Unraveled: Rizpah Mourns Her Sons

Now Saul had a secondary wife named Rizpah, Aiah’s daughter. Ishbosheth said to Abner, “Why have you had sex with my father’s secondary wife?” 

There was a famine for three years in a row during David’s rule. David asked the Lord about this, and the Lord said, “It is caused by Saul and his household, who are guilty of bloodshed because he killed the people of Gibeon.” So the king called for the Gibeonites and spoke to them.

(Now the Gibeonites weren’t Israelites but were survivors of the Amorites. The Israelites had sworn a solemn pledge to spare them, but Saul tried to eliminate them in his enthusiasm for the people of Israel and Judah.)

David said to the Gibeonites, “What can I do for you? How can I fix matters so you can benefit from the Lord’s inheritance?”

The Gibeonites said to him, “We don’t want any silver or gold from Saul or his family, and it isn’t our right to have anyone in Israel killed.”

“What do you want?” David asked. “I’ll do it for you.”

“Okay then,” they said to the king. “That man who opposed and oppressed us, who planned to destroy us, keeping us from having a place to live anywhere in Israel— hand over seven of his sons to us, and we will hang them before the Lord at Gibeon on the Lord’s mountain.”

“I will hand them over,” the king said.

But the king spared Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son and Saul’s grandson, because of the Lord’s solemn pledge that was between them—between David and Saul’s son Jonathan. So the king took the two sons of Aiah’s daughter Rizpah, Armoni and Mephibosheth, whom she had birthed for Saul; and the five sons of Saul’s daughter Merab, whom she birthed for Adriel, Barzillai’s son, who was from Meholah, and he handed them over to the Gibeonites. They hanged them on the mountain before the Lord. The seven of them died at the same time. They were executed in the first days of the harvest, at the beginning of the barley harvest.

Aiah’s daughter Rizpah took funeral clothing and spread it out by herself on a rock. She stayed there from the beginning of the harvest until the rains poured down on the bodies from the sky, and she wouldn’t let any birds of prey land on the bodies during the day or let wild animals come at nighttime. When David was told what Aiah’s daughter Rizpah, Saul’s secondary wife, had done, he went and retrieved the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan from the citizens of Jabesh-gilead, who had stolen the bones from the public square in Beth-shan, where the Philistines had hanged them on the day the Philistines killed Saul at Gilboa. David brought the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan from there and collected the bones of the men who had been hanged by the Gibeonites. The bones of Saul and his son Jonathan were then buried in Zela, in Benjaminite territory, in the tomb of Saul’s father Kish. Once everything the king had commanded was done, God responded to prayers for the land. --2 Samuel 3:7; 21:1-14

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

I want to begin this morning with an acknowledgment. This is a hard and horrible story. It is the story of Rizpah - a woman, a wife, and a mother - whose two sons, along with five other men, sons of another woman, wife and mother, are executed by the state. Their bodies and lives given as blood-sacrifices. 

It is a hard and horrible story, this story of Rizpah, particularly for us on this day, as we prepare to celebrate Independence Day in our nation. But, perhaps, this year, it is a timely story, difficult as it may be. A reminder of what real freedom and true patriotism is.

To fully understand the context of this story, we need to back up just a bit. We are in the days of the early monarchy in Israel. Saul, Israel’s first king, has become disfavored by God, who has anointed David to replace him. Throughout much of the first book of Samuel, they are at war with each other - King Saul fighting to hold onto his reign against David, one who had been beloved by him, who had even married Saul’s daughter. This is a war between a father and a son-in-law. By the end of first Samuel, Saul is dead. Killed in battle. So, too, is Jonathan, his son - David’s best friend. This family fight has been devastating, resulting in a kind of hunger for blood on all sides. 

We first hear of Rizpah in chapter three, the first verse of today’s reading. We learn that she is Saul’s concubine, most likely considered a second tier wife of Saul. Like Hagar and Abraham. 

As the story continues a famine has struck the land. David seeks an answer from God about the reason for this famine. He hears that it is because of a covenant broken by Saul - a covenant made with Israel and the Gideonites, remnants of the Canaanite people, whom Israel had promised not to harm. Saul, in his zeal to preserve his throne, has killed many of them. David, now Israel’s king, is dealing with the consequences of this broken promise. 

He goes to the Gideonites. (Notice that God does not tell him to go to the Gideonites.) David asks what kind of blood-sacrifice they will require to end the famine. They tell him that neither gold nor silver will compensate for these unjust deaths. They also tell David that they cannot legally ask for anyone in Israel to be killed to compensate. So, David gives them what they cannot do. He hands over seven of Saul’s sons to be executed. 

But, he does not hand over sons from Saul’s first tier wife. Instead he takes two sons from Rizpah, Saul’s concubine. And five sons from Merab, Saul’s daughter. Thus, Saul’s grandsons. He gives them over to the Gideonites and all seven are executed. 

Do you notice that after this happens, after this blood sacrifice is complete, God does not end the famine? Is it possible this was not God’s desire That this was not how God envisioned Israel might be freed from famine? 

It’s important to note that, if we read this text carefully, nowhere does God tell David to do what he does, even though the text hints at this as justification. I’ve mentioned using a hermeneutic of suspicion before. This is a framework for reading scripture that challenges any notion that any violence or harm or atrocity that is done in God's name is actually demanded by God. The hermeneutic of suspicion challenges these notions with an understanding that, rather than God making such demands, it is, as transcribed by human narrators, the human desire for power and control that actually underlies those atrocities in Scripture. 

David does not ask God what to do. And God does not - here - tell David to hand over these sons and grandsons of Saul. In fact, one could argue - and many theologians do - that this was intentionally done by David - not to end the famine, but to ensure his reign and to eliminate any potential threat or claim to the throne by any of Saul’s remaining heirs.  

Whatever the motivation, however, the end result is that the sons of Rizpah and Merab are executed. Even worse, their bodies are left to hang in the public square, to rot, and to be eaten by animals. Like garbage.

None of God’s children are garbage. And Rispah’s devotion to her sons will not allow them to be dishonored in this way. She pitches a tent by their bodies. And from the beginning of harvest until the rains begin, she fights with scavengers night and day.  For six months she is there - sleeping, eating, toileting, protecting, bearing witness. Bearing public witness to the atrocity that has befallen her sons. 

