The Guarded House: The Power of the Unchained Word and the KISS Rule

Decades ago, before I ever stepped into a seminary library, I served as a court clerk. To be clear—I was a court clerk, not a law clerk. I wasn't the one writing the legal briefs, but I was the expert on courtroom procedure, keeping the whole operation running smoothly, and working side-by-side with the judge every single day.

The judge I worked for lived by a very blunt rule: "Keep It Simple, Stupid"—the KISS rule. He wasn't being mean; he was being merciful. From my seat right next to the bench, I saw how he operated. He knew that whenever lawyers started hiding behind complex legal jargon and endless "word-smithing," they were usually trying to cover up a weak case. Complexity was almost always a mask for a lack of truth.

If you've ever been in a long-term relationship or a marriage, you already know how this works. Think about what happens when you and your partner come home exhausted, anxious, or completely overwhelmed. We don't usually sit down and say, "I am feeling vulnerable, tired, and afraid." Instead, we nitpick. We pick a fight over who left a cup on the counter, how the dishwasher was loaded, or why someone forgot to buy milk. We aren't actually furious about the dishwasher; we’re just running on empty, and it’s easier to argue about something small than to face the deeper stress we’re carrying.

We do the exact same thing in our faith. Talking about God can feel intimidating. So many of us are afraid of saying the wrong thing or getting the theology wrong, so we try to sound smart, or we hide behind churchy jargon. We use big words like sanctification—be honest, if I stopped right now and asked, would most of us even be able to define what sanctification actually means?—or we use internal shorthand like fellowship and stewardship. But really, it’s just a shield to protect ourselves. We get so caught up in worrying about saying the right words that we lose sight of what actually matters.

And why do we do this? Because many of us are exhausted. We’re carrying the heavy weight of a long, hard season, dealing with loss, empty seats, and open positions in our community. Beyond our own walls, we're constantly bombarded by the instability, conflict, and division in the world around us—and that daily weight takes a heavy, quiet toll on our spirit. When we are bone-tired, we pick small fights. We argue over the color of a carpet, the font in the bulletin, or a minor policy detail. We aren't really mad about the font; we're just tired and grieving, using small arguments to hide it. It feels safer to manage a simple administrative task than it does to stand honestly before the living God.

Today, we are invited to step out of that noisy clutter and hear the clear, simple truth of the Gospel.

Let’s anchor ourselves in scripture, from Paul’s second letter to Timothy:

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David—that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.

Remind them of this, and warn them before God that they are to avoid wrangling over words, which does no good but only ruins those who are listening. Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved by him, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly explaining the word of truth. –2 Timothy 2:8-15 (NRSVUE)

Paul gives us a powerful contrast: the messenger may be in chains, but the Word of God cannot be chained. 

My old judge’s KISS rule was really just a secular version of Paul’s advice to Timothy. To "rightly explain the word of truth" doesn't mean making faith more complicated. It means stripping away the clutter that confuses people. Keeping it simple isn't about being stupid; it’s about getting out of the way so the truth can do its work.

We are always tempted to put God in a neat administrative box we can manage and control. But God’s Word refuses to stay boxed in. The prophet Jeremiah tried to stay quiet and keep God’s message to himself because it was too hard, but he said it felt like a fire burning in his bones that he couldn't hold in.

Paul writes from a prison cell with that same burning fire. He is in chains, but the message is free. The Gospel isn't a collection of clever theories; it is God actively changing and renewing the world. When we are too tired to hold everything together, God’s unchained Word steps in. It breaks open our neat little boxes and makes things new. It gives us a simple, confident promise: Even when we are faithless, God remains faithful.

We see the ultimate "KISS" rule in action today at the baptismal font. Baptism isn't a complex ritual; it’s the simplest thing in the world. A little water, a few clear words, and a profound promise. We might perform the outward act and pour the water, but it is God who welcomes people in through grace, and it is the Holy Spirit who does the real work—cleansing, renewing, and claiming us as God's own.

In this water, God shows us that divine love doesn't depend on our energy levels, our perfect words, or our ability to control everything. This simple gift gives us what we need to move forward. It tells us that we don't have to pretend to have it all together. We just have to let the Holy Spirit do what we cannot do for ourselves.

So as we leave today, I invite you to drop the defenses. The Psalmist tells us that seeking God’s simple truth is the key to real freedom. We are called to be workers approved by God—not people who never get tired, but people who aren't ashamed to admit when they are weary and need help.

Everything changes the moment we stop relying on our own limited strength. In this place, there is grace enough for us to drop the act, set down the small arguments, and be honest about our weary hearts.

You are held by a God who does not tire, washed by a Spirit that continuously renews, and saved by a Word that can never be chained. So leave the clutter behind. Step out into this week knowing that you are loved, you are forgiven, and you can simply let God be God.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 2, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

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.

More Than a Miracle: Why Ancient Healing Was Actually a Radical Act of Justice

Then he came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had changed the water into wine. Now there was a royal official whose son lay ill in Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went and begged him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. Then Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.” The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive. So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.” The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he himself believed, along with his whole household. Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many ill, blind, lame, and paralyzed people. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The ill man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.

Now that day was a Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been cured, “It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.” But he answered them, “The man who made me well said to me, ‘Take up your mat and walk.’ ” They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take it up and walk’?” Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had disappeared in the crowd that was there. Later Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you have been made well! Do not sin any more, so that nothing worse happens to you.” The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well. Therefore the Jews started persecuting Jesus, because he was doing such things on the Sabbath. But Jesus answered them, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” For this reason the Jews were seeking all the more to kill him, because he was not only breaking the Sabbath but was also calling God his own Father, thereby making himself equal to God. 

