From Generation to Generation: We Tell This Story

Nearby shepherds were living in the fields, guarding their sheep at night. The Lord’s angel stood before them, the Lord’s glory shone around them, and they were terrified.

The angel said, “Don’t be afraid! Look! I bring good news to you—wonderful, joyous news for all people. Your savior is born today in David’s city. He is Christ the Lord. This is a sign for you: you will find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger.” Suddenly a great assembly of the heavenly forces was with the angel praising God. They said, “Glory to God in heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” --Luke 2:8-14 (CEB)

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

The stories we tell. What are some of the Christmas stories that are told in your family?

In mine, one of those stories goes back to a time when I was seven years old. That year, all my sister and I wanted was an Easy Bake Oven. Remember the Easy Bake Oven? For those of you too young to know, it was this plastic contraption molded to look like an oven. Inside, it had this heat-emitting light bulb that gave off just enough heat so that, using the tiny cake pan and tiny cake mix provided, you could make a cake. It came with 3 or 4 tiny cake mixes. But, you could also by a supplement with another 20 mixes for cakes and brownies. 

That Christmas morning, my sister and brother and I were up early as so many children are - unable to sleep. Anxious to see what Santa had left behind. So, about 4 am, we got up and quietly sneaked to our living room to open our presents left under the tree. Where we found a large box - the Easy Bake Oven! My sister and I were thrilled. The three of us quietly took the oven and all 20 plus mixes downstairs to our basement to try it out. 

Over the next 3 hours, we kept mixing those mixes and pushing the cake pan into and out of the oven. Cake after cake. Brownie after brownie. Feeding my brother who, except for the few my sister and I ate, wolfed down every single one. So that, by the time my parents awoke and came downstairs to find out why it was so quiet, all of the tiny mixes were gone. 

You can imagine their reaction. And that is a story for another time. But, this is one of many stories in my family that we tell each year at this time. I’d dare say that all of us have stories like this. Stories that, especially as we remember them, are those fond stories we tell year after year after year.  

It’s like this story. This story we tell every year. A story of a young couple, traveling on a donkey back to their hometown to comply with a royal decree. The young woman in the last stages of her pregnancy who, nonetheless, must obey that empirical directive, along with her partner to whom she is engaged, where, when they reach their destination, she goes into labor and gives birth to a tiny baby. Who will change the world. 

Amidst all the cultural and commercial stuff of this season, we continue to tell this story. What is it that captivates us so about this story? Why has it been preserved throughout the generations and across cultures? Why is the nativity of Christ so important to us? 

It begins, interestingly, according to Walter Brueggemann, with the song of the angels. A song that breaks into our world and completely shatters the decree of the earthly emperor, who seeks to control by means of a census. This song of the angels stands in direct conflict with that census decree. It announces the birth of a new king - one that neither Rome nor Herod can stop - who begins a new history. A new jubilee that frees all humanity from debt, that gives amnesty from old crimes, and a new beginning again, a beginning that has at its core, freedom. 

The angels break into our world and sing this song to the shepherds, who are the outcasts in their world. They sing their song not just to the shepherds, but to a barren old woman; to an innocent, yet believing young woman; to an old man struck dumb; to a lowly carpenter. All of whom in our world and in the world of their time meant nothing. Were of no importance. Who knew the depths of grief, whether through loss, marginalization, lack of money or power - all of those things that those who are edges of our world experience. It is to them to whom the angels break into with song. And they are amazed. 

Isn’t that what this story is really about? Being amazed. Amazed at how, over and over, this baby in his adult ministry will break down the physical, emotional and psychological narratives that divide people - that divide us. Those narratives we are told in our world about who is clean and who is unclean. Jesus breaks in, just as the angels broke in. And we are amazed. And changed. And restored back into community, given life where none seemed possible before. Offered hope rather than despair. And a future quite different than that offered by royal decree. 

This is why we tell this story. Again and again. It’s to remind ourselves of and to fully embody this story - a story of hope, a story of freedom, a story of love, a story of God coming to be with us. A story you and I are called to pass onto future generations, so that they, too, may experience the hope it brings. A hope given to us by God in Jesus - a God who breaks down the walls of our hearts to show us that there is a better way. A new way. A way of amazement and energy rather than grief and despair. 

And it begins with a baby. As helpless as we are. In need of others, as we are. Who cries out, as we do. And holds hands, as we do. Who experiences the pain and joy and complexity of being human, as we do. Who moves into our neighborhood and promises to accompany us in the journey now. And forever.

Glory to God in the highest. And on earth, peace. Good will toward all. May you hold this sacred story close to your heart. May it give you hope. And, like so many generations before us, may you pass it on. God grant it. Amen.

Preached December 24, 2022, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Nativity of Our Lord - Christmas Eve

Readings: Luke 2:1-20, Micah 5:2-5; John 1:1-14

Unraveled: Unraveling Fear

They came to the other side of the sea, to the region of the Gerasenes. And when he had stepped out of the boat, immediately a man from the tombs with an unclean spirit met him. He lived among the tombs, and no one could restrain him any more, even with a chain, for he had often been restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces, and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and bowed down before him, and he shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.” For he had said to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” Then Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Legion, for we are many.” He begged him earnestly not to send them out of the region. Now there on the hillside a great herd of swine was feeding, and the unclean spirits begged him, “Send us into the swine; let us enter them.” So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine, and the herd, numbering about two thousand, stampeded down the steep bank into the sea and were drowned in the sea.

The swineherds ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came to see what it was that had happened. They came to Jesus and saw the man possessed by demons sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the very man who had had the legion, and they became frightened. Those who had seen what had happened to the man possessed by demons and to the swine reported it. Then they began to beg Jesus to leave their neighborhood. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed by demons begged him that he might be with him. But Jesus refused and said to him, “Go home to your own people, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you and what mercy he has shown you.” And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him, and everyone was amazed. --Mark 5:1-20 (NRSV)

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

Fear. It’s the topic of our text today - a story that is preceded by the story of Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee. It’s that story of a storm that comes up while they are in the middle of the Sea of Galilee - a big lake really. And of Jesus calming the waters. Yet, it's interesting to me that the very last thing Jesus says before they reach the eastern shore and step into today’s story - the last thing Jesus says to the disciples is “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?”

Fear. Why are you afraid? What are you afraid of? Now, I know our very American culture demands that we respond to that question with “Nothing. I’m afraid of nothing.” Yet, I wonder. I wonder if we move beyond that claim and think about those times, perhaps. Or those people, perhaps. Or those places, perhaps. That, if we are paying attention to our body and the reaction of our body to those particular times, people or places, we have to admit our fear.

On my vacation last week I had an opportunity to have a long conversation with an old friend who has lived in Los Angeles since he moved there from southern Indiana right after college. Like so many of us when we’re first starting out, he lived in what could be called “not the best part of town.” Maybe you’ve had a similar experience, where with limited income you had to find a place you could afford. A place that didn’t always feel safe. Even if you haven’t had that experience, think about what it feels like to walk at night from a restaurant or a bar or some other place in a “not so good” location. Those little twinges you feel as you hold your keys in your hand ready to open your car door. Or to protect yourself. Or as you pull your purse or your loved one closer to you. Just a little fearful of something or someone that might step out of the dark and turn your life upside down.