How many women have we seen bear this same public witness in our lifetimes? Immediately, the mother of Emmet Till comes to mind. Or the mother of Matthew Sheppard. What about the mothers of the children killed the very next year at Columbine, some 23 years ago? Or the first and second graders gunned down at Sandy Hook? Or the mothers of the high school students at Stoneman Douglas? Or what of the mothers of all those whose lynchings are commemorated at the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, AL? Or the mothers of those killed in the racially-motivated shooting in Buffalo? Or what of the mothers of the third and fourth graders in Uvalde, TX? Or the mothers of the five immigrant children left to suffocate to death in a refrigerator truck in the outskirts of San Antonio? All because leaders of our country fail (or refuse) to act. Over and over and in this country - in our world - mothers, like Rizpah, bear public witness to the results of our human lust for power and money. Like Rizpah, the unraveling of their lives and their families leads to public grief that leads to activism. Activism that calls out our government. That calls out our leaders. That calls us out.

That, my friends, is true patriotism. Holding us all to account - to repent. Just as David was finally called to repentance and then to act - to bury, not only the bodies of the sons of Rizpah and Merab, but also the bodies of Saul and Jonathan, which he had left behind. Buried together in the royal tomb of Saul's family. Once he did, it was then that God ended the famine.

There are few clergy who have preached on this story. And for good reason. But there is one clergy woman who has preached on this story. Womanist theologian Wilma Gafney writes this: 

Some of you may be asking, “Where is God in Rizpah’s story?” God was right there with Rizpah weeping a mother’s tears. God was with her sons exhaling their last tortured breaths on crosses not of their own making. God was with the hungry and thirsty earth and her desperate dying creatures. God was with the Gibeonites in their righteous rage and grief. God was even with David though perhaps not in the way the authors would always have us think. Wherever you look, God is there. Wherever you see yourself in this story, God is there. Present, accompanying, never abandoning us to our sorrow and grief and the worst the world can do or the worst that we do.

She continues: 

Whether Rizpah’s gospel is good news for you depends on where and with whom you stand. Where do you stand church? Where do you stand when the victims of sexual violence are in the church and so are the perpetrators? Where do you stand when the justice system works for you but not your neighbor or her sons? Do you stand with the legally lynched and corruptly crucified? Where do you stand? Where do you stand when some folk are declared disposable because what side of the man-made border imposed on stolen land they come from? Where do you stand when women are being forced into Iron Age reproductive slavery like Hagar and Bilhah and Zilpah, denied the right to make decisions about their bodies, their reproductive health. Where do you stand when folk are calling the truth a lie and a lie the truth? Where do you stand?

I know where Jesus would stand. He stood with the women with bad sexual reputations, the women who were used by men and left [behind in shame….] He stood against a crooked and corrupt government without concern for the cost. He stood with the dying and the dead…He stood in such solidarity with the dying that he died himself. And in his dying he destroyed death and took away its power. Petty kings and would-be kings might say “death.” But Jesus says “Life!” He cried out “Life” from the grave. And when he came back to stand again with the living and the dying, Jesus chose a woman very much like Rizpah to be the first preacher of his gospel and the apostle to the apostles. Jesus stands with us in life and in death - his and ours - as Rizpah stood with her sons in their bloody vicious deaths. 

Where do you stand church? Don’t tell me. Show me.... Amen.

Preached July 3, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: 2 Samuel 3:7, 21:1-14; Psalm 86:8-17

God's Presence Brings Life: Dry Bones

Today, our reading is from the prophetic book of Ezekiel. It is, perhaps, the most known passage in Ezekiel. 

Last week, we were in the Prophet Jeremiah. The time frame of both of these prophets is about the same, with Jeremiah perhaps a little older than Ezekiel. Both Jeremiah and Ezekiel were prophets during the first exile of Israel. But they are in different locations. Jeremiah is speaking to the people exiled in Babylon from Israel’s homeland. Ezekiel, however, who was a priest and a prophet, an influencer of sorts in Jerusalem, has been exiled by Babylon. To keep him from stirring up trouble in Jerusalem. So, Ezekiel is an exile speaking to those in the homeland. 

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”

So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.

Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’ Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.” --Ezekiel 37:1-14 (NRSV)

During the time I lived in Austin, I got to know my youngest niece, Grace, well. One of her favorite TV shows - in fact, her most favorite TV show - was “Bones.” She even named her cat, “Bones.” I don’t know if you remember the show, or if you saw it, but it was a crime procedural comedy-drama series that first premiered in 2005. It was based on a real person - a woman who was a forensic anthropologist. 

The whole idea behind this area of work is that bones can speak to us. Forensic anthropologists assist in identifying deceased individuals whose remains are decomposed, burned, mutilated, or otherwise unrecognizable - such as the result of a plane crash. They are also instrumental in investigating and documenting mass genocide and identifying remains left behind in mass graves. Their job is to help the bones tell the story of this person or this people who are no more.

Now Ezekiel is not a forensic anthropologist. But a prophet. And, as our test today opens, he is being whisked away by God - kind of like Disney’s Ghost of Christmas past from Dicken’s Christmas Carol. Ezekiel is literally being whisked by the hand of God into a valley of bones. Bone upon bone upon bone. Stacked far and wide. All Ezekiel can see are bones. Dry bones. Bones that have been there for a very long time. Bones from which all of the marrow - that life giving center - has completely dried up. Ezekiel has been carried into the midst of death itself. 

Then, surprisingly, God asks the question of Ezekiel. “Can these bones live?” God asks. And, Ezekiel, perhaps not entirely sure of the answer, responds, “You know, God.” Like “I don’t know, you tell me.” There is no “Pollyanna” “Sure, you bet!” answer here. Instead, Ezekiel, not really knowing the answer given what lies in front of him, turns the question back to God.

It is then that God acts - not by restoring the bones to life as we might expect, but by telling Ezekiel to prophesy to them. Almost like God is saying to Ezekiel, even though you may not know whether these dried out bones can be restored, do it. Prophesy, Mortal.

So, he does. Reluctantly. Perhaps, hopelessly, too. But, then, a miracle begins to happen. What Ezekiel perhaps expected would happen, doesn’t. The exact opposite happens. These bones begin to fill out with sinew and flesh, covered by skin. Dry as they were, they have begun to come alive. But, not fully. 

Because, then, God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the breath. To the breath of creation - the four winds from the four corners of the earth. Creation itself has a role to play in this restoration of life. Soon, these formerly dead, dry bones are alive. Standing on their feet. A vast multitude, our text tells us.

This text from Ezekiel is often used as a metaphor for life after death, for the resurrection of the dead. But, perhaps a better reading of this - a reading that is clearly laid out for us in the text, is one that is about the restoration of Israel. Of the people of Israel. This is less a resurrection story and more a restoration story. It is the story of an exiled people, who, like the dry, dead bones, have lost hope. A people who have lost their land. Who have lost their way of life. Who have lost everything. This is a story of a people disrupted. This could also be our story.

