The Glory of the Shattered Shell

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a single grain of wheat. You are perfect, polished, and entirely intact. Your golden shell is hard and protective, keeping you safe from the wind, the birds, and the damp, dark uncertainty of the soil. From the outside, you look like a success. You have managed to keep yourself "together." But there is a silent tragedy in your safety. As long as you remain whole, you are utterly alone. You are a monument to yourself, but you are a graveyard for the life locked inside you. To stay "together" is to stay small; to be "shattered" is the only way to feed a hungry world.

This is the paradox at the heart of our two Gospel texts today - the first from chapter 12, which we heard at the beginning of our worship. And a second text from chapter 19, which we’ll hear in just a moment. The paradox begins with a group of Greeks, who we meet in chapter 12. 

We wrestled a bit this past Tuesday in our Caribou conversation about exactly who these Greeks were. From the context - it would seem as though they are Greek-speaking Jews. Part of the diaspora - the Jews who had fled Jerusalem due to Roman imperialism and persecution. And the destruction of the temple in 70 CE. Keep in mind that this gospel was actually written after the temple was destroyed - some 60 years after Christ.

Or, were these actually ethnic Greeks? Gentiles who had come to Jerusalem because, perhaps, the word about this man Jesus was getting out - particularly after he had raised Lazarus from the dead. In our Tuesday morning conversation, I landed on the side of these being diasporan Jews--Greek-speaking Jews, returning from far away to celebrate Passover. I was wrong. Let me show you how I figured that out.

When we look at this text in the Greek, there are two possibilities. One is that this word is Hellēnistai, which would mean that these were Greek-speaking Jews of the diaspora.  The other possibility is that the word is Hellēnes, meaning ethnic Greeks. Gentiles. Which word do you suppose I found? 

That’s right. A look at the original language tells us that these were ethnic Greeks, Gentiles who had come to see Jesus. Why is this important? 

Well, when Jesus arrives in Jerusalem, these ethnic Greeks - these Gentiles - approach the disciples with a simple, but world-shifting, request: “Sir, we wish to seek Jesus.” When this message reaches Jesus, he doesn’t give a lecture or perform a miracle. Instead, he gives this rather odd response. He speaks of biology. He says that the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified, but he defines that glory through the lens of a seed. Jesus recognizes that their arrival is a signal that the harvest is becoming too big for one village, or one nation, to contain. As long as he remains “intact” as a local teacher in Galilee, the life he carries remains confined. For his life - for his fullness of life - to reach the Greeks, the Romans, and eventually us, the “seed” has to fall. The shell has to break.

It is the brutal reality of this “shattering” that we hear now in our second gospel text for the day, from John, chapter 19.

"So they took Jesus, and carrying the cross by himself he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, 'Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.' Many of the Jews read this inscription because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city, and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, 'Do not write, "The King of the Jews," but, "This man said, I am King of the Jews."' Pilate answered, 'What I have written I have written.'" --John 19:16b-22 (NRSVue)

We often read this as a moment of pure suffering. And, make no mistake, it is.

But through the lens of the grain, it is the moment of ultimate relinquishment. We see the "shattering" in the weight of that cross and the piercing of Jesus's body. In the eyes of the world, this is a scene of total defeat where the seed is being crushed into the dust. Yet, look at the detail of that inscription. It is written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek. This is the divine answer to those Greek seekers who came knocking in chapter 12. The shattering of Jesus’s physical body is the breaking of the shell that will allow the Spirit to pour out into every language and every culture. In that moment, the boundaries of Israel are breached forever. The Seed dies to its singular, local identity so that a global family can sprout from the soil of Calvary.

Sometimes in my sermon preparations, I go down rabbit holes. Do you ever do that? Most often they are a waste of time. But, this week, I stumbled upon a YouTube video (You know how I love YouTube!) that captured this text incredibly well. Watch it here.

This movement - this breaking of the seed shell - reveals the profound difference between sacrifice and surrender. We often think of the cross as a sacrifice—an active, heroic choice to give something up. And it was. Sacrifice is the ticket to the doorway. But surrender is the posture that keeps us open. When Jesus bows his head, we see his internal yielding of a soul that has stopped clinging onto its own life. To the seed, the moist earth feels like a cold grave; but to the plant, that same earth is the only source of life. The difference is surrender. When we surrender, we stop wrestling life into submission and finally allow the Creator to reshape us.

The shattering of the One led to the healing of the Many. Because the Seed was willing to die, the Gentile expansion exploded across the earth, from the Hebrew-speaking Jews, to the Latin-speaking Romans, to the Greek-speaking Greeks, to us, English speakers that we are. 

The shattering of the seed - of Jesus - turned a local movement into a universal hope. Into our universal hope. This is not just a historical event for us to remember; it is a biological and spiritual reality we are invited to inhabit. 

We all have "shells"—identities we’ve built, reputations we guard, and plans we hold onto with white knuckles. We spend our lives terrified of the "fall," afraid that if our plans break or our reputations shatter or our identities are fractured, we are finished. But the Gospel tells us that we are not being destroyed; we are being planted. We are moving from the "prison" of self-control into the "grace" of abundant growth.

So, if you feel "shattered" today—if a career has ended, a relationship has failed, or the person you thought you were has been stripped away—do not mistake the breaking of the shell for the end of your story. Like the Greeks at the Passover, the world is waiting to see the life of Christ that inhabits you. But, they cannot see it through a polished, "together" exterior. They see it through the cracks. They see it in the fruit that the Spirit grows in us only after the fall. 

May we have the courage to release our grip, to open our hands from a posture of defense to one of receiving, and to trust that the shattering of our shell is, in fact, the birth of the harvest. May God grant it. Amen.

Preached March 29, 2026, at Rejoice Lutheran Church, Clearwater, MN. 

Palm/Passion Sunday

Text: John 19:16b-22 NRSVue

God's Kingdom Revealed: A New Kind of King

Today marks the fourth week that we have spent in just two chapters of the Gospel of John, chapters 18 and 19 -  these two chapters in which Jesus is, essentially, on trial. First, before the Jewish religious leaders and, then, for the past two weeks before Pilate, the Roman governor. Throughout this entire time, we’ve been talking about power. And kingdom. And how the world works versus how Jesus works.

Today marks the last of our time in these chapters. Today is the story of Jesus’ crucifixion. When we began these weeks going deeper into Jesus’ passion, perhaps, it felt out of place. After all, we usually hear these texts only during Holy Week, which we will mark next week. But, perhaps, by the time we finish today, we will admit that spending time deeply considering these texts, the issues raised in them, and the Jesus pictured for us in them - well, perhaps, we will decide that this time has, in fact, been helpful. Important even. To help us better understand who Jesus is for us. 

