Grounded in Creation: Water (Part 1)

 The text for this Sunday is the story of Jesus and the Woman of Samaria at the well. It's found in John, chapter 4. Here are a few preliminary thoughts...

This story begins with an interesting sentence. It tells us that Jesus had to go through Samaria. Now, I'm pretty certain Jesus didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do. And, if you look at a map, there were other routes from Galilee south to Judea. Easier routes, honestly. Rather than to traverse through a countryside populated with people considered enemies to the Jews. All, as is so often the case, because of one doctrinal conflict. But, why did he have to go through Samaria? 

Jesus makes his way through Samaria. And stops, not coincidentally, at a well connected to Jacob. And that is actually called Jacob's well. It's in an area called Shechem, which is the first piece of land Jacob bought upon returning to what would become "the Promised Land." It's a physical link from the patriarchs to Jesus - a place of connection. That's what wells were in ancient times - a place where people would come to gather their water in the morning, when it was cool. So it was a meeting-place, too.

But, the woman in this story comes at noon - the hottest part of the day. There's not a good explanation for this in the actual text. There's been a lot of conjecture that because, at least how this story has been told for centuries, she was a woman of "questionable" character. So, in her shame and to avoid others, she would come to the well at midday, an time when she would be unlikely to meet anyone else. There's more about this interpretation further down. 

So, Jesus stops there on his way through Samaria. He's hot. And tired. And she arrives and begins to draw water. Notice that Jesus asks her to draw water for him. That's the way Jesus is - always trying to move into relationship. Particularly with those who, at least in Jesus' day, would be considered on the edge of society. In her case, likely because she was female. But also, because - we learn - that she has had multiple husbands and is now living with someone who we learn is not her husband.

Karoline Lewis, in her commentary on the gospel of John, talks alot about this, pushing back on the many centuries of patriarchal interpretation that always seem to shame her. To diminish her. Lewis argues that there are many different explanations possible for this. One of these could be that of levirate marriage. Levirate marriage was a Levitical requirement to ensure that women who were widowed would be protected, both physically and financially, as well as, to continue the patrilineal line. It is very possible that this woman could have been widowed more than once and legitimately living with a brother-in-law as she would be essentially "passed down" the family line. It's hard for us, with a 21st century framework, to understand how this might have been a good thing.

All of this is to say that there are other potential explanations for her situation that are not shame-inducing. Or that seek to diminish her. Notice that nowhere in the story does Jesus condemn her. So, how do you build "connection" (see paragraph 2 above)? Or rather what don't you do, in order to build connection? I would you don't condemn someone. Just as Jesus didn't condemn her.

My focus, though, this week is on water. That, too, is a focus of this story. But, I'm not quite there yet. So...to be continued...

Peace,

Karleen

Altered by the Spirit: Altered in witness

Theophilus, the first scroll I wrote concerned everything Jesus did and taught from the beginning, right up to the day when he was taken up into heaven. Before he was taken up, working in the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus instructed the apostles he had chosen. After his suffering, he showed them that he was alive with many convincing proofs. He appeared to them over a period of forty days, speaking to them about God’s kingdom. While they were eating together, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem but to wait for what the Father had promised. He said, “This is what you heard from me: John baptized with water, but in only a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

As a result, those who had gathered together asked Jesus, “Lord, are you going to restore the kingdom to Israel now?”

Jesus replied, “It isn’t for you to know the times or seasons that the Father has set by his own authority. Rather, you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”

After Jesus said these things, as they were watching, he was lifted up and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going away and as they were staring toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood next to them. They said, “Galileans, why are you standing here, looking toward heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way that you saw him go into heaven.”

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, which is near Jerusalem—a sabbath day’s journey away. When they entered the city, they went to the upstairs room where they were staying. Peter, John, James, and Andrew; Philip and Thomas; Bartholomew and Matthew; James, Alphaeus’ son; Simon the zealot; and Judas, James’ son— all were united in their devotion to prayer, along with some women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers. (Acts 1:1-14 CEB)

Have you ever read a book and the ending - well, the ending messed up the rest of the book? Perhaps the ending felt unresolved. Or it left you hanging for more. That’s how I felt after I finished The Prophets, by Robert Jones, Jr. It’s novel about the forbidden union between two enslaved young men on a plantation in the Deep South, how they find connection and refuge in each other and what happens when their relationship is betrayed in a way that threatens their existence. 

It was a powerful book. Until the ending, which, to be honest, didn’t end how I wanted it to end. It left me hanging, wondering what happened to each of these two men after so much heartache and struggle. So, even though I loved the book, it was the ending that left me asking the question, “What next?”

The book of Acts is like a sequel to the Gospel of Luke. Luke, Part 2. And in this story today - the first in acts - we get a glimpse into what happens after Jesus ascends to heaven, leaving his disciples behind. Leaving them behind likely asking that question, “What next?”

It’s not a sad goodbye, though. Jesus spends 40 days with his followers, sharing with them what the reign of God will be like. He assures them that he is not leaving them alone, but that the Holy Spirit, this powerful gift from God, will be poured into them and empower them to carry on the work. The work of witnessing.

The word, “witness,” in this passage is interesting. It comes from the Greek word, martyres - from which we get the word, martyr. To witness goes beyond simply sharing facts. It means being a trusted source, some who speaks from personal experience - experience that involves suffering. Verse 2 of our text tells us that Jesus appeared to the disciples after his passion - after his suffering. Even though resurrected, Jesus’ suffering connects him to his followers. The apostles - like Jesus - will also suffer. But those experiences can become opportunities to share Christ’s message with empathy and authenticity.

In a similar way, it is through our own difficult experiences - our own suffering - that we develop a deeper empathy for others. An empathy that can allow us to connect with others on a deeper level. To witness isn’t just about sharing information - you don’t need to be a biblical scholar to witness. Instead, it is about building and deepening relationships and understanding people’s needs - what they are seeking. 

We’re going to engage in a brief exercise this morning. In just a moment, I’m going to invite you to divide up into pairs. One person will be designated as the “Witness.” The other will be the “Seeker.” If you are a talkative person, I encourage you to step into the role of “Witness.” If you aren’t as talkative, trying being a “Seeker.” I’d also encourage all of you to pair up with someone you don’t know on a deeper level.

Here are the instructions: If you are the Witness, imagine you meet someone new at a coffee shop/online forum. Briefly introduce yourself and strike up a conversation.

The Witness should ask open-ended questions to learn about the Seeker’s life and to go deeper in the conversation.

