What a Prophet's Worst Day Teaches Us About Burnout and Hope

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, how he had killed all Baal’s prophets with the sword. Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah with this message: “May the gods do whatever they want to me if by this time tomorrow I haven’t made your life like the life of one of them.”

Elijah was terrified. He got up and ran for his life. He arrived at Beer-sheba in Judah and left his assistant there. He himself went farther on into the desert a day’s journey. He finally sat down under a solitary broom bush. He longed for his own death: “It’s more than enough, Lord! Take my life because I’m no better than my ancestors.” He lay down and slept under the solitary broom bush.

Then suddenly a messenger tapped him and said to him, “Get up! Eat something!” Elijah opened his eyes and saw flatbread baked on glowing coals and a jar of water right by his head. He ate and drank, and then went back to sleep. The Lord’s messenger returned a second time and tapped him. “Get up!” the messenger said. “Eat something, because you have a difficult road ahead of you.” Elijah got up, ate and drank, and went refreshed by that food for forty days and nights until he arrived at Horeb, God’s mountain. There he went into a cave and spent the night.

The Lord’s word came to him and said, “Why are you here, Elijah?”

Elijah replied, “I’ve been very passionate for the Lord God of heavenly forces because the Israelites have abandoned your covenant. They have torn down your altars, and they have murdered your prophets with the sword. I’m the only one left, and now they want to take my life too!”

The Lord said, “Go out and stand at the mountain before the Lord. The Lord is passing by.” A very strong wind tore through the mountains and broke apart the stones before the Lord. But the Lord wasn’t in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake. But the Lord wasn’t in the earthquake. After the earthquake, there was a fire. But the Lord wasn’t in the fire. After the fire, there was a sound. Thin. Quiet. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his coat. He went out and stood at the cave’s entrance. A voice came to him and said, “Why are you here, Elijah?”

He said, “I’ve been very passionate for the Lord God of heavenly forces because the Israelites have abandoned your covenant. They have torn down your altars, and they have murdered your prophets with the sword. I’m the only one left, and now they want to take my life too.”

The Lord said to him, “Go back through the desert to Damascus and anoint Hazael as king of Aram. Also anoint Jehu, Nimshi’s son, as king of Israel; and anoint Elisha from Abel-meholah, Shaphat’s son, to succeed you as prophet. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu will kill. Whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha will kill. But I have preserved those who remain in Israel, totaling seven thousand—all those whose knees haven’t bowed down to Baal and whose mouths haven’t kissed him.” 1 Kings 19:1-18 (CEB)

We’ve all felt it. The whiplash between a monumental success and the hollow crash that follows. The exhaustion that floods in after a period of intense stress and high performance. You give everything you have to a project, a cause, or a confrontation, and you win. But instead of elation, you’re met with a profound sense of emptiness, fear, or burnout. This is not a modern phenomenon. It’s a 3,000-year-old story, and its protagonist is one of the most powerful prophets in the Bible.

In today's reading, the prophet Elijah had just experienced the victory of a lifetime on Mount Carmel, a fiery, dramatic showdown where he single-handedly defeated 450 prophets of the false god Baal. It was a spectacular display of divine power. Yet, immediately following this peak, the bottom falls out of Elijah’s world. He flees into the wilderness, overcome by despair, and asks God to end his life. This ancient story of a prophet's worst day offers profound and timeless lessons for anyone who has ever found themselves at rock bottom after a mountaintop high.

Even the Strongest Among Us Can Hit Rock Bottom

The most jarring part of Elijah’s story is how quickly the ground shifts beneath his feet. One moment he is a triumphant prophet of God; the next he is running for his life. After King Ahab told his wife, Queen Jezebel, what Elijah had done, she sent a messenger with a death threat: "So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow" (1 Kings 19:2).

In response, the Bible says Elijah "was afraid; he got up and fled for his life" (1 Kings 19:3). He journeyed a full day into the wilderness, sat down under a solitary broom tree, and prayed a prayer of complete despair.

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” (1 Kings 19:4)

This moment humanizes a larger-than-life spiritual figure. It shows us that profound despondency can follow even the greatest victories. His prayer is not just a plea for death, but a yearning to escape a world he no longer recognizes and rejoin his ancestors in the grave. Fear, exhaustion, and a sense of failure are not signs of a lack of faith, but a deeply human part of the spiritual condition, experienced even by those we consider giants.

Sustenance Can Come from Unexpected and Unacknowledged Sources

At his lowest point, Elijah falls asleep under the tree. He is then touched by an angel who tells him, "Get up and eat." He finds "a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water" waiting for him (1 Kings 19:6). This miraculous provision happens twice, giving him the strength to journey for forty days to Horeb, the mountain of God.

But where did this food come from? Rev. Winnie Varghese offers a powerful insight, noting that the "cake baked on hot stones" is likely a form of "Bedouin bread." This detail reframes the miracle. God’s provision comes through the hands and traditions of the local indigenous people—strangers who are not part of the main narrative but who practice a quiet hospitality. They are the unacknowledged "people of the land" whose simple act of leaving bread for a traveler becomes the very sustenance a prophet needs to survive.

This reminds us that God’s provision often comes through marginalized communities whose traditions of hospitality and resilience can offer nourishment we didn't even know to ask for. It is the quiet, overlooked people and communities who often provide the very substance—physical or spiritual—that we need for our journey forward.

God Often Speaks in the Quiet, Not the Chaos

When Elijah arrives at Mount Horeb, he takes shelter in a cave, and God tells him to "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by." What follows is a series of dramatic, earth-shattering events, yet the text is clear about where God is not.

• There was a great wind, so strong it split mountains and broke rocks, "but the Lord was not in the wind."
• After the wind came an earthquake, "but the Lord was not in the earthquake."
• After the earthquake came a fire, "but the Lord was not in the fire."