The soldiers took Jesus prisoner. Carrying his cross by himself, he went out to a place called Skull Place (in Aramaic, Golgotha). That’s where they crucified him—and two others with him, one on each side and Jesus in the middle. Pilate had a public notice written and posted on the cross. It read “Jesus the Nazarene, the king of the Jews.” Many of the Jews read this sign, for the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city and it was written in Aramaic, Latin, and Greek. Therefore, the Jewish chief priests complained to Pilate, “Don’t write, ‘The king of the Jews’ but ‘This man said, “I am the king of the Jews.”’”

Pilate answered, “What I’ve written, I’ve written.” --John 19:16b-22 (CEB

Before we move into this story from chapter 19, I’d like to spend a few minutes in chapter 12 - the reading we heard earlier as we gathered. The order of events in John’s gospel is different that in the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke. Each of the gospels was written to a specific audience. John is no different. So, when we see these differences between gospels, it’s not a bad thing. Rather, it fills out the picture for us. We have a fuller picture, a fuller sense of the experiences that the early apostles had as they walked with Jesus throughout his ministry.

So, in John’s gospel, the entry into Jerusalem is very different. The differences are important to note, because they help us more fully understand the story John is trying to tell. The point the gospel writer is trying to make. I’d invite you to open up one of the Bibles under your seat so that, together, we can look more carefully at these texts.

Jerusalem at Passover season was the center of pilgrimage for Jews from all parts of the world. It was only in Jerusalem that the Passover meal could be properly celebrated since only in the temple could the lambs be sacrificed for the meal. Passover, if you remember, was a festival commemorating God’s deliverance of the Israelites from Egyptian bondage. Many Jews under Roman rule longed for another such deliverance. In fact, it would be just 30 years later that a full-fledged war would erupt against Rome. During this time, longing for the Messiah-king was rampant.

In addition, during Passover, as with the other major festivals, Jerusalem was overflowing with visitors. Normally, it had a population of about 600,000. But, there is historical evidence to indicate that during the primary festivals, Jerusalem’s population would swell to between 2 and 3 million people. Think Miami Beach at spring break. Or New Orleans at Mardi Gras. On steroids. You can imagine how nervous this made the Roman occupiers. It was an incredibly volatile situation. Ready to erupt at any moment.

There was also an undercurrent running through the city. In the preceding chapter, Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead. The news of this miracle - this amazing sign - was spreading like wildfire throughout the city. Not just with the residents of the city, but also those who had come from the reaches of the Roman empire, from across the known world.

As chapter 12 opens, the crowd has just learned that Jesus will be coming to Jerusalem. They gather palm branches. Why palm branches? The other gospels tell us that the people gathered branches. Why the detail in John? 

Because palm branches were used to honor kings. This swelling crowd, having heard the miracle story, anxious to see Jesus took branches used to honor kings and went out to meet him. In John, it was only then that Jesus found a donkey and sat on it. This is a different order than in the other gospels. It's as if Jesus knew the kind of king the people wanted. A king who would lead them in a violent overthrow of the Roman occupiers. A leader to deliver them from bondage, just like Moses, thousands of years before. But, this wasn’t the kind of king Jesus intended to be. Jesus was to be the king portrayed in Zechariah: “he will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the warhorse from Jerusalem. The bow used in battle will be cut off; he will speak peace to the nations.” Jesus would not be a nationalistic king. But a universal king, one whose realm would encompass the entire world, not just that of the Jews. “For God so loved the world….”

It was this very thing that terrified all of the leaders, Jewish and Roman alike, bringing us now to chapter 19. The Day of Preparation for Passover. The day of Jesus’ crucifixion.

Crucifixion is a horrible way to die. A few years ago, I started reading a book on this means of punishment. The descriptions of what happens to one’s body were so horrific, I was unable to finish it. Crucifixion is a horrible way to die.

That Jesus dies in this way says everything about who he is and what his death means. In John, Jesus is God, a divine being, Word become flesh. Throughout the story, Jesus is in charge, directing all of the events according to a pre-ordained script. John’s passion account is not so much a tragedy as a divine drama. 

In our text, Jesus carries his own cross. Not only is it the Word of God who dies on this cross, it is also the King of the Jews. Pilate puts that very sign on Jesus’ cross. The irony of this is something we cannot ignore. Because we know that statement to be true. 

But, there’s more. This sign is written in three languages - Aramaic, Latin, and Greek. All of the languages of the known world. Jesus is not only the Word of God dying on the cross, or the King of the Jews dying on the cross, but the king of heaven and earth dying on the cross. At the same time the Passover lambs will be slaughtered for the Passover festival. Jesus, who sacrifices himself. “For God so loved the world….” 

So, what kind of king do you want Jesus to be? No really, what kind of king do you want Jesus to be? Do you want Jesus to be the kind of king - the rescuing king - who swoops in to deliver you from whatever hardship you might be going through? Or, perhaps, you want Jesus to be the nationalistic king, who saves you while destroying your enemies, whoever or whatever they may be? Or maybe your King Jesus is the king who saves you from your sin so that you can get to heaven, with no thought to what discipleship might mean here and now? On earth?

What kind of king do you want Jesus to be?

In John, this is the kind of king we see Jesus to be. A courageous king who moves toward conflict, instead of away from it, restoring and deepening relationships. A truth-telling king who speaks honestly and authentically, with no regard for his own life or his social position. A sacrificial king who carries his own cross. A humble king who stoops down to wash his disciples’ feet. Even the feet of Judas, the one who will betray him. 

This is the kind of king Jesus is. Will you follow this kind of king?

Preached April 10, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville, and New Goshen Presbyterian, Prospect.

Palm/Passion Sunday

Readings: John 12:12-27, 19:16b-22; Psalm 24

God Provides Blessings: Heart of a Parent

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.

After these events, God tested Abraham and said to him, “Abraham!”

Abraham answered, “I’m here.”

God said, “Take your son, your only son whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah. Offer him up as an entirely burned offering there on one of the mountains that I will show you.” Abraham got up early in the morning, harnessed his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, together with his son Isaac. He split the wood for the entirely burned offering, set out, and went to the place God had described to him.

On the third day, Abraham looked up and saw the place at a distance. Abraham said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey. The boy and I will walk up there, worship, and then come back to you.”

Abraham took the wood for the entirely burned offering and laid it on his son Isaac. He took the fire and the knife in his hand, and the two of them walked on together. Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father?”

Abraham said, “I’m here, my son.”

Isaac said, “Here is the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the entirely burned offering?”

Abraham said, “The lamb for the entirely burned offering? God will see to it, my son.” The two of them walked on together.

They arrived at the place God had described to him. Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He tied up his son Isaac and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. Then Abraham stretched out his hand and took the knife to kill his son as a sacrifice. But the Lord’s messenger called out to Abraham from heaven, “Abraham? Abraham?”

Abraham said, “I’m here.”