The lesson of this story? There are many. But, perhaps, for us in our time - as we are once again witness to a new COVID variant, witness to another school shooting, witness again to increasing hostility between nations - things that dry out our bones, that suck all of the hope from us. Perhaps, for us in our time this is simply a message for us as people of God - like Ezekiel - to simply speak words of hope into our world, even when we don’t know for sure what the future holds. To prophesy to the dry bones around us. To call in the breath of creation. To be part of creating that new future into which the God of Israel - who entered into our world through God’s own Son - will again enter in to restore and reanimate our hope. And our world.

Can these bones live? O God, you know. Amen.

Preached December 5, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.
Advent 2
Readings: Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:25-26

Presence and Promise: The Promise of LIfe

Over these past two weeks, we’ve seen these visions of the heavenly throne room. In the first week, we had this image of God, the Creator. A God we’ve been introduced to over and over in the prophets. God, at the center of the universe, surrounded by the heavenly council and the four living creatures, who represent humanity and all of creation - all of whom are singing these songs of praise to God. Songs that we sing in our liturgy and our hymns: holy, holy, holy.

Week Two brought us the image of the Lamb. The One worthy to open the scroll in God’s hand - the master plan by which God would redeem and restore us and all creation. Once again, we heard of the praise of heaven and earth for this Lamb - Worthy is Christ the Lamb who was slain.

Today, these scenes of praise and celebration give way to threatening visions. As the Lamb begins to open the seals of the scroll, we experience a series of seven threatening visions. One of which - perhaps the most threatening vision for us of all - is the basis for the first part of today’s reading. In Revelation, chapter 6. 

Then I looked on as the Lamb opened one of the seven seals. I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come!” So I looked, and there was a white horse. Its rider held a bow and was given a crown. And he went forth from victory to victory.

When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!” Out came another horse, fiery red. Its rider was allowed to take peace from the earth so that people would kill each other. He was given a large sword.

When he opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” So I looked, and there was a black horse. Its rider held a balance for weighing in his hand. I heard what sounded like a voice from among the four living creatures. It said, “A quart of wheat for a denarion, and three quarts of barley for a denarion, but don’t damage the olive oil and the wine.”

When he opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come!” So I looked, and there was a pale green horse. Its rider’s name was Death, and the Grave was following right behind. They were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill by sword, famine, disease, and the wild animals of the earth.

These are the threats that are real. They are as real for us today as they were for people in the first century. These are the things that strip away any sense of security we might have. Each of them represented by one of the four horsemen. 

The first horseman in white represents the threat of conquest. 

How secure are we as a nation? The people reading John’s Revelation lived in the most secure nation on earth. Much like we do today. They, like us, took this for granted. Yet, as we have learned in these past many months, our nation’s security can easily be undermined. It is more tenuous than we realize. Unexpected and unseen forces, whether from outside or from inside our nation’s borders continuously threaten our national security. How secure are is our nation? This is the potential threat represented by the first horsemen.

The second horseman in fiery red represents the threat of violence - the violence we do to each other. It asks the question, “How secure are you in your community or even in your own home?” This is a threat that keeps us up at night. That causes such anxiety. How do we keep ourselves or our families safe? This is the threat that leads us to trust in weapons and in security systems that often give us a false sense of security. How safe really are you and your loved ones from violence?

The third horseman in black represents the threat of food shortage or of economic hardship. Isn’t this another threat that keeps us up at night? Where will the money come from? For food, for shelter, for those basic needs to, once again, keep us safe. How secure is your family economically? We live in one of the richest countries in the world, but as we see greater and greater economic inequality and insecurity in our nation. How secure are each of us really? One or two paychecks away from financial ruin. One stock market crash away from economic failure. How secure are you and your loved ones financially?

The fourth horseman in pale green represents the threat of death. How secure is your health or your life? This is perhaps the most frightening for all of us. Whether it is a cancer diagnosis, a heart attack or a stroke or the continuing threat of the pandemic, this threat of the loss of our health or of our lives terrifies us. 

Each of these four horsemen present threats that remind us of how vulnerable we really are. Over and over again, they ask the question, “How secure are you? No, really! How secure are you and those you love?” They lead us, like the writer of Revelation before the final seal is opened, to ask this question: who can stand in the face of these threats? How can we survive?

The answer is in the second part of our reading today. From Revelation, chapter 7.

After this I looked, and there was a great crowd that no one could number. They were from every nation, tribe, people, and language. They were standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They wore white robes and held palm branches in their hands. They cried out with a loud voice:

“Victory belongs to our God
       who sits on the throne,
            and to the Lamb.”

All the angels stood in a circle around the throne, and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell facedown before the throne and worshipped God, saying,

“Amen! Blessing and glory
        and wisdom and thanksgiving
        and honor and power and might
            be to our God forever and always. Amen.”

Then one of the elders said to me, “Who are these people wearing white robes, and where did they come from?”

I said to him, “Sir, you know.”

Then he said to me, “These people have come out of great hardship. They have washed their robes and made them white in the Lamb’s blood. This is the reason they are before God’s throne. They worship him day and night in his temple, and the one seated on the throne will shelter them. They won’t hunger or thirst anymore. No sun or scorching heat will beat down on them, because the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them. He will lead them to the springs of life-giving water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” --Revelation 6:1-8; 7:9-17 (CEB)

Who can stand? Who can stand in the face of these threats? John sees who can stand: those who have been redeemed by the Lamb. You and I and believers across time. We can stand. 

It does not mean that these threats are not real. Or that they will go away. We have over this past year and a half been witness to every one of these threats. We have experienced every one of them. 

But, the promise here is that, even in the face of conquest or violence or economic hardship or illness or death - the promise we have is that of life. It is this promise that allows us to stand in the face of these threats, knowing and trusting that, ultimately, God’s purpose is one of life. No more hunger or thirst. No sun or scorching heat. No more tears. A promise for you and for me. For all people and for all time. 
Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and always. Amen.

Preached August 22, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, and Third Lutheran, Louisville.

13th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Revelation 6:1-8; 7:9-17; John 14:1-4

Pain and Promise: A New Song

The Psalter - the entire book of Psalms - ends with the Psalm we just heard. Psalm 150 is the last of seven psalms of praise, an extended call to praise - that invites everything that breathes to praise the Lord. Everything that breathes. People. Animals. Birds. Fish. Plants. All of God’s creation in this psalm is invited into an attitude of praise.

Yet, we know that not everyone experiences grace from God. We grow sick. We can be killed. We can be oppressed. We can experience disaster.

