Exultet

Reflections on Luke 16:1-13 for Pentecost 17C

2010-09-17T16:03:00.002-04:00

If you ask an adolescent boy for his favorite Bible passage, be prepared for something outlandish. Like the one a young man offered to a pastor I know (Proverbs 26:11 “Like a dog that returns to its vomit is a fool that returns to his folly.”)—and this as his confirmation verse! While this verse and others like it may not be the most helpful for proclamation during worship, one who reads the Bible ought to be prepared for (sometimes unpleasant) surprises.

After all, for Christians, the Bible is ultimately a book which interprets us. Remember that “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Heb. 4:12). For us who hear the Holy Spirit speaking to us in the scriptures, reading the Bible is risky!

However, even the most experienced risk-takers among the ranks of the baptized were likely not expecting what Jesus dishes out in the gospel lesson this week (Lk. 16:1-13). It shocks us to hear Jesus extolling the virtues of a swindling manager to his disciples. To my knowledge, there are no stained-glass windows depicting this story of a man who cheats on his balance ledger in order to get ahead. Maybe that’s a good thing—after all, the familiarity that most of us have with the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son have taken some of the shock out of these parables. Not so with this story!

The first clue to understanding this parable is its context—Jesus has been dining with sinners and exhorting his fellow Jewish teachers to welcome the lame, the poor and the outcast. To drive home his point, the Lord tells a story about a lost sheep and a lost coin, and then tells the story of the Prodigal Son. The parable of the dishonest manager follows immediately afterwards. All of these stories have to do with the unexpected operations of God’s grace in the world. The losers are invited to the banquet. Family protocols are loosened by the urgency of the Kingdom. Our economic proprieties are upended by the Good News.

The shrewd manager in Jesus’ parable is commended for slashing the debts owed to his master. Is there something that we can learn about grace from this story? In some sense, Jesus is like this manager, slashing the burdensome debts that we ourselves owe to God. After all, even in scripture’s most minimal accounts of what God requires of us (say, Micah 6:8 “…love justice, do kindness and walk humbly with your God.”) we fall far short. But Jesus the discount salseperson has come and cut our debt in a radical way.

We are commended to do the same thing. Unfortunately, says Jesus, the marketers of the world are much wiser in these matters than we are. I’m the last one in the world that would advocate slick promotions for Christianity, and I firmly believe that the consumer-oriented faith that afflicts North America is a curse and not a blessing. However, why aren’t we as urgent about proclaiming God forgiveness of debt—His jubilee—to our neighbors as the used-car salsepeople are about their mega-deals?

Our faith in Jesus, and our thanksgiving for freedom from the debts we owe to God are good news! Are we doing everything in our power to pass the God’s cut-rate offer on to our neighbors? I really wonder about that.

Reflections on Exodus 32:7-14 for Pentecost 16C

2010-09-10T15:08:00.001-04:00

Have you ever seen the film The Village? Directed by M. Night Shyamalan, it’s a kind of parable about a virtual police state, in which people are kept within certain limits by terrifying creatures referred to by the leaders of the town as “those we do not speak of.” I won’t give anything away, but there are some surprises at the end of the movie that call into question the morality of imposing certain limits. Or, you might say, that certain means of imposing limits are critiqued.

In the Old Testament lesson that the lectionary assigns for this week, Exodus 32:7-14, we hear about the people of Israel stepping out of line. Moses, their often-exasperated leader, has lingered upon Mount Sinai to commune with the Lord and to receive the Ten Commandments. While he is delayed, the people of Israel clamor for other sources of authority. They ask Aaron to fashion for them gods “who shall go before us” (Ex. 32:1).

It seems that in the absence of Moses, they are looking for a source of authority and guidance. And, of course, we all need sources of authority and guidance so that we might find our way in the world. Or do we?

The modern age has been one of rebellion from all sources of authority, except the sovereign self. I’ve always rather liked William Golding’s classic novel The Lord of the Flies, as a picture of what happens when the modern flight from authority wins the day. It’s the story of a plane carrying private school boys that crashes on a remote island. (If that sounds a bit like the plot of the recent TV show Lost, you’d be surprised just how much the show borrowed from this novel.) Without any authority to guide them, the boys descend into brutality.

Like the boys of Golding’s novel, the people of Israel—and we, too—need the authority of the Lord to offer us wise guidance. To shepherd us along dangerous pathways. To lead us through danger. To help us to flourish and reach safely the destination for which we were created.

We must see, though, that God’s authority is not simply arbitrary. The Lord isn’t in the business of laying down laws just for the heck of it. Rather, the Lord created us as particular kinds of creatures who flourish along certain paths. When we depart from those paths, we really end up bringing about our own destruction.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the famous Russian survivor of the Soviet gulags, points out this very thing. In the prison camps, he witnessed a kind of dawning awareness in himself, and among some of his peers, that they would have to live in certain ways if they were to survive and to flourish. Solzhenitsyn once said that as a child he heard certain elderly people attributing the cause of Russia’s great suffering to the people’s forgetfulness of God. He dismissed this as naïveté at the time. However, after reading hundreds of books and reviewing thousands of personal testimonies, if he had to concisely state the cause of the nearly 60 million people who died because of the vicious policies of the Soviet State, he would say “because the people have forgotten God.”

The people of Israel forgot God in our lesson from Exodus. But because of His great mercy, the Lord rescued the people from the consequences of their sins. For the sake of His own reputation (“why should the Egyptians say… ‘ [The Lord] brought [Israel] out to kill them…’”), but above all, to remain true to His loving promise to Abraham, the Lord renewed His promise to Israel.

Like Israel, we test the limits that the Lord has set for our own benefit. Like many before us and around us, we Christians often forget God. As we make our plans for the future. As we live out our daily vocations as doctors, mechanics, politicians, mothers, fathers and cooks. As we neglect the poor and homeless. Yet the good news is that the Lord offers to renew His promise to us. To lead us once again along the paths that will cause us to flourish. To “create in [us] a clean heart,” and to “renew a right spirit within” us (Psalm 51:10).

Unlike the frightened characters of The Village, we need not worry so much about “those we do not speak of.” Rather, we need to worry about our own predilections that lead us so far astray of the paths God has set us upon. We need to worry about our tendency to forget God. Thanks to His great mercy, we have many signs to jolt our memories awake—the scriptures, the sacraments, and the people whom God has claimed for Himself, and within whose midst we are set to walk the way toward fulfillment.

Reflections on Luke 14:25-33 for Pentecost 15C

2010-09-02T10:35:00.000-04:00

When I was in college, it was all the rage to play the rock album Dark Side of the Moon by the band Pink Floyd, while watching a video tape of the 1930s film The Wizard of Oz (with the film’s original soundtrack muted). The overlaps between the words and themes and tempos of the album, and the images of the film, were startling. Dorothy appears to walk and dance in exact time with one of the songs. The Scarecrow falls off of his post and rolls hysterically onto a green lawn, just as Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour sings “the lunatic is on the grass.”

The members of Pink Floyd have insisted that any overlaps between The Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon are completely by chance. They say that such an occurrence is the result of “synchronicity,” the idea that two or more things that are unrelated in terms of cause, link together in their effect upon a person or situation. I’m sure that all of us have experienced such a thing—a person telling us that they were inexplicably moved to pray for us at just the moment we entered into danger, stumbling upon a poem that uncannily speaks to the situation of our current life.

Christian theology has a name for such occurrences. Followers of Jesus believe that everything that happens in the universe is either caused or allowed to happen by God. What’s more is that the good that God causes to happen and the evil God (inexplicably) allows to take place somehow ties into God’s ultimate purpose for the universe. Note: this is not saying that God makes bad things happen, but that when they do happen, He is powerful enough to bring good out of those things, even if we do not see it.

My personal experience lately has led me to a deeper conviction concerning divine providence in my own life. Some bad things have happened to me in the past year, namely a divorce and, in another week, my resignation (for reasons related to our congregation’s financial difficulties) from ministry at Epiphany Lutheran Church.

I do not think that God is responsible for these things. However, I do believe that, for hidden and mysterious reasons, God has allowed them. Furthermore, my belief in divine providence leads me to believe that He is bringing good out of them. I am presented with new and exciting opportunities for new life. I have been blessed with greater spiritual maturity because of adversity. I even think that I have grown in my ability to minister to people who themselves face the same crises I have dealt with. For all of this, I am grateful to God.

If God is in control, supplying me with good and bringing good out of ill, am I to sit back and let the world unspool before me? Am I to take it easy and drift along? Hardly. As cool a concept as “synchronicity” might be, it’s no way to order our lives.

In fact, Jesus tells us in the gospel lesson assigned by the lectionary for this week (Luke 14:25-33), that choice is an enormously important part of our spiritual life. Like a wise king who consults his best strategists, we are called upon to map out our lives accordingly if we choose to follow Jesus. Being a disciple will require some difficult choices, and they will be neither cheap nor easy.

When I was in college, I met some people who were perfume testers; that’s right, they got paid to sniff and judge the relative merits of different scents. And they were paid fairly well for such work, too. But by saying “yes” to this line of work, they had to say “no” to such things as eating spicy food, smoking, and drinking soda. In the same way, if we invite one friend over for dinner, it logically precludes other obligations for the evening.

In a similar way, following Jesus will involve saying “yes” to certain ways of life and saying “no” to other ways of life. For example, following Jesus means saying “yes” to certain kinds of work which benefit our neighbors and our communities, and saying “no” to ways of earning a living which may hurt or take advantage of our neighbors. Jesus calls on us to sit down with our budgets so that the way we spend money reflects his Lordship in our lives. Above all, when we are faced with challenges and opportunities, we are called upon to wisely seek to walk down the path that brings God the most glory.

That being said, Jesus will not force the cross on anybody. Rather, he asks his faithful disciples to share its weight with him. He promises to walk with us every step of the way, shaping us into the people he would have us be, bringing good out of ill. Many voices tried to lure Jesus away from his path toward the cross, and in a similar way, many voices will attempt to lure us from our own paths. Jesus asks us to single-mindedly walk alongside him, bearing the cross, come what will. To say “yes” to discipleship and “no” to the ways of the world that call us away from him.

To be sure, mysterious sychronicities will still be part of our daily lives. Divine providence will guide the world no matter which choices we make. However, God made us as creatures who have the peculiar ability to choose. Therefore, it’s totally fitting that Jesus reaches out to us with a particular kind of choice. He calls us to choose to follow him. Or not.

If we do so choose to follow Jesus, we will need to get out our roadmaps and chart a course behind him, avoiding the traffic that will slow us down, routing our paths around the pitfalls and dangerous areas, bearing steadily in the direction that will lead us to our ultimate destination: home.

Sermon on Luke 15:1-3,11b-32 For Lent 4C (with thanks to Pr. Samuel Zumwalt, from whom I borrowed the idea)

2010-03-19T09:30:00.004-04:00

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who calls His people to be reconciled. Amen.

Now in the twilight years of his life, the old man lay on his bed in the dim lamplight, rehearsing the last few years. Replaying his life again and again, straining to search his memory’s dim corners, lest he lose forever something important.

There was his marriage—a good one, and fruitful, too. There were his two boys, who were truly amazing people, both utterly gifted, and utterly different. He had taught them to pray, instructed them in the Torah, helped them to tie the phylacteries each morning, the prayer boxes, to their arms and their foreheads, pulling the shawls over their heads before intoning “Baruk attah, adonai elohanu, melek ha olam. / Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe….”

There were the years of hard work—rising at dawn to till the land and tend to the animals. There were rows to plow, the vineyard to work, the cattle to tend to. Each dusk left him weary, but fulfilled. There were the dry years, to be sure. But there was always enough. The Lord had blessed him with a rich, abundant life. He was truly thankful for what he had been given.

Then came the shock of his life. His youngest son, one he’d raised, one he loved dearly, came to him and asked for his inheritance. The shame this stirred up in the father was intense. His land would be parceled out, the family feuds begun; there would be the inevitable questions from the neighbors. The son’s question came like a slap in the face. “I want what is yours, father. I wish that you were dead so that I could have what’s coming my way.” The father remembered the words of the rabbi—“three men cry out and will never be answered: the one who lends money without witnesses, the one who becomes a slave, and the one who grants an inheritance to his son before dying.” Yet, out of great love, trembling and tearful, the father granted his son his share in the land.

