The Hope of the Messiah - Return, Rend, Restoration

Our text this morning comes from the prophet Joel. As you hear the reading, it may seem odd to hear these words during the Advent season. We more typically hear the first part of our reading on Ash Wednesday. And the second part on Pentecost Sunday. 

Our reading this morning is from Joel, chapter 2.

Yet even now, says the Lord,

    return to me with all your heart,

with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;

    rend your hearts and not your clothing.

Return to the Lord, your God,

    for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,

    and relents from punishing.

Then afterward

    I will pour out my spirit on all flesh;

your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

    your old men shall dream dreams,

    and your young men shall see visions.

Even on the male and female slaves,

    in those days, I will pour out my spirit. --Joel 2:12-13, 28-29 (NRSV)

The first chapter of Joel, preceding today’s lesson, opens with a lament. It describes a country overrun by a horrible infestation of locusts. The swarm has completely devastated the countryside, leaving it in ruins. The situation is dire. Not only is there environmental calamity and devastation, but the people are experiencing famine and starvation. There is no food. Not even enough to offer a sacrifice to God. There is nothing with which to worship.

Then, in the second chapter, the prophet Joel switches the metaphor. To an invading army that in the same way as the locusts that preceded it. These images of invasion and destruction are a familiar story for the readers of Joel. The people of Israel have lived this story over and over again. It goes like this…

In Genesis, God promised Abraham and his descendants that they would inhabit this land called Canaan. Canaan is sandwiched between the vast Mediterranean Ocean to the west and the desolate desert to the East. After years of being enslaved by Egypt, God frees Israel and makes a covenant with them in Exodus. Here, God promises to be with them. And that they will become a holy nation. A royal priesthood.

God gives them instructions to build a tabernacle that will represent the Garden of Eden and God’s relationship with all humanity. King Solomon will eventually build a beautiful and magnificent temple to replace the Tabernacle and will establish it in the city of Jerusalem. This temple was to remind the people that the Spirit of God filled their covenant with God. That they planted like a vineyard so that the world could taste the love of God. Through them. 

This relationship with God was to be the source of the rivers of life for all nations, for all humanity.

Things went fairly well, at first. Under King David, the twelve tribes of Israel were united into one kingdom. But, then, King Solomon built the temple. And he did it by over-taxing the people and by using slave labor. The kingdom was torn apart. A civil war led to two separate nations: Israel in the north. And Judah in the south. 

Immediately, Israel repeated the story of the Golden Calf from Exodus and established two golden calves to replace the temple. Judah wasn’t much better. The majority of her kings led like tyrants: oppressing the people, driven by greed, gluttony, and violence. They brought the gods of Canaan into the very temple itself. 

Eventually a series of invading armies destroyed the nation. The people of Israel, in the north were completely destroyed by Assyria. The people of Judah, in the south, were carried into captivity by the Babylonians. Solomon’s beautiful temple lay in ruins.  The people lived in exile - torn apart from their land, their communities, from the temple - the center of their worship, and from everything they knew. 

Yes, the readers of Joel knew the story of the invading locusts all too well.

Things were bad. Devastated. Left in ruin. The people far away. And yet...

...even now…Even in the midst of all of the betrayal and corruption, God stands ready to receive them. Return to me with all your heart, God says through the prophet. Return to me with fasting, with weeping, with mourning. Rend your heart and not your clothing.

You see, the traditional symbol of mourning in Israel and even today was to tear one’s robe open or to rip one’s clothing. Like wearing black to a funeral or having ashes smeared on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday. These outward symbols are good. But, they can become meaningless acts. What matters most to God is not the outward ritual - the ways or the places in which we worship. What matters most to God is our hearts. What God desires is hearts that are rendered. That are broken wide open in all honesty. In all of our anguish and grief. Hearts torn open, revealing the pain, the sorrow, the regret, the shame that each one of us carries deep inside. To rend our hearts is to break them wide open and pour everything out to God. 

To God. Who is gracious. Merciful. Slow to anger. Abounding in steadfast love. A god who relents from punishing. A God who is good. Who desires to be the center for us. To be the source of our well-being, our shalom.

This verse in Joel is a quote from Exodus 34. It’s one of the most repeated verses in the Bible. It’s the way in the Exodus story that God describes God’s very self to the people who have just betrayed the covenant at Sinai. God is not some cruel tyrant who wants oppressed servants to obey his every whim. God is a loving parent - father and mother - who longs to be in relationship with God’s children. Who longs to see God’s children thrive in God’s beautiful garden, created just for them.

When we allow our hearts to be opened by the Spirit and allow ourselves to be turned back to the grace, mercy, and loyal, never-ending love of God, our hearts, broken and hurt as they may be, connect with God’s heart. And, then, the love begins to flow...

...the Spirit of the LORD flows freely through our lives. Flowing through everybody, not just the elite or the chosen. But, through all flesh. Anyone who’s heart resonates with the heart of God - the heart of love - can flow in the spirit of God.

The readers of Joel longed for the day when the Messiah would come to restore the kingdom of God on earth as it is in heaven. We, on this side of the Advent, know that this Messiah is Jesus. This is what Peter proclaimed in Acts 2. That Jesus was God in the flesh. That Jesus was the picture of what it looks like when humanity fully resonates with the heart of God. 

Jesus. Who spoke truth to power. Who called out corruption and the abuse of the weak. Who touched the poor, the sick, the exiled. And who reconciled all things with his own self-sacrifice and forgiveness. Who inaugurated God’s kingdom here on earth. Who promises restoration that begins with the rebuilding of the natural world, which is where the story of creation first began - restoration and re-creation. 

And then the outpouring of the spirit and the embracing of all nations. All humanity. Living in abundance and well-being, with silos full of grain and no worries for anyone about where their next meal will come from. This was what the people of Joel’s day dreamed of. This is the unfolding vision in which we live, in this post-Advent world even in the midst of what may seem to be the darkness of the present time. So, come, people of God. Turn back to God. Here. In this place. In this time. Break open your whole heart. Pour out all the anguish, all of the sorrow, all of the confusion, all of the anger that has characterized our world and our lives in this time. Your lament is welcome before God, who is waiting there for you with a promise of new things and new possibilities. That there will be a future. And a future future. And, when you do, know that the Spirit will not be withheld from your broken heart. She will bind up your wounds, replace your doom with visions of what can be, and help us hear each other into being and into continuing to do the work of God in building up the kingdom of God here on earth. This is God’s promise in Joel. A promise for you and me. A promise for everyone. Amen.