Over these past six weeks, we’ve been reading selections from Jeremiah and the Psalms. We’ve heard of Jeremiah’s call and his subsequent challenge to the kings and people of Judah to turn back. And of their failure to do so. And the resulting destruction and exile. We’ve sat in Saturday with them for a time as they lamented. Grieved their losses. Trapped in a place they did not want to be. Wondering how they might go on. We’ve witnessed Jeremiah’s symbolic act of hope and heard his call to the people to prosper where they were planted, even as they waited for restoration.

Today, we hear the promises of what that restoration will be. How God will restore, not only the people, but the nation and its leaders. Today, we read our last reading from Jeremiah. This work of resilience. This survival manual. This story that seeks to help Judah, and us, make sense of the wreckage of their world. 

We begin with chapter 33. 

The time is coming, declares the Lord, when I will fulfill my gracious promise with the people of Israel and Judah. In those days and at that time, I will raise up a righteous branch from David’s line, who will do what is just and right in the land. In those days, Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is what he will be called: The Lord Is Our Righteousness. The Lord proclaims: David will always have one of his descendants sit on the throne of the house of Israel. And the levitical priests will always have someone in my presence to make entirely burned offerings and grain offerings, and to present sacrifices. --Jeremiah 33:14-18 (CEB).

This first passage is about leadership. It is a promise of a new shoot from an old tree. Here Jeremiah picks up a prominent theme from Isaiah, that in the grand restoration of the nation, an ideal king will come from David’s line, one who will bring about a reign of perfect justice.

Our minds immediately take us to the New Testament promise and fulfillment of The Anointed One. Jesus. Son of God. Son of Man. Yet, this covenant of which Jeremiah speaks is a continuation - not the end - of the covenant made with Israel and Moses at Sinai. It is a promise that, for Israel, David’s line will not end. That God will provide legitimate and righteous rulers - both political and religious - so that the people will once again live in safety. So that the nation can be saved. And, particularly, so that Jerusalem will be restored and will become known as a place of righteousness and justice. This is a covenant from which Israel can expect great things from God for its future leaders and for its future nation. 

But, this is not all. Because, not only is this renewed covenant between God and a nation and its leaders. It will be the old covenant reborn in a much deeper and more profound way. 

Our reading continues in chapter 31.

The time is coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the people of Israel and Judah. It won’t be like the covenant I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt. They broke that covenant with me even though I was their husband, declares the Lord. No, this is the covenant that I will make with the people of Israel after that time, declares the Lord. I will put my Instructions within them and engrave them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people. They will no longer need to teach each other to say, “Know the Lord!” because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the Lord; for I will forgive their wrongdoing and never again remember their sins. --Jeremiah 31:31-34 (CEB)

This new covenant that God will create with God’s people is not radically new. It is the old covenant, reaffirmed, reasserted, and re-inaugurated, but in a deeper, more intimate, more equitable way. This relationship that it promises will be as intimate as the marriage relationship. God’s instruction will be written on the hearts of the people. So that they will know God internally. No longer will this covenant exist only on tablets of stone and require an obedience to an external rule, but it will be something that God’s people will live and breathe. It will move into their hearts and take residence within their very beings. They will know God. From the least to the greatest. No longer will any individual or group have spiritual superiority in the community. All of the members of God’s family will share equally in the dignity of their humanity. And all will participate in God’s life. Their knowledge of God will be the same as the knowledge of lovers, one for another. 

This is the gift of the book of Jeremiah - the gift of God’s Word spoken through Jeremiah. It provokes possibility and awakens within us a yearning for a better world. It breaks into the frightening aftermath of a diminishing disaster by insisting that God and God alone has the power to bring about new life and a changed world. It defends God, yet promises an intimate relationship with God - a relationship that is profound, life-altering, and life-sustaining. It promises a life for everyone that is marked by equity, by thriving, and by a radical joy that will help us to forget the bitter sorrow of the past. 

Finally, it disrupts the apathy and cynicism of the present time because it teaches us that God is the interrupting energy within the heart of the world, who breaks into our suffering, meets us where we are, then restores and leads us into a renewed place through the most mysterious Spirit of God’s incarnated, arisen and ascended Son. 

Is it any wonder that, in that new world that is about to break in, old and young, laity and priests, men and women, black and white, gay and straight, all people eat, rejoice, and dance together, singing the words of the psalmist: “All that is alive, praise. Praise the Lord. Hallelujah!”?

May we, too, join the song of praise! Amen.

Preached online July 4, 2021, with Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, and Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-18, 31:31-34; Psalm 150

Journey to the Cross: God, the Ultimate Baker

Now the festival of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was near. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to put Jesus to death, for they were afraid of the people.

Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was one of the twelve; he went away and conferred with the chief priests and officers of the temple police about how he might betray him to them. They were greatly pleased and agreed to give him money. So he consented and began to look for an opportunity to betray him to them when no crowd was present.

Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.” They asked him, “Where do you want us to make preparations for it?” “Listen,” he said to them, “when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house he enters and say to the owner of the house, ‘The teacher asks you, “Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished. Make preparations for us there.” So they went and found everything as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover meal.

When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!” Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.

A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. But he said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves. --Luke 22:1-27 (NRSV)

Tonight, we remember the last night Jesus spent with his disciples celebrating the Passover meal. We remember that the early church would gather for Agape meals or love feasts to remember Jesus’ life and ministry, to affirm their communal identity as the body of Christ, and to share food and resources so everyone would have enough. 

Tonight, we gather at many tables in many different homes to remember that meal so long ago when Jesus gathered with his dearest friends, his disciples. We remember the wilderness around us: isolation, illness, unemployment, homelessness, racism, violence, fear, uncertainty, grief. We also remember the wilderness to come for Jesus: betrayal, denial by his closest friends, suffering and death. 

Yet, in this wilderness through which we have been walking, and in the wilderness Jesus would experience, there would be moments. Moments of the unexpected. Moments of new realization. Moments of learning.

Over this past year, I’ve become a YouTube watcher. Some of this certainly has to do with the algorithms that continue to offer videos that draw me in.  Many of them have been about food and cooking. And bread baking. Perhaps, it’s the bread baking videos that catch me most, because, I don’t know about you, but there is something about a freshly baked loaf of bread that brings back many memories. Memories of my mother, who, for many years, would diligently bake a couple of loaves of bread each week.

I recently watched a video by Peter Reinhart, author of many books on baking bread. In it, he talked about the transformational aspects of bread. He suggested that to fully understand what it is about bread that is so special - the metaphorical and mystical aspects of bread baking - we must understand it at the most literal level. 