The messenger said, “Don’t stretch out your hand against the young man, and don’t do anything to him. I now know that you revere God and didn’t hold back your son, your only son, from me.” Abraham looked up and saw a single ram caught by its horns in the dense underbrush. Abraham went over, took the ram, and offered it as an entirely burned offering instead of his son. Abraham named that place “the Lord sees.” That is the reason people today say, “On this mountain the Lord is seen.” --Genesis 21:1-3; 22:1-14 (CEB)

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

Parenting is so hard, isn’t it? Whether you love children of your own making, or children of your siblings, or grandchildren, parenting - in every form - is hard. My son is well beyond his “difficult” years, but I still remember the challenges of that time. Not so much that he was “difficult,” but that the choices I had to make as a parent were difficult. Whether to work those extra hours, so I could make more money and better support him. Or to choose to spend time with him instead and risk running out of food at the end of the month. Or then, there are the choices we make about our children’s behaviors - whether to respond and, if so, how strongly to respond, always worried about the risk of how an exaggerated response might escalate their response. And, even, possibly drive them away.

And, then, there are the sacrifices, aren’t there? When they're younger, it’s such a sacrifice of time. The constant feeling of exhaustion and a sense that you weren’t really prepared for this. Even as they grow older and older, the sacrifices change, but they are still there. Yet, none of those sacrifices even begin to compare to that being asked of Abraham in our story today.

This is a hard story. Let’s just be honest about this. In the Jewish tradition, this story is called the “Binding of Isaac.” I wonder if it's not better called “The Destruction of Abraham.” Abraham is called by God - this God we heard of last week as a creating God, a God of life. Abraham is called by God to take his one remaining son. (Remember how he sent his other son, Ishmael, born of Hagar, away and into the wilderness?) Abraham is called by God to take Isaac, his one remaining son. His most beloved child. To go to Mount Moriah - the future site of the temple - and to sacrifice him on an altar they will build together. 

One can only wonder what kind of God would do this? Would ask this of a man to whom a nation had been promised from this son? A father who loved his son more than everything? This story seems to completely contradict everything we know and believe about God.

But, there’s one more thing about this story. Something that nags at me each time I’ve read it.  As a parent, I have to ask the questions - maybe you’re asking them, too - Why does Abraham make the choices he does? And, why doesn’t Abraham say anything to challenge God in any way? 

We all have to make choices in our lives. Choices as parents. How to raise our kids. What to teach them. Whether to allow them to do certain things. And I don’t know about you, but there have been many times that I’ve made the wrong choices. Even with good intent. There were times when my choices were just complete failures. But, I think with most of us, our choices come out of our experience. Experiences that are so different from parent to parent. Experiences that drive us to make the decisions we make for our kids. And their lives. And our lives together.

Perhaps that’s why Abraham made the choice he made. Why he didn’t challenge God when God told him to take his son, his only son, his beloved son, and sacrifice him on the mountain that day. Perhaps Abraham made this choice based on his own experience with God. Up to this point, God had asked him to do a lot of things. Ten tests, in fact, according to Jewish tradition. Moving away with Sarah from their homeland to become strangers in this new land of Canaan. Then, on arriving, facing a famine. And then, promised to become a great nation, he and Sarah continued to be childless. The tests had been many for Abraham, from his first meeting with God. Yet, so far, his experience was that this God, to whom he had been covenanted, was a God who kept promises. A God who remained faithful.

So, perhaps, Abraham made the choice he made because he believed that God would be faithful. That God would not let his future and that of Isaac be destroyed.

This text has traditionally been read on Good Friday. If we were to read this story today as if it were that day, perhaps it might - as one theologian puts it - become at least clear why Abraham can afford to trust God with his own beloved son. Because, in every circumstance and beyond all reason, God can be trusted with a child because God’s heart is wholly the heart of a parent. And it’s on Good Friday that we see, with eyes of faith, our own God standing just as Abraham did. An anguished parent yearning over his adorable, true and only Son. Bound on the wood. Behold the Lamb of God.

In our Christian tradition, we know this God as the one whose heart has been torn wide open by the conflict between God’s love for God’s Son. And God’s love for the world. 

We know the choice made by God. Yet, stranger than strange, in making this choice, we also see that God’s heart, once it is ripped wide open, now has the capacity to love even more.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

Preached September 19, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

17th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Genesis 21:1-3, 22:1-14; John 1:29

Presence and Promise: Conquering by Sacrifice

For sixteen chapters in Revelation, we read what is commonly known as the vision cycles. We heard one of these visions last week - that of the four horsemen. Throughout these visions, gruesome and frightening as they may be, the salvation community continues to praise God. We heard this last week in chapter 7 - that those who have “washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” continue to “worship God day and night.” There is also the promise that cosmic calamities, or the forces of evil at work in the world, or the final destruction at the end of time will overwhelm those who identity and security are found within  nor the final destruction at the end of time will overwhelm those whose identity and security are found in God and the Lamb.

Today, we hear of another vision. This time of the two beasts. Our reading today is from Revelation, chapter 13. I’m picking up at the very end of chapter 12.

Then the dragon stood on the seashore, and I saw a beast coming up out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads. Each of its horns was decorated with a royal crown, and on its heads were blasphemous names. The beast I saw was like a leopard. Its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. The dragon gave it his power, throne, and great authority. One of its heads appeared to have been slain and killed, but its deadly wound was healed. So the whole earth was amazed and followed the beast. They worshipped the dragon because it had given the beast its authority. They worshipped the beast and said, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?”

The beast was given a mouth that spoke boastful and blasphemous things, and it was given authority to act for forty-two months. It opened its mouth to speak blasphemies against God. It blasphemed God’s name and his dwelling place (that is, those who dwell in heaven).

It was also allowed to make war on the saints and to gain victory over them. It was given authority over every tribe, people, language, and nation. All who live on earth worshipped it, all whose names hadn’t been written—from the time the earth was made—in the scroll of life of the Lamb who was slain. Whoever has ears must listen: If any are to be taken captive, then into captivity they will go. If any are to be killed by the sword, then by the sword they will be killed. This calls for endurance and faithfulness on the part of the saints.

Then I saw another beast coming up from the earth. It had two horns like a lamb, but it was speaking like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast in its presence. It also makes the earth and those who live in it worship the first beast, whose fatal wound was healed. It does great signs so that it even makes fire come down from heaven to earth in the presence of the people. It deceives those who live on earth by the signs that it was allowed to do in the presence of the beast. It told those who live on earth to make an image for the beast who had been wounded by the sword and yet came to life again. It was allowed to give breath to the beast’s image so that the beast’s image would even speak and cause anyone who didn’t worship the beast’s image to be put to death. It forces everyone—the small and great, the rich and poor, the free and slaves—to have a mark put on their right hand or on their forehead. It will not allow anyone to make a purchase or sell anything unless the person has the mark with the beast’s name or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom. Let the one who understands calculate the beast’s number, for it’s a human being’s number. Its number is six hundred sixty-six. --Rev. 13:1-18 (CEB)

Throughout history images of animals have often been used as symbols to send different messages or to represent certain things.

