Called by God: Hope in Deep Suffering

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there.

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill; and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.” --1 Kings 19:1-18 (NRSV)

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

Elijah may have overestimated things. He may have overestimated his response to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. He’d known that the Baal religion was important to them both, especially to Jezebel. So, in his zealousness for God, after he had decidedly defeated the Baal prophets in chapter 18, which just precedes today’s text, Elijah had slaughtered them. Four hundred fifty of them. With it, he had earned the wrath of the Queen, who now sought to kill him. So, now, Elijah was on the run. Yes, Elijah may have overestimated things.

In some ways, though, this may have not been Elijah’s fault. Up to this time, every experience he’d had with God had been powerful. And miraculous. Known as the “troubler of Israel,” Elijah had known the fullness of that power of God. He’d courageously challenged King Ahab, who was leading the people away from God. In the midst of drought he’d been fed miraculously by the ravens at the Wadi Cherith. He’d performed a miracle at the widow’s house in Zarephath, ensuring that he jar had of meal and jug of oil would not run dry before the end of the drought. He’d raised her son from the dead. All of these amazing feats had been possible for Elijah because of the power of God. It’s no surprise then, that when he challenged the powers that be and their religion, that Elijah could have expected God to show up. And to protect him. But, that didn’t happen. And so. Now. Elijah was on the run.

Soon he would be all alone. First in the desert. Then, sitting under a single, solitary broom tree. Where he asked God to let him die. “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” He falls asleep. A messenger from God appears with food and drink. (There’s nothing like a little snack and a nap to make you feel better, is there?) Again, Elijah falls asleep. Then, wakes and eats to prepare for his own wilderness journey. Forty days. By the end he will be at Mount Horeb - also known as Mount Sinai. Again, hiding. In a cave.

It’s there that he finally hears God’s voice. “What are you doing here, Elijah?” the voice asks. Elijah immediately responds, giving us and God a sense of his own sadness. His vulnerability. His humanness. “I have been zealous for you,” he answers. “And now I am all alone. On the run.”

God’s response is to show up. But not in the powerful ways God has shown up before. Not in the power of the wind, breaking the mountain apart. Not in the power of the earthquake. Or in the power of a fire. 

Have you ever felt like Elijah? All alone? Lost and feeling as though God was not present for you. Perhaps it was in the grief after a loss. Perhaps it was in a moment of despair. Or anger. Or frustration. When you felt that no one understood you or had your back, especially God.

Or perhaps it is right now. In the grief and loss of these past nearly two years. Does it feel like God isn’t with us? Isn’t present for us? That all we hear, like Elijah, is silence.

But, it’s in the silence - in the thin quiet - where Elijah experiences God. In the smallest of sound. Perhaps its that way for us, too. In the smallest of responses. The quiet hug from a friend. A loving look from a spouse. A gracious touch from a nurse or caregiver. God is present in these small moments for us. As God was for Elijah.

What’s interesting to me is the end of this story. After Elijah’s final lament, God responds to him. Telling him to go back to work. Because sometimes the only way to move out of a place of grief and despair is to simply put one foot in front of another. To keep going. And trust that God will be with you on the way.

In just a moment, on this All Saints Sunday, we are going to watch a film that remembers the many saints in our lives. And that names the collective grief and loss we have been experiencing for all of the loss of these past two years. Grief and loss that often goes unnamed. The music that underlies this film features words found written after World War 2 on the call of a concentration camp in Cologne, Germany. They speak to hope in the midst of deep suffering. They speak to the hope our faith ancestors had. The hope that we have. Hope in a God who desires life and not death. Who is always working to turn death to resurrection and new life. Even in the silence. 

May we keep going. And may we trust that God will be with us. On the Way. Amen.