Preached online Sunday, December 6, 2020 with Grace & Glory/Third Lutheran churches.

Advent 2

Readings: Joel 2:12-13, 28-29; Luke 11:13

The Power of the Kingdom: What Makes Us Unclean

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

We’re going to continue our discussion around rules. Sometimes it's easy for us to know the rules. And sometimes, even depending on our context, it can be difficult for us to know the rules. Sometimes we may know the rule, but we may be confused by it. Sometimes, there are unspoken rules - those rules that “everybody knows” and that we assume people will follow. Some of these rules, in particular, are common in church.

So, our story today is about rules. And about what is really important. On the surface, it may seem about keeping rules that were Jewish versus Christian. Yet, we need to remember that Jesus was Jewish, so he would have observed the various Jewish laws. That’s not really what this story is about. Let’s listen to it and see if we can figure out what Jesus is really saying. I invite you to follow along in the pew Bible.

Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” He said to them, “Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written,

‘This people honors me with their lips,

    but their hearts are far from me;

in vain do they worship me,

    teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.”

Then he said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.’ But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, ‘Whatever support you might have had from me is Corban’ (that is, an offering to God)— then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many things like this.”

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.”

When he had left the crowd and entered the house, his disciples asked him about the parable. He said to them, “Then do you also fail to understand? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters, not the heart but the stomach, and goes out into the sewer?” (Thus he declared all foods clean.) And he said, “It is what comes out of a person that defiles. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”  --Mark 7:1-23 (NRSV)

The story opens with the appearance of the Pharisees and some scribes who have come into the countryside from Jerusalem to see Jesus. We often have a pretty bad attitude towards the Pharisees, don’t we? That their intent is always to trip up Jesus, to challenge him. This is the way they are presented in some of the other gospels. But, here, in Mark, it’s a little different. If you notice the text carefully, there is nothing that is written about their intent. In fact, it would have been customary and usual for them to come and ask questions. Jesus was viewed as a rabbi, a teacher with followers who was responsible for his disciples. So, assuming that Jesus, as a rabbi, was responsible for his disciples, the Pharisees would have come to Jesus to ask him about the behavior of his followers. There is nothing here to show a devious intent on their part.

Note the parenthetical portion in verses 3 and 4. “For the Pharisees...do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders…” This phrase - the “tradition of the elders” - was a reference to all of the interpretations, the rules, and the procedures that had grown up around the written law, or the Torah. The traditions of the elders were oral commentary on this written law, applying it to real life situations. You might say that the traditions of the elders were like the sermons of our day. Verbal commentary on the written law. 

The Pharisees were actually viewed as the “good guys” of Judaism of their day because they wanted to help people live out the written law. We think of them as “bad” because of what seems to be an antagonistic position toward Jesus. Yet, they believed that the Torah was a gift from God (as we do scripture) and that the oral traditions that had been passed down for generations were also gifts from God, but of equal value. Their question to Jesus - "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" - is their attempt to understand if this Rabbi Jesus shares their views...whether or not Jesus is as concerned as they are for ceremonial purity and for the sacredness of their vows, or their commitment, to the oral traditions. The question is pretty straight forward and seemingly with no devious intent.

It’s Jesus’ response that is surprising. Because he immediately goes into an antagonistic mode. “You hypocrites!” he calls them. He then proceeds to quote from Isaiah, essentially "throwing the book" at them and arguing that they confuse the interpretation of the law with the law itself.

Except, there’s a problem. Because laws don’t interpret themselves. It’s why today we have courts in our country. To interpret our laws. It’s why we have hundreds (if not thousands) of commentaries written on Scripture. To better understand or try to understand what the Bible is saying to us.

Take the fourth commandment, for example. “Honor your mother and father.” Now we probably get pretty easily what it means to honor someone. But who is your mother? Is it your biological mother? Or your adoptive mother? Your stepmother? Perhaps an aunt who was like a mother to you? Maybe a grandmother? Who decides the meaning of “mother?” Or, likewise, “father?” 

Can you put yourself into the position of the Pharisees? They’re simply trying to observe the law in the fullest sense. 

Jesus’ response to their question really isn't about the ritual of being clean or unclean. Please note that Jesus isn’t saying that cleanliness or ritual cleanliness isn’t important. Or that spreading germs is a good idea. This is more about how we understand the law. More specifically, it’s about how we obey the law. Whether we follow the spirit of the law or the letter of the law, which is what Jesus condemns here. Such as keeping keeping the Sabbath, but then cheating people in the marketplace day after day. Or offering sacrifices in the temple, then dealing unjustly or mistreating those who are vulnerable: slaves, foreigners, widows, or orphans. 

What defiles us - what makes us unclean - is not the stuff outside of us. What makes us unclean is what comes from our heart. Those thoughts, words, and deeds that create barriers in our relationships--with each other, with God. Those things we struggle with. Sexual sin. Theft. Murder. Adultery. Greed. Evil action. Deceit and lying. Unrestrained immorality. Envy. Insults. Arrogance. Foolishness. There is nothing on this list we can deny. We, who are bearers of God’s image, but who are also ungodly monsters that lurk underneath. Saint and sinner that we are. Wheat and chaff. Sheep and goats. This back and forth of ourselves that we struggle with. “Daily,” as Paul writes. That we ultimately cannot change. At least, not by ourselves.

It’s why we confess our sins regularly in worship.  Why we approach the Lord’s Supper each week. That we might know and receive God’s forgiveness. That, in Christ, our relationship to God might be restored. And that we might continue to be transformed. So that our hearts - the source of evil - might be changed. Luther writes that our new life is alien to us. That it’s outside the old “us.” That it’s not a matter of Jesus coming and cleaning us out to use our old shell. But that Jesus comes to kill the old. To make a new creation. To take us away from finding our identity in the law and instead finding it in Christ. Because that is the only “us” where we find freedom and a future. Where we find hope!  

But, this isn’t the end of it. Because, then, this same Jesus sends us back out. We, who have become freed in Christ, now are servants to all. To the clean and the unclean. To the wheat and the chaff. To the sheep and the goats. Because our cleanliness, once again, doesn’t not come from external things. Our cleanliness comes solely through the transforming grace of God. 

