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: Sarah Laughs

The Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre while he sat at the entrance of his tent in the day’s heat. He looked up and suddenly saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from his tent entrance to greet them and bowed deeply. He said, “Sirs, if you would be so kind, don’t just pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought so you may wash your feet and refresh yourselves under the tree. Let me offer you a little bread so you will feel stronger, and after that you may leave your servant and go on your way—since you have visited your servant.”

They responded, “Fine. Do just as you have said.”

So Abraham hurried to Sarah at his tent and said, “Hurry! Knead three seahs of the finest flour and make some baked goods!” Abraham ran to the cattle, took a healthy young calf, and gave it to a young servant, who prepared it quickly. Then Abraham took butter, milk, and the calf that had been prepared, put the food in front of them, and stood under the tree near them as they ate.

They said to him, “Where’s your wife Sarah?”

And he said, “Right here in the tent.”

Then one of the men said, “I will definitely return to you about this time next year. Then your wife Sarah will have a son!”

Sarah was listening at the tent door behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were both very old. Sarah was no longer menstruating. So Sarah laughed to herself, thinking, I’m no longer able to have children and my husband’s old.

The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Me give birth? At my age?’ Is anything too difficult for the Lord? When I return to you about this time next year, Sarah will have a son.”

Sarah lied and said, “I didn’t laugh,” because she was frightened.

But he said, “No, you laughed.”

The Lord was attentive to Sarah just as he had said, and the Lord carried out just what he had promised her. She became pregnant and gave birth to a son for Abraham when he was old, at the very time God had told him. Abraham named his son—the one Sarah bore him—Isaac. Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old just as God had commanded him. Abraham was 100 years old when his son Isaac was born. Sarah said, “God has given me laughter. Everyone who hears about it will laugh with me.” She said, “Who could have told Abraham that Sarah would nurse sons? But now I’ve given birth to a son when he was old!” --Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7 (CEB) 

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

The Festival of the Trinity. The one Sunday and the one topic that every pastor loves to preach on. Yeah, not so much.

Yesterday, as we closed Synod Assembly with worship, we heard a sermon by Deacon Mary Ann Schwabe. She was the representative from churchwide, from the national body of the ELCA, there, among other things, to bring greetings from Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton. She opened her message with a quote about the Holy Trinity. About the impossibility of explaining the Trinity. A quote from Luther, who wrote: "To deny the Trinity is to risk our salvation. To try to explain the Trinity is to risk our insanity."

You see, try as theologians might, we don’t fully understand the Trinity. This Godhead made up of three Persons: Parent/Creator, Son/Redeemer, and Spirit/Sustainer. And to try to explain it is probably, as Luther suggested, inviting insanity.

So, for the moment, I’m not going to try. Although we will return to this topic in just a second or two.

Instead, I’d like to turn to our primary text today - this story about Abraham and Sarah. Really, a story about Sarah. And her laughter.

Early in the week, when I was exegeting this text before leaving for Muncie, I can’t even begin to tell you how many different interpretations and explanations there were about why Sarah laughed in this story. Some suggested she laughed from amusement - from an image of she, at the age of 90, and her husband Abraham, nearing 100, making a baby together. Some suggested that she laughed at the preposterous idea that, at the age of 90, post-menopausal, there was even any remote possibility of her conceiving a child. Others suggested that her laughter came from a place of deep bitterness over the fact that she and Abraham had not had the child - the heir - long promised by God. And yet others wrote that her laughter was from disbelief, from doubt about what the visitor - rather, the three visitors (pay attention to that especially on this Trinity Sunday) predicted - that Sarah was laughing in disbelief, doubt, and perhaps even scorn over the very possibility.

Perhaps all of these explanations of Sarah’s laughter are true, because much had happened before our story today. God had promised Abraham and Sarah to make of them a great nation. Then, after this hadn’t happened and after Sarah had moved beyond child-bearing age, she had taken matters into her own hands, giving Hagar, her servant girl to Abraham. Forcing her into surrogacy. Then, growing jealous when Hagar became pregnant with Ishmael, Abraham’s first-born son. All of this then followed by a visit, at the age of 90, from these three strangers whom we, from the outside looking in, know to be God - strangers who tell her that by next year at this time she will have a son. Her laughter must have come from all of these different places: from amusement, and bitterness, and grief, and even pure glee at the absurdity of it all. 

