From Generation to Generation: We Can Choose a Better Way

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ took place. When Mary his mother was engaged to Joseph, before they were married, she became pregnant by the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband was a righteous man. Because he didn’t want to humiliate her, he decided to call off their engagement quietly. As he was thinking about this, an angel from the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife, because the child she carries was conceived by the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you will call him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” Now all of this took place so that what the Lord had spoken through the prophet would be fulfilled:

    Look! A virgin will become pregnant and give birth to a son,

        And they will call him, Emmanuel. (Emmanuel means “God with us.”)

When Joseph woke up, he did just as an angel from God commanded and took Mary as his wife. But he didn’t have sexual relations with her until she gave birth to a son. Joseph called him Jesus. 

--Matthew 1:18-25 (CEB)

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

I’ve mentioned to you before that, when I was 14 years old, my father committed suicide. Painful and traumatic as that experience was for our family, it was made even more painful by the response of my paternal grandfather. My father’s father. Who blamed my mother for my dad’s suicide. Who in his own hurt and pain over the death of his son, my father, chose to strike out. To hurt her. 

Today, we hear a similar story. A story of pain and hurt. But, it is a story with a different ending. A story that teaches us that we can choose a better way.

Being engaged in Joseph’s day was a fully contractual affair. A legally binding contract. Usually decided upon by two fathers. In other words, an arranged marriage. This was the situation between Mary and Joseph. But then, Joseph learns that Mary is pregnant. As far as he knows, his new wife has been unfaithful to him. As a faithful Torah follower, Joseph knows that, in the case of adultery, the Torah commands that both the adulterer and the adulteress were to be put to death. This is what Joseph could have demanded.

But, quickly, we learn that he doesn’t choose this way. Instead, he decides to divorce her quietly. To call off the engagement. To dissolve the marriage contract. 

But, even this kinder, gentler response is not God’s plan. Enter another divine interruption. An angel. Who appears to Joseph in the middle of a dream. Who first words - as with Mary last week - were, “Don’t be afraid.”  Who says, continue to choose a better way. Choose to stay with Mary. Choose to become an adoptive parent. Choose peace over violence. Choose grace over condemnation.

We might ask why it took the intervention of a celestial being for Joseph to make these choices. To not abandon his partner, even though, under the Law, he was fully justified in doing so. It’s easy for us to condemn him for simply wanting to walk away. To point a finger at him for wanting to preserve his life. Because to remain with Mary would not at all be the easy choice with all that could be put at risk. His reputation. His livelihood. Even other relationships. Walking away was the easier thing. Walking away was justified, wasn’t it? Oh, how we want to condemn Joseph!

But, aren’t we a lot like Joseph? Every day we are faced with opportunities to choose a better way. To put our power and privilege at risk. To do what is right. Yet how often do we decline to engage? Especially when it might put our relationships at risk. Or our jobs. Or our reputation.

Every day we are faced with opportunities to choose peace over violence, whether that is physical, emotional or psychological violence. Instead, like my grandfather, we strike out against or blame those who have hurt us - whether the hurt is real or perceived - and seek to harm them. With our words or our actions. Or both.

Every day we are faced with opportunities to choose grace over condemnation. To go directly to the person who has hurt us and offer forgiveness. Or to confess our error. To stay in the game and in the relationship, especially when it would be so much easier to simply walk away.

There is a reason God has written the law on our hearts. Not to condemn us, but to nudge us in a different direction. To nudge us to be people of a different way. To relinquish the hurt or the shame to which we so tightly cling. To let go of our woundedness, which is what so often drives our need to strike back - woundedness that may come from the situation at hand, but, more likely, from some deep, deep hurt we carry with us.

Imagine if Joseph had not heeded God’s command to take Mary as his wife. What might have happened to her and her newborn child? How might the Christmas story unfolded in a much different way if Joseph had made a different choice?

You and I. We are redeemed by this Jesus. Joseph's son. Emmanuel. God with us. You and I are called to that different way. That different highway envisioned by the Prophet Isaiah in chapter 35 - that Holy Way. A way not traversed by the unclean but by those walking on that way. Where even fools won’t get lost. Where no predators will exist. Only the redeemed will walk on it - those the Lord has freed. Who will return and enter Zion with singing, with eternal joy upon their heads. Where happiness and joy will overwhelm them. Where grief and groaning will flee away.

