness more than the light.” 

May you and I, born anew and from above by the power of the Holy Spirit. May we, as people of God, be lovers and actors. Not of the darkness. But of the Light. Amen. 

Preached Sunday, January 30, 2022, online with Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, KY, and Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

Epiphany 4

Readings: John 3:1-21; Psalm 139:13-18

God's Presence Brings Life: Come Home

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
    come to the waters;

and you that have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
    and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
    and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
    listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
    my steadfast, sure love for David.
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
    a leader and commander for the peoples.
See, you shall call nations that you do not know,
    and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
    for he has glorified you.

Seek the Lord while he may be found,
    call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
    and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them,
    and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
   nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
    and do not return there until they have watered the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
    giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
    it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
    and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

For you shall go out in joy,
    and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
    shall burst into song,
    and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
    instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
    for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off. --Isaiah 55:1-13 (NRSV)

I don’t know if you’re like me, but in the middle of last year’s lockdown I watched - Clarification! - I binge-watched a lot of TV. And I mean a lot. It’s kind of dangerous, I think. Having this access to TV shows and movies and all the other stuff we can now stream whenever we want. 

As we’ve come out of hibernation, the quantity of stuff I’ve been watching has diminished a lot. But, one thing that has kept my attention is YouTube. I continue to follow several YouTube channels. A few on the topic of minimalism. (Yes, it’s true!) A few on tiny houses - making plans for my retirement home whenever and wherever that might be. And, then there are the three channels about van life. 

One of these three is a channel documenting the exploits of a young Canadian couple from Toronto named Eamon and Bec. They live out of a converted Sprinter van. (I feel a beatnik vibe coming on!) And they travel all over the world in this van, meeting new people, eating great food, having the most amazing experiences. Their videos are just one adventure after the other. To be honest, I probably live a little vicariously through them. 

Right now, they are in Morocco. The last video they posted was of a local Moroccan street food market in Marrakesh. Every day at around 4p, as people are leaving work, this food market pops up out of nowhere. Within an hour there are over 100 stalls of every kind of food you can imagine. It’s a crazy and joyful and abundant scene, made even more entertaining by the barking of the food vendors. As they’re trying to capture people’s attention, trying to get them to come to their stall. Trying to convince them that the food they have is better than any other stall in the market. Can’t you hear the merchant cries in your imagination? “Come!! Come! Buy! Eat here!” The merchant invites us in.

But the merchant crying out in our Isaiah text isn’t selling anything. Shockingly, he’s giving it away. Charging nothing for the person who really wants a drink. Or for the person who’s hungry. “Come, buy without money!” he cries. Surely not something we would ever hear on the streets of Marrakesh. Or on the streets of Louisville.

But it’s an invitation in. An invitation by God into something new. And different. An extension of covenant with David. When we think covenant, we probably remember that covenant that God made with Israel at Sinai. Remember? If you will be faithful to me I will be faithful to you. But, this is something different. Something new. A reinterpretation of the covenant God made with David - that David’s dynasty would last forever. It’s an unconditional covenant. No more “if you do this,” “I’ll do this” kind of covenant. But a promise that is entirely one-sided. Made by God.

And, even more powerfully, this covenant is not only for God’s chosen people. But, as we read in verse 5, it is a broadening of the covenant that will include all people. That will invite all people in.

God’s speech is interrupted briefly in verse 6 with a call from the prophet. “Seek the Lord,” he cries. Not by offering sacrifice. Instead, this is a more internal turning to God. A gift of the heart. Of the self. God, who is all merciful, looks for true seekers. For people who hunger and thirst for God. “Seek the Lord!” the prophet interrupts.

Then God returns in verse 8 with a statement that God’s thoughts and ways are radically different from those of human beings. And that, when God speaks, God’s word is creative and effective. Just as the rain, that falls to the earth and brings life.  

This entire chapter is an invitation to the exiles. It’s an invitation to us. To come home. To come home to a God who promises abundance and deep forgiveness. To come home to a God who promises to be there. Waiting. And faithful. With a plan to make everything whole again. 

Are you hurting? Are you in pain? Are you grieving? Are you thirsty? Or hungry? Or lost? This is God’s message and invitation: 

Come.
I have a place for you.
Come to the waters of baptism.
Come to the feast of the Eucharist.
Eat and drink only the best.
Fill yourself with only the finest.