--John 4:46-54, 5:1-18 (NRSVUE

The Hook: Why We Misunderstand "Healing"

When we encounter ancient stories of miraculous healings, we often treat them as religious magic tricks—supernatural glitches in the matrix of biology. We marvel at the "wonder" but often miss the "why." By focusing solely on the physical restoration, we overlook the profound social disruption these acts caused. To understand the weight of these moments, we have to look past the medicine and see the man. 

For a laborer in first-century Galilee, a healed hand wasn't just a medical success; it was the difference between a family eating or starving. In this world, illness and disability were not merely health concerns—they were social and economic death sentences. To be labeled "unclean" or "afflicted" was to be barred from communal life, cast out from the marketplace, and severed from the temple. Jesus’ healings were not just about fixing broken bodies; they were radical social interventions that dismantled systemic barriers and restored human dignity to those whom society had already buried.

Point 1: Healing as an Economic Stimulus Package

In the ancient world, physical restoration translated directly into the restoration of a person's right to survive. Because disability led to being "unclean" and marginalized, it trapped individuals and their families in a brutal cycle of financial insecurity. They were effectively barred from contributing to the economy or providing for themselves.

When we view these miracles as acts of restorative justice, the economic impact becomes clear. By restoring a person’s health, Jesus provided them with the ability to work for their own financial security. But it went deeper than the immediate breadwinner; the source context reminds us that healing offered children the "opportunity to learn," restoring their intellectual and educational health. This is the ultimate "aha!" moment: a miracle wasn't just a private blessing; it was a tool for economic equity. By breaking the generational cycle of poverty, these healings transformed marginalized dependents into full, contributing members of the social fabric.

Point 2: The "Equality of Mercy" (Even for the Undeserving)

Divine justice, as Jesus practiced it, was a strike against the social hierarchies we use to gatekeep compassion. This is most provocative when we contrast two specific recipients: the Royal Official’s son and the man by the pool of Bethzatha (or Bethesda). The Royal Official was a high-ranking individual, possibly a Gentile, who traveled a great distance and pleaded with desperate sincerity. He was the "good" applicant—the one we feel deserves help.

In sharp contrast, the man at the pool of Bethzatha had spent thirty-eight years in a state of passive resignation. When asked if he wanted to be well, he offered only excuses rather than faith. He hadn’t "earned" his moment. Yet, Jesus healed both. This equality of mercy suggests that justice isn't just for the high-status or the "worthy" victims; it is for the one who has given up, too. Note that the Official’s healing sparked faith in his "entire household," showing that these acts weren't just individual fixes—they were catalysts for communal connection.

"The boundaries we believe exist between people are no barriers for God."

Point 3: People Over Protocol (The Sabbath Conflict)

In Jerusalem, these acts of restoration triggered a firestorm of opposition. The religious authorities weren't just upset about a technicality; they were protecting their control of the social order. For them, "justice" meant the strict, legalistic adherence to the Sabbath—a law intended to set the community apart but which had become a tool for rigid protocol.

Jesus, however, viewed human wellness as a divine mandate that never rests. When he healed on the Sabbath and told the man to carry his mat, he was making a claim that threatened the very foundation of their authority: "My Father is still working." He prioritized the restoration of human wellness over human interpretations of religious law. This wasn't a violation of the Law; it was the fulfillment of it, asserting that systemic rules should never be used to perpetuate human suffering.

Point 4: Ending the Culture of Shame and Blame

At the time, the common "just" explanation for suffering was the justice of retribution. People believed that illness was a punishment for sin—either the victim's or their parents'. This created a "just world" fallacy that allowed the powerful to ignore the poor by blaming them for their own misery.

Jesus effectively dismantled this toxic culture of shame. While the authorities used theology to marginalize the sick, Jesus rejected the link between sin and suffering. He performed healings without requiring a confession or a proof of sinlessness. By replacing retribution with unconditional grace, he removed the moral stigma attached to disability. He wasn't just healing a body; he was deconstructing a social system that used shame to keep the vulnerable in their place.

Point 5: Healing Beyond the "Established Systems"

The Pool of Bethzatha was the epitome of a failed system. For thirty-eight years, it functioned as a competitive, first-come, first-served healthcare model. For the most marginalized, the reality was bleak: "It will never be your turn to immerse." If you were too slow or had no one to help you, the system was designed to leave you behind.

Jesus' "miraculous healthcare" was radical because he ignored the pool. He didn't fix the man's place in the line; he bypassed the failing institution entirely. This is a piercing critique of any social system that remains rigid and exclusionary. Today, we still see people marginalized by physical or mental conditions, waiting for a "turn" that never comes in systems that value speed or status over human dignity. Jesus’ act suggests that when a system is broken, justice involves bypassing that system to restore the person directly.

Summary: A New Vision for Social Wellness

These ancient stories are more than historical artifacts; they are a bold call to effect change in our own social systems. They challenge us to see wellness not as an individual medical status, but as a communal responsibility. These healings aimed for a "total wellness"—social, emotional, and economic—reintegrating the isolated back into the heart of the community where they belong.

If we truly believe that healing is about restoring dignity and belonging rather than just fixing bodies, we must look at our own world with fresh eyes. We are called to bridge the gaps where people are still barred from communal life. After all, if the systems are still failing the most vulnerable, we have to ask ourselves: who in our own communities is still waiting for their turn at the pool?

Unraveled: Unraveling Doubt

It was still the first day of the week. That evening, while the disciples were behind closed doors because they were afraid of the Jewish authorities, Jesus came and stood among them. He said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. When the disciples saw the Lord, they were filled with joy. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father sent me, so I am sending you.” Then he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven; if you don’t forgive them, they aren’t forgiven.”

Thomas, the one called Didymus, one of the Twelve, wasn’t with the disciples when Jesus came. The other disciples told him, “We’ve seen the Lord!”

But he replied, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, put my finger in the wounds left by the nails, and put my hand into his side, I won’t believe.”