"Create in us a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within us." May this be our continuous prayer. Amen.

Preached February 16, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Epiphany 6
Readings: Mark 7:1-23; Isaiah 1:11-17, Psalm 50:7-23

Our Sin, God's Faithfulness: God, Parent, Metaphor

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

We’ve been reading about prophets recently as they have participated in the stories of Israel. Last week, for example, we heard about the Prophet Elijah. Today, we’re moving into a section of scripture that is written by and about the prophets themselves. Take out, if you will, one of the pew Bibles in front of you and turn to the Table of Contents. The Hebrew Bible, or the Old Testament, isn’t organized chronologically in date order, but by the type of writing in each book. This past fall, we read our first lessons from the first group of books. These first books are called...anyone? The Torah. Or the Law. Or the Instruction. Or, sometimes, the Books of Moses. Anyone remember how many books are in the Torah? Yes, there are five.

The next group of books are the Histories. They begin with the Book of Joshua and extend to the book of Esther. Why do you think they are called the Histories? That’s right, they tell the history of the Israelites, as they settled into the Promised Land, then how the kingdom was first unified and then divided. They close with the time of exile, when first the northern kingdom - Israel - and then the southern kingdom - Judah - were conquered by other empires.  

After the Histories come the Wisdom books. There are five of these. Let’s name them: Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs or Solomon.

Finally, the rest of the Hebrew scriptures are the writings of the Prophets. The first five books are what we call the Major prophets. We call them this because they are longer and their prophecies are broader and more far-reaching. The remaining books are called the Minor prophets, because they are shorter and their prophecies are more specific to their context or their situation. So, if the first five are the major prophets, which book is the first of the minor prophets? Hosea. Who is the prophet we are reading from today. Look for the page on which Hosea begins. Then, open to Hosea and find Chapter 11. Follow along as I read verses 1-9. 

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
    and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
    the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
    and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
    I took them up in my arms;
    but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
    with bands of love.
I was to them like those
    who lift infants to their cheeks.
    I bent down to them and fed them.

They shall return to the land of Egypt,
    and Assyria shall be their king,
    because they have refused to return to me.
The sword rages in their cities,
    it consumes their oracle-priests,
    and devours because of their schemes.
My people are bent on turning away from me.
    To the Most High they call,
    but he does not raise them up at all.

How can I give you up, Ephraim?
    How can I hand you over, O Israel?
How can I make you like Admah?
    How can I treat you like Zeboiim?
My heart recoils within me;
    my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
    I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal,
    the Holy One in your midst,
    and I will not come in wrath. --Hosea 11:1-9 (NRSV)

One of my favorite things about social media are the photos and stories shared by friends and family that include their children. Some of my friends have children that are still quite small; others have children who are grown. Yet, no matter the age, they are, to their parents, still their kids.

Raising (or really, the proper term is rearing) children can be the most amazing experience. It can also be the hardest. Our kids start out small and helpless. We can’t wait until they can learn to crawl or to walk. And, then, when they do, we’re horrified about what they do and get into. Or, we work with them over and over to say words, to name things, to talk. And then, when they reach that point at about 2 or 3 where we pray that, for just a minute or two, they will be quiet. Or we’re terrified about what they might actually say in public.

There’s a story about parents who taught their daughter to always compliment people who insulted her. So, one day, as the family was out shopping, a stranger said something rude to the mom. Her daughter caught on that her mom was angry. So, she popped out in front of her mom and said to the woman who had been so rude, “Your teeth are such a pretty yellow!”

We try so hard to teach our children important lessons. We set boundaries around them to protect them. We constantly talk to them about hard things that happen at school or on the sports field to help them learn or, perhaps, consider a better way of doing things. It’s like the man who wanted to teach his son the value of money and a work ethic because he kept wanting  Robux, which is virtual currency to purchase special abilities in the Roblox video game (I only know this from my experiences with my own son who is a gamer!). So, he created a chore chart and gave each household chore a value. Then, they established a schedule together. It was working wonderfully! Every day his son did what he was supposed to do without having to be told: washing dishes, cleaning up his room, picking up dog poop. And on and on. It was epic!

Then, one day, the man came home and nothing had been done. He confronted his son. “Hey, man, what’s up with the dishes? Go wash them. Oh, and while you’re at it, don’t forget to pickup the dog poop in the backyard. He son looked at him, as only a child can look at a parent, and said, “Nah. I made enough Robux to get what I wanted. So, I’m good now.”

Sometimes the lessons we try to teach our children backfire on us. And, then, we’re the ones learning the lesson.

Today’s passage in Hosea 11 is a passage that every parent can relate to. We set those boundaries for our children and then watch in agony as they push through them. Or we feel the wounds going deep in our hearts when we hear our child say for the first time, “I hate you.” How can this child, whom we have cared for, for whom we have provided every need, for whom we have lost sleep over, for whom we have cleaned up, coddled and kissed - how can this child do this or say this to us? How can they break our hearts like this?

God, as Israel’s parent, is in the very same position. Israel is that willful child - that rebellious child - that pushes against the boundaries God has set for them, just as our toddlers and then our teenagers do. Even worse, Israel has seemingly rejected all of the values and traditions that God has taught them, that God has shared with them. Israel is oppressing the poor. Israel is worshiping other gods now. Israel is ignoring God, going back to Egypt who enslaved her for support. She goes to Assyria’s king for aid, even though he doesn’t have her best interests at heart. 

God looks at Israel - God’s own child - just as we look at our own children as they sleep and wonder how they can do this. How, after we have loved them, taught them to walk, took them in our arms, healed them, led them with kindness, with love. Lifted them up as babies and held them against our cheeks as we smelled their sweet smell. Or bent down to feed them. How can they do this? And, for just a moment in Hosea, we get a glimpse of God’s deep suffering. A glimpse of the suffering that God experiences when we rebel. When we ignore God. When we walk away.

Israel will, of course, realize the consequences of her choices. Her identity will be torn apart by her choices. She will be broken and battered. She will not be safe from the sword. Violence will consume all of her people. 

And God’s heart will be broken.

If it were you or I, we might just walk away. “Enough!” we might say in agony. “Enough of this! I’ve done everything I can. There’s nothing more I can do.” This might be our very valid and human response. 