But, mostly, it would seem, at least to me, that Sarah’s laughter comes from disbelief. From a lack of belief in the future God has promised both her and Abraham. A disbelief that, by the following year, is completely unraveled by the gift of her son, Isaac. Whose very name means “laughter.” 

I mentioned at the beginning of worship this morning that, for 12 weeks, we will be hearing 12 different stories or resilience from Scripture. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been hearing the word - resilience - a lot over the past several months. This past week, I read a definition for this word in a Psychology Today article: Resilience is the psychological quality that allows some people to be knocked down by the adversities of life and come back at least as strong as before. Rather than letting difficulties, or traumatic events, or failure overcome them and drain their resolve, people who are resilient find a way to change course. To heal emotionally. And to continue moving forward.

In a related article I also read that people of faith are often more highly resilient. Because, in some ways, faith is synonymous with hope. Both faith and hope allow us to see a future beyond the present moment. But, it is faith that helps us more readily understand and accept that our present difficulties are part of the path to a better future. That’s the nature of faith. The nature of belief. To be able to see the connections between our present situation and the future. The opposite of this is disbelief. It's disbelief that led, in large part, to Sarah's laughter. Because, after all that had happened, after all she'd experienced, she was no longer able to see the future God had promised for her. And for Abraham. 

I wonder how many people in our world today lack this kind of faith. This belief in the future. And, really, is it any wonder that they do? Every day we are witness to a world that just seems to be struggling. To be hurting so deeply. Even to be falling apart. 

Or maybe it’s not just the world that seems to be so unsettled. Perhaps, we’re experiencing it in our own lives. An unexpected illness. Or a deep loss. Or even confusion about who we are and where we are at in our lives. Where it feels as though the future is so uncertain, so dark and cloudy. Or even, perhaps, when it feels as though there is no future. 

It is then - just as for Sarah - that, as one contemporary theologian puts it, it is then that our loving and relational God, the mysterious Trinity comes and invites us in. To abide in the holy. To admit the difficulties of the present. And the truth of what is unknown. To stop hiding behind false statements and facade of sureness. And to, once again, be reminded of the future God has in store for us. A future of abundance and wholeness. Of lives filled with hope and faith and love. And, especially, of lives that are full of laughter - the joyous laughter that comes from trusting God and living into the hope of that future God has promised for you and me, and for all people - a future given to us through the unexplainable presence and power of God, known as parent and Creator, as Word made flesh, and as life-giving Breath. 

Praise be to God! Amen.

Preached June 12, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian, Prospect.

Holy Trinity

Readings: Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7; Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19

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

Presence and Promise: The End of the World

 Six weeks ago, as we began this series in the book of Revelation, the first image of God we were introduced to was that of Creator. Remember that scene in the throne room with the four creatures as they, along with the twenty-four elders, bowed down to worship, saying “You are worthy, our Lord and God...for you created all things.”

Today, we conclude our readings in Revelation with that same image of God as Creator, whose final great act consists of a new creation. The first part of our reading is from Revelation, chapter 21.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. 

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever. --Revelation 21:1-6, 22:1-5 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the One who is and was and is coming and from Jesus Christ, faithful witness, firstborn from among the dead, ruler of the kings of earth. Amen.

Just a few short weeks ago, I asked this question, “Is this the end of the world?” 

I was talking to Pastor Elisa of New Goshen Presbyterian. In addition to her work there as interim pastor, she also works for Kentucky Interfaith Power & Light. If you’re not familiar with it, you might think it’s a power company. Well, it is a power company of sorts, I guess. It’s a community of congregations, faith-based organizations and other people of faith who have chosen to respond to climate change as an ethical and moral issue. And that, through education, advocacy and action, mobilizes a religious response to climate change and the social injustice it creates. 

