Journey to the Cross: God, the Ultimate Baker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maundy Thursday

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

The Power of the Kingdom: What Makes Us Unclean

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

We’re going to continue our discussion around rules. Sometimes it's easy for us to know the rules. And sometimes, even depending on our context, it can be difficult for us to know the rules. Sometimes we may know the rule, but we may be confused by it. Sometimes, there are unspoken rules - those rules that “everybody knows” and that we assume people will follow. Some of these rules, in particular, are common in church.

So, our story today is about rules. And about what is really important. On the surface, it may seem about keeping rules that were Jewish versus Christian. Yet, we need to remember that Jesus was Jewish, so he would have observed the various Jewish laws. That’s not really what this story is about. Let’s listen to it and see if we can figure out what Jesus is really saying. I invite you to follow along in the pew Bible.

Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” He said to them, “Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written,

‘This people honors me with their lips,

    but their hearts are far from me;

in vain do they worship me,

    teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.”

Then he said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.’ But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, ‘Whatever support you might have had from me is Corban’ (that is, an offering to God)— then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many things like this.”

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.”

When he had left the crowd and entered the house, his disciples asked him about the parable. He said to them, “Then do you also fail to understand? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters, not the heart but the stomach, and goes out into the sewer?” (Thus he declared all foods clean.) And he said, “It is what comes out of a person that defiles. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”  --Mark 7:1-23 (NRSV)

The story opens with the appearance of the Pharisees and some scribes who have come into the countryside from Jerusalem to see Jesus. We often have a pretty bad attitude towards the Pharisees, don’t we? That their intent is always to trip up Jesus, to challenge him. This is the way they are presented in some of the other gospels. But, here, in Mark, it’s a little different. If you notice the text carefully, there is nothing that is written about their intent. In fact, it would have been customary and usual for them to come and ask questions. Jesus was viewed as a rabbi, a teacher with followers who was responsible for his disciples. So, assuming that Jesus, as a rabbi, was responsible for his disciples, the Pharisees would have come to Jesus to ask him about the behavior of his followers. There is nothing here to show a devious intent on their part.

Note the parenthetical portion in verses 3 and 4. “For the Pharisees...do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders…” This phrase - the “tradition of the elders” - was a reference to all of the interpretations, the rules, and the procedures that had grown up around the written law, or the Torah. The traditions of the elders were oral commentary on this written law, applying it to real life situations. You might say that the traditions of the elders were like the sermons of our day. Verbal commentary on the written law. 

The Pharisees were actually viewed as the “good guys” of Judaism of their day because they wanted to help people live out the written law. We think of them as “bad” because of what seems to be an antagonistic position toward Jesus. Yet, they believed that the Torah was a gift from God (as we do scripture) and that the oral traditions that had been passed down for generations were also gifts from God, but of equal value. Their question to Jesus - "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" - is their attempt to understand if this Rabbi Jesus shares their views...whether or not Jesus is as concerned as they are for ceremonial purity and for the sacredness of their vows, or their commitment, to the oral traditions. The question is pretty straight forward and seemingly with no devious intent.

It’s Jesus’ response that is surprising. Because he immediately goes into an antagonistic mode. “You hypocrites!” he calls them. He then proceeds to quote from Isaiah, essentially "throwing the book" at them and arguing that they confuse the interpretation of the law with the law itself.

Except, there’s a problem. Because laws don’t interpret themselves. It’s why today we have courts in our country. To interpret our laws. It’s why we have hundreds (if not thousands) of commentaries written on Scripture. To better understand or try to understand what the Bible is saying to us.

Take the fourth commandment, for example. “Honor your mother and father.” Now we probably get pretty easily what it means to honor someone. But who is your mother? Is it your biological mother? Or your adoptive mother? Your stepmother? Perhaps an aunt who was like a mother to you? Maybe a grandmother? Who decides the meaning of “mother?” Or, likewise, “father?” 

Can you put yourself into the position of the Pharisees? They’re simply trying to observe the law in the fullest sense. 

Jesus’ response to their question really isn't about the ritual of being clean or unclean. Please note that Jesus isn’t saying that cleanliness or ritual cleanliness isn’t important. Or that spreading germs is a good idea. This is more about how we understand the law. More specifically, it’s about how we obey the law. Whether we follow the spirit of the law or the letter of the law, which is what Jesus condemns here. Such as keeping keeping the Sabbath, but then cheating people in the marketplace day after day. Or offering sacrifices in the temple, then dealing unjustly or mistreating those who are vulnerable: slaves, foreigners, widows, or orphans. 

