Hidden Hands, Daring Choices: The Architecture of Grace (Ruth 3:1-13)

Introduction: Ruth 3

Good morning, and peace be with you. It is a profound joy to look out at your faces today. This is my very first Sunday here as your pastor, and I am incredibly grateful to finally step into this shared ministry with you.

Over the past two weeks, you’ve been traveling through the first two chapters of Ruth. You watched a family driven by famine into the foreign land of Moab. And witnessed the utter devastation that followed with Naomi losing her husband and both of her sons. Events that left her - as loss often does for us - completely empty. 

It’s hard for us to imagine just how terrifyingly insecure it was to be a widow in the ancient world. Women had no legal status. They couldn’t inherit property. And without a husband or a son to protect them, a widow was socially invisible, economically helpless, and at constant risk of starvation and exploitation. 

Yet, Naomi’s daughter-in-law, Ruth, chose to stick by her with radical loyalty. Remember her words: Wherever you go, I will go. And your God will be my God. Last week, we heard how God was not finished with them even though they arrived back in Behelehem complete broke. So destitute that Ruth began to glean the leftover grain in the fields of Boaz. A wealthy relative wh oprayed that Ruth would find shelter under God’s protective wings. 

But, as we well know, picking up leftovers cannot fix long-term poverty. As the harvest ends, Naomi decides it is time to seek permanent security for Ruth through Israel's laws of family redemption. Let us open our Bibles and our hearts to Ruth, chapter 3, to see what happens when faith steps out into the dark.

Reading: Ruth 3:1–13 (NRSVue)

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, “My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor, but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down, and he will tell you what to do.” She said to her, “All that you tell me I will do.”  

So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her. When Boaz had eaten and drunk and he was in a contented mood, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of grain. Then she came quietly and uncovered his feet and lay down. At midnight the man was startled and turned over, and there a woman was lying at his feet! He said, “Who are you?” And she answered, “I am Ruth, your servant; spread your cloak over your servant, for you are a next-of-kin.”  

He said, “May you be blessed by the Lord, my daughter; this last instance of your loyalty is better than the first, for you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich. And now, my daughter, do not be afraid; I will do for you all that you ask, for all the assembly of my people know that you are a woman of worth. But now, though it is true that I am a near kinsman, there is another kinsman more closely related than I. Remain this night, and in the morning, if he will act as next-of-kin for you, good; let him do it. But if he is not willing to act as next-of-kin for you, then, as the Lord lives, I will act as next-of-kin for you. Lie down until the morning.”  

Sermon: The Architecture of Grace

It can be a terrifying thing to step across a brand-new threshold.

Think about a time in your own life when you stood on the edge of a major change—your heart pounding, completely unsure of what the next day would bring. Maybe it was the night before you started a difficult new job. Maybe it was the hour before you told a hard truth to someone you loved. Or maybe it was the day you packed your bags and moved to a place where you didn’t know anyone.

I feel that exact same weight and excitement as I stand before you this morning. This is my very first Sunday of preaching in this congregation. Looking out at your faces, I feel the deep vulnerability of a brand-new chapter beginning for all of us. Whenever we stand at a crossroads like this, we are reminded of how fragile we are. We worry about the future, and we realize that moving forward always requires us to take sacred risks.

If you want to see what that kind of risk looks like - what high-stakes courage is - turn to Ruth standing in the dark at midnight. ,

Asking for Help in the Dark

The scene on the threshing floor is incredibly brave and surprising. Naomi had told Ruth to wait for Boaz to give the orders. But when Ruth gets there, she changes the plan entirely.

She doesn’t wait for Boaz to speak. When he wakes up startled and asks who she is, she doesn't use the timid language expected of a foreign outsider. She takes charge. She looks at this powerful man and gives him an instruction: “Spread your cloak over your servant, for you are a redeemer.”

In that culture, what Ruth does is scandalous and dangerous. She is a woman alone at night with a man, completely risking her reputation. If Boaz rejects her, she will be branded a loose woman, cast out of the community, and left to starve just as she had feared. 

But Ruth isn't just desperate; she is asking for justice. When she tells Boaz to spread his cloak over her, she uses a Hebrew word that means both "cloak" and "wings." She is reminding Boaz of a prayer he had said for her a few weeks earlier, when he had asked God to protect her under God’s divine wings. Ruth looks him in the eyes and says, “Boaz, it’s midnight. I need you to be the answer to your own prayer. Spread your cloak. You have the money and the power. I need you to become the literal wings of God’s protection for me right now.”

Putting Skin in the Game

Ruth is calling Boaz to do his job as a go-el. Go-el is a Hebrew word that means a next-of-kin redeemer. In ancient Israel, being a redeemer wasn't just about feeling bad for someone and giving them charity. It carried a serious legal and financial duty. If a relative had fallen into poverty or had died without children, the redeemer was supposed to step in, use his own money to buy back their land, and to marry the widow so the family line could survive.

Being a redeemer means you have to put skin in the game. It requires Boaz to willingly take a massive risk, intentionally placing his own wealth and secure position on the line to rescue someone else.

Our text shows us a sharp contrast on this point. Boaz is ready to step up, but he drops a bombshell of a complication in this midnight hour: there is another relative who is actually first in line. This unnamed relative is the ultimate wild card. We don't know yet what he will do. Will he operate out of a place of fear and scarcity? Will he say, “No way, I have to protect my own family's inheritance first”? That is the voice of self-preservation that so often tries to stop grace in its tracks.