As part of her work, she is privy to studies and other information that you and I probably don’t come across in our normal days’ activities. So, our conversation that day was about a study that she had just seen. That, as she put it, “if you knew what I knew, you would be overwhelmed.” She was referring to a recent report published by a large group of scientists that said that climate change is not some far away thing. That we don’t have 10-20 years, even 5-10 years. That it’s now. 

Given all that we’ve been witness to this past summer - the wildfires, the hurricanes, the record rain and flooding, the drought and so many other weather events - the idea that climate change has come is probably no surprise.

But, when you add this to all of the other crises that we have been witness to in the past year or so, including the collapse of the Afghan government, the political turmoil in Haiti, Myanmar, Hong Kong and so many other places in our world, and all those that have past and that I’ve already forgotten because they just seem to happen week after week after week. And, did I mention COVID? It was all of this that, in my conversation with Pr. Elisa, led me to blurt out, “Is this the end of the world?”

Maybe you’ve been wondering this a little, too.

So, perhaps, it has been a good thing for us to sit in Revelation for a few weeks. Because, like us, the early churches to whom this letter was addressed knew chaos and crisis. They knew massive upheaval and change. They knew and experienced hard and horrible things. It’s why the author shared his vision. To help them understand. And to help them prepare. To help us understand. And to prepare.

Their preparation - and ours - isn’t like preparing a “go bag” - one of those bags you keep handy in the event of a major disaster. Something filled with important papers and things you might need in an emergency. It’s not like preparing an “earthquake box” or a “hurricane tub” that you might pack to sustain you and your loved ones for a few weeks until help can arrive.

No, their preparation - and ours - happens by doing those things that keep us connected to God. Spiritual practices - like worship and prayer, and reading our Bible, and loving our neighbor - those things that form and shape us to be God’s people. It is these practices that guide our experiences and decisions and that give us that faithful endurance for those harder things. Because, through them, we learn that we have a God upon whom we can rely. Whether it’s through the small stuff, or the major crises and times of chaos. We have a God who loves us, who has offered up his Son for us and who promises us a new creation. 

The defeat of the forces of evil doesn’t result in the destruction or annihilation of the earth. Rather, it leads to God saying “I will make all things new.” It includes the resurrection of all the dead, but doesn’t stop there. When death is conquered, creation itself is made new. It’s a future - God’s future - that is pictured as a city with a garden at its center. Where both the human and the natural world are reconciled. With gates that stand open all the time to invite us and all people into the presence of God. With rivers and streams that offer life. And a tree that offers abundant fruit. Sweet, juicy, abundant fruit.

This is the future that God calls and invites us into. And all people everywhere. This is the end of the world that we are promised. May we live in anticipation of this world - this new Jerusalem - by claiming its way of life and by bearing witness to God, whose work of creation and new creation brings only life.

Amen.

Preached Sunday, September 5, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

15th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Revelation 21:1-6, 22:1-5; John 16:20-21.

Pain and Promise: Acts of Hope

 Psalm 30 is what we call a song of thanksgiving. It is what the Hebrew calls a “new song,” a song that is sung after a person or a people have been delivered by God from crisis, whatever that crisis may be. 

Our Jeremiah text this week names one of those crises. An existential crisis for Judah and, particularly, for Jerusalem. Our story opens in the tenth year of King Zedekiah of Judah. Jerusalem is under siege by the king of Babylon. Jeremiah, once again, is imprisoned for harsh and difficult words he has spoken to Zedekiah: they are words of the demise of Jerusalem and its king, both of whom will be taken into exile. We are at the point of death that is coming in many forms.

Our reading is from Chapter 32. Its placement is odd, because surrounding this chapter are chapters from the second part of Jeremiah, what is often called the Book of Comfort. Chapters 30, 31, and 33 are all chapters that promise Israel’s return from exile. Set into these words of restoration is this odd story, a story about a real estate transaction.

We read now from Jeremiah, chapter 32.

Jeremiah received the Lord’s word in the tenth year of Judah’s King Zedekiah, which was the eighteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar’s rule. At that time, the army of the Babylonian king had surrounded Jerusalem, and the prophet Jeremiah was confined to the prison quarters in the palace of Judah’s king. Judah’s King Zedekiah had Jeremiah sent there after questioning him.

