Sermon for 10/8/17 Matthew 21:33-46

I’ve thought a lot about fences this week. Weird, I know. I keep thinking about the Robert Frost poem, “Mending Wall.” In it, he wrote “good fences make good neighbors.” I’ve also been thinking about borders and walls, all types of barriers we construct or that are constructed for us. This week has brought us some horrific violence once again. Much like the news reporters, I get so tired of addressing issues like this from the pulpit. And sure, it’d be easy to say “then don’t do it, Pastor.” Well, the fact is, the kingdom of God has been disrupted and hurt. I cannot simply ignore real, tangible pain in the world. For me, that would be like ignoring Christ himself. And it is during times like this that we may be tempted to build fences, either real or metaphorical, to keep ourselves and our loved ones safe. We build fences out of fear, love, knowledge, anger, distrust, and reality among many other things.

So why all this talk about fences? Well, our gospel of course. Among many other things, the gospel story mentions a fence. And here’s the thing. When Jesus tells parables, he’s very specific and the details are for a reason, a purpose. Why did it matter that the vineyard had a fence around it? Why did Jesus include this really important detail? Maybe those hearing this parable wouldn’t have thought anything of it at the time. Maybe to have a fence during Jesus’ time was code for something else. But, as always, there was a method to Jesus’ madness. So let’s talk a little more about this, shall we?

I know many of you have fences on your property. Please hear me from the beginning here, I am not saying that actual fences are a bad thing. Many of you have fences for practical purposes: they keep your livestock where they belong. Without fences there might be more car versus cow accidents. Or maybe you have a fence to keep the critters out of your garden. Perhaps you have a fence to keep the dogs or kids in the yard where you can see them. Or maybe you’re lucky enough to have a pool and you need to have a fence for safety reasons. With the cost of a fence these days, the decision to put one up isn’t one that is willy-nilly. People usually think hard about it and do research before just putting up a fence. I know that a fence is also rarely maintenance free.

But, we also put up metaphorical fences and walls in our lives. We may not realize that is what we are doing because it often gets done in the name of safety and protection. These types of fences are more to keep people out than to keep things in. Maybe this looks like avoiding a certain area of town after dark. Maybe this looks like crossing the street when you see someone on the same sidewalk in the distance that you don’t like the looks of. Maybe this looks like double checking to make sure you still have your wallet or purse when you’re in the company of certain people. These are all metaphorical fences and when we do things like this in the name of safety and protection, the message that we send to other children of God is “I’m safe and okay… you however, need to be judged and vetted before I let you in.”

And the vineyard owner in today’s parable had a fence for whatever reason. But, in the end, the vineyard owner lost some of his slaves because they were murdered. He lost his own son to murder. In addition to that, he lost profit. He originally sent the slaves to collect some of the produce. This was very customary for that time. But the tenants weren’t having any of it. The vineyard owner had lost everything that was possible to lose. A fence didn’t make the difference. All the time and money to keep his investment safe did no good. Much like previous parables, we may want to see ourselves in the role of the landowner, or the slaves, maybe even the landowner’s son. We certainly don’t see ourselves like the tenants.

If we dive a little deeper into this parable, we may discover that this is more allegorical than a parable. The landowner is God. The slaves are the prophets. The landowner’s son is Jesus. The tenants is the established government. The vineyard is the kingdom of God. God trusts us to tend to the kingdom of God. And with the best intentions in our hearts, we build fences. We build fences by just flat out not being church. We build fences when we question someone’s ability to serve God based on gender alone (I get this a lot because I’m female). We build fences when we deny the validity of relationships because they are between two people of the same gender. We build fences when we give each other the “up and down” observing what one another is wearing. We build fences when we turn people away from this table for whatever reason. We build fences in the name of kingdom-keeping when really building fences destroys the kingdom of God.

I mean, if there is any place that should be without barriers, it would be the kingdom of God. We know, or at least I hope we know, that we serve a God who is all about breaking down barriers. And we build them up anyway. What do we think we’re protecting when we build walls in the kingdom of God? Who do we think we’re protecting? Do we really think that we know the kingdom better than God and so we build walls? How self centered are we? Our sin causes us to build walls and barriers in the name of safety, trust, and protection. But here’s the thing. The kingdom of God is open to all. Who are we protecting? God doesn’t need protecting. Which leads me to believe that the only people we’re protecting is ourselves. And when we start to build walls and barriers in the name of religion, we can quickly diminish from religion into cult.