After all the noise and spectacle, God’s presence is finally revealed in "a sound of sheer silence" (1 Kings 19:12). This is a stunning, counter-intuitive revelation. For a prophet whose ministry just culminated in calling down fire from heaven, the revelation that God was not in the fire was a radical reorientation. In a world that prizes grand gestures and loud pronouncements, this story teaches that divine connection is often found in stillness, silence, and quiet attention.

You Are Never as Alone as You Feel

Twice in his conversation with God, Elijah voices the core of his despair: a profound sense of isolation. He feels he is the last faithful person left, and his life is in danger.

“I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” (1 Kings 19:10, 14)

His feeling of being utterly alone is palpable. Yet, God’s response directly counters this perception. After hearing Elijah's lament, God reveals a truth the prophet could not see: "Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him" (1 Kings 19:18).

Elijah's despairing math was wrong. He felt like one, but the reality was 7,000. This is a profound promise: our feelings of absolute isolation, no matter how real they seem, do not have the final say on reality. There is often a wider community and a deeper truth we cannot see from our own limited vantage point.

The Antidote to Despair Is Often a New Mission

After the quiet revelation and the reassurance that he is not alone, God doesn't just offer Elijah comforting words. Instead, God gives him a concrete, forward-looking mission. He is told to get up and get back to work.

God instructs Elijah to:

• Return on his way to the wilderness of Damascus.
• Anoint Hazael as king over Aram.
• Anoint Jehu as king over Israel.
• Anoint Elisha as his successor.

As biblical commentator Simon J. DeVries observes, "Doubts will cease and misgivings vanish when God puts him to work." God's answer to Elijah's psychological crisis wasn't an emotional pep talk; it was a renewed sense of purpose. The text suggests that for Elijah, the very act of being put back to work—of focusing outward instead of inward—is what would heal his despair. This reveals a profound wisdom: often, the best way to overcome our own despondency is to be given a new purpose that calls us out of ourselves and back into the world.

Listening for the Silence

Elijah’s journey from the mountaintop of victory to the cave of despair and back again is a powerful story for our own times of burnout. It teaches us that despair is a human, and even holy, experience; that help often comes from the hands of the unacknowledged; that God’s voice is most clearly heard in the quiet; that we are never as alone as we feel; and that a new mission can be the very antidote to our anguish.

In our own moments of noise, chaos, and exhaustion, the story of Elijah leaves us with a vital question: Where might we find a "sound of sheer silence," and what new mission might be waiting for us there?

Posted on All Saints Sunday, November 2, 2025, at Monticello, MN.

Sources: Simon J. DeVries, 1 Kings, 2nd ed, vol. 12, Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word, Inc, 2003), 235–237;  Rev. Winnie Varghese, A Walk in Beauty, https://churchanew.org/blog/posts/winnie-varghese-walk-in-beauty.

 

Out of the Whirlwind: Finding Life

Last week, you heard Pastor Ron preach on the creation story of Job.  For four chapters, God responds to Job with this story of creation and the way in which God has ordered creation. Out of the whirlwind, God has finally responded to Job. Not with an answer to his question about why he is suffering. But about how God is a creator God. Who loves and nourishes creation each and every day. In the first part of our lesson today, God’s speech continues. 

Last week you were introduced to one particularly dangerous and wild creature. In this portion of today’s reading, you will meet a second. Leviathan - that huge sea-being created by God.

God speaks out of the whirlwind. 

“Can you pull in the sea beast, Leviathan, with a hook and tie his tongue with a rope? 

Can you put a cord through his nose or snap his jaw with an anchor? 

Will he beg you over and over for mercy, or flatter you with flowery speech? 

Will he make a pact with you to run errands and serve you the rest of your life? 

Will you play with him like a bird, or put a leash on him for your children? 

Will you display him in the marketplace so that shoppers can haggle over his price? 

Can you shoot him full of arrows or drive a fishing spear into his head? 

Should you lay your hand on him, you would never remember the battle - won’t live to tell the story. 

Any hope of controlling him would be delusional. 

The sight of him makes one stumble. 

If you can’t hold your own against this fierce creature, how can you stand before me? 

Who can confront me and get away with it? 

I am in charge of this - everything under heaven is mine. I run this universe!” --Job 41:1-8

If Job hasn’t been brought to his knees by the earlier part of God’s response, he can only fall to them now. “Who are you?” God asks him. “Who are you that you think you are in control of this world? The universe? The cosmos? Who are you?”

There is an ancient myth that this Leviathan represents chaos. Perhaps that’s an appropriate thought for the times we are in. But I wonder if, here, Leviathan isn’t better characterized by the Leviathan written about by Thomas Hobbes, the 17th century British philosopher. Hobbes challenges us to consider that the Leviathan - this great monster of chaos - is actually within us all. That when we begin to believe that we are in control of this universe, we have succumbed to it and to the chaos it brings with it. Perhaps, this is God’s purpose with these words. Not to condemn Job for his self-centeredness and his focus on his own suffering. Because isn’t that what suffering brings us to do - to curl in upon ourselves? To focus only on ourselves and our own pain? Perhaps God’s purpose with Job (and with us) is to break open his vision. To reframe his perspective. To say to him, “You think you know about the world and about my justice, but you don’t! You don’t!”

God is re-orienting Job to a new vision, a non-human centered vision of the world. Teaching him humility. To give him a new vision, a new perspective. To invite him to look around. To breathe. And to live.

How will Job respond? We hear his answer in chapter 42.

