From Generation to Generation: We Tell This Story

Nearby shepherds were living in the fields, guarding their sheep at night. The Lord’s angel stood before them, the Lord’s glory shone around them, and they were terrified.

The angel said, “Don’t be afraid! Look! I bring good news to you—wonderful, joyous news for all people. Your savior is born today in David’s city. He is Christ the Lord. This is a sign for you: you will find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger.” Suddenly a great assembly of the heavenly forces was with the angel praising God. They said, “Glory to God in heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” --Luke 2:8-14 (CEB)

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

The stories we tell. What are some of the Christmas stories that are told in your family?

In mine, one of those stories goes back to a time when I was seven years old. That year, all my sister and I wanted was an Easy Bake Oven. Remember the Easy Bake Oven? For those of you too young to know, it was this plastic contraption molded to look like an oven. Inside, it had this heat-emitting light bulb that gave off just enough heat so that, using the tiny cake pan and tiny cake mix provided, you could make a cake. It came with 3 or 4 tiny cake mixes. But, you could also by a supplement with another 20 mixes for cakes and brownies. 

That Christmas morning, my sister and brother and I were up early as so many children are - unable to sleep. Anxious to see what Santa had left behind. So, about 4 am, we got up and quietly sneaked to our living room to open our presents left under the tree. Where we found a large box - the Easy Bake Oven! My sister and I were thrilled. The three of us quietly took the oven and all 20 plus mixes downstairs to our basement to try it out. 

Over the next 3 hours, we kept mixing those mixes and pushing the cake pan into and out of the oven. Cake after cake. Brownie after brownie. Feeding my brother who, except for the few my sister and I ate, wolfed down every single one. So that, by the time my parents awoke and came downstairs to find out why it was so quiet, all of the tiny mixes were gone. 

You can imagine their reaction. And that is a story for another time. But, this is one of many stories in my family that we tell each year at this time. I’d dare say that all of us have stories like this. Stories that, especially as we remember them, are those fond stories we tell year after year after year.  

It’s like this story. This story we tell every year. A story of a young couple, traveling on a donkey back to their hometown to comply with a royal decree. The young woman in the last stages of her pregnancy who, nonetheless, must obey that empirical directive, along with her partner to whom she is engaged, where, when they reach their destination, she goes into labor and gives birth to a tiny baby. Who will change the world. 

Amidst all the cultural and commercial stuff of this season, we continue to tell this story. What is it that captivates us so about this story? Why has it been preserved throughout the generations and across cultures? Why is the nativity of Christ so important to us? 

It begins, interestingly, according to Walter Brueggemann, with the song of the angels. A song that breaks into our world and completely shatters the decree of the earthly emperor, who seeks to control by means of a census. This song of the angels stands in direct conflict with that census decree. It announces the birth of a new king - one that neither Rome nor Herod can stop - who begins a new history. A new jubilee that frees all humanity from debt, that gives amnesty from old crimes, and a new beginning again, a beginning that has at its core, freedom. 

The angels break into our world and sing this song to the shepherds, who are the outcasts in their world. They sing their song not just to the shepherds, but to a barren old woman; to an innocent, yet believing young woman; to an old man struck dumb; to a lowly carpenter. All of whom in our world and in the world of their time meant nothing. Were of no importance. Who knew the depths of grief, whether through loss, marginalization, lack of money or power - all of those things that those who are edges of our world experience. It is to them to whom the angels break into with song. And they are amazed. 

Isn’t that what this story is really about? Being amazed. Amazed at how, over and over, this baby in his adult ministry will break down the physical, emotional and psychological narratives that divide people - that divide us. Those narratives we are told in our world about who is clean and who is unclean. Jesus breaks in, just as the angels broke in. And we are amazed. And changed. And restored back into community, given life where none seemed possible before. Offered hope rather than despair. And a future quite different than that offered by royal decree. 

This is why we tell this story. Again and again. It’s to remind ourselves of and to fully embody this story - a story of hope, a story of freedom, a story of love, a story of God coming to be with us. A story you and I are called to pass onto future generations, so that they, too, may experience the hope it brings. A hope given to us by God in Jesus - a God who breaks down the walls of our hearts to show us that there is a better way. A new way. A way of amazement and energy rather than grief and despair. 

And it begins with a baby. As helpless as we are. In need of others, as we are. Who cries out, as we do. And holds hands, as we do. Who experiences the pain and joy and complexity of being human, as we do. Who moves into our neighborhood and promises to accompany us in the journey now. And forever.

Glory to God in the highest. And on earth, peace. Good will toward all. May you hold this sacred story close to your heart. May it give you hope. And, like so many generations before us, may you pass it on. God grant it. Amen.

Preached December 24, 2022, online with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Nativity of Our Lord - Christmas Eve

Readings: Luke 2:1-20, Micah 5:2-5; John 1:1-14

From Generation to Generation: God Meets Us In Our Fear

When Elizabeth was six months pregnant, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a city in Galilee, to a virgin who was engaged to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David’s house. The virgin’s name was Mary. When the angel came to her, he said, “Rejoice, favored one! The Lord is with you!” She was confused by these words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary. God is honoring you. Look! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and he will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of David his father. He will rule over Jacob’s house forever, and there will be no end to his kingdom.”

Then Mary said to the angel, “How will this happen since I haven’t had sexual relations with a man?”

The angel replied, “The Holy Spirit will come over you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the one who is to be born will be holy. He will be called God’s Son. Look, even in her old age, your relative Elizabeth has conceived a son. This woman who was labeled ‘unable to conceive’ is now six months pregnant. Nothing is impossible for God.”

Then Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be with me just as you have said.” Then the angel left her. -- Luke 1:26-38 (CEB)

Holy is God’s name, who shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, for those who honor God. Amen.

I had a plan. Eighteen years ago, I had a plan. I had a plan for my life and where I was going. Most of you know that, for decades, I worked in the social justice movement. But some of you may not know that, at the same time, I worked part-time as a music and worship director in Lutheran churches, too. I was a life-long musician. That love for music kept me in the church where I worked in many different capacities - choir director, pianist, organist, handbell choir director, children’s music director, and eventually as worship director for an ELCA church in Pasadena. 

But, in 2006 I had a plan. My plan was to go back to school, get my master’s degree in music, retire from my organizing job, and do music in the church full time. 