I understand that the world is a scary place. 59 souls are no longer with us after that was confirmed once again this past week in Vegas. It’s tempting, and almost too easy to hold your loved ones close, lock the doors, build walls, keep to yourselves, all in the name of safety, protection, and privacy. But what ultimately keeps us safe is God. Sometimes the people we need protection from is ourselves; only God can do that. When we need the walls around our hearts broken so that we are able to fully experience the love and joy of this world, only God can do that. When we need the courage to break down the barriers that stop us from loving our neighbors and serving the world around us, only God can do that. And when we get weary from breaking down the barriers in this world that God has called us to break down and we need rest, only God can provide that.

Do “good fences make good neighbors?” Maybe. But, I’ve never been able to call on a fence for a cup of sugar or to watch my dog or water my flowers. God designed us to live and be in community. The more we fence ourselves in, the more we rob ourselves of those opportunities. There is a lot of evil in the world. That evil tempts us daily to block out everyone else, even those who wish to love us and help us. And yes, it’s smart to be on guard and be aware. But don’t do it at the cost of making yourself an island. We are called to be keepers of the kingdom, not build a fence around it. What I am proposing this day is what God has called us to do all along: take the risk of opening yourself up to love. Take the risk of loving someone else. Get to know other children of God. Break down walls of suspicion and build bridges of hope instead. Destroy walls of injustice, and help build systems of equality instead. Defeat fences made out of the “isms” of life and build life lines of love instead. This isn’t necessarily hard work, we just keep putting up walls. God will tear those down and show us our next steps.

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Sermon for 9/24/17 Matthew 20:1-16

I was born in 1978. Now, before some of you roll your eyes and call me a kid, I am very well aware of how old or young I am, depending on how you look at it. I am 39. I grew up before there were 200 channels. I knew life before the internet. I still know how to use a card catalogue. I loved Scholastic Book Order day. I spent way too many hours playing a game called “Oregon Trail” where I almost always died of dysentery. But, I am still trying to figure out if it was my generation that ruined trophies for everyone. Is it my generation that demanded trophies for everyone or is it the generation after mine? Trust me, I am sure my generation has been blamed for this at least once. I hear it often after the phrase “you know what’s wrong with people your age…”

But I argue that this idea of giving everyone a trophy started long before my generation. Our Gospel today is a version of the idea that everyone gets a trophy. Maybe you never thought of it like that. And here’s what’s really maddening about this reading today. It’s the way it starts out “…the kingdom of heaven is like…” Wait! What? The kingdom of heaven is like everyone getting a trophy?!? That hardly seems fair. The kingdom of heaven is like everyone getting paid the same amount even though some worked for 12 hours and some worked for 30 minutes. Everyone gets the same reward. Well….that should be enough to make ya mad.

We don’t work like that, right? Even the idea of the “American dream” runs counter-intuitive to that idea. We work hard, we earn money, we are able to achieve all of our dreams. It would be maddening to spend a lifetime working hard, paying taxes, saving, and working our way up the corporate ladder in order to buy the house of our dreams just to move in next door to someone who said “oh my house? It was just given to me.” That kind of thing could lead to anger. Human justice is certainly not the same as God’s justice. And human definition of fairness certainly isn’t the same as God’s definition of fairness.

As much as we want to talk about other generations being or feeling entitled, if we’re really honest, we all can be a little entitled every once in awhile. We prefer justice that benefits us, our families, or our friends. We only claim that things are unfair when we are the victims of the unfair actions or words. We desire to be the beneficiaries of fairness and justice, but everyone else is just out of luck. It is possible that we even, at times, believe that fairness and justice is our right. We deserve justice and fairness. We demand justice and fairness. It’s as if we, at times, believe that justice and fairness are the same as oxygen or water. It’s just given to us, on demand, at all times. But while we’re busy drinking and breathing, people around us are dying of thirst and can’t breathe. Do we notice?

The workers that the landowner hired all wanted to work. They all showed up to work. They all had the ability to work. It’s not like the workers who showed up at the end of the day had spent the majority of the day in bed or avoiding work. It is very likely that the people left to be hired at the end of the day were the people who needed it the most: the disabled, the poor, women, those who wouldn’t be as strong, the blind, and the lame. And the landowner paid them the same as he paid those whom he hired first thing in the morning. His excuse? It’s my money. I’ll do with it as I will. I’ll be honest, if I were one of those workers that had been laboring in the vineyard since before sunrise, I would be angry. I would be whatever it is when someone is more than angry. And then, the landowner has the audacity to ask the workers if they are envious because he is so generous. Envy wasn’t quite the word we were looking for there, Chief.

The kingdom of heaven is like getting what you don’t deserve. The kingdom of heaven is also like watching those you know don’t deserve anything get the same reward as you. My beloved, this is so maddening, isn’t it? Human justice makes sense to us. It is a construct that we have invented. God’s justice makes no sense to us. In a weird way, this is good news. Yes, justice and living in a just world or just kingdom can lead to anger. But anger isn’t the same as mistrust. Just because we may be angry with God does not mean that we don’t trust God. At the same time, justice and living in a just world or just kingdom can also be a relief.