So what must happen to create a loaf of bread? Bread first begins as wheat. A grass that grows in the field at some point puts out seeds. That we harvest. Harvesting is really just a euphemism for killing. The wheat gives up its seeds, which, for the wheat plant are a promise of future life. But, instead the seeds are given up, crushed, and turned into flour. The plant is killed and denied the potential for creating future life. So, the first transformation, which is a radical change from one thing into something else - the first transformation is that the wheat stalk moves from being alive to dead.

Next, the flour is merged with water and salt. This creates something like a clay that is then infused with yeast or leaven. The word “leaven” is related to the word “enliven” - to bring life. The Hebrew word for clay is adam. The baker, according to Reinhart, is the god of the dough. When the leaven is added to this clay, it grows. Or proofs, in baker terminology. It proves that there is life. There are things happening: the enzymes break forth sugar, the yeast eats the sugar, which turns to carbon dioxide. The bacteria eats that same sugar to turn to acid. The personality and character of the bread is being developed under the watching gaze of the baker. The bakers choices all along the way determine the outcome of the final product. A subtle change in temperature or time or something else can change the final product. Then, the dough that worked and kneaded to develop the gluten - this net that develops that holds the loaf together - yet all along, the dough continues to prove that it is alive and is developing character. This is the second transformation - when the wheat and the dough created from it has moved from being dead to being alive.

But, then, it’s time to bake. The dough, shaped and formed, is placed into an oven. When the bread reaches the temperature of 140 degrees it passes the TDP, the thermal death point. All life ceases there. The yeast, whose mission up to now has been to raise, to enliven the dough to complete its mission, has to give up its life. It moves from being alive to being dead. Another transformation.

The final transformation involves us. We eat the bread. It nurtures us and gives us life, thus completing the life cycle once again. 

Over and over and over again, this process of death and resurrection happens in the life cycle of the bread. In the same way, over and over and over again, this process of death and resurrection happens in the bread we eat in this meal. This final meal that Jesus shared with his disciples on that Passover Eve. A meal that would bring betrayal and death to Jesus. And yet, a meal that would bring life to the community he would leave behind, that he would infuse with his Spirit. That he would continue to transform through this meal - a meal that we still share today. A meal of bread and wine that is not simply about remembering, like the memories that I have of my mother baking bread. But a meal that is transformational. A mystical meal in which we believe that Jesus is present with us, here and now, continuing to transform us. Forgiving the dead parts of us. Bring life out of that death. Molding and shaping us into the people and the community God desires us to be. A people like Jesus. Humble. Serving. Loving. 

May we trust in and experience this transformation tonight and as we go throughout our lives, challenging as they may be in this very moment. May we remember that God is the ultimate bread baker. That God makes the ultimate choices. And that, in the end, God always brings life from death. Amen.

Preached April 1, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Maundy Thursday

Readings: Luke 22:1-27; selections from John 13.

Journey to the Cross: Lost and Found

Today, in our Gospel lesson we will hear three parables that are set next to each other in the fifteenth chapter of Luke, all three talking about being lost. Just prior to this chapter, Jesus has just finished preaching about the “cost of discipleship.” Telling people that they must be willing to reject their previous social norms and status. So now, as today’s lesson begins, Jesus - not so surprisingly - is caught hanging out with all the wrong people.

The Holy Gospel, today, is from the 15th chapter, according to Luke. 

All the tax collectors and sinners were gathering around Jesus to listen to him. The Pharisees and legal experts were grumbling, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose someone among you had one hundred sheep and lost one of them. Wouldn’t he leave the other ninety-nine in the pasture and search for the lost one until he finds it? And when he finds it, he is thrilled and places it on his shoulders. When he arrives home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Celebrate with me because I’ve found my lost sheep.’ In the same way, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who changes both heart and life than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need to change their hearts and lives.

“Or what woman, if she owns ten silver coins and loses one of them, won’t light a lamp and sweep the house, searching her home carefully until she finds it? When she finds it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me because I’ve found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, joy breaks out in the presence of God’s angels over one sinner who changes both heart and life.”

Jesus said, “A certain man had two sons. The younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the inheritance.’ Then the father divided his estate between them. Soon afterward, the younger son gathered everything together and took a trip to a land far away. There, he wasted his wealth through extravagant living.

“When he had used up his resources, a severe food shortage arose in that country and he began to be in need. He hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. He longed to eat his fill from what the pigs ate, but no one gave him anything. When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have more than enough food, but I’m starving to death! I will get up and go to my father, and say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son. Take me on as one of your hired hands.” ’ So he got up and went to his father.

“While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with compassion. His father ran to him, hugged him, and kissed him. Then his son said, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly, bring out the best robe and put it on him! Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! Fetch the fattened calf and slaughter it. We must celebrate with feasting because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life! He was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his older son was in the field. Coming in from the field, he approached the house and heard music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what was going on. The servant replied, ‘Your brother has arrived, and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he received his son back safe and sound.’ Then the older son was furious and didn’t want to enter in, but his father came out and begged him. He answered his father, ‘Look, I’ve served you all these years, and I never disobeyed your instruction. Yet you’ve never given me as much as a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours returned, after gobbling up your estate on prostitutes, you slaughtered the fattened calf for him.’ Then his father said, ‘Son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive. He was lost and is found.’” --Luke 15:1-32 (CEB)

From the outset here, it’s important to understand that the term “sinners” does not refer to the moral capacity of Jesus’ acquaintances. Rather, it is a label given to someone who lived some kind of habitual lifestyle. What this lifestyle is, is not clear. But what is clear, is that the Pharisees and legal experts knew what this lifestyle was and who these people were. In our language today, we would likely call the people Jesus was hanging out with as marginal. Meaning coming from the margins of society. The kind that our parents warned you about. You know. The acquaintances who could get you into trouble. 

When his critics start to grumble about this, Jesus tells them three parables. What’s interesting about these parables is that they all refer to being lost. And being found.

The first one is about a lost sheep. My dad was a sheep rancher. He did not have a high opinion of the intellectual capacity of these animals. In fact, he just thought they were dumb. It was not unusual for a lamb or a ewe or a ram to get caught up in a barbed wire fence, because, you know, the grass looked just a bit better on the other side. In the parable Jesus shares, one of a hundred has gone missing. The shepherd, who is concerned for the sheep, but maybe even more aware of the value of that missing animal and the financial loss he will suffer, leaves the ninety-nine behind to go search for that one, lost sheep. Not so smart. Just lost. And when the shepherd finds it, he celebrates. Because this animal is of value to him. 