I bet Mary had a plan, too. She was young, probably a teenager. A virgin. Engaged to Joseph, a simple carpenter. Soon she would be married and then settle down to have a family, because in her culture, having children was most important to ensure the family line. To ensure the generations to come. Yep, Mary had a plan. I’m sure of it. 

But, here’s the thing. My plan. Mary’s plan. Well, our plans are just not often the same as God’s plan.  

Just a year or so after I started graduate school, one day my pastor at the church where I worked sat me down and said, “You should apply for candidacy.” If you’re not sure what that means, to apply for candidacy means to make an application to become a rostered leader in the church. A pastor. Or a deacon. 

I laughed. I laughed at her because that was not anything I had ever or would ever consider. Plus, it didn’t fit into my plan. But, mostly, I laughed because I was afraid. Because, until I joined the ELCA, my entire experience of women in leadership positions in the church was zero. The idea of my becoming a rostered leader terrified me. What would my family say? And what would my high school friends say - the ones I’d gone to school with in that other church, where it was a sin for women to be in leadership positions? 

Mary must have been fearful, too. Because, immediately after the greeting, the angel quickly says, “Don’t be afraid.” Something so typical in all of the call stories we see in scripture. Where so often the first words out of the divine messenger’s mouth are, “Do not be afraid.” Mary had so much more to fear than I did in my call story. What would her family say? What would Joseph say? What would the community say? Not only would her plans be turned upside down. But, there was a very good possibility that she could be accused of adultery, stoned. Perhaps, even killed. 

I walked away from the conversation with my pastor that day with no intention of applying. But, not Mary. She was the one we would call Christ-like, not me. She quietly said, “Yes. I am the Lord’s servant.”

We tell ourselves a lot of stories. And, as you know, God eventually convinced me what my story should be. Last week we heard how God makes room for each one of us in God’s story. As we listened to all of the names, some of them very unexpectedly on the list, we heard the message that, like them, we and our story belong. 

But, here’s my question for you. Are you telling yourself the right story? Is it your story that you’ve discerned for yourself? Like my original plan for the rest of my life? Or is it possible that the story you think is yours really isn’t and that, by holding onto it, you’ve pushed away God’s story for your life. 

Each one of us - like Mary - is called to be “all in” with this thing we call discipleship. All in. Are you “all in” with God’s story? Or all you “all in” with your story? Is it your plan? Or God’s plan? 

Now, I’m certainly not here, expecting that you will be called by God into rostered leadership. Or expecting any of you to get pregnant. (If you’re laughing because you, like me, are way too old to even think it is possible, I would remind you of Elizabeth and Zechariah. Do you think age matters to God? Never say never.) 

Yet, each one of you, like me, has been called into the story that is so much larger than ours. Into God’s story. What’s your plan? Or rather, what do you discern to be God’s plan for your life? Who will you be like in this story? Like me, who walked away in fear. (Or at least who tried to walk away.) Or Mary. Who simply said, “Let it be with me as you have said.” And then gave birth to the Savior of the world.

Whatever your plan, God says to you, “Do not be afraid.” Amen.

Preached December 11, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Second Sunday of Advent

Readings: Luke 1:26-38; Isaiah 11:1-10

From Generation to Generation: There's Room for Every Story

A record of the ancestors of Jesus Christ, son of David, son of Abraham:

Abraham was the father of Isaac.

Isaac was the father of Jacob.

Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers.

Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah,

whose mother was Tamar.

Perez was the father of Hezron.

Hezron was the father of Aram.

Aram was the father of Amminadab.

Amminadab was the father of Nahshon.

Nahshon was the father of Salmon.

Salmon was the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab.

Boaz was the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth.

Obed was the father of Jesse.

Jesse was the father of David the king.

David was the father of Solomon,

whose mother had been the wife of Uriah.

Solomon was the father of Rehoboam.

Rehoboam was the father of Abijah.

Abijah was the father of Asaph.

Asaph was the father of Jehoshaphat.

Jehoshaphat was the father of Joram.

Joram was the father of Uzziah.

Uzziah was the father of Jotham.

Jotham was the father of Ahaz.

Ahaz was the father of Hezekiah.

Hezekiah was the father of Manasseh.

Manasseh was the father of Amos.

Amos was the father of Josiah.

Josiah was the father of Jechoniah and his brothers.

This was at the time of the exile to Babylon.

After the exile to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Shealtiel.

Shealtiel was the father of Zerubbabel.

Zerubbabel was the father of Abiud.

Abiud was the father of Eliakim

Eliakim was the father of Azor.

Azor was the father of Zadok.

Zadok was the father of Achim.

Achim was the father of Eliud.

Eliud was the father of Eleazar.

Eleazar was the father of Matthan.

Matthan was the father of Jacob.

Jacob was the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary—of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Christ.

So there were fourteen generations from Abraham to David, fourteen generations from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen generations from the exile to Babylon to the Christ. --Matthew 1:1-17 CEB

Holy is God’s name, who shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, for those who honor God. Amen.

From generation to generation. That is our theme throughout this incarnational season of the church year - this time from Advent through Epiphany. It is taken from Mary’s song of protest and praise - a song sung by her in the midst of challenge. In the midst of her vulnerability. Even in these moments, Mary could see God’s vision. That dream of God captured in the reading from Isaiah that we heard last week and, again, today. Perhaps, repetition is helpful for us - that this vision of God for a new way of being for all nations might be more fully and deeply embedded in us. A vision of peace. Of wholeness. Of shalom.

It was a vision that was bigger than Mary. That is bigger than we are. That Christ comes for our collective liberation. That this work of God’s redemption continues and is meant to be lived out and passed on. From generation to generation.

So, it’s perhaps no surprise that, on this first Sunday of Advent, we begin at the beginning. With Jesus’ family tree.

I’m curious how many of you have done any genealogy work on your own family tree? My work really began with my mother, decades ago, when she created a wall hanging for the 50th anniversary of my paternal grandparents. My brother, a cousin and I have continued that work. Over the past decade or so, thanks to Ancestry.com, that simple wall hanging has grown into an extensive tree reflecting generations in my family. Not only on my father’s side, but on my mother’s, as well.

Why do we do this work of tracing the generations of our families? Although I can’t answer that question for you, for me it has been a way of identifying where I come from. And who I am. In learning the stories of my ancestors, my story is told, too. 