Jeremiah said, The Lord’s word came to me: Your cousin Hanamel, Shallum’s son, is on his way to see you; and when he arrives, he will tell you: “Buy my field in Anathoth, for by law you are next in line to purchase it.” And just as the Lord had said, my cousin Hanamel showed up at the prison quarters and told me, “Buy my field in Anathoth in the land of Benjamin, for you are next in line and have a family obligation to purchase it.” Then I was sure this was the Lord’s doing.

So I bought the field in Anathoth from my cousin Hanamel, and weighed out for him seventeen shekels of silver. I signed the deed, sealed it, had it witnessed, and weighed out the silver on the scales. Then I took the deed of purchase—the sealed copy, with its terms and conditions, and the unsealed copy— and gave it to Baruch, Neriah’s son and Mahseiah’s grandson, before my cousin Hanamel and the witnesses named in the deed, as well as before all the Judeans who were present in the prison quarters. I charged Baruch before all of them: “The Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims: Take these documents—this sealed deed of purchase along with the unsealed one—and put them into a clay container so they will last a long time. The Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims: Houses, fields, and vineyards will again be bought in this land.”

Jeremiah has received a word from Yahweh, from God. "Your cousin, Hanamel, will come to you in prison and offer you the opportunity to purchase a piece of property.” Jeremiah has first dibs on this property. He has the right to “redeem” this family property according to Jewish law that provides for the next of kin to buy back property that is in danger of being lost to debt. Jeremiah is that next of kin. 

When his cousin arrives, Jeremiah is now sure that this is the work of God. The story continues with surprising technical details of that transaction. Jeremiah prepares the deed, with the help of his personal secretary and scribe, Baruch. He gathers the necessary witnesses for the transaction. Then, Jeremiah weighs out the money, seventeen shekels of silver. He signs the deed, seals it, gets witnesses, and, again, weighs the money on scales. He takes the sealed deed of purchase that contains the terms of the agreement and gives it to Baruch in the presence of his cousin, charging Baruch with putting them into a clay container - the safest of places - so that they will last a long, long time.

Like the witnesses to this transaction, we are likely questioning in our thoughts the wisdom of investing in land which, at that very moment, is being besieged and destroyed by a large foreign power. It makes no sense. As if Jeremiah can read their thoughts, and ours, he responds with a word of hope. Someday, he says...someday, there will again be fields and houses and vineyards on this land.

It’s an act of hope. A symbolic act of hope that proclaim Jeremiah’s words through action. At this worst moment in Judah’s life, Jeremiah’s act of hope - his land deal - shows that there will be a future. A hopeful future for God’s people. It is an action taken in the face of what seems impossible. Proclaiming in the thick of captivity that there will be life again in the land of Judah. That not only will Jeremiah survive, but the land will, too. 

We’re a lot like Jeremiah, I think. As I’ve been reflecting back over these past 15 months, I’ve been thinking about similar acts of hope that I’ve engaged in myself or seen others engage in. Planting a garden in the midst of a pandemic is an act of hope. Sewing masks for healthcare workers is an act of hope. Birthday parades are acts of hope. Assembly and delivering gift baskets to nursing home residents, isolated from their families, is an act of hope. Recognizing and cheering for frontline workers is an act of hope. Creatively changing an entire curriculum to teach online is an act of hope. Acts of kindness, of volunteering, of charitable giving are all acts of hope. Learning a new way of gathering online is an act of hope. Joining a protest for change is an act of hope. Walking in a Pride parade is an act of hope.

All of these acts that we witnessed and, perhaps, engaged in ourselves are symbolic actions that say that no matter how hard and difficult things are, no matter how important it is that we sit in our grief, no matter our need to process our grief and pain in a healthy way, we believe the God will bring us through this. And that God will not only bring us through this, but that God will be us to a new day. To a new way of being.

This is what Psalm 30 speaks to. This song of thanksgiving. Or what Brueggemann calls psalms of reorientation, or new orientation. It bears witness to the surprising gift of new life when none had been expected. It recognizes that we have made it through the storm and reached a new place. Yet, having reached this new place, there is no going back to what was before. That we can no longer pretend that all will always be well and that all is as it should be. And yet, that even in the midst of our Saturday - as we have sat for a very long time in Saturday - we have not lost the hope that despair will not win out. And that evil does not have the last word.