If it is God’s justice and justification that makes us right, then it is not on us to be perfect. It is not on us to attempt to even clean up the mess we made from our own sins. God justifies us. What this means is that it is God who makes us right and whole. Nothing we can do will ever be able to achieve that. God’s justice saves us. When the owner hired the laborers, he agreed to pay them “the usual daily wage.” In that time, a daily wage was enough for one person to buy some bread. It was enough to literally buy daily bread. And isn’t this what we pray every time we pray the Lord’s prayer? God’s justice provides us with daily bread, and nothing more and nothing less. God’s justice also guarantees that we will be equal in God’s kingdom.

Today, we will get a small glimpse of what God’s kingdom is like. There are few places on this earth where we are all equal. But, when we come to the waters of baptism, whether we come as a baby, like Hawk, or we come as adults, we are surrendering to the idea that we will be at the mercy of God’s justice and grace. We are washed clean and reminded that there is nothing we can do to earn our way out of this world. And in death, the other time we are all equal, God’s mercy comes full circle. God’s kingdom is like being claimed by God in the waters of baptism: no matter what your name is, no matter who your parents are, no matter what your bank account says, no matter your skin color, no matter your gender, all get the same name in those waters: justified child of God. God’s kingdom is like a communion table: no matter who you are, when you hold your hands out, you are fed a feast of forgiveness and love. God’s kingdom is like the foot of the cross where everyone is humbled and equal because all are on their knees.

The unfortunate and maddening news today, beloved, is that we don’t get a say in God’s mercy and justice, we just get to be active participants. And the good news and redemptive news today, beloved, is that we don’t get a say in God’s mercy and justice, we just get to be active participants.

Sermon for 9/17/17 John 10:22-30

**nb: This was the 125th anniversary of the congregation I pastor**

A lot of you have noticed that I like to keep my fingernails long. I have had long nails for as long as I can remember. One of the things I do to spoil and treat myself is regular manicures. I recently changed the method of manicure and that has caused a lot of my nails to break. Meh. They’ll grow back. But, it wasn’t until I broke one all the way down to the quick did I realize how much I use my hands on a daily basis. I type, hold Ellen’s hand, pet Sasha, unload the dishwasher, open the mail, hold Chris’ hand…the list could go on and on. Then I thought about what some of you might do with your hands on a daily basis: rock babies, help an elderly parent take their medication, feed your animals, drive a load to ADM, quilt, bake, comfort others, and that list could go on and on as well.

And then I thought about what hands have done in this place through God’s people over the last 125 years. There was the literal moving of this church from over by the cemetery to where we sit now. Then the digging to build the narthex was done by so many of your ancestors. Renovations were done by people with the last names of Petersen and Mommsen to name a few. Many of you have brought your babies to this font to be baptized and held in the hands of pastors who now are part of our communion of saints. So many of you have shaken hands as you greet people gathered for your family confirmation, wedding, or funeral. And of course, so many of your hands helped to renovate the house I am proud to call our home. It’s really amazing to think about how the people of God, acting as God’s hands and feet in this world, have made a difference just in this place.

This passage from John is often used on what is known as “good shepherd” Sunday. This comes from the quote from Jesus in 10:27 “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” I love that idea. It’s comforting to me, and to you, I hope, to think of Jesus as a shepherd. Jesus, the one who guides us, shelters us, and takes care of us. But, what really inspired my thinking this week was the sentence that followed. “I will give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.” Part of me wants to say “do you hear the good news in this? Okay great. Sermon over. Amen…” But I won’t.

Over the last 125 years one thing has remained the same: we have always been in God’s grip. God has a hold of us so very tightly and nothing has ever or will ever change that. It has been God’s hand all along hold us, nudging us, maybe even pushing us towards God’s will for us. God’s hands have been in and among us all along. Through times of great joy and in times of great sorrow, God has had us in the palm of God’s hand. Nothing has ever gotten in the way of that. And if you’ve been around these parts long enough, or have had family members that have been here for a while, you might be able to recall a time when you can say clearly and without a doubt “God’s hands were all over that!” And maybe, yes, there are times when you can recall wondering if God had a clue what was happening in this place.

Perhaps part of the good news for us is that feeling God and being held by God is never on us. What I mean is that God holds on to us, not the other way around. It is never us holding onto God. So, often I picture God holding my hand like a tender parent would but other times, I picture God picking me up by the back of my neck like a disobedient kitten. Even in the times of our disbelief, God still has a hold of us. During the times when we wonder if God is even listening, I think that is when God tightens the grip. And when Jesus says that no one will snatch us out of God’s hand what that really means is that not one person and not one thing can ever take us away from God.