Preached November 7, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

All Saints' Sunday

Readings: 1 Kings 19:1-18; John 12:27-28

Called by God: Disrupting the Church

Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon, when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father; for Hiram had always been a friend to David. Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until the Lord put them under the soles of his feet. But now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord my God, as the Lord said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’

Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion. All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month. And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. So they brought up the ark of the Lord, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered. Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread out their wings over the place of the ark, so that the cherubim made a covering above the ark and its poles. The poles were so long that the ends of the poles were seen from the holy place in front of the inner sanctuary; but they could not be seen from outside; they are there to this day. There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites, when they came out of the land of Egypt. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.

Then Solomon said,

    “The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness.
    I have built you an exalted house,
        a place for you to dwell in forever.” --1 Kings 5:1-5, 8:1-13 (NRSV)

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from the Triune God - Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. Amen.

I should have known. I should have known when I received the syllabus for my class at Pittsburgh Seminary last week that it would be a week of disruption. After all, the class entitled Death and Resurrection: Risk as a Faithful Practice of the Church.

As I looked through the syllabus and the plan for each day of the week, my anxiety increased. Each day was in a different location. Each day provided a different and disruptive experience. Each day was an opportunity to see the Church at work in some of the most challenging parts of the city. Each day de-centered whiteness, featuring only the voices of people of color.

But, honestly, it was the plan for the very first day that scared me the most. That felt as though it would be the most disruptive. The plan was that our cohort would participate in a challenging ropes course, 30 feet above the ground.

Now, let’s be honest. I’m not in the best physical shape. And, for my entire life, balance has been an issue for me. Not to mention the vertigo and disequilibrium I experience on a near daily basis. So, the idea that I would be 30 feet above ground, trying to maneuver across high wires, swinging rope ladders, and other ridiculous challenges, terrified me.

So, after we arrived and were dressed in our harnesses, I felt the relief flowing through my body when another member of my cohort made the decision to move down to the lower and less challenging course only 10 feet above ground, which gave me permission to do the same, too.

You might be asking what any of this has anything to do with our text today. It’s not about rope courses. But, about buildings. A building, in fact. The temple. The first temple. Built by King Solomon.

This call of Solomon was not revealed to him by God, but to King David, his father. David was the one who wanted to build the temple. But, God had forbidden him from it. There was too much blood on his hands from all of the wars he had fought.

So, even though Solomon didn’t come to the monarchy through divine intervention, God clearly approved of him, particularly because in a dream he had asked God only for wisdom with which to reign. This pleased God so much that God gave him not only wisdom, but riches, too. Vast riches. Enough to build this grand and beautiful temple that represented the transcendence and immanence of Yahweh. And where Israel’s worship and the twelve tribes of Israel would be unified.

This temple held deep meaning for the Israelite community. It was built on Mount Moriah where, without God’s intervention, Abraham would have sacrificed Isaac. It was built on land where life prevailed. It’s magnificence matched the dedication ceremony - an eight-day celebration that marked its completion. A joyful occasion filled with glorious music, lots of instruments, and singers galore. An offering of 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep - so large that extra space was required. All Israel gathered together in community to celebrate this magnificent building, full and overflowing, our text tells us, with the glory of the Lord! 

Now, we know that, eventually, all of this would fall apart. In time, Israel would split into two nations, the result of years of oppression by Solomon and later kings. Eventually, both of these nations would be destroyed. The temple, too, would be destroyed. Because, in part, Israel would lose sight of who they had been called and shaped and formed to be - God’s beloved people who were blessed to be a blessing.

How different are we from Israel? How different are we from the church in Martin Luther’s day? How quick are we to abandon God to all that distracts us from whom we are called to be? Where we come to church, not to worship God or to be formed to live more fully into our call, but for our own comfort? For our needs, rather than for those in need? Are we living into who God has called us, like Israel, to be - a beloved people of God who are blessed to be a blessing? 