After eight days his disciples were again in a house and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus entered and stood among them. He said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe!”

Thomas responded to Jesus, “My Lord and my God!”

Jesus replied, “Do you believe because you see me? Happy are those who don’t see and yet believe.” --John 20:19-29 (CEB)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Creator, Jesus Christ our Redeemer, and the Holy Spirit our Sustainer. Amen.

Where do I begin? I have to admit to you that, as I’ve been working and living through this past week, there are a lot of things I have felt called to preach today. This may be a longer sermon because of it. Let’s hope it makes some sense by the end.

I want to begin with this idea of how we respond when the unimaginable happens. Perhaps that unimaginable thing is happening to us personally. Perhaps it is something that happens to us collectively. I’m thinking today about the people of eastern Kentucky. 

If you’ve watched any of the videos of the flooding or the damage in the aftermath of the floods, or considered the loss of life, this was for our neighbors one of those “unimaginable” events. I’m one of two co-coordinators for disaster response in our synod. (I used to say I was a co-disaster response coordinator, but decided I needed to change that wording a bit.) 

Whenever a disaster hits, there are organizations, both in-state and from across the country, who begin to meet on Zoom to coordinate the volunteer response. These groups are called VOAD groups - Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster. Every state has a VOAD group. There’s a national group, too. So, when a disaster hits, all of the VOAD partners plus all of the state and county emergency management teams jump on daily calls to, first, understand the need and, then, to coordinate the response. Lutheran Disaster Response - our churchwide organization that works through the affected synod - is one of those partners. And because Lutheran Disaster Response operates primarily through synods, I am typically on those calls, too.

When the floods hit a week ago in the eastern part of the state, the VOAD organizations and EMS teams took to Zoom. We typically aren’t part of this initial crisis response, but work more longer term. Yet, it’s important to know the extent of the disaster, so we all jump on the calls

You can imagine what we heard. Stories shared that most of us, including the EMS teams, could never have imagined would have happened. The devastation, the loss of life, the grief and heartbreak caused by these floods where streams and rivers, in some cases, were 20 feet above “normal” flood stage.

As I sat and listened in this past Monday, there was one need that stood out to me. A young woman working for a housing development corporation in Owsley Co. - one of the poorest counties in Kentucky. This young woman, Cassie Hudson, made a plea for $50,000 cash. It’s not often that people just blurt out the need for cash on these calls. Usually requests are for volunteers and supplies. Not just cash. But, for Cassie - like for Thomas in our text today - there was a need to be direct. To be honest. To risk. To be vulnerable. To see the evidence. To find the hope.

Isn’t that what Thomas is doing in our text today? Wasn’t he just verbalizing what every other disciple had been thinking - at least before Jesus appeared to all of them (except for Thomas) as they waited in fear in the upper room that Easter evening? A locked room that didn’t stop Jesus from showing up. And who, when he did show up, spoke a word of peace to them. Twice. Peace be with you. Peace. As in shalom. Meaning wholeness. Belonging. Community. 

But, Thomas wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to receive this word of peace from Jesus, literally in the flesh. Have you ever wondered where Thomas was? Why he wasn’t there? I have to wonder if, so devastated by Jesus’ death - by the unimaginable - he might have self-isolated. Caught up in his own grief. Grief that had turned him into a doubter. A skeptic. A cynic. Even a truth-teller. “Unless I see…I won’t believe,” Thomas says, even after the other disciples have witnessed to him. Who believed only when they saw! Who, in that moment, experienced their own Pentecost, as Jesus breathed his Spirit on them and sent them out.

Then, for Thomas, Jesus shows up. Again. And offers him exactly what he asks for. Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. Touch me. See that I am real. And believe. No longer is Thomas the cynic. No longer does Thomas need to touch Jesus. To touch the wounds on his hands. Or on his side. Simply being in the presence of this resurrected Jesus has restored his hope. Restored his faith. Restored his joy.

We never read of Thomas again in scripture. It might be easy to imagine that he simply faded away. Except, he didn’t. Thomas would go on to found the early Church in India. To build communities of Jesus’ followers that exist today - St. Thomas Christians, they call themselves. One of whom is an ELCA pastor, who serves just down the road from us in Corydon.

Because, like the other apostles, Thomas took seriously the divine authority given him by Christ. The authority for his own mission that can only be understood in light of the mission of Christ. A mission of self-giving love. A mission evidenced and fulfilled by Jesus’ life and death. A mission to which each and everyone of us are called, under the authority of Christ through our baptism in the Holy Spirit. Just as Thomas and the rest of the disciples were called, then sent. Thomas. Truth-teller that he was.

So, who is the Thomas in our midst? What is the truth here that no one is naming? That no one is vulnerable enough to speak out loud? Something that we all see, but that no one will say? 

Perhaps, one of those truths is that church as we’ve known it is no more. Our numbers, like virtually every other church in this country, are unraveling. Drastically. Something that is not your fault, or mine. But, something that has been trending in our nation for well over 50 years. We just - lucky or not - happen to be living at the end of it. In the midst of this liminal time.

What will the future bring? What will happen to the church? I daresay, none of us know. But, here’s the thing. When that unimaginable thing happens, whatever it is - Christ will be there. Breaking through the closed doors of our building, the closed doors of our hearts, the closed doors of our minds, saying to us - as he said to Thomas… Put. Touch. See. Believe. You and I will not do this new thing. God will do this new thing. And, God in Christ through the Holy Spirit will then send us into mission. Whatever that mission will be.

What’s an example of that mission? A possibility? Here’s a real-life, honest-to-God example of a mission God sends us on - of what it means to invite others to put, to touch, to see, to believe.

I’d like to read from two emails I received this week from that young woman I mentioned at the outset - from Cassie Hudson, Executive Director of Partnership Housing in Boonesville, KY. 