“I’m convinced. I know you can do anything; no plan of yours can be opposed successfully. You asked, “Who is this muddying the water, confusing the issue, second-guessing my purposes?’ I admit it. It was me. I have spoken about things I didn’t understand, wonders beyond my own comprehension. You said, ‘Listen and I will speak; Let me ask the questions and you give the answers.” I admit, my ears had heard about you, rumors of you. But now, my own eyes have seen you. Firsthand. Therefore, I relent. And find comfort on dust and ashes - in my own humanity.” --Job 42:1-6

At the beginning of the book of Job, Satan argued with God that God had created the world in such a way that the righteous were kept from all harm - that God had placed a fence around them to protect them. This was the same worldview that Job and his friends also held - that the world was ordered in such a way that the righteous are rewarded and the wicked are punished. It’s the picture we had of Job at the beginning - a “blameless and upright man who feared God and turned away from evil.” A man who made sacrifices for his children preemptively - just in case. His was a very ordered world, where one’s righteousness produced prosperity.

But that world was shattered and collapsed around him in ashes. And, eventually, Job reached a second and different conclusion about the order of the cosmos, accusing God of fencing him in. Of creating a protective hedge so tightly that it feels as though he is being suffocated. 

These two conclusions - these two worldviews - are spoken by Satan and Job in the earlier chapters of the book. But, when God speaks, beginning in chapter 38 and continuing to this morning, both perspectives are called into question. The created order is not what any of them thought or imagined. The world is not a perfectly safe place for humanity. But, it is an ordered place and it is a place of profound beauty and freedom. And, within it, there is a place for humanity. Not for dominion, but for humility and wonder. God invites Job into this world and into God’s vision, to see the world in a new way. To reorient himself. To understand that he is not the center of the cosmos. To see the world from God’s point of view and to understand in a new way his place in that world. 

Our reading continues in chapter 42.

After God had finished speaking to Job, he turned to Eliphaz the Temanite and said, “I’m angry at you and your two friends because you haven’t spoken about me correctly as did my servant Job. So now, take seven bulls and seven rams, go to my servant Job, and prepare an entirely burned offering for yourselves. Job my servant will pray for you, and I will act favorably by not making fools of you because you didn’t speak correctly, as did my servant Job.”

Eliphaz from Teman, Bildad from Shuah, and Zophar from naamah did what the Lord told them; and the Lord accepted Job’s prayer.

After Job had interceded for his friends, God restored his fortune. And then doubled it! All his brothers and sisters and friends came to him and ate food with him in his house. They comforted and consoled him for all the trouble God had brought him. Each one of gave him a qesitah and a gold ring. Then the Lord blessed Job’s latter days more than his former ones. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, one thousand yoke of oxen, and one thousand female donkeys. He also had seven sons and three daughters. He named one Jemimah (or Dove); a second, Keziah (or Cinnamon); and the third Keren-Happuch (or Darkeyes). No women in all the land were as beautiful as Job’s daughters; and their father gave an inheritance to them along with their brothers. After this, Job lived 140 years and saw four generations of his children. Then Job died, old and satisfied. --Job 42:7-17

Job gets it. And responds by praying for his friends. And by having more children, including three beautiful daughters to whom he gives names that reflect their beauty. And, then, in an act unheard of in ancient Israel, Job gives them an inheritance along with their brothers. We see a transformed Job. Transformed by his own suffering and led by God to open his eyes to the beauty and grace of the world around him. To have hope in it and in God’s ordering of it. To breathe. To live. And to give his children the same freedom that God gives all creation - freedom to be fully who they have been created to be. 

At the beginning of our lectionary year, I wondered if Job was right for us this summer. Who could have known then what we know now? We are witness to the truth that the world is not perfectly safe for humanity. 

Yet, we, like Job, are called to a new vision of our world. To open our eyes to the beauty and grace of the world that God has created. To view it and all that God has made from a place of humility and wonder. And to have hope in it and in God’s ordering of it. And, then, like Job to breathe. And to live into our humanity and the freedom given to us by God, won for us by Christ’s act on the cross. So that we might fully be the whole and gracious and loving people God has created us to be. And that we might live in a world that, even though sometimes doesn’t feel safe, trust that God orders it and is in control.

May this be our lesson and learning in this time from the book of Job. Amen.

Preached July 12, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 6

Readings: Psalm 150; Job 41:1-8; 42:1-17

Ruth--A Story for Our Time: Loss and Loyalty

In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a certain man of Bethlehem in Judah went to live in the country of Moab, he and his wife and two sons. The name of the man was Elimelech and the name of his wife Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion; they were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in Judah. They went into the country of Moab and remained there. But Elimelech, the husband of Naomi, died, and she was left with her two sons. These took Moabite wives; the name of the one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth. When they had lived there about ten years, both Mahlon and Chilion also died, so that the woman was left without her two sons and her husband.

Then she started to return with her daughters-in-law from the country of Moab, for she had heard in the country of Moab that the Lord had considered his people and given them food. So she set out from the place where she had been living, she and her two daughters-in-law, and they went on their way to go back to the land of Judah. But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back each of you to your mother’s house. May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me. The Lord grant that you may find security, each of you in the house of your husband.” Then she kissed them, and they wept aloud. They said to her, “No, we will return with you to your people.” But Naomi said, “Turn back, my daughters, why will you go with me? Do I still have sons in my womb that they may become your husbands? Turn back, my daughters, go your way, for I am too old to have a husband. Even if I thought there was hope for me, even if I should have a husband tonight and bear sons, would you then wait until they were grown? Would you then refrain from marrying? No, my daughters, it has been far more bitter for me than for you, because the hand of the Lord has turned against me.” Then they wept aloud again. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clung to her.

So she said, “See, your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods; return after your sister-in-law.” But Ruth said,

“Do not press me to leave you
    or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
    where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
    and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die—
    there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me,
    and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

When Naomi saw that she was determined to go with her, she said no more to her.