So, this friend, as he moved up and made more money, then, as he got married to a woman who was also successful, he began to move closer and closer to the westside of Los Angeles. The side where those with money live. And as he made that move, his attitudes began to change. Especially his attitude around the homeless.

Homelessness is a huge problem in Los Angeles as it is in many cities, including here in Louisville. There, especially, it’s a combination of the climate, housing costs that have spiraled out of control and out of reach for so many, plus drug addiction and a lack of mental health resources. All of this together has created a huge homeless population in L.A. - a population that, especially over the last ten years, has moved throughout the city, including into the west side. Into his neighborhood. 

There’s been a lot of public discussion there over how to deal with this issue, especially around how to deal with the homeless who suffer from mental illness. My friend has a good heart, but he, like many, has come to the position that the laws should be changed to allow those with mental health issues, especially those who seem out of control, to be forcibly removed from the streets and institutionalized. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

Just like the man in today’s story. This man named Legion is demon-possessed. Not just by one demon, but by many. He is uncontrollable. And, according to our text, not violent toward the people in the nearby village, but hurtful to himself. And as much as the villagers have tried to control him, placing him in chains and leg irons, their attempts have been futile. So, he has been banished apparently. Wandering in the tombs and hills nearby.

Out of sight, out of mind.

It’s a story that would make any Jew uncomfortable. Located in the land of the Gerasenes, it’s a Gentile area, so to begin with it’s unclean and out of bounds. There's a herd of swine there, too, which suggests impurity. Plus there’s that cemetery nearby, which for a Jew would be off limits. The man who comes to Jesus has an unclean spirit. This whole place, this man, this whole situation would be taboo for any Jew. But, as we have seen so often before, this is exactly the forbidden territory into which Jesus ventures.

He sends the man’s demons packing. Specifically, at their request, into a herd of swine nearby. Who, then, unexpectedly run off a cliff into the sea, drowning the unclean spirits. The word gets around and the villagers come out to see this man, previously possessed, now clothed and in his right mind. One might think that they would rejoice with him, celebrate over a life restored. But, instead, when they see him sitting there, they are afraid. 

Jesus’ healing action has upset their status quo. They find Jesus threatening. Their world, as they have created, it is tolerable. Even demons can be endured as long as the possessed are relegated to a place outside civilized territory - among the tombs on the outskirts of town. But, when they see the transformation of this man, they are fearful. 

What’s so frightening about Jesus and this action? Because, unlike them - and unlike us, Jesus refuses to leave the world as it is. Jesus transgresses those boundaries and rescues those who are “beyond help.” Such a person - like Jesus - can’t be controlled. Such a person - like Jesus - can only be followed. And they are unwilling. So, they ask him to leave. Because the cure of this demon-possessed man is too expensive. Not just in terms of pigs, but in terms of social stability. Jesus upsets the status quo. The Kingdom of God upsets the status quo. And, as we see in this story and in many of the stories of these past 13 weeks, humanity, its society and its institutions - we - often impede the in-breaking of God’s kingdom more than we expedite it. 

But God’s reign breaks into the world. Not so much through flawed institutions and individuals, but in spite of them. God’s reign comes with power - power to do things neither you nor I, nor any other human being, can do on our own. God’s reign forces us to perceive the truth that we are not in control. As we seek to control our lives and our world, we hold onto what we perceive as safe. As we push down our fear with the claim that nothing frightens us. As our world unravels around us and we lose complete control. Or we lose the control we thought we had. It is then, and only then, when we are vulnerable enough to see that only God is in control. That only God is at work in our midst. Turning things around. Skewing the world toward justice. Bringing resurrection out of death. For us. So that we might be free.

And so that our fear might be out of sight, out of mind.

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached September 4, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, KY, with Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

13th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Mark 5:1-20, Psalm 65

Following Jesus: Being Free Together

A certain man, Lazarus, was ill. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This was the Mary who anointed the Lord with fragrant oil and wiped his feet with her hair. Her brother Lazarus was ill.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, saying, “Lord, the one whom you love is ill.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This illness isn’t fatal. It’s for the glory of God so that God’s Son can be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha, her sister, and Lazarus. When he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed where he was. After two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s return to Judea again.”

The disciples replied, “Rabbi, the Jewish opposition wants to stone you, but you want to go back?”

Jesus answered, “Aren’t there twelve hours in the day? Whoever walks in the day doesn’t stumble because they see the light of the world. But whoever walks in the night does stumble because the light isn’t in them.”

He continued, “Our friend Lazarus is sleeping, but I am going in order to wake him up.”

The disciples said, “Lord, if he’s sleeping, he will get well.” They thought Jesus meant that Lazarus was in a deep sleep, but Jesus had spoken about Lazarus’ death.

Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died. For your sakes, I’m glad I wasn’t there so that you can believe. Let’s go to him.”

Then Thomas (the one called Didymus) said to the other disciples, “Let us go too so that we may die with Jesus.”

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Bethany was a little less than two miles from Jerusalem. Many Jews had come to comfort Martha and Mary after their brother’s death. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him, while Mary remained in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died. Even now I know that whatever you ask God, God will give you.”

Jesus told her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha replied, “I know that he will rise in the resurrection on the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though they die. Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

She replied, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, God’s Son, the one who is coming into the world.”

After she said this, she went and spoke privately to her sister Mary, “The teacher is here and he’s calling for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to Jesus. He hadn’t entered the village but was still in the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were comforting Mary in the house saw her get up quickly and leave, they followed her. They assumed she was going to mourn at the tomb.

When Mary arrived where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

When Jesus saw her crying and the Jews who had come with her crying also, he was deeply disturbed and troubled. He asked, “Where have you laid him?”

They replied, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus began to cry. The Jews said, “See how much he loved him!” But some of them said, “He healed the eyes of the man born blind. Couldn’t he have kept Lazarus from dying?”

Jesus was deeply disturbed again when he came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone covered the entrance. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.”

Martha, the sister of the dead man, said, “Lord, the smell will be awful! He’s been dead four days.”

Jesus replied, “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?” So they removed the stone. Jesus looked up and said, “Father, thank you for hearing me. I know you always hear me. I say this for the benefit of the crowd standing here so that they will believe that you sent me.” Having said this, Jesus shouted with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his feet bound and his hands tied, and his face covered with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Untie him and let him go.” --John 11:1-44 (CEB)

That day. That day.

My sister, Mary, and I--we lived in Bethany, along with our brother, Lazarus, who lived nearby. Bethany was close to Jerusalem, only about a mile and a half away. It was small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.

It was so peaceful. Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze as  you came out of the valley. Hidden away from the bustling noise of Jerusalem. It was a beautiful place, our home. Just an hour’s walk into the city.