On Tuesday, she wrote this: "I have 3 small homes to build and a couple small repairs to other homes. I have the contractor willing to build back all of these 3 homes at no cost for his labor, I'm just struggling so bad with money for building materials. Owsley County is the poorest county in KY, finding money is difficult and we just experienced a historical flood in March 2021 which I was very successful in getting everyone homed, homes rebuilt etc. and fully recovered by July 2021, merely 5 months after the flood. This flood happened in a different part of the county and our previous efforts went untouched and I'm so thankful to God for that. Any and all funds no matter the amount is appreciated but I'm needing at least $50,000. Funds are just not coming in like previously, I think its because there has been so many disasters throughout KY since March 2021."

Then, on Thursday, after receiving an email I sent letting her know that Lutheran Disaster Response, because of dollars we and so many others have given - that LDR through our Synod would fully fund her request, plus any additional funds she might need, here’s what she wrote: I am at lost for words.  I can never thank you and everyone involved with.  You have not only took such a worry off of me but you will be able to help these people who can never recover from such devastation.  I'm usually a person with a lot of faith and belief that everything will work out and line up but on Monday evening, my faith was being tested.  I had doubt, I was worried and didn't know how I would pay for the materials to build these homes, but I was building them as I had just dug footers and poured them on one of the homes.  On Tuesday, I threw my doubt out the window that morning and put it in the lords hands.  He placed me here with PH almost 10 years ago to learn housing and to help the people of Owsley County and everything I've accomplished has been because of him, so I knew he wasn't finished with me...and today I receive your email."

Put your finger here. Look at my hands. Put your hand into my side. No more disbelief. Believe! Believe that God is working in our midst. Believe that God will turn our cynicism to hope. Will move us from isolation to community. From disbelief to faith. From fear to joy. So that we might then be like Thomas, like Cassie. To throw our doubt to the wind. And with all the authority of Christ to invite others to put, touch, see, and believe. 

Let us pray: Lover of the poor, defender of the needy, sanctuary of the rejected: for those who suffer injustice today, for men and women who cannot provide food for their families, and for whole communities who fear today and have no hope for tomorrow, we offer the longings of our hearts in prayer. We seek for them, O God, the gifts that are dear to us: food for the table, drink for the soul, shelter in the night and open doors to welcome us in. Amen.

Preached August 7, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 9

Readings: John 20:19-29; Psalm 16.

Unraveled: A Radical Unraveling of Vocation

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through town. A man there named Zacchaeus, a ruler among tax collectors, was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn’t because of the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed up a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus, who was about to pass that way. When Jesus came to that spot, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.” So Zacchaeus came down at once, happy to welcome Jesus.

Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.”

Zacchaeus stopped and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.”

Jesus said to him, “Today, salvation has come to this household because he too is a son of Abraham. The Human One came to seek and save the lost.” -Luke 19:1-10 (CEB)

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

Alright. Time to tell the truth. How many of you sang this song? 

Zacchaeus was a wee little man
And a wee little man was he.
He climbed up in a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see.
And as the Savior passed that way
He looked up in the tree.
Spoken: And he said, Zacchaeus, you come down!
For I’m going to your house today.
For I’m going to your house today.

Ah, Bible camp! How it made Zacchaeus famous! Did you also know that, early in the pandemic, there was an internet meme of Zacchaeus on social media - one of the earliest to “socially distance.”

It’s an interesting story, this story of the wee little man, Zacchaeus. Whose name means “clean.” Or “innocent.” Isn’t that interesting? Because I don’t know about you, but I have never heard Zacchaeus portrayed as innocent. 

In fact, Zacchaeus was, based at least on his identified vocation, far from innocent. He was a tax collector. Tax collectors were hated. They were considered to be traitors because even though they were Judean, they worked for the Roman empire. So they were not allowed to serve in positions as judges or witnesses. They were thrown out of the synagogue. Their families were disgraced. They were known for skimming off the top of what they collected. So, they were very wealthy. And Zacchaeus was not just any tax collector. He was a chief tax collector. It is a title we see nowhere else in Scripture or even in any surviving Greek literature. That Luke, in this story that is specific to his gospel only, would identify the vocation of Zaccheus to be chief tax collector - well, it’s to show us how much he was hated! How much his family was hated! How much they were outcasts in their community. Even the description of his stature - that he was short - suggests, at least metaphorically, that he was without character. And held in the lowest regard.

But, there’s something unusual about this story as we’ve heard it all these years. It’s verse 8. It’s the verse where Zacchaeus is responding to Jesus: Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.

The problem with this verse is that it can be translated in the future tense, as we just heard and are likely most familiar with. Or it can be translate in the presence tense. In the present tense, it’s more a declaration of the way in Zacchaeus is telling Jesus about how he is using the wealth he has accumulated in his position: Look, Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.

So, which is it? Is it the future tense? A confession by Zacchaeus about how he intends to turn over a new leaf? Or is it in the present tense? And Zacchaeus lifting up an old leaf for all to see.

What I know in my few years of biblical translation is that the harder, least expected version is usually the right version. We, like the crowd, want to jump to the conclusion that this chief tax collector is like all the rest. A thief. A traitor. Someone who should be despised, simply because of what he does and what he’s worth. 

Rather, though, than this story being an unraveling of Zacchaeus and his vocation, perhaps it is the unraveling by Jesus of a culture that casts him aside. That despises him and counts him as nothing. Even worse than nothing. 

Jesus calls Zacchaeus by name. There is an intentionality and an urgency in Jesus’ request for him to come down. To, of all things, take Jesus home for dinner. By seeing Zacchaeus. By calling him. By staying with him and blessing him through his presence, Jesus is making a strong statement that this one - even this chief tax collector - is a child of Abraham and a child of God. 

