Hidden Hands, Daring Choices: The Architecture of Grace (Ruth 3:1-13)

Introduction: Ruth 3

Good morning, and peace be with you. It is a profound joy to look out at your faces today. This is my very first Sunday here as your pastor, and I am incredibly grateful to finally step into this shared ministry with you.

Over the past two weeks, you’ve been traveling through the first two chapters of Ruth. You watched a family driven by famine into the foreign land of Moab. And witnessed the utter devastation that followed with Naomi losing her husband and both of her sons. Events that left her - as loss often does for us - completely empty. 

It’s hard for us to imagine just how terrifyingly insecure it was to be a widow in the ancient world. Women had no legal status. They couldn’t inherit property. And without a husband or a son to protect them, a widow was socially invisible, economically helpless, and at constant risk of starvation and exploitation. 

Yet, Naomi’s daughter-in-law, Ruth, chose to stick by her with radical loyalty. Remember her words: Wherever you go, I will go. And your God will be my God. Last week, we heard how God was not finished with them even though they arrived back in Behelehem complete broke. So destitute that Ruth began to glean the leftover grain in the fields of Boaz. A wealthy relative wh oprayed that Ruth would find shelter under God’s protective wings. 

But, as we well know, picking up leftovers cannot fix long-term poverty. As the harvest ends, Naomi decides it is time to seek permanent security for Ruth through Israel's laws of family redemption. Let us open our Bibles and our hearts to Ruth, chapter 3, to see what happens when faith steps out into the dark.

Reading: Ruth 3:1–13 (NRSVue)

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, “My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor, but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down, and he will tell you what to do.” She said to her, “All that you tell me I will do.”  

So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her. When Boaz had eaten and drunk and he was in a contented mood, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of grain. Then she came quietly and uncovered his feet and lay down. At midnight the man was startled and turned over, and there a woman was lying at his feet! He said, “Who are you?” And she answered, “I am Ruth, your servant; spread your cloak over your servant, for you are a next-of-kin.”  

He said, “May you be blessed by the Lord, my daughter; this last instance of your loyalty is better than the first, for you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich. And now, my daughter, do not be afraid; I will do for you all that you ask, for all the assembly of my people know that you are a woman of worth. But now, though it is true that I am a near kinsman, there is another kinsman more closely related than I. Remain this night, and in the morning, if he will act as next-of-kin for you, good; let him do it. But if he is not willing to act as next-of-kin for you, then, as the Lord lives, I will act as next-of-kin for you. Lie down until the morning.”  

Sermon: The Architecture of Grace

It can be a terrifying thing to step across a brand-new threshold.

Think about a time in your own life when you stood on the edge of a major change—your heart pounding, completely unsure of what the next day would bring. Maybe it was the night before you started a difficult new job. Maybe it was the hour before you told a hard truth to someone you loved. Or maybe it was the day you packed your bags and moved to a place where you didn’t know anyone.

I feel that exact same weight and excitement as I stand before you this morning. This is my very first Sunday of preaching in this congregation. Looking out at your faces, I feel the deep vulnerability of a brand-new chapter beginning for all of us. Whenever we stand at a crossroads like this, we are reminded of how fragile we are. We worry about the future, and we realize that moving forward always requires us to take sacred risks.

If you want to see what that kind of risk looks like - what high-stakes courage is - turn to Ruth standing in the dark at midnight. ,

Asking for Help in the Dark

The scene on the threshing floor is incredibly brave and surprising. Naomi had told Ruth to wait for Boaz to give the orders. But when Ruth gets there, she changes the plan entirely.

She doesn’t wait for Boaz to speak. When he wakes up startled and asks who she is, she doesn't use the timid language expected of a foreign outsider. She takes charge. She looks at this powerful man and gives him an instruction: “Spread your cloak over your servant, for you are a redeemer.”

In that culture, what Ruth does is scandalous and dangerous. She is a woman alone at night with a man, completely risking her reputation. If Boaz rejects her, she will be branded a loose woman, cast out of the community, and left to starve just as she had feared. 

But Ruth isn't just desperate; she is asking for justice. When she tells Boaz to spread his cloak over her, she uses a Hebrew word that means both "cloak" and "wings." She is reminding Boaz of a prayer he had said for her a few weeks earlier, when he had asked God to protect her under God’s divine wings. Ruth looks him in the eyes and says, “Boaz, it’s midnight. I need you to be the answer to your own prayer. Spread your cloak. You have the money and the power. I need you to become the literal wings of God’s protection for me right now.”

Putting Skin in the Game

Ruth is calling Boaz to do his job as a go-el. Go-el is a Hebrew word that means a next-of-kin redeemer. In ancient Israel, being a redeemer wasn't just about feeling bad for someone and giving them charity. It carried a serious legal and financial duty. If a relative had fallen into poverty or had died without children, the redeemer was supposed to step in, use his own money to buy back their land, and to marry the widow so the family line could survive.

Being a redeemer means you have to put skin in the game. It requires Boaz to willingly take a massive risk, intentionally placing his own wealth and secure position on the line to rescue someone else.

Our text shows us a sharp contrast on this point. Boaz is ready to step up, but he drops a bombshell of a complication in this midnight hour: there is another relative who is actually first in line. This unnamed relative is the ultimate wild card. We don't know yet what he will do. Will he operate out of a place of fear and scarcity? Will he say, “No way, I have to protect my own family's inheritance first”? That is the voice of self-preservation that so often tries to stop grace in its tracks.

But that wild card notwithstanding, Boaz still acts out of absolute character. He accepts the immediate risk of that midnight meeting, and he promises to face the legal system first thing in the morning to ensure that a safe shelter is built—an architecture of grace—where Naomi and Ruth's emptiness can finally be turned into hope.

Our Living Redeemer

By stepping into this risk, Boaz reveals a divine pattern that will point forward to a greater theological event. What we see on this threshing floor is a beautiful, early preview of the very heart of God. Centuries later, God will put God’s own skin in the game. The ultimate expression of this story will step into human history in the person of Jesus. 

Christ is our cosmic next-of-kin redeemer who looks at a human race trapped in deep brokenness and doesn’t just speak a prayer of blessing from the safety of heaven, but will come down into our darkness. Into our midnight hour. And will pour out his very life to break the back of fear. And scarcity, and Death. And in his resurrection, will spread a permanent, living cloak of grace and protection over our lives today. Christ is not a memory, but our divine go-el, who continues that work of redemption - now and into the future. 