His son sold the land quickly enough, and disappeared. “As good as dead,” the neighbors said. The father quietly endured the questions and the taunts. He faced the daily shame, and called out to God for help. He lay awake at night, watching the lamplight send dark shadows over the wall, he questioned in his heart: “where did I go wrong?”

Each evening, he stood, hand shielding his eyes from the setting sun, scanning the dusty horizon, hoping against hope that he might catch a glimpse of his beloved child.

Then the unbelievable happened. Looking out over the distant fields one evening, he saw a figure approaching. “It’s him,” he thought. “I can’t make him out fully, but that hair, that gait, I know that it’s him.” He knew what the sages said: “great men never run in public,” but he didn’t care. He cut across the yard, hitched up his robes and let them flutter in his wake. He ran to his son and threw his arms around his boy.

“Father, I’ve squandered your inheritance….I am not worthy to be called a son…I deserve nothing but servanthood in your house…” The neighbors would have said as much—and even more, truth be told. They would have called out the whole community, smashed an earthen jar full of useless burnt corn, shouted the son’s name and declared him cut off forever from his people. This good-for-nothing son had brought shame on everybody not just for dragging the family name through the mud, but, even worse, shaming his people before the gentiles.

Still, the father called out “Bring my best robe! Bring my prized ring! Prepare the best veal and let the feast begin! My son has come back to life and we will rejoice!” His son’s return gave him joy enough to ignore the scandal that was sure to follow.

As the feast got underway, as the wine flowed and the music and dancing got raucous, the father noticed a conspicuous absence. Searching the house and failing to notice his son, he walked out into the yard. There, glowering just outside the lamplight, was his other boy. “How dare you feast for that traitor,” the older son shouted. “It’s an insult to all of us, but especially me! I’ve never turned away from you or brought you shame, and you never once even cooked a nice meal for me. Now this no-account comes traipsing home and you put on a banquet.”

Speechless, the father could only reply, “My son, all that I have is yours. We feast because your brother has returned to life from death. Though he was lost, he’s now been found.” The father stood in the lawn with his son, on the edge of darkness and light, in the shadows, watching the party from a distance, not knowing what move to make next.

“Gracious Father,” he prayed silently, “forgive any failings I may have had as a parent, and reconcile my people once again.”

And God the Father answered him, “I am more like you than you know. For I love all my sons and daughters. I grieve for those who go away from me, and I anxiously await them. And my heart is heavy for those close to me who neither share my pain for the wayward, nor feast with me when they return home. I am more like you than you know. For my Son, too, ventured into a far country and was crucified for sinners like you. Yet what kind of welcome does he receive?”

+ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

2010-03-18T09:46:00.001-04:00

The Christian Church lost a true saint this past week. Mrs. Virginia Overman Greene, longtime resident of Boone, North Carolina and member of Grace Lutheran Church, died. When I served at Grace as a Vicar, or seminary intern, for a year, Virginia was one of the older members of the congregation whom I regularly visited. She was an engaging, intelligent woman. The first time I visited her, she was practicing math problems and trying to reacquaint herself with the French that she’d taken in college. “I’ve been told it will help my memory,” she said. Never lacking in determination or grace, Virginia was well-mannered and kind.

Though her life wasn’t filled with the exotic locales of a world traveler, it was still remarkable all the same. Though a convert to Lutheranism, she never scorned her Baptist upbringing, and brought the reverence for the Bible that she learned in her childhood to bear on her Lutheran life. She started a Sunday school class at Grace in 1957—a class that is still active today. She spent 45 years as an educator, not just teaching children facts, but offering them formation, morally, spiritually, intellectually. She and her late husband had a family of their own, but that did not cause them any hesitation in adopting another child who was in need.

Toward the end of her life, Virginia became almost totally debilitated. She was not totally cognizant of her surroundings. She was largely non-responsive. Her once bright and energetic intelligence had faded.

In the March issue of The Atlantic Monthly, I read a chilling article (titled “Death Becomes Him”) about a man in Switzerland, trained as a physician, who now offers willing patients an opportunity to commit suicide with his assistance. As I read this story, I couldn’t help but think of the many dying people I’ve been privileged to minister to over the past few years. Many of them have known pain that words simply cannot touch. Some have lost their capacity to reason, or to perform normal bodily functions. Have any of them possessed a “right to die,” and, assuming they might have, should they have exercised it?

As I understand it, the argument in favor of “assisted suicide” goes like this: compassionate physicians have a burden to eliminate suffering as much as possible, and people ought to have the right to choose the elimination of such suffering, even if it means dying.

For Christians, such notions are deeply problematic. First of all, the life that I have is not really mine. It’s a gift from God, the creator of all things; the psalmist writes that “[The Lord] knit me together in my mother’s womb…I am fearfully and wonderfully made” Psalm 139:13-14). Furthermore, our self-determination, our ability to decide, is not the ultimate measure of life’s meaning. Our dependence upon God and upon His grace is what gives life its meaning.

I worry that the arguments in favor of “assisted suicide” will eventually be extended to people who suffer greatly, but have no capacity to decide for themselves whether they would like to die or not. Thus, the developmentally disabled, the elderly who are incapacitated, among others, would be eligible candidates for death. After all, once we reckon the elimination of suffering as the highest good, what’s to stop us from extending that “good” to everybody?

Christians know that they have no such authority over others’ lives.

Our calling, then, is not to eliminate suffering, but to offer as much care as possible to those who suffer. We walk, pray, watch, and wait with those who suffer, not abandoning either to their pain, nor to the darkness of premature death. We share their burdens as much as we are able. We wait upon the Lord to eliminate all suffering—which he has promised to do on the last day when he will wipe away all tears (Rev. 21:4).

In the meantime, we can take comfort in the same Lord, who knows what it means to suffer. In the garden of Gethsemane, we can see that thought Jesus shrunk from the suffering that was to come, he accepted it as part of his mission. Though the suffering that comes upon us and those we care for is an evil, God, in His almighty love, has promised to bring good from it (Rom. 8:28-39). It is not our task to eliminate all our sufferings, but to care for those who do suffer, and to remain faithful in the midst of suffering.

I know that Virginia Greene, her family, and her church family, were faithful through her sufferings. I am confident that she bore her life with as much poise as she could muster until the end. Even when she became incapacitated, her life was precious. Though her body was gradually failing her, that body was created by God and is sacred. It has a destiny in God, who will raise it on the last day.

A timely quote from the late Avery Cardinal Dulles

2009-10-23T11:26:00.003-04:00

"The sense of the faithful should be carefully distinguished from public opinion in the Church, which is not a theological source attributable to the Holy Spirit, but merely a sociological fact. Public opinion may be correct, but it often reflects the tendencies of our fallen human nature, the trends of the times, and the pressures of the public media" (45, Magisterium: Teacher and Guardian of the Faith).

Mark 10:35-45

2009-10-23T11:21:00.003-04:00

The motto of Berry College, my beloved alma mater, is “not to be served but to serve.” In tiny print, on a stylized scroll unfolding at the bottom of the college seal that emblazoned the official letterhead that tiny verse passed across my vision many times. However, it wasn’t until years later—in seminary, I think—when I realized that that motto came straight from the words of Jesus, which are recorded in our gospel lesson from Mark this week.

In some ways, it seems to be a rather innocuous motto for a private liberal arts college that tends to downplay the religious life on campus. As the non-practicing, marginal Christian that I was in college, I could certainly affirm that motto. Who the heck doesn’t want to subscribe to service to others? Only cultural philistines and arrogant jerks! Whatever our shortcomings, we want to at least pay lip service to serving others.

As people who, for the most part, are pretty accommodated to modern secular culture, with lots of disposable income, we have opportunities to spend our time and money on things that people tell us is good for the environment or will benefit people who are suffering from poverty. Don’t get me wrong—“fair trade” and organic products are probably worthy purchases, and I certainly think that service trips to impoverished places are wonderful opportunities for using (and reaping!) the gifts of God. However, the forms of service in which the world attempts to engage us fall far short of the gifts that God has for us.

When we put my college’s alma mater back into its original context in Mark 10:35-45, we get a stark reminder of what—or, whom, rather—defines true service. The Son of Man—the one who most truly represents humanity before God—is the one who serves rather than being served. Jesus, the Son of Man, through his holy life and service, exposes our sinful inclination to master and use other people for our own benefit. Too often, we mask this inclination. We justify the power schemes we’re caught up in with subtlety and sophistication. (Just think of all the brick-layers and electricians and bureaucrats that helped to build the Nazi concentration camps, turning a blind eye to what was really happening. Do you think we’re immune from such temptations?) Jesus sternly warns us of the dangers in the search for power—even seemingly good power.

When we put my college’s alma mater back into its original context in Mark, we see what—or whom—frees us from these temptations. The Son of Man—the person who best lives out the life God intends for all of us—gives his life as a ransom for many. A better translation here for “ransom” (which we associate with hostages) might be “the price for the manumission (release) of slaves.” Jesus frees us from slavery to our sinful inclinations and the fallenness of the world.
But wait! Notice that while Jesus pays with his life the price for our freedom, calls us at the same time, in Mk 10:44, “to be slaves of all.” It might help to know that in the ancient world, when somebody paid the price of release for a slave, they were really just taking the slave into their own household. So then, are disciples of Jesus just brought from one form of bondage to another! How can that be good!

Well, it’s good because, in the words of Bob Dylan, we all have to serve somebody. Slaves, servants, workers who belong to the Lord, find themselves in quite a privileged position, actually (we see much the same idea at play in the book of Philemon). They share in all the gifts of God, and are elevated to an enormously high status—“first,” “great.” Jesus, of course, exemplifies such service. Jesus models such slavery. Though him, we too are able to live lives like his.

We are able to live lives that are ordered toward Christ-like self-giving. That isn’t just a change in some of our habits. Jesus doesn’t just enable us to be nice and to do nice things. Rather, Jesus brings us into the household of God through the total offering of his life! It is this total offering of his own life—from his miraculous birth, to his teaching & healing, to his freely chosen death—that enables us to live as transformed people. In the waters of baptism, our old selves were drowned, and we become what St. Paul calls “a new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17).

Whew! That’s a tall order, and kind of scary. Nobody at Berry College told me that the kind of service exemplified in the original context of their motto meant death to my old self, and
slavery to the Lord. (I guess that wouldn’t make for a really catchy brochure now, would it?) In all fairness to the fine folks there, though, I really wasn’t listening. As we stand before Jesus today, as we encounter his word to us here in Mark’s gospel, let’s listen closely. It’s through such attentiveness to the Word that our lives will be truly transformed.

Through attention to scripture and sacraments, through immersion in the life of the Church, you and I, like the words of my college’s motto, will be set into a new and larger context. Through attention to scripture, through participating in the sacraments, we will grow to understand Jesus and his wonderful purposes for us more deeply. We will learn both what it means to be served (by Jesus), which is what enables us to truly serve.

Saint Michael and All Angels

2009-10-04T20:52:00.001-04:00

This past Wednesday, the Church commemorated St. Michael & All Angels. I took the opportunity to set aside the lectionary texts this week, so that I could reflect a little bit on angels.