The faith and resilience of Zacchaeus is a lesson for us. He is determined to find a way to see Jesus. Even though a towering and discouraging crowd is in his way. And as he climbs that majestic sycamore tree. As he goes further and further up so that he can see Jesus, both his faith and his actions are rewarded. Jesus looks up. Sees him. Tells him to come down. Calls him by name as Jesus calls all, particularly all on the edges of our world. And tells him, as Jesus tells all of us, you belong. You are mine. You are loved.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

Promises Made, Promises Broken: Do Not Fear!

Our theme for this entire year is about how God is revealed in story. Today’s zooms in on the story from last week, moving from Adam and Eve, our distant ancestors, to today’s story, which focuses on two people with whom God forges a relationship. It’s a story that shows us that, no matter how often we break our promises to God, God continues to make and keep promises to bless and to care for God’s people. It is this theme of promises made and promises broken that we will be considering over the next several weeks. 

Today, our story is from the book of Genesis, chapter 15.

After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision, "Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great." But Abram said, "O Lord GOD, what will you give me? For I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus." And Abram said, "You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir." But the word of the LORD came to him, "This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir." He brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them." Then he said to him, "So shall your descendants be." And he believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness. --Genesis 15:1-6 (NRSV)

If you’ve seen the news over the past 24-48 hours, then you know about the passing of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Over these past few years, her popularity has soared in our country, particularly among younger women. The Notorious RBG, she became known as. Graduating first in her class at Columbia Law. And who, unable to find work as a young female lawyer, moved into education, eventually teaching law at her alma mater. But, it was her legal work on behalf of women for which she is most known, a formidable advocate for gender equality and women’s rights - losing only 1 of 5 arguments before the Supreme Court. And an advocate without whom I would most likely not be here with you today as an ordained member of the clergy.

On Friday night after I found out she had died, I went onto Twitter to see what was being said about her and about her legacy. I was particularly struck by two tweets, coming just a couple of hours apart. 

The first from a woman named Ruth Franklin, who wrote that there is a tradition in Judaism that if a person dies on Rosh Hashanah - which is the Jewish New Year and the first of the high holy days set out in Leviticus, a time of solemn reflection and repentance that concludes with Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year...if a person dies on Rosh Hashanah, as did Justice Ginsburg, they are known as a tzaddik, a person of great righteousness. 

And then there was the second tweet. From Nina Totenburg, a reporter for public radio who has covered the courts in our country for decades. She wrote this. "There is a Jewish teaching that says that those who die just before the Jewish new year are the ones God has held back until the last moment because they were needed most & were the most righteous. And so it was that RBG died as the sun was settling last night marking the beginning of Rosh Hashanah."

So, there’s this. A tzaddik. A person of great righteousness, one of the most needed and most righteous. And, then, there’s this. From our story today: Abraham believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness. Or, in Hebrew, tzedakah.

Do you see the connection between these two words? Tzaddik and tzedakah. One the noun. The person - the righteous person. The other the act of righteousness, of being righteous. The verb. Both related to the word, righteousness.

We often confuse this word righteousness. We have been too impacted by pietistic and moralistic movements in Christianity that connect this word righteousness with right and wrong. That to be righteous is about being a good person. Or not. 

In the Hebrew scriptures, though, the term, righteousness, is a term of relationship and of justice. To be a righteous person is to be a person who abides by the claims that their relationship makes on them. To do all that is needed to remain in the relationship. And if one fails in this, to be restored back into relationship - because that’s what justice is about, about always being restored back into the relationship. With one another. And, particularly, with God. 

In Abram’s case, he is judged righteous in relation to his covenant with God. 

We first hear of this covenant - this promise - in Genesis 12. God calls Abram to pick up his entire family and household. To leave his homeland. And to move to a land that God had promised to Abram and his wife Sarai. It was there that God promised to bless him. To make of him a great nation. To make his name great so that he could be a blessing. This was the promise God made to Abram. And to Sarai.

But, by today’s reading in chapter 15, years have passed. Abram and Sarai have no heir. No way to become this great nation promised by God. They become discouraged. Fearful that God will not keep God’s promise. They begin to take things into their own hands, preparing to name their servant as their heir. It is here where God steps in. “Do not be afraid,” God says to Abram. “I am your shield. Your protector.”

And, then, God tells Abram to look to the skies. To count the stars, if you can. So, shall your descendants be.

 

Aren’t we just like Abram and Sarai? We, who are the heirs of that promise. Living in the time between the first and second coming of the Messiah, long promised, not only to Israel, but to us, as well. We who wait for God’s kingdom to come on earth in all its fullness. And its truth. And justice. And righteousness. It’s easy to become discouraged. Particularly, this year. When it feels as though every time we turn on the television, or open a newspaper, or check our phones, it’s just one more thing. One more devastating thing. How easy it is to lose all hope! How easy it is to sink into despair! 

“Do not fear,” God says to Abram. And to us. “Do not fear! Look to the skies. See its broad expanse. Trust that my vision is broader than the narrow horizon of your limited human eyesight. Trust in me and in my promises, even when it seems that they and you are in jeopardy. Have faith! Know that I am your shield. Your great protector. Believe that your reward will be great!"

May we, like Abram, have faith. May we trust in God’s promises despite all evidence to the contrary. And may we lean into the future - into God’s future - with hope. That we, too, may be judged righteous, faithful in our relationship with the Creator. May God grant this. Amen.  

Preached Sunday, September 20, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 16

Readings: Genesis 15:1-6; Galatians 3:6-9; Psalm 105:1-15

Who We Are: We Walk by Faith, Not by Sight

In these weeks that we’ve been reflecting on what was happening in the church in Corinth, on the conflict there, not only between members of the community, but between the community and Paul himself, one of the issues Paul has been dealing with is that of his apostolic authority. His ministry has come under attack. He, personally, has come under attack, with false apostles and members of the congregation challenging his attributes as a leader. That he is not polished enough. That he is not refined enough. That his speaking skills are inadequate. 