So the two of them went on until they came to Bethlehem. When they came to Bethlehem, the whole town was stirred because of them; and the women said, “Is this Naomi?” She said to them,

“Call me no longer Naomi,
    call me Mara,
    for the Almighty has dealt bitterly with me.
I went away full,
    but the Lord has brought me back empty;
why call me Naomi
    when the Lord has dealt harshly with me,
    and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me?”

So Naomi returned together with Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, who came back with her from the country of Moab. They came to Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest.  Ruth 1 (NRSV)

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

It’s good to be back. I’m grateful to Pastor Funk for covering for me last week, allowing me to be away. During the time I was on vacation, I travelled to Minnesota to be with my son and daughter-in-law. It was a great journey. 

Today, we are going on another journey--an imaginary journey. This journey, though, is not a journey that we want to make. It is one that will take us away--from extended family, from country, from culture, from church--from everything we know and love. But, it is a journey that we must make. Because, unless we do, we will not survive. None of us.

It is a journey like this that is described in the opening verse of our reading: “During the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land. A man with his wife and two sons went from Bethlehem of Judah to dwell in the territory of Moab.

There’s a lot in this first verse. First, it opens with this phrase, “During the days when the judges ruled...” This time--the time of the judges in Hebrew scripture--was a time of great chaos and disobedience in Israel. If we turn to the book that immediately precedes the book of Ruth, we read these words in its closing verses: In those days there was no king in Israel; each person did what they thought to be right.
 
Doing what is right in one’s one eyes is never a good thing in the Bible. The book of Judges traces a story of decline and anarchy in Israel. And even though God sought to raise up faithful judges, or tribal leaders, to save Israel from their enemies, each time they fell back into mayhem. Every. Single. Time. Back to doing what was right in one’s own eyes--which was a direct denial of the Law given to Israel--the law we heard given earlier this summer. Given to promote life--life with God and life with our neighbors. In the time of the judges, Israel fails to fulfill that law. And falls into chaos.

In the midst of this, we enter the story of Ruth. In the second part of the first verse, we find that there is a famine in Bethlehem, which, ironically, means “house of bread.” There is no more bread in Bethlehem. Survival means finding food. So begins the story of a family--Elimelech, the husband; Naomi, the wife; and their two sons, Mahlon and Chilion.

They journey to Moab. Crossing a border in search of food. Trying to survive. Vulnerable.

Chances are pretty good that, when they arrived in Moab, they were not welcomed with open arms. You see, there was a long, complex history between Israel and Moab. While there was some history of cooperation between the two nations, there was also tension and conflict. During the Exodus, God had even commanded Israel not to intermingle or intermarry with the Moabites. In moving to Moab, Elimelech and Naomi and their sons entered into this foreign country, knowing that they would likely not be welcome.
 
What level of desperation does it take to do this? To feel so hopeless that survival means  no other choice but to leave the country one loves? The culture one loves? The family one loves? To move to a place where one knows no one? To begin all over again? To a place where one likely won’t feel welcome? How desperate and vulnerable must one be?

Over time, Elimelech and Naomi and their sons settled in. They began to build a new life for themselves there. Just as things were looking up, tragedy struck with the death of Elimelech. Naomi became a widow. And, although her sons married and she gained two daughters-in-law, both Moabites, soon, there was a second tragedy. The death of both of her sons. Naomi was not only a widow, but childless, as well. And her daughters-in-law--Ruth and Orpah? Well, they, too, were widows. And also childless.

We’ve heard before how vulnerable widows were in ancient times. Everything--name, wealth, status--was passed on only through male heirs. To lose a husband, meant to lose everything. To lose both husband and sons meant meant loss of name, wealth, status. And the family future. Without sons, there was no future. And, without sons, there was no security in old age. Naomi, Ruth, and Orpah were completely alone. And vulnerable.

The custom was that a widow would either be taken into the home of the next oldest brother-in-law or to return to her father’s household to be protected and cared for. Naomi heard that the famine had ended in Israel. She decided to go back. To return to her home country, to be with her family. And, so, in the days before Israel had a king, three women set out on a long journey...

Narrator: Day one. 

Ruth: “It was hard to say goodbye to my family, not knowing if I’d ever see them again. My mother cried and my father held me for a long time and I felt his sadness. I know very little about the land to which I’m traveling. I’m glad that Orpah, my sister-in-law, is coming with us, because we share the same memories, the same stories. We can help each other along.”

Narrator: Day two.

Naomi: “To be going home was all I ever dreamed of. Ten years in Moab felt like a lifetime. I only went there because Elimelech decided that living and working in a foreign land was better than starving in our own village. But my husband and my sons are now dead. I am nothing now; a widow with no identity and no protection. Even my God has deserted me and left me bitter. This is nothing left for me in Moab. They say the harvest will be food this year in Bethlehem. I still have family there. I hope they’ll help me. I’m going home. And Orpah and Ruth, my daughters-in-law, are coming with me.”

Narrator: Day three.

Ruth: “Orpah went back to Moab today, back to her home and family. Naomi told her that it was better for her to remarry and raise a family in her own community. It was a hard parting. Orpah loved Naomi. We were all in tears. I’ve decided to stay with Naomi. I can’t really explain why, but I held onto her and told her that I was going with her. I left no room for argument. We are journeying on.” 
Narrator: Day five.

Naomi: “Why won’t Ruth go home? I gave her my blessing. I tried to set her free of any obligation that she feels towards me. I even told her that God has turned against me by taking my husband and sons away from me. But she won’t listen. She insists she’s coming with me and that nothing I can say will make her change her mind.”

Narrator: Day six.

Ruth: “I wonder what Naomi’s village is like. Will her neighbors remember her? What will her relatives say when they find out about Elimelech and Mahlon and Chilion? What kind of reception will she get? Will they welcome Naomi? Or will they resent her for leaving when they were all struggling for survival, for getting out with her family and leaving the weakest behind? And what will they make of me, with my foreign ways and accent? Will they blame me for what has happened? Naomi thinks that her God is punishing her. Will he punish me, too? I’ve said her God will be my God, but I don’t know what he’s like, this God of hers. Or what he demands.”