So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to stay, when he came to Jerusalem. He did it often. We became close. Because he was our teacher. Our rabbi. 

On one of his visits, my sister, Mary, did something a little impulsive. On that visit, Mary took our entire stash of nard--a very expensive anointing oil--a full pound that we had collected over a long time. She took the entire pound of nard and poured it all over his feet. His feet! Instead of selling it so we could give to the poor. That’s what we’d intended. Oh, she was criticized for it. Judas, especially, didn’t like it. 

But, back to the story of that day. 

Lazarus had been sick. We’d been caring for him and he, just wasn’t getting better. We decided to send for Jesus. He had left Judea, the area where we lived. The things he’d been doing here, the signs he’d been performing, the way he’d been challenging our religious leaders - well, it wasn’t safe for him here. So, he’s gone back across the Jordan. To the place where John had first baptized people and told them about Jesus.  

We knew it wasn’t safe for him, but still we sent for Jesus to come. We’d seen him heal others who were sick. Or crippled. Even blind. We were hoping - maybe selfishly - that Jesus would come and heal Lazarus. We knew it would take him 3 days to get here, but still we asked.

But, he didn’t come. And Lazarus got worse. And worse. And, then, unbelievably, he died. My brother. Dead. My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Dead. And no Jesus. He never came. To heal his friend. My brother.

We were heart-broken. I was heart-broken. But, more than that. I was angry with Jesus. He had the power - I’d seen it with others. With complete strangers, no less. Why not with one of his dearest friends and disciples? Why had he let this happen. I felt like he’d abandoned Lazarus. And us. 

And, then, four days after Lazarus had died. After, according to our tradition, his soul had already left his body. Then. Then! Jesus came.

I heard he’d entered the village and went to him. I was so angry. I said to him, “Lord, if you had been here. If you had been here, Lazarus wouldn’t be dead.”

And, then, I challenged him to do something, knowing that if he asked, God would answer. I wanted him to do something. What? I wasn’t sure. But, he had to do something. Something to make up for not saving Lazarus.

Then, Jesus spoke. He said that Lazarus would rise again. I knew that. It was central to my belief, something that my ancestors had believed, that our souls were immortal. I told Jesus this. That I believed I would see him on the last day. But, I didn’t believe that I would see him again in my own lifetime. 

Then Jesus said words to me that I didn’t really understand. Not then. He said that he was the resurrection and the life. He said that, if we lived in him and we believed in him, we would never die. Then, he asked me if I believed this.

What came out of my mouth, then, was even a surprise to me. But after I had seen. After all the signs Jesus had done, there was nothing else to say, but “Yes. Yes. I believe. I believe, Lord, that you are the Christ. The Son of God. The one to come. The Messiah.” 

But, Lazarus was still dead. 

I went, then, to get my sister, Mary. Funny, how when she finally came out to greet Jesus she said the very same words I had just spoken to him. “If only you’d been here…” And she started to cry.

He looked at her. I could see how upset he was. He asked where we’d put Lazarus’ body. We showed him. It was a short distance away.

Then. Then, when we got there, I knew. I knew how much Jesus loved Lazarus. And Mary. And me. He began to weep himself. 

I had never seen him cry before. Jesus? The man who wasn’t afraid of anyone, who wasn’t afraid to challenge the hypocrisy of our religious leaders.?The man who seemed to have all of the power of the world. Here? Standing in front of me, in front of the tomb, crying?

The tomb was a cave, really. This was our custom. To bury our dead in holes cut into rocks. This was where we had buried our brother. To protect his body from grave-robbers, which were such a problem in our time, we had a very large stone rolled in place to block the entrance. It took several men to put it in place.

As Jesus was standing there, weeping…upset…he told the men to roll the stone away. I thought he was crazy. After all this time, my brother’s body would stink. I tried to convince Jesus not to do this - that the smell would be so bad. And, wasn’t it already enough that he had died, but then to smell his corpse, too?

Then, Jesus reminded me what he’d said before to me. “If you believe, you will see God’s glory.” 

The men rolled the stone away. Then, Jesus looked up into the heavens. He gave thanks to God for hearing him. And, then, in a loud voice--so loud that it seemed he wanted everyone around to hear--Jesus shouted, “Lazarus! Come out!”

It was as though time had moved backward. There. Right in front of me. My dead brother stood. Alive. Still wrapped in his grave clothes. With his feet and his hands still bound. With the linen still covering his face, Lazarus walked - WALKED - out of the tomb. Alive.  My dear sweet, kind, loving brother Lazarus. Alive. 

Then, Jesus spoke again. “Unbind him and let him go.” 

Unbind him and let him go. How powerful those words would become for us in the next week! We would watch Jesus willingly go to his death. Then, just a few days later, miraculously be raised from the dead. Just as Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead. 

After those events, I began to understand what those words really meant. Unbind him and let him go. Unbind me and let me go. Unbind you and let you go.

Jesus wants us to be free. He knows our human struggle. The wilderness in which we live. The hardship and grief we experience. The oppressive forces and evil in the world. The limitations of who we are as human beings, falling short of transformation. Over and over and over again.

But, what if? What if it isn’t about getting out of the desert? Out of the wilderness? What if we are called to dwell in our doubts, our fears, our anxieties and brokenness so that we might stand together with others who are trapped in their own wilderness experiences? What if we make a place - a home - right there? Together. A home that exists right there - in the tension between despair and hope.

Because, that’s what we found that day. Right in the middle of heartbreak and hope. We found a home. Together. In Jesus. Who, out of death, brings life. Out of bondage, freedom. For us. And for you, too. 

Preached March 6, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian.

Lent 1

Readings: John 11:1-44; Psalm 104:27-30

Invitation to Abundant Life: Living in Light

Today and next week, we read two stories back to back that are a study in contrasts. 

Today, we hear about Nicodemus. A man. A Pharisee. A Jewish religious leader. Who comes to meet Jesus at night. Next week, you’ll hear the story of a woman. A Samaritan and an outsider. Who is unnamed. Who meets Jesus at noon - the brightest time of day. The conversation with Nicodemus in this week’s text will last for nine verses. The conversation with the unnamed woman next week will last for twenty-six verses.

But, today, our focus is the first person in this study in contrasts. Nicodemus. We begin today’s reading with the last two verses of last week’s text at the end of chapter 2. In the Greek these verses are much more closely connected to the beginning of the next chapter than they appear in English. They also foreshadow what we will hear today in this story about Nicodemus. So, we begin by reading these transitional verses and continue into chapter 3. We’re reading today in two parts.

While Jesus was in Jerusalem for the Passover Festival, many believed in his name because they saw the miraculous signs that he did. But Jesus didn’t trust himself to them because he knew all people. He didn’t need anyone to tell him about human nature, for he knew what human nature was.

There was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a Jewish leader. He came to Jesus at night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one could do these miraculous signs that you do unless God is with him.”

Jesus answered, “I assure you, unless someone is born anew, it’s not possible to see God’s kingdom.”