Pay attention.
Come closer now.
Listen carefully to my life-giving, life nourishing words.
I’m making a lasting covenant commitment with you,
The same that I made with David: sure, solid, enduring love.
I have a plan.
I’m about to do a new thing.
Because when my Word goes out
--when my life-giving, life-nourishing Word goes out--
He will not come back empty-handed.
He will do the work I sent him to do.
He will complete the assignment I gave him.
This Word made flesh. For you.

Amen.

Preached December 12, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.
Advent 3
Readings: Isaiah 55:1-13; John 4:13-14

Revelation of the Son of God: Master Fisherman

Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. 

Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him. --Luke 5:1-11 (NRSV)

My dad was an avid fisherman. North of us, about 30 miles away, was the Grand River. It’s a muddy river. It’s a catfish river. That was one of his favorite places. And where he taught us to fish, beginning about the age of 7. For our birthday on that year, each of us would get our own fishing rod and reel - kid size. Then, he would take us fishing, along the banks of the Grand River. We’d stand there for hours. Casting and reeling in. Casting and reeling in. Casting and reeling in. My brother and sister loved it. I hated it. It was so boring.

Then, east of us, about 30 miles away, was the Missouri River. This part of the river was dammed up, so it was also known as the Oahe Reservoir. A huge lake that extended from Bismarck, North Dakota, to Fort Pierre, South Dakota. It was clear, beautiful water. Full of walleye and Northern pike. My dad knew all of the secret and best fishing parts of the reservoir. As we got older, my mom and dad restored an old, wooden cabin cruiser. A regular vacation for us was to pack the boat up with all of our camping and fishing supplies, then pilot it to a large sandbar in the center of the lake, unpack and camp for several days, fish, and eat a lot of fish - breakfast, lunch and dinner. My brother and sister loved it. I hated it. It was so boring. 

So, as you can tell, I don’t have a great love for fishing. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have a lot of patience, something that is definitely required to be a good fisher-person. As in our story today. Simon, who we will come to know as Peter, and James and John, partners in the fishing trade, have been out all night fishing. With no luck. No catch. They have returned to the shore near Capernaum, tired. As they are cleaning their nets, all of a sudden they hear Jesus call out. For Peter. Asking Simon to take him out a little bit from the shore so he can teach the large crowd of people who have begun to follow him. And who are pressing towards him, so much so that he is running out of room, and will soon be pushed into the Galilee or, as it’s called in our text, the Genessarat, Sea. 

This is not the first time Simon has met Jesus. In the verses preceding our text, Jesus has healed his mother-in-law. It’s not clear that Simon is present when this happens, but you can bet that he has heard about it. Jesus’ reputation has grown dramatically since leaving Nazareth. Unlike in the other synoptic gospels, where Jesus is portrayed as moving about quietly, engaged in his ministry, here, in Luke, there is a huge buzz. A report about him has reached every place in the Galilean region. 

So, when Simon hears Jesus ask him for this favor, tired and exhausted as he may be, he complies. You heard the rest of the story. How, after Jesus finishes teaching, he tells Simon to go back to the deep water and try again. Even in his exhaustion, Simon complies. Perhaps he wonders if something might happen. After all, this Jesus is a miracle-worker, right? Or perhaps it's because, in all his tiredness, his defenses are down. Perhaps he’s like I am when I’m tired and exhausted. Have no more energy. Those were always the times that, when my son was growing up, it was like he had a second sense. He knew that that was the time to ask for something. Something big.

Aren’t we all just a little like Simon right now? Exhausted? Beaten down? Sure, we had that little bit of light this week as we listened in amazement to the words of gifted young poet Amanda Gorman as she wove the history of our country and our present experience into a powerful poem, giving us just a little bit of hope that we as a nation might set aside our division and come together in unity as we have before. But, it wasn’t long after that the hum of hope once again became the propaganda of partisanship.