Though they never take center stage, angels play an important part in scripture. Angelic messengers bear good news to Abraham: he and Sarah will bear a miraculous child (Gen 18). Angels play a major role in the vision of Daniel, ushering in a new age on earth (Dan. 12). Who could forget the angelic messenger who bears “glad tidings of great joy” about Jesus’ birth (Luke 2). In a resonant echo of Daniel, the book of Revelation shows us angels working to bring God’s final peace to fruition (see especially Rev. 7 and 12).
Angels, wherever they show up, bring good news from God. In fact, the Greek word a‡ggelon (angelon) literally means, “messenger.” Yet, more than just serving as heavenly couriers, angels also serve as magnificent bearers of God’s glory. They seem to inspire a great deal of awe & fear in those to whom they speak—notice that the most common greeting we hear from angels in scripture is “Don’t be afraid!” Above all, though, angels set into motion God’s transformation and renewal. The story about Gabriel’s visit to Mary is a good example. An angel comes to this young, frightened woman in order to initiate Israel’s wonderful redemption.
Unfortunately angels in our day have become an objects of kitsch: sentimental TV shows that have little to do with the Triune God and His mission to the world, precious figurines that warm our hearts rather than inspiring holy fear. I think that it’s partially in response to this phenomenon that many are turned off by the idea of angels.
However, many of us find it difficult to conceive of angels (or demons, or any other kind of spiritual creature that scripture mentions) in an age that’s so single-mindedly focused on material reality: if we can’t see it and touch it and analyze it, it must not be real.
I don’t think that people unsure about angels (“angelic agnostics”?) are necessarily denying something absolutely essential to the Christian faith. However, we do confess, in the Nicene Creed, “I believe in God the Father, maker of heaven and earth, of all things seen and unseen.” God’s creation is immense, and includes a whole lot more than what we can see and analyze. Our five senses can’t nail down all that God is up to in the universe.
What’s more is that the inspired writers of the scriptures seem to make much of the role of angels and demons. They tell us that we humans are part of a drama much bigger than we usually are able to realize! Like reading novel whose genius author always surprises us with her exciting and unexpected plot-twists, acknowledging the reality of angels is really just a way of saying that God’s fantastic imagination has created more sub-plots and dramatic turns than we can fully comprehend.
Ultimately, Christian talk about angels is centered upon Jesus, who is “superior to [the] angels” (Heb. 1.) When the mailman who bears the letter from your beloved places that precious envelope in your hands, you feel awfully grateful, don’t you? So, too, the angelic messengers in scripture, were all along waiting to deliver the news of Jesus, our beloved, to us! We thank God for their service, which helps to make our relationship with Jesus possible.
While angels always 1) bear good news from God, 2) show us God’s glory, and 3) initiate the transformation God wants for us, Jesus does this far & away more powerfully than the angels. He is the source and the end of the amazing story God has written. He is the resolution & fulfillment of all creation—those things we can see, and those things we can’t see. That’s good news!

“Everlasting God, you have ordained and constituted in a wonderful order the ministries of angels and mortals. Mercifully grant that, as your holy angels always serve and worship you in heaven, so by your appointment they may help and defend us here on earth; through you Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.”

Devotions on James for the 16th week after Pentecost

2009-09-27T19:39:00.001-04:00

“The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven.” --James 5:15

I love the liturgical worship that Lutherans tend to do very well. We have a musical heritage that is really unrivalled. But I have a soft spot in my heart for the hymns that some of my family sing in their churches. I love the classic American hymnody from books like The Sacred Harp, and Southern Harmony & Musical Companion: “Amazing Grace,” “What Wondrous Love Is This,” “Sweet Hour of Prayer.”

The latter hymn in particular brings to mind all the people in my life who have been powerful witnesses to me of the power of prayer—my mother, my grandfather, a blessed lady from my internship parish, a dear friend of mine. These people have shown me that prayer works in many ways. My grandfather, in particular, used to always rise early to breakfast, study his Bible, and pray. I always knew where to find him when I woke up before eight o’clock at his house.

My grandfather, and many others, have helped school me in the power, and the practice, of prayer. They’ve shown me just how integral it is to the life in Christ.

Prayer is a mark of our Christian dignity, given in baptism. God has claimed us as His beloved children, clothed in the holiness of Jesus. He wants to live in conversation with us. We can confidently address Him as “Father,” just as Jesus taught us to do.

Prayer is a witness to the world of God’s glory. That’s why, in worship, we use so much language of praise. That’s why the Psalms—the prayerbook of Israel & the Church—are filled with an abundance of adjectives ascribed to God. Of course, we praise God because we love Him and want to adore Him. But we also praise God so that others can see just how great God really is!

Prayer, finally, is a service to the world. We pray because we trust and believe that God acts. When we ask Him something, He acts on it—mind you, not always on our time-table, or in the particular ways in which we might like for Him to, but God acts.

James tells us in our lesson this week just how powerful prayer really can be. It heals. It forgives sin. It works to accomplish things in the world. As we come together to worship and celebrate communion each week, we experience prayer together.

But, like the people of Israel, who had a moveable altar in the wilderness, we too carry around moveable altars—our hands, our hearts, our whole bodies—that we can consecrate to prayer, wherever we are. We converse with God as His children. We praise God and ask that His name be made holy through us. We call upon God to heal and save and bind up his broken creation, trusting that God will act.

“And since he bids [us] seek his face, / believe his word, and trust his grace, / [we'll] cast on him [our] every care, / and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!”

Movin' on up / To the eastside

2008-11-18T10:08:00.001-05:00

Good news Sunday. I received a call to be the associate pastor of Epiphany Lutheran Church in Conyers, Georgia. Thanks be to God.

Marriage Sermon

2008-10-20T12:25:00.000-04:00

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and from our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ, who calls us to abide in Him. Amen. Today the people of God rejoice with Jodie, with Paul, with their children, upon the occasion of their marriage. And we turn to the gospel lesson chosen for today to hear the words of Jesus—Words of guidance and counsel, words of warning, but above all else, words of love.

Our lesson comes from the “farewell discourse” in St. John’s gospel, in which Jesus bids farewell to his disciples before he faces the cross. Here, Jesus gives some final instructions to his disciples before his moment of glory upon the cross, in which the love of God is lifted up to shine before the world. Jesus knows that the world as human beings have known it since the fall is about to change forever. So he gathers his disciples, he washes their feet as a servant, he shares a meal with them, and he speaks to them as beloved friends.

“Abide in me.” Jesus calls each of us to deeper love and unity with himself. “As the Father has loved me, so I have also loved you. Abide in my love.” Jesus teaches us that just as he is connected to the Father, so we are to be connected to himself. The thriving and pulsing life of the Trinity—in which Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are all united in one being and yet distinct in their persons—is the root of our life as Christians. Jesus uses the image of the vine. We are branches that are grafted onto that vine that is the very life of God. And if you’ve ever looked at a vine, you know that the living, fruitful branches become so dense, so thick with life, that it’s impossible to tell where one branch ends and the other begins. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, all share one life together.

Here in the South, kudzu might be another apt metaphor for God’s life—it’s dense with life, growing and thriving, covering everything. The life of God is like that, yet without the negative qualities of kudzu, of course! What’s more, the life of God is fruitful! It’s not only living and growing and thriving, but it bears good fruit for the world to enjoy! Remember, too, that in the Biblical world, a grapevine would have made fruit not just good for eating, but good for making wine, a drink for festive occasions. God’s life bears good fruit that the world can enjoy abundantly. People of God, Jesus has grafted us into this vine. He has joined us to this life of God. And he urges us to continue to abide in Him. All of us. As single persons. As married people. As widowed people. As men and women preparing to be married. We are all called to abide in Jesus.

Abiding in Jesus means that our lives begin to become something like the vine that Jesus describes—branches united so tightly to the vine that in their living, thriving, fruit-bearing, they are difficult to distinguish one from another. Jesus teaches us that as we abide in him, we are to bear fruit. We are to become his disciples. And we are to love one another.

Today, we turn especially to the love between Jodie and Paul, and the vow that joins their love together for the rest of their lives. They have been called to the vocation of marriage, and the Church has seen fit to bless their union. What does it mean for them to abide in Jesus?

First of all, Jodie and Paul, abiding in Jesus means that you are to love one another. In your courtship, I am sure that this came naturally, even easily. Yet, during your marriage, you will face some difficult decisions. You will be presented with the easy way of self-satisfaction, the easy way of refusing to compromise, the easy way of unrestrained anger, the easy way of lust, the easy way of refusing to be vulnerable. We have said in the marriage liturgy today that marriage is a gift of God, who intended good for man and for woman. Yet in our sin, it is often clouded with difficulty and hardship. God in his grace, has come to us in Jesus, to overcome that sin. To open a way for us through the difficulties and the hardships that weigh us down. God has set us free from our captivity to sin and given us new life. Were it not for that, we would be unable to choose the good. In Christ, we are free to love as God intends. We are free to forgive. We are free to serve our neighbor. Paul—you are free to serve your wife with love & commitment. Jodie—you are free to serve your husband with love and joy.

Abiding in Jesus over the life of your marriage means loving one another. Abiding in Jesus means loving one another with a love that transcends our fickle emotions. Abiding in Jesus means being joined to the vine that is God’s eternal love, which enables us to lead holy lives that are pleasing to Him; lives that give us the deepest and fullest happiness possible.

Abiding in Jesus also means bearing fruit. Now, the classical definition of marriage always includes the possibility for being fruitful with regard to children. Now I know that with the large family you are already making by your marriage, bearing more children may not be the best thing! Because we are created man and woman, that possibility is there. Yet, what’s even more important is that your union bear fruit for the sake of the kingdom of God. Abiding in Jesus, Jodie and Paul, means that your union and the family that gathers around it, will shelter, protect, and tend to the good things that God has created. Abiding in Jesus means that your union will offer love and hope to your children, to your extended family, to the Church, and to the rest of the world!

Finally, abiding in Jesus means that through your union, Jodie and Paul, you will become more devoted disciples. St. John Chrysostom, one of the Fathers of the Church, even though he himself was a monk, wrote a great deal about marriage and family life. He said that marriage is a school of virtue. Wives can teach their husbands and husbands can teach their wives how to love Jesus more deeply and more passionately. I’m sure Jodie and Paul, that each of you has pointed out to the other things that you have never seen on your own before: new ideas, different practices, unique perspectives on the world. In marriage, God uses this to deepen our relationship with Himself. Abiding in Jesus means that through your union, you and your family will grow in deeper discipleship. As you read scripture together, as you pray together, as you participate in the life of the church together—through youth group and Sunday school and worship and through Christian ministries of mercy to our needy neighbors—you are called to encourage, support and strengthen one another.

Jodie and Paul, as you abide in Jesus—as you love one another, as you bear fruit, and as you become disciples—you are not on your own. You have the strength and support of the people of God. We don’t merely offer abstract moral support here, either. Many here have been through difficult times in their marriage, many have experienced the pain of family losses, many have worked through the ordinary struggles of family life. And as witnesses today of your marriage, they are promising to help and support you. As your Christian brother, I pledge my support in any way I can offer it, too.

Above all else, as you abide in Jesus, you have the very power of God as a real and available help during the challenges that are ahead. You have the opportunity to confess your sins and receive forgiveness. You have the Word of God, which is read, studied, preached, and proclaimed here at least weekly. You have the body and blood of Christ offered in Holy Communion to give you strength and sustenance.

“Abide in me,” Jesus tells his gathered disciples during their last supper together. “Abide in me,” Jesus speaks to Jodie and to Paul, and to each of us gathered here.

Jodie and Paul—and Becca, Aubrey and Tyler, gathered friends and family, members of Faith Lutheran. For all of you, and for Paul’s children who are not with us today…life is about to change forever. Jodie and Paul will depart this service as husband and wife. Jesus has gathered us here, to offer us guidance. To share a meal with us. To speak to us as beloved friends. He promises to give us all that we need in the changed life that is ahead. “Abide in me” he urges us. With this urging comes a promise—a promise that as we abide in him, we will be joined to the very life of God. Joined to that life, we will indeed truly love one another. Joined to that life, we will bear much fruit. Joined to that life, we will indeed become Jesus’ disciples. May each of us—and especially Jodie & Paul—abide in Jesus and passionately enjoy the good life that he offers, even to eternal life. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Some sensible comments on "inclusivity"

2008-10-20T12:22:00.002-04:00

"Communities that claim to include all exercise a very subtle and shame-based form of discipline on those who disagree. “Welcoming” and “inclusion” are actually void concepts, because they hide the real issues on which every community, of whatever sort, however big or small, is formed. There are always things which any given community cannot talk about and will not tolerate."
-- Sarah Hinlicky Wilson, in a good comment concerning our current controversies in the ELCA

Tuesday after Pentecost 12A

2008-08-05T12:25:00.002-04:00

Judges 7:1-18. Today, Gideon is told to whittle down his massive army in order to prove that the Lord is really the one leading Israel to victory over the Midianites. "Israel," after all, means "God fights." Paul, of course, echoes the theme here in 2 Corinthians when he talks about the fact that God's strength is proved by his weakness.