Nicodemus asked, “How is it possible for an adult to be born? It’s impossible to enter the mother’s womb for a second time and be born, isn’t it?”

Jesus answered, “I assure you, unless someone is born of water and the Spirit, it’s not possible to enter God’s kingdom. Whatever is born of the flesh is flesh, and whatever is born of the Spirit is spirit. Don’t be surprised that I said to you, ‘You must be born anew.’ God’s Spirit blows wherever it wishes. You hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. It’s the same with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Nicodemus said, “How are these things possible?”

“Jesus answered, “You are a teacher of Israel and you don’t know these things? I assure you that we speak about what we know and testify about what we have seen, but you don’t receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you don’t believe, how will you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? --John 2:23 - John 12 (CEB)

This play of light and darkness, of night and day, is a frequent theme in John. 

Remember the Prologue - “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Nicodemus comes in the dark. To come in the dark suggests, in John, one who comes in a state of unbelief. To come in the dark suggests that one neither understands, nor fully believes in who Jesus is.

There’s this back and forth dialogue between Jesus and Nicodemus, who appears to be speaking on behalf of a group, perhaps the rest of the Pharisees. Perhaps the Jewish leaders. It’s not clear in our text. But, he’s come to find out more about Jesus. He asks honest questions. He’s seen the signs. So, he recognizes that this Jesus is one from God. But he misses that this Jesus is God.

Jesus doesn’t really help him out here. Nicodemus takes Jesus literally, when he says that he must be born anew. What? Are you saying I have to be put back in my mother’s womb again? This word in Greek actually has two simultaneous meanings. Born anew - referencing a physical change. And born from above - representing a spiritual change. Nicodemus doesn’t really get it. And Jesus doesn’t really help him out. Our minds immediately go to baptism. But, Nicodemus doesn’t have that connection. He won’t get it. Finishing the conversation with these words, “How is possible?”

It’s at this point that Jesus seems to turn from Nicodemus and address an audience. The pronoun you moves from the singular to the plural. Perhaps his words are for all of the Jewish leaders. Perhaps, his words are for all those who only believe in the signs, who lack a level of faith that leads to a complete change - a rebirth into a new community. And an entirely new way of life. 

Our story continues in verse 13.

No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from heaven, the Human One. Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so must the Human One be lifted up so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won’t perish but will have eternal life. God didn’t send his Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him isn’t judged; whoever doesn’t believe in him is already judged, because they don’t believe in the name of God’s only Son.

“This is the basis for judgment: The light came into the world, and people loved darkness more than the light, for their actions are evil. All who do wicked things hate the light and don’t come to the light for fear that their actions will be exposed to the light. Whoever does the truth comes to the light so that it can be seen that their actions were done in God.” --John 3:13-21 (CEB)

In the midst of this, we hear what is likely the most famous verse in scripture. John 3:16. We hear this so often, it’s almost become meaningless to us, doesn’t it? But there are a couple of things to look at more closely here.

First, when we think of the phrase “eternal life”, we often think of unending life, particularly of life after death. Of heaven. But, a better reading of this is abundant life, which is the life God desires for us. Here and now. And in the future. A life of freedom. And of truth. A life that is free from the shame of our own darkness. Those things we keep hidden. Of which we are most ashamed. Our mistakes. How we treat - or mistreat - those we love the most. More broadly, our thirst for power in this world. Our marginalization of people who don’t think like us. Or look like us. Or live like us. 

Then, there’s this word “perish.” It’s in a reflexive voice. Meaning that the subject of this verb is affected by its own action. In other words, the perishing Jesus is talking about in this most famous verse in Scripture is a perishing of our own making. God’s own Son has come to save us from ourselves. Because we would choose to live in darkness. Yet God, through the Holy Spirit works faith in our hearts. Notice I said that the Spirit works faith in us. We don’t have the capacity to choose. It is God at work in us. Yet, we can refuse to receive that faith. To hang onto the darkness in us. And to the darkness of this world. To perish through our own making.

But, here’s the thing. God doesn’t come to us in Jesus to condemn us. Or anyone else.

God’s approach to us is all about love. God does this horrible thing - let’s name it, it is a horrible thing that God is doing. To give up God’s Son to die on the cross. For us. In love. So, that we might experience abundant life. A life of freedom and joy. A life of openness and trust. A life lived in the light and with others living in the light. People whose actions reflect that light.

The Nicodemuses of the world might be able to say all the right things, but until they put their lives on the line for the faith, in John’s gospel, they are still people who “love darkness more than the light.” 

May you and I, born anew and from above by the power of the Holy Spirit. May we, as people of God, be lovers and actors. Not of the darkness. But of the Light. Amen. 

Preached Sunday, January 30, 2022, online with Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, KY, and Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

Epiphany 4

Readings: John 3:1-21; Psalm 139:13-18

Promises of Hope: Thinking Theologically at Third

I’ve mentioned this before, but one of my goals as your interim pastor has been to help each of you grow in your ability to think theologically. It’s something I do. It’s something each of you do. It’s a way of being where you make decisions about stuff in your lives that draws on your beliefs. Beliefs that are often so deeply embedded within us that we are not even aware of them. That are almost second nature for us.

Today, we’re going to do something a little bit different. For the past several months, the focus of our council and our congregation has been to finally let go of the remaining “stuff” that was moved from our building. As we begin to look forward, to discern our next steps, I invite you to hear these words from the prophet Amos. Then, as we move forward in our discernment, to allow their message to sink deeply within us, that we might think theologically about where and what God might be calling us to. In this time. And this place.

We begin in Amos, chapter 1. 

The words of Amos, who was among the shepherds of Tekoa, which he saw concerning Israel in the days of King Uzziah of Judah and in the days of King Jeroboam son of Joash of Israel, two years before the earthquake.

And he said:

The Lord roars from Zion,
    and utters his voice from Jerusalem;
the pastures of the shepherds wither,
    and the top of Carmel dries up.

What do we know about Amos? Well, from these two short verses we know that he is from Tekoa - a small down just outside of Jerusalem. In other words, he’s from the southern kingdom of Judah. These verses also give us a time frame - probably around 750 BCE. We also know that he is a sheep breeder. The NRSV translation calls him a shepherd, but, a better translation of the Hebrew is that of sheep breeder. He’s a man of means - probably pretty middle class. Invested in the economic system. And, yet, as we will soon hear, also preaching against it. And the people he’s preaching to? Those in the north. So he’s a southern prophet preaching to the northern tribes. 

Verse 2 gives us a little prologue of what we are about to hear. God is angry. Roaring like a lion out of Jerusalem. God is not to be found - as God was last week - in the silence. The effect of this is that the pastures and the summit of Mt. Carmel in the north have dried up. This area was known as a rich agricultural area, full of vineyards. Like our present-day Napa Valley. It’s now dried up, an effect of God’s anger. Amos is giving us a prelude of what is to come - like the older brother warning us when we get home from school that Mom is mad. But why is God mad?