Our Beautiful Humanity

This idea is the heartbeat of our text: God's grace usually shows up with human skin on it. God’s protection rarely just drops out of the sky. It happens when ordinary, flawed human beings choose to put their own comfort and resources on the line to shield someone else from the harsh realities of life.

And this is where we have to be deeply honest about ourselves. It is easy to look at Ruth and Boaz and think of them as perfect heroes who never felt afraid or made a mistake. But they were real, flesh-and-blood people living in a messy world. Ruth was a grieving foreign widow who had felt completely isolated. Boaz was an older landlord trying to balance difficult community rules. They lived in a complicated world, just like we do.

As we begin our journey together as pastor and congregation, we need to be honest about that: we are completely human. In the months and years ahead, we are going to make mistakes. I am going to make mistakes. There will be Sundays when my sermons miss the mark. There will be times when our workflows stall, when our communication breaks down, or when we get tired and want to fall back into old patterns that feel safe and small.

But our story reminds us that God does not need us to be perfect before working through us. God takes our clumsy, fragile human steps and weaves them into the divine, ongoing story of love. Because Christ has skin in the game for us, our human imperfections are already fully covered by His grace. Like Ruth, we are called to be bold and fearless in living out our callings, stepping forward even when the threshold looks uncertain.

The Challenge For Us

Because we follow that same living path of redemption, we are being called out of fear and into a spirit of bold generosity.

What does that look like for us today? It means looking at the resources, the space, the building, and the financial assets we hold under this roof and asking: Who in our neighborhood needs us to be the answer to their prayers right now? 

Sometimes, it means a community takes a big structural risk to join different groups together so they can grow and thrive. Sometimes, it looks like a church having the courage to use its property to build affordable housing, ensuring that families on the margins have a safe place to live.

Stewardship is never about keeping a church building open just for the sake of survival. True stewardship is about using our freedom to love others, because our living Redeemer has already secured our inheritance. Because Christ fills this place with an abundance of grace, we don't have to live in fear of running out. We have enough. We are enough.

Let us step across this new threshold together—human, flawed, and beautifully unbroken—ready to put skin on our prayers and build a shelter of grace right here in our neighborhood.

Spread your cloak. The house is ready.

Amen.

Preached on June 14, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

The Gold Reveal: More Beautiful for Having Been Broken

In the house where I grew up, my mother had a set of china that was the pride and joy of our dining room, particularly on special days like Easter. It wasn’t an expensive inheritance or something she bought at a high-end department. My mom actually collected it, piece by piece, from the inside of laundry soap boxes.

By the time she was done, she had eighteen full place settings. Now, if you took this plate to an appraiser, they’d tell you it wasn't "valuable" in the way the world usually counts value. It was just simple ceramic. But to me and my family, this china is priceless. It represents years of my mother’s hard work, her care for our family, and the hundreds of meals we shared around our table.

I still remember the day I broke one of the large serving pieces. I can still hear that sharp, sickening crack as it hit the floor. My heart just sank. I felt an immediate rush of shame—the feeling that I had ruined something that could never be replaced. In my head, that piece was now "trash" because it was no longer perfect. I tossed the shards, pretending it never happened. Because, in our world, once something is broken, we usually think its story is over. 

That feeling of a world shattering—of something precious falling apart—is exactly where the Easter story begins. It doesn't start with a celebration, but in a graveyard, in the dark, with a broken heart.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have laid him!”

So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head. The cloth was still lying in its place, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.) Then the disciples went back to where they were staying.

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have laid him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will get him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

Over the last several weeks, we’ve been talking a lot about the "wilderness." Whether we’ve been here every Sunday or just navigating the ups and downs of life, we all know what the wilderness feels like. It’s that place of exhaustion, of fear, and of wondering if the broken pieces of our lives - or of our world - can ever really be put back together. 

At the very beginning of this Lenten season, on Ash Wednesday, we did something symbolic: we took a piece of pottery and shattered it right here. We didn't sweep it up immediately, but sat with its brokenness, acknowledging that in this life, things break. Dreams break. Health breaks. Relationships break. Cultures break. 

And for the last forty days, those shards have been out of sight. In the "wilderness" of the mending process, there is often a long period of silence. It’s the time when the glue is drying, when the Master is working in the quiet, and when it feels like nothing is happening at all. We often mistake that silence for abandonment. We think that because we are still in pieces, God has just moved on.

But while we were waiting, that broken piece was undergoing a transformation through an ancient Japanese art called Kintsugi.

Kintsugi literally means "to join with gold." It’s a tradition that teaches us that mending something doesn't mean we must hide damage. Most of us try to live with "invisible" repairs—we want to look like we’ve never struggled, like the floor never met the china. But Kintsugi is based on a refusal to discard.

In our "throwaway" culture, we get rid of what is cracked. I did that with that broken piece of my mom’s china. But, in kintsugi, a master mender doesn't see trash in the shards, but a history worth honoring. They don't use clear glue to disguise the fracture; they use gold to highlight it. They make the history of the break the most beautiful part of the vessel, because a piece that has been broken and mended is more resilient than one that was never tested at all.

This vessel has been mended to look transformed. The cracks are no longer signs of shame; they are seams of gold. When we begin to look at God as a Master Artist, we begin to understand that the broken parts of our lives aren't the end of the story—they are actually the exact spot where God begins to build something beautiful and new.

On that early Easter morning in the garden, we see this process happening - not to a vase, but to a person.

Mary Magdalene stands at that tomb as a shattered vessel. Completely crushed by her grief. When she finally looks into the tomb, she sees signs that something has clearly changed—the empty space, the head cloth "rolled up in a place by itself,” and the two angels seated at both ends of the tomb. But an empty tomb and folded linens, and even two angels cannot mend a broken heart. They are just evidence, perhaps, of a miracle, but they aren't the Mender himself.

Mary is still in pieces until she hears a voice. Jesus stands before her and speaks one word: "Mary."

In calling her name, Jesus starts the mending process of her life. That one word is the "gold" that flows into the cracks of her heart. By speaking her name, He isn't just proving He is alive; He is stepping into her broken history to begin the work of making her whole.