Dogs in art, as one example, have not always been considered man’s best friend. From the earliest times up to the Renaissance, their qualities were mixed - from vigilance and faithfulness and wisdom, to anger, lechery, and greed. Titian used the idea of a dog as treacherous for this scene in the Last Supper, as he paired Judas with a dog to symbolize the disciple’s betrayal of Jesus.

 

The rabbit, as another example, has a long-standing symbolism for - no surprise - lust. However, because of the rabbit’s ability to reproduce often, there was also a myth that they could procreate without a partner. This led to another interpretation - that the animal signified the virgin birth and chastity as shown in another 16th century painting by Titian, entitled Madonna with Rabbit.

The peacock is one more example. Here in this painting called The Adoration of the Magi, by Fra Angelica and Fra Filippo Lippi, it represents immortality.

We use animal symbolism today, too. If I were to put up an image of a bear and a bull, what immediately comes to mind? They are symbols of the stock market. And what about these two images - an elephant and a donkey? Both are used in political cartoons, representing each of the political parties.

This is what is happening in today’s reading. We find the beast from the sea and his associate online represent a political authority that has become as destructive as a beast. The monster has been set up as the ultimate authority - a power that is to be worshiped above all else. For the author, this beast represents the Roman empire. But it is symbolic of any human institution that sets itself over and above God, at any point in history. And it describes conditions that we, too, know to be true about our world. 

One characteristic of the image is that one of the beasts gives power and authority to another more powerful and frightening. The nature of this evil - or Satan, personified in our today’s reading as a dragon - is that it goes against the desire of Jesus to free all people from tyranny.

Another characteristic of the beast is that the whole earth follows it. Because the gathering of numbers is essential and people are far too often swayed by the movement of a crowd or community. And, for evil, a movement desires to divide or to set people against each other in order to gain or preserve power and authority is a way that is contrary to the love of God and of God’s will to unite people through love and shared sacrifice. 

One more characteristic of the beast is that it mounts a full-scale assault on the agents of God. The evil here is that it is not enough to mislead followers, but evil must also discredit, incapacitate or even kill those who strive for good. 

Evil works covertly and surreptitiously to undermine the work and the power of God. In chapter 13, the author of Revelation portrays the Roman political system in this way to ask people about their highest loyalties. When we listen to the news, which in this past week seems so challenging and frustrating and disheartening, do we believe that this destructive system has become invincible? That evil has won out? That’s what the people in this chapter of Revelation are thinking.

But that is not what the Revelation sees. It sees that the beast is the opposite of the Lamb, who gives us our true identity. It sees that the beast conquers by tyranny, but that the Lamb conquers by the sacrifice that frees. It sees that the mark of the beast is the opposite of the seal of God and of the Lamb.

All of these images challenge us to ask to whom we truly belong: do we belong to the forces that destroy? Or do we belong to the Lamb who saves and liberates?

May we, through the power of the Holy Spirit, be and live as those who have been washed and freed in the blood of the Lamb, to worship God day and night. Amen.  

Preached August 29, 2021, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

14th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Revelation 13:1-18, John 12:30-32

Journey to the Cross: True Repentance

Let me begin today by saying, up front, that these are hard texts. They are often avoided by us because, in part, they raise the difficult question of why human tragedies occur and why people suffer. And, in this particular moment, as we are living through a very difficult and dark time, reflecting on why there is suffering may hit very close to home. We have just passed a horrendous milestone in this pandemic. Half a million people dead in our nation. Two and a half million fathers, mothers, sons, daughters lost across the world. Why? We might ask. Why did they have to die? What evil did they do to cause this? What evil did I do to cause this? Why did they die and not me? 

When we experience human tragedy like this past year and at other times, asking these questions is natural and human. And quite impossible to answer. This is why we tend to stay away from this part of Luke. Because it raises hard questions. And, because, it gives us no ready-made answers. 

But, today, as we journey, we will attempt to understand what Jesus is teaching his disciples. And us. We read in Luke, chapter 13. Today, I am reading from the Common English Bible.

Some who were present on that occasion told Jesus about the Galileans whom Pilate had killed while they were offering sacrifices. He replied, “Do you think the suffering of these Galileans proves that they were more sinful than all the other Galileans? No, I tell you, but unless you change your hearts and lives, you will die just as they did. What about those eighteen people who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them? Do you think that they were more guilty of wrongdoing than everyone else who lives in Jerusalem? No, I tell you, but unless you change your hearts and lives, you will die just as they did.” --Luke 13:1-5 (CEB)

As the story begins, Jesus continues on his way to Jerusalem. He’s been teaching the many disciples who are following him about what it means to be faithful people. In the midst of this, someone comes and tells Jesus of a gruesome crime that Pilate has perpetrated. 

We know the name. Pontius Pilate, although often referred to as the Roman governor of Judea, is more correctly the commander of the Roman auxiliary troops based in Judea to maintain control over the Jewish people. There is little known about Pilate other than that he has a reputation of greed, cruelty, and inflexibility.  He treated Jewish customs and religious beliefs with contempt and would deliberately provoke the Jewish people by placing Roman military flags in the temple and by confiscating the temple treasury, things that his predecessors had avoided. 

So, what’s the crime that Pilate has committed as it’s reported to Jesus? Pilate has killed worshipers in the temple who have traveled all the way from Galilee in the north to Jerusalem in the south, to offer their sacrifices before God. To make matters worse, the blood of these faithful has run together with the blood of the sacrifices they have offered. So, it was not only murder, but also a sacrilege. It might bring to mind for us the assassination of Archbishop Thomas Becket in the Middle Ages, while he was in Canterbury Cathedral. Or, in more recent times, of the murder of Archbishop Oscar Romero as he conducted communion in a church in El Salvador. 

Now, let’s be honest here. We know, as we read through Luke, that there is little love lost between the people of Judea and the Galileans. Many Jews viewed those in Galilee as second-rate Jews, somewhere between true Jews and heathen Gentiles. So, those making the report are, actually, raising several questions in one. First, the age-old question of the reason for such meaningless suffering. But, there’s also a suggestion here that what has happened to the Galileans has, in some respect, been deserved, because they were viewed as less faithful than other Jews. It’s why Jesus asks the question, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than other Galileans?” And then, it’s why he sharpens the question, bringing it closer to home by referring to another incident in Jerusalem. “Do you think that the eighteen people on whom the tower of Siloam fell and killed deserved it because they were more sinful than others in Jerusalem?”

Now, we may think that we think differently than this. But I wonder if we do. How many of us, when we’ve seen people suffering from famine in another country, wonder just for a moment if this might be happening because of something they did or didn't do. Or when we see suffering in the inner city, we wonder if it's because of their sin and the life mistakes they've made. Or what about the poor. And the commonly held belief that I often hear expressed that, if they’d only made better choices. What’s the right choice when one has to choose between paying the rent or putting food on the table?