Let’s read on in chapter 5. 

Seek good and not evil,
    that you may live;
and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you,
    just as you have said.
Hate evil and love good,
    and establish justice in the gate;
it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts,
    will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph.

The opening verses of this passage seem straightforward. Do good and not evil. But is this really what Amos is saying. To just be a “good” person. If we go back just a few verses, we read that, perhaps, it’s not that simple. In these previous verses, it appears that there’s a perversion of justice. That people are controlling the food supply in a way that’s making them rich. And impovershing others. It takes us back to the manna story, where even though there was enough for everyone there were those who hoarded. It’s contrary to the economy of God that is laid out in Deuteronomy. Where there is to be economic distribution so that both the rich and the poor are both living well enough. It may be that some have more than others, but everybody has enough. And no one has ridiculous amounts. But, the problem is that the people with access are hoarding it. And God does not like this.

So, in verse 14, when we read the directive to seek good, it’s not about being nice to other people, but it’s about ensuring economic justice for everyone. This is why God is angry. Because doing economic justice is important to God. It’s where God’s heart is. And where God wants our heart to be, too. Amos is talking to people here - like you and I - who think they’re doing the right thing, but who just quite get it. The message here is that if we don’t get it then the day of God’s return - the day of the Lord - will not be a good day. This is a sharp, painful message. For the people of Amos’ time. For us, too.

Our reading concludes: 

I hate, I despise your festivals,
    and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,
    I will not accept them;
and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals
    I will not look upon.
Take away from me the noise of your songs;
    I will not listen to the melody of your harps.
But let justice roll down like waters,
    and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

It might sound as though God hates our worship. Our festival services. Our sacraments. Our rituals. I wonder though if what God hates is hollow worship. Worship that is disconnected from doing justice. Because, when there is justice, there will be water overflowing and the land will produce. And the whole community will prosper. It’s a great system. Built by God. Where generosity begets generosity. And abundance creates even more abundance. For everyone. 

So, what might this mean for our future as Third Lutheran Church? What we hear Amos telling us - what God is telling us - is that it must be connected to justice. To ensuring that everyone has what they need to thrive. Understanding this, how might this inform our decision as to our next steps here? 

You and I have been freed by God in grace - freed from the burden of our sin through the power  of Christ on the cross. Freed to love our neighbor. Freed to ensure that every one of our neighbors is thriving. As we worship today, know that this call of the prophet Amos is not a call to stop worshiping, but a call to do worship and to do justice. And, especially, to do justice abundantly. Because, if we do, God promises that we, along with our neighbor, will thrive. That generosity will beget generosity. And abundance, more abundance. 

May we trust in this economy of God. And let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Amen.

Preached, November 14, 2021, at Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 25

Readings: Amos 1:1-2, 5:14-15, 21-24; John 7:37-38

Called by God: Disrupting the Church

Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon, when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father; for Hiram had always been a friend to David. Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until the Lord put them under the soles of his feet. But now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord my God, as the Lord said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’

Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion. All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month. And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. So they brought up the ark of the Lord, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered. Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread out their wings over the place of the ark, so that the cherubim made a covering above the ark and its poles. The poles were so long that the ends of the poles were seen from the holy place in front of the inner sanctuary; but they could not be seen from outside; they are there to this day. There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites, when they came out of the land of Egypt. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.

Then Solomon said,

    “The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness.
    I have built you an exalted house,
        a place for you to dwell in forever.” --1 Kings 5:1-5, 8:1-13 (NRSV)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from the Triune God - Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. Amen.

I should have known. I should have known when I received the syllabus for my class at Pittsburgh Seminary last week that it would be a week of disruption. After all, the class entitled Death and Resurrection: Risk as a Faithful Practice of the Church.

As I looked through the syllabus and the plan for each day of the week, my anxiety increased. Each day was in a different location. Each day provided a different and disruptive experience. Each day was an opportunity to see the Church at work in some of the most challenging parts of the city. Each day de-centered whiteness, featuring only the voices of people of color.

But, honestly, it was the plan for the very first day that scared me the most. That felt as though it would be the most disruptive. The plan was that our cohort would participate in a challenging ropes course, 30 feet above the ground.

Now, let’s be honest. I’m not in the best physical shape. And, for my entire life, balance has been an issue for me. Not to mention the vertigo and disequilibrium I experience on a near daily basis. So, the idea that I would be 30 feet above ground, trying to maneuver across high wires, swinging rope ladders, and other ridiculous challenges, terrified me.

So, after we arrived and were dressed in our harnesses, I felt the relief flowing through my body when another member of my cohort made the decision to move down to the lower and less challenging course only 10 feet above ground, which gave me permission to do the same, too.

You might be asking what any of this has anything to do with our text today. It’s not about rope courses. But, about buildings. A building, in fact. The temple. The first temple. Built by King Solomon.

This call of Solomon was not revealed to him by God, but to King David, his father. David was the one who wanted to build the temple. But, God had forbidden him from it. There was too much blood on his hands from all of the wars he had fought.

So, even though Solomon didn’t come to the monarchy through divine intervention, God clearly approved of him, particularly because in a dream he had asked God only for wisdom with which to reign. This pleased God so much that God gave him not only wisdom, but riches, too. Vast riches. Enough to build this grand and beautiful temple that represented the transcendence and immanence of Yahweh. And where Israel’s worship and the twelve tribes of Israel would be unified.

This temple held deep meaning for the Israelite community. It was built on Mount Moriah where, without God’s intervention, Abraham would have sacrificed Isaac. It was built on land where life prevailed. It’s magnificence matched the dedication ceremony - an eight-day celebration that marked its completion. A joyful occasion filled with glorious music, lots of instruments, and singers galore. An offering of 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep - so large that extra space was required. All Israel gathered together in community to celebrate this magnificent building, full and overflowing, our text tells us, with the glory of the Lord! 

Now, we know that, eventually, all of this would fall apart. In time, Israel would split into two nations, the result of years of oppression by Solomon and later kings. Eventually, both of these nations would be destroyed. The temple, too, would be destroyed. Because, in part, Israel would lose sight of who they had been called and shaped and formed to be - God’s beloved people who were blessed to be a blessing.

How different are we from Israel? How different are we from the church in Martin Luther’s day? How quick are we to abandon God to all that distracts us from whom we are called to be? Where we come to church, not to worship God or to be formed to live more fully into our call, but for our own comfort? For our needs, rather than for those in need? Are we living into who God has called us, like Israel, to be - a beloved people of God who are blessed to be a blessing? 

I failed to mention to you at the beginning of my sermon that this ropes course was in a former Catholic church. A church that, like so many other churches past and present, is now closed. Is this happening because the Church is failing to live out its call? (Church with a capital “C”.) Is the Church failing to live into the mission to which God has called it? Is it possible that this is a time of dismantling by God? A time that the church as we know it is being disrupted by the Holy Spirit, perhaps as in 1517? That the church is being disrupted so that God whose presence will not be contained by any building might push us outside our walls, so that we might meet Jesus in the margins of our world?