But it is in these moments. In these darkest of times. When it feels as though we will never move out of this morass. When our defenses are down. Where Jesus, miracle-worker, life-giver, master fisherman, enters in. Blowing away all of our cynicism and exhaustion and hopelessness with an abundance so great that we can do nothing other than what Simon, now Simon Peter, does. Fall on our knees, overwhelmed, in complete fear and awe, begging Jesus, “Go away from me for I am a sinful being.” Yet, Just as Jesus reaches out to him, Jesus reaches out to us. Telling us to not be afraid. To trust. And then calling us to follow. To let go. And to move into a new life of abundance and grace and hope. As fisher-people.

May we answer the call with our whole heart. Amen.

Preached Sunday, January 24, 2020, online with Grace & Glory, Goshen, and Third, Louisville.
3rd Sunday after Epiphany

Readings: Luke 5:1-11, Psalm 90:14-17

Our Money Story: Reimagine

 Jesus told them, "When you pray, say:
‘Father, uphold the holiness of your name.
Bring in your kingdom.
Give us the bread we need for today.
Forgive us our sins,
    for we also forgive everyone who has wronged us.

And don't lead us into temptation.'"  --Luke 11:2-4 (CEB)

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

I know this may be confusing. We are in our third and final week, considering the Lord’s Prayer as it is written in the Gospel of Luke. In addition, we are in our third of four weeks focusing on the topic of our Money Story. That’s where it may get confusing. It would seem reasonable that our discussion around our money stories should conclude with our discussion around Luke’s Lord Prayer. But, have you ever experienced the end of something in your life while at the same time something else continued on? Let’s think of middle school, for example. You can finish fifth grade, but still be in middle school, right? Or think of parenting. Your child can finish college and move away, but your role as parent doesn’t end, right? It continues on.

So it is sometimes with sermons and sermon series. I hope that after next week, all of this will have made sense to you. Not to mention being a carrot for you to join us in worship next week, too!

Before we focus in on verse 4 of today’s reading, I’d like us to look back at this entire prayer in Luke in a slightly different way. We haven’t yet talked about this, but if we look closely at these three verses, we see that they are a chiasm. A chiasm is a tool in ancient literature and argument in which the elements of a passage are divided into parallel members. 

A Father, uphold the holiness of your name.

B Bring in your kingdom,

C Give us the bread we need for today.

B’ Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who has wronged us.

A’ And don’t lead us into temptation.

The parallelism works from the outside in. So, if you take our reading in Luke, you will see that the lines marked with an A are parallel to each other, here in white. Likewise, the B lines are also parallel to one another. In green. In the center of the chiasm is line C. This is the most important line in the chiasm. Revealing the deepest concern of the passage. A prayer for God to give us provision. What we need.

Why do we need this provision? The question may seem silly to us. Of course we need food and shelter. To live. But, perhaps this question about why we need this provision is better answered by backing up in the chiasm. From Line C to Line B. 

Now, there are different types of chiasms. In this particular one, the parallel line are intended to explain each other. So, if we look at the first B line “bring in your kingdom,” it is to be further explained by the second B line. Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who has wronged us. Our prayer for forgiveness is related to our prayer that God’s kingdom come. 

Now to our focus on verse 4.

The idea of forgiveness here is not intended to be pietistic or moralistic. Instead, about seeking forgiveness because we have failed in working for the coming of God’s kingdom. A kingdom of justice. A kingdom of equity. A kingdom of enough. For everyone. We have failed in working to bring God's kingdom on earth by holding onto our wealth and our possessions. By being unwilling to share abundantly of them, in the same way they have been abundantly shared with us. Maybe we need to be forgiven because Our Money Story has been about scarcity. About hoarding our abundance. And in so doing, by maintaining power. 

To share our possessions is not only a mandate by God by a symbol of our faith. A fruit of it.

But, perhaps we’re on the other side of this. Perhaps we are impoverished. Poor. Lacking even the basic essentials. Wronged by those with means. Perhaps we lack power, wronged by systemic structures that seem to only keep us enslaved. We, too, are called to forgiveness. To forgive those who have wronged us.

To forgive and to be forgiven frees us from all that binds us. It reconciles us with God and with one another. So that we might begin to reimagine a world where social and economic systems no longer disparage or impoverish, but provide for and benefit everyone. A world consistent with the reign of God. And a world in which the holiness of God’s name is upheld and we are not tempted to idolatry.