What are some examples of open-ended questions? Here are a few: 

• What are you passionate about?
• What challenges are you facing?
• What brings you hope?

As you are listening, follow up on their answers with genuine curiosity and more questions. You have four minutes. After, we'll reflect on your experience. Ready, set go!

Now, let’s move into a time of group sharing and reflection. If you were the Seeker, how did the questions feel? Were they welcoming and safe? If you were the Witness, did the conversation lead to a deeper understanding? What did both of you learn from this exercise - what worked? What didn't?

The disciples - and we - are called to be witnesses “in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This is an incremental progression that suggests to us that our witnessing starts local. By building relationships within our communities and by continuing to expand outward. To take the risk of going deeper in conversation with people we may meet along the way. To share our own experiences, including our suffering, which can equip us to connect more deeply with others and to share the message of Christ in an authentic and impactful way. And to trust that, in our conversations, the Holy Spirit will be there, working.

So, this is my challenge to you this week. Choose one person you'd like to have a deeper conversation with this week. Then, using the tips from today's discussion, engage in that conversation that has, as its focus, trying to understand that person. 

I look forward to hearing your stories next Sunday. May the Holy Spirit be in the midst of your conversations. Amen.

Preached Sunday, April 14, 2024, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY, and Third Lutheran/MOSAIC, Shelby Park, KY.

ReMember: God Remembers

The Lord saw that humanity had become thoroughly evil on the earth and that every idea their minds thought up was always completely evil. The Lord regretted making human beings on the earth, and he was heartbroken. So the Lord said, “I will wipe off of the land the human race that I’ve created: from human beings to livestock to the crawling things to the birds in the skies, because I regret I ever made them.” But as for Noah, the Lord approved of him.

These are Noah’s descendants. In his generation, Noah was a moral and exemplary man; he walked with God. Noah had three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. In God’s sight, the earth had become corrupt and was filled with violence. God saw that the earth was corrupt, because all creatures behaved corruptly on the earth.

God said to Noah, “The end has come for all creatures, since they have filled the earth with violence. I am now about to destroy them along with the earth, so make a wooden ark. Make the ark with nesting places and cover it inside and out with tar. This is how you should make it: four hundred fifty feet long, seventy-five feet wide, and forty-five feet high. Make a roof for the ark and complete it one foot from the top. Put a door in its side. In the hold below, make the second and third decks.

“I am now bringing the floodwaters over the earth to destroy everything under the sky that breathes. Everything on earth is about to take its last breath. But I will set up my covenant with you. You will go into the ark together with your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives. From all living things—from all creatures—you are to bring a pair, male and female, into the ark with you to keep them alive. From each kind of bird, from each kind of livestock, and from each kind of everything that crawls on the ground—a pair from each will go in with you to stay alive. Take some from every kind of food and stow it as food for you and for the animals.”

Noah did everything exactly as God commanded him.

After forty days, Noah opened the window of the ark that he had made. He sent out a raven, and it flew back and forth until the waters over the entire earth had dried up. Then he sent out a dove to see if the waters on all of the fertile land had subsided, but the dove found no place to set its foot. It returned to him in the ark since waters still covered the entire earth. Noah stretched out his hand, took it, and brought it back into the ark. He waited seven more days and sent the dove out from the ark again. The dove came back to him in the evening, grasping a torn olive leaf in its beak. Then Noah knew that the waters were subsiding from the earth. He waited seven more days and sent out the dove, but it didn’t come back to him again.

God said to Noah and to his sons with him, “I am now setting up my covenant with you, with your descendants, and with every living being with you—with the birds, with the large animals, and with all the animals of the earth, leaving the ark with you. I will set up my covenant with you so that never again will all life be cut off by floodwaters. There will never again be a flood to destroy the earth.”

God said, “This is the symbol of the covenant that I am drawing up between me and you and every living thing with you, on behalf of every future generation. I have placed my bow in the clouds; it will be the symbol of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember the covenant between me and you and every living being among all the creatures. Floodwaters will never again destroy all creatures. The bow will be in the clouds, and upon seeing it I will remember the enduring covenant between God and every living being of all the earth’s creatures.” God said to Noah, “This is the symbol of the covenant that I have set up between me and all creatures on earth.” --Genesis 6:5-22, 8:6-12, 9:8-17 (CEB)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God, our Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. Amen.

Holy moly! Isn’t it a little crazy that so many people - some of us likely included - have decided that the events of Noah and the flood are appropriate with which to decorate nurseries. Seriously. This story is terrifying.

Welcome to the beginning of the lectionary year. In the Narrative Lectionary, it is customary that on the first Sunday of the lectionary year, we hear a story from what is called the primordial history. This primordial (or primeval) history consists of the first eleven chapters of Genesis. These are the mythic stories of faith - stories that speak to us in universal truths. They describe not only how things came to be for us as people of faith, but why things are the way they are. 

Usually, we begin with one of the two creation stories in Genesis 1 or 2. But, once every four years, we hear this story. Of God. Of God’s regret. And, then, of Noah and the flood. In some respects it’s a story of creation. But, really, it's more a story of un-creating than it is creating. Do you notice, especially, when we hear the language describing the creatures as they are loaded onto Noah’s ark - the language and its cadence - that it sounds remarkably similar to many of the lines of Genesis 1? This account of God un-creating the world borrows and echoes words and phrases from the first story. Even the sequence moves backwards from humanity, to land animals, to birds, then to food plants.

But, before we get too far into the story, I want to back up to the very beginning. In its opening lines, we hear the depth of God’s emotion. The heartbreak. And, perhaps most troubling, the regret that God felt at having created humanity. God is grieved “to the heart” and twice “sorry” about having spoken creation into being in the first place. God intended a world that behaved and believed very differently from the one that developed. That God was facing in this story. Perhaps, even, the one that God is facing in our world today.

I don’t know about you, but, as a parent, I get it. There were many times when I just wanted to walk away. Tired and exhausted and dealing with one more challenge with my son, I understand, even in some very minute way, how God was feeling. 

It was an evil place, this time of Noah. Wickedness abounds, both in the imagination of the heart and also in societies these humans have created. God is ready to call it quits. One Jewish theologian to whom I frequently listen put it this way. “Have you ever started a project with all excitement and energy, but then come to a realization that things are a mess. That this is not going to work. And that it's time to just shut it down." That’s where God is, she suggests. Ready to “blot out” every living thing from the face of the earth. The Hebrew word meaning to “rub away” as one might rub ink off old parchment. To un-remember. And simply forget it ever happened. Some theologians have suggested that God’s uncreating in this story is less a kid kicking his sandcastle apart at the beach and more a simple turning away. And without God’s sustaining and creative presence, things fall apart. 