There is, for example, the story of my father’s family. Fourteen children. Four boys and ten girls. A huge family with not alot of money, at least at the beginning. So, their entertainment was to sing together as a family. To play instruments, especially piano and accordion. To go every Friday night to community dances, which happens to be where my mom met my dad. And, because they lived in such a rural place, nearly 40 miles away from the nearest small town, it also meant that my father and his older brother learned how to fly (and crash) a small Cessna, so they could travel to places they might otherwise not have experienced. Perhaps, that’s how I get my travel bug.

If we look at Jesus’ lineage, we see that he, too, comes from a large family. In Matthew, this family is traced all the way back to Abraham. Then to Isaac, then Jacob with his twelve sons. Then to David, who God promised - covenanted with - that his line would never end. On and on Jesus’ line is traced through the chosen nation of Israel and its ancestors. From kings to prophets to priests. To show us two things about his identity. That Jesus embodies the royal lineage of King David, whose line would be carried on by the Promised One, the Messiah. And that he also embodies the covenantal authority of Abraham, through whom all the families of the earth would be blessed. For Matthew’s audience, Jesus may appear to be a simple carpenter, but he is, in fact, the fulfillment of both the promise to Abraham and that of King David. Jesus is the royal successor to David. King. And the promised Messiah. Savior. King and Savior, come to bless all nations. 

But, genealogies give us not only glimpses of the happy or joyful times in our families’ histories, but also stories of challenge and hardship. Sometimes evil. If I look carefully at my grandfather’s history, I learn that the same year he was born, his four-year-old sister died. Two years later, another sister died in childbirth. The following year, when my grandfather was only 3 years old, his mother, my great-grandmother Marian, died at the very young age of 24. Three months later, his father married Marian’s sister, Katherine. If I move to my mother’s side, I find a great-grandfather who was murdered. 

In the midst of the joy of our families, lies tragedy and heartache. Struggle and conflict. And, sometimes, family members who lose their way. This is so with my family. I wonder if it is so of yours.

This complexity is so with Jesus’ family, which contains serious blemishes.

For example, in Jesus’ line, Manasseh and Amon appear - two incredibly evil kings. Or there’s King Jechoniah, an unhappy king who was exiled not once, but twice. Then, notice the women who appear unexpectedly in Matthew’s genealogy, something unusual in ancient times. Many of them experienced their own trauma and heartache. There is Tamar. Jacob’s daughter-in-law whom he impregnated. Or Bathsheba. Unnamed in the family tree, but mentioned as the wife of Uriah, whom David killed so that he could take Bathsheba as his own. And impregnate her with a son she would lose seven days after his birth. Or consider Rahab. A prostitute who hid the Israelite spies as they were scouting out the Promised Land. Or consider Mary herself. A teenager who found herself pregnant and unmarried at a time when such a condition could result in stoning. All of these women, with the exception of Mary, foreigners, often in conflicted circumstances. Yet grafted - adopted - into Jesus’ family tree. Just as you and I have been adopted in, as well. 

What’s your family story? My guess is that it is as messy and wonderful as my family's story. And that of Jesus’ family. In those long lists of names, we remember the trauma and triumph of those who came before. Each name holds a story. And, in Matthew’s genealogy, their story gives way to Christ’s story. A story that encompasses all of our stories, complicated as they are. Weaving them together with generations past and present. Welcoming us in. And inviting us to share Christ’s story and our story, too. Of liberation and freedom. Of peace. Of shalom. With all the generations to come. 

Because, in Christ’s story, there is room for every story. Past. Present. And future. Amen.

Preached December 4, 2022, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

First Sunday of Advent

Readings: Matthew 1:1-17; Isaiah 2:1-5 

God Provides Blessings: Reluctant Prophet

Throughout this unit, we’ve been exploring the idea that God Provides Blessings in many different ways. We’ve considered the blessings found in creation. The blessings that other people provide to us. And the blessings that we offer to other people.

Sometimes, though, we receive blessings through experiences that, perhaps, we did not want to have. Or were nervous or reluctant about.

For example, if I’d been given a preference to serve a congregation, it’s probably no surprise to you that I would have wanted to serve in a place closer to my son and daughter-in-law. But, God had a slightly different idea that I did about where I might best serve the Church. Thank God this is so, because, if not, I would never have the blessing of knowing you. Or this beautiful place. Or the many people I’ve met through my work and my life here.

Have you had an experience like this? Where you entered into it in a reluctant way? What might have happened if you’d not done this thing, however reluctantly? Perhaps, the bigger question is how has God blessed you through this experience?

Moses was a reluctant leader. Today, we’re going to hear what Moses was reluctant to do. And how, even with this, God blessed him and so many others through him anyway. We read today in three parts, beginning in Exodus, chapter 2. 

A long time passed, and the Egyptian king died. The Israelites were still groaning because of their hard work. They cried out, and their cry to be rescued from the hard work rose up to God. God heard their cry of grief, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God looked at the Israelites, and God understood. 

It’s been a long time and generations since Jacob. 

If you remember the story of Jacob and his son, Joseph, you may recall that because of famine, Jacob, now renamed Israel, had moved with his clan to Egypt. They had settled in Goshen. Much time has passed. New pharoahs - Egyptian kings - have come and gone. Israel has grown into a large people. A nation. Fulfilling part of the covenant with Abraham. But, because of their size, they’ve become viewed as a political threat to Egypt. And were enslaved. Forced into hard labor. 

Our story tells us that they were groaning because of this enslavement. Crying out to God. Crying out to be rescued from this hard and punishing work. Do you notice the verbs that describe God’s response? God heard. God remembered. God looked. And God understood.

What might this say to us when we cry out because of our suffering? Or those who are oppressed in our world cry out? God hears. God remembers. God looks. And God understands.

Our reading continues in chapter 3.

Moses was taking care of the flock for his father-in-law Jethro, Midian’s priest. He led his flock out to the edge of the desert, and he came to God’s mountain called Horeb. The Lord’s messenger appeared to him in a flame of fire in the middle of a bush. Moses saw that the bush was in flames, but it didn’t burn up. Then Moses said to himself, Let me check out this amazing sight and find out why the bush isn’t burning up.

When the Lord saw that he was coming to look, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!”

Moses said, “I’m here.”

Then the Lord said, “Don’t come any closer! Take off your sandals, because you are standing on holy ground.” He continued, “I am the God of your father, Abraham’s God, Isaac’s God, and Jacob’s God.” Moses hid his face because he was afraid to look at God.