Mary’s brokenness doesn't just vanish; it is transfigured. She becomes the first person to see the ultimate "Gold Reveal." When she looks at Jesus, she doesn't see a man who has erased the last three days. She sees that the wounded human being—the one who was broken on the cross—is the wounded human being now glorified.

Just like the gold seams in the Kintsugi pottery, the scars on His hands and His side are still there, but they aren't signs of defeat anymore. They are the most luminous, beautiful part of who He is. He is the Master Mender who carries His own mended history into the light.

This is the story of redemption. Of our redemption. Not some mechanical process or a concept we have to figure out; but a living relationship that begins the moment He calls your name.

Today is the "Gold Reveal."

If you’re here today and you feel like the pieces of your life aren’t quite fitting together—look at Mary. We spend so much of our energy trying to convince the world that we are unbreakable. We hide our regrets, we mask our grief, and we try to glue ourselves back together with clear, invisible adhesive so no one can see the cracks.

But the Gospel tells us that we don't have to live that way. God is a Maker, not a factory. A factory wants everything to look identical, sterile, and interchangeable. But a Maker looks at a shattered person and sees a masterpiece in the making. God doesn't love you in spite of your history. God loves you with your history. The gold only exists because there was once a crack. The light can only shine through because there was once a break.

The story, though, doesn’t end in the garden. When Jesus mends Mary, He doesn't tell her to stay at the tomb and admire the repair. He tells her to go. He sends her back to the others, not as a perfect woman who never suffered, but as a mended woman, the first apostle, who has seen the Lord.

As you leave this morning, you are carrying your own "Gold Reveal" out into a world that is also in pieces. You are going back to homes, workplaces, and neighborhoods that are full of people trying to hide their own shards. They are exhausted from trying to look "perfect" while they feel like they are falling apart.

Do not worry about hiding your cracks. Do not be ashamed of the wilderness you’ve walked through. When the world sees your scars, let them see the gold of the Resurrected Jesus shining through the seams. Let them see that you aren't just "fixed"—but that you are being transformed. Let your life be the evidence that the Master Mender is still at work.

Because like my mother’s soap-box china, you are of infinite value—not because you’ve avoided the breaking, but because of the Living One who knows your name and has held your pieces in His hands.

You are being mended. You are being called by name. And through Him, you are more beautiful for having been broken.

Alleluia! Christ is risen.

Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Preached April 5, 2026, at Rejoice Lutheran Church, Clearwater, MN.

Easter 1, Resurrection of Our Lord 

Presence and Promise: The One Who Is Worthy

We are, once again, in the book of Revelation. Our reading today is a a continuation of the scene we heard about and imagined last week. The setting is the heavenly throne room. It is a scene of universal worship for God, who sits at the center, surrounded by the heavenly court and by images that are representative of all creation, including humankind. All have fallen to their knees in front of the One seated on the throne. The One who was and who is and who is to come.

We read today in Revelation, chapter 5. 

Then I saw in the right hand of the one seated on the throne a scroll written on the inside and on the back, sealed[a] with seven seals; and I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it. And I began to weep bitterly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”

Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne. When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. They sing a new song:

“You are worthy to take the scroll

    and to open its seals,

for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God

    saints from[b] every tribe and language and people and nation;

you have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving[c] our God,

    and they will reign on earth.”

Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders; they numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, singing with full voice,

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered

to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might

and honor and glory and blessing!”

Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, singing,

“To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb

be blessing and honor and glory and might

forever and ever!” -Revelation 5:1-13 (NRSV)

Do you remember the movie Cinderella? There’s this scene, after the ball and after Cinderella has made it safely home just at midnight when her carriage <poof> turns back into a pumpkin. The mice, formerly her footmen, scatter into the night. 

The prince decrees a nationwide search. To find the young woman who foot fits the glass slipper, left on the palace stairs. He searches far and wide. High and low. To find the one whose foot fits the glass slipper. Because, when that happens, he will know that it is her. The woman he wants to make his wife.

It’s a similar search that our text today opens with. But this is a search to find the one worthy to open the scroll held in the right hand of the one seated on the heavenly throne - the right hand which always is a sign of power and authority. This scroll in the hand of the Creator One contains the plan. A plan written on the front and the back of the scroll, which has been fasted by seven seals. We talked about the significance of the number seven in John’s writing. Seven, meaning completeness, wholeness. This scroll contains the plan by which God will redeem the world. 

But there’s a problem. A crisis, really! There is no one to be found worthy enough to open the scroll and break its seals. No one, neither the angel or anyone else in heaven or on earth or under the earth can be found who is powerful enough to open the scroll. The narrator of this vision - John - is distraught. Yet, he is comforted by one of the elders who reminds him that the “Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David,” the Messiah has emerged victorious. And is thus worthy to break open the scroll and the seven seals.

Suddenly, in his vision, John sees a Lamb. He was expecting a roaring lion. Instead, he sees that this Lion is, in fact, a Lamb that has apparently been slain. This person, this Lamb, alone has the power to open the scroll of the future.

Now this is not some fuzzy, sweet little lamb. This Lamb has seven horns and seven watchful eyes, both signs of royal power and vigilance. The Lamb stands as if it has been slaughtered, a violent image that not only brings to mind the crucifixion of Jesus, but also the violence that is about to befall the Christian churches in Asia Minor, to whom this revelation has been addressed and who are no longer considered followers of an “official” religion of the Roman Empire.

This Lamb is the worthy One. And when the slain lamb takes the scroll from the hand of God, the universe erupts in song. First, those who surround the throne, then the angels, and finally, every creature in the universe. “You are worthy!” they sing. “You are worthy to take the scroll and open its seals, because you were slain. Because by your blood you have purchased for God persons of every tribe, language, people and nation, making them a kingdom and priests to God. They will rule on earth.

This scroll will mark God's plan. God’s final and fully predetermined plan to redeem the world. A plan that begins with the death of God’s own Son. A sacrificial lamb, willingly offered for the cleansing and rescue of the world. A self-giving, life-giving Lamb, who offers itself that the whole world might be redeemed. 

Both of the throne room scenes - last week and today - set the stage. The death of Christ is the way that God’s power is unleashed. Not the kind of power that we are witness to in our world - authoritarian power that harms or corrupts or is self-serving. No, this is the power of self-sacrifice. A power that builds God’s kingdom by redeeming people of every tribe. And every nation. That redeems you and I. And that calls us to live in the same self-sacrificial way. The way of love. The way of service. 

