From Generation to Generation: God Meets Us In Our Fear

When Elizabeth was six months pregnant, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a city in Galilee, to a virgin who was engaged to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David’s house. The virgin’s name was Mary. When the angel came to her, he said, “Rejoice, favored one! The Lord is with you!” She was confused by these words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary. God is honoring you. Look! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and he will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of David his father. He will rule over Jacob’s house forever, and there will be no end to his kingdom.”

Then Mary said to the angel, “How will this happen since I haven’t had sexual relations with a man?”

The angel replied, “The Holy Spirit will come over you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the one who is to be born will be holy. He will be called God’s Son. Look, even in her old age, your relative Elizabeth has conceived a son. This woman who was labeled ‘unable to conceive’ is now six months pregnant. Nothing is impossible for God.”

Then Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be with me just as you have said.” Then the angel left her. -- Luke 1:26-38 (CEB)

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

I had a plan. Eighteen years ago, I had a plan. I had a plan for my life and where I was going. Most of you know that, for decades, I worked in the social justice movement. But some of you may not know that, at the same time, I worked part-time as a music and worship director in Lutheran churches, too. I was a life-long musician. That love for music kept me in the church where I worked in many different capacities - choir director, pianist, organist, handbell choir director, children’s music director, and eventually as worship director for an ELCA church in Pasadena. 

But, in 2006 I had a plan. My plan was to go back to school, get my master’s degree in music, retire from my organizing job, and do music in the church full time. 

I bet Mary had a plan, too. She was young, probably a teenager. A virgin. Engaged to Joseph, a simple carpenter. Soon she would be married and then settle down to have a family, because in her culture, having children was most important to ensure the family line. To ensure the generations to come. Yep, Mary had a plan. I’m sure of it. 

But, here’s the thing. My plan. Mary’s plan. Well, our plans are just not often the same as God’s plan.  

Just a year or so after I started graduate school, one day my pastor at the church where I worked sat me down and said, “You should apply for candidacy.” If you’re not sure what that means, to apply for candidacy means to make an application to become a rostered leader in the church. A pastor. Or a deacon. 

I laughed. I laughed at her because that was not anything I had ever or would ever consider. Plus, it didn’t fit into my plan. But, mostly, I laughed because I was afraid. Because, until I joined the ELCA, my entire experience of women in leadership positions in the church was zero. The idea of my becoming a rostered leader terrified me. What would my family say? And what would my high school friends say - the ones I’d gone to school with in that other church, where it was a sin for women to be in leadership positions? 

Mary must have been fearful, too. Because, immediately after the greeting, the angel quickly says, “Don’t be afraid.” Something so typical in all of the call stories we see in scripture. Where so often the first words out of the divine messenger’s mouth are, “Do not be afraid.” Mary had so much more to fear than I did in my call story. What would her family say? What would Joseph say? What would the community say? Not only would her plans be turned upside down. But, there was a very good possibility that she could be accused of adultery, stoned. Perhaps, even killed. 

I walked away from the conversation with my pastor that day with no intention of applying. But, not Mary. She was the one we would call Christ-like, not me. She quietly said, “Yes. I am the Lord’s servant.”

We tell ourselves a lot of stories. And, as you know, God eventually convinced me what my story should be. Last week we heard how God makes room for each one of us in God’s story. As we listened to all of the names, some of them very unexpectedly on the list, we heard the message that, like them, we and our story belong. 

But, here’s my question for you. Are you telling yourself the right story? Is it your story that you’ve discerned for yourself? Like my original plan for the rest of my life? Or is it possible that the story you think is yours really isn’t and that, by holding onto it, you’ve pushed away God’s story for your life. 

Each one of us - like Mary - is called to be “all in” with this thing we call discipleship. All in. Are you “all in” with God’s story? Or all you “all in” with your story? Is it your plan? Or God’s plan? 

Now, I’m certainly not here, expecting that you will be called by God into rostered leadership. Or expecting any of you to get pregnant. (If you’re laughing because you, like me, are way too old to even think it is possible, I would remind you of Elizabeth and Zechariah. Do you think age matters to God? Never say never.) 