But, this is not God’s response. Because God’s mercy runs hot. God’s love runs deep. God will never refuse the child. God will welcome Israel back with warmth and tenderness. Even when the child expects to be condemned by God, that is not what they will receive. Instead, they will receive an invitation. A welcome home. And a reminder that they are a beloved child of God.

We, too, are beloved children of God. Even when we rebel, when we ignore God, when we walk away and we suffer the consequence of our own sinful choices or of a world that is so fully broken, we know that this is not God’s plan. That we should be harmed. That we should hurt. That we should suffer. No matter how far we have strayed. No matter what we have done or what has been done to us. We are like Israel, God’s beloved child. God’s heart beats for us. God’s love is never ending. There is nothing we can do to change this. So, come home. Live with God. 

“For I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.”

Welcome home, beloved of God! Amen.

Preached Sunday, November 10, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 22
Readings: Hosea 11:1-9, Mark 10:13-14, Psalm 2

Treasure Hunting: Our Hearts and Worry

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

“The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!

“No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.Grace and peace to you from God, our abundant Creator, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. Matt. 6:19-34 (NRSV)

Money. That is central to what we are talking about for the next three weeks. Money. Does this subject make you as uncomfortable as it makes me?

Our focus during this time will center around this overall theme of “treasure in heaven.” And, then, each week, we will look at a different text from each of the three synoptic gospels: Matthew, Mark and Luke. We’ll be looking at three different contexts, three different emphases, and then, in particular, three different challenges. Three different things that challenge us in our relationship with God and with money and, especially that challenge our generosity. These three things are worry, grief, and fear.

Does anyone here have a dollar bill on them? Or it can be a bill of any denomination? (In today’s cashless world, these is getting harder and harder to find, isn’t it?) When you look at the bill, what do you see? Amount of bill, former leader, words “In God We Trust.” 

In God We Trust. (Just a little bit of trivia here, but did you know that the requirement to use these words on every denomination of American currency was passed in 1956, not really that long ago.) Isn’t it a little ironic that, on the very thing that causes so much tension and conflict in our lives, in our relationships, in our work, and, yes, right here in our church--on the actual money we use day in and day out are these words: In God we trust. Because it is money and the power of money that is one of the things that we struggle with the most in our relationship with God. 

We worry about money constantly, don’t we? What worries you most about your money? We worry about how much we have. Or don’t have. We worry about the power it has in our lives. We worry about how much time we spend earning it. As we get older, we even worry about what we will do with it after we die. Money or our worry over money is one of the highest causes of anxiety and conflict in our relationships.

We worry constantly about money. It’s why Jesus talk about money ALL THE TIME. 

I really dislike preaching about money. Maybe it would be different if I had it all figured out. But, I don’t. And I worry about it. I come from a long line of worry-ers, in fact. And I have graciously passed my practice of worrying onto my son. It is just easy to worry over it, isn’t. This constant question of how much I should save. Or how much, especially for us in the church, I should give away.

And, then, as though the answer was easy, Jesus simply says, “Don’t worry!” Yeah, right!

And, yet, it really comes down to whether or not we believe the words we find on our own currency--the words, ”In God We Trust.”  Because to trust in God is to believe that there is enough in our world. That God cares abundantly for our world and has provided enough for each one of us. The word we often uses to talk about this is “providence,” God’s providence. To believe in God’s providence is to believe, no matter what, God will care for and protect us. That God will provide for us what we need. (Notice, I said need. Not want.) It’s what we pray for each time we say the Lord’s Prayer. “Give us this day our daily bread.” Notice that the focus in this prayer given to us by Jesus is on today. Not tomorrow, but today. Give us this day our daily bread.

Haven’t you experienced this? Haven’t you experienced God’s providence in your own life? I know I have. In my late 20’s, after my husband and I separated, I had physical custody of my son. It was expensive to pay for rent and utilities for us and for food and clothing for us all by myself. There were many times that my paycheck ran out days before my next payday and I had no idea where our next meal might come from. Where my next tank of gas might come from. Or how I might keep the lights on over our heads. And, yet, there was never a time that we didn’t have enough to survive. That somehow, something or someone would show up in our lives at just the right time with just what we needed. Coincidence? Maybe. But it happened so much then and throughout my life that it is way beyond coincidence. That I can attribute it only to God and God’s providence. That it is a God-thing.

God cares abundantly for our world. God has provided enough for everyone. What then, we might ask, about those who don’t have enough in their lives? About the poor? Or the disadvantaged? After all, we see them all the time here at Grace & Glory. Our food pantry clients. Others who come to us asking for money or for a tank of gas. If God provides enough for everyone, then, why are their people like this in our world.

The simple answer? Sin. Because sin tells us that there isn’t enough in our world. That there isn’t enough for everyone. Sin leads us to worry, to live in anxiety. Sin leads us to a mindset of scarcity. That we need to hold onto our stuff. Sin leads to hoarding. Sin separates us from right relationship with God.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth…” Jesus says in our text today. “...[B]ut store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”

Jesus tells us to “strive toward the kingdom.” To trust in God’s providence and to strive for the kingdom. To trust that God will care for us. That God has created enough for us and for everyone else. To stop worrying. And to move from a place of scarcity to a place of abundance. From an orientation of hoarding to an orientation of sharing.  To think, “If I have too much, it means that someone else probably doesn’t have enough.”  

At the beginning of our service today, you made a list of things that belong to you. Pick one now. Think about how you might use that one thing right now to help other people or to worship God. 

When we change our heart. Or our minds. When we change our orientation from one of scarcity to one of abundance and of trust in God’s providence, this creates a whole new appreciation of how we hold things in common with each other. It is a system of economics that we may not understand or that might not seem at all reasonable according to the ways of our world, but it is one that, as Walter Brueggemann writes, will eventually “blow our socks off.”  

Because God is abundant. God is gracious. And God loves us and proves that love for us on the cross. That, my friends, is our treasure. That is what are to seek and what we are to strive for--a deeper faith in a God who has given us everything. Everything. Including God’s very own life. For us and for all people.

Strive first for the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness. And all these things will be given to you as well. Amen.

Preached August 19, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
13th Sunday after Pentecost
Readings: Matthew 6:19-34 (Psalm 51:6-9)

Encountering the Messiah: Location

The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.

When he was in Jerusalem during the Passover festival, many believed in his name because they saw the signs that he was doing. But Jesus on his part would not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people and needed no one to testify about anyone; for he himself knew what was in everyone. John 2:13-25 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, the Messiah, who is Christ, the Lord. Amen.

