God Provides Blessings: Proofing the Dough

Last week’s story related how God promised to deliver the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. This week, we see the results of that deliverance. We read in Exodus, chapter 16.

The whole Israelite community set out from Elim and came to the Sin desert, which is located between Elim and Sinai. They set out on the fifteenth day of the second month after they had left the land of Egypt. The whole Israelite community complained against Moses and Aaron in the desert. The Israelites said to them, “Oh, how we wish that the Lord had just put us to death while we were still in the land of Egypt. There we could sit by the pots cooking meat and eat our fill of bread. Instead, you’ve brought us out into this desert to starve this whole assembly to death.”

Then the Lord said to Moses, “I’m going to make bread rain down from the sky for you. The people will go out each day and gather just enough for that day. In this way, I’ll test them to see whether or not they follow my Instruction. On the sixth day, when they measure out what they have collected, it will be twice as much as they collected on other days.” So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “This evening you will know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt. And in the morning you will see the Lord’s glorious presence, because your complaints against the Lord have been heard. Who are we? Why blame us?” Moses continued, “The Lord will give you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning because the Lord heard the complaints you made against him. Who are we? Your complaints aren’t against us but against the Lord.”

Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole Israelite community, ‘Come near to the Lord, because he’s heard your complaints.’” As Aaron spoke to the whole Israelite community, they turned to look toward the desert, and just then the glorious presence of the Lord appeared in the cloud.

The Lord spoke to Moses, “I’ve heard the complaints of the Israelites. Tell them, ‘At twilight you will eat meat. And in the morning you will have your fill of bread. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.’”

In the evening a flock of quail flew down and covered the camp. And in the morning there was a layer of dew all around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the desert surface were thin flakes, as thin as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, “What is it?” They didn’t know what it was.

Moses said to them, “This is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat. This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Collect as much of it as each of you can eat, one omer per person. You may collect for the number of people in your household.’” The Israelites did as Moses said, some collecting more, some less. But when they measured it out by the omer, the ones who had collected more had nothing left over, and the ones who had collected less had no shortage. Everyone collected just as much as they could eat.

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

Most of you here know that I like to bake. I come from a long line of bakers. My grandmother was famous for her “kuchen.” My mother was known for a wide variety of baked goods, especially the “stollen” she would bake and give away to friends and family each Christmas. For a time, when I was growing up, each week should would bake 5-6 loaves of bread (mostly because my brother would steal a loaf fresh out of the oven and each it in one sitting). So, at a pretty young age, I would sit and watch my mother as she made bread. Mixing the yeast in water sprinkled with a little sugar, then adding flour and salt and kneading the dough for several minutes until it was smooth and elastic.

It was until really the past few years, as I’ve become obsessed with watching baking programs, that I learned what that process of mixing the yeast with water and sugar was all about. Professional bakers call it “proofing” the yeast. A better word is “proving” the yeast. It’s a test to see if the yeast is good and ready to move onto the next step. 

This is the test that God is giving Israel in today’s story. It’s not a test that they can pass or fail. But a test to see if they - like my mother’s yeast - is ready to move onto the next step. 

So, what’s going on here? Well, last week we heard the story of the call of Moses - this reluctant prophet who really resists God’s call to lead Israel out of slavery in Egypt. They have been part of an economy there. An economy built by the pharaoh, who is all about storing up grain which equates to wealth. To store it, he needs storage facilities. It’s these facilities that the Israelites have been enslaved to build. All for the sake of accumulating wealth for the pharaoh - Egypt’s king. It’s an economy of scarcity - an economy that rests on a premise that there is not enough for everyone. An economy that is about hoarding, getting as much as one can get. Just in case. Remember the toilet paper shortage last year in the early months of the pandemic?

This is the only economy Israel has known. An economy that has enslaved them to build and store up wealth. An economy of scarcity has, at its core, fear and control.

God’s economy is different. God’s economy is an economy of sufficiency. Where there is enough for everyone. Where hoarding and storing up wealth is unnecessary, because God has created enough for all people, including you and me. This economy - God’s economy - is one that has, at its core, faith and trust in the provision of God.

So, six weeks after having witnessed the amazing miracle and show of God’s power at the Red Sea, when God parted the waters so that Israel could cross on dry land. Six weeks later, Israel is now in the wilderness. The provisions they brought with them are beginning to diminish. They are becoming fearful, wondering how they eat in this God-forsaken place. 