Evil forces have a way of finding us, don’t they. Sometimes we call these evil forces “good intentions” and sometimes they are more appropriately called “sin.” We may not trust that God has a hold of us. We intervene in our human ways that ultimately lead to human error. We may think that we know better than God so even though God is pointing us one way, we look and say “this way seems easier, better, or way more fun!” And we stray. God offers us life and protection and love but instead we turn to power, money, and self interests to comfort us. All of those things ultimately let us down. But no matter what, nothing removes us from God’s hand, not even death. Not an actual death or a metaphorical death can remove us from God’s hand. And remember, from death comes a resurrection and new life and whose hand do you think is doing all of that?

There was a time when every Sunday School room in this church was filled with children and there were months when keeping the lights on was in question. God has been with us every single step of the way. It is only by the grace of God that we have been a cornerstone of this community for 125 years and only by the grace of God that we will continue to do ministry in this area for another 125. What has been the same since the doors of this church opened will continue to be the same until Christ comes again: we gather as the people of God, to hear the Word of God, to feast on the body and blood of God, and then we are sent out to be and show Christ to other people in a hurting world. Nothing has changed that and nothing will. What is comforting about church is that some things never change. What is maddening about church is that some things never change. But through it all, God’s hands have been in, among, and around all of us. What gives me hope and joy this day, my beloved, is that God will continue to move in this place. Long after you and I are gone. Long after stories of us are gone. God’s hands will be guiding this place and God’s people to usher in God’s kingdom to this world.

Sermon for 8/13/17 Matthew 14:22-33

How many of you have ever heard the phrase don’t ask Jesus to guide your feet if you are not willing to move? So, for the record, Peter asked to get out of the boat. And sure, we could blame Peter for being a lot of things: tired, delusional, maybe hungry, whatever. But the fact is, he asked Jesus to call him out of the boat. Peter! If you are not willing to go with Jesus, don’t ask him to move you. And try as we might to shake are headed Peter, we are often guilty of doing the same thing. “Lord! Please, use me! But, on my own time, under my own circumstances, and when I am good and ready.” If you have ever try to negotiate with God, you know how well it turns out. Normally, it doesn’t turn out the way you wanted to. It turns out the way God wants it to. And, as it turns out, it usually is much better than what we had planned. With apologies to those of you who shudder at salty language, I think my sermon this week can be summed up best by one sentence: get out of the damn boat!

Why do we think that discipleship, evangelism, stewardship, and caring for the other is someone else’s job? We are quick to want our children, grandchildren, family members, and loved ones baptized. We often think it is a ticket out. We think it is a ticket out of hell. That is why you may find some grandparents worried about their grandchildren’s salvation. But I am here to tell you, baptism is not a ticket out, but it is a ticket in. In our baptism, our ticket stamped. It is our ticket in to evangelism, stewardship, and discipleship. Once we are baptized into the community of believers, we are then “in” to work for Christ.

And maybe we don’t realize that that is part of what happens of baptism. After all, most of us were baptized as children. We did not have much of a say as to what we were getting ourselves into. But, generations before us have been baptized and survived working for Christ, generations after us will be baptized and survive working for Christ. I think we can handle it as well.

But often, instead of looking at situations as continuing to validate our ticket in, we put up walls, come up with excuses, and sometimes even blatantly ignore Christ. It is a very dangerous thing to ignore God. I have said before that God is the master of hide and seek. You may try and hide from God, but God will find you. When God calls, we often let self doubt, fear, and the shame and stigma serving Christ get in our way. Forgive me for using a dumb example. But, when people were in trouble in the Superman movies, Superman never looked at them and said “you know, as it turns out, this is more of a job for Spiderman.” No, Superman saw a need, and figured out how to solve the situation.

Now, I understand that none of us are Superman, Wonder Woman, or Spiderman for that matter. We can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. We don’t own an invisible jet. We certainly are not able to swing from building to building with ease. But, what we do have is something even better. We have God calling us, the Holy Spirit on our side, and Christ already leading the way.  And maybe it is difficult for you to hear the good news in this gospel today. But here it is for you, my beloved’s. When we ask God to move us, and we step out of the boat, nothing is on us. God already has a plan, God already has a will and a way. And more importantly God has got us. Did you hear that? Jesus reached out to Peter and held onto Peter. God has got us. We need not be afraid of anything. God has got us. Are you hearing me? When we dare step out and take the risk, God has got us.

I often say that God prepares the called. God does not call the prepared. If God is calling you to something daring, or maybe even just something out of your norm, God will prepare you. God has got you. Or, maybe for those of you that are a little younger, maybe you understand this better: “God’s got yo’ back.”