What defiles us - what makes us unclean - is not the stuff outside of us. What makes us unclean is what comes from our heart. Those thoughts, words, and deeds that create barriers in our relationships--with each other, with God. Those things we struggle with. Sexual sin. Theft. Murder. Adultery. Greed. Evil action. Deceit and lying. Unrestrained immorality. Envy. Insults. Arrogance. Foolishness. There is nothing on this list we can deny. We, who are bearers of God’s image, but who are also ungodly monsters that lurk underneath. Saint and sinner that we are. Wheat and chaff. Sheep and goats. This back and forth of ourselves that we struggle with. “Daily,” as Paul writes. That we ultimately cannot change. At least, not by ourselves.

It’s why we confess our sins regularly in worship.  Why we approach the Lord’s Supper each week. That we might know and receive God’s forgiveness. That, in Christ, our relationship to God might be restored. And that we might continue to be transformed. So that our hearts - the source of evil - might be changed. Luther writes that our new life is alien to us. That it’s outside the old “us.” That it’s not a matter of Jesus coming and cleaning us out to use our old shell. But that Jesus comes to kill the old. To make a new creation. To take us away from finding our identity in the law and instead finding it in Christ. Because that is the only “us” where we find freedom and a future. Where we find hope!  

But, this isn’t the end of it. Because, then, this same Jesus sends us back out. We, who have become freed in Christ, now are servants to all. To the clean and the unclean. To the wheat and the chaff. To the sheep and the goats. Because our cleanliness, once again, doesn’t not come from external things. Our cleanliness comes solely through the transforming grace of God. 

"Create in us a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within us." May this be our continuous prayer. Amen.

Preached February 16, 2020, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Epiphany 6
Readings: Mark 7:1-23; Isaiah 1:11-17, Psalm 50:7-23

The Ways of the Kingdom: Hospitality

Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen.” Matthew 22:1-14 (NRSV)

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

Have you ever thrown a party and no one showed up?

That happened to my roommates and I when I was in my 20’s. We’d been rooming together for a couple of years and had developed quite a reputation for throwing parties. I was pretty fortunate to live with my two roommates. One of them was a former bartender, so he was always creating new drinks and, each time we had a party, he would make a new cocktail specific to whatever theme we were using for our party. My other roommate liked to cook, which was awesome. So, he was always in charge of the food and would create these abundant feasts, again, specific to the theme of our particular party. Me? Well, I was good at cleaning. So, since neither one of my roommates were very good at it, this was my job. To clean our house and make it ready for the party. 

One year we decided to throw a party on New Year’s Eve, our first ever! To make it easy for people to come, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about driving home, we invited them to bring their pajamas along. And to join us in one big slumber party and, then, to get up the next morning and prepare a big brunch. It was an awesome plan!

The only problem, though, was that we made this decision just a couple of days before New Year’s Eve. So, by the time we let everyone know, they had already made other plans. We had a few RSVPs from people who said they’d come to our brunch. But, no one confirmed for the party. We were still hopeful though, so we went about getting everything ready.

Then New Year’s Eve came. The house was decorated with streamers and special lights. We had noisemakers and confetti ready for midnight. The food was awesome and abundant. And a special cocktail had been created just for this party. So, we waited. And we waited. And waited. And waited. Until it became very clear that no one was going to show up to our party.

As we sat there, drinking our special cocktail, nursing our pride, we decided that, if no one was going to come, then we were going to, at a minimum, make it look like it had been a ridiculously, crazy fun blowout part so that those coming the next morning for brunch would see the mess and regret not coming the night before. 

So, we broke open bags of confetti and tossed it around the entire house. (I continued to vacuum up confetti for the next several years!) We took all the noisemakers and placed them throughout the house. Then, we created half-eaten plates of food that we left everywhere, along with half-drunk cocktail and champagne glasses, with even a couple of them turned over on their sides. It looked like it had been an amazing party!

When our guests arrived the next morning for brunch, we invited them in. As they walked in and saw the party mess, we mentioned - very casually - what an awesome party it had been and how much fun they'd missed!  When the following New Year’s Eve came around, the word had spread among our friends and acquaintances. We had a packed house! 

This story is a little bit like our story today - where invitations are issued and no one comes. The parable of the great wedding feast.

The king’s son is getting married. So, the king prepares the great wedding feast. In ancient times, it was customary to invite guests to a banquet in two phases. The banquet host first sends messengers to the guests, several days in advance (Unlike us!), to invite them and to tell them to be ready at an appropriate time. 

The second invitation is sent when the feast is prepared; the guests are now to come. In our story, it appears that the first invitation had already been sent. The invitation in today’s parable is the second invitation. It’s the invitation that says the time is now, come and feast!