This is what Jeremiah’s act of hope proclaims. This is of what Psalm 30 sings. That those who have walked the darkest valleys, who have stood in the midst of shaking mountains, who have experienced life when the bottom drops out, will, with creation, in time experience new life and grace. Together. As God’s beloved people. 

This is our hope. This is God’s promise. Amen.

Preached June 27, 2021, online with Third Lutheran, Louisville, and Grace & Glory, Goshen.

5th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15, Psalm 30

Rekindling Our Faith, Rekindling Our Imagination - Part 5

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

By faith Abel offered to God a more acceptable sacrifice than Cain’s. Through this he received approval as righteous, God himself giving approval to his gifts; he died, but through his faith he still speaks. By faith Enoch was taken so that he did not experience death; and “he was not found, because God had taken him.” For it was attested before he was taken away that “he had pleased God.” And without faith it is impossible to please God, for whoever would approach him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him. By faith Noah, warned by God about events as yet unseen, respected the warning and built an ark to save his household; by this he condemned the world and became an heir to the righteousness that is in accordance with faith.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.”

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. --Hebrews 11:1-16, 12:1-2 (NRSV)


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

Why do you have faith? Has anyone ever asked you that question? Have you ever asked yourself that question? Why do you have faith?

I mean, come on, after all, it’s not really the “in” thing anymore in our culture, is it? To have faith in God? Sure, people say they believe in God, but do they really? Church attendance is declining. Younger people are moving away from the church. Many churches - both mainline and evangelical - are struggling. Let’s be honest. We struggle, too.

So, why should we have faith? Why should you have faith?

Over these past five weeks, we’ve been immersing ourselves in the letter to the Hebrews. It’s a challenging book in scripture, full of doctrinal statements and rhetorical arguments to back up those statements. It’s a book full of images - trying the spark the imagination and faith of a congregation of mostly Hellenistic Jews. Living abroad, away from Israel. Influenced, particularly, by Greek culture. A culture that, very much like our culture, looked down on faith, viewing it as an inferior form of understanding. “Mere belief” as one Greek philosopher called it. The congregation had lost heart.  Whether it was because of persecution. Or the long wait for Jesus’ promised return. Or just the general fatigue and doubt that any community experiences over time, this congregation had lost heart. The writer assumes that unbelief has become their baseline. And asks the question, “Why should they have faith at all?” 

And in the process of asking that question, the author works to spark their imagination. To rekindle it. To help them remember why they first believed. Why they should continue to believe. Trying to not only rekindle their imagination, but to rekindle their faith. 

So, today, we come to the last of our Hebrews texts. And, likely, the most familiar to you. We often call this the “roll call of saints.” It includes the ancestors of faith whose stories we have likely heard from childhood. The saints who believed when there was no reason to believe. 

Let's take Noah, for example. Noah was called into action before the flood came. He had no weather forecasts to prove the coming rains to anyone. Called to build an ark the length of 1-½ football fields. Imagine if we began to build an ark on our property. What do you think our neighbors would say? Or think? Oh, those Lutherans! There they go again! Yet, Noah believed even when he couldn’t see the future. Even when the world was mocking him. Even when no one else believed. Noah believed. And he took steps to move into the future.

And then there’s Abraham and Sarah. If they’d lived today, they would already have been on Social Security for over 25 years. Both of them, by the time they received the child they had longed for their entire lives. Sarah, barren. Abraham, well our text says he was “good as dead.” Both of them, living into God’s promises. And, then, when they were nearing the age of 100, finally, having the child they had longed for their entire lives. And, then trusting that, from this one son, God would create a people that would number more than the stars in the sky or the grains of sand on the seashore. Were they crazy? Yet, they believed. Even when they couldn’t see the future, God summoned them forward into it. And they had faith. 

Who's on your “roll call of saints”? Who are those ancestors of faith for you - those who believed even when they couldn’t see the future? Who trusted even when they didn’t know what was to come next? Who held onto God’s promise for a future?