Jesus takes it one step further, then, in the text, to show us that we are posing the question in the wrong way. The surprising thing is not that so many die, but that we still live. Because, if it were a matter of sin, we would all be dead. Twice, Jesus says, “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” And, then he tells a parable, which is where we continue in our reading.

Jesus told this parable: “A man owned a fig tree planted in his vineyard. He came looking for fruit on it and found none. He said to his gardener, ‘Look, I’ve come looking for fruit on this fig tree for the past three years, and I’ve never found any. Cut it down! Why should it continue depleting the soil’s nutrients?’ The gardener responded, ‘Lord, give it one more year, and I will dig around it and give it fertilizer. Maybe it will produce fruit next year; if not, then you can cut it down.’” --Luke 13:6-9 (CEB)

What’s the meaning of this parable for Jesus’ listeners? It means that those who survive - the Galileans not killed by Pilate, or those Jews on whom the tower did not fall, or those of us who have not died from famine, or those who are not poor - are living only by the grace of God. And that our continued life is for the purpose of bearing fruit.

Now this passage is often used by those who preach the “prosperity gospel.” That the good things we receive are a reward for our faith and our fruitfulness. But, in fact, the truth Jesus speaks here is exactly the opposite. Notice that the fig tree that is receiving special care is getting it because it has yet to give the fruit it was meant to bear. It’s a reminder for us who live in comfortable houses, when so many are homeless, or enjoy a substantial income when so many are poor, or all kinds of food to eat when so many are hungry, or a relatively healthy body when so many are ill - that we have all of this not because we have been particularly faithful. And could it be that the reason why some of us have been given all these advantages is that, without them, we would have difficulty bearing fruit? Could it also be that our apparent advantages and privileges are also a warning about impending doom unless we bear fruit?

Repentance - true repentance - is less about shame and guilt and more about begging the Holy Spirit to turn us around. To help us reorient how we think. And how we live. Because our tendency is not much different as was the tendency of people in Jesus’ day.

Our reading continues in chapter 13. 

At that time, some Pharisees approached Jesus and said, “Go! Get away from here, because Herod wants to kill you.”

Jesus said to them, “Go, tell that fox, ‘Look, I’m throwing out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will complete my work. However, it’s necessary for me to travel today, tomorrow, and the next day because it’s impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who were sent to you! How often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you didn’t want that. Look, your house is abandoned. I tell you, you won’t see me until the time comes when you say, Blessings on the one who comes in the Lord’s name.” --Luke 13:31-35 (CEB)

Jesus knows our tendencies. It’s why, no matter the threat that Herod represents, he will continue his journey to Jerusalem, even as he laments the city’s disobedience. Because his desire is to give them another chance. Just as with the fig tree, also given a second chance. And like us, too. Given another chance purely by the grace of God in Jesus Christ. May we, nurtured by the love and care of Jesus, repent and turn around that we might bear fruit as God’s faithful people. Here. In this time and this place. Amen.

Preached February 28, 2021, online with Third Lutheran and Grace & Glory Lutheran churches, Louisville/Goshen, KY.

Second Sunday of Lent

Readings: Psalm 122, Luke 13:1-9, 31-35

Journey to the Cross: Crossing Boundaries

It all started for me this week with a Facebook post. Now, some of you already know that I am fasting this Lent from social media. But, this post was from Monday in a clergy group discussing this week’s text from Luke 10. It was a new perspective on one of our stories today - the story of Mary and Martha. I’ll share that perspective in just a moment. But, the post led to a long, at times heated, discussion about the traditional interpretation of this story, which seems to pit the acts of service and listening to God’s Word against each other, as well as two sisters.  

What’s also interesting though, today, is that our text includes two stories. The story of Mary and Martha, but also the story that immediately precedes it - of the Good Samaritan. The juxtaposition of stories in scripture is important. And when two stories are placed immediately adjacent and these same two stories are only featured in one of the four gospels, well, it’s time to sit up and take notice. 

We read in Luke, chapter 10, verse 25, where it all begins with a question.

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Notice that the lawyer comes to Jesus not with a good intent, but to test him. The first problem with his question is that he asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. I don’t know about you, but the last time I inherited something, it wasn’t because of anything I’d done. This is the same, isn’t it, with eternal life? We are invited by God into a full life, not by what we do, but by what God does. Grace. 

To answer, Jesus, as he often does, responds with a question or two. “What is written? What do you read?” he asks. A better translation of that second question is “How do you read?” It’s an implication that our perspective and the lens through which we read scripture can drive our interpretation. 

The lawyer responds to Jesus: “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” Again, the full life God calls us to isn’t about what we do. However, to not respond to God’s grace by serving neighbor cheapens God’s actions toward us. Jesus tells him his answer is correct, that doing this will give him life. But, the lawyer isn’t finished yet. He’s got one more question for Jesus. “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus responds with a story, one we know well. Or do we?

We continue with verse 30. Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

We know this story. How the priest and the Levite, both men who should have been the ones to stop and help this man, wounded and dying at the side of the road, pass by him. On the other side, no less. Not even stopping to check his condition. It’s only the Samaritan who stops to help. A man who would have been on the cultural edge of Israel - an “other” in our language today. I don’t think the first two men were evil. Perhaps, as Martin Luther King wrote, they just got the question wrong. The question they ask themselves is “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?” Instead, the Samaritan asks the question, “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” It’s a perspective that is outward looking, teaching us that discipleship in response to God’s grace is focused on service to others, even if it means we cross cultural boundaries. 

Immediately after this exchange, we then move in Luke to the second story for today, beginning at verse 38. Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

We finished the previous story talking about crossing cultural boundaries. These aren't only ethnic or racial boundaries. They are also boundaries of gender. The gospel of Luke crosses boundaries. It features more women in it than the three other gospels combined. Notice in this story that Jesus goes to the home of Mary and Martha. By himself. This, in itself would have been a cultural “no-no.”  

The story of Mary and Martha is familiar to us. We’ve heard it many times before.  It’s a story that as it has traditionally been interpreted pits sister against sister, woman against woman - placing hospitality and service against making time for study. Today, I’d like to offer an alternative perspective, first introduced by theologian Mary Hanson in 2014. It may get a little theologically nerdy. But, I think it’s important to hear this voice, a voice that comes from the cultural edge of theological circles.  

The basic gist behind her perspective is that by repeating for generations the traditional interpretation of this story without re-evaluating it - an interpretation first preached by Origen, a Christian scholar from the third century. Hanson’s claim is that this interpretation has left many unsolved questions and contradictions. One example of this is that it contradicts Jesus’ own words from the beginning of the chapter. Here, Jesus is sending the 70 disciples out into mission. He lifts up the positive aspect of hospitality and service. Then, later on in chapter 22, sets himself up as the example of a “servant.” It’s a direct contradiction to the very things that, under the traditional interpretation of this story, Martha is condemned for. 