I failed to mention to you at the beginning of my sermon that this ropes course was in a former Catholic church. A church that, like so many other churches past and present, is now closed. Is this happening because the Church is failing to live out its call? (Church with a capital “C”.) Is the Church failing to live into the mission to which God has called it? Is it possible that this is a time of dismantling by God? A time that the church as we know it is being disrupted by the Holy Spirit, perhaps as in 1517? That the church is being disrupted so that God whose presence will not be contained by any building might push us outside our walls, so that we might meet Jesus in the margins of our world?

You and I have been graciously set free in Jesus to be the Church, just as Martin Luther was called in his time and Israel in theirs. May we know and trust as they did that, even in times of reformation, God’s presence will surround us, guiding our way, even when we cannot see what the future will bring. Amen.

Preached October 31, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Day of Reformation

Readings: 1 Kings 5:1-5, 8:1-13; John 2:19-21

Called by God: Hard to Hear

Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Then the Lord said to Samuel, “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”

Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. But Eli called Samuel and said, “Samuel, my son.” He said, “Here I am.” Eli said, “What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, “It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, for the Lord revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the Lord. --1 Samuel 3:1-21 (NRSV)

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

It’s hard to hear God sometimes, isn’t it? Like Samuel, it’s hard to really hear God, isn’t it? We live in a world that is so full of noise, perhaps even more noise now than before the pandemic began. 

There was a time in the middle of these past many months when things quieted down. During the lockdown in the spring of last year. It felt, at least for some of us that things slowed down just a bit. Were a little less hectic. A time when we were just a little less busy. When we, perhaps, even had time to hear one another. I wonder if that’s why George Floyd’s death became such a turning point for us - because we were all listening. And seeing. And horrified by those 9 minutes of video. 

Yet, doesn’t it feel as though we are slipping so easily back into our old ways. Our old patterns. Perhaps even some of the things we vowed never to return to. The appointments that have us running from one thing to the next. Our work lives, or our retirement lives, that seem to be even busier than ever. When all of that time of listening to one another seems to have, once again, just fallen by the wayside.

I’ve been really stressed out this week, can you tell? There are a lot of reasons. It’s always hard to be away - it seems like the work is doubled up before leaving and doubled up on return. Then, to add to it, I signed up for a doctoral program in the midst of the pandemic. I’m wondering now why y’all of you didn’t step in and stop me from this nonsense.

But, honestly, what did we learn from the pandemic? Or did we learn anything from the pandemic? Did we learn anything about slowing down to listen? To ourselves? To one another? To God?

Listening is at the core of our text today in first Samuel - part of what is called the Deuteronomic history of Israel (say that five times fast). Walter Brueggemann describes this history as the story of Israel’s entry into the Promised Land, beginning in Joshua, through to the story of Israel’s loss of the Promised Land, ending in the book of Kings. We’ve taken a big jump from last week’s reading in the wilderness. Israel’s now entered that Promised Land and organized itself as a tribal nation - divided up into the twelve tribes, each governed by their own leadership. Our story today is in a time of transition from this tribal way of life into that of a monarchy, with only one king as leader. The book of Judges, which precedes First Samuel, ends with these words, “In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes.” It’s an ominous foreshadowing for the beginning of today’s reading, which opens with these words: “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” 

Was God’s Word rare because God wasn’t speaking? Or was, perhaps, God’s word rare because people weren’t listening? Because their lives were so filled by the noise of everyday life and busy-ness and other stuff that they simply couldn’t hear?

Eli - the high priest of God’s sacred tent in our story today - knew what God would ask Samuel to tell him. His sons were evil. Taking the temple sacrifice by force. And, depending on the translation, even raping women at the sanctuary door. Their sins were against God in God’s house. When we read this, it’s hard not to think of all of the stories of clergy abuse that have come to light over these past many years. Eli - like so many others in church leadership in our day - Eli knew his sons were evil. He’d been warned to stop them. But had done nothing. He’d closed his ears to God’s Word. His physical blindness mentioned in our story is nothing compared to his spiritual blindness. Eli isn’t listening. He isn’t seeing. And neither is anyone else. 