I don’t know if you’re like me, but, I’m one of those people who, as each year draws to a close, likes to read all the articles and listen to the reports that recap the last year’s events and tries to put them into a broader, longer-term perspective. I’m always trying to make sense of things that have happened that, in the larger scheme of politics or economics or from a societal standpoint have made an impact.
Sometimes, the events in those annual lists are things that have had just a small effect. At other times, they have made huge and lasting impacts on our world. 

What comes to mind for you, for example, if I mention the fall of 2008? For those of us who lived through it, we know the huge impact--the radical shift--that the one week in September made upon not just our economy, but the economy of the entire world.

Or think about how the world--and maybe even your life--has changed since the iPhone was created just over ten years ago. Before 2007, we didn’t know what an “app” was. We had no way of being constantly connected to the internet. We had likely never used a touch-screen before. Or known what “pinch-to-zoom” meant. Or taken a “selfie,” much less upload it to Facebook or Snapchat or Instagram. Or even known what “outsourcing” was or thought about where our devices came from or heard much about labor abuses in Chinese iPhone factories.  

It seems to me that what often appear at first to be fairly small, insignificant things or events end up having a huge impact. They can make a radical shift in the way our world operates or understands things. 

It is this is what is happening in our story today. A seemingly small incident in the temple that is really a radical shift. A radical shift that will completely change faith and our understanding of God. And a radical shift that not only changes Judaism and the temple, but still impacts us as believers today, some two millennia later. 

First of all, it is important to note that this story--the cleansing of the temple--is located in John in a very different spot in each of the other three gospels--Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Unlike in John, where it is located at the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry, in the other three--the synoptic Gospels, It is located at the end of Jesus’ ministry. In the synoptics, it is Jesus’ actions in the temple that are the catalyst for the anger of the Jewish leadership and their plot to kill him. In other words, this story in the synoptic Gospels is the beginning of the end of Jesus’ ministry and, ultimately, his life.

So, why does John put this story at the beginning of the Jesus’ public ministry? 

If you remember all of our stories from the Hebrew Scripture last year, perhaps you will recall that, for Israel, the temple in Jerusalem was central to their worship. It was in the temple, in the Holy of Holies, where God’s promised to remain. This is why the city of Jerusalem and, more specifically, the temple was central to all of Israel’s religious practice. This is why the Jewish people trekked days and miles to Jerusalem to worship for the major feasts. This is why Israel was so devastated that Jerusalem was captured and the temple destroyed by the Babylonians. This is also why it was so important to the Jewish people that the temple be rebuilt. Everything about their faith, their spiritual lives, and their religion was centered in the temple in Jerusalem.

Central to Israel’s worship practices at the temple was the sacrifice of animals. Everyone was required under liturgical law to make an animal sacrifice. If you were traveling hundreds of miles to worship, it was pretty impractical for you to bring along a bull, or a ram, or a dove. So, it was only practical that, when you got to Jerusalem, you needed to purchase an animal to sacrifice. So, eventually, a marketplace grew up around the temple, where merchants began to offer for the people’s convenience animals for sale for temple sacrifice.

In the same way, many people came from places where different currency was used. So, when they arrived in Jerusalem, they need to exchange their currency for money that would work in Jerusalem. Thus, the Jewish version of American Express arose, where people could do this.

So, the marketplaces that were happening around the temple were very practical and they were needed by the Israelites journeying to Jerusalem to worship. So, in John--please note that the perspective in John is different than in the other gospels--in John, when Jesus drives the merchants out of the temple, it is not necessarily because Jesus believes that the marketplace is evil. There is no mention by John that any financial abuses were happening at the temple. 

Instead, it seems that Jesus is doing this to send a message about who he is and what his role is in this fourth Gospel. Jesus is making a bold statement, not so much “against” anything, but rather “for” something. For his authority to represent and reveal who the God of the temple is, whom Jesus knows intimately as his Father. And as a result of his actions in the temple, Jesus is about to inaugurate a radical shift in the understanding of the Jewish people as to where God’s presence is located.

His actions lead to a confrontation. “Who are you?” the Jewish leaders ask. “What gives you the authority to do what you’ve done?” They challenge him.

Jesus responds with these words: “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”

It is clear that the Jewish leadership don’t understand the double-meaning behind his words. In fact, it is not only the Jewish leadership that misunderstand, it is also Jesus’ disciples. Note the language in verse 22: “After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.” They, themselves, didn’t fully understand until after the resurrection. And we, some 2,000 years later, get that Jesus was referring to his body as a temple and, particularly to his coming crucifixion and his resurrection.

But, what was the deeper point that Jesus was trying to make here? To get the Jewish leadership to understand?

What was the deeper point Jesus was trying to make here? 

His point was that God was no longer going to be restricted to the temple. In fact, it was that God was right there. Right in front of them. Jesus was telling them that God’s Spirit would no longer live in a building, but it would live in him and then, after he had ascended, it would be poured out into every human heart. No longer was God to be found only in the temple. God would be found in the heart of every human being.

This was radical for them. It is still a radical idea for us, too.

Can you see what God is giving? Do you see Jesus present right now in front of you? Here, in the Word made flesh? Here, in the bread and the wine? And in the heart of every single person you meet? Do you see God in front of you?

That is the message of Epiphany. God is right here in front of you. God is present in the flesh, incarnated for you and for me and for all people everywhere.

Come. And see.

Amen.

Preached January 21, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
3rd Sunday after the Epiphany
Readings: Psalm 127:1-2; John 2:13-25

Keeping Up Appearances

The Lord said to Samuel, “How long are you going to grieve over Saul? I have rejected him as king over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and get going. I’m sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem because I have found my next king among his sons.”

“How can I do that?” Samuel asked. “When Saul hears of it he’ll kill me!”

“Take a heifer with you,” the Lord replied, “and say, ‘I have come to make a sacrifice to the Lord.’ Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will make clear to you what you should do. You will anoint for me the person I point out to you.”

Samuel did what the Lord instructed. When he came to Bethlehem, the city elders came to meet him. They were shaking with fear. “Do you come in peace?” they asked.

“Yes,” Samuel answered. “I’ve come to make a sacrifice to the Lord. Now make yourselves holy, then come with me to the sacrifice.” Samuel made Jesse and his sons holy and invited them to the sacrifice as well.