But. That’s how chapter 8 begins. It’s in the word “but” where we hear the good news. “But God remembered Noah and all of the beasts and cattle that were with him in the ark.” God can’t quite go all the way, apparently. As God responded to the disobedience of Eve and Adam in the story in Eden and as we will see time after time in the stories that follow, God’s deadly wrath is overcome by our Creator’s more powerful inclination toward salvation. At the heart of this story, setting every challenging aspect aside for just a moment, is a God who, no matter how grieved and angry, is in love with the universe and its creatures, particularly those of us of the two-legged variety who somehow share that same mysterious image of God.

We’re reminded of this in the words of Isaiah 49, “Can a woman forget her nursing baby, that she should have no compassion on the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”

God remembers that last good remaining speck of creation and turns again toward it. Notice the movement of God from distant to intimate. From the broader view of humanity to Noah. God sees Noah and moves toward him. To a personal relationship with him.  To save him. God’s remembering of Noah leads to God’s salvation of Noah. And a promise - a covenant - to Noah to never again abandon creation to chaos, but to stay in relationship. To stay in the sustaining relationship with creation that makes life possible. A promise marked by a sign. A rainbow. Not so much to help us remember, but to help God remember. 

It is here, in this primordial story, in this teachable moment for God, that God opts in for the sacrificial, messier, more inefficient, more vulnerable route of real relationship. With Noah. And with you. And with me. And God promises, in Christ, to remember us. Forever and ever.

Amen.

Preached September 11, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect/Goshen, KY, with Third Lutheran, Louisville, KY.

14th Sunday after Pentecost

Reading: Genesis 6:5-22, 8:6-12, 9:8-17

Encountering the Messiah: Abundant Life

We’re going to begin today as we did last week. With a little game. This is a game of seeking and finding. Behind me, throughout the space in my apartment that should be visible to you, you’ll find several crosses. I invite you to look for them and to count them as you look. I’ll give you just a minute to do that.

So, who found at least four crosses? You can give me a real thumbs up or use the “thumbs up” on Zoom. Who found five crosses? Six? Seven? There are seven paper crosses!

The reason there are seven different crosses is because in the Gospel of John there are seven signs or miracles that Jesus performs. Remember last week? When Jesus promised Nathaniel that he would see “even greater things?” These signs and miracles are part of the greater things that Jesus promised. In today’s lesson, we will see Jesus’ first sign.

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. When the wine ran out, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They don’t have any wine.”

Jesus replied, “Woman, what does that have to do with me? My time hasn’t come yet.”

His mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Nearby were six stone water jars used for the Jewish cleansing ritual, each able to hold about twenty or thirty gallons

Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water,” and they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Now draw some from them and take it to the headwaiter,” and they did. The headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine. He didn’t know where it came from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew.

The headwaiter called the groom and said, “Everyone serves the good wine first. They bring out the second-rate wine only when the guests are drinking freely. You kept the good wine until now.” This was the first miraculous sign that Jesus did in Cana of Galilee. He revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. --John 2:1-11 (CEB)

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

We might ask why the beginning of Jesus’ ministry begins at a wedding. Does anyone have any idea?

Let’s be honest - Jesus liked parties. He liked people. As we will see in the gospel of John, he especially liked sinners. The Jesus captured in John is a relational Jesus. Always in conversation with people. So, it makes sense that this first sign - this first miracle - should be at a celebration of relationships. The joining of two people in relationship. And their families, too. 

Weddings in Jesus’ day were a big deal. They lasted for days. Running out of wine was a huge problem for this wedding feast. The host had invited everyone to come and to celebrate. Many people probably traveled far to get there. And, now, there is nothing left for them to drink. They wouldn’t have been able to just go to the store or to make a quick run to Total Wine to get some more. Jesus’ mother - and notice that she is not named and, in fact, this is the last time we will see her until we meet her at the foot of the cross - Jesus’ mother notices that they have run out of wine. She knows that he can do something about this. So she encourages Jesus to help. Gives him a little nudge. “Come on, Jesus. It’s time for you to show the world who you are.”

But, Jesus’ response to her seems a little harsh. “Woman, what does that have to do with me?” A female clergy group I’m online with had a real problem with Jesus speaking to his mother in this way. It seems so impersonal, even unfriendly. And, while there may be many other theological reasons for this, I asked them online if any of them had a 33-year-old son. Because if you do, you know the comments that they will make to you, accompanied by the eye-rolls, right? Like, “Geez, Mom, gimme a break!” Or even “Woman, what are you talking about?” So, even with Jesus’ mother knowing his divinity, there’s something here, too, about his humanity. That he is both. Which also includes being a 33-year-old son.

But, Jesus listens to her. And then he takes these six large clay vessels. Each of them with a capacity of 20-30 gallons. And he transforms the water in them - water that was likely meant for washing and not drinking. He transforms this water into the best wine of all! But, it wasn’t just that it was the best wine of all. But, it was the amount of it. The abundance of the wine Jesus made. I did the math this week. We’re talking anywhere from 140-180 gallons of wine. That’s the equivalent of 700-900 bottles of wine. At 12 bottles per case, that’s anywhere from 58 to 75 cases of wine. So this wasn’t only the best wine. It was a huge amount - an abundant amount - of the best wine. 

The chief steward is blown away. He wonders where this wine came from. I bet the bridegroom was wondering, too. But Jesus’ mother knew. So did the servants, too. 

In the opening words of this gospel of John, what we call the prologue, we heard this witness of John: “‘He who comes after me is greater than me because he existed before me.’ From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.” From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.

I mentioned at the beginning that this is the first of seven signs. These signs that point the disciples and others (and us) to understand who this Jesus is and why he has come. If we continue in John’s witness we read that it is through him - God’s only Son, that God is made known to us. It is this God - revealed to us in Christ - that we learn desires only life for us. Abundant life. Bottles and cases and gallons of life for us.

I recognize that in these past couple of years and, especially, in these past few weeks it’s been hard to see that. Maybe even hard to believe this - that God desires only the most abundant life for us, a life that overflows with all of the goodness and relationships and love that you and I can imagine. 