But that wild card notwithstanding, Boaz still acts out of absolute character. He accepts the immediate risk of that midnight meeting, and he promises to face the legal system first thing in the morning to ensure that a safe shelter is built—an architecture of grace—where Naomi and Ruth's emptiness can finally be turned into hope.

Our Living Redeemer

By stepping into this risk, Boaz reveals a divine pattern that will point forward to a greater theological event. What we see on this threshing floor is a beautiful, early preview of the very heart of God. Centuries later, God will put God’s own skin in the game. The ultimate expression of this story will step into human history in the person of Jesus. 

Christ is our cosmic next-of-kin redeemer who looks at a human race trapped in deep brokenness and doesn’t just speak a prayer of blessing from the safety of heaven, but will come down into our darkness. Into our midnight hour. And will pour out his very life to break the back of fear. And scarcity, and Death. And in his resurrection, will spread a permanent, living cloak of grace and protection over our lives today. Christ is not a memory, but our divine go-el, who continues that work of redemption - now and into the future. 

Our Beautiful Humanity

This idea is the heartbeat of our text: God's grace usually shows up with human skin on it. God’s protection rarely just drops out of the sky. It happens when ordinary, flawed human beings choose to put their own comfort and resources on the line to shield someone else from the harsh realities of life.

And this is where we have to be deeply honest about ourselves. It is easy to look at Ruth and Boaz and think of them as perfect heroes who never felt afraid or made a mistake. But they were real, flesh-and-blood people living in a messy world. Ruth was a grieving foreign widow who had felt completely isolated. Boaz was an older landlord trying to balance difficult community rules. They lived in a complicated world, just like we do.

As we begin our journey together as pastor and congregation, we need to be honest about that: we are completely human. In the months and years ahead, we are going to make mistakes. I am going to make mistakes. There will be Sundays when my sermons miss the mark. There will be times when our workflows stall, when our communication breaks down, or when we get tired and want to fall back into old patterns that feel safe and small.

But our story reminds us that God does not need us to be perfect before working through us. God takes our clumsy, fragile human steps and weaves them into the divine, ongoing story of love. Because Christ has skin in the game for us, our human imperfections are already fully covered by His grace. Like Ruth, we are called to be bold and fearless in living out our callings, stepping forward even when the threshold looks uncertain.

The Challenge For Us

Because we follow that same living path of redemption, we are being called out of fear and into a spirit of bold generosity.

What does that look like for us today? It means looking at the resources, the space, the building, and the financial assets we hold under this roof and asking: Who in our neighborhood needs us to be the answer to their prayers right now? 

Sometimes, it means a community takes a big structural risk to join different groups together so they can grow and thrive. Sometimes, it looks like a church having the courage to use its property to build affordable housing, ensuring that families on the margins have a safe place to live.

Stewardship is never about keeping a church building open just for the sake of survival. True stewardship is about using our freedom to love others, because our living Redeemer has already secured our inheritance. Because Christ fills this place with an abundance of grace, we don't have to live in fear of running out. We have enough. We are enough.

Let us step across this new threshold together—human, flawed, and beautifully unbroken—ready to put skin on our prayers and build a shelter of grace right here in our neighborhood.

Spread your cloak. The house is ready.

Amen.

Preached on June 14, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Sent With Joy

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:16-20 (NRSV)

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

A few years ago, there was a book that was very popular, entitled, Eats, Shoots and Leaves. Any of you remember it? Well, if you’re even a bit of a punctuation nerd as I am, it’s probably sitting at home on your bookshelf. Its author, Lynne Truss, a former editor seriously concerned about the current grammatical state of our world, defended proper punctuation. Stressing how important a correctly placed comma or semicolon or apostrophe or question mark could be for our understanding. And for world peace!

Punctuation is really important. So important that, in fact, there is a huge subculture of people who write punctuation jokes. Here’s a couple for you. Why did the comma break up with the question mark? Because it questioned everything. (I promise, they get better!) Why did the comma break up with the apostrophe? Because it was too possessive. (One more.) Why did the comma break up with the exclamation point? Because it was always yelling!

Okay, so what does punctuation have to do with today’s reading? If you remember, last week, after Mary heard from the angel that Jesus was risen, she was told to go back to the disciples and tell them to meet their risen Lord in Galilee. Then, on her way, she ran into Jesus, and, after she fell at his feet and worshiped him, he, too, told her to go back to the other disciples and to direct them to Galilee.

When we started reading the Gospel of Matthew at the beginning of this year, do you recall where Jesus started his ministry? He’d been baptized by John at the Jordan in Judea. Then tempted in the Judean wilderness. It was after those two events that he began his ministry. But, not in Judea. Because he heard that John had been arrested, he moved to Galilee. It was there, in Galilee, where he began. Matthew points out that this move fulfilled a scripture from the prophet Isaiah. That the people who lived in the dark - in the Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, alongside the sea, across the Jordan, in Galilee of the Gentiles - that these people living in the shadow of death had seen a great light. In the Galilee of the Gentiles.

Jesus healed and taught in the Galilean countryside, moving ever and ever closer to Jerusalem. Where the conflict with the religious and political leaders would escalate to the point that Jesus would be crucified. Then to Golgotha, the hillside outside of Jerusalem, where he would be crucified and buried. And then, on this same hillside where Jesus would rise from the dead. The conclusion of Jesus’ mission on earth. Marked - and here’s the punctuation part - marked with a huge exclamation point!