You and I have been graciously set free in Jesus to be the Church, just as Martin Luther was called in his time and Israel in theirs. May we know and trust as they did that, even in times of reformation, God’s presence will surround us, guiding our way, even when we cannot see what the future will bring. Amen.

Preached October 31, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Day of Reformation

Readings: 1 Kings 5:1-5, 8:1-13; John 2:19-21

Presence and Promise: Conquering by Sacrifice

For sixteen chapters in Revelation, we read what is commonly known as the vision cycles. We heard one of these visions last week - that of the four horsemen. Throughout these visions, gruesome and frightening as they may be, the salvation community continues to praise God. We heard this last week in chapter 7 - that those who have “washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” continue to “worship God day and night.” There is also the promise that cosmic calamities, or the forces of evil at work in the world, or the final destruction at the end of time will overwhelm those who identity and security are found within  nor the final destruction at the end of time will overwhelm those whose identity and security are found in God and the Lamb.

Today, we hear of another vision. This time of the two beasts. Our reading today is from Revelation, chapter 13. I’m picking up at the very end of chapter 12.

Then the dragon stood on the seashore, and I saw a beast coming up out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads. Each of its horns was decorated with a royal crown, and on its heads were blasphemous names. The beast I saw was like a leopard. Its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. The dragon gave it his power, throne, and great authority. One of its heads appeared to have been slain and killed, but its deadly wound was healed. So the whole earth was amazed and followed the beast. They worshipped the dragon because it had given the beast its authority. They worshipped the beast and said, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?”

The beast was given a mouth that spoke boastful and blasphemous things, and it was given authority to act for forty-two months. It opened its mouth to speak blasphemies against God. It blasphemed God’s name and his dwelling place (that is, those who dwell in heaven).

It was also allowed to make war on the saints and to gain victory over them. It was given authority over every tribe, people, language, and nation. All who live on earth worshipped it, all whose names hadn’t been written—from the time the earth was made—in the scroll of life of the Lamb who was slain. Whoever has ears must listen: If any are to be taken captive, then into captivity they will go. If any are to be killed by the sword, then by the sword they will be killed. This calls for endurance and faithfulness on the part of the saints.

Then I saw another beast coming up from the earth. It had two horns like a lamb, but it was speaking like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast in its presence. It also makes the earth and those who live in it worship the first beast, whose fatal wound was healed. It does great signs so that it even makes fire come down from heaven to earth in the presence of the people. It deceives those who live on earth by the signs that it was allowed to do in the presence of the beast. It told those who live on earth to make an image for the beast who had been wounded by the sword and yet came to life again. It was allowed to give breath to the beast’s image so that the beast’s image would even speak and cause anyone who didn’t worship the beast’s image to be put to death. It forces everyone—the small and great, the rich and poor, the free and slaves—to have a mark put on their right hand or on their forehead. It will not allow anyone to make a purchase or sell anything unless the person has the mark with the beast’s name or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom. Let the one who understands calculate the beast’s number, for it’s a human being’s number. Its number is six hundred sixty-six. --Rev. 13:1-18 (CEB)

Throughout history images of animals have often been used as symbols to send different messages or to represent certain things.

Dogs in art, as one example, have not always been considered man’s best friend. From the earliest times up to the Renaissance, their qualities were mixed - from vigilance and faithfulness and wisdom, to anger, lechery, and greed. Titian used the idea of a dog as treacherous for this scene in the Last Supper, as he paired Judas with a dog to symbolize the disciple’s betrayal of Jesus.

 

The rabbit, as another example, has a long-standing symbolism for - no surprise - lust. However, because of the rabbit’s ability to reproduce often, there was also a myth that they could procreate without a partner. This led to another interpretation - that the animal signified the virgin birth and chastity as shown in another 16th century painting by Titian, entitled Madonna with Rabbit.

The peacock is one more example. Here in this painting called The Adoration of the Magi, by Fra Angelica and Fra Filippo Lippi, it represents immortality.

We use animal symbolism today, too. If I were to put up an image of a bear and a bull, what immediately comes to mind? They are symbols of the stock market. And what about these two images - an elephant and a donkey? Both are used in political cartoons, representing each of the political parties.

This is what is happening in today’s reading. We find the beast from the sea and his associate online represent a political authority that has become as destructive as a beast. The monster has been set up as the ultimate authority - a power that is to be worshiped above all else. For the author, this beast represents the Roman empire. But it is symbolic of any human institution that sets itself over and above God, at any point in history. And it describes conditions that we, too, know to be true about our world. 

One characteristic of the image is that one of the beasts gives power and authority to another more powerful and frightening. The nature of this evil - or Satan, personified in our today’s reading as a dragon - is that it goes against the desire of Jesus to free all people from tyranny.

Another characteristic of the beast is that the whole earth follows it. Because the gathering of numbers is essential and people are far too often swayed by the movement of a crowd or community. And, for evil, a movement desires to divide or to set people against each other in order to gain or preserve power and authority is a way that is contrary to the love of God and of God’s will to unite people through love and shared sacrifice. 

One more characteristic of the beast is that it mounts a full-scale assault on the agents of God. The evil here is that it is not enough to mislead followers, but evil must also discredit, incapacitate or even kill those who strive for good. 

Evil works covertly and surreptitiously to undermine the work and the power of God. In chapter 13, the author of Revelation portrays the Roman political system in this way to ask people about their highest loyalties. When we listen to the news, which in this past week seems so challenging and frustrating and disheartening, do we believe that this destructive system has become invincible? That evil has won out? That’s what the people in this chapter of Revelation are thinking.

But that is not what the Revelation sees. It sees that the beast is the opposite of the Lamb, who gives us our true identity. It sees that the beast conquers by tyranny, but that the Lamb conquers by the sacrifice that frees. It sees that the mark of the beast is the opposite of the seal of God and of the Lamb.

All of these images challenge us to ask to whom we truly belong: do we belong to the forces that destroy? Or do we belong to the Lamb who saves and liberates?

May we, through the power of the Holy Spirit, be and live as those who have been washed and freed in the blood of the Lamb, to worship God day and night. Amen.  

Preached August 29, 2021, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

14th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Revelation 13:1-18, John 12:30-32

Journey to the Cross: A Different Kind of King

The journey of Jesus to the cross is nearing its end. It has been a long journey, from Galilee in the north, detouring through Samaria, to Jerusalem. Nine chapters of Luke’s narrative that culminate in chapter 19, with the story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into this city that is the heart and soul of the Jewish people. His entry is timed with the festival of the Passover, a time when believers from across Judea would travel to the city, to the temple, to offer sacrifices and remember this important historical action by God to free God’s people from bondage.

It’s no wonder, then, that the large crowd of disciples that Jesus had gathered along the way were so excited. Because they knew the ancient promise of the Messiah. The ancestor of King David. Son of David, long promised by God, who would free them from this new bondage through Roman occupation. Who promised to restore Israel once again.