Now, I won't go into the theological and exegetical details of her perspective now. I will in our Learning time after worship today. Hanson’s premise is that both Mary and Martha are known to be “sitters at the feet of Jesus, listening to his words,” a phrase that is often simply used to describe being a disciple. But, here’s the interesting part. Her claim is that Mary is not even present. That she is away from the house, leaving all of the work for Martha. But, this isn’t necessarily household work we’re talking about. The word for work in Greek comes from the room diakonia, which, is where we get the phrase “diaconal minister” from. The implication is not that Martha is distracted by household work, but potentially by her work of ministry, which might include leadership in a house church. She’s feeling overwhelmed and overburdened and is asking Jesus to tell Mary to return to help her. Where is Mary? Our text never tells us, but there are hints earlier in the chapter. Is it possible that Mary was one of the 70 sent out to evangelize? Whatever the case, when Jesus notes that she is “worried and distracted” it is not a reference to a boiling pot on a stove. There’s a sense in the Greek words used here that there much more going on, perhaps even a sense of unrest or disturbance for which Martha is deeply concerned over Mary’s well-being, wherever she may be. 

It’s only been since Wednesday that we heard the words of Jesus about what it means to leave people and things behind to follow him. If we are open to the interpretation of this story, it’s a lesson for us in discipleship and it’s costs, as with the story of the Samaritan. For Martha, it means the emotional stress of leadership and, also, the possibility of deep concern for her own sister’s welfare. For the Samaritan, it's about concern for neighbor, especially when it might put us or our perspective at risk.   

Discipleship is not intended to be easy. It may require hard decisions. It may demand risk and sacrifice. It may also require, as we see in Luke’s gospel, listening to other voices, especially those that have not been heard. 

But, we have an example to follow. In Jesus, who gives the ultimate sacrifice and who moves across boundaries and borders to change our world. As we journey alongside him to the cross this Lent, may we be reminded once again what it means to be his disciples. And may God renew us as we travel. Amen. 

Preached February 21, 2021, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church and Third Lutheran Church.

First Sunday of Lent.

Readings: Luke 10:25-42, Psalm 15

God's Triumph: The Church at Home - Holy

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!
    Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
    Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

It was two days before the Passover and the festival of Unleavened Bread. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him; for they said, “Not during the festival, or there may be a riot among the people.”

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” --Mark 11:1-11; 14:3-9 (NRSV)

In all of scripture, to anoint - to engage in the act of anointing - occurs at three different occasions.

First, as we heard in both our readings from 1 Samuel and Psalm 20, the act of anointing happens when a new king is crowned. Perhaps, that’s how it is being used here. After all, we just heard the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey - the way in which all of Israel’s kings would have begun their reign.

And then there’s the cry of the people, as Jesus enters the city. They cry out, “Hosanna!” Hosanna. This complex word with a double meaning. Praise Him! And...save us! So, at first blush, this anointing by this unnamed woman in our text must be the signal that there is a new king for Israel. And a new kingdom. 

A second occasion in which one is anointed comes out of the deep Jewish tradition of hospitality. A tradition in which no expense is spared in caring for one’s guest. Perhaps this is the occasion here. After all, this unnamed woman anoints Jesus with oil that has cost her a year’s salary. It is an extravagant gesture on her part. So extravagant that, in fact, the other guests become critical. “Couldn’t she have sold the oil and given the money to the poor?” they exclaim. After all, in another gospel, we learn that the amount of money she has spent on this sweetly perfumed ointment would have fed a population of 7,500 poor - the equivalent of seven months of food for our food pantry. Yet, Jesus acclaims her. And her extravagant devotion. To him.

Then, there’s the third occasion for anointing. Which is for burial. Where family members - mostly women - gather together. And lovingly wash their dead. And then rub beautifully scented oils into the body of their loved one. For the last time. 

This is how Jesus views the act of this unnamed woman. One who remains unnamed in our story and yet, as Jesus has promised, has now been acclaimed for over 2,000 years. Jesus views her extravagant act as the preparation for his burial. Which will take place after his own extravagant act.  An extravagant act of humility and sacrifice. An extravagant act of acquiescence and obedience.  An extravagant act of love. For you. And me. And for all people.

In this time of pandemic, as we are all re-examining our priorities and shedding those that no longer seem right, and as we move into this holiest of weeks, may we once again hear the story of God’s extravagant act of love in Christ. And may we, like the unnamed woman, respond with our own act of extravagant devotion. Amen.

Preached April 5, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Passion/Palm Sunday

Readings: Mark 11:1-11; 14:3-9; 1 Samuel 10:1; Psalm 20:6-9

Is God Big Enough?

The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him.

After these things God tested Abraham. He said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac; he cut the wood for the burnt offering, and set out and went to the place in the distance that God had shown him. On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place far away. Then Abraham said to his young men, “Stay here with the donkey; the boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you.” Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. So the two of them walked on together. Isaac said to his father Abraham, “Father!” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” He said, “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham said, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So the two of them walked on together.

When they came to the place that God had shown him, Abraham built an altar there and laid the wood in order. He bound his son Isaac, and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, and said, “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.” And Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns. Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place “The Lord will provide”; as it is said to this day, “On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.”  Genesis 21:1-3, 22:1-14 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from God, our Creator; Christ, our Redeemer, and the Holy Spirit, our Renewer and Re-creator. Amen.

Blessings. We talked a lot about blessings last week, didn’t we? As we read through the story of creation and heard, once again, the narrative of God’s creativity and loving care in designing a world of order and fruitfulness, it’s hard not to think of how richly God blessed humanity with all of the beauty and diversity of creation. The goodness of such creation. Six times in the story, God looks at what God has created and declares it “good!”

And, then, it all falls apart.

There’s a progression of violence in the early chapters of Genesis. It begins with Cain and Abel and continues to escalate as all of humanity spirals downward into greater and greater conflict and destruction. People are setting up empires to oppress the masses. Entire systems perpetuate injustice. 

And, then, we meet Abraham. The primary actor in our story today.

Abraham’s story is unusual. If you remember it from our lessons this past summer, it is Abraham who left his father’s household in Mesopotamia and moved to Canaan. Abraham, who had been called by God to make this journey.

People in Abraham’s time didn’t just do that. They had a cyclical view of history. They believed that everything that had happened would happen again. That somewhere in that cycle you died and then your kids continued the cycle. And that nothing changed. The cycle continued. Over and over and over again.

But, Abraham is different. He leaves. He steps out of the cycle. And walks into a new future. Leaving home. And leaving an entire way of life. Abraham has a destiny, a destiny planned by God. A plan to father a new kind of people to usher in a new era for humanity. One based in love and not violence or power. One that would bless all people.