The response by Israel - the very human response of this people who are very much like we are - is to complain. “If only we hadn’t left Egypt,” they cry out. “If only we hadn’t left Egypt, we’d be sitting in front of our fire pots, eating meat and bread to our fill.” How quickly they’ve forgotten that they were slaves in Egypt. Enslaved by an economy of scarcity that has been deeply embedded in who they are. So that, rather than face an unknown future, even with the promise of God to be present with them, they would much rather go back to the way it was. Go back to being enslaved. This economy, however harsh and inequitable it might be, has so deeply ingrained itself in their lives and the psyche that, for Israel and, perhaps, for us, it is more desirable than the unknown with God.

Isn’t this our situation, too? We know that our systems need to change. We know that our economic system has led to deep inequities in our nation and our world. That it is an economy of scarcity, where the rich only get richer and the poor, poorer. That this economic system, based on producing more and more and more stuff, has resulted in massive harm to our environment. To God’s creation which only a few weeks ago God called “good.” And placed humankind over it to steward it - to care for it. We know we need to change how we live, how we think - everything about the way in which we exist in this world. I get it. It’s hard for me not to want to store up stuff and money to make sure I have enough for the future. 

It’s not just our economic system. Our entire culture needs to change. The church needs to change.  We can no longer fail to walk the talk. To actually live how we say we should live. 

But, that’s really hard, isn’t it. That really hard, especially when we don’t know what the future will bring. Our fear works on us, just as it did on Israel. Making us want to go back to or to remain in the way things have always been.

But, this is where faith comes in. Bit by bit. Day by day, as we see God’s provision, as we see God’s presence in the mundane things of life, like manna, or our daily bread, we are reminded over and over again that, even though we can’t fully see the reality of what God has in store for us, we do know that God will guide us through this wilderness. That God, in Jesus - that Bread come down from heaven, who like the God of the Hebrew scriptures present in the manna is present for us in this bread - that God, in Jesus will form and shape us, will proof us just as my mother proofed her yeast. So that we might have life. Here and now. And into all eternity. Amen.

Preached October 10, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 20

Readings: Exodus 16:1-18, John 6:51

Journey to the Cross: God, the Ultimate Baker

Now the festival of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was near. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to put Jesus to death, for they were afraid of the people.

Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was one of the twelve; he went away and conferred with the chief priests and officers of the temple police about how he might betray him to them. They were greatly pleased and agreed to give him money. So he consented and began to look for an opportunity to betray him to them when no crowd was present.

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.” They asked him, “Where do you want us to make preparations for it?” “Listen,” he said to them, “when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, ‘The teacher asks you, “Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished. Make preparations for us there.” So they went and found everything as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover meal.

When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!” Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.

A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. But he said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves. --Luke 22:1-27 (NRSV)

Tonight, we remember the last night Jesus spent with his disciples celebrating the Passover meal. We remember that the early church would gather for Agape meals or love feasts to remember Jesus’ life and ministry, to affirm their communal identity as the body of Christ, and to share food and resources so everyone would have enough. 

Tonight, we gather at many tables in many different homes to remember that meal so long ago when Jesus gathered with his dearest friends, his disciples. We remember the wilderness around us: isolation, illness, unemployment, homelessness, racism, violence, fear, uncertainty, grief. We also remember the wilderness to come for Jesus: betrayal, denial by his closest friends, suffering and death. 

Yet, in this wilderness through which we have been walking, and in the wilderness Jesus would experience, there would be moments. Moments of the unexpected. Moments of new realization. Moments of learning.

Over this past year, I’ve become a YouTube watcher. Some of this certainly has to do with the algorithms that continue to offer videos that draw me in.  Many of them have been about food and cooking. And bread baking. Perhaps, it’s the bread baking videos that catch me most, because, I don’t know about you, but there is something about a freshly baked loaf of bread that brings back many memories. Memories of my mother, who, for many years, would diligently bake a couple of loaves of bread each week.

I recently watched a video by Peter Reinhart, author of many books on baking bread. In it, he talked about the transformational aspects of bread. He suggested that to fully understand what it is about bread that is so special - the metaphorical and mystical aspects of bread baking - we must understand it at the most literal level. 