So it takes three times. Three calls from God to the young boy Samuel before Eli even recognizes what’s up. Before he is ready to hear and to encourage Samuel to listen. Speak Lord, for your servant is listening, Samuel finally says to God.

Are we listening? Are we prepared to hear what God might be calling us to? Not only in our own lives, but in the church and in our broader world? Are we, perhaps, being called into a new way of being - a new way that, like Samuel’s call, isn’t always easy? A new way that may require some hard conversations? Some hard discernment on our part? Some listening in the midst of the noise of our lives?

We have an opportunity in this moment. An opportunity to not return to that old way of life - that way of life, filled with so much noise that it blocks out the very voice and call of God. God is calling us out of the death of our former lives and into a resurrected and new way of life. A life that gives us the space to hear God’s voice and to live out our calling, as individuals regardless of age or experience, and as a church, in this new place and new way of being. A calling that proclaims to the whole world the amazing good news of life gifted to us by God in grace.

May we be open to this new way of life. And, like young Samuel, declare,” Speak Lord. For your servants are listening.” Amen.

Preached October 17, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 21

Readings: 1 Samuel 3:1-21; John 20:21-23

God Provides Blessings: Proofing the Dough

Last week’s story related how God promised to deliver the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. This week, we see the results of that deliverance. We read in Exodus, chapter 16.

The whole Israelite community set out from Elim and came to the Sin desert, which is located between Elim and Sinai. They set out on the fifteenth day of the second month after they had left the land of Egypt. The whole Israelite community complained against Moses and Aaron in the desert. The Israelites said to them, “Oh, how we wish that the Lord had just put us to death while we were still in the land of Egypt. There we could sit by the pots cooking meat and eat our fill of bread. Instead, you’ve brought us out into this desert to starve this whole assembly to death.”

Then the Lord said to Moses, “I’m going to make bread rain down from the sky for you. The people will go out each day and gather just enough for that day. In this way, I’ll test them to see whether or not they follow my Instruction. On the sixth day, when they measure out what they have collected, it will be twice as much as they collected on other days.” So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “This evening you will know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt. And in the morning you will see the Lord’s glorious presence, because your complaints against the Lord have been heard. Who are we? Why blame us?” Moses continued, “The Lord will give you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning because the Lord heard the complaints you made against him. Who are we? Your complaints aren’t against us but against the Lord.”

Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole Israelite community, ‘Come near to the Lord, because he’s heard your complaints.’” As Aaron spoke to the whole Israelite community, they turned to look toward the desert, and just then the glorious presence of the Lord appeared in the cloud.

The Lord spoke to Moses, “I’ve heard the complaints of the Israelites. Tell them, ‘At twilight you will eat meat. And in the morning you will have your fill of bread. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.’”

In the evening a flock of quail flew down and covered the camp. And in the morning there was a layer of dew all around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the desert surface were thin flakes, as thin as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, “What is it?” They didn’t know what it was.

Moses said to them, “This is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat. This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Collect as much of it as each of you can eat, one omer per person. You may collect for the number of people in your household.’” The Israelites did as Moses said, some collecting more, some less. But when they measured it out by the omer, the ones who had collected more had nothing left over, and the ones who had collected less had no shortage. Everyone collected just as much as they could eat.

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

Most of you here know that I like to bake. I come from a long line of bakers. My grandmother was famous for her “kuchen.” My mother was known for a wide variety of baked goods, especially the “stollen” she would bake and give away to friends and family each Christmas. For a time, when I was growing up, each week should would bake 5-6 loaves of bread (mostly because my brother would steal a loaf fresh out of the oven and each it in one sitting). So, at a pretty young age, I would sit and watch my mother as she made bread. Mixing the yeast in water sprinkled with a little sugar, then adding flour and salt and kneading the dough for several minutes until it was smooth and elastic.