In this time, when so much is unsettled. When it seems as though the entire world, even all creation, is falling apart before our very eyes. Know that this Lamb, this self-sacrificial, bloody Lamb is worthy. Worthy to carry out God’s final plan of redemption. For you and I and all creation.

May we join the heavenly chorus in song. “Worthy is Christ the lamb who was slain!” Amen.

Preached August 15, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Goshen, and Third, Louisville.

12th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Revelation 5:1-113, John 1:29-31

 

Promises Made, Promises Broken: Love Withheld

When we left our story last week, God had promised to Abram that he would have as many descendants as there are stars in the sky. God made good on that promise, and Abram and Sarai, who later became known as Abraham and Sarah, became the parents to Isaac. Isaac married Rebekah, and they became the parents to Jacob and Esau. After this, their story gets pretty complicated. But, the thread of the narrative we will follow is the one where Jacob, who is also known as Israel, becomes the father to twelve sons and one daughter, living in the land of Canaan. Jacob’s youngest son is Joseph. Our story begins in Genesis, chapter 37. 

Now Israel loved Joseph more than any of his other sons because he was born when Jacob was old. Jacob had made for him a long robe. When his brothers saw that their father loved him more than any of his brothers, they hated him and couldn’t even talk nicely to him.

Joseph had a dream and told it to his brothers, which made them hate him even more. He said to them, “Listen to this dream I had. When we were binding stalks of grain in the field, my stalk got up and stood upright, while your stalks gathered around it and bowed down to my stalk.”

His brothers said to him, “Will you really be our king and rule over us?” So they hated him even more because of the dreams he told them.

Joseph had several dreams like this. In fact, they were visions. These dreams did not win him any love from his brothers. Yet, Joseph remained his father’s favorite. One day, Jacob sent him - his favorite son - to go check on his other sons as they pastured the flocks. One of Joseph’s eleven brothers was Reuben. 

Joseph went after his brothers and found them in Dothan.

They saw Joseph in the distance before he got close to them, and they plotted to kill him. The brothers said to each other, “Here comes the big dreamer. Come on now, let’s kill him and throw him into one of the cisterns, and we’ll say a wild animal devoured him. Then we will see what becomes of his dreams!”

When Reuben heard what they said, he saved him from them, telling them, “Let’s not take his life.” Reuben said to them, “Don’t spill his blood! Throw him into this desert cistern, but don’t lay a hand on him.” He intended to save Joseph from them and take him back to his father.

The brothers threw Joseph into a pit. Then, they sat down to eat and to contemplate what to do with him next. Another of Joseph’s brothers was Judah.

Judah said to his brothers, “What do we gain if we kill our brother and hide his blood? Come on, let’s sell him to the Ishmaelites. Let’s not harm him because he’s our brother; he’s family.” His brothers agreed. When some Midianite traders passed by, they pulled Joseph up out of the cistern. They sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver, and they brought Joseph to Egypt.

When Reuben returned to the cistern and found that Joseph wasn’t in it, he tore his clothes. Then he returned to his brothers and said, “The boy’s gone! And I—where can I go now?”

His brothers took Joseph’s robe, slaughtered a male goat, and dipped the robe in the blood. They took the long robe, brought it to their father, [Jacob] and said, “We found this. See if it’s your son’s robe or not.”

He recognized it and said, “It’s my son’s robe! A wild animal has devoured him. Joseph must have been torn to pieces!” Then Jacob tore his clothes, put a simple mourning cloth around his waist, and mourned for his son for many days.

Though his brothers and their father, Jacob, thought he was dead, Joseph had actually been taken to Egypt. There he was sold and kept as a slave. Yet, over time, his master saw that the Lord was with him and placed him into a position of responsibility. Joseph was very successful at all that he did. He became very powerful as an interpreter of dreams and, eventually, came to be in the service of Pharaoh, the king of Egypt. 

The dreams Joseph interpreted for Pharaoh came true. The first seven years in Egypt were plentiful and Joseph, working as Pharaoh’s assistant was able to store up grain and other produce abundantly. But, then, as Joseph had predicted, a famine came to the land. This famine, which lasted seven years, also affected Canaan. Joseph’s brothers, hearing that there was grain in Egypt, traveled there, hoping to keep their families alive. They came into Joseph’s presence, but did not recognize him in his position of power, even though Joseph recognized them. Eventually, Joseph revealed himself to his brothers. And he shared that God had sent him ahead of them to help them through this terrible famine. When Jacob heard that his beloved youngest son was alive, he packed up and brought his entire family to Egypt for the reunion of a lifetime. Jacob was able to die in peace and his remains were taken back to Canaan for burial, as he had requested. Our reading continues in Genesis, chapter 50.

When Joseph’s brothers realized that their father was now dead, they said, “What if Joseph bears a grudge against us, and wants to pay us back seriously for all of the terrible things we did to him?” 

So they approached Joseph and said, “Your father gave orders before he died, telling us, ‘This is what you should say to Joseph. “Please, forgive your brothers’ sins and misdeeds, for they did terrible things to you. Now, please forgive the sins of the servants of your father’s God.”’” Joseph wept when they spoke to him.

His brothers wept too, fell down in front of him, and said, “We’re here as your slaves.”

But Joseph said to them, “Don’t be afraid. Am I God? You planned something bad for me, but God produced something good from it, in order to save the lives of many people, just as he’s doing today. Now, don’t be afraid. I will take care of you and your children.” So he put them at ease and spoke reassuringly to them. --Genesis 37:3-8, 17b-22, 26-34; 50:15-21 (CEB)

As I’ve been reflecting on this story of Joseph and his brothers over the past week, I think we simply need to acknowledge at this point that this is a horrifying story. There is what seems to be the deepest of hatred and evil at work. It’s a story of the harm love can cause, when love is given abundantly to some and more scarcely to others. Because it seems that everything begins with the favoritism shown by Jacob to his youngest son, Joseph. This story shows the damage that can come when one is loved more than others. 

And, yet, Joseph’s brothers are not blameless. Not at all. Even jerks do not deserve to be thrown into a pit to die, much less sold into slavery. Brothers selling brother. It’s almost unimaginable, isn’t it? And, yet, we see it in families, perhaps to some degree, even in our own families - what happens when love is given unequally. And we can even look more broadly than our families. All we need do is notice what has been happening in our own city this past week. As we witness the result of a people not loved equally, not given the privileges of others, not experiencing justice in the same way as others. As those of us who are white. 