So what must happen to create a loaf of bread? Bread first begins as wheat. A grass that grows in the field at some point puts out seeds. That we harvest. Harvesting is really just a euphemism for killing. The wheat gives up its seeds, which, for the wheat plant are a promise of future life. But, instead the seeds are given up, crushed, and turned into flour. The plant is killed and denied the potential for creating future life. So, the first transformation, which is a radical change from one thing into something else - the first transformation is that the wheat stalk moves from being alive to dead.

Next, the flour is merged with water and salt. This creates something like a clay that is then infused with yeast or leaven. The word “leaven” is related to the word “enliven” - to bring life. The Hebrew word for clay is adam. The baker, according to Reinhart, is the god of the dough. When the leaven is added to this clay, it grows. Or proofs, in baker terminology. It proves that there is life. There are things happening: the enzymes break forth sugar, the yeast eats the sugar, which turns to carbon dioxide. The bacteria eats that same sugar to turn to acid. The personality and character of the bread is being developed under the watching gaze of the baker. The bakers choices all along the way determine the outcome of the final product. A subtle change in temperature or time or something else can change the final product. Then, the dough that worked and kneaded to develop the gluten - this net that develops that holds the loaf together - yet all along, the dough continues to prove that it is alive and is developing character. This is the second transformation - when the wheat and the dough created from it has moved from being dead to being alive.

But, then, it’s time to bake. The dough, shaped and formed, is placed into an oven. When the bread reaches the temperature of 140 degrees it passes the TDP, the thermal death point. All life ceases there. The yeast, whose mission up to now has been to raise, to enliven the dough to complete its mission, has to give up its life. It moves from being alive to being dead. Another transformation.

The final transformation involves us. We eat the bread. It nurtures us and gives us life, thus completing the life cycle once again. 

Over and over and over again, this process of death and resurrection happens in the life cycle of the bread. In the same way, over and over and over again, this process of death and resurrection happens in the bread we eat in this meal. This final meal that Jesus shared with his disciples on that Passover Eve. A meal that would bring betrayal and death to Jesus. And yet, a meal that would bring life to the community he would leave behind, that he would infuse with his Spirit. That he would continue to transform through this meal - a meal that we still share today. A meal of bread and wine that is not simply about remembering, like the memories that I have of my mother baking bread. But a meal that is transformational. A mystical meal in which we believe that Jesus is present with us, here and now, continuing to transform us. Forgiving the dead parts of us. Bring life out of that death. Molding and shaping us into the people and the community God desires us to be. A people like Jesus. Humble. Serving. Loving. 

May we trust in and experience this transformation tonight and as we go throughout our lives, challenging as they may be in this very moment. May we remember that God is the ultimate bread baker. That God makes the ultimate choices. And that, in the end, God always brings life from death. Amen.

Preached April 1, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Maundy Thursday

Readings: Luke 22:1-27; selections from John 13.

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

God's Greatest Promise: Known At the Table

On the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Where do you want us to make the preparations for you to eat the Passover?” He said, “Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’” So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them, and they prepared the Passover meal.

When it was evening, he took his place with the twelve; and while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” He replied, “You have said so.”

While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” Matthew 26:17-30 (NRSV)

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

I don’t know about your families, but in mine, the best place to hear things was at our dinner table. Whether it was at the end of a day, catching up on what was going on in our lives. Whether it was in our weekly Sunday dinner at the home of either my grandparents or my great aunt and uncle. Whether it was lingering at the table after a meal at our family reunion. It was at the table where we heard the news. Where we listened to the stories of our family. Where we learned who we were.

I’m sure it was not that different with Jesus and his disciples that Passover evening. After all, they’d been living closely with each other for three years. They’d traveled together throughout the rural areas of Galilee and, then, Judea. Learning from each other. Watching Jesus interact with people. Healing them. Granting forgiveness. Feeding thousands. They’d eaten many meals together. They’d also eaten the Passover meal together. Twice.

I wonder, though, if this meal didn’t feel a little different for them. This was the first time they were celebrating the Passover meal in Jerusalem. They came to Jesus and asked him where they should make preparations for this meal. I wonder how surprised they must have been when Jesus told them that everything was already prepared. And that, as they followed Jesus’ instruction, everything simply fell into place. 