We’ve now been in this time of pandemic for nearly six months. A few months into it, I remember reading several articles and hearing news reports about how, even in the midst of the evil we were experiencing, it seemed as though we were learning important lessons and considering the possibility of a new way of being after all of this was over. Spending more time with family and in relationship with others. Working to simplify our lives and be less busy and less consumed with acquiring stuff. Spending more time on our spiritual lives and our relationship with God and our faith community. And wanting to create new structures in our world, structures in which the inequities that have become so apparent in these past few months might be repaired. The world was, even in this midst of pandemic, vividly reimagining what might come out of this period of bondage. 

Last week, we talked about the year of jubilee set forth in Deuteronomy. A Sabbath year, where everyone and everything was to rest. To cease work. In a way it feels as though we are in a coronavirus-induced year of jubilee. Yet, as much as we might hope that things will be different at the end of this jubilee - this Sabbath year, we are already beginning to witness this hopefulness diminish as we become more tired and disheartened. And more divided. I have no doubt that, when it does end, credit card companies will charge interest again. Libraries will impose late fees. Prisons will be full once more. Rent will be due and not forgiven. The land will be worked and overworked. Just as our worth, our value, will, once again, be measured by our productivity or lack thereof.

Yet we, you and I as the church, are called to something different. We are called to bear witness to a greater jubilee, a fuller Sabbath, a never-ending kingdom inaugurated by Jesus. To continue to reimagine our money stories and to live out our reimagined lives in ways consistent with God’s kingdom. Lives of solidarity with and compassion for the poor and the dispossessed. Lives driven, not by consumerism and consumption, but by simplicity and gratitude for the abundance God showers on us, knowing that there is more than enough. And lives in which we are released from all that keeps us in bondage so that we might remember God’s name and, as the reconciled people of God, might fully experience the love God shows us through Christ Jesus. Witnesses to this reimagined way of being.

Luke in his version of the Lord’s Prayer calls us to pray for the coming of this kingdom. To be sustained as we wait and witness to it. And, in our praying, to open ourselves up to the divine coming, where God will wrap God’s arms around us and bind up our wounds. As God will do for the world.

Amen.

Preached September 13, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 14

Readings: Luke 11:2-4; Psalm 126

Our Money Story: Release

This has been another rough week. Something, it seems, that is to be expected in this year of years, 2020. This week we are witnessing devastation in our world due to weather events, including hurricanes and typhoons, and extreme temperatures and wildfires, here and in other parts of the world. We’ve also been witness this week to the tragedy in Wisconsin. And to the continuing pandemic that has taken over 180,000 lives in our country alone. This has been another rough week. And in the midst of it, today, we are talking about release. About letting go.

We read from the gospel of Luke, the 11th chapter. 

Jesus told them, “When you pray, say:

‘Father, uphold the holiness of your name.

Bring in your kingdom.

Give us the bread we need for today.

Forgive us our sins,

    for we also forgive everyone who has wronged us.

And don’t lead us into temptation.’” --Luke 11:2-4 (CEB)

The verse in Luke 11 that is central to our conversation this morning is verse 3. “Give us the bread we need for today.” So, how does this passage connect up with the idea of release?

The concept of release in scripture is closely connected to the Year of Jubilee, which is set forth for Israel as a command in the book of Deuteronomy.  Every seven years, all prisoners and slaves were to be released. All debts forgiven. All property returned to its original owners. Anyone bound by a labor contract was released from it. All labor was to cease for one year. So, during this Year of Jubilee, not only was the land able to rest and experience a Sabbath, but so, too, were the people. For an entire year.

Now, we might look at this and just shake our heads. How was this even possible? How could this even happen? And why was this even necessary? The idea is almost beyond our current cultural comprehension.

But, the idea of release is not all that we learn from Deuteronomy. In this fifth book of the Torah, sin is not connected with one’s own piety, about doing right and wrong. Instead, sin was an economic term. It was about how (or not) you cared for yourself and your neighbor. Because this is how you honored God. So, if you robbed someone of their wages, you sinned. If you failed to release someone from their debt, you sinned. If you made someone a slave, you sinned. If you had too much food and you didn’t give any to your hungry neighbor, you sinned. Sin was an economic term.