Then the Lord said, “I’ve clearly seen my people oppressed in Egypt. I’ve heard their cry of injustice because of their slave masters. I know about their pain. I’ve come down to rescue them from the Egyptians in order to take them out of that land and bring them to a good and broad land, a land that’s full of milk and honey, a place where the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites all live. Now the Israelites’ cries of injustice have reached me. I’ve seen just how much the Egyptians have oppressed them. So get going. I’m sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.”

But Moses said to God, “Who am I to go to Pharaoh and to bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

God said, “I’ll be with you. And this will show you that I’m the one who sent you. After you bring the people out of Egypt, you will come back here and worship God on this mountain.”

Moses is a person in between. He is Hebrew, but has grown up in the royal court - adopted by a pharaoh’s daughter. Yet, as a Hebrew, his heart remains with his people. 

Moses is a person between two worlds - a world of privilege and a world of bondage, called by God to traverse both of those worlds to accomplish God’s plan, which is to free God’s people from their oppression.

Moses is reluctant. Perhaps its because he is a person of two worlds, not belonging to either, he questions his own worth. Yet, God calls him. In an unusual way. Through a burning bush. A bush that is not consumed. How long did Moses have to look at this burning bush to notice that it wasn’t burning up? How many people before Moses passed by this bush without noticing? How often to we pass by “burning bushes” in our lives - too busy or maybe feeling too unworthy to stop and notice how God might be calling us?

Our story continues in chapter 3.

But Moses said to God, “If I now come to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ they are going to ask me, ‘What’s this God’s name?’ What am I supposed to say to them?”

God said to Moses, “I Am Who I Am. So say to the Israelites, ‘I Am has sent me to you.’” God continued, “Say to the Israelites, ‘The Lord, the God of your ancestors, Abraham’s God, Isaac’s God, and Jacob’s God, has sent me to you.’ This is my name forever; this is how all generations will remember me.

Knowing someone’s name gives us a more intimate relationship with them. This act of God - giving Moses God’s very name - is an intimate act, inviting Moses into relationship with God. Because God’s name is sacred. So sacred, in fact, that in later generations, the Hebrew people will not even speak it aloud. God’s name is so sacred that it really is not even translatable from the original Hebrew. It’s a verb, that means “to be.” It can be translated, “I Am Who I Am.” But, God will not be pinned down to any single name. This verb is open-ended. It can be translated, “I Will Be Who I Will Be.” It can be translated, “I Will Become Who I Will Become.” It’s a verb that teaches us that God is present yet ever-changing. But mostly, God’s name teaches us that God cannot be contained. That God is so expansive that any relationship with God that you or I experience is only one minute aspect of this present, ever-changing and expansive God. It also teaches us that to even begin to know God, we have to be in relationship not only with God, but with one another - sharing our own, unique experiences with God. Who is, who will be, who will become all that we need God to be. 

We conclude in chapter 4.

But Moses said to the Lord, “My Lord, I’ve never been able to speak well, not yesterday, not the day before, and certainly not now since you’ve been talking to your servant. I have a slow mouth and a thick tongue.”

Then the Lord said to him, “Who gives people the ability to speak? Who’s responsible for making them unable to speak or hard of hearing, sighted or blind? Isn’t it I, the Lord? Now go! I’ll help you speak, and I’ll teach you what you should say.”

But Moses said, “Please, my Lord, just send someone else.”

Then the Lord got angry at Moses and said, “What about your brother Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak very well. He’s on his way out to meet you now, and he’s looking forward to seeing you. Speak to him and tell him what he’s supposed to say. I’ll help both of you speak, and I’ll teach both of you what to do. Aaron will speak for you to the people. He’ll be a spokesperson for you, and you will be like God for him. Take this shepherd’s rod with you too so that you can do the signs.”

Moses. He is so reluctant. “I’m not worthy” moves to “I can’t speak well.” Notice that throughout the story God continues to accommodate his fears. His sense of unworthiness. His reluctance. I will be with you, I Am tells him. I will give you voice, I Will Be says to him. 

Then, finally, Moses gets to the end of his line of excuses and just says, “I don’t want to do this. Just send someone else.” “I will give you words to give to Aaron,” I Will Become promises him. Because, as much as Moses might protest, God has a plan for all of God’s people - a plan of rescue and redemption. A plan of freedom and salvation. A plan of hope through which God will shower on them blessing upon blessing. A plan through which God will keep God’s ancestral promises - to become a nation, to have a country, and through them to bless all nations.

You and I - we’re part of that plan. Part of that bigger story. And, though we may be reluctant prophets, just like Moses, we have the same call and the same promises. To share the news of the freedom we have in God through God coming to us in Christ Jesus. And that God will give us the words and the tools and the partners we need to help accomplish our small part of that expansive, all-encompassing plan of I Am, I Will Be, I Will Become.

Amen. Amen.

Preached October 3, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 19

Readings: Exodus 2:23-25; 3:1-15; 4:10-17; John 8:58

Jesus Heals: My Chosen One

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

While everyone was amazed at all that he was doing, he said to his disciples, “Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands.” But they did not understand this saying; its meaning was concealed from them, so that they could not perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him about this saying. --Luke 9:28-45 (NRSV)

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

It’s a big leap for us today as we jump from the seventh chapter of Luke to the ninth chapter. In between, we see Jesus’ continue to minister. To teach. And to heal, particularly those dealing with demons. At the beginning of chapter 9, the disciples are ready to be sent out. Jesus gives them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, verse 1 tells us. They go out into the countryside as extensions of Jesus himself, reliant upon the hospitality of those they will meet. 

At the same time, we hear the Herod is perplexed. He’s already arrested and beheaded John the Baptist. But, now he’s hearing about someone new. And even tries to see Jesus.

The disciples return and report all that they have done. As the day drew to a close, surrounded by a crowd, they are witness to God’s way of abundance - over 5,000 men, not including women and children, fed that day from five loaves of bread and two fish. It leads Peter to make a declaration about Jesus - that he truly is “the Messiah of God.” When he does, Jesus sternly tells them not to say anything. Instead, he continues to teach them what it means to be his followers. “If any want to become my followers,” Jesus tells them, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” Discipleship, as they are learning, is not easy.