I wonder, too, how distressing it must have felt to all the disciples when they heard Jesus’ prediction of how one of them would betray them. (The word in Greek really means “hand him over.”) Did they know then that it would be Judas who would hand Jesus over to the authorities? Did they know also know then that, by the end of the Passover celebration, all of them would have denied their relationship with Jesus?

I wonder if they knew the significance of that meal. When Jesus took the loaf of bread into his hands and blessed it, were they reminded of the thousands that had been fed that day with just a few loaves of bread and a few fish? Did it remind them of God’s promise to care for them, to give them their daily bread? To give them everything they needed to live?

When Jesus gave it to them (the Greek uses the same word here as that used to describe Judas’ betrayal - to “hand over”). When Jesus handed over the bread and wine to them, did they also know that Jesus was handing over his body? And his blood? 

And, then, when Jesus used the word “covenant,” were they reminded of the blood covenant that God had made with Israel at the base of Mount Sinai? How Moses had taken sacrificial blood and sprinkled it on the people as a reminder of their mutual covenant with God? A covenant that they broke time and time again? A covenant that was never broken by God? Did the disciples understand that, in this meal, Jesus was initiating a new covenant? A new promise that would be not only for Israel, but for the Gentiles? The ethnos, in Greek? For all the nations?

As they sat around the table that Passover night, reliving a tradition maintained over centuries, a tradition that was intended to remind them of God’s action in freeing them from bondage, did they fully know what was soon to happen and how it would change everything? I wonder.

Sisters and brothers, tonight, we, too, sit around a table, some 2,000 years after that first meal. We, however, have the benefit of hindsight. We know the ending to the story. How even though we, just like those first disciples, have betrayed Jesus in one way or another in our lives, how we have “handed him over” in much the same way. Yet, how, in this meal, Jesus hands over to us his body. And his blood. In this bread and wine. Given for you. For me. For all people. 

It is here, around the table, where we learn who we are as God’s children. What depth of love God must have for us that God would hand God’s only son over? For us? 

One can only wonder. Amen.

Preached April 18, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Maundy Thursday
Readings: Matthew 26:17-30, Psalm 116:12-15.

Glimpses

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible. 

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.” 

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 (NRSV)

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

First, a disclaimer. I can just about promise you that during the course of my sermon this morning I will likely become emotional, since this is my last Sunday here and likely the last sermon I will preach here.

So, here’s the thing. If that happens, here’s what I want you to do: I want you to let go of that stoic Norwegian or German heritage and just cry right along with me. Do you promise to do that? Okay. Let’s begin.

I want to talk to you today about your treasure. No, it’s not what you think. My last sermon here will not be a stewardship sermon. Instead, I want to talk to you about your treasure--those little things or those experiences that you treasure. Those little things or experiences that bring you joy. That bring goodness and beauty into your lives. Those little things or experiences that you hold in your heart and that are your treasure.

Over the past week, I’ve been sitting several hours in airports, waiting to travel back and forth to Los Angeles for my last interview with my synod for final approval. I’ve had a lot of time to think of my own treasures. Particularly the treasures from this past year. Those little things or experiences that I hold deep in my heart.

Things like...

...the way you so warmly welcomed me into this congregation and have supported my learning over this past year, showing me grace when I’ve made mistakes and offering loving suggestions as to how I might be a better pastor.

...the gift of Pastor Mark as my supervisor and all of the things we’ve talked about, so much stuff that I’ve learned from him and our ongoing and never-ending conversation around politics, a subject that both of us love to talk about. And, this year, we’ve had a lot to talk about!
...and of Michell, who knows everyone and who they are related to and who just seems to be able to accept every challenge and solve every problem I throw her way, although, she hasn’t quite yet figured out how to get the bat that flew into my office this past week out of the church.
...and of all of you who I’ve had the privilege to work with this past year in different ways, whether on different committees, or the building project, or in handbells, or in Stephen Ministry.
...the openness and honesty so many of you have shown me, a complete stranger, as you have shared the joys and, yes, the hard times of your lives.
...the ways in which you have gone out of your way to show hospitality-- those little gifts that magically appeared on my desk, the lunch invitations, the cards you sent just to say thanks for a particular sermon, the amazing home-baked goods, the fresh produce from your gardens, or even just the times you dropped in to chat.
...the trust you showed in me by letting me spend time with your children in all their innocence and simple faith and from whom I receive so much love back , including hugs and even a huge lip-smacking kiss I got just last Sunday from one of them. And, yes, even sharing your teenagers with me and all the learning that they bring!
...the way in which the beauty of this place has grown on me--the lush, green rolling hills of this bluff country and, even, the stark shades of gray of this place in the winter.
...the friendliness of small town life--that no matter what, someone always says hello to me as I’m walking to church in the morning.
...and, yes, even the experience of putting the top down on my little convertible and driving some of the back roads of this amazing golden valley.