It is easy for Christians today to use this theology to glorify mediocrity or laziness. "No need to ________[prepare my sermon, practice the offertory anthem sufficiently, study for my Sunday school lesson, learn the catechism]. After all, God will take care of it." The latter claim is true, of course, but woefully lacking in an understanding of how God calls us to cooperate with His work in the world. Yes, that's right, a Lutheran said "cooperate." The Formula of Concord, of course, discusses this. Here, the redeemed believer who has faith in Christ and is led by the Spirit, is freely able to obey what God commands. Though there is still an inner struggle with sin, those who are justified are able to love God and neighbor. For the believer, there is no excuse for laziness or mediocrity, which we've made something of a cult in the mainline.

The weakness exemplified by Gideon, by Paul, is a human insufficiency to share the perfect life God calls us to, outside of His divine help. Often, God lifts up this insufficiency to prove His grace and power, as Judges makes clear.

I certainly hope that all that I lack will only make God's grace and power more clear, rather than impede my ministry. I may have a capacity for abstract thought and clear writing, a love for reading and for teaching. Yet I lack a bold spirit, a willingness to initiate confrontation when it's appropriate. I muddle through Hebrew & Greek, am not a whiz with administrative tasks, and am beset by my share of unholy temptations. I know that I need to work on these things diligently; no excuses here. But, this side of the kingdom, I'll likely never be perfect at these things. I only hope that the seeds I plant and the leadership I offer can be like Gideon's-- a humble trust in the power of God to deliver.

Sermon for Pentecost 12A

2008-08-05T12:02:00.003-04:00

This past Sunday, I preached from an outline. Obviously, I don't have the full text but here is the outline:

Genesis 32:22-30 (this is the alternate reading given by the RCL)
I. Jacob's journey to reconciliation
A. theft of birthright, sojourn in foreign land
B. Journey home...Esau on way with 400 men (a threat?)
C. Sending of family across Jabbok in middle of the night
II. Struggle
A. God stands in opposition
B. Illusions shattered
1. self sufficiency / pride
2. ill use of birthright
III. Blessing, name change
A. Jacob, "he grasps the heel [he deceives]"
B. Israel "God fights"
C. New identity, grounded in God's work
D. Illusions redirected
1. self-sufficiency now becomes dependence upon God
2. birthright understood now properly, as gift of responsibility, for the sake of the world
IV. The people of God today called to be on journey of reconciliation
A. with God
B. with our neighbor
V. Struggle with God (because of our sin...paul's definition of law)
A. God's opposition to our illusions
1. self-sufficiency
2. abuse of our birthright (baptism as initiation into private club, etc.)
B. In scripture, in the sacraments, in the liturgy of the Church, in confession, in Christian call
to service, our illusions are shattered by God; we are crippled.
VI. Blessing, name change
A. our self sufficiency is redirected into dependence upon God
B. the birthright we've received is properly understood as a gift for the sake of the world
C. we were once called "stranger, sinner, alien, not my people." Yet now we are sons &
daughters, priests, citizens.
VII. Deliverance
A. Parting shot: Jacob saw face of God (naming place "Peniel"). When he saw Esau, he said
"seeing your face is like seeing the face of God."
B. So, too, when we are confronted, broken, blessed and redirected, we see the face of God
and are able to see the face of God in our neighbors.
C. Where are we called to reconcile in our community, in our congregation; where might we
see God's face in our neighbor?
1. people who are judged unworthy by our culture b/c of class, race, nationality
2. in prisoners
3. in estranged friends & family, brothers and sisters in Christ.
D. Gifts to sustain us-- Word, sacraments, liturgy, community of Church.

Wednesday after Pentecost 11a

2008-07-30T10:29:00.002-04:00

Judges 3:12-30. Today's Old Testament reading is another one that is a great story, but kind of hard to square with the rest of the scriptural witness concerning violence, and the Church's teaching concerning Just War. Ehud assassinates Eglon, the fat Moabite king, as he sits in his cool rooftop chamber.

Yet, it is made clear that because "Israel cried out to the Lord, the Lord raised up for them a deliverer, Eglon...a left-handed man." (That last fact is actually significant, since it probably gives adds an extra element of surprise in his assault on Eglon.) This story is placed in the framework of God's deliverance of Israel from the powers of evil that they brought upon themselves by idol-worship.

Furthermore, one might argue that this attack by Ehud uses means proportional to the ends pursued (a single, isolated killing in pursuit of Israel's liberation from servitude), has a just cause (are we to assume that Moab was an oppressive regime? It certainly is associated with Baal and various other gods), exhibits a right intent (conformity to God's design for Israel, according to the text), obeys a legitimate authority (GOD!), and has probability of success.
It does seem to fall short in the area of last resort and in non-combatant immunity.

But then, like earlier in Judges, this account is a specific command of God in a particular circumstance. We ought not expect it to conform to the just war tradition, which is a peculiarly Christian tradition that was formulated over the millennia in response to the New Testament, and the revelation of Christ.

One might interpret this passage here in a more Trinitarian fashion, springboarding from Hebrews' statement that "The word of God is sharper than any two-edged sword." This sword of the word slaughters sin and liberates people from their oppression. Such a sword, which belongs to God alone, frees us from having to plot our own liberation. Like Ehud, and the whole host of saints after him, we rely on God's sword above all other swords.

Tuesday after Pentecost 11A

2008-07-29T10:04:00.001-04:00

Romans 16:16-27. "I urge you, brothers and sisters, to keep an eye on those who cause dissensions and offenses, in opposition to the teaching that you have learned; avoid them. For such people do not serve our Lord Christ, but their own appetites and by smooth talk and flatter they deceive the hearts of the simple-minded. For while your obedience is known to all, so that I rejoice over you, I want you to be wise in what is good and guileless in what is evil. The God of peace will shortly crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all..."

Urging us to keep an eye out for dissenters from the gospel, I definitely hear St. Paul speaking to us. We hear voices today that call us away from placing Jesus at the center of our lives. Voices that challenge us to organize our lives around other priorities. Voices that tempt us to displace the highest good of God with other goods.

A recent back-and-forth among friends concerning a "conservative" column about the similarities between Batman and Pres. George W. Bush has shown me yet again how deeply liberal assumptions about how we ought to organize our life together have penetrated into the minds of Christians. To wit, folks so often talk and think in ways that bifurcate "the political" and the ends toward which we are directed as a Christian people. I am guilty of this, too.

When we do this, we treat Jesus as a means by which to achieve something. When we do this, "Justice" or "liberty" or "peace" are the goods we pursue, and Jesus is a divine way by which we reach these things.

These created goods may be known, however dimly, outside of salvation in Christ, but they are only fully known, only fully grasped, only fully lived in and fulfilled (superabundantly!) in Jesus. And though we may know certain natural goods by our own created capacity, we have no hope for salvation, no hope for friendship with God, no hope for sanctification and the eternal glory that God desires for us.

This friendship with the triune God, this hope for salvation through Jesus, this sanctification and eternal glory in the Spirit, is the mystery, kept secret for long ages, that is now disclosed. If we seal the mystery of the gospel of Jesus up in the framework of another set of goods (whether it's "peace with justice and a good healthcare plan" or "a balanced budget and secure borders") then we keep that gospel a secret. We mislead simple-minded Christians and cause dissensions and offenses.

I see this happening so very often in my own beloved communion. Our presiding bishop issued a letter to the next president of the United States. There are some okay things in there. I think that reasonable people certainly ought to put their minds together and argue about such things. But I don't believe that the civil government is called to the same sort of service and mercy and charity that Christians are. Why doesn't my bishop issue a statement to his flock, reasoning from scripture and the creeds, urging them to provide service and mercy and charity in concrete and organized ways-- free clinics & hospitals, shelters & training centers for immigrants, quality schools for poor and handicapped children?

We are not all pursuing the same ultimate ends, let's be honest and respectful about that. We can and ought to expect the civil government to restrain evil; to bear the sword (Rom. 13). And we can reasonably argue, as Christians and as reasonable people, about other functions it may or may not perform. But we know for certain that the people of Christ are called to welcome the stranger and to love their enemies, to give to the hungry and to care for the vulnerable, because of what God has done in Jesus. Let's keep both of our feet firmly planted in that work of Jesus, affirming what is good about creation and participating in it, but living our lives in fervent pursuit of that final goal of ours, eternal life with God.

Sermon for the 11th Sunday after Pentecost, Year A

2008-07-27T21:59:00.002-04:00

(This one is more sprawling than usual...but, here it is.)

Matthew 13:31-33; 44-52

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and savior Jesus Christ, who gives us hope in the future that God promises and who calls us to live out that hope in lives that are both faithful and creative. Amen.

Our lesson from Matthew today continues the story of Jesus’ ministry and the resistance that keeps cropping up both from within and from without. Both the dedicated and faithful core and the uncertain have heard of his teaching—bold and authoritative, telling all who will listen about what it means to be under the rule of God. Both the trusting few and the doubting many have experienced Jesus’ healing, seen him give sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, relief and peace of mind to the possessed and the afflicted. The inner circle of Jesus’ followers have even been commissioned to do his work in the world—teaching, healing, casting out demons.

Yet all have stumbled on the main message of Jesus’ preaching, teaching and proclamation. Jesus tells the people of Israel and he tells us “the meaning of my ministry is myself.” Jesus tells Israel and he tells us that salvation means knowing him and entering into relationship with him.

This is a hard pill to swallow, both for the people of Israel—and, if we are honest—for us, too. God almighty has sent to us a Jewish carpenter & itinerant preacher from a town on the outskirts of nowhere? The creator and Lord of the universe has become a man who sweats and bleeds, laughs and cries? Both the people of Israel and ourselves, in our desire to have a God who fits our expectations a little bit better, are inclined to resist this Jesus. We want somebody a little bit easier to understand, somebody a little bit less risky. Like stockbrokers afraid to put all our assets on the line for a company that is so unconventional, like gamblers afraid to put our chips down on a dark horse, we are afraid to put all of our hope in Jesus. “Don’t get me wrong,” we say. “He’s an alright guy. He sure is loving and all, but maker of heaven and earth, savior…not sure about that. He is awfully nice, but my Lord and God…can’t say that.”

People of God, Jesus calls us to risk all to follow him. Because of what he has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises. We can risk all to follow him, to be his disciples.

Such a life is not easy by any means, nor does it always make sense in the terms we are used to thinking in. Jesus tells us that he is the source & goal of all true wisdom. Yet, why does so much of what he teaches us seem to go against the flow of the world’s wisdom? Jesus tells us that he calls us to bear an easy yoke. Yet why does life in the Church often seem so difficult? Jesus tells us that he calls us to joy and peace. Yet, why do Christians suffer so much? Why do they fight so much among themselves?

In response to our doubts, in response to our unease, Jesus tells us a set of parables that underscore the connection and the continuity between the life that we live now and the life that is promised in the future kingdom. Like our lives now, which we live in a struggle toward faithfulness, marked by small daily acts of hope that don’t seem to add up to what God promises for the future, the mustard seed doesn’t seem like it will amount to much. However, the mustard seed miraculously grows into an enormous plant, a plant that provides shelter and sustenance for many birds of the air and creatures of the field. Jesus here in his teaching, calls out an echo from the scriptures of the Old Testament, when Ezekiel tells Israel that God will make His people into a tree that will provide shelter and sustenance for all the nations of the world. Like the mustard seed that grows into this great tree of the field and provides shelter for all nations, so too, our struggles toward faithfulness and our small acts of hope will blossom into fruit for the kingdom. The small seeds of our creative faithfulness will sprout up into towering trees that offer shade, shelter and hope to the nations. The small seeds of our creative faithfulness are signs of the kingdom here among us, the kingdom that will bear fruits beyond what we can possibly imagine. Because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises. We can live our lives in creative trust, risking all to follow him, to be his disciples.