As I prayed about the national events that have taken place in the last 48 hours, it occurred to me that we may not desire to get out of the boat because the boat is comfortable. The boat is where we are surrounded by people who think, act, talk, and look like us. Sure, we may ask Jesus to move us, but when we realize that Jesus is an undocumented man of color, we may start to question his abilities. Part of my call to serve this church, and not just the church local but the church global, is to name sin when I see it. It’s part of being what Luther called “a theologian of the cross.” What happened in the name of “justice” in Charlottesville, Virginia over the last few days is sin. It is white nationalism. It is domestic terrorism. Death occurred. These are people that want to hide behind their skin and long established positions of power. These are radicals. These people, marching with torches, yelling terribly racist things are the community soccer coaches, mail carriers, grocer, and maybe even worse yet, these are people that sit in church pews every Sunday. These are people who refuse to get out of the boat because the boat is comfortable. The boat is filled with people just like them. The boat is safe. Stepping out of the boat is scary, I totally get that. But the boat of white supremacy has been floating in rivers of blood spilled by our siblings of color for too long. I, for one, no longer refuse to be quiet and complacent. My silence has lead to death. I am getting out of the boat. Not because I want to, but because God has called me to wade into the waters. God has got me. I am going to mess up, and get my words wrong, and my actions may be sloppy. But, I can no longer stay silent. I’d rather sink in the rivers of justice than continue to float in my own little boat of white privilege.

As you may recall, last week I gave five of your fellow congregation members $40 a piece. They trusted in God and got out of the boat. They trusted that God had them and was already working through them to show them where those funds needed to go. I am so excited to hear the stories of how God moved this week I’m on the people of God. Who wants to start?

Sermon for 7/23/17 “My Hope is Built on Nothing Less.”

Finally, finally finally! In this fourth week of the sermon series I finally found a hymn writer that feels like a normal human being. Edward Mote wrote today’s hymn focus “My Hope is Built on Nothing Less.” And unlike the other hymn writers we’ve talked about so far, he was an average guy. He wasn’t a genius; he didn’t write thousands of hymns; he doesn’t have a super tragic back story. Edward Mote: solid normal guy. But, he still wrote one of the best loved hymns and so I guess that makes him a little above average. Edward Mote was born in 1797 in England. His parents were people I probably would enjoy hanging out with; they owned a pub. They were working parents before there were such a thing. Because of their work schedules and busy lives keeping up with the business, Edward was often left to his own devices.

In his home, there wasn’t a scriptural or church upbringing of any kind. Edward was even quoted once as saying “so ignorant was I that I did not know that there was a God.” His parents connected him with a local cabinetmaker. And so, he became an apprentice to the senior cabinetmaker. It was the senior cabinetmaker that took Edward to a service with a preacher by the name of John Hyatt; and at age 15, Edward took an interest in Christianity. He spent the majority of his time in cabinet making but tried to stay involved in ministry in various ways. At age 55, Edward finally entered into full time ministry. (This is a wonderful example that you’re never too old.) He became the pastor of a Baptist church where he served for 20 years.

Edward said “One morning it came into my mind as I went to labour, to write a hymn on the ‘Gracious Experience of a Christian.’ As I went up to Holburn I had the chorus…” The story continues that Edward went to see some church members. The wife of a particular couple was very ill. The husband informed Pastor Mote that it was customary in their home to mark Sunday with prayer, Bible reading, and hymn singing. When it was time for the hymn singing, Edward pulled the lyrics out of his pocket and it was there that our hymn was sung for the first time. The verses of the hymn were a comfort to the ill woman and her grieving husband. From that experience, Edward was inspired to write additional verses.

The chorus most likely is inspired by Matthew 7:25-27 “The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell—and great was its fall!” It also could have been inspired by Luke 6:47-49 “I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them. That one is like a man building a house, who dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built.* But the one who hears and does not act is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the river burst against it, immediately it fell, and great was the ruin of that house.’”

This hymn doesn’t mess around at all. Right from the first few words, we get the sense of what the hymn will be about. “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.” If that’s not a bold statement of faith, I don’t know what is. We do attempt to build our hope on other things, though, don’t we? We place our hope in things that cannot and will not ever give life. Hebrews 11:1-3 says “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval.By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.” Or, we could refer to Romans 5: 2b-5 “and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.  And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

But, sin, that tricky evil familiar force, tempts us to place our trust in anything and everything that isn’t Christ. We may call it other things, but at the end of the day, it’s sin. Instead of placing our hope in Christ, we place it in stability in our jobs, in our lives, in our families, and sometimes we even try to place our hope in the stability of our country. But despite calling it stability, it is sinking sand. We place our hope in ourselves (which is always dangerous). We worry about number one or may believe that we are invincible. Then something happens that shakes us to our core and we find that placing hope in ourselves is sinking sand.