When they arrived, Samuel looked at Eliab and thought, That must be the Lord’s anointed right in front.

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Have no regard for his appearance or stature, because I haven’t selected him. God doesn’t look at things like humans do. Humans see only what is visible to the eyes, but the Lord sees into the heart.”

Next Jesse called for Abinadab, who presented himself to Samuel, but he said, “The Lord hasn’t chosen this one either.” So Jesse presented Shammah, but Samuel said, “No, the Lord hasn’t chosen this one.” Jesse presented seven of his sons to Samuel, but Samuel said to Jesse, “The Lord hasn’t picked any of these.” Then Samuel asked Jesse, “Is that all of your boys?”

“There is still the youngest one,” Jesse answered, “but he’s out keeping the sheep.”

“Send for him,” Samuel told Jesse, “because we can’t proceed until he gets here.”

So Jesse sent and brought him in. He was reddish brown, had beautiful eyes, and was good-looking. The Lord said, “That’s the one. Go anoint him.” So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him right there in front of his brothers. The Lord’s spirit came over David from that point forward.

Then Samuel left and went to Ramah. 1 Samuel 16:1-13 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Triune God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Our text today from first Samuel opens with this words from from first Samuel opens with these words from the Lord to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul?”

These words give us a hint that not all has gone well with the first king of Israel--the king we learned last week that Samuel would anoint. The king demanded by the people so that they could be “like all the other nations.”

In the time between last week’s calling of Samuel and today’s lesson, time has, once again, passed. Samuel’s sons--who would have been expected to move into his role as prophet-judge over Israel--have perverted the system, just like Samuel’s predecessor, Eli.

The people have used this systemic corruption to make a demand of God for a king. The political threat of the neighboring Philistines continues to over them. And, instead of having faith in God’s ability to prosper or even sustain them as a nation, they demand through Samuel that God give them a human king. 

God decides to give them what it is they think they want. In 1 Samuel 8, God says to Samuel, “Comply with the people’s request--everything they ask of you--because they haven’t rejected you. No, they’ve rejected me as king over them. They are doing to you only what they’ve been doing to me from the day I brought them out of Egypt to this very minute, abandoning me and worshipping other gods. So comply with their request, but give them a clear warning, telling them how the king will rule over them.”

So, Samuel does. But he warns them what a monarchy will look like: a military draft, forced labor, taxation, and eventual tyranny (all of which will eventually come true). The human king they so desperately want so they can be just “like all of the other nations” will eventually become their oppressor.

Saul is anointed by Samuel as king over Israel. There are indications at the beginning of Saul’s story that his masculinity was an important factor in his choice. That his “height” and his “physical prowess” were important in the choice, even though he was from the smallest clan of the smallest tribe of Israel. And, although, he began his reign as king with a humble heart, it was not long, before arrogance and his ego began to take over and he began to make choices that were not consistent with God’s instruction.

Soon, everything began to fall apart.

It is here where our story today picks up. Samuel is grieving Saul’s disobedience. But, God has already moved on, deciding that Saul’s monarchy will not continue. So, God directs Samuel to go to Bethlehem. That there, in Bethlehem, Samuel will find the new king and anoint him.

As Samuel approaches Bethlehem, the village elders approach him. They are nervous. It is never a good thing, in their mind, that God’s prophet is coming to their village. Yet, Samuel assures them that he is there in peace--that he has come to make sacrifice to God. He invites them to prepare themselves for the sacrifice--to make themselves ritually clean--and to join him. Samuel also invites Jesse to make sacrifice. Jesse, grandson of Boaz and Ruth, and a descendant of Perez, son of Judah. Jesse’s line can be traced all the way back to Judah. Jesse, who’s name means “man of God.”

It is from Jesse’s lineage--from his sons--that Israel’s new king will come.

Samuel sees Jesse’s oldest son, Eliab, and thinks, “This must be him, right in front.” Perhaps it was his appearance, perhaps he looked as Samuel thought a king should look, perhaps tall and handsome--the way we like our leaders to look.

Yet, he isn’t God’s choice. God says to Samuel,” Pay no attention to his appearance or his stature. Because I don’t look at things like humans do. I look beyond appearances. I look at the heart.”

So Samuel continues. Son after son, he moves through Jesse’s family. When he reaches the seventh one, the last one there, he says to Jesse, “Are there any more? Is that all of them?

Jesse says that there is. One more. The youngest. The one that is out in the pastures keeping the sheep.

Samuel asks Jesse to send for him. When he arrives, Samuel sees that he is ruddy-looking (remember Esau?) and that he had beautiful eyes. That he was good-looking. God, though, saw his heart and said to Samuel, “He’s the one! Anoint him!”

Samuel took the oil he’d brought with him--the ram’s horn full of oil--and poured it over the youngest son’s head, anointing him as the new king of Israel. Our text says that “the Lord’s spirit came over David from that point forward.”

David would go on to become the greatest king that Israel would have. And, it would be through David’s line, through his lineage, that another, even greater, King would come. A Messiah.

How do we make sense for ourselves of this story? How do we make our own meaning from it? How does it inform us today in the 21st century? After all, the days of kings and monarchies, of warring neighbors, of oppression and oppressive structures, are gone or nearly gone! Aren’t they? We are so much more enlightened than the Israel of the past. Aren’t we? We don’t choose our leaders--or anyone else, for that matter--based on outward appearances! We don’t look to our leaders to be our very own, self-selected saviors! Do we? We certainly don’t reject God, failing to trust that God will prosper and sustain us! Do we? 

Do we?

I think we do. I think we are not all that different than Israel. I think we look at outward appearances because we want to be just like everyone else. And, I think we fail, regularly, to look inside and see the heart of others.

God does. God sees the hearts of others. God sees our hearts. Even in the midst of doubt and fear and failure, God sees our hearts.  And God loves us anyway. And God promises to prosper and sustain us. If we only believe it.

A few years into his monarchy, David--this great king of Israel--tripped up. He made some huge mistakes. When Samuel confronted him, he realized how deeply he had abandoned God and wrote this prayer:

Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean,
    scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life.
Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,
    set these once-broken bones to dancing.
Don’t look too close for blemishes,
    give me a clean bill of health.
God, make a fresh start in me,
    shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.
Don’t throw me out with the trash,
    or fail to breathe holiness in me.
Bring me back from gray exile,
    put a fresh wind in my sails!
Give me a job teaching rebels your ways
    so the lost can find their way home.
Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God,
    and I’ll sing anthems to your life-giving ways.