Then we come to today’s text. Eight days later. Jesus, as we’ve seen him do before, goes away to a quiet place to pray. This time it is on a mountaintop. And this time he takes with him those who are in his inner circle - Peter, John and James - the first of the twelve disciples. As Jesus is praying, as we heard in our text, the appearance of his face changes. As does his clothing. Then, suddenly, Moses and Elijah appear beside him, talking to him about his departure. His departure. Luke alone uses this word in the Greek - a better translation of which is “exodus.” Moses, Elijah and Jesus are talking about the exodus of Jesus. It immediately throws our mind backward. Drawing a comparison between Jesus and Israel. An echo of how the story began. The exodus story. Just one part of God’s meta-narrative. A story arc that begins even further back than the exodus to the very beginning. And the reason for that first exodus.

To the beginning of God’s story. Where God creates everything. And it is good. And then the relationship between God and humanity is broken. Over and over again, God relentlessly tries to restore that relationship. Beginning first with Israel. Calling Moses to lead Israel out of bondage. Israel’s exodus from Egypt. That they will be blessed as God’s people and through whom all people will be blessed. Led by Moses, who experiences his own theophany - his own God-sighting. On Mt. Sinai in the midst of the terrifying thunder and lightning. Witness to a God so powerful that Moses cannot even look into God’s face. Yet, whose own face becomes transfigured, like that of Jesus.

But, this attempt by God to restore the relationship does not work. Even when God sends prophets, like Elijah. Elijah, who has his own theophany, his own God sighting. But not like that of Moses. Instead, as Elijah flees Jezebel and Ahab (remember that story?), God appears to him at Mt. Horeb, also known as Sinai. God comes not as Elijah expects. Not in the wind. Not in the earthquake, not in the fire. But in sheer, sheer silence.

Even with the prophets, Israel continues to rebel. It’s the human way, isn’t it. Our way. Thinking that we know better. Seeking our own power apart from God. Like the disciples, who, even after witnessing this transfiguration moment don’t fully get it. That God still wants us. Still relentlessly seeks us. Who sends Jesus to us to once and for all restore the broken relationship. Jesus, God’s Son, breaking into our world in human form. Who has come to begin the restoration of the wholeness and abundance and goodness first tasted at the very beginning in Eden. 

The transfiguration of Jesus in Luke marks the beginning of his exodus. He will now turn his face toward Jerusalem and move into the final chapter of his incarnated life on earth. It will bring the beginning - not the end - but the beginning of the restoration of freedom for all humanity and all creation. It is a story about transformation - the hoped outcome for the church, which will be given power and authority to heal and to transform people into disciples. Disciples - you and me - to transform the world into the kingdom of God. This is the gospel. The good news of Jesus. 

As we now turn our faces with Jesus to Jerusalem. As we enter the season of Lent, a time that, once again, gives us an opportunity to move into deeper relationship with a God who loves us so deeply and who desires nothing for us other than Eden’s shalom, these are the questions for us. How will we meet God? How will we be transfigured? And how will we transform our small part of the world?

Preached February 14, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran and Third Lutheran churches, Goshen and Louisville, KY

Transfiguration of Our Lord

Readings: Luke 9:25-48; Psalm 36:5-10

Responding to God's Love: The Power of a Name

Now a new king came to power in Egypt who didn’t know Joseph. He said to his people, “The Israelite people are now larger in number and stronger than we are. Come on, let’s be smart and deal with them. Otherwise, they will only grow in number. And if war breaks out, they will join our enemies, fight against us, and then escape from the land.” As a result, the Egyptians put foremen of forced work gangs over the Israelites to harass them with hard work. They had to build storage cities named Pithom and Rameses for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they grew and spread, so much so that the Egyptians started to look at the Israelites with disgust and dread. So the Egyptians enslaved the Israelites. They made their lives miserable with hard labor, making mortar and bricks, doing field work, and by forcing them to do all kinds of other cruel work.

The king of Egypt spoke to two Hebrew midwives named Shiphrah and Puah: “When you are helping the Hebrew women give birth and you see the baby being born, if it’s a boy, kill him. But if it’s a girl, you can let her live.” Now the two midwives respected God so they didn’t obey the Egyptian king’s order. Instead, they let the baby boys live.

So the king of Egypt called the two midwives and said to them, “Why are you doing this? Why are you letting the baby boys live?”

The two midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because Hebrew women aren’t like Egyptian women. They’re much stronger and give birth before any midwives can get to them.” So God treated the midwives well, and the people kept on multiplying and became very strong. And because the midwives respected God, God gave them households of their own.

Then Pharaoh gave an order to all his people: “Throw every baby boy born to the Hebrews into the Nile River, but you can let all the girls live.”

Now a man from Levi’s household married a Levite woman. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She saw that the baby was healthy and beautiful, so she hid him for three months. When she couldn’t hide him any longer, she took a reed basket and sealed it up with black tar. She put the child in the basket and set the basket among the reeds at the riverbank. The baby’s older sister stood watch nearby to see what would happen to him.

Pharaoh’s daughter came down to bathe in the river, while her women servants walked along beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds, and she sent one of her servants to bring it to her. When she opened it, she saw the child. The boy was crying, and she felt sorry for him. She said, “This must be one of the Hebrews’ children.”

Then the baby’s sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Would you like me to go and find one of the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?”

Pharaoh’s daughter agreed, “Yes, do that.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I’ll pay you for your work.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. After the child had grown up, she brought him back to Pharaoh’s daughter, who adopted him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I pulled him out of the water.”  --Exodus 1:8 - 2:10 (CEB)

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

How did we get to today’s story? I’ll ask the question I asked last week. Who remembers our story from last week? Yes, it was the story of Jacob wrestling with, we think, God. Jacob was the father of 12 sons (12 tribes). His youngest was Joseph. Remember what happened to Joseph? Sold into slavery by his brothers. Eventually ended up in Egypt and through series of events became second in command to the Pharaoh - 7 years of feast, 7 years of famine. Jacob, or Israel, was eventually reunited with Joseph and, then, moved to Egypt. 

Today’s story is centuries later. Israel has grown into that large people - just as God had promised Abraham. So large, in fact, that the new Pharaoh - who our story today tells us didn’t “know” Joseph - began to mistreat them. To try to reduce their number. Because he was afraid of them. He tried to do this in three ways. First, through forced labor. This attempt was reversed as Israel multiplied in number. Then, by ordering all Israelite first born sons to be killed. Again, this attempt was reversed through the "revolt of the midwives," Shiprah and Puah. The third attempt was to have every male son thrown into the Nile. This, too, was subject to reversal as we read how the mother of Moses does this, but puts him first into a "basket" (The Hebrew word for "basket" is the same word as "ark." Remember Noah?). Moses' life is spared as he is found by a princess, the Pharoah's own daughter. She takes him, raises him, and, ironically, finds a Hebrew woman to nurse him. A Hebrew woman who just happens to be Moses' own mother. 