Just as your ancestors were called into an unseen future. Into an uncertain future. Unsure of what it would hold. Yet, trusting that God had a future for them. In the same way, throughout the letter to the Hebrews, the writer is calling the community out of despair and into hope. To trust in God’s promises. To have faith.

The Hebrews’ vision of the Christian life is like that of a race. Not a sprint, but a long distance race. More like a cross-country race. A journey of transformation moving toward a communal completion. As we run this race together, as we journey, we are cheered on. Looking up in the stands of the stadium, we see all of the ancestors of our faith who have gone before. Abel, Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Moses, Aaron, Gideon, Peter, John, Mary. My ancestors. Your ancestors. All of our ancestors in faith. 

As Hebrews describes to us, through faith, all of these ancestors conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Were tortured. Mocked and flogged. Chained and imprisoned. Stoned to death, sawn in two. Destitute. Persecuted. Tormented. All of them for whom the world was not worthy. Though they were commended for their faith, they did not receive what was promised. 

As we run the race of faith, all of these ancestors of faith cheer us on. Because living by faith is not a concept. Living by faith is a way of life. This is what it means to have faith. To be claimed by the Word of God. To move into a future. Perhaps unseen. Perhaps uncertain. Not sure of where we will end up. But, moving forward, all the same. Into a future that we know by virtue of promise rather than by what our eyes have seen.

Because we have Jesus. Our pioneer - the one who has gone before us. Our perfector - who has shown us the way. Our great high priest - who in his “once and for all” act of sacrifice forever altered the relationship between all humanity and God. This Jesus: God’s participation, God’s own self-offering, God’s own self-giving act. God, who through this Jesus, this Word, now invites us into God’s presence, to go where only the high priest was privileged to go. And who calls us into the future. Into a life of promise. Into a life of hope. 

This is why we should have faith. Because, even though we may have experiences that may challenge our faith, that might call our faith into question, the only other option for us is despair. A life without hope. And that, sisters and brothers in Christ, is no life. 

So, take the promise. And run with it! 

Amen.

Preached September 1, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 12
Readings: Matthew 8:5-10; Hebrews 11:1-16, 12:1-2.

Gifts of God's Grace: Peace and Hope

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life. But more than that, we even boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.  Romans 5:1-11 (NRSV)

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

The 509th Infantry Regiment is an Airborne Infantry Regiment of the United States Army. It has a long and proud history. Previously called the 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment or the 509th (PIR), this battalion conducted the first parachute infantry combat jump by the US Army during World War II. In total, the 509th made five combat jumps during that war with its final action during the Battle of the Bulge, where the battalion fought a desperate battle against 2 German Panzer divisions. Vastly outnumbered, the 509th held their ground, later earning the unit a Presidential Unit Citation.  Their second.

After World War II, the 509th remained inactive for nearly two decades, until 1963, when it was reformed and stationed in West Germany on the front lines of the Cold War. Since then, the paratroopers of the 509th have served with distinction, more recently in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom-Afghanistan. 

In 2011, the 509th was deployed to eastern Afghanistan, situated in the Khost, Paktia, and Paktika provinces, all on the troubled border with Pakistan. It was augmented with two other infantry units: the 4th Brigade Combat Team and the 1st Infantry Division, along with two Provincial Reconstruction Teams and two Army National Guard Agri-Business Development Teams. The total strength of this task force was approximately 4,500 personnel. During the 10 months of its deployment, the brigade, in partnership with Afghan National Security Forces, conducted counter-insurgency operations and supervised governance, development, and agricultural projects in coordination with the Afghan government. During the deployment, eight brigade soldiers were killed in action.

I know all of this about the 509th because my son was assigned to this regiment. And was part of its 2011 deployment to Afghanistan. It was the responsibility of the unit he commanded to safely deliver these 4,500 men and women to the front lines and back. It was also his unit that was responsible for returning the bodies of the eight soldiers killed in action to their families.

“Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person - though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die...” 