Yet, each one of you, like me, has been called into the story that is so much larger than ours. Into God’s story. What’s your plan? Or rather, what do you discern to be God’s plan for your life? Who will you be like in this story? Like me, who walked away in fear. (Or at least who tried to walk away.) Or Mary. Who simply said, “Let it be with me as you have said.” And then gave birth to the Savior of the world.

Whatever your plan, God says to you, “Do not be afraid.” Amen.

Preached December 11, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Second Sunday of Advent

Readings: Luke 1:26-38; Isaiah 11:1-10

God's Greatest Promise: A New Creation

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” Matthew 28:1-10 (NRSV).

They’d been there that afternoon when Jesus died. The two Mary’s. Mary from Magdala, known as Mary Magdalene. And another Mary, mother of James and Joseph. Standing with the other women a distance away from the cross. 

They’d followed Jesus from Galilee, these two women. Like many others, they’d traveled the 80 mile distance to Jerusalem. Not really that far for us. But, for them, it felt like a world away.

They’d been there that afternoon at the cross. Watching. As the Jesus they loved was mocked and beaten by the soldiers. As the twelve scattered. Yet, they, and the other women had remained. Standing a distance away. Watching. As the day grew darker and darker.

They’d been there that afternoon as the earth shook. At that very moment when Jesus died. They’d felt the earthquake. Heard rocks split in two. Later, they heard that the temple curtain - the curtain that covered the holiest place in the temple, the place where only the priests were allowed. They heard that the curtain had torn in two. From top to bottom. As the earth shook. As Jesus died.

They’d been there as Jesus’ body had been taken down from the cross. Placed by Simon in his own new tomb. Simon, one of the many disciples like they. But, one who had wealth and could afford this one gesture of respect and dignity for Jesus. Who had suffered so much. And who had been treated so poorly. Humiliated. Shamed. Even crucified.

As Simon placed Jesus’ body in the tomb, they’d been there, too. The two Mary’s. Sitting opposite the tomb. Watching.

Early on the day after the Sabbath had passed. On the first day of the work week, they’d gone back to the tomb. The two Mary’s. Perhaps they wondered if it was really true. Really true that Jesus had died. That he was gone forever. Or, maybe, it was all just part of some nightmare. Some horrific dream from which they prayed they would wake up.

Or, perhaps, that early morning, as the two Mary’s were watching the tomb. Perhaps there was just a little bit of hope. Hope that Jesus’ own prediction would come true. That he would be raised from the dead after three days. Just as he said.

And, then, suddenly they felt another great earthquake. Just as they’d felt that afternoon at the cross. As the earth shook beneath them, they looked up and saw, of all things, an angel. Blinding them. Dressed in white. The guards who’d been stationed at the tomb - the soldiers who had been placed there by the religious authorities to ensure that Jesus’ disciples wouldn’t be able to steal his body and then proclaim that Jesus had risen. These guards, some of whom had mocked Jesus on the cross, they, too, shook. Like the earth. And then, in the greatest of ironies, they appeared to be dead. Just as Jesus was dead. And lifeless.

Except. Jesus wasn’t dead.

That was the earth-shattering news for these two Mary’s. Two women who, like the other women and like so many of Jesus’ disciples, were people with no power in their world. People with no money. Or no status. Just ordinary, everyday people. Hard-working people who felt left behind. It was easy for them to be cynical. To not expect or believe that Jesus’ resurrection prediction would come true. So, one can only wonder when they heard the news proclaimed by this dazzling angel, how much it rocked their world.  

There’s another character in this drama. Another unseen, unnamed character. Beyond the two Mary’s. And the angel. Beyond the guards and even Jesus himself, there is one more character woven into this first Easter story. We first met this character on Good Friday. As Jesus died, the whole earth shaked. The rocks split. This same character returned that early Sunday morning with another literal earth-shaking bang. This character? Creation.