As Christians, we live differently because of the hope that we have. We risk all. We follow him, we become disciples. For the people of God know the outcome that God has promised to bring about at the end of time, we know now what is yet to come. And like Noah and his family building the ark on dry land, we dedicate our lives to a project that seems absurd to the world around us. Like Henry Melchior Muhlenberg, who tirelessly traveled throughout the colonies in America preaching and teaching, establishing Lutheran churches in the wilderness, in towns and cities, risking his health and his family, we too take creative risks for the sake of following Jesus. Like Mother Maria of Paris, who welcomed life in bold and creative ways, risking (and eventually sacrificing) her life to answer Jesus' call. The saints from right here in Hartwell also took risks to follow Jesus. They had imaginations faithful enough to see the possibility for a congregation in this corner of the world, and we give thanks to God for their creativity and trust in Jesus. All of these various people could do their work because of the hope that they had in Jesus. They did their work with enormous energy and creativity. Because of what Jesus did and continues to do, these men and women could hope in the future that he promised.

Tomorrow, the Church commemorates the lives and work of two great and faithful Christian artists: Georg Friedrich Händel and Johann Sebastian Bach. You all know Händel’s Messiah and as Lutherans, you know many of the hymn tunes that Bach worked out into soaring, magnificent works. The genius of these two artists may seem awfully distant from our everyday lives, but I think that they have something to teach us about the kind of creativity and imagination that Jesus calls us to as we faithfully follow him. One product of Bach’s that we can be thankful for is the fugue. Now, Tonnie [our organist] can correct me if I get any of the following wrong, but I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible here…I’m not really a musician. A fugue is a piece of music in which multiple melodies play in conjunction with one another to develop one musical line. What initially seems like a really simple tune quickly becomes a complex and multi-layered piece of music. First, the musician plays one melody. Then another melody is played, and the two overlap with each other. The musician adds another and another, each intertwining and harmonizing with the ones before. More and more lines of melody can be added to the original, and all fit together like a braid, like a beautiful, unfolding kaleidoscope that dazzle the mind. Yet that one simple and clear opening melody remains the center of the music, and however complex each fugue may get, it always returns to that one simple melody. That one simple, elegant melody is the beginning, the center point at every step along the way, and the ending of each fugue.

We are not all artists in the technical sense. However, the faithful creativity that Bach showed us in his fugues can serve as a witness to us in our lives. Like Bach, we are called to be imaginative in our lives, imaginative in our praise of God, imaginative in our discipleship. The Word of God, that simple and elegant melody, called our life into being. Again and again, God has added grace upon grace to that simple and elegant melody, and He continues to carry that melody in unexpected and beautiful directions. Again and again, God’s creative Word leads us to wonderful and astonishing places for mission and ministry. What’s more, God invites us to freely participate in the music of His word; to boldly welcome the gospel into our lives and to bear that gospel into the world in imaginative ways. Like Noah, like Henry Melchior Muhlenberg, like Mother Maria of Paris, like the trailblazers for this congregation, we are invited to participate with God in His mission boldly and imaginatively.

There are endless variations that God’s creative Word may take in our lives. Each of us is called to risk all as we follow Jesus. Yet what that risk looks like may be different for each of us. What form it takes will depend on where we are and the vocations that God has called us to.
We know that there are some forms that this creative risk will never take. Laziness when we could be working in service for our neighbor. Hatred of our enemies, when we could seek truth and reconciliation. Hoarding our money when we could use it to build up the work of the Church. Contempt for the poor and disadvantaged. Gossip that damages the reputations of those in our community. Lying to protect our own interests rather than telling a difficult truth. Lust, which reduces the beauty and dignity of men and women to mere objects for pleasure. Timidity in living out the gospel.

To live with these sins in our lives is to live without hope. We all struggle, we all fall. Yet, we can confess and be forgiven. We can be reconciled to God and to our neighbor. We are set free from the enslavement that sin traps us in. Because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises.

Jesus calls us to be hopeful, to imaginatively do the work we’ve been called to as caretakers, as servants of all, and as witness to God. What is the work that God has called you to do personally? How has God directed you to be a caretaker of what he has made; how does he summon you to participate in His work of sustaining creation? How has God set you in your vocation to serve your neighbor? How does God call you to witness (a time for speaking and a time for bearing witness, living out gospel in act & deed)? Whether we are active or retired, whether we are mechanics or police officers, students or farmers, preachers or accountants, we are all called to 1) care for God’s creation 2) to serve our neighbor and 3) to witness to God’s love, mercy and justice. In our different stations in life and in our various personalities, possessed with different gifts & skills, we will need to be creative in order to do this. Yet, because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises. We can live here & now according to that hope.

Congregationally. How has God set us here to be caretakers? I think that one answer is that we are caretakers of God’s Word and of the sacraments. How has God called us to be servants of our neighbors? Poor and distressed. Hungry and homeless. Abused and neglected. Most vulnerable, elderly and children. Those who have not heard good news of Christ. Because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises.
This, my fellow Christians, is risky business. Because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises.

After all, in our baptism, we were given the gift of the Holy Spirit to guide us. The same Holy Spirit who is ever at work creating and sustaining the world, calling forth faith and guiding disciples of Jesus. The Spirit guides us in our faithful imaginations, in the bold risks of following Jesus. Since we as Christians are called to be creative like artists, I want to encourage us to think about how artists thrive. Any of you who have been artists or musicians know that one does not thrive without practice. As people called to imaginative faithfulness, to bold risk in following Jesus, we have been called together into community to practice the Christian life together. In our worship, we model what the kingdom is like. We confess our sin humbly and honestly name our faults. We share the peace of Christ with all, embrace and reconcile with our neighbors. In many ways, life here in the Church gives us that practice that we need to live faithfully & imaginatively as we boldly follow Jesus. Bach, Muhlenberg and Mother Maria and the founders of this congregation all were planted and nurtured in the soil of the Church. All received the practice here that they needed to live imaginatively and boldly follow Jesus.
Here, God has given us all that we need to live imaginatively and to boldly follow Jesus. Because of what he has done and continues to do, we can hope in what God promises yet to do.

God gives us the gifts of scripture, the gifts of community, the gifts of the sacraments. Let us pray fervently for the Spirit’s creative power to guide us as we discern where God is calling us as a congregation. One way that we can do this discernment is through study, prayer and fellowship together. I propose that we meet together to do this each week. Here in this place, we face many challenges and many doubts. As we look at our very humble beginnings and our very small acts of faithfulness in the present, all of this doesn’t seem to point to the grand majesty that God promises.

Yet, because of what Jesus has done and continues to do, we can hope in the future that he promises. We can live our lives in creative trust, risking all to follow him, to be his disciples.

Friday after Pentecost 10a

2008-07-25T12:05:00.002-04:00

Psalm 88.

The guilt I feel over making complaints is always worse than the pain or indignity that gives me cause to complain. I know full well that my share in the world's sufferings are awfully miniscule. I know that prisoners of conscience in China, the AIDS-afflicted multitudes in Africa, the victims of natural disasters and the poor that everywhere cry out for sustenance have much greater need of prayer than I myself do.

I have much to be grateful for: a marriage that, after many ups and downs, is very happy and healthy; parents who love me; brothers that I feel very close to and am proud of; a love for God that I thought would elude my restless heart forever when I was a younger man. Despite my hearing problems, I am otherwise fit and have a healthy inner life. I have received a good education and my teachers & I regard each other with respect (at least, I think so.) Despite the fact that I am waiting for a full-time call, I have been sent to serve a wonderful smaller congregation in a beautiful little corner of Northeast Georgia, where the people are aching to grow into the next stage of their mission.

Still, however timidly, this psalm is my prayer today and many days lately. The scriptures may not commend the kind of rampant individualism that our culture force-feeds us with, but they do hold up God's deeply personal love for us ("Christ loved me and gave his life for me".) And however misguided and confused I may be about my own suffering, I ask that God correct me as He offers me healing.

These last few weeks I have wondered whether my seminary days and the confidence I felt about my call to ministry were all just passing whimsies. Now, saddled with a fifty grand debt and a process that seems stacked against the candidate who's seeking a full-time call, I feel a bit silly. "No, nothing's happening. Just waiting." Like hearing the incessant ticks of the egg timer, waiting for the water to cool on the stovetop...only it never rings. More hash-marks flash by in the run down the field of the infinite, waiting for the fog to break and for the end-zone to come into sight. No luck.

I suppose I won't be the only fellow with two master's degrees serving up venti lattes at Starbucks on my weekdays. While I still have a little credibility, with my foot in the door of the theological world and my hand on the departing train of a life in the service industry, maybe I can tell that Leonard Sweet "emergent church" fellow just how little a connection there actually is between the so-called culture of our favorite coffee-house and the life we're called to in the Church.

Well, here's to two vocations (poetry and ministry) I've pursued with nothing more than petty successes and minor failures to show for all the work and (over) education I've received.

Kyrie, eleison! Christe, eleison!

Thursday after Pentecost 10a

2008-07-24T10:52:00.003-04:00

Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

I feel convicted by St. Paul's exhortation today. I am so prone to bitch & moan about my life-situation, the problems afflicting my communion, the general state of the Church and the world in general. Not that I think this verse calls us to put our heads in the sand, or to refrain from critique or argument. Rather, I realize how generally dispirited and negative I can quickly become. If putting on Christ means inheriting eternal fulfillment and enjoying blessed union with God, then we ought to bear witness to such fulfillment and joy before the world.

A distant analogy: Folks who know me know that I'm hard of hearing. I'm deaf in one ear and don't have the best hearing in my other. Well, last night, my wife asked me a question to which she thought I responded. Thinking herself ignored, she quickly affected a rather angry demeanor toward me, sitting on on the other side of the couch reading. "Well, if you're going to be that way, I'll just push my nose into my book a bit more," I thought. (We later made up, I ought to add.)

In any case, an initial misunderstanding coupled with a generally sour attitude isn't the best invitation to friendship nor is it a witness to the joy of a particular way of living.

Suffice to say, I can't put aside my doubts and worries, my sometimes anger with my communion which is slowly sliding from indifference to hostility toward the Lutheran Confessions and the historic orthodox creeds & councils. However, I think that St. Paul's blessing is aimed at those of us embroiled in controversy and wracked by the pain of division. May all of us find joy and take hope in believing in Jesus, so that we may grow in Him, our true hope, and enjoy the blessings of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I'm going to need the "patience" especially as I work on our household painting today...

Wednesday after Pentecost 10a

2008-07-23T10:26:00.004-04:00

Romans 14:13, 19 "Let us therefore no longer pass judgement on one another, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling-block or hindrance in the way of another. of a brother');" onmouseout="return nd();">..Let us then pursue what makes for peace and for mutual edification."

Joseph Bottum's article in the latest First Things (which is posted on their blog) narrates the decline of the mainline over the past forty or so years. Its leadership has, he asserts, become little more than an assocation of like-minded ideologues who see civil political advocacy as more important than doctrine, policy as more important than theology. For the most part, I think that Bottum is right-- though he ascribes a certain whimsical nostalgia to those of us who lament the current situation in Lutheran and other communions. The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) of which I'm a part has been particularly adamant in its many declarations about such things as the U.S. National Budget. (I think they miss the inherent irony of an Office for Grassroots [civil political] Advocacy in Washington, D.C.) Yet, I have not seen such dedication when matters of doctrine are being discussed, nor when Churchly discipline is being applied to matters that we are decided upon as a communion.

I think that St. Paul answers to that problem in today's lesson from Romans. Let us pursue what makes for peace and mutual edification. Paul's words are situated in a larger discussion concerning food in the Roman church. Evidently, some are adamant concerning dietary restrictions for the congregation, while others see this matter as unimportant in the Christian life. Paul urges the congregation to root their concerns first and foremost in living out the gospel of Christ-- to give praise to God, to "be transformed by the renewing of your minds," to live honorably with their neighbors.