But, as we work our way through John and through the remaining six signs it will be the last sign that will make all the difference. For Jesus’ mother. For Jesus’ disciples. And for us. That sign - the cross - will take the most hopeless of moments and transform it into the most abundant, life-giving, “grace upon grace upon grace” moment of all. For us.

May we recognize these signs that point us to God. And may we hold fast to the promise of abundant life that God promises for us, through Jesus. Amen.

Preached January 16, 2022, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Epiphany 2

Readings: John 2:1-11, Psalm 104:14-16

 

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

 

Our Money Story: Restore

Our reading today is from the beginning. Genesis. And in two parts, beginning first in chapter 2.

On the day the Lord God made earth and sky— before any wild plants appeared on the earth, and before any field crops grew, because the Lord God hadn’t yet sent rain on the earth and there was still no human being to farm the fertile land, though a stream rose from the earth and watered all of the fertile land— the Lord God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land and blew life’s breath into his nostrils. The human came to life.

The Lord God took the human and settled him in the garden of Eden to farm it and to take care of it. The Lord God commanded the human, “Eat your fill from all of the garden’s trees; but don’t eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, because on the day you eat from it, you will die!”

There are two stories of creation at the beginning of Genesis. One in chapter 1. And a second creation story in chapter 2, which we just heard a portion of. Each of these stories is different. Each of them has a very distinct story to tell. 

In chapter 1, we have this amazing story of the beginning of the world, created out of chaos by the very breath of God. Shaped, formed and filled by God’s Word. An ordered world. Crowned at the end by God’s greatest achievement - humankind. Male and female. Made in God’s own image. Genesis 1 is this great, grand story of the creation of our big, beautiful world and all that inhabits it. 

In Genesis 2, we move from this big creation story to one of intimacy and relationship. A story of the first people. And of the beginning of their relationship with God. And it all begins in the dirt.

Did you notice that detail? The first human wasn’t made from clay - that sturdy, durable soil that can be molded and shaped and is strong. No, the first human was made from dust. Topsoil.

We miss it in English, but here in the Hebrew, there’s a pun. A play on words happening. ‘Adam in Hebrew means human. It’s not a proper name. Not a gendered name. ‘Adam represents that first human being, created by God out of dust, which in Hebrew is ‘adamah. ‘Adam. ‘Adamah. The first human is created out of fine, dry particles of earth so light and so fragile that they can easily be picked up and carried by the wind. Just like our own human existence, which is also so fragile. 

Then as the story continues, God takes the human and puts him in Eden to serve it. Not to have dominion over it, but to serve. To work for it. God tells ‘adam to eat fully from the trees in the garden. Except from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The phrase “good and evil” in Hebrew is an idiom that simply means everything. This is not about right and wrong. This is about everything - about knowing everything. About omniscience. About being like God.

There is also, in Genesis 2, no distinction between human and animal life. Both are called living creatures in Hebrew. Living creatures who all come from the same place...the dust of the ground. 

After making ‘adam, God discovers that being alone for this creature is not good. Human beings need companionship, relationship, community. God takes ‘adam and out of the human makes a companion. Woman. A helper. Sometimes, in the Hebrew bible, God is referred to as a helper - as Israel’s helper. So, this woman is not subordinate. This is not a hierarchy. Adam needs Eve as companion, as partner, as fellow worker in the garden - in God’s Garden of Eden.

There is intimacy in this second chapter of Genesis. There is an intimate link between the Creator and the created.

But the story continues with chapter 3.

The snake was the most intelligent of all the wild animals that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say that you shouldn’t eat from any tree in the garden?”

The woman said to the snake, “We may eat the fruit of the garden’s trees but not the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden. God said, ‘Don’t eat from it, and don’t touch it, or you will die.’”

The snake said to the woman, “You won’t die! God knows that on the day you eat from it, you will see clearly and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” The woman saw that the tree was beautiful with delicious food and that the tree would provide wisdom, so she took some of its fruit and ate it, and also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then they both saw clearly and knew that they were naked. So they sewed fig leaves together and made garments for themselves.

During that day’s cool evening breeze, they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden; and the man and his wife hid themselves from the Lord God in the middle of the garden’s trees.

Oh, that snake. That crafty snake. 

It is here in Genesis 3 where the great central act of disobedience is introduced. In choosing to disobey God’s command, the humans radically alter their understanding of themselves and of their world. Their eyes are opened. They become self-aware.  

Previously, they were living in a world that was theo-centric. Centered around God. Now, they believe they live in a world centered around themselves. Where they can assert that they themselves are the center of value. The center of decision making. The center of knowledge. 

This knowledge of all things - this desire to be like God - results in alienation from God and from the soil - ‘adamah - to which they are so deeply connected. 

This is the story we see in Genesis 3. The human story. Our story. 

It’s a story about moving from creation to distortion. The distortion of God’s desire for us and for the world. Of a broken relationship between God and humanity. Of broken relationships between neighbors. Of a broken relationship with the dust of the ground and with all living creatures. A world of scarcity and “not enough,” as we hoard God’s abundance. Where we chase the idea of self-worth by seeking more or trying to be more. And more. And more. It is a story that has moved from creation to distortion. It is our story. Our very human story. 

But this is not God’s story. Because God’s story is not about distortion. Not about alienation. But about restoration. About restoring dignity to those disenfranchised. About restoring broken relationships with neighbors. About restoring our own lives - so that we might be centered, healthy, spirit-filled beings, caring for all living creatures and all creation. It is a story about enough. About more than enough. About abundance.

In God’s story, God continuously works to move us from distortion. To restoration. From death. To life. That we might be reconciled with God, with one another, with all creation. 

As we move throughout this lectionary year, we will see over and over and over again, our God, revealed in the story. A God of promise. A God of relationship. A God of mercy. And a God of new life. A God who comes near to us in Jesus, the great restorer - the great reconciler - of the world. And a God who sends us into the world with this good news of restoration.

Why does God do this? In one word. Love. You and I, sisters and brothers, we are God’s creation with whom God desires to be in intimate relationship. You and I - we belong to God. You and I - we are created by God. You and I - we are God’s beloved. Amen.

Preached September 13, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 15/Rally Day

Readings: Gen. 2: 4b-7, 15-17; 3:1-8; Luke 11:2-4; Psalm 8

Out of the Whirlwind: Speaking Our Pain

We are in week three of the Book of Job. In the first week, we met Job. And learned of the wager between God and The Satan - an act intended to set up the rest of this thought experiment. And to raise questions. Hard questions. Questions of faith. Such as why innocent people suffer or even why we believe. Last week, we moved into the dialogue between Job and his friends - friends who had started so well by simply sitting beside the suffering Job in silence. But, then who opened their mouths to speak their truths - truths that Job, too, had believed. That if one does something wrong, they will be punished. Or, conversely, that if one suffers it is because they have done something wrong. Yet, we are, along with Job, beginning to see these constructs - these truths - challenged. By Job’s own experience. By his innocent suffering. 