The second parable is about a lost coin. I wonder if the woman is a little like me. Stashing a little cash in places and then completely forgetting where she puts it. Whatever is happened, her coin, which also is of great value to her, is missing. So, she, like the shepherd, begins to search for it. Using a light to illuminate the dark places of her home, moving out the furniture so she can search behind it, so that she might find this one lost coin. And she does. And when she does, she, again like the shepherd, has a party to celebrate. Because this coin has value.

Then, we come to the story that we often call the “Parable of the Prodigal Son.” It’s better named the “Parable of the Forgiving Father.” We know this story backwards and forwards, don’t we? The younger son, squandering a fortune he shouldn’t have even asked for. Who finds himself in a pigsty. Stinky and smelly. Likely covered in mud and slop. And realizes what a fool he has been. Whether he recognizes his mistake or recognizes his loss, he returns home. Asking for forgiveness. And he receives it in the most extravagant way. Because he, like the sheep, like the coin, is of the deepest value.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling a little lost lately. We could all probably name the same things - the same lost-ness we’re feeling right now. The same things we’ve been feeling for a year now. A year. A year that, in some ways, kind of feels lost, too. And maybe our sense of lostness is accidental, like the coin. Or maybe our sense of lostness is because of a lack of intellectual capacity. Or maybe, just maybe, this feeling of being lost is because we have realized that, as much as we think we can do this life alone, we can’t. We just can’t.

But, for us. For you and I, this isn’t the end of the story. Because, like the shepherd and the woman, we have a God who relentlessly seeks us. And even if we’re like the prodigal son, finally realizing our own foolishness, we have a God who welcomes us back. Fully. With open arms and a huge celebration to boot. The same God who places such value on you and I and the Pharisees and legal experts and the ragtag bunch of sinners in Jesus’ circle - this same God values all of us so much that God sent God’s one and only Son. To restore us back into relationship with this relentlessly searching, warmly welcoming God. So that we - you and I and all people - might be lost no more.

Let the party begin. Amen.

Preached March 7, 2021, online with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen/Louisville, KY.

Third Sunday of Lent

Readings: Luke 15:1-32; Psalm 119:176

 

Revelation of the Son of Man: Lord of the Sabbath

One sabbath while Jesus was going through the grainfields, his disciples plucked some heads of grain, rubbed them in their hands, and ate them. But some of the Pharisees said, “Why are you doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?” Jesus answered, “Have you not read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? He entered the house of God and took and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and gave some to his companions?” Then he said to them, “The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath.”

On another sabbath he entered the synagogue and taught, and there was a man there whose right hand was withered. The scribes and the Pharisees watched him to see whether he would cure on the sabbath, so that they might find an accusation against him. Even though he knew what they were thinking, he said to the man who had the withered hand, “Come and stand here.” He got up and stood there. Then Jesus said to them, “I ask you, is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” After looking around at all of them, he said to him, “Stretch out your hand.” He did so, and his hand was restored. But they were filled with fury and discussed with one another what they might do to Jesus.

Now during those days he went out to the mountain to pray; and he spent the night in prayer to God. And when day came, he called his disciples and chose twelve of them, whom he also named apostles: Simon, whom he named Peter, and his brother Andrew, and James, and John, and Philip, and Bartholomew, and Matthew, and Thomas, and James son of Alphaeus, and Simon, who was called the Zealot, and Judas son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor. --Luke 1:1-16 (NRSV)

I deeply empathize with the Pharisees in our text today. Perhaps it's our human nature to want to find someone to blame in a conflict. As though the lines are clearly drawn. That everything is either black or
white. That there’s no gray area whatsoever.

The Pharisees have been misunderstood and misaligned for centuries. While they are often described as rule-keepers or as those who maintain the regulations of religious observance in scripture, they are anything but. In fact, one of the primary gifts of the Pharisees to the Jewish religious observance in Jesus’ time is a democratization of it. That devotional practice could be followed anywhere or by anyone without direct oversight by religious leaders. In fact, the Pharisees of Jesus’ day could be categorized today as mainline Protestants. Like us. 

So, then, you might ask, what’s the point of these three little vignettes that make up our reading today? The first two that are connected to healing and a controversy around the Sabbath. And, then, the third that is the story of Jesus choosing the twelve.

Let me begin at the ending. Because the story of Jesus calling the twelve apostles connects to our story from last week, where Jesus called Peter. In the time between last week’s story and today’s, it is apparent that Jesus’ power and authority is growing. Through his acts of healing and his speaking and teaching, his influence is expanding. The religious leaders are beginning to take note. And to push back, challenging who this Jesus is and under whose authority he is operating. 

As this buzz and murmuring is growing, we come to the beginning of our story today. Two examples of “breaking” the sabbath that involve Jesus and his, not-yet-formally-called, disciples. Notice that in his comments, Jesus never dismisses or devalues the Sabbath. He does not claim that the Sabbath is unimportant. Instead, Jesus makes two important claims about it.

The first. That he is Lord of the Sabbath, and not the other way around. The Sabbath does not dictate Jesus’s actions. His statement justifies Sabbath observance, but perhaps with a modification. That modification is the second claim that Jesus makes - that doing good on the Sabbath is lawful. 

Now, maybe for us today, it’s hard relate. After all, It has been centuries since the Christian church has kept the “true” Sabbath, from dusk on Friday to dusk on Saturday. And, in these last many decades, it’s questionable whether even the “Lord’s Day” or Sunday is still observed as a Sabbath in our culture. I wonder how many of us, pre-pandemic, would not hesitate to meet friends for brunch after worship, or to stop by the grocery store, or to mow the lawn, or to attend a soccer match. All of which could be, technically, violations of God’s Sabbath command. 

Perhaps, for us in our time, it’s not so much the question of the Sabbath that really matters here, but that what is more at stake are the underlying issues in this conflict. The question that lies under the challenge of the Pharisees to Jesus and under Jesus’ response to them, and, also, underneath Luke’s decision to include these stories in his story, is about how we, as people of God, hold onto our traditions in light of a world and in the midst of circumstances in our world that are ever-changing.

By claiming authority over the Sabbath, Jesus is reminding us that God is the one who has authority over, not only the Sabbath, but over the people who steward the practices and institutions given by God. Reminding us that institutions that resist the ministry of Jesus are acting contrary to God’s purpose in the world. 

What is this ministry of Jesus? He sets it out to the Pharisees, and to us, in the question he asks in verse 9. “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?” That’s the test for us. It is to ask ourselves whether or not we should hold onto traditions that destroy life and do harm. Or whether we should modify our practices in ways that are life giving and good. 