However, to the king’s dismay (and ours), the first set of guests violates ancient hospitality rules by refusing to come. A refusal of an invitation - of a king’s invitation - is tantamount to a rebellion. So, a third invitation is issued. This invitation is much more descriptive. It’s intended to engage our senses. We can almost smell and taste the food. The beef that has been perfectly roasted. The wide variety of side dishes prepared. The breads. And the desserts. Oh, the desserts! And, don’t forget the drinks. Who could refuse such an invitation?

Yet, they do. Some of them go back to their fields. Others to their businesses. Yet, others seize the king’s servants, attack them brutally, and kill them.

The king is now furious. And he reacts with force. Destroying those who have refused his invitation. Burning their towns.

The wedding banquet, though, is still ready and waiting for guests. So the monarch sends servants into the streets to invite anyone and everyone they can find. Even those whom the monarch doesn’t know. Those who live out in the countryside. Those living on the margins. 

They come. The wedding hall is packed with people, good and bad. The monarch enters the hall and the feast is about ready to begin. But, just then, the monarch spots someone who is not wearing the proper clothing. We wonder, given the last minute invitation, how he could have been expected to have the right garments to wear to the feast. Yet, this is the expectation of the monarch. And, when he sees the guest, improperly clothed, he throws him out. Into the darkness.

My friends, this is Israel’s story. This is the church’s story. This is our story. It is a hard and difficult story. Over and over God sends God’s servants out. First to Israel. Then, to the rest of the world. Over and over. To come. To join in the wedding banquet. To receive God’s abundant forgiveness. To receive God’s extravagant grace.  And to be rejected. To continue to invite. And to be rejected. Again and again and again. Is it any wonder that God shouldn’t be as outraged as the king in our story. Outraged at the rejection of God’s lavish grace? At the rejection of God’s hospitality? At the rejection of God’s abundant love feast? 

But, God doesn’t give up. God continues to invite. And, the banquet hall will become full. Yet, in the midst is someone who, although answering the invitation, is not properly dressed. One who hasn’t put on the clothing of righteousness. One who has been chosen, but who has failed to live this new way of life, this life of discipleship. As Colossians 3:12 puts it, “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. To bear each other in forgiveness and to be clothed in love." God invites us into a life transformed through the body and blood of our Savior, Jesus Christ. 

So, who are you in this story? Where are you in God’s kingdom? In this reign of hospitality of forgiveness? Of grace and love? Have you answered the invitation? If so, are you clothing yourself in righteousness? Are you living into God’s hospitality, receiving God’s forgiveness in the sacraments? Living out God’s grace in a transformed life that others might see you and seek to receive the same hospitality and grace from God?

I pray that you are. I pray that God is transforming your heart to more fully join and experience the party. To drink and to eat deeply of God’s hospitality. To feast at God’s abundant table. To be transformed. Then, to share this gift with those who have yet to be invited. Amen.

Preached March 24, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Third Sunday in Lent
Readings: Matthew 22:1-14, Psalm 45:6-7

Love Changes Us

Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. And the Lord stood beside him and said, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!” And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. He called that place Bethel.  Genesis 28:10-19a (NRSV)

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

The story of Jacob continues this week. You remember Jacob from last week, don’t you? Son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham. Jacob. That trickster. A cheater. The one whose name, literally, translates “heel.” 

Last week, we heard the story of how Jacob tricked his brother Esau out of both the birthright and the blessing to which he, as the oldest son, would have been entitled. The birthright, which would have given Esau double the inheritance of Jacob. And the blessing from God--you remember it, don’t you? The same promise given to both Abraham and Isaac--that God would give them their own land, would make them into a great nation, and would bless them so that they might be a blessing to others.

Both of these--the birthright and the blessing--stolen by Jacob from Esau.

One can only imagine how angry Esau must have been at his brother. In the verses that precede today’s story, we read that Esau said to himself, “When the period of mourning for the death of my father is over, I will kill my brother.” Esau was so angry that he plotted to murder Jacob, his own brother, after the death of their father Isaac.  

Somehow, Rebekah, their mother, got wind of Esau’s plans. And so, she called for Jacob--her youngest and her favorite.  She told him of Esau’s plan. She told him he needed to leave. That he needed to go to Haran--back to Mesopotamia, the land from which Abraham had traveled at the very beginning of all of these stories. Rebekah told Jacob to go to Haran and to live with her brother, Laban, for a short while. For, literally, just a few days. Until Esau’s anger might dissipate and his murderous plans might, perhaps, be set aside.

So Jacob left. Quickly. Leaving his mother and father and his own homeland with his life. He traveled all alone. Vulnerable. Sleeping under the stars at night. Day after day, traveling far, retracing the steps of his grandfather, Abraham. All alone. Running away from his past and what lay behind and forward into his future, uncertain of what would lay before him.