Today, in this third week, we continue in these chapters of dialogue between Job and his friends. Thirty-five chapters. Thirty-five long chapters of back-and-forth between Job and his friends as Job struggles to make sense of his suffering and as his friends try to hold onto their truths, even in the midst of the evidence that is right in front of them. 

As we pick up this morning in chapter 14, we find Job in deep despair.

“For there is hope for a tree,

    if it is cut down, that it will sprout again,

    and that its shoots will not cease.

Though its root grows old in the earth,

    and its stump dies in the ground,

yet at the scent of water it will bud

    and put forth branches like a young plant.

But mortals die, and are laid low;

    humans expire, and where are they?

As waters fail from a lake,

    and a river wastes away and dries up,

so mortals lie down and do not rise again;

    until the heavens are no more, they will not awake

    or be roused out of their sleep.

O that you would hide me in Sheol,

    that you would conceal me until your wrath is past,

    that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me!

If mortals die, will they live again?

    All the days of my service I would wait

    until my release should come.

You would call, and I would answer you;

    you would long for the work of your hands. --Job 14:7-15 (NRSV)

In the chapters that precede this text, Job has been unpersuaded by the arguments of his friends. He responds to them, even attacks them. And rejects their claims and their assumption that this idea of retributive justice - that punishment or suffering is a result of one’s sin - is not valid. And that isn’t valid because it. Is. Not. His. Own. Experience.

But, what Job really wants is to speak to God. To see God face-to-face. And to sort out with God this misunderstanding that has somehow strained their relationship. Job seeks reconciliation.

And, so, he turns to God to argue his case. He is beginning to come to terms with his situation. He claims to God his innocence. Pleads that God might remove God’s hand. That God would tell him what he has done to deserve this. That God would speak. And God would not be silent anymore.

Then, Job moves onto the destiny of humanity. The struggle of humanity. He draws comparisons from nature. That even a tree stump has hope. That at the scent of water it will live, will bud and grow and sprout. But this, according to Job, is not the human destiny. The human destiny is one of death. And so Job pleads that God might grant him temporary asylum in Sheol - in this Jewish idea of the underworld. A place regarded as a place of no return. Job asks God to hide him in this place until God relents and finally allows Job to make his case before God.

In the next several chapters, Job continues a powerful and even deeper lament to God. With his own struggle, there is a deepening understanding by Job of the struggle of other innocent people. “If I cry ‘Violence!’ I’m not answered,” Job says. “I shout—but there is no justice.” “There. Is. No. Justice.” How familiar those words sound to us today. “No justice. No peace!” The cry - the protest chant - of those who suffer innocently.

Ellen Davis in her book, Getting Involved With God, suggests that we are not accustomed to challenging God. To blaming God. And so, when we find ourselves doing it, we feel guilty and religiously confused. For some of us, the solution is to give up on God altogether. For others of us, it is to cover our confusion about God with a false sense of piety, a fake holiness. Appearing to be holy on the outside, but evil underneath. Pretending to bow to God but grasping for power and control for ourselves as we oppress others.   

The witness of Job for us, particularly in these times, is that rage and even blame that are directed at God are valid. That to cry out to God, “Why?” is honest and true. And even more, Job’s lament that extends over so many chapters gives us permission in our lives of faith to stay in the moment of lament for a very long time. 

We continue in chapter 19.

“O that my words were written down!

    O that they were inscribed in a book!

O that with an iron pen and with lead

    they were engraved on a rock forever!

For I know that my Redeemer lives,

    and that at the last he will stand upon the earth;

and after my skin has been thus destroyed,

    then in my flesh I shall see God,

whom I shall see on my side,

    and my eyes shall behold, and not another.

    My heart faints within me! --Job 19:23-27 (NRSV)

Well, this is surprising! Even as he is in the midst of deep despair, Job suddenly expresses hope. Unexpectedly. Our New Testament lens immediately suggests that the Redeemer mentioned is Jesus. But, if we are to understand this from Job’s perspective, we must look more deeply at the Hebrew. The word in Hebrew for Redeemer is go-el. In Jewish tradition, a go-el was a person who was obligated under family expectation to care for a member in need. In his words here, Job is affirming his hope that he will be vindicated by a redeemer of his own kin, who will be a witness on his behalf before God. And who will declare Job’s innocence before God. Job accepts his human destiny - that he will die. But at the same time, three times in this passage, he states his confidence that he will see God. That he - and not some stranger - will see God. And that, with his redeemer, he will be vindicated. Acquitted. Exonerated. Freed.

There is a witness in Job that teaches us that, because God is in relationship with us, we can freely and honestly speak to God and trust that God hears us and the pain we are experiencing, whether it is personal or that of our broader world.  

This, ultimately, is the paradox of Job. That it is this full admission of pain that eventually opens the door.  To hope. And for us, in particular, even in the midst of chaotic and uncertain and even painful times, we, who know this Redeemer in Christ, have all the more reason to hope. 

Amen.

Preached Sunday, June 28, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 4.

Readings: Job 14:7-15, 19:23-27; Psalm 121.

Responding to God's Love: It's All About Love

Sh’ma, Yisrael! Adonai elohenu, Adonai ehad! Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone. Amen.

We have come far from last week’s story of Moses’ call to deliver Israel from bondage and slavery in Egypt to freedom. Through the plagues, through the night of the first Passover, through the parting of the Red Sea, to Mount Sinai, the Ten Commandments, and the covenant. To the sin of Israel even before Moses had come down off the mountain, then the forty years of wandering in the wilderness. We have come far from last week’s story. To the book of Deuteronomy.

Israel is poised on the east bank of the Jordan, eagerly waiting to cross over into the promised land. It’s a new generation of people. To prepare them to enter, Moses reviews what has happened over these past forty years. We hear his story. Just as we heard Lana’s story last week, we now hear Moses’ story - Moses’ interpretation - of these forty years in the wilderness. 

And so, as part of his review, we come to our readings for today. First, from Deuteronomy 5. 