The symbolism of Jesus’ entry in Jerusalem, riding a donkey over a path strewn with cloaks and branches, was not lost on those who were witnesses to this event. This was exactly how Israel’s kings would enter the city. It was exactly how the prophet Zechariah had foretold the entry of God’s future ruler. “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

The people were certain this Jesus, this Nazarene, was he. The Christ. The Messiah. 
But, here’s the problem. We heard a hint of this problem near the end of the processional gospel we listened to earlier, when the Pharisees want the people once again to “Shush!” The problem is that the people do not understand the nature of this promised king, thinking that he will be a conqueror. One who will come with authority. One who will dominate. One who will overthrow Rome. Because that is what kings do, right? That is what great leaders do, right? That is what this Messiah will do, right?

There is a political implication to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. It’s why the Pharisees want Jesus to tell the crowd to be quiet. They understand that this is a politically charged situation. That Jesus’ disciples and, eventually, Jesus himself must be silenced. Because to do otherwise would mean rebellion. The Pharisees are trying to walk a fine political line between open rebellion and complete capitulation before Roman authorities. The response Jesus gives them is paradoxical. He does not want to claim the kingdom his disciples understand or desire. Yet, he accepts their acclamation, justified as it is, yet recognizing that in the coming week he will define for them his kingdom by his example.

Which brings us to the last portion of today’s text in chapter 19. A scene that is found only in the gospel of Luke. Beginning at verse 41.

As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.”

If you, even you, Jerusalem, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace. 

Jesus knows that, in spite of the welcome he has received, things will not go well for him in Jerusalem. Because, Jerusalem and its people. Because Jerusalem, its people, and all of the believers do not understand who Jesus is. What the peace is that he is ushering in. And what this peace will bring. 

Because, they desire a different kind of peace. One that does not last for eternity. It is a peace that comes out of rebellion and war. Domination and victory. It is no different than our present attempts at peace. We trust the peace of weapons and armaments - that comes from violence. We trust the peace of vigilance and self-protection, the peace of isolation from those we fear. We find it difficult to practice the peace of trusting one another. The peace of generosity and abundance. The peace of love. Jesus, who wept over Jerusalem that day still weeps over us. Our cities. Our nations.

But, the reign of this king, this Messiah-king, is a reign of freedom from our ways of violence and all else that keeps us in captivity. It is a universal reign of freedom. Release to the captives. Recovery of sight to the blind. Good news to the poor. Wholeness and abundance for all people.

This king’s crown is a crown of thorns. His throne, a splintered wooden cross. His exaltation, not coming in a horse-drawn chariot amidst the cheer of the crowd, but in being raised upon a cross amidst the jeers and ridicule of the masses. Through his death and resurrection, this king, who refuses to be an earthly king, makes his royal entry by way of a cross and an empty tomb. For this kind of king, even if all people - and we - were silent, the very stones themselves would cry out.

Thanks be to God for this kind of king. Amen.

Preached March 28, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Palm-Passion Sunday

Readings: Luke 19:29-44; Psalm 118:19-23

Jesus Heals: My Chosen One

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

While everyone was amazed at all that he was doing, he said to his disciples, “Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands.” But they did not understand this saying; its meaning was concealed from them, so that they could not perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him about this saying. --Luke 9:28-45 (NRSV)

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

It’s a big leap for us today as we jump from the seventh chapter of Luke to the ninth chapter. In between, we see Jesus’ continue to minister. To teach. And to heal, particularly those dealing with demons. At the beginning of chapter 9, the disciples are ready to be sent out. Jesus gives them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, verse 1 tells us. They go out into the countryside as extensions of Jesus himself, reliant upon the hospitality of those they will meet. 

At the same time, we hear the Herod is perplexed. He’s already arrested and beheaded John the Baptist. But, now he’s hearing about someone new. And even tries to see Jesus.

The disciples return and report all that they have done. As the day drew to a close, surrounded by a crowd, they are witness to God’s way of abundance - over 5,000 men, not including women and children, fed that day from five loaves of bread and two fish. It leads Peter to make a declaration about Jesus - that he truly is “the Messiah of God.” When he does, Jesus sternly tells them not to say anything. Instead, he continues to teach them what it means to be his followers. “If any want to become my followers,” Jesus tells them, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” Discipleship, as they are learning, is not easy.

Then we come to today’s text. Eight days later. Jesus, as we’ve seen him do before, goes away to a quiet place to pray. This time it is on a mountaintop. And this time he takes with him those who are in his inner circle - Peter, John and James - the first of the twelve disciples. As Jesus is praying, as we heard in our text, the appearance of his face changes. As does his clothing. Then, suddenly, Moses and Elijah appear beside him, talking to him about his departure. His departure. Luke alone uses this word in the Greek - a better translation of which is “exodus.” Moses, Elijah and Jesus are talking about the exodus of Jesus. It immediately throws our mind backward. Drawing a comparison between Jesus and Israel. An echo of how the story began. The exodus story. Just one part of God’s meta-narrative. A story arc that begins even further back than the exodus to the very beginning. And the reason for that first exodus.

To the beginning of God’s story. Where God creates everything. And it is good. And then the relationship between God and humanity is broken. Over and over again, God relentlessly tries to restore that relationship. Beginning first with Israel. Calling Moses to lead Israel out of bondage. Israel’s exodus from Egypt. That they will be blessed as God’s people and through whom all people will be blessed. Led by Moses, who experiences his own theophany - his own God-sighting. On Mt. Sinai in the midst of the terrifying thunder and lightning. Witness to a God so powerful that Moses cannot even look into God’s face. Yet, whose own face becomes transfigured, like that of Jesus.

But, this attempt by God to restore the relationship does not work. Even when God sends prophets, like Elijah. Elijah, who has his own theophany, his own God sighting. But not like that of Moses. Instead, as Elijah flees Jezebel and Ahab (remember that story?), God appears to him at Mt. Horeb, also known as Sinai. God comes not as Elijah expects. Not in the wind. Not in the earthquake, not in the fire. But in sheer, sheer silence.

Even with the prophets, Israel continues to rebel. It’s the human way, isn’t it. Our way. Thinking that we know better. Seeking our own power apart from God. Like the disciples, who, even after witnessing this transfiguration moment don’t fully get it. That God still wants us. Still relentlessly seeks us. Who sends Jesus to us to once and for all restore the broken relationship. Jesus, God’s Son, breaking into our world in human form. Who has come to begin the restoration of the wholeness and abundance and goodness first tasted at the very beginning in Eden. 

The transfiguration of Jesus in Luke marks the beginning of his exodus. He will now turn his face toward Jerusalem and move into the final chapter of his incarnated life on earth. It will bring the beginning - not the end - but the beginning of the restoration of freedom for all humanity and all creation. It is a story about transformation - the hoped outcome for the church, which will be given power and authority to heal and to transform people into disciples. Disciples - you and me - to transform the world into the kingdom of God. This is the gospel. The good news of Jesus. 