We know, according to scripture, that since the fall of humanity and the entrance of sin and brokenness into God’s perfect and idyllic world, creation has groaned under its weight. Dominated by humankind, instead of lovingly cared for as God desired. Perhaps Creation is like the two Mary’s, just a little hopeful and longing for this very moment. For the news of Jesus’ resurrection. For the in-breaking of God’s kingdom into the world. And so, just like the women and the guards, when creation hears the news, it, too, responds. With an earthquake. A natural phenomenon that emphatically underscores the truly world-changing aspect of the resurrection of Jesus.

It’s easy to be for us cynical, isn’t it? Or without hope. To feel like the two Mary’s. Or, perhaps, even as creation might feel. To struggle under the weight of sin and brokenness. Whether it is our own sin and brokenness or that of the world. We look at the world and wonder how things can possibly get worse. Whether it is the divisiveness and discord in our public dialogue, or in our personal lives. Whether it is the inequality and unfairness that we experience. When even creation seems under seige and dying. When everything seems so hopeless. And it feels like death has the upper hand. It’s easy for us to be cynical, isn’t it? 

It is then that we, with the two Mary’s, with the angel, with the guards and with all of creation witness God’s answer. We see and feel and hear God’s response. God would not allow Jesus to remain dead. Jesus was resurrected. Jesus lives. 

Now, Jesus’ resurrection does not mean that God condones human sin and brokenness. It does not mean that God ignores the violence and destruction that we have perpetuated against God’s very creation. But what it does show us is that God submits to it, absorbs it, and lives through it to be in solidarity with all that suffer through it. 

And then, God resurrects the condemned one, the betrayed one, the crucified one to show that this act of violence perpetrated against Jesus is not the last word. Out of this death and darkness, God brings about a new creation. Death does not win! Life wins! God wins!

There’s one more piece - one more important piece - to the story. After the two Mary’s heard the news and the angel’s instructions, they left quickly to go. And to tell. And, as they did along the way, their world was rocked a second time as they met Jesus himself. They fell at his feet. And they worshipped him. And then, with his words “Do not be afraid” ringing in their ears, they continued on. To tell the others. So that the other disciples could also meet Jesus. Alive.

May this be our response to God’s greatest act. To the fulfillment of God’s greatest promise. May we meet Jesus on the way, too. May we also fall down at Jesus’ feet and worship him. May Jesus make us into a new creation. And, then, may we get up and go out into our world. Into a world that has grown cynical and that groans under the weight of sin. And may we, like the two Mary’s and like all of creation, share the earth-shattering news in our words and in our actions, so that others, too, may meet Jesus. Alive. In us.


Alleluia! Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.

Preached April 21, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
First Sunday of Easter
Readings: Matthew 28:1-10; Psalm 118:19-34

Faith in God's Promises: Unexpected Plans

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

“Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,”

which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus. Matthew 1:18-25 (NRSV)

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

We began today talking about trust. With a couple of you, I tested your trust in me. Your faith in me. Whether I would drop you. Or not. Our reading today about Joseph is also about trust. About who or what he should believe. And why.

There are a lot of legends in our world today, aren’t there? Legends that many people think are true. We’ll call them urban legends. Here’s an example. If you swallow your chewing gum it will take seven years to digest. Do you think that’s true? Or false? It's false.

Here’s another. One that’s especially appropriate for December. Most of our body heat is lost through our heads. True or false? True for infants, but false for everyone else.

One more. This one is about Coca Cola. We’ve all heard about how if you pour Coke onto a car battery it will wash away corrosion. Did you know that, if you put a tooth in a glass of Coke overnight, it will dissolve by morning? Do you think that’s true or false? It’s false.

How do you know what to believe or who to believe? Any ideas?

Most often, we believe in the people we trust. Perhaps we trust them because we know them well - we’ve been in a long relationship with them. Perhaps we trust them because of their knowledge. Or their education. Or their role. Or, perhaps, we trust them because their word is reliable. They do what they say they will do. Whatever the reason, trust usually happens as a result of our experience with people.

Today is the fourth Sunday of Advent. We’ve been waiting for a few weeks now. Thinking, as we wait, about courage and hope and justice. Today, we make a transition. Not only is this the last Sunday of Advent, but in our lectionary we now move out of the Hebrew scriptures and into the New Testament. Into the gospel of Matthew.