Love withheld. Or love given out in unequal measure causes harm. Results in evil. Brings death. In so many ways.

At the end of this story, after Jacob has died and his remains have been taken back to Canaan for burial and after Joseph and his brothers return to Egypt, we see how the power dynamic has shifted. No longer is Joseph at risk of being harmed by his brothers. No longer is Joseph the weaker brother. No longer is Joseph afraid of his brothers. They are afraid of him. They are afraid of what he might do. Because the evil they perpetuated has bound them all of these years, just as it had bound their father to his grief. This one evil act bound them to the guilt of what they had done and the potential fear of what might now happen to them. Joseph held their very lives in his hands.

I wonder, if we were Joseph, what our response might have been? All those years of slavery. The grief of losing his family and being torn away from his father. To strike out against them - to pay them back for their evil act - would have been justified. I wonder, if we were Joseph, what our response might have been?

But, Joseph doesn’t. Because he has the broader vision. Just like in our story last week in which God showed Abraham, Joseph’s grandfather, a broader vision, Joseph, the dreamer, has that vision. That he has been blessed to be a blessing. So, his response, when his brothers come to him begging for his forgiveness is to forgive. And that, my friends, is where redemption happens and the unbinding begins.  

What will it take for redemption to happen in our broken families? For the unbinding to begin in our broken city? In our broken world? 

In their public statement this week, issued after the decision in the Breonna Taylor shooting, Bishop Eaton and Bishop Gafjken said it best. “Our baptismal covenant with God calls us to better relationship with one another...We are called to be the hands and feet of Christ’s presence in the world. The covenantal relationship we have with God in Christ leads us to our neighbors in a common cause to confront the reality of systemic racism [or any other ism] in our country. We come together at the cross.” 

We come together at the cross. Because it is at the cross where we meet Jesus, the One who reconciles. It is at the cross where we meet Jesus, the One who shows us God’s vision in flesh and blood. It is at the cross where we meet Jesus, the One who unbinds us. And it is at the cross where we meet Jesus, the One who teaches us that, even in the most evil of situations, God will reckon it for good. 

Because of this One, we have peace. We have hope. We are loved. Amen.

Preached September 27, 2020 online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 17

Readings: Genesis 37:3-8, 17b-22, 26-34; 50:15-21; Luke 6:27-36

Ruth--A Story for Our Time: Daring to Act

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, “My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” She said to her, “All that you tell me I will do.”

So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her. When Boaz had eaten and drunk, and he was in a contented mood, he went to lie down at the end of the heap of grain. Then she came stealthily and uncovered his feet, and lay down. At midnight the man was startled, and turned over, and there, lying at his feet, was a woman! He said, “Who are you?” And she answered, “I am Ruth, your servant; spread your cloak over your servant, for you are next-of-kin.” He said, “May you be blessed by the Lord, my daughter; this last instance of your loyalty is better than the first; you have not gone after young men, whether poor or rich. And now, my daughter, do not be afraid, I will do for you all that you ask, for all the assembly of my people know that you are a worthy woman. But now, though it is true that I am a near kinsman, there is another kinsman more closely related than I. Remain this night, and in the morning, if he will act as next-of-kin for you, good; let him do it. If he is not willing to act as next-of-kin for you, then, as the Lord lives, I will act as next-of-kin for you. Lie down until the morning.”

So she lay at his feet until morning, but got up before one person could recognize another; for he said, “It must not be known that the woman came to the threshing floor.” Then he said, “Bring the cloak you are wearing and hold it out.” So she held it, and he measured out six measures of barley, and put it on her back; then he went into the city. She came to her mother-in-law, who said, “How did things go with you, my daughter?” Then she told her all that the man had done for her, saying, “He gave me these six measures of barley, for he said, ‘Do not go back to your mother-in-law empty-handed.’” She replied, “Wait, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out, for the man will not rest, but will settle the matter today.” Ruth 3:1-18 (NRSV)


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

Have you ever done something daring? 

Perhaps at the time, it didn’t seem so daring. But, as time passed and you began to reflect upon it, you realized that, at that time, it was a daring thing for you to do.

In 1992, I was the newly-elected president of my local union. We represented courtroom clerks throughout all of Los Angeles County. And my ascendance to the presidency wasn’t really something I planned to do. 

Before I was elected, my predecessor, the president of our local had become quite controversial. We hadn’t had a raise in over 2 years. And, in trying to publicly highlight our cause, he had done several things that had angered the presiding judge--a judge elected by all of the judges countywide to oversee the whole system. So, in response to the situation, I decided to write a letter to all of my colleagues throughout the main courthouse in downtown Los Angeles. Suddenly, one day our local president walked into my courtroom and invited me to step into an open position on our local’s executive board.

After giving it some thought, I agreed. Perhaps, I shouldn't have. Because soon, it became apparent that our local president was not only eccentric, but he was also embezzling funds from our treasury. Within 6 months, we had removed him from office. It was then that I found myself elected president, even though I never planned it that way. 

Now, none of this might seem very daring. And, it really didn’t to me at the time. But, over the next four years, as we continued to lack a wage increase, it was under my leadership that, in November 1997, 95% of the courtroom clerks walked off the job across the county, on strike for 10 days. I found out later that it was the first time in a quarter century that any labor group had ever walked out on a judicial system across the U.S. It was a daring act for us. But, it didn’t seem daring at the time. Because for us, it was a matter of survival. A matter of financial survival.

It is this type of daring act--a matter of survival--that is central to our story today. We’ve heard over the past two weeks of the vulnerability of Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi. Naomi, who had moved to another country--to Moab--with her husband because of a famine in Bethlehem. Then, the birth of two sons and the eventual death of all of the men in her life--her husband and her two sons. We heard of her vulnerability as a widow and a childless woman. And, of the vulnerability of her daughter-in-law, Ruth. Also, a widow and childless. We heard of the decision to return to Naomi’s homeland--to Bethlehem. And, of Ruth’s decision to accompany her--just one of many examples of Ruth’s hesed. Her love in action for Naomi. A decision that doubled Ruth’s vulnerability--now, not only a widow, but also an immigrant. 