I fear that our communion is thrusting its roots into a soil that is not the gospel of Christ. While this soil of civil political action is certainly honorable and blessed by God, these are matters upon which we as Christians may disagree. What we must be united in is being neglected-- a common mind concerning the scriptures, a common proclamation of the Gospel, a common ecclesial life that is centered in the sacraments, a service to the neighbor in our midst.

Where we are united in these things, we will find room to disagree charitably in other matters. We all agree that the scriptures give us the injunction to be good stewards and to represent God's care before the rest of the world. The causes of-- as well as the solutions to-- our many recent ecological disruptions are not fully agreed upon. However, I think that in reclaiming our role as the Church, as a Spirit-shaped community at work for the redemption of the world is part and parcel of dealing with our ecological problems (which are at root identity-disorders.)

Where we are rooted in the gospel and not in sociological imperatives, we will also recover a discipline such that we need not rely on civil authorities to tell Christians, for example, whether a war is just or unjust. If Christian leaders, rooted in a common life of faith with the rest of the Church, discern that a war is unjust, they will simply command Christians to not fight in it and to be subject to discipline if they do so.

I fear that however much Paul may preach to us on this, there is a strong contingent of my communion (and within much of the mainline) that simply has a tin ear for this kind of calling. May we eventually be one, rooted in the gospel and led by the Spirit.

Tuesday after Pentecost 10a

2008-07-22T16:24:00.003-04:00

Joshua 8:1-22. Today's Old Testament lesson has Joshua and half of the army of Israel luring the people of Ai out from the safety of their city walls. Then, the other (well-hidden) half of Israel's army sneaks into the city to ransack and burn it. Ai's army, chasing down the deceptive Joshua and his cohort, see the smoke of their city in flames from the distance, and are suddenly caught between the two halves of Israel's army. Verse 21 sums up the conclusion of this episode: "no one [from Ai] was left who survived or escaped."

What are we to make of this story? Many unbelieving folks, Christian lay people and pastors (!) that I talk to posit this account-- and others like it in the literature of conquest (Numbers, Joshua, Judges, etc.)-- as evidence of a clear distinction that ought to be made between YHWH as revealed by the Hebrew scriptures and the God revealed by the New Testament. Christians, of course, confess that there is no chasm between YHWH and the God revealed in Jesus, and proclaimed throughout the New Testament. YHWH is simply further revealed in the incarnation of Jesus; God is shown to us as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God's identity and His plan-- both of which are shown in the Old Testament-- are further worked out in the mission of Jesus and the mission of the Holy Spirit.

Yet conquest by bloodshed and the total destruction of the populations of various cities are clearly a part of Israel inheriting the land given to them by YHWH in the Hebrew scriptures. Two related questions for us flow out of this fact: 1) how does the New Testament revelation of God relate to these scriptures of conquest? 2) what do these scriptures of conquest have to teach us?

1) a. The conquest was a specific set of commands given by God to Israel in a specific situation. When a command was disobeyed, or when an act of conquest was carried out in an improper
way (wrong time, wrong place, wrong manner) that act was judged severely by God.
b. The conquest was both a vindication of Israel as God's chosen people, and also a judgment of evil. (Now, the question of whether the conquest as depicted by scripture and as proven (or not) by archaeology is not one the scriptures are interested in answering. They weren't written for this purpose, but for a theological purpose. I think that that's how we ought to read them, though we certainly may have an interest in their historicity.) The people of Canaan are depicted as idolotrous. They worship Ba'al, Moloch and a host of other gods whose lives are merely intertwined with the cycles of nature. They are sexually depraved (their altars of hewn stones were sites of orgies and child sacrifice). The people of Israel are not to take up the ways of the Canaanites, but to preserve pure worship and a way of life that is set apart. The theological significance of the conquest of the cities of Canaan is that Israel is to root out evil totally and remain pure from its lingering influences. They are also to be obedient to the commands of God.

The New Testament obviously takes up these concerns for obedience and purity. We now live in obedience to God the Father in Jesus, through the Holy Spirit. The specific commands given to Israel in the conquest are not given to us now. There has not been a shift in God's character, but a new way through which He is present with us and for us. Our passion for rooting out evil and for submitting to the work of God so that we might be a pure and set-apart people is the same as Israel's, but now happens in a different manner.

One question that needs to be explored at more depth here is the relationship between these scriptures of conquest and the Christian practice of just war. My teacher, Dan Bell, has published a good overview of the just war tradition here.

One shortcoming of much modern writing concerning the just war tradition in Christianity is its tendency to overlook scripture in favor of the more philosophically engaged writings of medieval legal scholars like Hugo Grotius, who fleshed out in detail of the practice of just war. This is probably mostly due to the unfortunate divide between professional Biblical scholarship and professional "systematic" theology. With the rising influence of theological exegesis, we ought to see more attention to these scriptures of the conquest from a theological rather than a merely historical perspective.

We have a great deal to learn from the scriptures about how to be faithful just warriors. This certainly seems to be the claim of Augustine, Aquinas and Luther. War can be a means of God's judgment against evil and oppression in the world in a way analogous to the situation of Israel during the conquest. However, part of that faithfulness means obeying the very specific injunctions that are laid out in the just war tradition. That faithfulness means refraining from warfare when it does not conform to the criteria discerned by the Church in its prayerful reading of scripture. We ought to be willing to die faithfully before we disobey God's command to use force against evil only in the most judicious of ways.

A new method for my posts

2008-07-22T16:11:00.002-04:00

I have not posted with much frequency here in a while. I'm reluctant to use this space as a simple "diary" of daily happenings. Keeping a blog seems enough of an indulgence...I'd like to have a more dignified design than personal reportage. However much of that I sprinkle into other posts, I'd like the focus to be on more substantive reflections. Posts here may not always be well-thought out, but I hope that they are clear, honest and intelligent responses to what I've been encountering in my daily vocation and in my recent reading.

So, in an attempt to make them more clear and more frequent, I've decided to structure them around the texts in the daily two-year lectionary, such as it's found here. Whatever my latest fancy, I'll begin with some brief reflections on one of the Biblical texts and try to relate what I've been thinking about and reading to that text. Hopefully this will be a means both to discipline myself to think more deeply about scripture on a daily basis, and also to try to connect my often-fanciful mind to the daily lessons of the lectionary.

A Sermon for Pentecost 9A

2008-07-14T11:24:00.003-04:00

The Holy Gospel according to Saint Matthew, the 13th chapter:

At that time, Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Many crowds gathered toward him, so many that he got into a boat and sat in it while all the crowds stood on the shore. And he spoke to them in parables, saying “Look! A sower went out to sow. And some of the seed fell beside the path and the birds came and devoured them. Yet other seed fell on a rocky place where it did not have enough soil. At once, it sprang up because it had no depth of soil. But as the sun was rising up, it scorched the seed and since it had not roots, it dried up. Other seed fell among the thorns, but the thorns [went up and] choked them. But other seed fell on the good soil and they gave fruit, some a hundred, some sixty and others thirty times what was sown. Anyone who has ears to hear had better listen!”
…
“Hear then, the parable of the sower. The one who hears the word of the kingdom but does not understand it, the wicked one comes and snatches what is sown in his heart; this is what was sown beside the path.”

“But, the seed sown on the rocky place, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy. Yet, the word does not have root in him, but is temporary, and when trouble or persecution on account of the word comes, this person immediately falls away.”

“As for the seed sown among the thorns: this is the one who hears the word, but the cares and anxieties of the age, and the lust for riches chokes it.”

“However, the seed sown on good soil—this is the one who hears the word and understands it. Therefore, they bring forth fruit and bear a hundred, sixty, and thirty times what was sown.” …The gospel of the Lord.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, upon whose mercy we depend for the gift of faith and the renewed life that flows from that faith. Amen.

I hope that you’ve been noticing along with me these past few weeks in the gospel of Matthew the resistance to Jesus’ ministry that is coming from his actual and potential followers. While Jesus began his ministry with a bang, attracting a huge following, things are getting a bit dicey in the twelfth and thirteenth chapters, where we for our lesson today.
Before today, Jesus taught with authority about the Kingdom and what it means to be under the rule of God. Jesus demonstrated the Kingdom through healing and demonstrating his power over nature, not just telling us, but showing us what it means to be under the gracious rule of God. Finally, Jesus commissioned his disciples and gave them a share of his power and authority to go out and do what he did—preach, teach, heal and cast out demons.

But in last week’s lesson, we began to see the confusion, the misunderstanding, and the downright resistance to, Jesus’ ministry. All were impressed by Jesus’ works, by Jesus’ teaching. But they were confused, even scandalized by the fact that Jesus pointed to himself as the central point of his ministry. We heard last week Jesus boldly proclaim this message about himself, telling us who hear that all things have been given to him by the Father. In effect, Jesus tells us here the same thing that he tells us in the 14th chapter of John—“I am the way, the truth, the life.” If you’re looking for true wisdom, true rest, true fulfillment, look no further than me.

Like you and me, like our friends and co-workers, like our dear loved ones, this message is awfully hard to hear for the people of Israel who are gathered around Jesus. We are prone to respond as they did, saying to ourselves “The Jewish carpenter from the podunk town of Nazareth is God almighty, Lord of the universe, source of all truth, wisdom and happiness?” Like you and me, most of those who hear Jesus would rather believe in a God who is at a safe distance, who is abstract enough to fit into the plans that we make for ourselves. The crowds who gather around Jesus in our lesson, as well as the crowds that gather in the pews of churches everywhere on Sunday mornings, are prone to resist the amazing claims that Jesus makes about himself, prone to resist his call to the risks of faith, tempted to avoid a life of discipleship.

Because of our inborn resistance, we are driven to ask: “how do we have faith to begin with?” After all, if it is so difficult for us to look to Jesus for all truth, wisdom and rest, even when he is standing before us, how can we begin to do so now? How can we be true disciples when we are so susceptible to sin, so frail, so tempted and easily turned away?

Jesus begin to answer these questions in our lesson for today, telling a story. Jesus unpacks the mystery of faith with a parable. A farmer decides to grow a crop, and goes out to sow seed in a field. Not all of the seed reaches its destination, however. Some of it falls on the path, and birds come to eat it up. Some of it falls on shallow and rocky soil and therefore cannot put down deep roots and is withered. Some of it falls among thorns and is choked before it can grow up. Yet, some of it falls upon good soil and grows up to produce a whopping crop—one hundred, sixty, thirty times what was sown.

In some sense, the seeds sown in this parable represent the good news of God—the Word about Jesus—that is offered to the world. This good news is scattered far and wide, in hope of taking root and bearing fruits for the sake of the world. However, whether all of this seed takes root, whether all of this seed grows and flourishes is something that cannot be predicted with any certainty on our part. I suspect that most of us are not farmers. Yet for those of us who have grown seedlings and nurtured houseplants (especially if you’re me), we know that there is never absolute certainty that the plants we are tending to will grow and flourish. If farming, if growing plants is something risky, then the business of sowing the good news of Jesus is even riskier. Not all that is sown will necessarily take root and bear fruit. However, even in the face of this uncertainty, Jesus continues to proclaim the good news about Himself. Risky though his work may be, Jesus does not cease in his work of teaching, healing and commissioning disciples.

This seed, this good news of Jesus spread broadly across the world, also represents the people who hear the gospel. The outcome of the sown seed, its fruitfulness or lack of fruitfulness is analogous to the faith of people who hear the message of Jesus. There are, after all, a variety of outcomes.

Of course, in verses 21 and 22 in our lesson for today, we see from the seed that is on rocky soil, and the seed that is among thorns, that there is indeed a certain measure of responsibility proper to those who hear the gospel. That is, there are things we can do to nurture faith. We can seek understanding, Matthew tells us. And this is not simply cognitive, intellectual understanding. This is understanding that means grappling with the Word of Jesus in such a way that we allow Him to challenge our set ways of thinking and acting. This is understanding that means bearing with Jesus as He teaches us and gently overcomes our resistance.

Verses 21 and 22 also show us that another responsibility we hold is to avoid certain things that harm our faith. Matthew tells us that we can seek to avoid the lust for riches, and the distractions of the world that call us away from Jesus. We can protect ourselves from the lurid images that would tempt us to look away from the beautiful cross that is our tree of life. We can stop our ears to the profane cacophony of voices that would claim authority over Jesus.