We hear a lot of stories in our lectionary - stories of our faith ancestors. And, particularly, we hear stories of how God interacts with our ancestors. Sometimes, it's subtle and behind the scenes, as in Moses' early life. Sometimes, it's not so subtle, as in the story from last with Jacob and, as we hear today from Moses' later life. 

Moses was taking care of the flock for his father-in-law Jethro, Midian’s priest. He led his flock out to the edge of the desert, and he came to God’s mountain called Horeb. The Lord’s messenger appeared to him in a flame of fire in the middle of a bush. Moses saw that the bush was in flames, but it didn’t burn up. Then Moses said to himself, Let me check out this amazing sight and find out why the bush isn’t burning up.

When the Lord saw that he was coming to look, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!”

Moses said, “I’m here.”

Then the Lord said, “Don’t come any closer! Take off your sandals, because you are standing on holy ground.”   --Exodus 3:1-5 (CEB)

This interaction between God and Moses is part of Moses' faith story. Today, we're beginning something new. Beginning today, which is the fifth Sunday and with every other month in which there are five Sundays, I'm going to invite one of you to share your story. You may already see God at work - God interacting in your story in the same way we read in scripture. Or not. Nevertheless, we'll explore your stories on these 5th Sundays.

Here are some of the questions for you to consider today about what your story is:

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself. Where did you grow up? What was your family like? 

2. In Exodus 3, we heard the story of Moses' first experience of God in the burning bush. On holy ground. If you can remember, what was your first experience of God? Your first "holy ground"?

3. As you grew up, how did you experience God? How has that changed, if it has changed?

4. Where/how do you see God’s story intersecting yours? Where/how do you see your life story intersecting God’s? 

5. In Exodus 2:23-25, we read a summary of God's work, which is to change our sad songs into glad songs. In addition, in the first six verses of chapter 3, we hear a series of "I" statements by God that show God's concern: “I” have seen their affliction, “I” have heard their cry, “I” know their sufferings, “I” have come to deliver them and bring them up. “I” will send you to Pharaoh. Where in your life have you experienced God changing sad songs into glad songs and truly experienced God's love and concern?

6. Where have you seen or currently see God calling you in your life? What does your future story and God’s look like?

Preached September 29, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

Pentecost 16

Readings: Exodus 1:8-2:10, 3:1-5

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.

The Life We Claim: The Creeds - Our Christian Life

Now this is the commandment—the statutes and the ordinances—that the Lord your God charged me to teach you to observe in the land that you are about to cross into and occupy, so that you and your children and your children’s children may fear the Lord your God all the days of your life, and keep all his decrees and his commandments that I am commanding you, so that your days may be long. Hear therefore, O Israel, and observe them diligently, so that it may go well with you, and so that you may multiply greatly in a land flowing with milk and honey, as the Lord, the God of your ancestors, has promised you.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. Deuteronomy 6:1-9 (NRSV)

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:16-20 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the Holy Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.

It’s good to go on vacation, but it's always really good to get home, isn’t it? At least that’s how I felt last week. If you didn’t know, I was in Italy for two weeks with friends and family. The first week we spent in a little hilltop village in central Italy. The second week was with a friend in Rome. 

I love history and, as usual, I was blown away by some of the history I learned. This little hilltop town is one of the seven hill towns in central Italy that were settled by the Etruscans in the 6th, 7th, and 8th centuries before Christ. It’s believed that Orvieto - this little village where we spent a week - was founded by this group of people and developed into the central meeting place for leaders of all of the seven hill towns. It’s also believed that it was these Etruscans who eventually founded Rome. And it was, as they say, those “Roman barbarians” who eventually conquered and eliminated the Etruscans and their rich culture. 

Fascinating. It’s in learning history, I think, that we learn more about ourselves and where our own stories fit into that long, flowing river of history.

I had another experience that also connected me to another story - the story of the church and of the people of the early church. I was able to tour the Catacombs of San Sebastian. If you know your Roman history, you may know that, as people died, they were buried in tombs along the roads leading out of the city. Eventually, they ran out of space, so they began to bury their dead in unused rock quarries on the outskirts of the city. Over time, as the early church grew, Christians, too, needed a place to bury their dead because, according to their beliefs, cremation was not allowed. So, they, too, began to bury their dead in the caves and passageways carved out below ground. 

After fire broke out in Rome in 64 AD, rumors began that the Roman emperor Nero had set the fire deliberately to clear land for a palace for himself. Nero shifted blame to the Christians, who were already widely disliked because they didn’t participate in the religious festivals of the empire that were considered essential to civic life. The church and its leaders began to be persecuted. So, the church went underground. In the catacombs I visited, archaeologists have discovered an early chapel underground. It is believed that it was in that very place where the bodies of Peter and Paul, martyred, were originally enshrined.


So, why is any of this important for us here today? For me, and I hope for you, too, it is a reminder for us that we - as followers of Christ - come from a long history of believers. Of people who were so dedicated to worshiping God and living as disciples that they even did it underground. In the midst of persecution. Because they believed that what they believed was true. That their faith was based on genuine truth.

Over these past few weeks, we’ve been immersed in the Creed. In the three Articles of the Creed, thinking about the three persons of the Godhead. The Three in One. What we hear in the shema from the Deuteronomy text that God, our God, is One. Yet, three. As I said in Week 1 of our series, each time we speak the Creed, we step into that long, steady river. A great two thousand year story of believers, missionaries, and martyrs. People who under interrogation, refused to bow down to the gods of the empire. Who stood their ground and declared, “I believe in God the Father almighty…” And who were executed for saying so. 

When we do the same - when we say “I believe in God” - we become part of something bigger than ourselves. Something that is in us individually, but that is also outside of ourselves and bigger than any one of us. Because, if we think salvation is about “me and Jesus” - about “me and my eternal reward” - we miss the point. If we come to the Lord’s table and we raise our voices in song, thinking this is a nice religious activity, we miss the point. As James Howell writes, it is “[o]ut of our isolation” that “we are called together to share the one thing that matters, the broken body and the shed blood of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. We find our place in Christ’s family. We sing, each voice distinct, but yet immersed in the great chorus of the angels and saints, no soloists allowed, an ever-burgeoning cascade of differing voices coalescing into a sunning, beautiful harmony of praise.” 