And now, with today’s story, we are back once again in Galilee. And beginning a new phase in the mission of Jesus. Marked with a different punctuation marked. With a colon. A punctuation mark that is not an ending. But that points us forward into another phase. An unfinished phase. A phase in which we are still taking part. The unfinished story of the church.

But, let’s look a little closer at today’s story. Notice that Matthew writes that the eleven disciples meet Jesus on a mountain. The curious thing about this is that there are no mountains in Galilee. By including this in the story, the gospel writer is reminding us of all of the mountaintop revelations we have witnessed before. Think of them. (I once wrote an entire research paper on these mountaintop experiences.) There is the mountain where Noah’s ark rested after the flood, where he offered a sacrifice to God and where God made a new covenant with creation. Then, there is Mount Horeb where God called Moses, speaking to him from the burning bush and revealing God’s name, and calling Moses to deliver God’s people out of bondage. Then, there is Mount Sinai (also known as Mount Horeb), where God delivered the Ten Commandments to Moses, after Israel had been freed, and where God and Israel entered into covenant.

Then, there is the New Testament. Think about Jesus’ own story. He was tempted on a mountain in the wilderness. His first teaching, the Sermon on the Mount, was on a small mountain. Jesus was transfigured. On a mountaintop. And it was on a mountaintop, where Jesus had risen in glory. By including this, by making reference to this simple location, Matthew is recalling for us all of the salvation story, from one revelation to the next. The first phase of a story that has been marked with an exclamation point. And the second phase that is about to begin.

So, the disciples meet Jesus. Like the two Mary’s, they fall at his feet and worship their risen Lord. Did you catch the entire phrase there, in verse 17? “When they saw him, they worshipped him, but some doubted.” The word for “doubt” used here - distazo - is used only one other place in all of the New Testament. In a story we heard a few weeks ago, when Peter jumped out of the boat and began to walk on water towards Jesus. Matthew 14:29. “Then Peter got out of the boat and was walking on the water toward Jesus. But when Peter saw the strong wind, he became frightened. He distazo. He doubted. 

These disciples. As they greet their risen Lord, who they are seeing alive with their very own eyes and who they now fully understand - at least some of them understand - that Jesus is truly the Son of God. Even then, some doubt. 

Have you ever doubted in Jesus? Has something ever happened to you that put a big question mark there in your life right in place of your faith? Perhaps it was an unexpected and tragic death in your family. Or an illness. Or perhaps it was the loss of a job. Or a divorce. When it seems that this resurrection stuff is just too much to believe in. When it feels as if we, just like the Galileans, live in the shadow of death. And we, too, like the disciples, doubt.

In Matthew, though, doubt is not the opposite of faith. Instead it is an inevitable part of a life of faith and discipleship. Peter, who, as he was walking on water and then heard the wind and became afraid and doubted - that same Peter would become the “rock” on whom the church would be built. As Wes Allen notes, doubt does not preclude the disciples from being entrusted with the ongoing work of the mission of Jesus. With God’s mission. Because even in the midst of their doubt, they are being sent out into the world. Sent to share the joy of Jesus’ resurrection to all nations through the full authority of God, given in its entirety to Jesus. Because it is in raising Jesus, that God has vindicated his life and mission. It is in raising Jesus, that God has demonstrated power and authority that is greater than that of any human ruler. It is in raising Jesus, that God has shown power and authority that is greater than the forces of evil and death. It is with this authority, given fully by God to Jesus, that the disciples are sent into the world. To make disciples by baptizing them - welcoming them into God’s family just as we welcomed Marcus a little over a week ago - and teaching them to obey everything that Jesus had taught and commanded them. It is with the full authority of Jesus Christ that the disciples will go out into the world. Even in the midst of their doubt and fear. Because it is not the disciples’ power and authority that will accomplish this second phase of Jesus’ mission. It is God’s power and authority in Jesus Christ that will accomplish their mission. That will accomplish our mission.

That’s right. Our mission. This is our mission, too. Our mission as the church. Our mission as God’s people here at Grace & Glory. Because this mission is not simply for those who are called to full-time ministry or mission work in the church. This mission is your mission as disciples of Jesus Christ. Just like those first disciples, you are sent with the same power and authority in Jesus Christ. To witness. And to share where Jesus has met you. To share even in the midst of your doubt and your sense of unworthiness and your fear that you won’t have the right words to say. You are called. And you are sent. Just as the early disciples, to witness to the love of Christ with God’s full authority behind you. 

That, my friends is our mission statement here at Grace & Glory. A mission statement that belongs to each and every one of us. To gather as God’s people. To grow in faith and the love of God. To go out into the world to share God’s love with others. And to give to others what God has first given to us. 

Finally, if all of this feels way too overwhelming, may you remember what Jesus told the early disciples in the midst of their own fear and doubt and unworthiness. What Jesus tells us in the last verse of Matthew. “And, remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” 

May you journey with joy, walking with the courage that Jesus is beside you as you share the good news of Jesus Christ with the world. Amen.

Preached April 28, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Second Sunday of Easter (Holy Hilarity Sunday)
Readings: Matthew 28:16-20, Psalm 40:9-10

Cultivating Authenticity (Letting Go of What People Think)

God! My God! It’s you—

    I search for you!