All of these little things and experiences and so much more have brought such beauty and joy into my life this year. As I began this journey, not knowing for sure where I would end up, not even knowing for sure if I was truly being called to be a pastor, it’s as though with each of these little things and experiences, I’ve been getting glimpses into the kingdom of God.

Glimpses into the kingdom of God. It sounds a little like our story today about Abraham, doesn't it? Called to go to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance, he set out, not knowing where he was going. In faith, he waited and watched for the promise--that God would make of him a great nation and would provide a land for his people. And Abraham waited. And he watched. Childless, both he and Sarah waited. And they watched. And they never saw that promise, did they? But along the way, God gave them little glimpses. “Look up into the sky, Abraham!” God said, “Count the stars! This will be your nation.” Or the birth of Isaac at the age of a hundred. The son long promised to Abraham. The son who would be the first of this great promised kingdom. Each experience of beauty and joy gave Abraham a glimpse into the promised kingdom of God.

We wait. And we watch. Just like Abraham and Sarah, in faith we wait and we watch for that promised kingdom of God. What we’re looking for is hard to describe. Those small signs that stand out for us in the middle of a deathly world, signs of life. Of love and beauty. Of goodness. We don’t see them as often as we’d like. We try to cope in between, convincing ourselves that we’ve been faithful, that we’re happy, and that the wait isn’t so bad. But, in truth, it feels endless. And miserable. And sometimes it seems like there just isn’t any hope. And, then, we get a glimpse. Always, it seems, we get a glimpse just when we need it most. And, once again, we are hopeful.

What are the glimpses that give you hope? What are those little things or experiences that bring beauty and love into your life, that give you a glimpse of God’s kingdom? Those things that you hold in your heart and that you treasure. Perhaps it’s your children. Perhaps it’s watching your garden grow. Perhaps it’s looking into a sky that is covered with stars.

Inside your bulletin today, you’ll find a Post-It Note on the "Taking Faith Home" insert. Or, if you don’t have a bulletin, there are pads of Post-It Notes in each pew. What do you treasure? What do you treasure that gives you a glimpse of God’s promised kingdom? Take a moment to think. Write it down as you choose. I’ll give you a minute or two. When you finish, place that note right over your heart.

God has given us his kingdom. It is God’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom by adopting us into his kingdom through the power of the Holy Spirit in our baptisms. In the Word and in the bread and wine, Christ is present for us here and now, and forever, and continues to work faith in our hearts. We need never be afraid. We need never give up hope.

I'm reminded of a poem written by my pastor, Michael Coffey, from my church in Texas. The name of the poem is "Count the Stars."

Abraham’s countless stars hover over our troubled heads
Sarah’s sky lights enlighten our skittish steps
our ancestors fill the night sky with testimony
this is not all there is, there is more to come
more than the terra and the ocean
the sky painter who flicks your future on midnight canvas
is making space for your story and song
making and guarding promises still unspoken
opening wormholes to times and places
unreachable by your linear, downward searching mind
so let that muscle in your forehead go and feel your brow drop
and your heart slow and your brain relax and the flow flowing
and rocket on through fear until faith is your Milky Way

Count your stars! Treasure the glimpses you are given into God’s kingdom. Today, put your hand over them on your heart as a gesture of dedication--a dedication to our God, who loves us and desires only good for us and who has given us the same promise that he gave Abraham--the promise of his kingdom and of life into all eternity.

And, thank you, for all of the glimpses of God’s kingdom that you have given me over this past year.

Let us pray. O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Preached August 7, 2016, at Chatfield Lutheran Church.