Both of our congregations have long traditions as Reconciling in Christ communities. Claiming this identity publicly means that we are communities that are committed to welcome, to inclusion, to the celebration and advocacy for all people of all sexual orientations, gender identities and gender expressions; with a commitment to anti-racism and to working for racial equity. We do this because this is consistent with God’s purpose in the world. Which is never about death or doing harm to others, but always about life and wholeness, abundance and goodness for everyone. 

May we celebrate this today about our communities of faith. But, mostly, may we celebrate this about our God. Amen.

Preached on January 31, 2021, with Grace & Glory and Third Lutheran churches.

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

Readings: Luke 6:1-16; Psalm 92

The Hope of the Messiah: From Barren to Blessed

On this last Sunday of Advent, we move into the New Testament - the Gospel of Luke. Luke is of two books, Luke and Act, that are an attempt, as the gospel writer says at the very beginning, to set down an orderly account of the events for Theophilus, Translated “God-lover.” So that you may know the truth concerning the things that have been handed onto us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the Word.

And so, today, God-lovers, we read from the holy gospel according to Luke.

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

And Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
    and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
    Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
    and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
    and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
    in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
    to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

And Mary remained with her about three months and then returned to her home. 

--Luke 1:26-56 (NRSV)

"Barren. That’s what we both were, Mary and I. Barren. Mary, a teenager, having never known a man, a virgin, without child. Barren. And I, old. Having known a man, also without child. Barren. It is this that perhaps connected Mary and I most. Our barrenness. Our emptiness. Our disgrace - well, mostly my disgrace.

I had prayed for a child during all of my child-bearing years. Like Sarah. Like Rebecca. Like so many other women in our history, in the stories of our faith, who had prayed to God for a child as much as I prayed for a descendant for my husband, Zechariah, and I. We lived righteously before God. Followed and observed all of the Lord’s commandments and regulations. Yet, unlike Sarah and Rebecca, I remained barren. My disgrace before others.

Yet, Mary and I would not remain barren. It was nothing that we did - everything that happened was from the Lord, announced by the angel, Gabriel. God’s messenger who came, first, to my husband, and then to Mary. Announcing these miraculous births. My child, who would be another messenger of God. Of the long-promised Messiah.

But, Mary. The announcement she received was different. The angel called her “favored one.” Favored one? Mary? First named in the story without a name, but only that she was engaged to Joseph. This was the status of women in my time, connected only to the men in our lives. And only important based on our ability to bear children. Especially, to bear sons. Mary, favored? Perhaps it was this title that perplexed her. Made her wonder. Made her ask the question how she might become pregnant without having known a man. Not that she doubted the possibility. But, that she was simply curious how this was to happen. Do you notice she never asked for a sign? Unlike my husband. Unlike so many prophets called throughout the history of our people, Mary never asked for a sign. 

But, then, the angel Gabriel gave her a sign. Me. Pregnant in my old age. I was to be her sign that God would descend on her womb in the way God had descended upon the tabernacle at Sinai. And how God had descended upon my womb. Because nothing is impossible with God.

And so she came to visit me. In my sixth month, with my pregnancy showing. When I saw her I felt my unborn baby leap within me. The Holy Spirit moved me, a woman, to prophesy what had already been spoken to her. That she would be the God-bearer. The Theotokos. The one who would bear the Messiah, the fulfilment of God’s promise to King David. And to us, from across the ages. 

No longer barren, either of us. But now blessed. Mary, the Alpha, and I, the Omega. From young to old, beginning to end, both of us, blessed. Not simply vessels to bear children, but Spirit-filled, prophetic, profound people, created by God. Blessed by God. How profound this was in our time! How profound this is for your time!

How could Mary do anything other than sing? Like Hannah, like Miriam, like Deborah of old, how could Mary do anything other than sing of the freedom and liberation that God has done, is doing, and will continue to do in our world, through her son, Jesus? The Anointed One. Son of the Most High. Emmanuel - God with us. 

May you, like Mary and I, know and believe the truth concerning the things that have been handed onto you by us, who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the Word. May you, like Mary and I, know and believe that God comes to set us free, to liberate us and our world from all that holds us captive. And may you, like Mary and I, know and believe that, even in the midst of our deepest darkness, God is doing a new thing. For nothing will be impossible with God. Amen."

God Sightings: Elijah and the Widow

As we often do in beginning our story today, we need to catch up on the action in-between - from last Sunday's story to today's. 

We heard, last week, about King David. About his desire to build God a house. And how, instead, God abundantly poured out more grace upon David, with a promise that his house - his ancestral line - would live forever and ever. Even with his mistakes, David was deeply loved by God. He was a humble warrior, a servant, and a king. One could say that David has a golden heart. 

King Solomon - David’s son, succeeded him on the throne. Solomon’s reign began well as he asked God for a discerning heart, so that he might have the wisdom and understanding to govern God’s people with fairness. Under Solomon, Israel experienced a “Golden Age” of peace and prosperity. 

But, this did not last. One might say that Solomon externalized the gold. He forgot that the gold that God desires for God’s people is the golden shrine of a surrendered heart - not the gold shine of a big building. Solomon violated the rules for kings that had been established in Deuteronomy. He amassed for himself great wealth, great military power and, most troubling, a vast harem of foreign wives who wooed him with their pagan gods. The gold became tarnished. Solomon abandoned Yahweh, following after the gods of his wives. And he would be cut off from the blessing of God.

After Solomon’s death, his son, Rehoboam, took the the throne of David.  Things went from bad to worse. His stubbornness and detachment from the plight of the lower class in Israel led to the rebellion of ten of the twelve tribes of Israel.  The nation would split in two. In the south, Judah would remain, under the rule of David’s line, centered in Jerusalem. In the north, Israel - the rebelling tribes - would be ruled by Jeroboam, eventually centered in Samaria. He would build two temples to complete with the temple in Jerusalem. One at Beth-el. A second at Dan. In each temple, King Jeroboam would place a golden calf to represent the God of Israel. 

From this point on, the story goes back and forth between the two kingdoms. Each has about 20 successive kings. Scripture tells us that, in the north, none of the kings followed God’s will. They were zero for 20. In the south, Judah would have 8 of 20 identified as “good” kings. 

Which brings us, today, to Ahab. In the verses that just precede our text today, we read that Ahab “did evil in the Lord’s eyes, more than anyone who preceded him.” He had married a foreign wife, Jezebel. A Phoenician princess from Sidon. Ahab served and worshipped Baal, her Phoenician god, making an altar for Baal in the temple constructed in Samaria for this purpose. He did more to anger God than any of Israel’s preceding kings. 

It is here where our story opens this morning. But, not quite yet.

In last week’s story, one of the characters we met was the Prophet Nathan. 