It was until really the past few years, as I’ve become obsessed with watching baking programs, that I learned what that process of mixing the yeast with water and sugar was all about. Professional bakers call it “proofing” the yeast. A better word is “proving” the yeast. It’s a test to see if the yeast is good and ready to move onto the next step. 

This is the test that God is giving Israel in today’s story. It’s not a test that they can pass or fail. But a test to see if they - like my mother’s yeast - is ready to move onto the next step. 

So, what’s going on here? Well, last week we heard the story of the call of Moses - this reluctant prophet who really resists God’s call to lead Israel out of slavery in Egypt. They have been part of an economy there. An economy built by the pharaoh, who is all about storing up grain which equates to wealth. To store it, he needs storage facilities. It’s these facilities that the Israelites have been enslaved to build. All for the sake of accumulating wealth for the pharaoh - Egypt’s king. It’s an economy of scarcity - an economy that rests on a premise that there is not enough for everyone. An economy that is about hoarding, getting as much as one can get. Just in case. Remember the toilet paper shortage last year in the early months of the pandemic?

This is the only economy Israel has known. An economy that has enslaved them to build and store up wealth. An economy of scarcity has, at its core, fear and control.

God’s economy is different. God’s economy is an economy of sufficiency. Where there is enough for everyone. Where hoarding and storing up wealth is unnecessary, because God has created enough for all people, including you and me. This economy - God’s economy - is one that has, at its core, faith and trust in the provision of God.

So, six weeks after having witnessed the amazing miracle and show of God’s power at the Red Sea, when God parted the waters so that Israel could cross on dry land. Six weeks later, Israel is now in the wilderness. The provisions they brought with them are beginning to diminish. They are becoming fearful, wondering how they eat in this God-forsaken place. 

The response by Israel - the very human response of this people who are very much like we are - is to complain. “If only we hadn’t left Egypt,” they cry out. “If only we hadn’t left Egypt, we’d be sitting in front of our fire pots, eating meat and bread to our fill.” How quickly they’ve forgotten that they were slaves in Egypt. Enslaved by an economy of scarcity that has been deeply embedded in who they are. So that, rather than face an unknown future, even with the promise of God to be present with them, they would much rather go back to the way it was. Go back to being enslaved. This economy, however harsh and inequitable it might be, has so deeply ingrained itself in their lives and the psyche that, for Israel and, perhaps, for us, it is more desirable than the unknown with God.

Isn’t this our situation, too? We know that our systems need to change. We know that our economic system has led to deep inequities in our nation and our world. That it is an economy of scarcity, where the rich only get richer and the poor, poorer. That this economic system, based on producing more and more and more stuff, has resulted in massive harm to our environment. To God’s creation which only a few weeks ago God called “good.” And placed humankind over it to steward it - to care for it. We know we need to change how we live, how we think - everything about the way in which we exist in this world. I get it. It’s hard for me not to want to store up stuff and money to make sure I have enough for the future. 

It’s not just our economic system. Our entire culture needs to change. The church needs to change.  We can no longer fail to walk the talk. To actually live how we say we should live. 

But, that’s really hard, isn’t it. That really hard, especially when we don’t know what the future will bring. Our fear works on us, just as it did on Israel. Making us want to go back to or to remain in the way things have always been.

But, this is where faith comes in. Bit by bit. Day by day, as we see God’s provision, as we see God’s presence in the mundane things of life, like manna, or our daily bread, we are reminded over and over again that, even though we can’t fully see the reality of what God has in store for us, we do know that God will guide us through this wilderness. That God, in Jesus - that Bread come down from heaven, who like the God of the Hebrew scriptures present in the manna is present for us in this bread - that God, in Jesus will form and shape us, will proof us just as my mother proofed her yeast. So that we might have life. Here and now. And into all eternity. Amen.

Preached October 10, 2021, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.