We place our hope in our family and friends. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I would hope that you place hope in the ones you love. But, they can’t be the foundation of your hope and faith. Because as much as we love our family and friends, they will, someday, eventually, let us down. And we are reminded once again that those relationships, though fruitful, are still built on sinking sand. There are so many things that surround us daily that we put all of our chips behind, we go “all in” on that particular relationship, job, even material good that we think we can hope in. Eventually, the sinking sand kicks in and we are left disappointed.

God, the source of our life, the source of our hope, the source of our salvation, the source of love, mercy, justice, and peace, will never disappoint us. God is anything but sinking sand. As I said last week, God is always faithful. Even when we try and put our hope into other things, God is always faithful. Now, we may not always understand God’s ways (and I know that can be maddening for some of you). But, we trust that God’s ways are higher than our ways; God’s thoughts are higher than our thoughts (Isaiah 55:8-9).  Even in the moments when we can’t see God or feel God, we “rest on his unchanging grace.” Our anchor is safely secured into God. God has a hold of us and not the other way around. God never lets go.

I’ve spoke of this before, but it needs to be repeated. I think so many of us are hungry for something certain. We desire something we know to be 100% true. In an era of “fake news” we need something that we know, without a doubt, is a certain thing. We need that certainty for the times when we don’t know if anything is certain. We need a solid foundation. And no matter how much we go searching for it, it’s already here. We don’t have to buy it. We don’t have to earn it. We don’t even deserve it. The certainty, of course, is Jesus Christ. “On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.” Christ is our foundation. Christ is what we can be certain of. Christ is the force that will never fail us and never disappoint us. Christ is the force that will never give way to something else. And Christ will never yield to sin. Christ already looked sin in the face and responded with a cross. Build your hope on Christ, brothers and sisters. Everything else is sinking sand.

Sermon for 6/25/17 Matthew 10:24-39

So, what would it take? What would be your bottom line, non-negotiable, end of the line situation that would cause you to just walk away from a friend or family member. What would it take for you to cut ties completely? Some of you, unfortunately, have answered that question already in your lifetime. It’s an uncomfortable question to think about. And maybe you may not be able to answer it until you’re in the thick of a situation. And maybe the answer is different depending on the person you’re dealing with. Is it easier to walk away from a friend than from a child? Probably. What would it take? What if your child was stealing from you to support a drug habit? What if your child was an abusive marriage but refused to leave? What if your spouse was involved in nefarious activities? What would it take? Or maybe it doesn’t have to be that dramatic. Maybe when you finally get the courage to speak truth to a situation it makes it easier to walk away.

See, I think part of what Jesus calls us to do as disciples is to speak the truth. We are called to shine the light of Christ into the dark places of the world. We are called to fight for justice, peace, and mercy. We are the ones that need to point to the cross and say “Jesus didn’t die for this” or “this is exactly what Jesus died for!” But here’s the dangerous part about speaking the truth: it’s not always popular. It’s not always easy. It’s not always fun. It, in fact, could get you killed. We are truth tellers, though, my beloved, this is what Christ has called us to do. But telling the truth isn’t appealing. It’s not something we’re good at, church. It’s not sexy. And, ultimately, telling the truth requires change and, in fact, might bring chaos or crisis.

Jesus is warning his disciples (and us) that as we go out into the world to share his news, to share his message, we aren’t always going to be received well. We’re not going to always be given the hero’s welcome. Because if we’re serious about ushering in God’s kingdom here on earth, we’re going to ruffle some feathers (at the least) and lose friends and family members (at the most). We’re not the gatekeepers of the kingdom of heaven, we’re simply the signs that point the way. At the same time, we are to call attention to those who are yielding power and terror instead of peace. And as difficult as this may be, perhaps we need to start by telling the truth to ourselves.

We have been called by Christ in our baptism. This discipleship stuff isn’t easy. If we’re going to share the good news of Christ, if we’re going to point to God and God’s kingdom, we may need to confess either to one another, to God, even if only to ourselves how we block that from happening. Because, it’s too easy to look at other people and say “they need to be better Christians” without realizing that that the same could be said of us. What might it look like, then, to speak the truth to ourselves. What might our confession to God and one another sound like?

Perhaps we might speak of the way we’ve turned from injustices in the world with the excuse of “I can’t do anything” or “the problem seems so big.” Or, worse yet, maybe we’ve seen what others call “injustice” and instead victim blame. When we see hunger in the world do we point out the injustice of food distribution and cost or do we look at the hungry and say “maybe you shouldn’t have a cell phone then.” When we hear of a gay or lesbian sibling being turned away from the communion table do we welcome them at ours or say “well…if you hadn’t flaunted it…” Or if we’re going to really truth tell then instead of offering prayers and conversation, we take a look at the systematic racism that’s in place that would cause a member of this denomination to walk into a historically black church and kill 9 African American brothers and sisters.