As we now turn our faces with Jesus to Jerusalem. As we enter the season of Lent, a time that, once again, gives us an opportunity to move into deeper relationship with a God who loves us so deeply and who desires nothing for us other than Eden’s shalom, these are the questions for us. How will we meet God? How will we be transfigured? And how will we transform our small part of the world?

Preached February 14, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen and Louisville, KY

Transfiguration of Our Lord

Readings: Luke 9:25-48; Psalm 36:5-10

Promises Made, Promises Broken: Bitter and Sweet

Today, we are transported forward in time. Last week, we heard the story of Joseph and his brothers and how, in the midst of an evil committed against Joseph, God used this and turned it to good. Eventually preserving Jacob, Joseph’s father, and the entire clan from famine. At the end of last week’s story, we heard that Joseph and his brothers and all of their families remained in Egypt. 

Today’s story is some 400 years later. It comes from the book of Exodus. It’s important to note that this book begins with these words: “Now a new pharaoh came to power in Egypt who didn’t know Joseph.” In the chapters that precede today’s texts, we learn that this new Pharaoh is concerned with the growing power of Israel in his country. He fears that they may take over, because they have grown to be a large number of people. And so, to prevent this, the Pharaoh enslaves Israel.

Eventually, God calls Moses to lead Israel out of slavery to freedom. He will impose a series of plagues on Egypt - nine, in fact - to convince the pharaoh to let Israel go. None of them work. The pharaoh refuses to release them. 

So, God plans a tenth and final plague. It is here, where our story today begins, in Exodus, chapter 12. 

The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, “This month will be the first month; it will be the first month of the year for you. Tell the whole Israelite community: On the tenth day of this month they must take a lamb for each household, a lamb per house. If a household is too small for a lamb, it should share one with a neighbor nearby. You should divide the lamb in proportion to the number of people who will be eating it. Your lamb should be a flawless year-old male. You may take it from the sheep or from the goats. You should keep close watch over it until the fourteenth day of this month. At twilight on that day, the whole assembled Israelite community should slaughter their lambs. They should take some of the blood and smear it on the two doorposts and on the beam over the door of the houses in which they are eating. That same night they should eat the meat roasted over the fire. They should eat it along with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. Don’t eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted over fire with its head, legs, and internal organs. Don’t let any of it remain until morning, and burn any of it left over in the morning. This is how you should eat it. You should be dressed, with your sandals on your feet and your walking stick in your hand. You should eat the meal in a hurry. It is the Passover of the Lord. I’ll pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I’ll strike down every oldest child in the land of Egypt, both humans and animals. I’ll impose judgments on all the gods of Egypt. I am the Lord. The blood will be your sign on the houses where you live. Whenever I see the blood, I’ll pass over you. No plague will destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt. --Exodus 12:1-13 (CEB)

I want to point out to you the opening verse of this reading. It’s really pretty fascinating. God tells Moses and his brother, Aaron, that this is the beginning of time for Israel. Their calendar is being reset. 

This is an important moment for Israel because it is from this point forward that their life will begin as God’s covenanted people - these descendants of Abraham, through whom God has promised to bless all people.

As we read the rest, we see that these instructions - or this liturgy - includes a very special meal. And a specific way to remember it. Each family is to take a lamb - an unblemished lamb - and keep it in the household for four days. And, then, they are to slaughter it. This lamb that has become part of the household, with whom the children have likely grown fond - after four days, they are to slaughter it. And, then, to prepare it and eat it. Leaving no leftovers. 

This isn’t a relaxed meal together. Israel is to be prepared to leave, to escape the bondange they have been experiencing. They are to eat with their clothes and their sandals on. Because God intends to kill the firstborn sons of Egypt on this night. The only thing that will save Israel’s first born sons will be the blood of the slaughtered lamb, painted on the doorpost. This ritual will prepare them for the journey and for their salvation. 

Our reading continues in chapter 13.

The Lord said to Moses: Dedicate to me all your oldest children. Each first offspring from any Israelite womb belongs to me, whether human or animal.

Moses said to the people, “Remember this day which is the day that you came out of Egypt, out of the place you were slaves, because the Lord acted with power to bring you out of there. No leavened bread may be eaten. Today, in the month of Abib, you are going to leave. The Lord will bring you to the land of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. It is the land that the Lord promised your ancestors to give to you, a land full of milk and honey. You should perform this ritual in this month. You must eat unleavened bread for seven days. The seventh day is a festival to the Lord. Only unleavened bread should be eaten for seven days. No leavened bread and no yeast should be seen among you in your whole country. You should explain to your child on that day, ‘It’s because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.’ --Exodus 13:1-8 (CEB)

The ritual coming out of this night will become the basis from this time forward of every Passover remembrance for the Jewish people. It will be known as the Seder meal and will consist of roasted lamb, representing the sacrifice made on this night. Included will be bitter herbs, as a reminder of the bitterness of life in Egypt. A paste made of fruit, nuts, spices and wine or juice - called the charoset - will bring to mind for Israel the mortar and bricks they made as slaves under Pharaoh. There will also be a vegetable, representing the backbreaking work of slavery. Finally, matzah will be included, reminding the Israelites of the unleavened bread, eaten that night, because there no time for the dough to rise. This ritual, this meal, will help Israel remember that the cost of freedom is high. That the gift of freedom often brings with it innocent victims. And that the destruction of oppressive systems comes with a price. Freedom isn’t free. 

When we are freed from this time of COVID, I wonder if we will begin to mark time in a new way - BC (before COVID) and PC (post-COVID). I wonder if we will be changed by this experience, like Israel. I wonder if we will remember. Will we, like Israel, engage in the rituals of remembering? It was this ritual of remembering that would begin to shape and form Israel as a people. It was this ritual of remembering that prepared Israel for the next steps - to go into a future unknown, led only by a God, not well known to them, but who knew them well. It was this ritual of remembering that would connect every future generation to this very moment - bringing them back to the point of liberation so they might remember, as our text reads, “what the Lord has done for me.” For me. This ritual marked a new day, a new calendar for Israel.

We, like Israel, are people of ritual. Ritual that shapes and forms us. That prepares us to go into an unknown future. That connects every generation to the moment of the sacrifice of our own Passover lamb. When we worship, when we remember our baptism, when we hear God’s Word, when we “take and eat” in communion, we, like Israel are being shaped and formed into a people - into God’s covenanted people. Not forgetting the cost of our freedom. But remembering what the Lord has done for us. For you. For me. And we are being prepared to go, dressed and with our running shoes on, led into an unknown future by a God who is faithful. Who overturns oppression. Who leads us out of bondage. Who keeps promises. And who remembers us.  Just as God Israel’s cries and remembered them so very long ago. 

May we be shaped by our own rituals of remembering. May we trust God’s promises. And may we live freely into the new day, to do God’s continuing work of liberation in our world. Amen. 

Preached October 4, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 18

Readings: Exodus 12:1-13; 13:1-8; Luke 22:14-20