Sadly, my grandfather never apologized to my mother. Never chose that better way. But, the rest of his family - of my extended family - did. They wrapped their arms around us and held us up, walking the way with us in our grief and loss, loving us, helping us heal and return once again to a place of happiness and joy. They, like Joseph, chose a better way.

With God’s help, you and I can, too. Amen.

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

4th Sunday of Advent

Readings: Matthew 1:18-25; Isaiah 35:1-10

Readings

From Generation to Generation: God Meets Us In Our Fear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Second Sunday of Advent

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

Close to Home: Home by Another Way

Throughout this Advent and Christmas season, we’ve been reflecting on this idea of “home.” Home may mean something different for each one of us. It may be a relationship. It may be the family and the heritage of a family that we call home. It may be a physical place. For some of us, home may be a painful place or a hard memory and we may have had to find home in other places or with other people. For each one of us, home means something different. For each one of us, home is where we claim it.

Yet, as we heard on Christmas Eve and, then, last Sunday, home is about belonging. Home is about our heart - where God has claimed us. And where God invites us in to find belonging. To find home.

Today, we are celebrating Epiphany. The story of Epiphany marks a beginning and an end. As they leave their home, the Wise Men embark upon a pilgrimage, following a star, seeking a glimpse of the divine in the Christ child. 

We read from Matthew, chapter 2.

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
    are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
    who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

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

Have you ever been on a journey that was delayed? Or that took a little detour? I, like so many others over the past week or so, had my travel impacted. For the first time in awhile, I decided to fly rather than drive. I like driving because, there’s something about it that makes me feel like I have a little control. When I fly, I feel sometimes like I’m at the mercy of a lot of things: the weather, the airline, the airplane and, especially, over these past couple of years, COVID. So, instead of a direct flight back from Minneapolis on Friday. I detoured to yesterday and through Atlanta. 

This idea of a detour is similar to what happened to the Magi. As they set out from the East, these astronomers journeyed to the Bethlehem manger for a glimpse of the divine. Following a star. And while, in following that star, they may have taken an unusual journey, a different path, they still had had it to guide them along the way - on their journey to see the Christ child so that, our text tells us, they could simply worship him.

Along the way, though, they stopped in Jerusalem. Why Jerusalem? Perhaps it's because, as many think, this is where they expected to find the divine child. In the seat of power. Where one would have expected to find a child-king. But, they didn’t find him there. And so they continued to follow that star until they did find him. Until they met him in the lowliest of places, surrounded by the lowliest of creatures. It was there. In the manger in Bethlehem, where they met Jesus.

This journey to Bethlehem and the worship of these Magi is most often our focal point on Epiphany. This, along with, our understanding of the reworking and expansion of the covenant God first proclaimed with Abraham. That through him, all people would be blessed. We claim Epiphany because this is when God opened up God’s promises to the Gentiles. To all nations. And, yes, this is an important part of the story.

But, I wonder how often we pay attention to the end of the story. The very last sentence of the story. Being warned in a dream, the Magi choose a different direction to journey back home. It was a subversive choice on their part to disobey Herod. If caught, they could have been severely punished, even put to death. Yet, they listen to God speaking to them through their dreams. And they choose a path away from the deception, the manipulation, from the harm of Herod and his empire.

We are at the beginning of a new year. Once again, we are seeking COVID cases spike. Once again, we are worshipping back online. These past two years have simply been exhausting. We’ve lost so much. Individually and collectively. We’ve just lost so much. 

I’m drawn, particularly today, to Paul’s words in his letter to the church in Ephesus. Imprisoned. Likely beaten and more, he, too, had experienced an unexpected detour in his plans. He, too, had experienced much loss. Yet, he, too, like the Wise Men also witnessed the divine. He, too, had experienced the revelation of God - the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things. That, though this divine child, the true nature of God - the wisdom of God - might be made known to all. A God of grace and mercy. A God of love. A God who has claimed us, to whom we belong. Who has come into our hearts and made a home. 

May we, like Paul, trust in this divine plan. May we, like the wise men, be open to those unexpected detours home, to going home by another way. May we, like the stars in the sky, know that God is with us. May we, in this new year, take courage. God, who made all of this and who holds all of this, holds you in God’s very hands. Do not be afraid.

Preached online January 2, 2022, with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.
Christmas 2
Readings: Matthew 2:1-12; Ephesians 3:1-2

Revelation of the Son of God: Master Fisherman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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