Narrator: Day eight.

Naomi: “Ruth is still with me. Although her presence is a continual reminder of what I’ve lost, I’m not sorry. It’s good to have a daughter-in-law who loves me like a mother, or like a friend. I’m trying to prepare her--to tell her about my village, my people, about our faith and traditions. But, it’s so strange to her. And, how can I tell her that our God is generous and faithful, when all I feel is bitterness now because it seems that God has taken from me all that i lived for and loved?

Narrator: Day nine.

Ruth: “Naomi says we’re getting near to Bethlehem. Part of me is excited and part of me is scared. This journey has given me time to think, time to ask questions. I don’t feel like the person that I was when we left Moab. I’ve had to leave behind the things that I don’t need any more, to let them go. And I’ve discovered some of the things that I want for myself, what I hope for, what I dream about, what I need. I can’t forget Chillon, or Moab, or my family. I don’t want to--they’re still part of me, part of the story of who I am. But I now know better who I am. I am Ruth. I am a widow. I am strong. I am able to take risks and to make changes. I am travelling with a new God. Naomi says he looks after his people, fights for them, shelters them, feeds them. “He” sounds a bit more like a ‘she’ to me. I’ll tell Naomi that one day. I wish I could share some of this with Naomi. But, she’s so sad at the moment. I want her to know how much I love her, that I want to stay close to her, that I want us to share whatever happens to us from now on.”

Narrator: Day ten.

Naomi: “It is good to be home again. Yet, today was both sad and wonderful: wonderful to see my friends and neighbors and catch up on ten years of news and gossip; sad to tell my story, to come home without my husband and sons. It’s so hard. Yet, somehow, it feels safe to be back with people who still believe that God loves them and cares for them. Ruth is now the stranger here, but it’s hard, because this is my home and yet it’s strange for me, too. Maybe I can learn to live with my sadness and pain. Maybe this place will be both an ending and a new beginning for me, for both of us. Maybe out of our struggle and suffering, something new will be born.”

Narrator: And so, Naomi returned from Moab, and Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter-in-law, came with her. As they came to Bethlehem, the barley was ripening. It was harvest time.



Friends, scripture is ripe with stories like Naomi and Ruth and Orpah and entire casts of characters. In them, in their lives, in their conversation, we see and hear their diverse stories. And their diverse voices. Voices that are in conversation with each other across the centuries about many difficult issues and circumstances. In the midst of these voices, we see God at work. Sometimes God is very present. At other times, God may not seem present, but is still working there, behind the scenes.

Just as with Ruth and Naomi, God calls us into dialogue with each other, sometimes around what might be very hard issues. We may not always agree with each other. Yet, at the heart of our conversation and our understanding, and particularly at the heart of our faith is a belief that God is faithful and is always at work. Transforming. Seeking to bring life out of death. New out of old. Understanding out of misunderstanding. Peace out of conflict. Love out of hate. Hope out of despair. 

There is a Hebrew word that describes this steadfast faithfulness and love of God. Hesed. Hesed is a word that describes love. But, it is not some abstract, intangible concept of love. Instead, it is a picture of love in action. Of love that goes beyond walls. Beyond borders. Beyond differences. Of love that goes beyond laws. Of love that brings new life. Hesed is what we see in Ruth as she lives out her love for Naomi, who is a foreigner and a widow, just as she is. But, mostly, hesed is what we experience from God. Love in action in God coming to us. In Christ. Who is the embodiment of God’s love.

As we proceed through these next weeks, I pray that we might begin to engage in conversation around the difficult topic of immigration. To be vulnerable and open with one another in such a way that we might begin to identify what we have in common--our shared values. Values that are informed by God’s steadfast love and faithfulness. By God’s hesed. Values that lead us forward.

Perhaps then, if we are able--perhaps we might begin to help our desperate and divided and chaotic world also begin to find a way forward. 

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached July 22, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church.
Pentecost 9
Readings: Ruth 1:1-22 (Matthew 5:3-9)

Order Out of Chaos

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it.” And it was so. The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”

So God created humankind in his image,
    in the image of God he created them;
    male and female he created them.
God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation.

These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created. 
                                                                                             --Genesis 1:1--2:4a (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Triune God--The Creator of the world, the Word made flesh, and the brooding Spirit, hovering over the waters. Amen.

Beginnings. Fall always feels to me as a time of new beginnings. We’re moving from summer and returning from those last days of summer vacation and getting down to business. Or, to school, which is beginning for some and already started for others.

We’ve just come off Labor Day--that holiday that seems to mark the end of summer--and we’re moving into fall. The temperatures are beginning to drop. The days are beginning to grow shorter. The football season has started. Soon, the leaves will be turning and we will definitely have transitioned from late summer into the beginning of autumn.

We’re in beginning days here, too, at Grace & Glory. Today is our Rally Day--the start of our fall programming, including the start of Sunday School and the beginning of Children’s Church. We’re starting cross-generational Sunday School today, which we’ll continue once a month into the fall and spring. In another week or so, we’ll begin a new Table Talk opportunity with our sisters and brothers at Shiloh Church. In a couple weeks, we’ll have a healing service, which will also continue through the year. And, then there’s October. That month in which we will celebrate and celebrate and celebrate Reformation 500--a major anniversary in the church, particularly for us Lutherans. It’s as though, after the lazy, hazy days of summer, we are ready to get down to business.