    My whole being thirsts for you!

    My body desires you

        in a dry and tired land,

        no water anywhere.

Yes, I’ve seen you in the sanctuary;

    I’ve seen your power and glory.

My lips praise you

    because your faithful love

    is better than life itself!

So I will bless you as long as I’m alive;

    I will lift up my hands in your name.

I’m fully satisfied—

    as with a rich dinner.

My mouth speaks praise with joy on my lips—

    whenever I ponder you on my bed,

    whenever I meditate on you

        in the middle of the night—

    because you’ve been a help to me and I shout for joy in the protection of your wings.

My whole being clings to you;

    your strong hand upholds me.

But what about those people who want to destroy me?

    Let them go into the bowels of the earth!

    Let their blood flow by the sword!

    Let them be food for wild jackals!

But the king should rejoice in God;

    everyone who swears by God should give praise

        when the mouths of liars are shut for good. Psalm 63 (CEB)

Grace and peace to you from God, our Creator; Jesus Christ, our Redeemer; and the Holy Spirit, our Advocate and Comforter. Amen.

Tonight, we continue our gardening. Cultivating those behaviors that lead us to being the shalom, or wholehearted, people God intends. And pruning, or letting go of, those that don’t. We’ve been using two primary resources. The first is scripture and, more specifically, the psalms. The second is a book written by Dr. Brene Brown, a current research and teaching sociologist at the University of Houston. The name of her book is The Gifts of Imperfection.

Tonight is the halfway point for us this Lent. Tonight’s focus is on a key guidepost offered by Dr. Brown: cultivating authenticity and letting go of what people think. We begin with a look at Psalm 63.

Psalm 63 is an interesting psalm. It’s interesting because it is one of only a few psalms that theologians have not been able to neatly categorize. There are psalms of thanksgiving, psalms of lament, community psalms, liturgical psalms. Several different categories that most psalms fit neatly into.

However, Psalm 63 is different. At first glance, it appears to be a psalm of lament. A psalm of disconnection. “God! My God! It’s you - I search for you!” Yet, if we look more carefully, we note that expressions of thanksgiving, trust, and confidence more fully represent its theme. Look at verse 3: My lips praise you because your faithful love is better than life itself! 

The Hebrew word for “faithful love” is a word we’ve heard before. Hesed. Translated into Greek, it’s the same word for grace. A word that means God’s steadfast, undeserved love. The psalmist is full of this hesed - as full as from a rich dinner. It is that hesed of God that has been the source of the psalmist’s help and protection and the reason for the psalmist’s praise and thanksgiving.

It is hesed that, for us as New Testament people, is manifested in God’s incarnation and Jesus’ saving death on the cross. An act that shows us the depth of God’s love for us. An act that shows us the depth of God’s desire that we might be whole people. The whole and gifted people God has created us to be. 

How whole? How gifted has God created us to be? The answer to this is hidden in verse 8 of the psalm, a verse that we might easily miss. “My whole being clings to you; your strong hand upholds me.” This response - this act of God reaching out - is directly related to the opening cry of the psalmist. “I search for you!” What we miss, though, is that this reaching out by God with God’s right hand represents an honor that might be shown to a monarch or to a pharaoh, when the imperial god takes the leader by the right hand. According to Isaiah 42, this is the same gesture that God uses to choose God’s servant. To choose us. God views us as we would view a king. Or a queen. With the utmost dignity, respect, honor, and love.  With the gifts of royalty.

If God views us in this way, how might we more fully live into God’s view of us, rather than that of the world, a world that constantly bombards us with images that we are not good enough. Or that we’re not meeting up to cultural expectations. Expectations of who we are as women. Or men.

How, in the midst of this, might we authentically be the person, or the people, that God views us to be?

In her research, Dr. Brown has found that the “act of authenticity” is actually not that challenging. The real difficulty lies with the “audacity of authenticity.” That when we say “no” to people or we don’t respond in a way that someone expects, many of us experience shame triggers around being perceived as self-indulgent or self-focused. We don’t want to be viewed as selfish or narcissistic. And, sometimes, when we do push back, the system pushes us back.  With everything from eye rolls and whispers to real struggles in relationships and feelings of isolation. Or with responses that are cruel. Or that try to shame us.

Many of these triggers are connected to cultural expectations around gender. In her research, Dr. Brown has found that the attributes associated with being feminine are being “thin, nice, and modest.” And those for being male are “being in control emotionally, the primacy of work, control over women, and the constant pursuit of status.” So, to play it safe, women have to be willing to stay as small, quiet, and attractive as possible. And men - well, men have to stop feeling, start earning, and give up on any meaningful connection. 

Yet, to trade in our authenticity for safety eats away at our own sense of worthiness. And this can lead to depression, to anxiety, to eating disorders and addiction, to rage, to blame, to resentment, and to grief. 

Choosing to be authentic isn’t always the safe option. Sometimes choosing being real over being liked is all about playing it unsafe. It requires courage to speak honestly. When we do this, there will be growing pains. Yet, being true to ourselves is the best gift we can give the people we love. By letting go of trying to be everything to everyone, we will experience more time, more love, and more connection for the important people in our lives. And for the God who loves us. Who views us as royalty. And who desires for us to be more fully, and wholly, ourselves as God has created us.


May God help us to let go of what other people think, and to cultivate our own authenticity as God’s shalom people. Amen.