Pentecost 20

Readings: Exodus 16:1-18, John 6:51

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

God Provides Blessings: When the Story Goes Awry

Over these past few weeks, we’ve begun to hear the story. The story of how our relationship--how all of humanity’s relationship with the living God is a story of blessing upon blessing. We first heard of the blessings of creation and how we are called to create, and to build up and to contribute to our world. Last week, we heard the hard story of Abraham, called by God to sacrifice his own son. Who trusted that God would see God’s promise of land and nation through to fulfillment. And who, in the end, saw that God blessed Abraham with a different sacrifice. Not only for him, but for us, too.  

So, what happens when the story goes awry? How does all of this work when the blessing is stolen? When God gives God’s blessing to someone we perceive as completely unworthy. Or undeserving?

Our story today begins in Genesis, chapter 27.

When Isaac was old and his eyes were so weak that he could no longer see, he called for Esau his older son and said to him, “My son.”

“Here I am,” he answered.

Isaac said, “I am now an old man and don’t know the day of my death. Now then, get your equipment—your quiver and bow—and go out to the open country to hunt some wild game for me. Prepare me the kind of tasty food I like and bring it to me to eat, so that I may give you my blessing before I die.”

As our story opens today, Isaac is now an old man. He and Rebekah, his wife, have been extraordinarily blessed by God with large herds, a number of servants, and much wealth. They are the parents of twin sons, Esau and Jacob. Esau, the oldest, will be entitled to both the birthright and the blessing under their cultural norms. This means that Esau can expect to be quite wealthy upon the death of Isaac--that he can expect to receive two thirds of all of his father’s estate.

But, birthright doesn’t only come with wealth. It also comes with power. Esau will be the leader of his family. His brother, Jacob, and all of Jacob’s family will be expected to respect and honor his wishes, as the oldest son and family patriarch.

Then, there is the blessing. This is more personal for Esau. It is the blessing given by God, first to Abraham, Esau’s grandfather. Then to his father Isaac. The blessing--the promise--that God would make a great nation out of Abraham and his descendants and that God would bless them to be a blessing to others.

With both the family birthright and the promised blessing of God, there is a great future ahead for Esau.

And, then, it all falls apart. We continue in chapter 27.

Then Rebekah took the best clothes of Esau her older son, which she had in the house, and put them on her younger son Jacob. She also covered his hands and the smooth part of his neck with the goatskins. Then she handed to her son Jacob the tasty food and the bread she had made.

He went to his father and said, “My father.”

“Yes, my son,” he answered. “Who is it?”

Jacob said to his father, “I am Esau your firstborn. I have done as you told me. Please sit up and eat some of my game, so that you may give me your blessing.”

Isaac asked his son, “How did you find it so quickly, my son?”

“The Lord your God gave me success,” he replied.

Then Isaac said to Jacob, “Come near so I can touch you, my son, to know whether you really are my son Esau or not.”

Jacob went close to his father Isaac, who touched him and said, “The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau.” He did not recognize him, for his hands were hairy like those of his brother Esau; so he proceeded to bless him.

It all begins with family dysfunction. We get a premonition of this dysfunction at the very beginning of their story, when Esau and Jacob are still in Rebekah’s womb. She experiences a difficult pregnancy. So she turns to God who tells her that the two sons she is carrying will become two nations. That the younger of the two will be the strongest and that the older will be his servant.

Then, in earlier chapters, we also read about how different Esau and Jacob were--physically and temperamentally. Esau was ruddy and handsome, an outdoorsman, a “man’s man.” He was Isaac’s favorite.

Then there’s Jacob. More delicate. With a preference to remain indoors, especially in the kitchen. Perhaps, a  “mama’s boy.” Yet, smarter than Esau, a schemer. And that Jacob was Rebekah’s favorite.