Over the past 2 weeks, we have also seen a shift in our story--a shift from the sense of loss and emptiness experienced by Naomi and Ruth, to the beginning of hope. Hope that appeared in the person of Boaz. A landowner. A family member. Naomi’s kin.

In today’s episode of our story, we see those buds of hope blossom. Now, if you read between the lines of our story, you quickly see that this is a story of seduction. Of a daring act. An act by Ruth that, one might think is completely out of character for her. An act that is counter-cultural. One that most people would raise their eyebrows at. But it is a daring act by a woman who is desperate to secure her future and that of her mother-in-law.

It is the evening at the end of a successful harvest. You can imagine that there was food flowing. And, especially, that there was drink also flowing. Boaz is, our text says, in a “good” mood. Another translation says that he was contented. He curls up next to a grain pile and falls asleep. 

As this has been going on, Naomi has been instructing Ruth. Take a bath. Put on some perfume. Wear something nice. And, then, go down to the threshing floor. Don’t make yourself known to Boaz until he has finished eating and drinking and has lain down. Then, and only then, go to him, uncover his feet, and lie down. He will tell you what to do next.

So, Ruth does it. Everything that Naomi tells her to do. Except she doesn’t wait for Boaz to say anything. Instead, Ruth--kind, sweet, loyal Ruth--proposes marriage! This is what the phrase “spread out your robe over your servant” means. Ruth proposes marriage to Boaz, who we know is substantially older than she.

Now, we need to step back for a moment to understand what is going on here. There is a custom at work in this story that we need to be aware of. In her proposal to Boaz, Ruth calls for him to fulfill his duty as a go-el. Go-el is a Hebrew word that means kinsman-redeemer. Under Israel’s law, the closest male relative is obligated to redeem his kin who have fallen onto hard times. So, as she proposes marriage to Boaz, Ruth is saying, “Do your duty!” Do what you are obligated to do as my go-el, as my kinsman-redeemer. Save me!

Now, to our 21st century ears, this may be a little challenging. We think of women as independent today and having their own choices in terms of their future. This is not what ancient Israel was like, however. In this patristic society, women who were widowed or childless were vulnerable. This was why the law was implemented in the first place--to ensure that women who were vulnerable were protected. They relied upon their go-el, their kinsman-redeemer to do this.

It is, however, a daring act for Ruth to make the first move. To call on Boaz to offer her redemption. Yet, there was also redemption for Boaz here. It’s apparent from our story that Boaz is presumably an older man. Ruth could have chosen others--she’s still a young woman. Yet, she chooses him. So, for Ruth and for Boaz, there is mutual redemption.

This Wednesday evening, you have an opportunity to engage in a daring act, just like Ruth. We will gather with our siblings in Christ at Shiloh Methodist. We’ll begin at 6 p.m. with a potluck dinner. This will be followed at 6:30 p.m. by a conversation--a Sacred Conversation--around the topic of immigration. This is a controversial topic in our world today. It is a complex issue. It is a divisive issue--an issue that has separated and continues to divide us to the point where we no longer talk with each other about it, but we talk at each other about it. How do we change the conversation? How do we break through our division and begin to hear each other? 

We have the opportunity this Wednesday. An opportunity to listen to each other respectfully. To hear and to identify our common values and, then, to find a way forward. It is an opportunity that is counter-cultural. It pushes back against a culture that says “it’s my way, or the highway!” It pushes back against a culture that demands that my answer is the only right answer. To choose to be there--to participate in this Sacred Conversation--is a daring act. It takes courage to step out of the mold that our culture teaches us to follow--a mold that will only continue to divide us. Will you be courageous? Will you be bold and daring? Will you come and participate?

I hope you will come. In truth, I dare you to come. Because it is out of daring acts, that redemption comes.  And blessing. We see it already in our story today. And we will see it in full next week. And we know it as children of God--children of a God who sent a Kinsman-Redeemer to us to save us. To redeem us. And, who out of that redemption, gives us abundant blessing.

So, be bold. Be daring. And trust that God will be at work among us. And that God will give us the courage to dare to act. Amen.

Preached Sunday, August 5, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 11
Readings: Ruth 3:1-18 (Matthew 7:7-8).

Good News Spreads: Creating

One day, as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a slave-girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.” She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour.

But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.” The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.

About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” They answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them; and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God. Acts 16:16-34 (NRSV)

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

Each week as I prepare to write my sermon, there are a variety of things I do and read. I first meditate for a day or two on the reading, using different translations to see how it has been interpreted differently. Then, I go to the original Greek and see if there is anything that stands out to me. Then, believe it or not, I go onto Facebook. (Do I hear a collective groan?) 

I really do go onto Facebook. Because on that platform, I am a member of a few different groups that discuss our weekly reading from the Narrative Lectionary. Sometimes the discussion gets very lively. At other times, there’s hardly any. This week, though, our reading from Acts resulted in one of the longest and most liveliest discussions I’ve seen over the past couple of years.

The primary focus of this discussion was the incident between the Apostle Paul and the slave girl who was possessed by a spirit, a spirit that gave her fortune-telling abilities. So, we are going to look closely at that exchange today. But, before digging deeper into it and everything it led to, first, a little context.

Last week, we heard about the conversion of Saul, whom we know better as Paul. His conversion happened along the road to Damascus, in Syria, some 135 miles away north of Jerusalem, as the crow flies. Today’s story is years later, years during which Paul has been formed as an apostle and, particularly, years during which he has been spreading the good news of Jesus Christ to the Gentiles, to the non-Jews. This is the mission territory where the Jerusalem council has sent him. Where the Holy Spirit has sent him.

As our story opens, Paul and Silas are in Philippi. Now Phillippi is in northeast Greece, a continent away from Jerusalem. It was a Roman colony and was located along a major east-west trade route for the Roman empire. So, Philippi was a cosmopolitan city with many influences, particularly Greek and Roman. In the verses that precede today’s story, we learn that the first convert in Philippi was Lydia, a woman who was a merchant selling purple cloth, likely a wealthy merchant. As was the custom of that day, when Lydia converted, her entire household was converted. It was in Lydia’s home that Paul and Silas were staying as they worked to share the Gospel throughout this thriving city. It is at this point that today’s story opens.