All this when we say the words, “I believe.”

But, it’s easy to get distracted, isn’t it? We see it in the opening lines of our Matthew text. The eleven disciples, after the resurrection, went to the mountain in Galilee where Jesus directed them to go. Notice in verse 17 that, when they saw Jesus, they worshiped him. But, then, the text goes on to read, “...but some doubted.” Doubt is mixed with worship - similar to the “fear and joy” that the women experienced at the empty tomb. There’s some ambivalence. Some doubt. Some hesitation. In fact, the Greek word translated as “doubted” is distazo. It’s the same word that is used to express Peter’s reaction as he began to walk on water. He looked at Jesus and then felt the wind and he became distazo. He became conflicted, which is better translation for this word than doubt. Conflicted.  

In Matthew, the disciples’ faith is not a certainty beyond being conflicted. It is a faith that lives between trust and despair. Between certainty and faith. Notice that, in the text, Jesus doesn’t overcome their conflictedness. Instead, he allows them to remain in it. And turns to them with his word.

Isn’t that how Jesus responds to us? As we go about our daily lives, we, too, become conflicted. Distracted from God, from who God calls us to be, we lose sight of God and of our promise to believe in this God. But, then, we gather here. And, in Jesus’ words and in his body and blood we are once again reminded of our Easter faith. Of Jesus, who joined us in our suffering, took it on himself, and who, in his resurrection, God exalted and installed as the Lord of our universe. A universe turned upside down by the resurrection. And, once more, we are centered. Remembering whose we are. Where we come from. And we continue on the journey that countless others have been led on. Centuries of believers. Unknown disciples. Followers of this God in whom we say we believe.



Something else on vacation that I easily fell into the pattern of was that of an afternoon siesta. In Orvieto, in particular, the shopkeepers close their shops around 2 p.m. Everyone goes to cool homes during the heat of the day to eat and to rest. During this period, after a short nap, I would often read one of my favorite murder mysteries. Just for fun. Over the two week period, I read five crime mysteries!

What’s interesting about these stories is the way that the events unfold. Often, it seems like the various details make little sense. Someone has mud on their boots. A wine glass is broken on the floor. A towel is missing from the bathroom. These random, often trivial, facts seem inconsequential to the story. But, then, someone - a detective - steps into the circle of suspects and begins to piece the story together. Explaining what happened. Why the mud is important. Or the broken glass is a critical clue. Or what difference a missing towel makes. It is only at the end that all of the various little details - the seemingly insignificant clues - become important. Only at the end that the whole story makes sense.

I think this is what our Christian life of discipleship is like. We follow, doing our best to not be conflicted. Gathering here weekly with each other, to be fed with the Word, and to be refreshed for the journey - this sprawling, meandering journey of discipleship, the details of which often make little sense in the moment. 

Aristotle said that the mark of a good story is that, as you are following it, you have no idea how it will end. But, that, when it does end, you realize that it had to turn out that way. Easter is like the narrator tipping us off on the end of the story. We stand together in this circle and Jesus steps in and explains it all. And it is then, and only then, that everything begins to make sense. 

But, it’s different from the end of my murder mysteries. In those, the dead remain dead. The widow goes home alone. The convict ends up in jail. In the Gospel, the dead live. The widowed are reunited. The jails are emptied. And we recognize that it had to turn out that way. 

As we read our lives of discipleship backward - if we read the last chapter of our Christian lives first - we discover a journey that has been guided to its end. An end that is destined by the secret hand of the author. By this God in whom we say, “I believe.”

I invite you to believe in this God. To be part of the church, of those who believe in the resurrection. To be part of those who trust, not in themselves, but in God - the Three in One. To believe in the last chapter of our Christian life. And to be with all those before and after us who have trusted and will trust in God’s great, glorious future surprise. Amen.

Preached July 7, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 4
Readings: 1 Timothy 3:14-4:11; Deuteronomy 6:1-9; Matthew 28:16-20.

Sent With Joy: Telling Your Story

Now in the church at Antioch there were prophets and teachers: Barnabas, Simeon who was called Niger, Lucius of Cyrene, Manaen a member of the court of Herod the ruler, and Saul. While they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” Then after fasting and praying they laid their hands on them and sent them off.

In Lystra there was a man sitting who could not use his feet and had never walked, for he had been crippled from birth. He listened to Paul as he was speaking. And Paul, looking at him intently and seeing that he had faith to be healed, said in a loud voice, “Stand upright on your feet.” And the man sprang up and began to walk. When the crowds saw what Paul had done, they shouted in the Lycaonian language, “The gods have come down to us in human form!” Barnabas they called Zeus, and Paul they called Hermes, because he was the chief speaker. The priest of Zeus, whose temple was just outside the city, brought oxen and garlands to the gates; he and the crowds wanted to offer sacrifice. When the apostles Barnabas and Paul heard of it, they tore their clothes and rushed out into the crowd, shouting, “Friends, why are you doing this? We are mortals just like you, and we bring you good news, that you should turn from these worthless things to the living God, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and all that is in them. In past generations he allowed all the nations to follow their own ways; yet he has not left himself without a witness in doing good—giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, and filling you with food and your hearts with joy.” Even with these words, they scarcely restrained the crowds from offering sacrifice to them. Acts 13:1-3, 14:8-18 NRSV.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, from Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord; and from the Holy Spirit, our Advocate, our Helper, and our Sustainer. Amen.

We continue this week in the Acts of the Apostles. Or, perhaps, it is better named the Acts of the Holy Spirit. Because, as we saw in last week’s story, it is the Holy Spirit that is the primary character of the Acts narrative - the primary character in forming and shaping the people of God into the church.

Last week, we heard the story of Peter and Cornelius in Caesarea, located some 78 miles northwest of Jerusalem, along the Mediterranean coast. Today’s story begins in Antioch, which is another 300 miles north of Caesarea, also along the Mediterranean coast. 