Then, there’s one more thing that we’re beginning this year. Along with Shiloh, we are moving to a new lectionary--a new series of readings. For years, we’ve been in the Revised Common Lectionary, a three-year cycle of readings that mostly focuses on the New Testament. Today, we begin the Narrative Lectionary, a newer lectionary that has been developed by a group of professors at Luther Seminary. A lectionary that spans four years and that will focus on all of scripture, both the Hebrew scripture (or Old Testament) and also the entire New Testament. Each year over the 4-year cycle, we will begin in the fall in the Hebrew scripture. And, then, in the spring we will focus on the New Testament.

The purpose of making this change is to remind us once again of the broader arc of the history of salvation. The meta-narrative, if you will. The whole story of God from creation through to the formation of the church, after Christ. To see the big picture. And, mostly, to try to figure out where our story fits into God’s story.

And, so, appropriately today, we begin at the beginning. With creation.

In Genesis chapter 1, verse 1, the story opens. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” Or as Eugene Peterson writes in The Message Bible, “Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness.”

It was shapeless. It was chaos. It was darkness. 

It’s important to note here, that the word in Hebrew for “darkness” is a rather evocative word. The opposite of darkness is light and, particularly, for us believers, light often symbolizes God. We read today, for example, in the first verses of the Gospel of John that through the Word--through Jesus--light entered into the world. The light that shines in the darkness and that the darkness does not overcome.  

By contrast, in the Hebrew, darkness means everything that is the opposite of God, everything that is anti-God. The wicked. Judgment. Death. All are signified by the word for darkness.

So, in the beginning, when the world was without form or shape, when it was chaotic and without any order, when it was dark--it is here that God enters in. That God enters in and speaks the Word. Saying, “Let there be light.”  

This first word changes everything. It is with the dawn of light that the incredible story of God as sovereign creator of the world begins. It is with the dawn of light that God enters into time and space and begins to order things, to separate them. The light from darkness. The waters, separated by the dome, and earth and sky. The separation of the earthly waters into land and seas. God separates and creates boundaries. And God names time and space to be a world for all humanity. In this very action, Claus Westermann writes, “[God] shows [Godself] to be the master creator of the world.” By simply acting and speaking.

But, that’s not everything.

Did you catch verse 11? After God spoke light into being and separated and ordered the chaos, God then shares God’s creative powers. In verse 11: “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it.”

God is not a creative control freak. God shares creative powers with the earth. Mother earth. Birthing all vegetation. This is not a God that powers over. This is a God that powers with. That shares creative power with the earth and, eventually, with humankind.

As the earth is bringing forth vegetation, God continues to create. Now he begins to populate the earth. First with creatures. Swarms of living creatures. And birds, flying above the earth across the dome of the sky. And, then, in the oceans and seas--great sea monsters and other living and moving water creatures. And, then, more creatures: the cattle, and the creeping things, and the wild animals of the earth.

Then, once again, God shares creative powers. This time with the creatures that have populated the earth. God blesses the swarms and says, “Go! Create! Fill the waters! And the earth! And the sky! Be fruitful! Multiply!”

Finally, humanity. Male and female. Our story says that humankind was created in God’s image, in “our” image, verse 26 says. In the image of the Three. In the image of the Trinity. Without establishing relative rank or worth of the genders, God, the spinner of this creation story, indicates that humankind is found in two varieties--male and female. And that this humanity, in its complementary nature, is a reflection of the Deity. That God has both male and female traits. 

God also shares creative power with humanity. And, then, God also gives men and women responsibility. Our text reads that God tells the newly-created humans to have “dominion” over the earth and all its creatures. The word is really better translated as to steward. Or to be caretaker. Or, better yet, to care for earth and all its creatures. 

Because that is the image of God. God is not a “powering over” God, but a God of “powering with.” Stewarding. Shepherding. Caring for God’s creation. For all of God’s creation. As we humans are to care for all of God’s creation.

Six days. Six days of creating, of co-creating with earth and its creatures, and with male and female. Six days of goodness.

Yes, I said six days. Because God enters into our time and our space. Into days as we mark days. Twenty-four hours. We so often get hung up on the story of creation, as though it is a story of science. It is not. It is a story of God, of who God is. The story of the One who enters into our world and creates. And who co-creates. And who continues to create and co-create.

And it is a story with a purpose. With a goal. After six days of creative activity--of good creative activity--God rests. God takes a break. A respite. God marvels in God’s creation. And then God lets creation be for a period of time and makes room for it to create by withdrawing. By allowing us and all creation to come to be what God intends us to become. 

This is a metaphor for our lives, isn’t it? When we are in the midst of darkness and chaos, God enters in and begins to separate. To make order out of the mess. Creating life out of death and then, allowing us to become fully who we are. To become God’s people. 

It’s a marvelous story to begin with on this day of beginnings!  Knowing that God has created and continues to create. That God continues to co-create with us and with the earth and all its creatures. And trusting that even when God takes a brief respite, God is always there, ready to break in and speak a word of light into the darkness of our lives. And to bring creative blessing after blessing to us and to all of God’s creation.

May God continue to grant us new and creative beginnings, now and for all time. Amen.

Chaos and Confusion

Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said, “You say so.” But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.

Now at the festival the governor was accustomed to release a prisoner for the crowd, anyone whom they wanted. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So after they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over. While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Then he asked, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified!”

So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Then the people as a whole answered, “His blood be on us and on our children!” So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”

Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, ‘I am God’s Son.’” The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.

From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “This man is calling for Elijah.” At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. Now when the centurion and those with him, who were keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were terrified and said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” Matthew 27:11-54 (NRSV)

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They’d been with Jesus for nearly three years, this man they called, “Rabbi.” He had called them to simply come and follow him. And, they had. Over these years, they had traveled with Jesus throughout the Galilean countryside and beyond--in all the places away from the powerful center of Jerusalem. Along the way, among a variety of characters, they had witnessed Jesus reveal more and more who he was. Characters that included Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the blind man to whom Jesus had given sight, and Lazarus and his sisters and the never-before witnessed miracle in which Jesus had brought Lazarus back to life after having been dead for four full days.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had listened to Jesus tell them what it would mean to be his disciple. To “take up the cross.”  How they were to engage in active nonviolent resistance when confronted with oppression and violence. How the integrity of what they said and did mattered. How they were to love others. Not just friends and families. But, also enemies. 