All of this was about leveling the playing field. Giving everyone the ability to take care of themselves and their families. And, also, ensuring that, if someone couldn’t, they would be cared for.

But, it was about something even more. It was about idolatry.

In Jesus’ day, much like our own, the underlying economic system encouraged faith and trust in the holding of possessions. Consider the man in Matthew 19. He comes to Jesus asks how he might gain eternal life. He has fulfilled all of the commandments, he tells Jesus. But, Jesus knows what is truly enslaving him. And so, Jesus tells him that, to gain eternal life, he must release all of his possessions and give them to the poor. He can’t. Because he has come to believe that it is his possessions that will save him.

Our every instinct as human beings is towards idolatry. To close in and protect ourselves and our possessions from others. I know this from my own money story.

I grew up on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. I never knew as a child that we were dirt poor. Because it always seemed as though there was enough. Enough food on our table. And enough clothing to wear. We had really no toys to speak of. Yet, there was always something for us to play with. Maybe it was an empty box that we could make a house out of. Maybe it was tall weeds that we could stomp down for a pretend village. Maybe it was simply the dirt in the grove of trees behind our house that my brother and I used to form and shape a little town for the few Matchbox cars we had. Whatever we had always seemed to be enough.

But, that changed as I became an adult and started to make money. It then became all about collecting stuff. Whatever it was. Clothing. Household stuff. Knick knacks. You name it, I probably had it. So much stuff. Stuff that I thought I needed. And along with the stuff came greed. Because I wasn’t buying stuff for anyone else. Only for myself. Until 2012 and my layoff. I learned pretty quickly how useless this stuff was. And how little I actually needed to live on. And what was really important. And what wasn’t.  

Yesterday, in our Saturday morning study, we were asked this question: What is essential in your life, and what is trivial? In other words, what can we release in our lives and what should we hold onto. I’m wondering whether this pandemic and the times in which we are living haven’t begun to reveal for us what is truly important. And what isn’t.  

Christianity has, honestly, become a twisted mess in our country. We have lost what is essential to our faith. That we simply be lovers of God and lovers of people. This is at the heart of who and what God calls us to. To release us from the things that keep us from God. To release us from the shame, the anxiety, the guilt, the greed, or anything else that keeps us from freedom and wholeness. To release us from the idea that our worth is tied to our productivity, or our activity or our business. To let go of these elements of our money story that prevent us from fully living in God’s abundance. And trusting God’s promise - that God will save us. That God will provide for our daily needs. All of this, so that we might then let go of our abundance in love, to serve our neighbor.   

It’s a stunning idea, isn’t it? A terrifying one, too! Yet maybe this is the invitation God is giving us. To simply let go and become part of the great festive banquet that God has prepared for all of God’s people. The banquet, the party, that is a sign that God is acting at last to rescue God’s people and wipe away all tears from all eyes. Or, as Tom Wright says, “Give us this day our daily bread” means simply, “Let the party continue.”

So, let go. Release yourself from whatever keeps you from trusting God's promise. Then, come! And join the party!  

Preached August 30, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 13

Readings: Luke 11:2-4; Psalm 145:10-18

Treasure Hunting: Our Hearts and Worry

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

“The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!

“No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.Grace and peace to you from God, our abundant Creator, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. Matt. 6:19-34 (NRSV)

Money. That is central to what we are talking about for the next three weeks. Money. Does this subject make you as uncomfortable as it makes me?

Our focus during this time will center around this overall theme of “treasure in heaven.” And, then, each week, we will look at a different text from each of the three synoptic gospels: Matthew, Mark and Luke. We’ll be looking at three different contexts, three different emphases, and then, in particular, three different challenges. Three different things that challenge us in our relationship with God and with money and, especially that challenge our generosity. These three things are worry, grief, and fear.

Does anyone here have a dollar bill on them? Or it can be a bill of any denomination? (In today’s cashless world, these is getting harder and harder to find, isn’t it?) When you look at the bill, what do you see? Amount of bill, former leader, words “In God We Trust.” 

In God We Trust. (Just a little bit of trivia here, but did you know that the requirement to use these words on every denomination of American currency was passed in 1956, not really that long ago.) Isn’t it a little ironic that, on the very thing that causes so much tension and conflict in our lives, in our relationships, in our work, and, yes, right here in our church--on the actual money we use day in and day out are these words: In God we trust. Because it is money and the power of money that is one of the things that we struggle with the most in our relationship with God. 