Preached March 27, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY. 
Midweek Worship
Reading: Psalm 63

Ruth--A Story for Our Time: Daring to Act

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, “My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” She said to her, “All that you tell me I will do.”

So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her. When Boaz had eaten and drunk, and he was in a contented mood, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of grain. Then she came stealthily and uncovered his feet, and lay down. At midnight the man was startled, and turned over, and there, lying at his feet, was a woman! He said, “Who are you?” And she answered, “I am Ruth, your servant; spread your cloak over your servant, for you are next-of-kin.” He said, “May you be blessed by the Lord, my daughter; this last instance of your loyalty is better than the first; you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich. And now, my daughter, do not be afraid, I will do for you all that you ask, for all the assembly of my people know that you are a worthy woman. But now, though it is true that I am a near kinsman, there is another kinsman more closely related than I. Remain this night, and in the morning, if he will act as next-of-kin for you, good; let him do it. If he is not willing to act as next-of-kin for you, then, as the Lord lives, I will act as next-of-kin for you. Lie down until the morning.”

So she lay at his feet until morning, but got up before one person could recognize another; for he said, “It must not be known that the woman came to the threshing floor.” Then he said, “Bring the cloak you are wearing and hold it out.” So she held it, and he measured out six measures of barley, and put it on her back; then he went into the city. She came to her mother-in-law, who said, “How did things go with you, my daughter?” Then she told her all that the man had done for her, saying, “He gave me these six measures of barley, for he said, ‘Do not go back to your mother-in-law empty-handed.’” She replied, “Wait, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out, for the man will not rest, but will settle the matter today.” Ruth 3:1-18 (NRSV)


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

Have you ever done something daring? 

Perhaps at the time, it didn’t seem so daring. But, as time passed and you began to reflect upon it, you realized that, at that time, it was a daring thing for you to do.

In 1992, I was the newly-elected president of my local union. We represented courtroom clerks throughout all of Los Angeles County. And my ascendance to the presidency wasn’t really something I planned to do. 

Before I was elected, my predecessor, the president of our local had become quite controversial. We hadn’t had a raise in over 2 years. And, in trying to publicly highlight our cause, he had done several things that had angered the presiding judge--a judge elected by all of the judges countywide to oversee the whole system. So, in response to the situation, I decided to write a letter to all of my colleagues throughout the main courthouse in downtown Los Angeles. Suddenly, one day our local president walked into my courtroom and invited me to step into an open position on our local’s executive board.

After giving it some thought, I agreed. Perhaps, I shouldn't have. Because soon, it became apparent that our local president was not only eccentric, but he was also embezzling funds from our treasury. Within 6 months, we had removed him from office. It was then that I found myself elected president, even though I never planned it that way. 

Now, none of this might seem very daring. And, it really didn’t to me at the time. But, over the next four years, as we continued to lack a wage increase, it was under my leadership that, in November 1997, 95% of the courtroom clerks walked off the job across the county, on strike for 10 days. I found out later that it was the first time in a quarter century that any labor group had ever walked out on a judicial system across the U.S. It was a daring act for us. But, it didn’t seem daring at the time. Because for us, it was a matter of survival. A matter of financial survival.

It is this type of daring act--a matter of survival--that is central to our story today. We’ve heard over the past two weeks of the vulnerability of Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi. Naomi, who had moved to another country--to Moab--with her husband because of a famine in Bethlehem. Then, the birth of two sons and the eventual death of all of the men in her life--her husband and her two sons. We heard of her vulnerability as a widow and a childless woman. And, of the vulnerability of her daughter-in-law, Ruth. Also, a widow and childless. We heard of the decision to return to Naomi’s homeland--to Bethlehem. And, of Ruth’s decision to accompany her--just one of many examples of Ruth’s hesed. Her love in action for Naomi. A decision that doubled Ruth’s vulnerability--now, not only a widow, but also an immigrant. 

Over the past 2 weeks, we have also seen a shift in our story--a shift from the sense of loss and emptiness experienced by Naomi and Ruth, to the beginning of hope. Hope that appeared in the person of Boaz. A landowner. A family member. Naomi’s kin.

In today’s episode of our story, we see those buds of hope blossom. Now, if you read between the lines of our story, you quickly see that this is a story of seduction. Of a daring act. An act by Ruth that, one might think is completely out of character for her. An act that is counter-cultural. One that most people would raise their eyebrows at. But it is a daring act by a woman who is desperate to secure her future and that of her mother-in-law.

It is the evening at the end of a successful harvest. You can imagine that there was food flowing. And, especially, that there was drink also flowing. Boaz is, our text says, in a “good” mood. Another translation says that he was contented. He curls up next to a grain pile and falls asleep. 

As this has been going on, Naomi has been instructing Ruth. Take a bath. Put on some perfume. Wear something nice. And, then, go down to the threshing floor. Don’t make yourself known to Boaz until he has finished eating and drinking and has lain down. Then, and only then, go to him, uncover his feet, and lie down. He will tell you what to do next.

So, Ruth does it. Everything that Naomi tells her to do. Except she doesn’t wait for Boaz to say anything. Instead, Ruth--kind, sweet, loyal Ruth--proposes marriage! This is what the phrase “spread out your robe over your servant” means. Ruth proposes marriage to Boaz, who we know is substantially older than she.