Today, after worship, we will hold a congregational meeting. At this meeting, we will elect our leadership for the next year. We will approve our budget for next year. And we will begin to envision where God is leading our congregation. Next week we will commit to funding that vision. And in two weeks, we will celebrate our 20th anniversary and invite our entire community to participate in that vision.

Where do you see yourself in that vision? Are you perhaps, like David, suffering from once-broken bones, blemished and gray, trying to survive the chaos of your life, feeling as though you have been tossed out with the trash? Or are you, perhaps, like Israel, believing that God can’t be relied upon, that we can only rely upon ourselves.

May we learn from Israel and trust that God has in mind to prosper and sustain us. May we pray like David that God might breathe holiness in us and put fresh wind in our sails! May we do the work of God--teaching rebels God’s ways so that all people might find their way home. Back to a God who loves them. And who loves us. Deeply.

May David’s prayer be our prayer. May God continue to make fresh starts in us so that we might continue to sing songs to God's life-giving way. Amen.

Preached October 22, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

20th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 51:10-14; John 7:24.

Singing the Song of Lent

The film, “Remember the Titans,” is based on a true story, set in the 1970s in Alexandria, Virginia.  For years, schools have been segregated between black and white.  Under a federal order to integrate, two schools, one white and one black, are forced to close and form T.C. Williams High School, a fully integrated school.

The white head football coach of the Titans is replaced by an African-American coach from North Carolina, Coach Herman Boone, who is played in the movie by Denzel Washington.  There are deep tensions on the team, between black and white players, between black and white parents, between black and white coaches.  There are deep tensions in the city.  

Then the team goes on a two-week training camp--a boot camp of sorts--in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania--the site of the deadliest battle in the Civil War, a site of massive casualties for both Union and Confederate troops over three days.  It is there, at training camp in Gettysburg, where our scene begins.  Let’s watch!

The message for these young men was that, just like the soldiers in the Civil War, they, too, were part of a struggle that was much bigger than themselves.  A monumental struggle.  Something long--spanning history.   Something epic.  Something that has spanned the arc of our nation’s history into their own time and even into our time.

Eventually, though, these young men began to understand.  They began to come together.  And in the process, they were changed.  Their coaches and parents were changed.  The entire community was changed.

You and I are also part of something epic.  Something monumental.  A part of a story that spans the entire arc of history, beginning with the creation of our world, the deliverance of Israel out of slavery, the coming of the Messiah to, once and for all, deliver all people from sin into forgiveness, from death into life, from slavery into freedom.  

You and I are part of God’s story.  

Today, we begin the liturgical season of Lent.  In the early church, Lent was a time of learning, just like a training camp.  A journey for those new in the faith to prepare for their baptisms and to receive holy communion for the first time.  

During this time, they would immerse themselves in the three traditional disciplines of Lent--almsgiving, or caring for the poor; fasting; and immersing themselves in Scripture and prayer.

At the end of Lent came the Three Days, or the Triduum.  The Triduum was one service that began on Maundy Thursday, continued on Good Friday, and culminated with Easter Vigil on the evening before Easter Sunday. During the Three Days, these new believers would remember the movements of Christ during Holy Week--the Passover meal, Jesus’ death on the cross, and his resurrection.  And, at the culmination of the Easter Vigil, they would be baptized. And they would celebrate how they had been joined with Christ in his death and resurrection and delivered from sin and death to righteousness and freedom.  

The key to this Lenten journey for the new believers was conversion, or as the ancients put it, a change, a turning from one way of walking to another, from one way of life to a new way.  For these new believers, Christianity was not simply something more to do or to take on, but it was a complete change, a totally new way of living. And, in a pagan world, a world where Christians were a very small minority, it was a change that could also result in their death.

Like those early believers, we’re on a journey, too.  Now, it isn’t a journey that, for most of us, will result in a martyr’s death.  But, it is a journey of dying.  Dying to our old selves, dying to our old way of living.  And, for us, Lent is an opportunity in that journey to step back a bit, both as individuals and as a community.  To step back and take an inventory.  To take an inventory of our hearts. 

In the last verse of our lesson for this evening, we read these words, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  

What does your heart look like?  Where is your treasure?   

In 2 Corinthians, Paul writes that “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

You are the righteousness of God.  Where your heart is reflects how you are living into being that righteousness of God.  How are you living now? Are you living in a way that reflects the wonder, the gratitude, the joy that is our life in Christ?  Too often our lives rest in the anticipation of a future life with God, rather than living life in the here and now and in the assurance of God’s presence in the here and now.  

Now, living into that wonder and gratitude and joy that is our life in Christ doesn’t ignore the brokenness or the suffering that is so present in our world today.  It doesn’t deny our own brokenness or our own complicity in that suffering.   

Yet wrapped into these realistic truths of our broken human existence is a greater truth--the truth of the resurrection. 

In Romans 6, Paul writes, “We have been buried with him through baptism into death, in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so also we may live a new way of life.”

Today, on Ash Wednesday, we remember our mortality.  Without Christ, we face a sure and permanent death.  Yet, death is not the end for us.  In our baptism, we have been joined with Christ in his death and his resurrection.  Lent doesn’t have to be a season of mourning and sacrifice.  It is okay for us to have joy during Lent, to lean into the life that is ours as resurrected people of Christ.  To step back and to wonder and see with gratitude where God is at work in our lives, in our church, in our community and in our world.  

And it is okay to sing.

So, sing!  Sing during this season of Lent.  Sing the song of the epic story that spans the entire arc of salvation history.  Sing the song of deliverance sung by Miriam at the Red Sea, by Mary at the angel’s announcement, by the angels at Christ’s birth, by Simeon in witness to the Messiah, by the early Christians in a hostile, pagan world, by Luther in a medieval world of reform, by the faithful leaders of the Civil Rights movement as they marched for freedom, by the whole church today and by all the church triumphant.  

At the end of Lent, you will look back and you will see how you have been changed by this song.  This song of joy and wonder.  This song of humble awe and gratitude.  This song of Jesus, who is with us here and now, and forever into all eternity.  Amen.