We worry about money constantly, don’t we? What worries you most about your money? We worry about how much we have. Or don’t have. We worry about the power it has in our lives. We worry about how much time we spend earning it. As we get older, we even worry about what we will do with it after we die. Money or our worry over money is one of the highest causes of anxiety and conflict in our relationships.

We worry constantly about money. It’s why Jesus talk about money ALL THE TIME. 

I really dislike preaching about money. Maybe it would be different if I had it all figured out. But, I don’t. And I worry about it. I come from a long line of worry-ers, in fact. And I have graciously passed my practice of worrying onto my son. It is just easy to worry over it, isn’t. This constant question of how much I should save. Or how much, especially for us in the church, I should give away.

And, then, as though the answer was easy, Jesus simply says, “Don’t worry!” Yeah, right!

And, yet, it really comes down to whether or not we believe the words we find on our own currency--the words, ”In God We Trust.”  Because to trust in God is to believe that there is enough in our world. That God cares abundantly for our world and has provided enough for each one of us. The word we often uses to talk about this is “providence,” God’s providence. To believe in God’s providence is to believe, no matter what, God will care for and protect us. That God will provide for us what we need. (Notice, I said need. Not want.) It’s what we pray for each time we say the Lord’s Prayer. “Give us this day our daily bread.” Notice that the focus in this prayer given to us by Jesus is on today. Not tomorrow, but today. Give us this day our daily bread.

Haven’t you experienced this? Haven’t you experienced God’s providence in your own life? I know I have. In my late 20’s, after my husband and I separated, I had physical custody of my son. It was expensive to pay for rent and utilities for us and for food and clothing for us all by myself. There were many times that my paycheck ran out days before my next payday and I had no idea where our next meal might come from. Where my next tank of gas might come from. Or how I might keep the lights on over our heads. And, yet, there was never a time that we didn’t have enough to survive. That somehow, something or someone would show up in our lives at just the right time with just what we needed. Coincidence? Maybe. But it happened so much then and throughout my life that it is way beyond coincidence. That I can attribute it only to God and God’s providence. That it is a God-thing.

God cares abundantly for our world. God has provided enough for everyone. What then, we might ask, about those who don’t have enough in their lives? About the poor? Or the disadvantaged? After all, we see them all the time here at Grace & Glory. Our food pantry clients. Others who come to us asking for money or for a tank of gas. If God provides enough for everyone, then, why are their people like this in our world.

The simple answer? Sin. Because sin tells us that there isn’t enough in our world. That there isn’t enough for everyone. Sin leads us to worry, to live in anxiety. Sin leads us to a mindset of scarcity. That we need to hold onto our stuff. Sin leads to hoarding. Sin separates us from right relationship with God.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth…” Jesus says in our text today. “...[B]ut store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”

Jesus tells us to “strive toward the kingdom.” To trust in God’s providence and to strive for the kingdom. To trust that God will care for us. That God has created enough for us and for everyone else. To stop worrying. And to move from a place of scarcity to a place of abundance. From an orientation of hoarding to an orientation of sharing.  To think, “If I have too much, it means that someone else probably doesn’t have enough.”  

At the beginning of our service today, you made a list of things that belong to you. Pick one now. Think about how you might use that one thing right now to help other people or to worship God. 

When we change our heart. Or our minds. When we change our orientation from one of scarcity to one of abundance and of trust in God’s providence, this creates a whole new appreciation of how we hold things in common with each other. It is a system of economics that we may not understand or that might not seem at all reasonable according to the ways of our world, but it is one that, as Walter Brueggemann writes, will eventually “blow our socks off.”  

Because God is abundant. God is gracious. And God loves us and proves that love for us on the cross. That, my friends, is our treasure. That is what are to seek and what we are to strive for--a deeper faith in a God who has given us everything. Everything. Including God’s very own life. For us and for all people.

Strive first for the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness. And all these things will be given to you as well. Amen.

Preached August 19, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
13th Sunday after Pentecost
Readings: Matthew 6:19-34 (Psalm 51:6-9)