Speaking for what Jesus stood for and what Jesus believed and then admitting you do the same is risky. But the cross has made us truth tellers, my beloveds. And sometimes people don’t like to hear the truth. If you start to truth tell enough, people might distance themselves from you. People may stop calling, texting, unfriend you on Facebook, or even “forget” to invite you to the next family gathering. Truth telling means that you may be seen as a wet blanket and that’s a risk you have to be willing to take. Because following Jesus means taking things like systematic racism, classism, injustice, hunger, poverty, and abuse seriously. And yes, Jesus came to bring peace, but peace doesn’t come out of nowhere. Peace usually comes after conflict.

Truth telling means that we are willing to risk it all, but our reward is great. Our place in Jesus’ family is secure. It doesn’t matter who denies us on this earth, Jesus claims us. But, let’s not get too cocky. We aren’t the Gospel authority. Let’s not get too pious and demand that it’s our way or the highway. As cheesy as it may sound, those bracelets that everyone used to wear back in the day “what would Jesus do” actually is a good question to ask ourselves. Sometimes doing what Jesus would do is really unpopular, really controversial, and maybe, even a little political.

What would Jesus do at the heinous death of our neighbors, the Glasz family? Prayers and lament are good, yes. But perhaps we get angry and contact our elected officials because it’s easier to buy fireworks in this state than it is to find an open bed in a mental health care unit. We could shake our heads at a growing methamphetamine and cocaine issue or advocate for actual drug rehabilitation instead of relying on the prison system to do it. The prison system, which by the way, is a for-profit institution: the more people behind bars, the more money these private companies make. You could be angry that Planned Parenthood and abortions are even an option, or we could have real discussions around rape culture and affordable health care in this country. Because what Jesus would do would ensure that the hungry never go hungry, no matter the cost. And Jesus would make sure that the prisoners know they are valued, even behind bars. And Jesus would flip tables in temples if that meant that we start taking mental health care seriously in this country. And Jesus would work to create communities and cultures where people feel safe and secure and not like they need guns to defend themselves; we’ve got to stop shooting each other, y’all. But Jesus can’t do this alone and that is why we must speak the truth.

We must be the ones that speak the truth to systems of oppression. We must be the ones to speak the truth to historically accepted segregation. We must be the ones to speak truth to sexism. We must be the ones to speak truth even if our voice shakes. Because here’s the thing: if the Gospel we tell isn’t good news to and for the poor, the sick, the old, the disabled, women, people of color, the undocumented, the underemployed, the underinsured, the underfed, the unnoticed, the unpopular, the most forgotten, and anyone who isn’t heterosexual, then it isn’t good news and it’s not the gospel!

What are you willing to risk, my brothers and sisters? What are you willing to lose so that those who need to hear the good news will hear it? What are you willing to sacrifice so that whatever Jesus would have done actually gets done? Are you willing to lose friends? Are you willing to lose family? Are you willing to cross enemy lines and make someone you call an enemy an ally? Are you willing to walk through dark valleys? Are you willing to look death in the face and declare “not today, Satan. Death doesn’t have the last word.” Discipleship isn’t for the faint of heart. Discipleship isn’t easy. Discipleship requires truth telling. I invite you to start that truth telling with yourself: Christ I’m not worthy to be your disciple. Wash me clean, forgive my sins, then equip me to do your work. Remind me that when people abandon me that you never will. Death lives in the darkness. Truth shines a light on the darkness. Be truth tellers, brothers and sisters. Even if your voice shakes, be truth tellers.

Sermon for 5/28 John 17:1-11

I’m not usually one for eavesdropping. In fact, if I find myself doing it, I immediately internally scold myself and move along. But, have you ever eavesdropped and heard something wonderful? What about eavesdropping and hearing something wonderful about yourself? Who doesn’t like a little ego boost now and again? It can feel really good to hear positive things about yourself. Maybe you’ve overheard your spouse singing your praises to someone over the phone. Or perhaps you’ve heard your kids telling other kids about their awesome parents. Maybe you’ve overheard your boss or coworker. Whatever the case may be, there is something lovely about hearing someone speak positively about you.

In today’s Gospel text, we get the chance to eavesdrop on Jesus. And honestly, we’re not even eavesdropping. We’re not even up to anything sneaky. Jesus is praying. And unlike other Gospels where he goes off somewhere by himself and prays, he instead prays at the dinner table right in front of the disciples. He prays out loud so that the disciples, and us, can hear him. By the way, don’t ever ask Jesus to pray at your dinner party. This prayer actually goes on for around 26 verses or so.  This prayer is part of the farewell discourse in John. We’ve spent almost 3 chapters listening to Jesus say goodbye to his disciples and prepare for his death. Maybe it’s appropriate for Jesus to end his time with them in prayer.