Preached March 1, 2017, at Grace and Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Ash Wednesday
Readings: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; Psalm 51:1-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b - 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Glimpses

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 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. Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 (NRSV)

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

First, a disclaimer. I can just about promise you that during the course of my sermon this morning I will likely become emotional, since this is my last Sunday here and likely the last sermon I will preach here.

So, here’s the thing. If that happens, here’s what I want you to do: I want you to let go of that stoic Norwegian or German heritage and just cry right along with me. Do you promise to do that? Okay. Let’s begin.

I want to talk to you today about your treasure. No, it’s not what you think. My last sermon here will not be a stewardship sermon. Instead, I want to talk to you about your treasure--those little things or those experiences that you treasure. Those little things or experiences that bring you joy. That bring goodness and beauty into your lives. Those little things or experiences that you hold in your heart and that are your treasure.

Over the past week, I’ve been sitting several hours in airports, waiting to travel back and forth to Los Angeles for my last interview with my synod for final approval. I’ve had a lot of time to think of my own treasures. Particularly the treasures from this past year. Those little things or experiences that I hold deep in my heart.

Things like...

...the way you so warmly welcomed me into this congregation and have supported my learning over this past year, showing me grace when I’ve made mistakes and offering loving suggestions as to how I might be a better pastor.

...the gift of Pastor Mark as my supervisor and all of the things we’ve talked about, so much stuff that I’ve learned from him and our ongoing and never-ending conversation around politics, a subject that both of us love to talk about. And, this year, we’ve had a lot to talk about!
...and of Michell, who knows everyone and who they are related to and who just seems to be able to accept every challenge and solve every problem I throw her way, although, she hasn’t quite yet figured out how to get the bat that flew into my office this past week out of the church.
...and of all of you who I’ve had the privilege to work with this past year in different ways, whether on different committees, or the building project, or in handbells, or in Stephen Ministry.
...the openness and honesty so many of you have shown me, a complete stranger, as you have shared the joys and, yes, the hard times of your lives.
...the ways in which you have gone out of your way to show hospitality-- those little gifts that magically appeared on my desk, the lunch invitations, the cards you sent just to say thanks for a particular sermon, the amazing home-baked goods, the fresh produce from your gardens, or even just the times you dropped in to chat.
...the trust you showed in me by letting me spend time with your children in all their innocence and simple faith and from whom I receive so much love back , including hugs and even a huge lip-smacking kiss I got just last Sunday from one of them. And, yes, even sharing your teenagers with me and all the learning that they bring!
...the way in which the beauty of this place has grown on me--the lush, green rolling hills of this bluff country and, even, the stark shades of gray of this place in the winter.
...the friendliness of small town life--that no matter what, someone always says hello to me as I’m walking to church in the morning.
...and, yes, even the experience of putting the top down on my little convertible and driving some of the back roads of this amazing golden valley.

All of these little things and experiences and so much more have brought such beauty and joy into my life this year. As I began this journey, not knowing for sure where I would end up, not even knowing for sure if I was truly being called to be a pastor, it’s as though with each of these little things and experiences, I’ve been getting glimpses into the kingdom of God.

Glimpses into the kingdom of God. It sounds a little like our story today about Abraham, doesn't it? Called to go to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance, he set out, not knowing where he was going. In faith, he waited and watched for the promise--that God would make of him a great nation and would provide a land for his people. And Abraham waited. And he watched. Childless, both he and Sarah waited. And they watched. And they never saw that promise, did they? But along the way, God gave them little glimpses. “Look up into the sky, Abraham!” God said, “Count the stars! This will be your nation.” Or the birth of Isaac at the age of a hundred. The son long promised to Abraham. The son who would be the first of this great promised kingdom. Each experience of beauty and joy gave Abraham a glimpse into the promised kingdom of God.

We wait. And we watch. Just like Abraham and Sarah, in faith we wait and we watch for that promised kingdom of God. What we’re looking for is hard to describe. Those small signs that stand out for us in the middle of a deathly world, signs of life. Of love and beauty. Of goodness. We don’t see them as often as we’d like. We try to cope in between, convincing ourselves that we’ve been faithful, that we’re happy, and that the wait isn’t so bad. But, in truth, it feels endless. And miserable. And sometimes it seems like there just isn’t any hope. And, then, we get a glimpse. Always, it seems, we get a glimpse just when we need it most. And, once again, we are hopeful.

What are the glimpses that give you hope? What are those little things or experiences that bring beauty and love into your life, that give you a glimpse of God’s kingdom? Those things that you hold in your heart and that you treasure. Perhaps it’s your children. Perhaps it’s watching your garden grow. Perhaps it’s looking into a sky that is covered with stars.

Inside your bulletin today, you’ll find a Post-It Note on the "Taking Faith Home" insert. Or, if you don’t have a bulletin, there are pads of Post-It Notes in each pew. What do you treasure? What do you treasure that gives you a glimpse of God’s promised kingdom? Take a moment to think. Write it down as you choose. I’ll give you a minute or two. When you finish, place that note right over your heart.

God has given us his kingdom. It is God’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom by adopting us into his kingdom through the power of the Holy Spirit in our baptisms. In the Word and in the bread and wine, Christ is present for us here and now, and forever, and continues to work faith in our hearts. We need never be afraid. We need never give up hope.

I'm reminded of a poem written by my pastor, Michael Coffey, from my church in Texas. The name of the poem is "Count the Stars."

Abraham’s countless stars hover over our troubled heads
Sarah’s sky lights enlighten our skittish steps
our ancestors fill the night sky with testimony
this is not all there is, there is more to come
more than the terra and the ocean
the sky painter who flicks your future on midnight canvas
is making space for your story and song
making and guarding promises still unspoken
opening wormholes to times and places
unreachable by your linear, downward searching mind
so let that muscle in your forehead go and feel your brow drop
and your heart slow and your brain relax and the flow flowing
and rocket on through fear until faith is your Milky Way

Count your stars! Treasure the glimpses you are given into God’s kingdom. Today, put your hand over them on your heart as a gesture of dedication--a dedication to our God, who loves us and desires only good for us and who has given us the same promise that he gave Abraham--the promise of his kingdom and of life into all eternity.

And, thank you, for all of the glimpses of God’s kingdom that you have given me over this past year.

Let us pray. O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Preached August 7, 2016, at Chatfield Lutheran Church.

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - Year C

Texts: Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Psalm 33:12-22; Luke 12:32-40