However much we may be called to nurture our faith, however much Jesus warns us to guard faith against the many dangers of the world, in the end, faith is something that comes from outside of ourselves.. Our strength is feeble, our wills are warped. We could not summon faith in Jesus forth by our own power, even if we wanted to. just as the sower goes about his precarious work casting seed on all manner of ground, as the birds devour and the thorns choke it, so too the Word of God and our own faith in it in is often in a precarious place. Satan is at work tempting us and the lure of riches is all about us. Men and women of God, brothers and sisters, we cannot pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps to believe in Christ. We rely wholly on the mercy of God, trusting that He will supply us with the gift of faith.

And we know that God desires above all else to share in communion—in the deepest and truest friendship—with us. Our Old Testament lesson from Isaiah today tells us that God’s Word of good news will go out from Him to His people and will not fail to accomplish its purpose. Just as God created the heavens and the earth by speaking the Word, so too, God will make us His people by speaking His Word. Just as God called all things into being with a simple and joyful Word, God will call us to faith with a simple and joyful Word.

We know that this simple and joyful Word has been spoken to us in Jesus. And St. Paul tells us in our lesson from Romans today that our sin, our warped wills, our temptations, our resistance to Jesus, is being overcome by the work of the Holy Spirit. Like Brayden, when each of us were plunged into the waters of Holy Baptism, that the power of the sinful self that would cause us to resist Jesus was broken. In the waters of baptism, we were released from that slavery to evil and brought up as new persons. We were given the gift of the Holy Spirit, the comforter, the source of faith. It is through the gift of the Spirit that we live in faith. And it is here in the life of the Church where the Holy Spirit is at work.

For it is here among God’s priestly people where we are washed and anointed, marked with the cross of Christ and sealed with the Holy Spirit forever. It is here among the disciples of Jesus that we gather to hear the Word preached and taught. It is here that the Spirit drives us to understand the Word, where the Spirit challenges our set ways of thinking and acting. It is here with the gathered Church that we offer our prayers for one another and for the whole world, particularly our enemies. Here, the Spirit prays with us, in us and for us, interceding for us with sighs too deep for words. It is here with the Body of Christ that we receive what we already are—the flesh and blood of Jesus—as we gather around the altar and eat the bread and drink the wine. Here the Spirit forgives our sin, unites us to Jesus, and transforms us for the kingdom. I could go on and on, and I know that the Spirit is at work creating and sustaining faith among you saints at St. John in many other ways.

As we are transformed through this gift of faith from the Spirit, little by little, we shine with the very light of God. As conflicted as we sometimes are as people still beset by sin and temptation, we all know men and women who have been transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit at work in the life of the Church. We all have encountered ordinary saints whose faith is a gift from God that changes those they come into contact with.

This past week, the Church commemorated Sts. Benedict and Scholastica. Nearly one thousand five hundred years ago, Benedict and his twin sister Scholastica began to respond to the awful conditions in Europe after the fall of Rome by helping to found Christian communities. They were not necessarily brilliant intellects who fought heresy with their flawless treatises. Neither were they daring martyrs who boldly suffered the flames of persecution. Rather, their faith led them to focus on simple details of everyday Christian living like what time people ought to pray together, who should do the dishes, and how to properly show humility and obedience. Benedict and Scholastica loved Jesus enough to try to teach ordinary Christians what everyday faithfulness ought to look like. Through the work of the Holy Spirit, Benedict and Scholastica helped to preserve the Church in the midst of the Dark Ages.

Benedict and his sister Scholastica may seem a little too distant from us to hit any of our nerves. But there’s another Christian I have met who has is clearly a transformed person because of the work of the Spirit. Virginia was a lady I was privileged to know during my internship year. She had dedicated her life to teaching and nurturing young people and was always eager to share her faith in Jesus and her love for the Church. God’s love and grace shone through her, through the passion she had for educating and forming young men and women to be all that God created them to be, through the love she had of worship and the love she had for the life of the Church. Virginia had been transformed by the Holy Spirit, and through her, the Spirit called others closer to God, closer to the life of the Church. As an ordinary saint, Virginia is a witness to what God can do.

Friends, we are beset by struggles and temptations. We are bewildered by the claims of Jesus and prone to resist his call. All of us wonder at times how we can claim the gift of faith, how the seed of God’s word can possibly take root and flourish in hearts that are sometimes so hostile. Yet, I think that Martin Luther said it best—when we are feeling weak in faith, when our sinful self causes us to resist the call of Jesus, we ought to run as quickly as possible to the church, to the gathered assembly of believers, to take refuge. To pray. To sing. To worship. To hear scripture read and proclaimed, preached and studied. To receive Holy Communion and to remember our baptism. For it is here among the gathered believers that the Holy Spirit is at work creating and sustaining faith. It is from here that the seed of God’s word goes forth to us, here that it is watered and nurtured, here that it takes root and grows, to produce lives abundant with the fruits of joy and everlasting peace. Amen.

A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday After Pentecost, Year A

2008-06-22T07:37:00.002-04:00

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, to whom we have been united—in death and in resurrection.

As we follow the gospel of Matthew together each Sunday during this season of Pentecost, I hope that we begin to see some of the central themes more clearly. For St. Matthew, Jesus’ ministry is one of teaching and of healing.

At the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus climbs onto a mountain and teaches his followers about the kingdom of heaven. Then, in a powerful display of what that kingdom looks like concretely, he climbs down to travel about enacting the kingdom through powerful healings and miracles.

Last week, we reached a turning point of Matthew’s gospel. For here we learn that the Son of God did not simply take on our human form to demonstrate salvation for us, but to initiate us—body and soul, mind and act, heart and hand—into the kingdom of heaven. In last week’s gospel reading, we saw that Jesus commissions his disciples into the work that he himself has been doing. Furthermore, Jesus bestows his very own power on his disciples so that they can proclaim the kingdom of heaven, heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the leper and cast out demons.

Now, as amazing as this bestowal of divine power upon the disciples may be, in today’s lesson we begin to see the difficulty of following in the path of Jesus. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the courageous and faithful theologian and pastor famously wrote of this chapter in Matthew, that “when Christ bids a man follow him, he bids him come and die.” We begin to see the power of those things that can (and so often do) stand between us and the path of Jesus.

Fear of those who can compel our bodies and hinder us in our Christian lives with threats, violence and shame can stand in the way of following Jesus. Today we see this happening in India and in Asia in a dramatic fashion, as Christians are beaten, imprisoned and severely fined for their practice of the faith. Yet here in this country, our own confession of Christ is impeded on the one hand by a aggressively secular culture that would shame us for being committed Christians, and on the other hand by a pseudo-Christian culture that owes more to hallmark sentimentality than the Bible. When Christ calls us to come and follow him, he bids us come and die.

A cowardly desire for a cheap and easy peace, rather than the way of a rightly ordered and holy peace, stand in the way of our following Jesus. Often, as we seek the sorts of homes, or jobs, or political leaders that God would have for us, we are inclined to settle for the “lesser evil.” As we seek to educate our young children, or care for our aging parents or spouses, we are tempted to provide less care and less self-sacrifice than we know we ought to as followers of Jesus. We are tempted to slough off our callings as followers of Jesus, to consign Christ to our hearts and banish him from our outward, bodily, daily lives. God has given us all that we need to joyfully and obediently follow him! Let us allow no obligation to pry our hands from the cross that Jesus has bid us carry. When Christ calls us to follow him, he bids us come and die.

There is a remarkable work by the Russian painter Alexander Ivanov called “The Appearance of Christ to the People,” and though it does not directly deal with our text from Matthew today, I think that it captures the Christian life in a dramatically visual way. In the foreground of the painting is a crowd of people gathered around John the Baptist, some of them just emerging from water, still naked after Baptism. Roman soldiers and a Jewish priest stand at the fringes of the crowd on the one side. A flourishing tree stands to the other side of the crowd. All of the people look hunched down, confused, bewildered. All save John, who points confidently toward Jesus, who stands at some distance away, a small figure in the painting, but very nearly its central point. Behind him lie a valley, and far off in the distance, mountains.

As we gaze on the figure of Jesus, our eye is drawn to the mountain peaks. Like the people in this painting, we too, baptized friends in Christ, often stand at the edge of the flowing river among the comforts of our life and are confused by the stark figure who bids us come and follow him. We are fearful of the steep and narrow road that he bids us walk behind him.

Yet let us take heart. This calling is gracious and blessed. For we are called out of our uncertainty, out of our fear, called away from “lesser evils.” When Christ calls us to follow him, he bids us come and die. But in dying to the world in the waters of baptism—which we return to whenever we repent of our sins—we are raised again to new life. In the waters of baptism, we overcame the worst that death can do. This is the reason that Martin Luther talked about the two deaths that every human must endure—the “big death” in baptism, and the “little death” at the end of our natural lives. The truth of the matter is, though the prospect of daily dying and rising is demanding, following Christ leads to the most beautiful adventure that we could hope for. And we have been given all we need to follow Jesus.

If salvation means following Christ, and following Christ means that we must come and die, then salvation is not simply about not going to hell when we die. St. Paul in our Romans lesson today clobbers the notion that most of us as modern Christians that salvation is simply about being let “off the hook.” Most of us seem to have not gotten the memo from Paul! In our popular literature, in our conversations, in our own lives and decisions, we act as though now that we’re baptized Christians, we don’t have to do anything at all! I think that we really ought to call this vision of the Christian life what it is: a reduction of the grace that has been given to us, and a cop-out from the call to follow Jesus.

Saint Paul asks us in Romans: “How can we who died to sin continue on in it?” We have been set free from our slavery to the powers of sin and death in the world, from the forces that prevent us from following Jesus. We are set free from the sin that would keep us from confessing Christ. We are set free from the sin of pursuing the lesser evil. And we receive this freedom from the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Paul tells us that we ourselves participate in this death in our baptism. He reminds us that baptism is a drowning! The beautiful white gowns and flashy ties, the flowery dresses ought not disguise what is really happening here—the sweet babies who plunge into these waters, the handsome men and beautiful women who are splashed in the font, really die! The great nineteenth-century preacher Charles Spurgeon once said that deaths by drowning in the waters of baptism are unfortunately rare.

Those of us who have already been baptized, of course, do well to remember it well. Furthermore, we may always return to these waters that they might continue to kill the sin within us. We do this whenever we repent of our sin and confess it. Whenever we seek to renew our lives and return to the gracious way of Christ.

Rising up from those sin-drowning waters of baptism, we enter a new life. We enter the life of resurrection. And though we do not yet enjoy the fullness of the resurrection that will come on the last day, we know its joy and hope in part, and substantially so. We enter a new reality, a new way of being in the world. We know the new life and growth that comes from God the Father through Jesus Christ, who works in us by the power of the Spirit. What does this mean?

1) It means that whatever smudges the image of God that we bear as human beings is washed away and no longer has power over us. We are brought into a new relationship with God through Jesus, and are given the gift of the Holy Spirit.

2) It means that we are brought into a new network of relationships with other human beings, a new way of daily life, a new way of serving our neighbors. The language about family in Matthew 10:35-39 certainly ought to give us pause, ought to rattle our cages a bit. In fact, this passage aims not only to rattle our cages but to break them open and show us that in the Church, we are brought into a new society, where our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers are those who do the will of God. Certainly, our earthly families remain intact, but they are put within the framework of our life in the Church. We truly learn to be sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, as disciples of Christ joined together in a common death and resurrection of baptism.

3) This resurrected life in Christ means that we now have a new set of priorities and commitments. We desire no longer to squeak by with the lesser evil, but we are set free from fear and domination to pursue the greatest good—life lived with God and in service to our neighbor.