Now, we need to step back for a moment to understand what is going on here. There is a custom at work in this story that we need to be aware of. In her proposal to Boaz, Ruth calls for him to fulfill his duty as a go-el. Go-el is a Hebrew word that means kinsman-redeemer. Under Israel’s law, the closest male relative is obligated to redeem his kin who have fallen onto hard times. So, as she proposes marriage to Boaz, Ruth is saying, “Do your duty!” Do what you are obligated to do as my go-el, as my kinsman-redeemer. Save me!

Now, to our 21st century ears, this may be a little challenging. We think of women as independent today and having their own choices in terms of their future. This is not what ancient Israel was like, however. In this patristic society, women who were widowed or childless were vulnerable. This was why the law was implemented in the first place--to ensure that women who were vulnerable were protected. They relied upon their go-el, their kinsman-redeemer to do this.

It is, however, a daring act for Ruth to make the first move. To call on Boaz to offer her redemption. Yet, there was also redemption for Boaz here. It’s apparent from our story that Boaz is presumably an older man. Ruth could have chosen others--she’s still a young woman. Yet, she chooses him. So, for Ruth and for Boaz, there is mutual redemption.

This Wednesday evening, you have an opportunity to engage in a daring act, just like Ruth. We will gather with our siblings in Christ at Shiloh Methodist. We’ll begin at 6 p.m. with a potluck dinner. This will be followed at 6:30 p.m. by a conversation--a Sacred Conversation--around the topic of immigration. This is a controversial topic in our world today. It is a complex issue. It is a divisive issue--an issue that has separated and continues to divide us to the point where we no longer talk with each other about it, but we talk at each other about it. How do we change the conversation? How do we break through our division and begin to hear each other? 

We have the opportunity this Wednesday. An opportunity to listen to each other respectfully. To hear and to identify our common values and, then, to find a way forward. It is an opportunity that is counter-cultural. It pushes back against a culture that says “it’s my way, or the highway!” It pushes back against a culture that demands that my answer is the only right answer. To choose to be there--to participate in this Sacred Conversation--is a daring act. It takes courage to step out of the mold that our culture teaches us to follow--a mold that will only continue to divide us. Will you be courageous? Will you be bold and daring? Will you come and participate?

I hope you will come. In truth, I dare you to come. Because it is out of daring acts, that redemption comes.  And blessing. We see it already in our story today. And we will see it in full next week. And we know it as children of God--children of a God who sent a Kinsman-Redeemer to us to save us. To redeem us. And, who out of that redemption, gives us abundant blessing.

So, be bold. Be daring. And trust that God will be at work among us. And that God will give us the courage to dare to act. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 5, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 11
Readings: Ruth 3:1-18 (Matthew 7:7-8).

God's Kingdom Revealed: Unexpected

Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. And the soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe. They kept coming up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and striking him on the face. Pilate went out again and said to them, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no case against him.” So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!” When the chief priests and the police saw him, they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and crucify him; I find no case against him.” The Jews answered him, “We have a law, and according to that law he ought to die because he has claimed to be the Son of God.”

Now when Pilate heard this, he was more afraid than ever. He entered his headquarters again and asked Jesus, “Where are you from?” But Jesus gave him no answer. Pilate therefore said to him, “Do you refuse to speak to me? Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?” Jesus answered him, “You would have no power over me unless it had been given you from above; therefore the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.” From then on Pilate tried to release him, but the Jews cried out, “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor. Everyone who claims to be a king sets himself against the emperor.”

When Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus outside and sat on the judge’s bench at a place called The Stone Pavement, or in Hebrew Gabbatha. Now it was the day of Preparation for the Passover; and it was about noon. He said to the Jews, “Here is your King!” They cried out, “Away with him! Away with him! Crucify him!” Pilate asked them, “Shall I crucify your King?” The chief priests answered, “We have no king but the emperor.” Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. John 19:1-16a (NRSV)

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

Last week we began a new series that will take us into Holy Week--it’s entitled God’s kingdom revealed. The word we focused on last week was “truth.” As you can still see on the walls of our sanctuary, we first considered some of the “truths” of the world in the headlines you wrote on the large note paper. These so-called truths that bombard us daily.

We, then, considered the truth of God’s kingdom. If you participated, you wrote a “truth” of that kingdom that was important to you. “Jesus loves me.” “Jesus loves all people.” God’s kingdom is revealed to us in these truths.

Today, we are considering the unexpected. Now, I’m wondering if there haven’t already been a few unexpected things here today and, also, last week. First, for many of us, I think, it’s unexpected for us to be reading these stories of Jesus’ passion now, nearly two weeks before Holy Week. Usually, the only time we read John 18 and 19 is on Good Friday. So, it may feel a little unexpected to be walking through these scenes of Jesus’ arrest and trial now. And, yet, hearing these stories now provides us with an opportunity to unpack them a little. To perhaps, gain a little more meaning and understanding.

I’m also wondering if having to make some of our own meaning in last week’s sermon also wasn’t a little unexpected. Having to write our own truths and then get up and post them over the world’s so-called truths instead of passively sitting and listening through my sermon--that this felt unexpected to you. Perhaps, even a little uncomfortable.

We fall into patterns in our lives. Now patterns and rituals and order aren’t necessarily bad things. There’s a reason, for example, why we establish bedtime rituals for our children. Or why we establish boundaries around them. All of these rituals and traditions provide them with a sense of security. Security so that, we hope, they will feel safe enough to push through these boundaries and more fully become who they are as adults, as individuals. 