They’d been sent out, too. Sent to participate in the same mission of Jesus--to proclaim the same message--that God’s kingdom was at hand. Jesus had given them authority,. The same God-given authority to preach and to heal and to forgive. They’d gone out. They’d gone out, knowing how hard this mission would be. That in speaking truth to power they would be oppressed and harassed. That suffering would be inevitable. That participating in Jesus’ mission meant taking up his cross.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had heard Jesus tell them that he would eventually die at the hands of the religious and the political elite. How they wouldn’t...how they couldn’t...how they didn’t want to believe him. How their thoughts had been expressed by Peter so forcefully when he challenged Jesus. Saying that, “No!” this wouldn’t happen. And watching Jesus shut him down. Oh, how distressed they had been. 

They had also heard him say that he would be raised. Something they did not, could not understand. 

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had witnessed--had accompanied--Jesus riding into Jerusalem. On a donkey. As though he was mocking the Roman authorities. Making his entrance into Jerusalem in the midst of the Passover celebration. A Jerusalem that had swelled in size by several hundred thousand people. People who had come from the countryside to the temple to celebrate this holy festival. People who had heard of Jesus or who had heard him speak. 
They had seen the crowds respond to Jesus as he entered triumphantly into the city. How the huge crowds had welcomed and had shouted their “Hosannas!” and other songs of acclaim. They had retrieved the donkey for Jesus with unexpected ease. They knew the ambivalence of his riding this donkey--that it was a royal animal that had carried previous representatives of God’s reign--King Solomon and others. And, yet, that it was an everyday beast of burden--a symbol of scorn. They saw the contradictions in the extravagant welcome of Jesus by the crowd while he was, at the same time, seated upon this lowly animal, the same animal that had carried his mother to Bethlehem to give birth to him in a stable, of all places.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had heard that the religious authorities were conspiring against Jesus. They had heard that one of their own was involved. How distressed they had been! And when Jesus told them they would all desert him that night--the night they celebrated the Passover together--they heard Peter boast that he would never abandon Jesus. 

They had been there in the garden that night. In Gethsemane. How they had wanted to stay awake as Jesus asked them. How they had failed. And then, they had seen the soldiers come with Judas. One of their own had grabbed a sword, trying to violently resist, and had been quickly condemned by Jesus. 

They had been there that night. And then, they had deserted Jesus and run. Just as he said they would.

I wonder what the disciples were thinking.

They had seen the week start out so well. They had seen the throngs greet Jesus as the Messiah, with the expectation that he had come to overthrow the Romans--their political captors. Jesus had been treated as the king they knew he was.

And, then, quickly. Within just a few short days, it had all dissolved into madness. The king they knew, the Messiah they thought had come to make a regime change, this Jesus, their teacher and friend, now arrested, convicted, and tortured. And, then, crucified.  Like a common criminal. One of the cruelest means of execution, reserved for non-citizens and for the socially rejected. For rebellious foreigners, violent criminals, robbers, slaves--for all those on the margins. Jesus. Shamed and humiliated.

Chaos and confusion. I think this is what the disciples were thinking. And feeling. Their entire lives. Their entire way of thinking. Their entire world. Turned upside down. Dissolving into chaos and confusion.


Chaos and confusion. This was something Dietrich Bonhoeffer also knew about. It was on this day in 1945--on April 9th, 1945--that Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran theologian and pastor, was shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. He had studied theology in Germany and the United States and had pastored a church in London before choosing to return to Germany to resist the rise to power of Adolf Hitler. He was eventually arrested and, on this day 72 years ago, put to death.  

Just like the disciples, Bonhoeffer knew about chaos and confusion. And, yet, he, like the disciples, knew that this was what discipleship was all about. In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, which he wrote in prison while awaiting his execution, Bonhoeffer wrote, “[God says this]: Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend - it must transcend all comprehension. Plunge into the deep waters beyond your own comprehension, and I will help you to comprehend even as I do. Bewilderment is the true comprehension. Not to know where you are going is the true knowledge. My comprehension transcends yours.”

It is in the midst of the chaos and confusion that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion and brokenness of the world, into our own brokenness--it is there that God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where people do not have enough to eat or they lack decent healthcare, God breaks in. In the chaos and confusion of a world where it seems there is a mass shooting nearly every day, or terrorism is our first thought after any incident, God breaks in. Or even in the chaos and confusion of a world where a political leader uses nerve gas on his own people, a refugee people that nearly the entire world has rejected, God breaks in. 

This is what we believe. This is what we trust. This is what we know because it is in the chaos and confusion of Jesus’ crucifixion and death that God broke in and raised him from the dead. And it is in the midst of our own chaos and confusion that God has broken in and has brought us new life. In Christ.

And that is why we shout, right along with the crowd that Palm Sunday, “Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Amen.

Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
April 9, 2017 - Palm Sunday
Readings: Matthew 21:1-11, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Matthew 27:11-54

All About the Story

I invite you tonight to open a Bible and turn with me to the book of Hebrews in the New Testament. We’ll be reading parts of chapter 11. 

This part of the letter to the Hebrews is what we often call the “roll call of saints.” I’ll begin with the first verse.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval.” (Heb. 11:1-2). 

The chapter then continues with a list of the saints from our faith tradition, a tradition that comes out of the Hebrew tradition. As one reads through these verses, we’re reminded over and over God guided God’s people and how God’s people, through faith, acted even when the forces against them seemed enormous or there were no assurances that the path they chose in faith would have a good outcome. Noah. Abraham. Isaac. Sarah. On and on the list goes. Until we get to verse 13.