Moses called out to all Israel, saying to them: “Israel! Listen to the regulations and the case laws that I’m recounting in your hearing right now. Learn them and carefully do them. The Lord our God made a covenant with us at Mount Horeb. The Lord didn’t make this covenant with our ancestors but with us—all of us who are here and alive right now. The Lord spoke with you face-to-face on the mountain from the very fire itself. At that time, I was standing between the Lord and you, declaring to you the Lord’s word, because you were terrified of the fire and didn’t go up on the mountain.”

The Lord said:

I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.

You must have no other gods before me. Do not make an idol for yourself—no form whatsoever—of anything in the sky above or on the earth below or in the waters under the earth. Do not bow down to them or worship them because I, the Lord your God, am a passionate God. I punish children for their parents’ sins—even to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me. But I am loyal and gracious to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.

Do not use the Lord your God’s name as if it were of no significance; the Lord won’t forgive anyone who uses his name that way.

Keep the Sabbath day and treat it as holy, exactly as the Lord your God commanded: Six days you may work and do all your tasks, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. Don’t do any work on it—not you, your sons or daughters, your male or female servants, your oxen or donkeys or any of your animals, or the immigrant who is living among you—so that your male and female servants can rest just like you. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt, but the Lord your God brought you out of there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. That’s why the Lord your God commands you to keep the Sabbath day.

Honor your father and your mother, exactly as the Lord your God requires, so that your life will be long and so that things will go well for you on the fertile land that the Lord your God is giving you.

Do not kill.

Do not commit adultery.

Do not steal.

Do not testify falsely against your neighbor.

Do not desire and try to take your neighbor’s wife.

Do not crave your neighbor’s house, field, male or female servant, ox, donkey, or anything else that belongs to your neighbor.  --Deuteronomy 5:1-21 (CEB)

This recounting by Moses of the law received at Sinai is the second iteration of the Ten Commandments. Between then and now there has been a span of forty years. And the death of a generation - of the first generation to experience freedom. Not allowed to enter the promised land because of their rebellion and disbelief, even though they were eyewitnesses to the mighty acts of God. 

With this retelling of the story, Moses brings the new generation right back to Sinai. To that first giving of the law. Remembering his anger. How, as he came down the mountain with the stone tablets God had given him, he saw the first generation. Dancing around the golden calf - an idol. Already forgetting their covenant with God. It was then that he angrily threw down the tablets and watched them shatter into pieces.

Moses remembers. And he is helping this new generation remember. 

There’s something in his opening remarks that’s very interesting. In verse 3, Moses says to this new generation: “The Lord didn't make this covenant with our ancestors but with us - all of us who are here and alive right now.” That’s actually not true, is it? Because this new generation was not actually present at Sinai. But, Moses’ concern here isn’t history. (It’s the mistake we make when we think of scripture as a history or a science book.) Moses’ concern here is a deeper truth. A story of transformation. In making this statement, Moses is seeking a renewal of this generation’s commitment - of this generation’s covenant with God. Just like we do every time we celebrate baptism, or give thanks for our baptisms, or confess our sins. We, too, are renewing our promise - our covenant - with God. 

Each generation is called upon to enter anew in the covenant that God first made with Israel at Sinai. “All of us who are here and alive right now” are called to enter in and to recommit. We are once again invited into the story of God and Israel, of Christ and the church, of God and our own story. Each one of us. Just as the new generation of Israelites was as they paused to enter the promised land. 

And, so, Moses begins with the first commandment. “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

Do you notice the gift in this first commandment? We so often view the ten commandments as burden. As rule. As a weight that sits on our shoulders, pulling us down in shame. Yet, they are not a burden, but a witness to a relationship with God. Given to Israel and to us in the context of a relationship. “I am the Lord, YOUR God.” It is out of this loving relationship that the rest of the commandments flow. But, that’s not all. Because, if we read this first commandment carefully, we notice that it isn’t the law that comes first, but a gift. The gift comes before the law. Or in Lutheran terms, the gospel comes before the law here. The relationship begins with an act of deliverance. With freedom. But, what does this freedom look like?

The commandments are intended to form life-giving community compared to the exploitative economy of pharaoh. Having other gods isn’t freedom, but bondage. Working seven days a week isn’t freedom, but bondage. Hurting others isn’t freedom, but bondage.  And on and on. 

These commandments are the boundaries that allow life to flourish. Life with God and with neighbor. Life where everyone can experience freedom. Where no one is exploited. A life that is in sharp contrast to the life that the pharaoh gives - that the world gives. Where there is fear of others, a sense of scarcity and of lack of resources, anxiety, division, brokenness, bondage. This is not the life God desires for Israel. This is not the life God desires for us.

This is why God gives Israel - and us - these commandments. To shape and to form life-giving and loving relationships with God and with neighbor. Because it is all about love.

But, there’s a second part to our readings today. We continue in chapter 6. 

Israel, listen! Our God is the Lord! Only the Lord!

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your being, and all your strength. These words that I am commanding you today must always be on your minds. Recite them to your children. Talk about them when you are sitting around your house and when you are out and about, when you are lying down and when you are getting up. Tie them on your hand as a sign. They should be on your forehead as a symbol. Write them on your house’s doorframes and on your city’s gates.  --Deuteronomy 6:4-9 (CEB)

These words in Deuteronomy 6 are central to Jewish theology and practice. Twice a day - morning and evening - they are recited. Deeply embedded in the hearts of all Jews, part of who they are. When asked what is the greatest commandment, any Jewish person would recite these words, known as the shema. It is the shema that Jesus - a Jew - recites when asked which of the commandments is the most important. Shema is the first word in this passage in Hebrew. Shema meaning “hear.” Or “listen.”  

The shema is an affirmation of our oneness with God and of God’s sovereignty. Of a God who has delivered Israel  from bondage into freedom. The shema - like the commandments - is all about love. About the unbelievable love that God first showed. How God brought Israel out of slavery. How God, in Christ, has brought us out of slavery. Because. Of. Love.

But, it doesn’t end there. Because, for the Jews, the shema isn’t only about listening to God.  In Hebrew, the shema is always connected to action. It’s like when you hear your parent tell you to do something and, then, you do it. To “hear” in Hebrew is to act. To “shema” is to act. There's no disconnect between the hearing and the doing.  

So, when we hear of God’s unfathomable love for us, our response is to act. In love. To God. And to our neighbor. Particularly, to our neighbor who does not look like us, or act like us, or live like us. We are called to respond with our whole being in love to neighbor and to all creation. Or in the most simple words most of us likely learned as children, “We love because God first loved us.”