And, yet, sometimes we hold tightly onto these patterns and rituals and order simply out of fear. In a world that seems to change so quickly from one moment to the next, or in our lives where we are healthy one moment and receive a serious diagnosis in the next, or in our relationships where we are with someone we love and in the next moment lose them--we cling so tightly in our fear to the pattern. To what we know. To what we expect. Because to be afraid--to admit that we are afraid would be to acknowledge our own weakness, our own insecurity, our own human brokenness.

This, I think, is what is happening with Pilate in our lesson today. It might have begun as an ordinary trial. Pilate was used to sitting in judgment of accused criminals as the Roman prefect. He had presided over many, many other trials. Yet, it is not long before Pilate realizes this one is different. Unexpected.

He finds no fault in this defendant. “Look!” he says to the Jewish leaders in verse 4, “I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no case against him.” Pilate attempts to turn Jesus back over to them.

They refuse. And Pilate becomes afraid. Then, they challenge his loyalty to Caesar. “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor,” they tell him. Pilate becomes more afraid. And, then, even knowing that Jesus is innocent, Pilate hands him over to be crucified.

I’ve been reading these verses over and over this week. And, there is something I can’t help wondering about. What might have happened if Pilate had done the unexpected? If he had refused to crucify Jesus?  

Now I fully get that this plan--this plan that Jesus, God’s Son, would die, that this was a plan of God’s making. And, that Pilate didn’t have any real power in this dynamic. Or that, if he did have any power, it was because God had given it to him.

But, imagine what might have happened if, instead of reacting in fear and clinging so tightly to his status and perceived power, he risked it all. That, instead of declaring his allegiance to Caesar in his actions, he declared his allegiance to God. How unexpected that would have been! To witness Pilate’s vulnerability. To see him put himself out there, risking everything--status, power, prestige--not knowing what might happen. How unexpected that would have been!

I think there’s a bit of Pilate in each one of us. We are so desperate to belong that we grasp at the same things as Pilate. Seeking status. Seeking power. Seeking prestige. Thinking that, if only we get that promotion at work, or that “A” in class, or more money or whatever untruth we have told ourselves or that the world has told us, we will belong. People will look up to us. People will accept us. People will love us. Because, if they only knew who we really were, they could never, ever love us.

There is a well-known researcher and sociologist I’ve mentioned before by the name of Brene Brown. Dr. Brown has done years and years of research at the University of Houston on courage. The word “courage” comes from the Latin word “cor,” which means heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word “courage” mean “to speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Over time, the definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds.

What Dr. Brown has found in her research it that, when we define courage as heroic or brave, we fail to recognize the inner strength--the inner heart--and the level of commitment that is required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences, both good and bad. This willingness to be vulnerable, to move past the shame of our mistakes or bad decisions or difficult experiences, is the catalyst for courage and for compassion and, finally, for connection. For belonging. For being loved. No matter what we have done or what has happened to us. The more vulnerable we are, the more connected we become. 

It’s unexpected, isn’t it? When the world teaches us that belonging comes through status or power or privilege, in fact, it comes through vulnerability. Through baring our souls and being fully who we are, warts and all. For being human. 

Jesus is a model of vulnerability for us in this unexpected aspect of God’s kingdom. This Messiah, this Christ, this king, who doesn’t act like a king. This God who doesn’t act like a God. But, who instead, enters into our humanity, becoming one of us. And, then, willingly and vulnerably takes on our brokenness so that we might be freed to become the whole people God intends us to be. Fully forgiven. Fully redeemed. Fully loved.

In just a moment in our worship today, as we pray our prayers, I am going to ask you to be vulnerable. To turn to a neighbor, to move beyond the fear or shame or whatever it is that keeps you from being vulnerable and from being fully honest about your life, and to share the things for which we need prayer. To be vulnerable. Just as Christ was vulnerable for us.

And, perhaps, as we engage in these moments of vulnerability, and openness, and prayer. Perhaps, just perhaps. The kingdom of God might happen right here. Right now. Unexpectedly.

Amen.

Preached March 18, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Fifth Sunday in Lent
Readings: Psalm 146; John 19:1-16a

Finding Courage

So the soldiers, their officer, and the Jewish police arrested Jesus and bound him. First they took him to Annas, who was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year. Caiaphas was the one who had advised the Jews that it was better to have one person die for the people.

Simon Peter and another disciple followed Jesus. Since that disciple was known to the high priest, he went with Jesus into the courtyard of the high priest, but Peter was standing outside at the gate. So the other disciple, who was known to the high priest, went out, spoke to the woman who guarded the gate, and brought Peter in. The woman said to Peter, “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” He said, “I am not.” Now the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing around it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself.

Then the high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and about his teaching. Jesus answered, “I have spoken openly to the world; I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret. Why do you ask me? Ask those who heard what I said to them; they know what I said.” When he had said this, one of the police standing nearby struck Jesus on the face, saying, “Is that how you answer the high priest?” Jesus answered, “If I have spoken wrongly, testify to the wrong. But if I have spoken rightly, why do you strike me?” Then Annas sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.

Now Simon Peter was standing and warming himself. They asked him, “You are not also one of his disciples, are you?” He denied it and said, “I am not.” One of the slaves of the high priest, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, asked, “Did I not see you in the garden with him?” Again Peter denied it, and at that moment the cock crowed. John 18:12-17 (NRSV)


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

Have you ever made a huge mistake? A mistake so big that at the time it seemed devastating. That, perhaps, you may be able to laugh about now, but that was incredibly painful at the time. That assumes, of course, that we admitted our mistake. I know that, in my life, there are a few that took me a long time to admit my mistake, stubborn as I am.