One day, as they were headed to a place where they had been praying outside the city gates, they met a young woman who was a slave. Our scripture says that she had a “spirit of divination.” What is interesting about this young slave woman and the spirit that inhabited her body was that, in the Greek, this spirit is called a “python spirit.” If you’re up on your Greek mythology, Python was the name of the mythical serpent that guarded the oracle at Delphi. Python was defeated by the Greek god, Apollo. So, the story of Python and Apollo is really a story of conflict. A story of a fight for rulership, over which god will ultimately prevail. 

But, back to our young woman. After meeting Paul and Silas, she began to follow them and to shout, “These people are servants of the Most High God! They are proclaiming a way of salvation to you!” Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? But, day after day, when she saw them, she would shout this. After awhile, Paul became annoyed. Very annoyed. One day, he turned to her and ordered this spirit--this “python spirit”--out of her. Now, one would typically think that this would have been a good thing. That it was positive that Paul had freed her of this spirit. 

One would think that.

But, in her case, she was being used by her owners--exploited by her owners--who were making a lot of money off of her, a lot of money off of her fortune-telling abilities.  So, when Paul sent the spirit packing, along with it went their money-making ability. They got angry. They grabbed Paul and Silas and took them to the town square to the legal authorities. 

Do you notice what they do next?

Rather than speak the truth of what had happened, they seek to exploit and to divide people by nationality. “They are Jews!” the men say. “They are bringing in practices that are different from our culture.”  They seek to agitate the crowd against Paul and Silas for who they are--Jewish rather than Roman. Once again, they are engaging in exploitation. This time it is to drive a wedge between Paul and Silas and the rest of the people.

As a result, Paul and Silas are stripped and beaten. They are thrown into prison, into the “innermost cell,” which would typically have no windows and little air, except when the door was opened. They are secured in stocks. All of this because of a desire on the part of these men to exploit people and situations for their own means.

We already heard the rest of the story. In the middle of the night, as Paul and Silas are praying and singing hymns to God, there is a great earthquake, freeing all of the prisoners. And, eventually, the jailer is saved and baptized, along with his entire household.

Throughout this entire fascinating story, I am still captured by this python spirit. Setting aside the relationship to Greek mythology, I can’t help thinking about pythons and, especially, how they kill their prey. When they catch something--a small animal, for example--they seize their prey with their teeth, while simultaneously squeezing the life out of it. They are life-constricting, rather than life-giving.

This is what exploitation is. This is what is does. Whether it is the exploitation of a young slave, or the exploitation of a crowd, or any other form of exploitation, it is life-constricting rather than life-giving. It kills life, rather than creating life.

Our God is a God that creates life. That is life-giving. This is what we know from creation and from all of scripture. This is what we know from both the cross and the resurrection. God creates life. God is life-giving. Not life-constricting. When we exploit people or situations or when we, yes, exploit creation, we are not living as people of God. We are life-constricting rather than the life-giving people God intends us to be. This is the struggle. This is the fight for rulership, for which God will prevail. A fight between the god of the world that brings death. Or the God of life--who gives life through Jesus Christ. We know the winner of that conflict. We know that God will continue to bring life out of death, to offer forgiveness out of sin, to create light of out darkness, to bring belief out of unbelief. Life-giving. Not life-constricting.

Yesterday, I watched the funeral of Barbara Bush, our former First Lady and mother of former President George W. Bush. She was a wonderful woman. Not perfect, by any means, which she would easily admit. But someone who truly lived out her faith, putting service above selfishness, nation above political party. In a time when fear of AIDS was running rampant in our country, she publicly went to a hospital for infants infected with AIDS and held one, using her position to send a strong message throughout our country. There are many other similar stories. The one, though, that stayed with me the most was about a man named J. T. Pace.

Literacy was the one issue that Mrs. Bush worked on for her entire life. J. T. Pace was a son of a sharecropper. When Mrs. Bush met him, he was 63-years old. He had only recently become literate. He was scheduled to read the preamble to the constitution at an event commemorating our nation’s bicentennial. Backstage, at the event, he was very nervous. Mrs. Bush noticed this and asked if she might help by reading the preamble together with him on stage. He agreed. When they took the stage, they began to read it together. As Mr. Pace became more comfortable reading in front of the large crowd, Mrs. Bush began to lower her voice. Bit by bit, she continued to do this until, at last, Mr. Pace was reading completely on his own. Her work was done when he had fully found his voice.

Life-giving. Not life-constricting. 

We, too, are to be life-givers. This is who we are called to be. To live into the redemption won for us by Jesus on the cross--a redemption intended not only for all humankind, but redemption intended for all creation, whom God has connected us to deeply. We are called to live into that redemption and to be life-givers. 

This is why, on this Earth day, we celebrate the goodness of God’s creation and commit to caring for it. Not to exploit it, but to care for it and to advocate for its health and life, just as we are to advocate and care for all of life. Not to constrict life. But to be life-givers, just as God has given us life. Abundant life.

May God make it so. Amen.

Preached April 22, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Fourth Sunday of Easter
Readings: Luke 6:18-19, 22-23; Acts 16:16-34

Misseo Deo

After a long time the king of Egypt died. The Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out. Out of the slavery their cry for help rose up to God. God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God looked upon the Israelites, and God took notice of them.

So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” He said, “I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain.”

But Moses said to God, “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, “I am who I am.” He said further, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I am has sent me to you.’” God also said to Moses, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you’:

This is my name forever,

and this my title for all generations.

But Moses said to the Lord, “O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” Then the Lord said to him, “Who gives speech to mortals? Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.” But he said, “O my Lord, please send someone else.” Then the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses and he said, “What of your brother Aaron the Levite? I know that he can speak fluently; even now he is coming out to meet you, and when he sees you his heart will be glad. You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; and I will be with your mouth and with his mouth, and will teach you what you shall do. He indeed shall speak for you to the people; he shall serve as a mouth for you, and you shall serve as God for him. Take in your hand this staff, with which you shall perform the signs.”  Exodus 2:23-25; 3:10-15; 4:10-17 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from God--our Creator, Redeemer, and Restorer.  Amen.

This past summer, when our worship committee made the decision to shift to a new lectionary--to the Narrative Lectionary--it was after we’d spent much of the summer immersed in the stories of the Hebrew Scriptures. 

I don’t know about your own experiences, but these are the stories I grew up with. The stories that were told to us in Sunday school and in Vacation Bible School. The stories of creation and of the fall, the stories of Noah and the ark, the stories of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, the stories of Moses and Israel. First, in Egypt and, then, freed from the bondage of slavery. And on and on and on. There were the stories of our faith, I was told. The stories of who we are as a people.