What Paul understands by these attacks is that the church in Corinth does not yet grasp the full meaning of apostleship. Not just his apostleship, but theirs, as well. 

And so, we begin this morning in the fifth chapter of 2nd Corinthians, where Paul continues the idea from last week of the treasure we have in earthen vessels. Paul’s theology was deeply grounded in the life of Christ, specifically in the death and resurrection of Christ. As this first part of today’s reading opens, we see Paul using metaphor - images familiar to him and to those in the Corinthian church - in order to help them understand the nature of life and death. We read, beginning with verse 1.

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling — if indeed, when we have taken it off we will not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.

So we are always confident; even though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord — for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we do have confidence, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. For all of us must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each may receive recompense for what has been done in the body, whether good or evil.  --2 Cor. 5:1-10 (NRSV)

Paul begins with the metaphor of a “tent,” something that, as a tentmaker by trade, he would have been familiar with. And an image that the Corinthians would have been familiar with, as well. Many people lived in tents at this time. Paul begins with this phrase: for we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed…” The word translated as tent can also be translated as tabernacle. This is something Paul does, too, in his writing. He will use a word or a phrase that just by its very use conjures up a much fuller picture. For example, to use the word tabernacle immediately connects Paul to his Jewish-ness. The tabernacle, or tent of meeting, was the structure constructed by Israel following God’s design, which was to be dismantled and moved with them throughout the wilderness. The tabernacle was the place where God promised to be present with them on their journey.

Then, the second word Paul uses here, is the word translated “destroyed.” When used, though, in tent-making imagery, this word really means dismantling. As one would dismantle a tent. 

And then, Paul continues on. Using additional metaphors of clothing and, especially, the contrast of being naked with being further clothed. 

So, what is Paul getting at? We, in the Western church, have become much more concerned about where we go after we die. But, the early Christians weren’t as concerned about this. Their focus was on God’s kingdom. And the unveiling of God’s kingdom here. “On earth as it is in heaven.” So, their groaning is not to be released from this earthly tent, but that a new and promised house might be placed over it - a house not made with human hands, but one made with God’s hands. And one that is forever. 

Paul uses these metaphors to provide a framework for the Corinthians and us to understand, not only his ministry, but ours, too. A framework that is centered around the Trinity. That the power of the Creator, who raises Jesus from the dead, is at work in us. Dismantling the battered old tent to place a new, free one over it - the new, free person God is making us into. Clothing our nakedness in new, permanent clothing. Crafting the eternal being God is making us into. 

The death and resurrection of Jesus shapes us. And prepares us for when he will come again on earth to judge. Us. And all people. Because how we live into this freedom we have been given matters. Otherwise, we simply cheapen the grace God has showered on us.

So, the pouring out of the Holy Spirit is us in our downpayment. Our security. Our promise and foretaste of this new creation. Working in us and through us to create new life. Life that often bursts in upon us. That surprises us even in the midst of trouble and suffering. We, like Jesus, move from death and suffering to life. Because we are image bearers of Christ.

This is where Paul continues, beginning with verse 11.

Therefore, knowing the fear of the Lord, we try to persuade others; but we ourselves are well known to God, and I hope that we are also well known to your consciences. We are not commending ourselves to you again, but giving you an opportunity to boast about us, so that you may be able to answer those who boast in outward appearance and not in the heart. For if we are beside ourselves, it is for God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you. For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.

From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.  --2 Cor. 5:11-21 (NRSV)

This reforming, this re-clothing that God does in us through the power of the Holy Spirit, changes the way we look at the world. Giving us a new lens with which to view the world. Through the resurrected Jesus. Seeing glimpses of the long-promised new creation bursting into our world. And a hope that is perhaps best expressed in the words of Rev. Juanita Rasmus, pastor of St. John United Methodist in downtown Houston:

I think all things are going to be made new. You know, if nothing else, we can look at nature. You see a pine tree, experiencing some decay. And over time it falls to the ground. And over time it begins to house various animals that live off of the substance of that decay. Then, over time, that pine tree falls and crumbles. And, then, it becomes the floor of the forest and, in the midst of all of that, it becomes the basis for a new pine tree. So, yeah, if we can see that in nature, then we can see that in our own nature - in our human nature. That, indeed, all things can become made new. 

That gives me hope. That gives me hope, because I see a lot of people suffering. And I know that, even in my own suffering, God gives me an opportunity to dig down deep past all of the pain, and the disappointment, and the hurt, and the rejection, and the injustices. And in the midst of that, he'll let me see just a glimpse of something life-giving. That's what gives me hope. Hope not only for me, but for everybody.  Hope for the young African-American men who get shot because they wear hoodies or their music is determined by somebody as being too loud. I have to have hope. I don't know how I'd live if I didn't. 

So I trust that the same power that was able to resurrect Jesus will resurrect me. And that person who would shoot another person for their music being too loud. I don't want to be surprised when I get to heaven. I want to see this man redeemed. I want to see Hitler redeemed. I want to see slave masters redeemed. I want to see that. I long to see that. Because I think that is the hope that Christ offers me. That, if that pine tree can in the midst of decay become the ground of new life, then so can I. So can we. 

So, yeah, that's what I hope.*

May we walk in faith, not by sight. Even in times of deep struggle and pain. Trusting in the power of God’s steadfast love to work death out of life in us and through us, that we may become the ground of life in our world. Amen.

Preached August 9, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: 2 Cor. 5:1-21; Mark 8:22-26

*Quote from Rev. Juanita Rasmus taken from a video interview, entitled The Massive Living Program, found online at The Work of the People (www.theworkofthepeople.com)

The Power of God's Love: Death, the Last Enemy

Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain.