Because, in the end, that’s what this is all about. Love.

Amen.

Preached October 6, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY

Pentecost 17

Readings: Deuteronomy 5:1-21, 6:4-9; Mark 12:28-31

God Creates Family: A Family Affair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he said, “No, you laughed.” --Genesis 18:1-15 (CEB)

When we left last week’s story, life was good!

We heard the story of the creation of the first family. The human family. Man and woman living in God’s garden - Eden - a word that means “beautiful.” Living in relationship with and caring for each other and God’s creation. And, particularly, living in relationship with God.

Life was good inside the garden!

Today, we move to life outside the garden. We experienced in our confession this morning how sin entered into that idyllic place, severing relationships. More has happened in between last week’s story and today. There’s been a big flood. The people built a tower seeking to make a name for themselves. God has called Abram and made a promise - that from Abram’s offspring, God will make a great nation, through whom the entire world will be blessed. 

God has continued to reinforce that promise a few more times, even changing the names of Abram and his wife, Sarai, to Abraham and Sarah - marking the beginnings of their new life. And the new story that God is now writing - a story of a peculiar people. Peculiar meaning “special.” A people through whom God intends to bless all humanity. And, especially, a people through whom God will restore the broken relationships that sin has caused.

But, there is a problem. We learn two chapters before today’s story that Sarah is barren. It must seem like a cruel joke. Because to be barren in a world where, for women, everything depends upon your ability to have children. And for God to promise that this new people would come from Abraham and Sarah. It must seem like such a cruel joke. And hard to believe.

It’s so hard for Sarah to believe that she arranges for Abraham to sleep with her servant Hagar, who then conceives and has a son, Ishmael. But, instead of resolving the problem, things become worse. Sarah becomes jealous of Hagar. And Hagar throws her newfound importance in Sarah’s face. 

It must seem like such a cruel joke. 

Then, in the chapter before today’s story, God comes to Abraham once more. Abraham is now 99 years old. God comes to him and once more promises that he and Sarah will have a child. At 99! When neither of them have the physical capabilities left to make such a child, much less the desire. When their relationship must feel so broken. When the waiting has seemed so fruitless. Yet, God continues to promise Abraham that he and Sarah will have a child. And Abraham falls to the floor in laughter. 

It must seem like such a cruel joke.

As our story opens today, Abraham is sitting in the shade under the trees at Mamre. Mamre was the first place Abraham landed in Canaan. Where he pitched his first tent in the land God had promised him. Where he built his first altar to worship God. So, Mamre was not only a dwelling place for Abraham. It was also a religious place. 

As Abraham is resting in the shade of the oak trees, he sees three men - three strangers - passing by. He jumps up and runs from the entrance to his tent to greet them. To show them hospitality. To travel in these places was dangerous. One was completely reliant upon the hospitality of strangers. Hospitality was central to life in Canaan. So, Abraham approaches the three strangers and invites them to join him under the cool shade. To wash their feet. To rest. And to have a little something to eat.

They accept his offer. And Abraham gets to work. Well, actually, it’s a servant boy and Sarah who get to work. Abraham goes to Sarah and tells her to prepare three seahs of the finest flour to make bread. A little something to eat? More like 30 loaves of bread.

Abraham then catches a young calf. The best meat available. Veal. Gives it to a young servant boy and tells him to prepare it. Then, takes the prepared meat, the bread, butter and milk and serves it to his guests.

As they eat, they say to him, “Where’s your wife, Sarah?” Not, “Where’s your wife?” but “Where’s your wife, Sarah?” This seems odd. How is it that complete strangers know Sarah’s name? As the audience to this story, we’ve already been clued in to the divine nature of these strangers. But, there’s no indication that Abraham knows. Yet, with this one question, it begins to dawn on Abraham that these are no ordinary passersby. 

When Abraham tells them that Sarah is right here in the tent - not visible, but present, one of them says that next year, he will return and, by then, Sarah will have given birth to a son.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? How Sarah is the subject of this conversation, but not present. How she is the center of this conversation, but placed on the edge of it. 

When this stranger, whom we now know to be divine, whether it is God or a messenger of God - when this stranger foretells Sarah’s future, she laughs. Behind the flap of the tent door, where she’s been listening in on this strange conversation, hearing her name, which might have been the first thing to catch her attention. When she hears what the stranger says, she laughs. But, this isn’t a joy-filled laugh. This is a cynical laugh. She is 90 years old. Abraham is 100. She has been barren all her life - a barrenness that has harmed her relationship with Abraham and with members of her own household. She has waited and waited for this son promised by God. Waited and waited as she’s grown old and has been pushed further and further to the edges of society, as we so often do with those who are barren. Who are old. Who don’t seem to have any life left in them. When she hears what the stranger says, she laughs. 

Because, it has been a cruel joke. Almost a lie. A promise that God hasn’t kept. 

What are the cruel jokes in your lives? The barren places that cause you heartache and sadness? The parts of your life that seem like such a lie. Promises by God that you’ve believed in. Perhaps it's the barrenness of relationships - the loss of relationship in so many different ways with those we love. Perhaps the cruel joke of life itself, of growing old, as we gray and are pushed to the edges of a world that values youth. Devalued, when we should instead be valued for our wisdom and our life experience. Perhaps it's the life of riches - that if we only had more money and stuff we’d be happy. Yet, finding out that the more we accumulate the more empty we feel. 

What are the cruel jokes in your lives? The barren places? The lies in your life? The promises that it seems God has not kept and that too much time has passed for them to be kept? Where in your life do you cover these parts up - like Abraham and Sarah - with cynical laughter? Where in your life do you lack hope?

Well, for Abraham and Sarah, we find it just a few chapters later, in chapter 21.  

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

It’s like God’s checklist, isn’t it? The Lord heard Sarah. Check. The Lord carried out what the Lord had promised. Check. Sarah became pregnant. Check. She gave birth to a son for Abraham when he was very old at the very time God had told him. Check. Then, Abraham named his son - the son borne to him by barren Sarah - Isaac. Check. Isaac - meaning laughter. Not the cynical laughter of before, but laughter that is filled with joy. With hope. Check.

Sisters and brothers, God has made the same checklist for you and I. While life may feel at times like a cruel joke, God hears us and is at work in God’s own time, checking things off that list. Restoring and redeeming us in Christ. Check. Calling each of us and naming us as God’s own. Check. Calling us back when we stray. Check. Working life out of death. Hope out of despair. A future out of the barren places. Check.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” 

In the barrenness of our lives, may we believe God’s promises, just like Abraham and Sarah. And may we trust that out of these empty places, God will bring us laughter that is filled with joy. Amen.