How do you feel when someone prays for you? Not when they say they are going to pray for you, but actually prays for you right then and there on the spot? It can be awkward, can’t it? I mean, I pray for people all the time, it’s part of my job description. But to have someone pray for me is not a feeling I am used to. I trust that you all pray for me on your own time. But to pray for me with me, and with me present is a totally different thing. When someone has prayed for me in my presence, the first thing I feel is guilt. I feel like I don’t deserve such a grand gesture. And I have a hard time being in the moment. My mind starts racing and I have a hard time listening to what the other person is saying. Instead, I’m busy thinking “will they want me to pray for them? What will I say? I feel like this is really personal. Should I be letting this person in like this?” Then, before I know it, the person praying says “amen” and I have no clue what has happened.

And maybe the disciples don’t fully understand what is happening either. After all, the son of God, the savior of the world, the one who would die on a cross to take away all of their sins and ours, is praying for the disciples and us….out loud! On the scale of “big deals” this is huge! Jesus could have prayed for a lot of things, himself included, but instead, he lifts up those whom God gave him: the disciples. Jesus prays for the things that concern him the most. The ideas and concepts that take up the most room in his heart, soul, and mind. He lifts up, verbally, that which is most important to him. And so, as he prays, he prays that we all come to know God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Because for Jesus, this isn’t about him. Jesus doesn’t want the focus to be on him, what he has done, or what he is about to endure. Jesus desires for his life to be a light of sorts that shines on God, God’s love and God’s saving and redeeming actions.

Take a moment and think about that. What difference does it make for you personally that Jesus prayed for you? Be selfish for a moment. Don’t think about what difference it made for your family, your co-workers, or even for me. But think about yourself for a moment. Jesus prayed for you. And the amazing thing is (at least for me) is that Jesus didn’t pray for me to repent or leave my sinning ways behind. No, Jesus prayed that I would know God and God’s love through him. For me, that is mind blowing. Next week we will mark Pentecost, a celebration of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church. The church the disciples started and the church we continue to work hard to grow. Because the empty tomb isn’t the end of the story, it’s just the beginning. We have seen and experienced all that God can do through Jesus Christ now it’s our turn to go out into the world sharing these stories, spreading the good news, and reminding people that they are loved. And if we’re going to share that word, perhaps it is best that we are reminded of it ourselves first and foremost.

As Jesus prays for us, he prays for something very interesting. He says “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” And while we may not realize it, this is where this discipleship stuff gets tricky. The first part is pretty humbling: Jesus is praying that God’s protection will be on and over us. Again, pretty amazing. But, the second part of that statement is difficult. Jesus prays that as he and God are of one being, one person, one purpose, that we, their followers, also be one. That means no matter what we call ourselves, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, even just “seeker” that we set those distinctions aside and embrace the only title that matters: beloved children of God. In theory, it sounds easy enough. It’s easy enough until you realize specific denominations got started because those who were supposed to be one couldn’t agree to the point of splintering. You all know that there aren’t denominational sections of heaven, right?

The idea of being one is difficult. It gets even harder when we realize that Jesus is praying for everyone to be one. This means that Jesus is praying for us to be one with those we disagree with, with those who have done us wrong, even for us to be one with those we consider the “other.” Now this idea and this prayer just gets uncomfortable. But remember, Jesus’ main goal with this prayer is that we would all come to know God and the love of God through Jesus. It is impossible for us to know love when we don’t have the ability to look at a sibling in Christ as an ally and not an enemy. So, what do we do? We pray.

We humble ourselves and lay our troubles at the foot of the cross. We admit that what Christ is asking of us is almost impossible if we attempt it by ourselves. So we call on God. We rely on the Holy Spirit. We trust that there is enough of God’s love to go around. We pray for ourselves, our friends, our families, and yes, even our enemies. A strange thing happens when you start to pray for your enemies: the heart starts to soften. It may not happen overnight, but it happens. It is almost impossible to be in a stance of anger and hate when you are on your knees praying. I don’t pretend that this is easy. Jesus knew it wouldn’t be easy. This is why this prayer didn’t have a date, time, or expiration. This is probably a prayer that will continue for quite some time. This kingdom work stuff isn’t for the weak, friends. The work is hard, the pay is terrible, the feedback is usually negative. But, the reward is amazing glory.

I am going to give you a challenge this week. I want you to pray for someone. I want you to pray for someone, out loud, in front of them. Pray that they are reminded of God’s love. Pray that the discord in their lives disappears. Pray that their life in the Lord is strengthened. Pray without expecting prayer in return. Pray like God is listening because God does. Pray like the cross mattered, because it did. Pray like the tomb is just the start of our stories. And then when you are done, come and eat, and pray again.