For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them—though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified of God that he raised Christ—whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have died in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled:

“Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

“Where, O death, is your victory?

    Where, O death, is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 15:1-26; 15:51-57 (NRSV)

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

I’ve mentioned before that, when I lived in California, I lived and worked in downtown Los Angeles for several years. Beginning in 1999 and continuing for three years, I would drive to work and pass by the construction site of what would become the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. During that time I watched it grow into a huge, kind of monstrous, 11-story, contemporary cathedral. 

To be honest, the exterior design wasn’t appealing. But the interior was breathtaking - in its simplicity and spirituality. One truly seemed to sense God’s presence in that space.

One aspect of the interior that I particularly love is a series of tapestries that surround the sides and back of the worship space - tapestries designed by artist John Nava. Most prominent are those along the south and north walls. Twenty-five fresco-like tapestries that depict 135 saints and blessed ones from around the world. People like Pope John the 23rd and Mother Teresa, from the 19th and 20th centuries. Or Ignatius Loyola, sainted in the 17th century. But, perhaps the most special figures in these beautiful tapestries are twelve figures that are untitled, including children. That represent the many anonymous holy people in our midst. In this space, one feels surrounded by the communion of saints. 

Now you might wonder why I’m talking about this cathedral and these tapestries, and particularly, the communion of saints. After all, this isn’t All Saints Sunday. It’s not the end of the church year. Yet, it is this communion of saints that Paul refers to in these opening verses of chapter 15, which we just heard. Those from whom the members of the Corinthian congregation have received their tradition of faith. In addressing the dispute over the veracity of the resurrection and the dispute over whether the resurrection of the dead will happen in the last days, Paul begins with a reminder to the church in Corinth. That he has passed a tradition of faith onto them, challenging them to hold on firmly to the message he first proclaimed to them. And that message? That Christ died for their sins and his. That Christ was buried. That he was raised from the dead on the third day. That he appeared to Cephas or Peter, and then to the twelve. And then to more than five hundred brothers and sisters. Then to James, Jesus’ earthly brother. And then to all of the apostles. This roll call of the earliest of the saints. Paul uses it to help them understand that this tradition - this eyewitness testimony to the resurrection - has passed from believer to believer to believer. And then to them. And that Christ’s resurrection from the dead can only be true.

But Paul does not stop there. He argues that, if it is true that Christ has been raised from the dead, then it is also true that the Corinthian believers will also be raised from the dead. If this is not true, then their faith has been in vain. Futile. Pitiful. Useless. Without hope. 

But, in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead. And he is the first of what will be many in the last days, when Christ comes a second time. After the kingdom of God, which he has initiated on earth, comes into its fullness. And when all the dead will be raised in bodily form. 

What did this mean for them? What does this mean for us? 

Perhaps Luther says it best: To [Paul] the resurrection is like putting on a beautiful new garment called...immortality. It is [a garment] spun and woven by Christ’s victory. For the victory of Christ [over death] was wrought for the purpose of clothing you with it and of cleansing you from your sin and death, so that nothing of your corruptible body remains…For God did not create man that he should sin and die, but that he should live...This [life] is not brought about in any other way than that we first shed this old, evil garment through death. We must be divested of it entirely, and it must turn into death. (LW 28, p. 2020)

With death we shed our old body, our old garment. This garment that carries with it our misfortunes and frailties. Our error and folly. The evil that we experience on earth. This old garment turns to dust. 

And at the end of days, this new time, this beginning of the new creation will happen when God will raise all the dead and will demonstrate God’s power over the power of death first witnessed in Christ’s resurrection. We will put on our new bodily garment.

It is in that first resurrection, though, that the future of this new world of life has already begun. We, believing in this risen Christ, trusting this tradition of the faith that has been passed onto us over and over throughout the centuries - we live in this in-between time. This time between a world of death and a new world. Of life. This time between - where God in Christ through the Holy Spirit continues to work to bring about new life. New life that is already in our midst, because the future has begun. 

This is the hope that we hold onto as believers in this faith that has been passed onto us through the communion of saints. This is the hope we hold onto as believers in Christ’s resurrection in the midst of this pandemic. This is the hope we hold onto in this time in-between, as we wait to shed our old worn bodily garment and put on our new one - our incorruptible one given to us and to the communion of all the saints. This is what we believe. This is what we hope. This is what we know. 

Or, as Luther writes: Now we say, Scriptum est, but then we shall say, Factum est.

Death has been swallowed up. New life begins. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Preached online May 24, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Easter 7

Readings: 1 Corinthians 15:1-26, 51-57; Mark 12:26-27a; Psalm 1

God Works Through Us: Turning the World Upside Down

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

Our lectionary makes a big leap today. Last week, we heard in Acts chapter 3 the story of Peter and John, who, after receiving the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, began their task of sharing the good news.

Today, we jump 14 chapters in Acts, to the 17th chapter. The chapters in-between describe the spread of the Jesus movement from Jerusalem into Samaria and Asia Minor. This geographic movement corresponds with a shift in audience, as well, from a Jewish mission to one that becomes predominantly Gentile. This movement toward the Gentiles in mission is a result of God’s direct guidance. It is not just the story of how the known world was eventually converted to Christianity. But, it is particularly about how the early church had to push beyond its own boundaries. To set aside racism and sexism to become faith to the gospel message. One contemporary theologian says it best: The church is being made to convert, even as it seeks converts.

Our focus today in Acts chapter 17 reading turns to Paul. If you know anything about him, you know that his birth name was Saul. He was both Jewish and a Roman citizen. Trained as a Pharisee, a legal expert in the Torah. We first meet him in Acts 7, where he is identified as a persecutor of the earliest followers of Jesus. But, perhaps the most famous story of Paul we find in Acts 9, where we hear of his conversion from Saul the Persecutor to Paul the Christian missionary. On the road to Damascus, Jesus appears to Paul and then sends him. Eventually, he will travel throughout the Roman empire on three different missionary journeys. It was on his second missionary journey that he arrived in Thessalonica, which is where we find our story located today. 