Why does family dysfunction happen? We can already begin to see problems in this family, in the way the sons are treated, in the favoritism shown. But, what if we look at the issue of power in this family? And consider who has the power and how power imbalance in relationships and in families and in communities can often result in back door maneuvers and behind the scenes scheming to get one’s way, especially, when one has no power.

Why does Rebekah scheme and go behind Isaac’s back? In an earlier chapter, she has been told directly by God that Jacob is the one to receive the birthright. This is out of order for this patrilineal and patriarchal world. Perhaps, if Rebekah had experienced the same status as Isaac - perhaps she might have gone to him directly and told him the truth - that Jacob was the one to receive the birthright and the blessing. And not Esau.

But this was not her reality. She would not be heard or taken seriously enough to make Isaac change his mind. And so, her only option was to scheme.

It’s the same issue with Jacob. He knows that he will be at the end of the inheritance chain. That his oldest brother will receive everything and that his future will be in the hands of this brother, who is so unlike him. He, too, lacks power in this family. He, too, schemes and goes along with Rebekah’s plan. 

How often do we see this in our own families? In our communities? In our world? Where those without power feel they have no recourse but to sneak around or to scheme to get what they want which is simply a balance of power. I’ve seen this in my own family and have mentioned before the impact of an imbalance of power between my older brother and sister and the lifelong effects it had on my sister. 

Or consider this week’s news story about the Haitian immigrants at the border, trying to find a way across when the laws say they can’t. And being stopped at the border by our government in a way that brings to mind other images from our history, other times when people simply wanted to be free and equal. But the laws kept them from it. 

Rebekah and Jacob are successful in their subterfuge. With Isaac’s failing eyesight and the deception of his wife and son, we read in our text that Isaac mistakenly gives the blessing to Jacob. A blessing that can’t be taken back. A blessing that should have gone to Esau. Who, when he hears of this, is outraged and plots to kill Jacob. His brother. Who is now on the run.

Our story concludes in chapter 28.

Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Harran. When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

Jacob finds himself on the run, alone, in the wilderness. Our story says he came to “a certain place.” The original Hebrew reads that Jacob came to “the place.” There’s a definite article here. To the place. The setting of last week’s story, where the near sacrifice of Isaac happened. Also the place where Solomon would eventually build the temple - the highest place in what will become Jerusalem. 

Jacob does not know this. All he knows is that he’s tired. Tired of running. Tired of being alone without family or friends. In a desolate place. By himself. With a stone for a pillow.

He dreams a wild dream. A vision of a stairway that stretches from earth to heaven. These stairways in ancient times were considered the thin places between heaven and earth. Close to the dwelling places of the gods. Traversed by priests who would go back and forth to provide communication from the gods to the people. 

But here, at the top of the stairway, God stands and speaks directly to Jacob. Words of promise. The same promise spoken to Abraham, Jacob’s grandfather: of land and people and blessing. But, perhaps, more importantly, is God’s promise of presence. That, even in the midst of the challenges of Jacob’s life, God will be present with him. 

That’s our promise, too. Whether we are the ones with power or without it, God promises to be present for us. To be with us. At work. Reconciling us with each other and with all creation through Jesus, the incarnate One sent into the midst of our sin and dysfunction. To bind us together with earth and heaven. To make us one.

Like Jacob, we say, “How awesome is this place!” And add, “How awesome is this God!” Amen. 

Preached September 26, 2021, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, and Third Lutheran, Louisville.
Pentecost 18

Readings: Genesis 27:1-4, 15-23; 28:10-17; John 1:50-51

God Provides Blessings: Heart of a Parent

The Lord was attentive to Sarah just as he had said, and the Lord carried out just what he had promised her. She became pregnant and gave birth to a son for Abraham when he was old, at the very time God had told him. Abraham named his son—the one Sarah bore him—Isaac.

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

Abraham answered, “I’m here.”

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

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

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

Abraham said, “I’m here, my son.”

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

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

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

Abraham said, “I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God! Amen.

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

17th Sunday after Pentecost

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