So, what is one of your memorable mistakes? We’re going to do something a little different today to begin with. I would invite you to think about one of those mistakes and then, if you are comfortable, sharing it with one or two people near you. Particularly, share the feelings and experiences that came out of this mistake. Please allow enough time for each person in your small group to share. And, if this feels uncomfortable for you, simply take time to silently reflect on your mistake and how you felt. Let’s take a few minutes now and do this. 

As human beings, we are perfectly imperfect. Mistakes are woven into each of our stories. In our lesson today, we heard the story of Peter--a disciple who made a mistake in his journey following Jesus. Peter, who is someone I suspect, might just be a little like us.

Today’s story opens in a garden on one side of the Kidron Valley--the opposite side from Jerusalem. Location is always important in the Gospel of John. To get to this garden, Jesus and his disciples would have had to cross over the valley. This valley--the Kidron Valley--is the place in the Old Testament where David fled from Absalom, his son. Tradition describes it as the valley of judgment. This shift--this crossing over the Kidron Valley--is a signal to us that our story has shifted to Jesus’ judgment and condemnation. But, not only Jesus. In John, the Greek word for judgment is krisis. It literally means a crisis. That point in one’s life when one has to make a decision about something really important. A decision that, if it is wrong, can lead to self-judgment and self-condemnation. 

So, our story has only shifted to the time of Jesus’ judgment and condemnation. But, not only his. Over these next few weeks, leading to Jesus’ crucifixion, we will see that no one will be spared examination.

We are in a garden with Jesus and his disciples. It is not the first time they’ve been there. In fact, this garden is a place that Jesus and his disciples have frequented. For them, it is a place where they have hung out together. A place of conversation. A place of deep intimacy and relationship between Jesus and the disciples. 

In the verses preceding today’s story, Judas has come with a cohort of Roman soldiers and a few guards from the Jewish Sanhedrin. The group numbered over 600--this was no small number of Roman soldiers and Jewish police. Roman soldiers and Jewish police breaking into this intimate gathering place of Jesus and his disciples. Like the world that constantly breaks into our own communities of faith. 

They arrest Jesus. They bind him and take him away to Annas. The questioning begins.

What’s particularly interesting is that in our story there is simultaneous questioning of both Jesus and Peter. Annas questions Jesus. At the same time, Peter is questioned by a servant woman. Both are, effectively, on trial at the same time. The truth about each is being revealed.

Peter is first. “Aren’t you one of this man’s disciples?” the servant woman asks him. Notice that, unlike the other three gospels, she doesn’t ask him if he knows Jesus. Instead, here she asks if Peter is one of his disciples.

“I am not.” This is Peter’s response. “I am not.” Think of how this contrasts with all of Jesus’ “I am” statements that we been considering during this Lenten season. “I AM the Bread of Life.” “I AM the Light of the World.” “I AM the Door.” “I AM the Good Shepherd.” “I AM the resurrection and the life.” “I AM.”

In saying, “I am not,” Peter is not only denying Jesus. Peter is denying his own identity as a disciple of Jesus. Peter, who, to all outward appearances, would be a loyal disciple, denies--three times he denies--that he is one of Jesus’ disciples. This most adamant of disciples. One who wouldn’t let Jesus wash his feet because he wanted to protect Jesus’ status as Messiah. One who, when the soldiers and police came to arrest Jesus, quickly drew a sword to defend him, cutting off the ear of Malchus--the high priest’s slave. Peter, the most disciple-like of all of Jesus’ disciples, standing at the charcoal fire with servants and guards, joining them. Denying his own identify as one of Jesus’ followers. Not just once. But three times. And then the rooster crowed. And Peter knew what he had done.

It didn’t end there for Peter. After the resurrection, once again around a charcoal fire, Peter took his place beside Jesus, heard the words of forgiveness and claimed his promise--the promise of life even in the midst of our failures and our limitations. And, after Jesus’ ascension, Peter would courageously and boldly go forth, proclaiming the Good News, and would eventually be martyred.

The chances of our own martyrdom are slight. Yet, how often are we like Peter? How often do we not only deny Jesus, but deny our very relationship with him. When the world comes breaking into our lives and asks us, “Aren’t you a disciple of Jesus?” we fail completely. Deeply flawed and fearful, just as Peter was, we fail in our own witness to Jesus, denying the intimacy of our relationship with him as his disciples. Saying “I am not” even as Jesus is saying “I am.” Over and over again in our fear and weakness.

And then the rooster crows. The Spirit works on our hearts to turn us back around. To lead us here, where together as Jesus’ broken disciples we gather and confess our failures. Vulnerable. Standing in the role of Peter in our own confession, we come to terms with who we are. We tell the truth about ourselves. And, then, we hear the same words Peter heard--Jesus’ words of forgiveness and promise of life, even in the midst of our sin and brokenness.

May we, then, continue to be like Peter. To go boldly into the world, to proclaim the Good News in our words and action, and to offer Jesus’ words of forgiveness and promise. Fearlessly. Courageously.

Amen.

Preached March 4, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Third Sunday in Lent

Readings: Psalm 17:1-7, John 18:12-17