“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.” (Heb. 11:13-16)

And, concluding with verses 39 and 40. “Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.” (Heb. 11:39-40)

Here ends our reading.

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

Tonight, I opened our worship by saying we would be looking at the Creed. As you’ll recall, during these Wednesdays in Lent, we are looking at the parts of the Small Catechism, this small book that Luther wrote to help parents teach their children in their homes about their faith.

So, you might be wondering, or not, about why I chose this particular chapter in Hebrews for our text tonight. 

Well, I chose it because it’s all about story. This chapter is a story of the early ancestors of our faith. Those people--those unexpectedly imperfect people--in whom God chose to work and to attempt to form God’s own people. This chapter is the story of God’s people. Even more, it is the story--the historical story--of the faith of God’s people. Trusting God. Failing God. And God rescuing them. This is the story of God and of God’s faithfulness. 

It’s all about story. 

We live today in what is called a post-modern world. It’s a world of deconstructionism. There is a general contempt for any systems that seem to claim any form of absolute knowledge or truth. One simple way to illustrate this is to think about your television choices. Do you remember when there were only 1 or 2 channel choices? Not all of you may remember this, but I certainly do. Our news, the way in which we interpreted things that were happening in our world were funneled through the mouthpieces of these couple of television networks. Think, now, about the vast array of choices. No longer is truth expressed in 1 or 2 TV channels. But truth is expressed in hundreds, even perhaps thousands, of channels today. 

One of the things that often happens in a world like this is that there is attempt to deconstruct history. To go back and to look at history through different lenses. Say, perhaps, to look at history through the eyes of women. Or the eyes of people of color. Or the eyes of those who are gay. While this is incredibly important for us--to get a much broader and deeper view of history--it can also be very unsettling. Because it can often seem to us as though there is no truth that comes out of history. That truth depends on where you stand in history and your perspective on history. What often happens, then, is the loss of the grand story, the big picture. The loss of that broad narrative that connects us with the past and prepares us for the future.

On these Wednesday of Lent, we’ve been working our way through Luther’s Small Catechism. Last Wednesday, for example, we looked at the Ten Commandments. Tonight, we are looking at the Apostles’ Creed. One small piece of trivia that I have found incredibly important for my understanding of the catechism is that Luther ordered the catechism in a very specific way. Keep in mind that all of his learning came out of the Catholic church, which used a catechism very similar to that which Luther developed. The difference between Luther’s catechism and that of the Catholic church was the order of the elements.

In the Catholic church, the Creed and the sacraments come first, before the ten commandments. In Luther’s Small Catechism, he began with the Ten Commandments, followed by the Creed.

Why did he do this? Well, Luther wanted to tell a story. And, so, by ordering the parts of the catechism in a certain way, Luther was telling a certain story.

Last week, we looked at one way in which the Ten Commandments can be used. As a guide for us. A guide for daily living into our relationship with God and with each other. This way of looking at the Ten Commandments is what we call the third use. There are two other uses, a first and a second. It is primarily the second use of the Ten Commandments that led Luther to place them first in the Small Catechism. He wanted to tell a story.

That story begins with us. Why? Well, it’s because we like to be central in our own stories. It’s our nature. When something happens to us, we share it. We’re usually central in the stories we tell. So, Luther, began with us. He placed the Ten Commandments first in the story to show us who we are. To show us our brokenness. How we don’t place God first in our lives. And how we fail in our relationships with others.

Now, Luther could have stopped there. He could have left us there in despair. Hopeless. With no way in which for us to save ourselves. But, he didn’t. His placement of the Apostles Creed next was completely intentional in telling the story.

By putting the Creed after the Ten Commandments, after we have been shown the totality of our failure, Luther then tells of the in-breaking of God into our world in the Apostles Creed. In this Creed, we hear of God’s story.

If you’re like me at all, we often miss this point. We recite the Creed every Sunday. It becomes rote. We often don’t pay attention to the story it tells us. But, it does tell us a story. It tells us the story of God from the beginning--the one who creates the world and humankind and who is still creating every day. For us. And for all people. It tells the story of God in Jesus. A God who loved us so much that when we, once again, as usual, failed to live up to the promises, sent his Son, this God-man, to earth. To carry all of our sin and brokenness on his shoulders on the cross. And to restore us forever back into full relationship with God. And, it tells the story of God in the Holy Spirit. That person of the Godhead that has more feminine attributes. Nurturer. Comforter. The Holy Spirit, the Advocate. The person of God sent after Christ to be present in our world. Here. Now. And to work in our world, to form the church, so that the church might continue the work the Christ started--the work of building God’s kingdom. 

This is the story of the Creed. This is the story of God. This is also the story of the church. Of us.

Spotlight is a recent movie that is the true story of how writers from the Boston Globe uncovered the massive child molestation scandal and cover-up within a local Catholic diocese, a story that shook (and continues to shake) the Catholic church and the whole church. It is also the story of how the scandal shook the faith of these writers. Faith in God. Faith in the church. Let’s watch.

We are part of God’s story. This is my final and most important point. We are part of God’s story. The story is God’s. We simply play a part in this story. We often forget that. We often forget that this story is not about us, but it is about God. When we do, it is then that sin and darkness and chaos enter in. 

When that happens, then, once again, God breaks in--into the church and into our lives. Restoring joy out of sorrow. Wholeness out of brokenness. Order out of chaos. And life out of death. This is the promise of the Creed. It is this promise into which we are baptized and in which we believe and trust.  

May God grant you the same faith of our ancestors in that promise. Amen.

Preached at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY on March 15, 2017.
Midweek Lenten Service - Week 2
Reading: Hebrews 11:1-2, 13-16, 39-40.