But, somehow, I could never really connect the dots. What was God’s meta-narrative anyway? How did these stories connect to it? And, more importantly, what was my connection to these stories and to this meta-narrative?

It was only until seminary, in a missiology class, that the light bulb went on.

Missiology is just a fancy word for the study of mission. More particularly, it is the study of God’s mission. The misseo Deo. Of God’s plan. And how, as God implements that plan, God continues to reveal more and more of God’s nature to us.

What that plan is--that meta-plan or meta-narrative--what it is has long been debated among theologians. Generally, though, it can be reduced down into four basic elements: creation, fall, redemption, and restoration. Creation. Fall. Redemption. Restoration.

At the beginning of September, we started at the beginning with the creation story. About how God--a god already in relationship (Creator-Father, Redeemer-Son, Restorer-Spirit)--desired to be in even greater relationship. And so, this relational God creates. God enters into the world and begins to create. To first bring a place of chaos into an ordered world. Then, to populate that newly-created, newly-ordered place. With animals and birds and other creatures. And then with human beings--called to be caretakers of that world. God entered in and created a place of beauty and flourishing. God created a place that was good.

Creation.

And, then, it all fell apart. Literally.

Beginning with the fall of those first beings and then a continued descent into anger and hatred, murder and devastation. God saw how sin and brokenness was tearing the world--God’s good and beautiful world--apart. Full of wickedness. And falling apart. The result of sin and brokenness.

The Fall.

At first, God regretted God’s creation. Genesis 6:7 tell us that God was sorry he had made creation. God regretted it--but, just a moment. God refused to walk away. Instead, God devised a plan. God’s mission. The misseo Deo, if you like. And that plan started with a remnant of people. Noah and his family. People who continued to follow God, who sought to live out who God desired them to be. Human beings who found “favor in the sight of the Lord.” 

So, God started on a plan of redemption. To begin with a remnant of humanity and to form them into a select people. To enter into a covenant with them. A covenant that sought to redeem them and bring them back into full relationship with God. And, then, to expand that to all of humanity.

Redemption.

The story of God seeking to bring redemption to a fallen humanity began with Abraham. It began with Abraham and a promise. A promise that through Abraham this blessed nation would come and that Abraham and his descendants would be blessed so that they could be a great blessing to others. 

Today, in our reading, we have an important next step in that redemption narrative, in the formation of God’s people. Last week, we left off with Jacob. Jacob, that son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham, who lived so fully into his name. Meaning trickster. 

If you haven’t noticed it yet, names are really important in scripture. Jacob’s name would eventually be changed to Israel. Which means “God strives.” It would be through Jacob--through Israel--that God would strive to continue to grow God’s people. To grow them into a nation.

By the time our story begins today, several generations have passed. We have moved out of the book of Genesis (meaning “beginning”) and into the book of Exodus (meaning “departure”). The book begins in Egypt, which is where Jacob would eventually end up. Jacob (or Israel) has grown into a large nation. So, large, in fact, that they are becoming a threat to the Egyptians. Particularly to the political leadership of Egypt, who are watching them grow and become increasingly worried that their own people will become a minority people. 

And, so, they begin to oppress Israel. Ruthlessly. The first two chapters of Exodus tell us that the Egyptians made their lives bitter. And that Israel groaned under their slavery. That they cried out. That out of their slavery “their cry for help rose up to God.” 
God heard them. We read in the first verse of our lesson today that [read Exodus 2:24-25]. 

So God devised a plan. To rescue Israel.

Do you notice here that God doesn’t choose to work alone, to rescue Israel alone? God could, you know. God could make that choice. God takes the initiative, develops a plan, but does not work alone. God calls Moses. “Moshe” in the Hebrew, which means “to draw out.” God calls Moses to draw the Israelites out of Israel, out of bondage and servitude, out of slavery. 

Then, there’s this amazing dialogue after God calls Moses. Moses doesn’t drop everything and run. He doesn’t immediately agree with God. He raises sharp objections to God over God’s call. Eight objections, to be exact. God never tells Moses to be quiet. Or ignores his concerns. Instead, God responds to each objection in turn. One after the other. It is through this conversation, this dialogue, that Moses gains fuller knowledge. In God’s interaction with a questioning human, God more fully reveals who God is. 

It is one of God’s responses to Moses, in particular, that we gain a much deeper understanding of who this God is. When Moses asks God, “When they ask me ‘Who this God’s name is?’ what will I tell them?” God responds with God’s name. For the very first time, in conversation with a questioning Moses, God gives him God’s own personal name. 

The Hebrew here is actually untranslatable. Ehyeh-asher-ehyeh. Untranslatable. The earliest recorded understanding of the divine name--of God’s personal name--was as a verb derived from a three-letter stem. The verb “to be”. An absolute Being. Eternal. Unchanging. Dynamic. We know it in English as the Tetragrammaton, which means the “four consonants.” A name that has been translated to mean “I Am That I Am,” or “I Am Who I Am,” or “I Will Be What I Will Be. A name that would be so revered by Israel that, in later Jewish history, they would not say it out loud. 

In giving God’s own, personal name to Moses, God is saying to him, “I am entering into relationship with you.” God has called Moses into relationship. And promises “to be” for Moses. Absolute. Eternal. Unchanging. Dynamic.

In the same way, God has called us in our baptisms. Giving us God’s name. Children of God. Entering into relationship with us. And promising, in Christ, “to be” for us. Absolute. Eternal. Unchanging. Dynamic. God’s meta-narrative becomes our micro-narrative. One by one. Redeemed and restored into relationship with God.

And, yet, our story, our micro-narrative, is part of God’s overarching story. A story of salvation. Of God seeking redemption for us in Christ Jesus. It is a story of freedom from bondage. And it is a story of God’s formation of God’s own people. So that we, and all of humanity, might be restored into fullness of relationship with God. Into fullness of relationship with our animals here, with all creatures, and with creation.  With God and all of creation.

This is God’s plan. God’s mission. We are part of it. Fully redeemed in Christ, it is our mission, too. Our mission with God to all the world.

May God bless out work together. Amen.

Preached October 1, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 17.
Readings: Exodus 2:23-25, 3:10-15, 4:10-17; John 8:58.