After Paul and Silas had passed through Amphipolis and Apollonia, they came to Thessalonica, where there was a synagogue of the Jews. And Paul went in, as was his custom, and on three sabbath days argued with them from the scriptures, explaining and proving that it was necessary for the Messiah to suffer and to rise from the dead, and saying, “This is the Messiah, Jesus whom I am proclaiming to you.” Some of them were persuaded and joined Paul and Silas, as did a great many of the devout Greeks and not a few of the leading women. But the Jews became jealous, and with the help of some ruffians in the marketplaces they formed a mob and set the city in an uproar. While they were searching for Paul and Silas to bring them out to the assembly, they attacked Jason’s house. When they could not find them, they dragged Jason and some believers before the city authorities, shouting, “These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also, and Jason has entertained them as guests. They are all acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor, saying that there is another king named Jesus.” The people and the city officials were disturbed when they heard this, and after they had taken bail from Jason and the others, they let them go. --Acts 17:1-9 (NRSV)

Paul and Silas, his partner, travel from Phillippi to Thessolonica, located in Macedonia. Which is present-day Greece. Thessolonica was one of the major cities of the Roman Empire, located on the Egnatian Way, which was the main road that connected the entire eastern part of the Roman Empire with its capital city, Rome. It was an important military and commercial port. Early on, in return for its support for the Roman empire, it had been declared a free city. So, its relationship with Rome and especially Roman patronage of the city was very important.

Jews, during this time, had spread from Jerusalem throughout the empire. Wherever they went, continued to practice their faith and to gather in synagogues. This was the case in Thessalonica. So, when Paul and Silas arrive, it was natural and their custom to go to the synagogue.

Our text says that, for three Sabbaths - or three weeks - they remained at the synagogue, arguing. Really more like being in dialogue with those in attendance, trying to explain and to convince them that the Jews had been misinterpreting scripture, that Jesus was the Messiah. And that the Messiah the Jews expected was not who this Jesus was.

In this short time, Paul and Silas have some small success. A few of the Jews, some of the devout Gentile Greeks and a few prominent women are convinced. 

But, imagine if someone came into our church, into our worship, week after week, trying to convince us that our entire belief system was wrong. That we had misinterpreted Scripture. That, this Lutheran thing was all wrong. Well, you can imagine what might happen.

It was no different in the synagogue in Thessalonica. The Jews became angry. Then they gathered together some thugs hanging out in the local market. And formed a mob, making a huge uproar in the city. They went to the home of Jason, one of Paul’s converts who had taken Paul and Silas in. They went to his house to find Paul and Silas. And when they couldn’t find them, they dragged Jason out of his own house and took him to the local authorities, shouting: “These people. They are turning the world upside down!”

These people! They are turning the world upside down! 

But, isn’t this what the good news of Jesus Christ does? Turn everything upside down? When we least expect it. Or sometimes when we least want it. The good news in Jesus begins to work through the power of the Holy Spirit. And, then, look out! Everything changes! 

Paul and Silas were able to escape. And, in time, Paul would write a series of letters to this upstart community in Thessalonica. The first of these letters, likely the oldest text in the New Testament, written only 10-20 years after Jesus’ ascension, is a testament to this young community of Jesus’ followers. To their faith. And their love. And their hope. 

We read from 1st Thessalonians, the first chapter.

Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy,

To the church of the Thessalonians in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ:

Grace to you and peace.

We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he has chosen you, because our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction; just as you know what kind of persons we proved to be among you for your sake. And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for in spite of persecution you received the word with joy inspired by the Holy Spirit, so that you became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia. For the word of the Lord has sounded forth from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith in God has become known, so that we have no need to speak about it. For the people of those regions report about us what kind of welcome we had among you, and how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead—Jesus, who rescues us from the wrath that is coming. --1 Thessalonians 1:1-10 (NRSV)

It may feel, in this moment, that we, like the early community in Thessalonians are being persecuted. We are experiencing suffering and loss. Deeply. Throughout the world. Whether it is health-related, economic, or the fear and anxiety we feel that keeps us from sleeping at night, so many are suffering in our world today.

Yet, like the church in Thessalonica, we continue to do our work of faith. Our labor of love. To live steadfastly in hope. To turn this dark world upside down. All in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. We, like the church in Thessalonica, are an example to our own community of faith, love, and hope. Known because we serve a living and a true God. And our neighbors as ourselves.

This past Wednesday, we received a text message from one of our pantry members that attests to this. I’d like to share it with you now. “OMGosh! Just when I think you guys couldn’t possibly do more for us, you all go on and continue the drive thru pantry, not only in masks, but in the pouring rain! How can I begin to thank all of you for this? I hope you know how much it means. You all make a world of difference in so many ppl’s lives. Thank you. ❤️”

It makes a difference, what we do in our little church. Whether we are apart from each other or not, what we do as a community of faith in our little area of Kentucky matters. What we do as followers of Christ in our own little corner of the world matters. Just as the community of faith in Thessalonica and what they did mattered. 

Because this is who we are and who we are to be, as people of a resurrected Jesus. Even in the midst of suffering. Even in the midst of fear and darkness. Even in the midst of a grieving world, we do what matters. We turn the world upside down in a way that matters. We do this because what Jesus did matters. 

So, I give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in my prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. May you continue to be an example to all the believers. That through you, our Lord Jesus Christ might be made known. Amen.

Preached May 3, 2020, Online with the community of Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 4
Readings: Acts 17:1-9, 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Mark 13:9-11; Psalm 16