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - Year C

Texts: Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Psalm 33:12-22; Luke 12:32-40

Chocolate and Bread and Wine

The believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to the community, to their shared meals, and to their prayers. A sense of awe came over everyone. God performed many wonders and signs through the apostles. All the believers were united and shared everything. They would sell pieces of property and possessions and distribute the proceeds to everyone who needed them. Every day, they met together in the temple and ate in their homes. They shared food with gladness and simplicity. They praised God and demonstrated God’s goodness to everyone. The Lord added daily to the community those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-47 CEB)

Holy Communion.  This is our topic tonight. 

When I talk about Holy Communion, what comes to mind for you?  Perhaps you think of the words of Jesus that are spoken each time we receive communion, the words that promise that Christ is present in the bread and wine…”This IS my body given for you” or “This IS my blood shed for you.”  

Or, perhaps, it’s the “for you.”  The understanding that Christ’s sacrifice was made for each of us and for people everywhere.  

Or perhaps, it's the words, “Do this in remembrance of me.” This meal was, after all, instituted during Passover, the festival that Israel celebrated as a remembrance of how God had fulfilled his promise to lead them from slavery into freedom, and which the earliest Christians celebrated as a remembrance of Christ’s own passover from death to life.

Or, maybe the words “Shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sins” are most meaningful--the knowledge that, in this meal as in our baptism, we receive forgiveness of sins and, as Luther writes, that with this forgiveness comes “life and salvation.”

So, when I mention Holy Communion, what comes to mind?  

The movie, Chocolat, is set in a quiet village in France.  It is fifteen years after the end of the second World War.  Led by its mayor, the village closely adheres to tradition.  If you lived in this village, you knew what was expected of you, you knew your place.  And, if you happened to forget, someone would be there to remind you.  

As the movie begins, they are just beginning their somber observance of the forty days of Lent.  At the same time, a newcomer, Vianne Rocher, and her daughter, Anouk, arrive in the village and begin preparations to open a shop.

Vianne is different. She wears much more colorful clothing than the village women.  She is warm and welcoming.  She is friendly and alluring.  She is very different from the townspeople and does not seem to fit in well.  Yet, one-by-one, she begins to win people over.  One-by-one, the villagers seem to fall under the mysterious spell of Vianne and her confections. One of these is her eccentric landlady, Armande.  

One by one, the villagers come, each with their own brokenness.  Armande, who is estranged from her daughter and separated from her grandson.  One a widow.  Another, a woman abused by her husband.  A couple who have grown apart from each other.  An old man seeking love and companionship.  One by one, they come.  And, soon the chocolaterie becomes a place of gathering, a place of laughter and hope, of warmth and friendship.

Yet, all of this is much to the dismay of the mayor, who begins to speak out publicly against Vianne for tempting the people during Lent, which he believes is to be a time of abstinence and denial. 

As the struggle between Vianne and the mayor intensifies, a band of river gypsies arrives and makes camp on the outskirts of the village.  While most of the town object to their presence, Vianne embraces and welcomes them and their leader, Roux, into the fold.

It is through the power of chocolate that this group of people who would not otherwise associate with each other, come to know and to love one another.  And, as we see in these clips, they celebrate.  Boy, do they celebrate!

What happens in this wonderful movie is a perfect metaphor for what happens for us in holy communion.  

Just as the chocolate was the means by which people were drawn in together, so in this bread and in this wine we are drawn into the presence of Christ and formed into community by the Holy Spirit.  

In this meal, yes, there is forgiveness, there is remembrance, there is promise, there is thanksgiving, there is joy, there is life and there is freedom.  

But, it is especially in this meal that we are transformed.  In our brokenness, we are transformed into the body of Christ and, then, sent into the world to welcome others to the feast, especially those who live on the fringes of our world.   

In our Acts reading tonight, we heard how the early believers lived after Christ rose and ascended to heaven.  They devoted themselves to the apostle’s teaching, they prayed together, they shared meals, they sold their possessions, distributing the proceeds to those in need.  

In this text, I’ve always been struck by verse 43...that as they ate together and lived fully into their lives as the body of Christ, “A sense of awe came over everyone.”

THIS is what I hope you think of and feel each time you participate in communion: awe. Awe. Awe in the wonder and mystery of this meal and it’s power to transform us. 

Eat and drink, then, with awe.  And may God perform many signs and wonders through you! 

Amen.