It’s important for us to understand that, after Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples initially remained in Judea, the province where Jerusalem was located. Continuing to share what they had witnessed with their own eyes. They did this mostly in the temple and the synagogues simply because they were Jewish. This was their community. However, it wasn’t before this became a problem for the religious leaders. Things escalated. And, eventually, one of the apostles - Stephen - was stoned to death.

It was Stephen’s stoning that scattered and drove the disciples out of Judea in fear. Yet, we know that even in the midst of fear and darkness, God is always at work. Bringing about new life. So, as the disciples were being driven to places further away, their mission continued. And churches were planted along the way. 

One of those churches was the church in Antioch. Antioch was a cosmopolitan city located in the Roman province of Syria. It was the capital city, a center of Greek culture, and a commercial hub. After Stephen’s stoning, many Greek followers fled to Antioch, introducing Christianity to the large population of the Jewish diaspora who lived there. It was in Antioch that Jesus’ followers were first named “Christians.” Because of this growing community, Barnabas was sent by the Jerusalem church to guide the believers in Antioch. 

The Antioch church was diverse. We see that in the opening verses of chapter 13. Names that reflect many different cultures: Barnabus, from Cyprus - a Greek island off the Mediterranean coast. Simeon, nicknamed Niger, of African descent. Lucius, from Cyrene, a North African. Manaen, a foster brother of Herod Antipas, killer John the Baptist and ruler at the time of Jesus’ death. And Saul, whom we also know as Paul, which is his Jewish name - Saul being his Roman name. He had been brought to the church in Antioch by Barnabas, from his hometown of Tarsus, which is where he, too, had escaped under his own threat of persecution.

Our story opens with the community worshiping and fasting. Then, present their midst, the Holy Spirit tells them, “Appoint Barnabas and Saul to do my work.” They continue their fast and worship and it is then, after they have finished, that they lay their hands on Barnabus and Saul and send them on their way into the unknown to share their own stories of faith - their own stories of meeting Jesus.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve been talking about being sent. We live in a time that is very different, yet very similar to that of the early church. The church, as we know it, is in a period of decline as the reality of Christendom - where the church was once central to society and culture - is no more. As Christendom disappears, the church is being pushed to the margins. We are no longer an accepted part of the culture. We are moving into a time and place that is very similar to that of the early church. This can feel challenging. We might wonder how, in the midst of this upheaval and change, we are to continue to do God’s mission? As fewer and fewer people walk in the front doors of our church, how are we to continue to do God’s mission?

Last week, we talked about sharing our story - the story of this place. Grace & Glory. And how this community has, from its very beginning, like the Antioch church, been a place of inclusivity. Where difference and diversity are celebrated. Where those on the margins of society are welcomed and valued.

Today, our focus is on sharing your story. Yes, I said, sharing your story. Each one of us, like Paul and Barnabas, has a story to share. A story or stories of when we have met Jesus in our lives. Perhaps it was in a moment of utter darkness and, maybe, it wasn’t until years later that we recognized Jesus present. Beside us. Or perhaps it was in moments of light and Jesus’ presence was immediately clear to us. Whatever those moments, I, without hesitation, believe that each of us have stories to share of when we have met Jesus. Stories that, if they are shared, become life-giving stories in which God’s mission of sharing the good news is carried out. 

Yet, I think it only fair that, before I can ask you to share your stories, I must share one of mine.

It happened in the summer 2006. I was in my first year of seminary. With a group of students - none of whom I knew beforehand - I went to a small village in Italy for three weeks to study medieval theology, spirituality and worship.  One day, early in the trip, I met a fellow student - a young woman named Cari. She has given me permission to share this story. Now Cari had grown up in the Salvation Army. This is a church that does wonderful work in our world, but it is also a church with very fundamentalist beliefs.  Cari’s family had been in the Salvation Army for generations. Her grandparents were important leaders nationally in this church. Cari had been involved in it from early on and had been active as a youth leader and a summer camp director. She was on a trajectory to become an important leader in the Salvation Army.

But, there was one problem. Cari was gay. And, as much as she tried to fight and to deny it, eventually, to be her authentic self, she had to come out. And when she did, she was shunned by her church. By her own family. And by any community she had really ever known. This resulted in a deep depression, a suicide attempt, and a resulting 3 month hospitalization. By the time I met her in Italy, she had only been out of the hospital for a few weeks. And she was searching. Trying to make sense of everything. Trying especially to understand where or if, in the midst of this darkness, God existed.

Now, before I go further, there is a part of my own story that I need to share with you. A part that is immensely painful for me and that brings up a vast amount of shame and sadness. I’ve mentioned before to you that my father died when I was 14. What I have left out of the story is how how he died. Which was by suicide. Now, there is much to this story, but it’s important that you understand two things. First, he was dealing with mental health issues, which is often true with those attempting suicide. Second, at the time he died, suicide was not discussed. Unlike today, where we have finally began to speak about it more openly, it was a taboo subject at the time. And so, because of that, there was and still is for me a lot of shame connected to his death.

So, that day in Italy, when Cari shared her story with me, I felt as though the Holy Spirit was nudging me to share my story with her. To share my story of my own father’s suicide, so that she would know that she was not alone. And that, even though it might feel to her that God had abandoned her as her church and family had, God had not. I wanted to share with her that God had created her in her own uniqueness. That God loved her - a love reflected in Jesus' death on the cross. And that God would always be present with her, bringing new life for her out of this dark place. All these gifts of our Lutheran tradition that had taken me years to fully understand - I was being called to share this with her. 

But, I was afraid. Because I had never witnessed like this before. I had never evangelized like this before. It was terrifying, because it required me to be deeply vulnerable with her. To share my shame-filled story with her, not knowing how she might respond, or think of me. And I was uncertain of even what words to say. Yet, somehow, the Holy Spirit put words into my mouth and I shared my story and God’s story with her.

Each of us have stories to share. Stories of darkness where we have wondered where God is. Stories where, often in hindsight, we see that it was in the midst in those dark times where we truly met Jesus. Jesus, who knows our suffering. And our shame. Jesus, who brings us out of death to life.

What is your story? You - me - like Barnabas and Paul, we are called to share it. And, as we do, things may not happen exactly as we expect, as we heard in the second half of today’s story. Yet, somehow, even in the midst of our human messiness, the Spirit continues to work. Through us. Giving us the words so that others might meet Jesus, just as we have met him. 

May God give you the courage and the words to share your story. Amen.

Preached May 12, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 4
Readings: Acts 13:1-3, 14:8-18; Matthew 10:40-42