How do you do this? How do you form a new kind of people who will take the world in a new direction? Well, as Rob Bell, a contemporary theologian, writes, “You have kids!”

And that’s what Abraham and Sarah did. Have kids. Well, not at first. Because, at first, Sarah, Abraham’s wife, was barren. Worried that God’s plan might go awry, Sarah and Abraham tried to fix things. And the result was that Abraham had a son with Sarah’s servant, Hagar. Ishmael, they named him.

But, this wasn’t exactly God’s plan. What was God’s plan would that this new nation would come from Abraham and Sarah. And, so God promised them a child. A son. It is here, where our story begins today. With their son, Isaac, meaning “laughter.” And with God keeping God’s promise to them. Not only the promise of the son. But also the promise that through that son that they had been blessed with--through Isaac they would become a great people. That through these blessings, they would bless others.

Isaac makes it through childhood, which alone is a great feat. And, perhaps just when it begins to feel to Abraham, that everything is right with the world and that maybe, just maybe, this plan of God’s is really real. Once again, it all falls apart. Or so it seems.

Genesis 22 opens with this verse. “After all these things, God tested Abraham.” It’s such an interesting phrase, isn’t it--”after all these things.” After Abraham has broken the cycle, followed God’s command into an unknown future, trusted in the promise of God to give him a son and to make a great nation out of him. After all of these things, God decides to test Abraham. As though Abraham hasn’t already passed test after test.

We hear a lot about God testing us. We need to step back a little bit here and thing about that word “test.” It has such a negative connotation, doesn’t it. It always gets applied to us in our lives when something bad is happening or things seem to be going wrong. “God is testing me,” we might say in response. As if God wants to see whether or not we’ll be faithful through the suffering. Or as though God is sadistic--that God wants to test how much we love God.

But that’s not what this is. Here, this test is like the tests that you used to take in school (or that you still do). Tests that are intended to measure your progress. To make sure you’re ready. Ready to move onto the next step of learning. Tests help us identify our readiness for what is next to come. It’s the same here with Abraham. God comes to Abraham to see if he is ready to move onto the next step. To really become the “father or nations.” 

“Abraham, Abraham,” God calls. And Abraham answers, “Here I am!” In the Hebrew, the word is heneni. It’s not just saying, “Hey, I’m here. I’m present.” It is Abraham saying to God, “I’m here. I’m at your disposal. Tell me to do whatever you want and I will do it.” 

And so, God tells him to take his son. His only son. To “please” take his son. You see, it’s not a command, it’s a request. Abraham has a choice here. A choice of whether or not to follow God’s request. Or to refuse it. If he was going to do what God asked of him, it would have to be done willingly. 

Abraham is silent. Perhaps he was just stunned. But, there is no argument. No resistance. Perhaps it is just silent resignation. But, Abraham does it. He packs up the wood and places it on the donkey. Then, gathers two young servants and Isaac. And he moves toward the mountain. To build an altar. Abraham, who already has a history of building altars and who is experienced at making sacrifices--Abraham begins the journey.
At the bottom of the mountain, they stop. And Abraham takes the wood and puts it on Isaac’s back. As they begin up the mountain, Isaac has a moment of realization. “Father, father,” he says to Abraham. “Heneni,” Abraham answers. “Here I am. Fully for you, my son.” 

Isaac has noticed that they have everything they need, except for one thing. The lamb. There is no lamb for the burnt offering. What will they use? He asks his father. And Abraham, still stunned, mumbles, “God will provide.”

I wonder what Isaac’s reaction was when his father began to bound him up and then to place him on top of the altar they had built together. Did he resist? Did he try to run away? Was his pleading, or crying, or struggling? Or was there just placid, stunned submission, like his father. The one he trusted with his very life.

Or what was Abraham thinking as he looked into Isaac’s eyes. Into “Laughter’s” eyes. Eyes that had always watched for Abraham as he returned each day from the pastures. Eyes that had held the promise of a nation, of heirs, of God. Eyes now filled with terror and trust at the same time. How they must have pierced Abraham to his very core!

And, then, just as Abraham is ready to make the sacrifice. Of his son. Abraham hears God, “Abraham, Abraham.” And once again, for the third time, Abraham responds, “Heneni. Here I am.”

How close they came. Abraham pulls Isaac into a deep embrace. And then sees the ram off in the distance. Yes, God has provided.

It is horrifying, isn’t it. We have no concept of what it means to participate in such an act. What kind of religion would demand child sacrifice? Yet, this was the world in which Abraham lived. The gods that people worshipped in his time and place demanded all kinds of offerings from their worshipers, including blood sacrifice. Sacrifice in exchange for the favor of the gods. But interrupting what would have been a normal practice, God is saying, “Enough! No more of this!”

And, yet, if I’m honest, I have to question whether I would want to even have a relationship with a God that would ask me to do that, to do something so repulsive, to sacrifice my own child. Of course, that’s not to say that we don’t sacrifice our children to various gods every day, depending upon what we teach in our own homes. To sacrifice our children to OUR gods. Those things we think are important. Our own priorities that become the gods our children are sacrificed to--the god of money, or of power, or of envy, or of competition or consumerism, or violence, or prejudice.

Yet, Abraham’s story isn’t so much about a man sacrificing his child, but a man who risks everything for his belief in God. Abraham had been given a promise--that he would be the father of multitudes. That many nations would come from him, that his descendents would be as numerous as the stars in the heavens and the grains of sand on the seashore. Isaac was the physical representation of that promise from God.

What if the sacrifice was more about whether Abraham believed that God was big enough to carry out the promise. That even if Abraham destroyed the physical sign of that promise by sacrificing Isaac, God would still carry out the plan. That Abraham’s God was big enough.

The minute Abraham showed that he trusted God to carry out the plan, even without Isaac, the physical sign of that plan. The minute Abraham did this, he passed the test. He was ready to go onto the next step. To truly become the “father of many nations.” Because Abraham understood. He understood that everything he had--his son, his family, and even everything he would ever have- it was all ultimately a gift from God. That it didn’t belong to him. But, that it all belonged to God.

We tend to hold tightest onto those things that are the most dear to us. Our own Isaacs. Our homes. Our 401k’s. Whether those things are, those things that we think will bring us security and comfort. 

And, we thank God for them. We have lists of those blessings in the fellowship hall. Lists we created last week that we thank God for.

Yet, we grip them so tightly that they end up bound on the altar of our choice. Just like Abraham’s hand must have trembled at the thought of losing Isaac, so we tremble at the thought of losing these things. Or of giving any of it away. Not just money, but all our gifts. All those gifts God has given us--teaching, caring, listening to someone, serving, leading.

We don’t realize. Or we simply forget. That none of it belongs to us. None of it, including even our church, belongs to us. It all belongs to God.