We really haven’t talked about the role of prophets - these key figures in Israel’s history. They weren’t fortune-tellers, predicting the future. Instead, they spoke on behalf of the God of Israel, playing the role of covenant watchdogs, calling out idolatry and injustice among the kings and the people. 

And constantly reminding Israel of their calling to be the light to the kingdoms and to keep the covenant as it had been established in the Torah.

So, today, in our lesson consisting of three small stories, we meet the Prophet Elijah. 

We begin in 1st Kings, chapter 17.

Elijah from Tishbe, who was one of the settlers in Gilead, said to Ahab, “As surely as the Lord lives, Israel’s God, the one I serve, there will be neither dew nor rain these years unless I say so.”

Then the Lord’s word came to Elijah: Go from here and turn east. Hide by the Wadi Cherith that faces the Jordan River. You can drink from the brook. I have also ordered the ravens to provide for you there. Elijah went and did just what the Lord said. He stayed by the Wadi Cherith that faced the Jordan River. The ravens brought bread and meat in the mornings and evenings. He drank from the Cherith Brook. After a while the brook dried up because there was no rain in the land. 1 Kings 17:1-7 (CEB)

Perhaps the biggest mistake Ahab made was to marry Jezebel. It wasn’t her ethnicity that was a problem. Instead, it was that she came from a nation that worshipped idols. Soon, Israel and Phoenicia would become allies. And, together, Ahab and Jezebel would lead Israel to worship Baal and engage in other pagan customs. Ahab encouraged the Israelites to blend these customs with their worship of God, despite very specific commands given in Deuteronomy to not mix pagan worship with true worship of God.

Idolatry had become a huge problem in Israel.

Enter the Prophet Elijah. He relays a message from God. There will be a drought in the land until Ahab repents. This does not make the king happy. 

Soon, God instructs Elijah to leave - to get away from Ahab, to flee Samaria and the angry king, and to go east, back toward his homeland. He heads to the Wadi Cherith, a brook that feeds into the Jordan River that is often full of water when it rains. But, then, quickly dries up. It is here, beside the Wadi Cherith, that God sustains Elijah - sending ravens to deliver food, morning and evening. Day after day. 

Our story continues.

The Lord’s word came to Elijah: Get up and go to Zarephath near Sidon and stay there. I have ordered a widow there to take care of you. Elijah left and went to Zarephath. As he came to the town gate, he saw a widow collecting sticks. He called out to her, “Please get a little water for me in this cup so I can drink.” She went to get some water. He then said to her, “Please get me a piece of bread.”

“As surely as the Lord your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any food; only a handful of flour in a jar and a bit of oil in a bottle. Look at me. I’m collecting two sticks so that I can make some food for myself and my son. We’ll eat the last of the food and then die.”

Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid! Go and do what you said. Only make a little loaf of bread for me first. Then bring it to me. You can make something for yourself and your son after that. This is what Israel’s God, the Lord, says: The jar of flour won’t decrease and the bottle of oil won’t run out until the day the Lord sends rain on the earth.” The widow went and did what Elijah said. So the widow, Elijah, and the widow’s household ate for many days. The jar of flour didn’t decrease nor did the bottle of oil run out, just as the Lord spoke through Elijah.  1 Kings 17:8-16 (CEB)

The wadi where Elijah was staying runs dry. 

So, God directs Elijah to Zarephath, only a short distance from Sidon, Jezebel’s hometown. He meets up with a widow - someone promised by God to help sustain him while he is on the run. This widow, who is not named in our story, is a Phoenician. A pagan. She and her son have been hit hard by the drought. When Elijah asks her to make him bread, her response is that she ingredients enough for one remaining loaf. 

But Elijah persists. So, she makes a small loaf for him first, then a second for her and her son. And then she discovers the provision of God - that God will sustain all of them through this. Providing just enough flour and just enough oil for a loaf of bread. Day after day. 

Our story continues.

After these things, the son of the widow, who was the matriarch of the household, became ill. His sickness got steadily worse until he wasn’t breathing anymore. She said to Elijah, “What’s gone wrong between us, man of God? Have you come to me to call attention to my sin and kill my son?”

Elijah replied, “Give your son to me.” He took her son from her and carried him to the upper room where he was staying. Elijah laid him on his bed. Elijah cried out to the Lord, “Lord my God, why is it that you have brought such evil upon the widow that I am staying with by killing her son?” Then he stretched himself over the boy three times and cried out to the Lord, “Lord my God, please give this boy’s life back to him.” The Lord listened to Elijah’s voice and gave the boy his life back. And he lived. Elijah brought the boy down from the upper room of the house and gave him to his mother. Elijah said, “Look, your son is alive!”

“Now I know that you really are a man of God,” the woman said to Elijah, “and that the Lord’s word is truly in your mouth.” 1 Kings 17:17-24 (CEB)

It isn’t long before things take a tragic turn for this woman. Her son gets ill and stops breathing. 

Her natural inclination is to strike out at Elijah - this stranger who has brought this on her household.

But Elijah, in a dramatic scene, cries out to God and then stretches himself out on the lifeless child. Three times. Crying out once more.

God hears him. God listens to Elijah’s voice. The child lives. It is then that his mother knows God.  

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On this All Saints Day, I can’t help thinking of all those ancestors in faith who have gone before us. They, like Elijah, like the widow, in our story, have struggled and been challenged with many difficult experiences and hard times. Just as we are challenged in our own lives. 

Yet, as we listened to the first two stories, we witnessed that God sustained Elijah and the widow. First, God’s created beings - the ravens - cared for Elijah each day. Then, we witnessed how the widow, her son, and Elijah, living on the edge of death each day, just getting by, were provided with just enough flour. Just enough oil for one day.

When we mourn. When we are suffering. When we are living on the edge of death and despair, God provides. Just enough for us to get through each day. To have just enough to get through the next. Perhaps this is as miraculous as the miracle story at the end - that resurrection story that is a foretaste of the resurrection we anticipate when God’s kingdom through Christ comes in all its fullness. This is the hope we cling to in this moment. This was the hope that our own ancestors held onto. Trusting that the God who gave them just enough grace, day after day, will also give the grace and hope of that resurrection to come. And the dramatic restoration of life where before there was only death.

In this time, when it may often feel as though God is silent, may we, on this day and always, remember these saints. May we, like Elijah, cry out to God in our anguish. And may we trust, as all of them did, that God will climb into our hurt and our pain, our struggle and our grief, and will restore all things, inviting us into life - a life that they have already received. A life that will go on and on. Without end. Amen.

Preached November 1, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

All Saints Sunday

Readings: 1 Kings 17:1-24, Luke 4:24-26.