Scholars believe that Matthew was written near the end of the first century, some 40-50 years after Jesus’ ministry. The author of Matthew was writing to a mostly Jewish audience after the fall of the Second Temple in 70 CE. God’s very home on earth had been destroyed. The city that had been the place of God’s presence had been overwhelmed by Romans. Thousands of friends and relatives of Matthew’s readers had been brutally killed. Hundreds of them by crucifixion on crosses. The world and the future did not look good for the Jews or even for the small, yet growing Jesus movement. 

Does this feel like a deja vu moment? After all, isn’t this nearly the same story as those we’ve been hearing about for weeks in our Old Testament readings. About Israel’s capture by the Assyrians. Then, the capture of Judah by the Babylonians. And with it the destruction of the First Temple. And the exile of the Jewish people. The diaspora - the dispersion of God’s people into exile away from the land that God had given to them. 

So, it’s no accident that in our reading today - in these opening verses of Matthew - that we hear the writer’s reminder of a prophecy for his audience. A prophecy from Isaiah. About a virgin (although the original Hebrew speaks of a young woman). About a girl who is pregnant. Not Mary! But, a girl who would have a child whom she would name Immanuel. Immanuel. Which means “God is with us.” In this prophecy, given at a time when Judah was under attack, Isaiah promised that by the time this child was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, the cities of the kings who were threatening Judah would be in complete ruin. And Judah would be safe. Because God was with them.

The author of Matthew is using Isaiah’s ancient prophecy to remind his audience nearly 800 years later that God was with them, too.

But, let’s turn to the time of our story. About Joseph. And Mary. And the birth of Jesus, the Messiah. Our story begins by telling us that Mary and Joseph were engaged. Now engagement, or betrothal, in ancient times was much different that it is today. When two people became engaged, it was a formal step. A formal agreement between two families. A point at which gifts were exchanged. Between the families. And between the bride and groom to be. During the time of engagement, which usually lasted an entire year, a man and woman were looked upon as fully committed to each other. It was so binding, in fact, that to break an engagement required a bill of divorce. If a spouse died during the betrothal period, he or she was considered a widow or widower, just as if they had been fully married.

So, when Joseph heard that Mary was pregnant, he was likely very hurt. And very upset. And publicly humiliated. Because he knew that the child was not his. And our story tells us that Joseph was a “righteous” man. This meant that he was right-living. That he carefully abided by Jewish law. That, in a circumstance like this with Mary being pregnant, a strict interpretation of Jewish law required that he report her to the authorities. That she be publicly shamed and humiliated. And, even, that she could be stoned to death. As a righteous man, Joseph knew this.

And, yet, Joseph knew that he should also err on the side of love. And so, his plan was to break the engagement quietly, so that she would not be subject to public humiliation and, especially, that she would be safe.

How devastating all of this must have been for Joseph!

And, then, God breaks in. Sending a messenger - an angel to tell Joseph that this is no ordinary child. But, that this child is the Messiah. The Messiah promised to the people. A child from the Holy Spirit. And that Joseph should take Mary as his wife, meaning moving in together, shifting their relationship from engagement to marriage. And that, when the child was born, Joseph would be the one to name him. A right that ensured his position as the baby’s legal father. And  also that Jesus was not only Son of God, but also Son of Man. Jesus. Immanuel. God with us. Savior of God’s people from their sin.

Do you hear the complexity in this story? The many layers that are woven into this opening narrative from Matthew? Do you hear the truth of this story? That God is with us. Whether it is with Judah under siege in ancient times. Whether it is with Joseph in the midst of his confusion and humiliation. Whether it is with the audience of Matthew’s Gospel as they are being persecuted by the Roman empire. Whether it is with us in our lives today, whether we are beside still waters or on right paths. Or whether we are walking through the darkest valley. Do you hear the profound message in this Matthew text? The true story that is woven into these words?


That God is trustworthy. That God keeps God’s promises. That God is with us. Yesterday, today, and forever. May we hold this as truth in our own lives. Amen.

Preached December 23, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Advent 4
Readings: Matthew 1:18-25; Psalm 23:1-4