As I read these words written by Paul to the church in Rome, it  was hard not to recall the stories of these eight soldiers that my son had shared with me. Stories of bravery and selflessness. Stories of tragedy and loss. Stories that, on this Memorial Day weekend, we remember, along with so many other stories of the men and women who have bravely served this country. Whom we honor this weekend. Who have given their lives for what seems to be a never-ending search for peace.

The peace, though, for which these eight soldiers sacrificed themselves is not the peace that Paul is talking about in our Romans text today. This peace is not a political peace, an external peace. Instead, it is a peace within. An internal peace. Shalom - that fullness and wholeness that we have talked about so much this year. 

“...[R]arely will anyone die for a righteous person--though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves God’s love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” 

This peace, this shalom, this inner wholeness - comes to us, not through a successful military campaign, but through the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. Who, through his death for all people - for all sinners - has fully reconciled us with God. And we, who have been given the gift of faith, are, therefore, no longer at war with God, but at peace. Experiencing that shalom. That fullness of relationship with God who proves God’s love for us through the death of God’s own Son, Jesus Christ. A love that is poured into our own hearts - that is gifted to us through the Holy Spirit.

It sounds so easy, doesn’t it? And, yet, we know it is hard. Because, even though we have been given this gift of faith and this reconciliation with God through Christ, we still struggle. Whether it is challenges at work or in our personal lives. Whether it is conflicts in our relationships at home or here or elsewhere. Whether it is loss and grief over the death of a loved one, whether expected or unexpected. Or over a broken relationship. Or just over our broken world...we struggle. And we wonder. Like Jesus on the cross that Good Friday, who cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” we wonder where God is in the midst of this pain and struggle.

Paul knew pain and struggle. Wracked with grief and shame over his own former life as a persecutor of the early believers. Grief and shame he continued to wrestle with and to name in future letters that he would write to those early churches after after he had been converted. Communities who were, themselves, often experiencing conflict and challenge. 

Paul knew pain and struggle. In his 2nd letter to the church in Corinth, a letter I might add was written while he was imprisoned in Rome before he was eventually executed, Paul shared what he had experienced as he had worked to carry out God’s mission. “Five times,” he wrote, “I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journey, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city...in the wilderness...at sea...from false brothers and sisters, in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked. And,” he concludes, “besides [all these] other things, I am under daily pressure because of my anxiety for all the churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak?” he cries. “Who is made to stumble, and I am not indignant?” he shouts. 

Paul knew pain and struggle. But, he also knew that God knew pain and struggle. Because God had lived on earth, had experienced the challenges and heartbreak of Paul’s - and our own - humanity. God, who comes to earth. To us. To experience our same struggle and darkness. To be with us. In love.

Because that’s really the point, isn’t it? Love? As we are tested - as our faith is tested and refined through suffering, Paul writes that it is this suffering that produces endurance. That this endurance produces character. And that character produces hope. A hope that does not disappoint. Because it is a hope that is borne out of love. Out of a love that is grounded in the resurrection. A love that says that pain and suffering will not be the end. That death will not be the final word. But that through Christ’s death and resurrection, we experience life. And reconciliation with God. And peace. And hope. All of this - the result of love. Of God’s love. For you. And for me.

Two weeks ago, I shared with you the very difficult story of my father’s death by suicide. The time after his death was a time of deep darkness and confusion for me. Wondering why it had happened. Wondering what I might have done to prevent it.  Wondering how I might have shown better expressed to him how deeply he was loved. Not only by me, but especially by God. 

In was in that time of darkness. In that time of confusion and wondering that I found great comfort in words written in that same letter by Paul to the church in Corinth, words that come at the end of that famous “love” chapter that is so often read at weddings, but really intended for a congregation struggling with conflict and division: 

“For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.”

Friends, God knows our pain because God knows us fully in Jesus. Yet, God also promises that, even in the midst of our confusion and despair and our dim understanding, God, in love, continues to work in our midst and in our world. To bring peace and hope to a broken humanity. This is the promise of Easter. This is our promise from God, for now and for that future time, when we will see God face to face.

May we trust in this promise. May we share it. And may it give us and all people peace and hope for the future. Amen.

Preached May 26, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 6
Readings: Romans 5:1-11; Matthew 11:28-30