It was on one of these lonely nights under the stars out in the open, perhaps in one of his most vulnerable moments, that God appeared to Jacob in a dream and spoke to him for the first time. Calling himself “Yahweh,” translated “the Lord,” God describes himself as the God of Abraham and Isaac. Notice that God does not call himself the God of Jacob. Not yet.

It is in this dream that God makes himself known to Jacob. This God who has a history with Jacob’s family. Who has made himself known through these relationships. As he speaks, God gives Jacob the same family promise. The one given to Abraham and to Isaac. The promise of land. The promise of offspring. And the promise of blessing. 

And, then, God goes one step further. In verse 15 of our text today, we read God’s additional promise to Jacob: “I am with you and will keep you wherever you go. I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.

“I am with you.” Jacob is the first of many more, including Moses and Joshua, to hear this promise of “God with us.” Emmanuel. God with us. The promise of God’s continuing presence with God’s people.

A promise first given to Jacob, who has cheated his brother. And deceived his father. And who is now running for his life. Do you hear the grace in this promise of God? Do you hear the love? 

Jacob’s reaction to this revelation of God is mixed.

He does acknowledge the holiness of the moment and of the place. This place where he has first experienced God’s presence. He marks it. By setting up a pillar of rock and by naming it. Beth-El. Meaning “the house of God.” The place where he has experienced God in all of God’s fullness. A place of awe. A holy place.

Jacob recognizes this moment of awe and holiness. And, yet, he cannot yet fully seem to grasp the magnitude of God’s love and grace. And so, he bargains and wrestles with God. Just as has bargained and wrestled with everyone in his life so far, Jacob negotiates with God. It doesn’t matter that this god is the God of his ancestors. Jacob will claim him if and only if God protects and prospers him.

“IF God is with me, and IF God protects me, and IF I am able to safely return home, then Yahweh--the Lord--will be my God.” Do you hear the conditions that Jacob is placing upon God? The “if...then” that is part of Jacob’s bargain with God?

How often do we do that? Bargain with God. “God, if you heal me from this disease or this illness, then I will be more faithful.” Or “God, if you save me in this storm, then I promise to put you first in my life.” Oh, the conditions we place upon God. Just. Like. Jacob. 

Perhaps that is why it is so important for us to hear these stories of the patriarchs. Not to hear of their greatness and of their deep faith. But, to hear of their weakness. It's as Luther writes in his commentary on this very chapter in Genesis, “...it pleases me greatly and is saving for us to hear of the weaknesses of the saints, for these examples of weakness are more necessary for us and bring more consolation than the examples of that heroic and very great fortitude, and other virtues.” 

These saints are weak. Just as we are weak.

But, ultimately, this story isn’t about us. Or about what we should do. Or what we shouldn’t do. This story isn’t even really about Jacob..

This story is about God. And about what God has already done. We’ve seen and heard it as we’ve read these stories in Genesis. How God has made and fulfilled promises to Abraham. How God has made and fulfilled promises to Isaac. And, now, how God is making promises to Jacob. Overwhelmingly gracious promises to Jacob. A cheat. A trickster. A heel. At his most vulnerable moment, as he is running away in fear for his life, from troubles of his own making. In the midst of this. God makes promises to Jacob.

We will see in the next two weeks how God fulfills these promises to Jacob. Just as God did with Abraham. And with Isaac.

It is worth noting the effect of God’s promises on Jacob. The effect of God’s graciousness. The effect of God’s love. It changes Jacob. Self-centered, scheming Jacob. 

Twenty years later, Jacob will return home from Haran, accompanied by his family and his flocks and herds. As he prepares to enter Canaan and to meet Esau after all these years, Jacob prays to God. This time, though, he doesn’t bargain with God. He acknowledges his own unworthiness and God’s faithfulness. Even as he reminds God of God’s promises. There is no “if...then” in his prayer twenty years later. There is only a “because...therefore.” “Because you, God, are faithful, because you have made these promises...therefore I am trusting you to help me now.”

The change isn’t Jacob’s doing. The change is God’s doing. Jacob is changed from a shallow and selfish young man into a man who founds a nation and who, on his deathbed, claims the God before whom his ancestors Abraham and Isaac walked and who has been his shepherd all his life. God’s grace has changed Jacob. God’s love has changed Jacob. 

From that moment on in Jacob’s story, God will begin to identify as “The Lord...the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”

Jacob’s story is our story, too. Transformed by the grace of God in Jesus Christ. Transformed by God’s faithfulness. We are changed. By God’s love.

And, we, like Jacob, are claimed by God. The God of Abraham. The God of Isaac. The God of Jacob. The God who has claimed us and who has claimed all people. Everywhere. 

Claimed, changed, saved. For this, we give God our thanks and praise. Amen.

Preached July 23, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
Readings: Genesis 28:10-19a; Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.