That’s what the test was for Abraham. That’s what the test is for us. We have to be willing to give up part of who we are and to step into who God tells us we are. To be willing to believe that God is big enough. Bigger than what we can see or even imagine. And that God is able to do more than we can even ask or think.

A few thousand years later (after all these things), when Abraham’s descendants were as numerous as stars, there was a similar scene. But this time, it would be God’s own son who would walk up the side of the mountain, carrying the wood for his own death, his own altar of sacrifice. And this time, God would not stop it. God wouldn’t be spared the pain of God’s own son dying, wouldn’t even reach down to cover Jesus’ eyes that were so full of terror and trust at the same time.

This was God’s gift to us. “For God so loved the world…” And God did it to birth new life for us. Through Jesus’ death. A new covenant. A new promise. Between God and humanity. One that can’t be broken, even if we try to destroy it ourselves. This is the promise and gift we have through Jesus Christ in our baptisms. Life. 

So, after all these things. After church and Sunday school, maybe this afternoon when you’re enjoying a beautiful, warm afternoon--probably one of the last before autumn begins. As you’re thinking about everything that has happened, and you’re giving thanks for every blessing that you’ve been given and the many people who have blessed you. Think about this story. And know that God’s Spirit lives within you. It’s that Spirit you know that you hear deep inside saying, “Take what I have given you and offer it back to me.” That’s the test for you. The test of your trust. The test of the question: Is your God big enough?

Amen.

Preached September 17, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY
Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Readings: Gen. 21:1-3, 22:1-14; John 1:29

*With special appreciation to Rev. Linda Pepe and her blog, Theological Stew.

Passing the Test

After these things God tested Abraham. He said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac; he cut the wood for the burnt offering, and set out and went to the place in the distance that God had shown him. On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place far away. Then Abraham said to his young men, “Stay here with the donkey; the boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you.” Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. So the two of them walked on together. Isaac said to his father Abraham, “Father!” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” He said, “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham said, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So the two of them walked on together.

When they came to the place that God had shown him, Abraham built an altar there and laid the wood in order. He bound his son Isaac, and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, and said, “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.” And Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns. Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place “The Lord will provide”; as it is said to this day, “On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.” Genesis 22:1-14 (NRSV)

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

We continue this week with the legends of Abraham. These stories from Genesis that teach us about the beginnings of Israel, God’s chosen people. A people, founded by Abraham--that patriarch of the faith--whom God called and through whom God promised that all the nations of the world would be blessed.

Last week, we heard the triangular story of Abraham and Sarah and Hagar. 

Today, our story opens with these words: “After these things God tested Abraham.” Really? Do you ever think, “Wow, God, do you really doubt his faith? Abraham’s faith?” Because the “these things” that have happened before, the nature of God’s call to Abraham have consisted of all of “these things”: 

• God’s call to Abraham to pick up and move away from his entire family and go to a land he has never seen.
• God’s promise to Abraham that he will be the father of a great nation and, then, the long years of Sarah’s barrenness and the real question of how this “great nation” was actually going to happen..
• The birth of Ishmael and, at long last, the seemingly impossible birth of Isaac, that boy they called “laughter.” 
• Then, as we heard last week, Abraham’s casting out--his divorcing of Hagar and his first son, Ishmael, with great distress.

And, now, this? Don’t you just want to say, “Really, God? Do you really need to do this?” 

Abraham’s response? Well, when once again God called his name, all he simply said was, “Here I am.” Here I am. (I’m not so sure I would have answered in the same way.)

After he answered, then God laid out for him the nature of the test.

I have to admit to you up front that I have a love-hate relationship with this story. I love the faithful obedience of Abraham. How he doesn’t question God. How he simply packs up the things he will need on this journey, including his one remaining son, and just moves forward, doing what God asks him to do. I love this aspect of the story.

But the part I dislike, the part I honestly hate, is the very same faithful obedience of Abraham. Why didn’t he challenge God’s need to test him after everything that had happened? And, especially, why didn’t he challenge God’s command to sacrifice his only child, or any child, for that matter? What kind of god is it that says you will be made into a great nation through this one son and then tells you to take that very son and sacrifice him?

Can you tell, that I really struggle with this text. Do you, too?

I struggle with two things. First, I struggle with the very idea that God tests Abraham, particularly, after everything he has been through. Why? Does God need to be sure? Does God need to impose this one-time test of Abraham because God has risked everything on this one man? Does God just need to know that Abraham will be faithful? Does God, perhaps, test us, too? Trying to find out if we are faithful. If we have put God first in our lives, above everything--our possessions, our family, our country? If we really do believe and follow that first commandment--You shall have no other gods.

And, then, secondly, I struggle with the nature of the test God is commanding of Abraham, of child sacrifice. A prevalent practice at the time which we know God did reject. I struggle with this because it seems so contrary to the New Testament God I know.  A God who actually did sacrifice a son. Who must have been just as torn up inside about it as I imagine Abraham was. Who must have suffered as deeply as Abraham did at the thought of giving up an only son. And for what? For us? For us and for the whole world, all of us mired in sin? Who frequently sacrifice our own children. Who are complicit in the deaths of children for poverty or for lack of decent healthcare, or because they die attempting to cross borders to get away from violence and civil war and are turned back, or because they die as a result of us sending them off to war. 

I struggle with this. And I don’t have any answers. No good response.

Perhaps the only response is to simply weep. To weep at the tragedy and misery in our communities, our nation, our world. To weep at the tragedy in our own lives and those we love. To weep at the horrible choices we have no other choice but to make. 

To weep. And to trust. Like Abraham, to simply trust that God is present and that God will provide.

There’s an interesting word play in our story today. It’s perhaps helpful for us in understanding the steady trust of Abraham. 

At the beginning of our story, God tells Abraham to take Isaac to the land of Moriah. There is no land known by this name. The Hebrew word used for this land, Moriah, occurs only one other place in the Hebrew scriptures. In 2nd Chronicles. Here, it is used to identify the mountain in Jerusalem where the temple would be built. Mount Moriah.The place where, for the Jews, God was present. Where God came down to be present among God’s people. 

The meaning of this word in Hebrew--the word Moriah--is “God will provide” or “God will see.” It’s the same thing Abraham spoke to Isaac when Isaac asked Abraham where the lamb would come for the burnt offering. “God will provide,” Abraham said to Isaac.

“God is present and God will provide.” This is the full meaning of Abraham’s words to his son. It is what he believes. It is the basis for his trust. That, after these things. After all these things God has called Abraham to do and has brought him through, Abraham has been witness to God’s faithful presence and God’s faithful providence.

It’s the same message for us, these thousands of years later. When we don’t have the answers. When we struggle with all that is going on in our world. When we are afraid and don’t know what or where God is calling us to, or when it feels as though we are being put to the test. We can can rely upon the same faithful God as Abraham. And that God will be present and that God will provide. It is what we believe. It is the basis for our faith.

May God grant it. Amen.