Preached September 15, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 14.
Readings: Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7; Mark 10:27

God Creates Family: Created to Be

In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.”

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper as his partner. So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Then the man said,

“This at last is bone of my bones
    and flesh of my flesh;
this one shall be called Woman,
    for out of Man this one was taken.”

Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh. And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.  --Genesis 2:4b-25 (NRSV)

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

Here we go again! One more time we begin at the beginning.

It’s the pattern of our Narrative Lectionary readings - we begin each fall at the beginning of scripture. In the Hebrew scriptures. With a creation - and sometimes a re-creation - story.

Last year, we started the year with the story of Noah. And that great ark full of animals escaping the flood. A story of God’s re-creation of a world that had become almost entirely evil. And a story with a promise, sealed with a rainbow, that God would never again destroy the earth.

This year we begin in Genesis 2. This is a second creation story. Yet, even though it is the second of the two creation stories, scholars believe that it actually was the first creation story written down. During the time of the reign of David. And that the first story of creation in Genesis is actually the second story. Written down during the time of Israel’s Babylonian exile - a myth that was perhaps needed to help the people make sense - make order - out of the chaos they were experiencing. 

That first story gives us the Google Earth version. From high above at the cosmic level, we see God’s hand at work. In a more general way. Separating the waters. Creating the animals and the sea creatures. The plants. And creating humanity. Creating humanity. Today’s story - the second Genesis story, but, again, the first written - is a story from Google Maps Street View. Down on the ground. With much more detail. And much more intimacy.

It’s a place that, unlike the Genesis 1 version, lacks water. A land that is barren. There are no plants and no animals. Because there is no water. And no one to care for the land. At least not yet. The only sign of life is a stream that rises out of the earth and begins to water the fertile land. A living stream that begins to turn the dry, dusty place of no life into one with life.

It’s out of that dust that God forms the first human. Adam in the Hebrew. Not a word that means man or that is the proper name of a man. But a word that means “human.” God forms human - literally, the act of an artist, a descriptive act of the life and work of a potter. There is God in the dirt, making mud, toiling over a potter’s wheel, forming and shaping this first human being. Genderless at this point. Earth creature. We might call this being, “Dusty.” Formed out of the dust of the dry, barren plain. 

It is then that God breathes into Dusty the “breath of life.” That unique gift of our holy God that makes a living being out of all of us bits of dusty brokenness. God breathes into this earth creature God’s very own Spirit. 

Then, God turns from this human to form a garden in Eden (a word that means “pleasant”). And it is into the midst of this garden where God places this adam. God continues to create, making trees - beautiful trees with fruit for eating. And two trees in particular are noted in our story, created by God. The tree of life. And the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Theologians talk about this second tree, in particular - the tree that will later on cause a problem. A rupture in the relationship between God and human. This tree brings with it an understanding of the “weal and woe” or the deep sadness and great joy that is the human condition. Hearing the story for the first time, we might begin to wonder why there is this special attention on these two trees. How will the trees and Dusty relate to each other? What will Dusty’s role be in this beautiful garden of God?

Our story continues. Soon there are four rivers placed to distribute water to the world. The source of each of these rivers - the Pishon, the Gihon, the Tigris, and the Euphrates. Rivers that flow into all parts of the civilization. Rivers that have their source in God’s garden. Then, God tells Dusty to “farm” (or to “serve) and to “take care of” (or to “guard”) the garden. If this were a church, Dusty would be the chair of the landscaping committee. Dusty’s role is not simply to guard the garden, but to work it. To make it better. To steward the entire garden. Well, almost the entire garden. Because there is one part that is off limits. Every tree laden with fruit is available to Dusty for food and nourishment. Every tree except for one tree - that tree that, if its fruit is eaten, will open Dusty’s eyes and give a full and complete understanding of the agony and ecstasy that is the human condition. Because eating of this one tree will lead to a certain death.  One wonders if that death is a death of innocence.

We already see an interdependence that God has created between the human and creation. A mutuality. A relationship. The human cares for creation. Creation responds by providing sustenance and food. And beauty.

But, God is not done yet. Because God does not want the human to be lonely. Because God has created all of humanity to be in relationship with one another. And so God creates and brings each animal to the human. Searching for the perfect partner for Dusty. One can just imagine the scene. God brings the animal forward. How about this one, Dusty? Look at this duck-billed platypus. Don’t you think it would be a great partner for you? A complementary helper? And the human just shakes the head. “No God, that’s not quite it!” Over and over God brings animal after animal to the human, who is also given the responsibility of naming each animal. That giving of a name that so often is the beginning of a relationship. Yet, each now-named animal, is not quite right. 

And so God puts the human to sleep and out of this human creates two humans, two genders. Man. And woman, who is man’s helper. The Hebrew word for helper used here is the same word used throughout the Hebrew scripture to refer to God. So this woman is not a being that is lesser than man, but a partner. In the same way God seeks to be a partner with all of humanity.

This is the end of the second creation story. The family that God has created can now live together in God’s garden. Mutually dependent upon each other and creation. In relationship with one another and all creation. The author concludes the story, saying that both the man and woman are “naked” but not “ashamed.” It’s a clear distinction between this wonderful garden and where we now live. A distinction between life without shame and life with shame.

Because that’s what sin does, isn’t it? Whether our nakedness is physical or psychological, it results in shame. Shame that makes us strike back out of our own feelings of inadequacy. Shame that leads us to hurt one another. To blame each other. To harm our relationships. To break apart our families and our communities. To destroy creation. Shame is at the root of our problem as human beings because we never feel good enough. Never feel adequate enough. In our nakedness we are ashamed.

Yet, this is not God’s desire for us. God’s will for us can be witnessed in Christ. God in human form come to us to bear the weight of our shame so that we might, once again, experience the beauty and wonder of life in God’s garden. Of the wholeness of life in relationship with God. Of life in families of all shapes and sizes. Life here, in this place. Lives of mutuality and interdependence and relationship. Lives of beauty and purpose. Lives in relationship with God, our creator. Who breathes into us God’s own Spirit - and with the holy water restores us into relationship. Relationship that is here and now. And that will continue forever into all eternity.

This is where the story begins again today. Where are you in the story?

Preached September 8, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 13.
Readings: Genesis 2:4b-25; Mark 1:16-20.