If we are truly free, then we are truly out from under the burden and domination of sin. All too often, I think that we misinterpret our spiritual father, Martin Luther, when we bat around catch-phrases like “simul justus et peccator” (that is, in English, “we are at the same time justified saints and sinners”). We fail to grasp hold of the glory God has for us when we lazily proclaim: “sin boldly” and forget the very particular context of that remark, or the fact that Luther followed it up by saying to “but believe the gospel more strongly still.” The only thing that entitles us to be saints and sinners at the same time is our mighty struggle against the sin that remains in us.

And because we do not yet live in the fullness of the kingdom, because our bodies and the body of the world are still gripped by decay, disease, sickness and death, we know the effects of sin. We experience its lure and fall prey to the lies of the devil. We allow the violence of the world and the shame heaped upon us by our culture to silence our confession of Jesus. We allow the sentimentality [of Thomas Kincaid art and greeting card poetry and motivational speakers] to pass as the fullest expression of Christian faith, instead of doing the hard and dirty and often thankless work of prayer, study, and humble service to our neighbors in need. We succumb to the “lesser evil,” offering up lies when it seems convenient, indulging our lust and failing to remain chaste before we marry. This is no way to follow Jesus.

The good news is that God has something better than this for us. Though the resurrection of our bodies has not yet fully happened, we begin the resurrected life here and now. We live in the hope and trust of the future. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, and through our own baptism into this death and resurrection, we enter a new life.

Beloved people of God, we must consider ourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Here’s a parting shot to turn over in your minds. Imagine what this might mean for you. For your families and friendships. For your work and your recreation. That little word “to” can also be translated as “toward.” In other words, we are “alive towards God in Christ Jesus.” As we live and move and have our being in Jesus, as we grow and strive in our Christian lives, we move ever toward the very life of God.

More on selecting political candidates based on their virtue

2008-06-22T07:32:00.002-04:00

This article got my wheels turning regarding the selection of our political candidates based on virtue. Too bad we ELCA Lutherans don't see anything this good in The Lutheran...

Augusta, etc.

2008-06-16T10:16:00.002-04:00

We are living in Augusta, which must currently be one of the hottest places in North America. Seriously, 100 degrees has been the routine high temperature around here for the past few weeks. I break into a sweat simply walking outside the water the plants on our patio at 9AM. And it seems that anymore, in the South, autumn and spring have ceased to exist as seasons. Rather, they are days between that buffer winter from summer. I'm just going to have to get used to this hot weather. Perhaps if I put on a robe and lay a hot towel over my face, I can imagine our patio as a sauna and enjoy a little bit of creative luxury. Last night, I went out for a run and wondered why in the world we don't just become nocturnal creatures during the summer.

Still, as hot as it is, Augusta is an awfully nice place: a Saturday local market with farmers' stands, bread-bakers, soap-makers and other out selling their wares; good parks-- including some stellar disc-golf courses; a decent public library; a historic downtown and some beautiful houses. If I can manage to find some part-time work to supplement my supply preaching I'll be living even larger here in the Garden City.

Yes, I am graduated finally from seminary and am waiting for a call. Unfortunately, despite our desire to find a congregation close to Augusta just can't be fulfilled-- there are very few, and none of them are searching for a pastor. So, we're casting the line a bit further afield and waiting for someone to bite. It's kind of nerve-wracking, but what can I do?

One thing I have been doing lately is reading more, including some novels I've been meaning to get to for a while. Richard Powers and Haruki Murakami.

The former's Plowing the Dark was a bit disappointing; it's well-written and awfully thought-provoking, but it never really congealed as a novel with developing characters and what might be called a humanizing thrust. I suppose that merits a little explanation. Cervantes, Doestoevsky, Chekhov, Sterne, Melville and Conrad all deal with the deep eternal issues of the human soul, and do so with all the complexities of emotion and intellect that we bring to bear on these problems. Powers, for all his intellect and skilled writing seemed to lack that mystery and emotional depth that the greats possess. That may be part of the point he's making, however-- after all, he does write about "virtual reality", and the way that computerized knowledge radically transforms human life.

Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, on the other hand, was mysterious and wonderfully strange. It's a novel that really fails to fit any description I can give it. Sure, there were some quite weird plot elements that had to do with elements of Japanese divination religions. But the encounters of the main character with disturbing historical and political, as well as supernatural forces, transformed him (and me, too, it seems). I will certainly be looking into this author some more in the future, and wouldn't be surprised if he continues to gain the notoriety that he obviously deserves.

Right now, I'm reading David Bentley Hart's Story of Christianity. It's not an academic book, like Beauty of the Infinite, but a really simple coffee-table book with a lot of pictures. Still, though, it's as elegantly written as one would expect from Hart, and full of accounts of the traditions like Ethiopian and Armenian Christianity, that one doesn't usually pick up in standard Christian histories.

Sermon for the Fifth Sunday After Pentecost, Year A

2008-06-16T10:07:00.002-04:00

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, who gives us his authority so that we might proclaim to the world that the Kingdom of Heaven has come near. Amen.

As we follow the gospel of Matthew in this season after Pentecost, we reach a particularly strong point of transition in our reading today. It is a key point in Jesus’ ministry, for he begins to not only call his followers to action, but to commission them, to authorize them to do the very works that he does. As he does this, Jesus bestows on them his own authority and power!

One of the main points of Matthew’s gospel is the teaching of Jesus to his followers. Jesus began his mission with the sermon on the Mount, where he taught his followers what the Kingdom of Heaven looks like, and how to live in it. It is, after all, more than a place. The Kingdom of Heaven is the sphere of our lives—as persons and as communities—under the gracious ruling of God. After all, what God in Christ intends for us is more than a place—it is a way of living that glorifies Him and fulfills us.

Of course, in addition to teaching, Matthew emphasizes the healing ministry of Jesus. After climbing down off of the mountaintop, Jesus set to work healing insiders like Peter’s mother-in-law, and outsiders like the Roman Centurion, alike. He casts out demons and makes the lame walk, He eats with outcasts and even raises a girl from the dead. Jesus is powerfully at work demonstrating the reality of the Kingdom rather than simply describing it for us.

Yet today, Jesus culminates the teaching and healing he has done thus far by initiating ordinary and diverse people into the work of power that he has been doing. He comissions his disciples to do his work. He grants to them authority to do all that he has done up to this point in his ministry. In one sense, Jesus does this for their sake—that is, so that they can learn and grow as disciples, and become more fully the people whom God would have them be. Jesus invites them into bringing in the Kingdom. Yet even more, Jesus commissions them, he gives to them his own authority, for the sake of the world.

He calls for the disciples to intercede on behalf of those sheep without a shepherd, who are dejected and cast down. He calls for them to pray that God might send out workers to harvest the fruits and bear the good news of the Kingdom. (What follows this helps us to remember that God always involves us in what we pray for!)

Jesus then bestows his power upon the disciples. He comissions them for the very work that he has been about since climbing down off of the mountain. It’s significant here that these disciples are identified as apostles. (In Greek, apostolwß means “sent.”) The disciples are first and foremost people who are sent to proclaim and enact the Kingdom. But rather than being a random assortment of nameless servants—they are named and numbered. And both of these facts are significant. That Jesus has called specifically twelve calls to mind the twelve tribes of Israel—what Jesus is doing is in continuity with what God did for the people of Israel. That Jesus names them, and identifies some of them with specific vocations and stations in life shows us that Jesus called—as he continues to call—people of great variety into his mission. People like you and me—poor and wealthy, latino and black, political radicals and government workers, conservatives and liberals. Jesus calls us to learn his teaching. He calls us to experience his healing. But even moreso, Jesus commissions us to carry out his work in the world.

People of God, we are called and commissioned by Jesus, too. We are called today to carry out his work and are vested with his authority. There are innumerable sheep without a shepherd—without the shepherd—right in our own neigborhoods and communities. Even though our setting looks quite different, the Church today shares in the same commission that Jesus gave to the disciples. I think that as we attend to the particulars of the mission that Jesus lays out in our gospel lesson for today, we will begin to see what our mission here at St. Mark’s Lutheran might look like.

Jesus sends the apostles specifically to the people of Israel—children of Abraham who had slackened in their faithfulness to the covenant, but whom Jesus had come to renew. I think that for us today this might mean two things—first of all, our mission as the Church starts internally. That is, we must have a reckoning of where we are in our spiritual maturity, and begin to renew our life together before we can faithfully and effectively reach out to others. Furthermore, when we do bring the ministry of Jesus to others, we begin with those we know best—our families, our friends, our communities! We speak to them in the language that we know, telling them the good news of Jesus. Knowing them well and being familiar with their difficulties and illnesses, we offer the healing of Jesus as trusted people.

Jesus also tells the apostles to “Proclaim that the kingdom has come near.” For some reason, our Evangelical friends seem more willing to do this. We ought to learn from them how to talk about Jesus’ love for us, and our love for Jesus. And we ought to prayerfully study our own lives as persons and as communities to see just how our work and play, our daily living proclaims the gracious rule of God in the world.

The apostles are commissioned to heal the sick and to cleanse the leper. So, too, we are to visit and pray over, to annoint with oil and offer the promises of Jesus to the sick and the outcast, the AIDS patient and those suffering from mental illness. We are called to let no cultural stigma stand in the way of the ministry of Jesus that we are sent to carry out.

The apostles are commissioned to raise the dead and to cast out demons. Powerful accounts of this in Christian communities in Africa and Asia exist up to today. Now, in our Western culture, I’ve not heard of these things recently. Still, this is the power that Jesus bestows on us as he sends us into the world. Power over the forces of death and the legions of demons that resist the Rule of God.

Ultimately, Jesus assures us, we have nothing to fear from these powers. So we march confidently about the work that Jesus commissions us for even in the face of death, even through the plagues of demons. And we reach out with the promising word, with the miraculous healing of Jesus to those who are as good as dead in our world. Those who are dead in addiction to drugs or sex or violence. Those who are gripped by the demonic power of prostitution. Those who are in the grip of demonic greed which would cause so many women and men in our world to work in sweatshops, throwing their lives away for a few cents an hour.

Brother and sisters in Christ, we are called to hear the good news and to be ourselves healed. But we are also sent. Our compassionate shepherd has commissioned us and vested us with authority in a world that is filled with sheep who have no shepherd.

As we go, we go with the power of Christ himself—filled with the love of God which the Spirit has poured into our hearts, as St. Paul says in our lesson from Romans today. We draw this mighty power—to proclaim and heal, to cleanse and to raise the dead—not from ourselves or from having the clever ideas from the world, but from the very power of God at work within us. Power poured over us in the waters of baptism. Power laid out for us in the feast of Holy Communion. Power in the words of God which we hear as we gather together. Let us not grow fainthearted, but drawing strength and hope from Christ’s compassionate heart, let us go into the world with healing and good news. Amen.

Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter

2008-04-02T09:27:00.000-04:00

“Preserve me, God, because I take refuge in you.” This is the cry of the woman seeking shelter from her abusive husband. “Preserve me, God, for I take refuge in you.” This is the cry of the laborers whose work wears down their bodies and corrodes their spirits in exchange for a few cents an hour. This is the prayer of all those who suffer and doubt, those who stand in the midst of violence and injustice, hunger and disease.

“Preserve me, God, for I take refuge in you.” This is our prayer, too. For as we pray these words, we pray with the psalmist of Israel, and also with Jesus, for the ancient Church read the psalms as the prayers of Jesus, Israel’s Lord. We cry out to God with the psalm for refuge and protection. We cry out for guidance and help in a time of trouble. We cry out as the powerful pour out sacrifices to other gods. We cry out as the influential adore the names of gods other than the Lord. You see, for Israel, idolatry was no light matter. It meant child sacrifice and deification of sex, turning to the cycles of nature rather than nature’s creator and ruler. Idolatry meant turning away from the covenant that the Lord had made with Israel, the Lord who had brought them out of Egypt and into the promised land.

We, too, as we look around ourselves, see idolatry all around us. We see idolatry in the pursuit of distorted power over others—in exploitive workplaces and abusive families, in totalitarian governments like China and Sudan. We see idolatry in the endless thirst for possessions that consumes our culture, grips our imaginations and turns us away from work in service to our neighbor and turns us in upon ourselves. We see idolatry on the television and on the internet, where sex is treated like any other commodity, and keeps women and men in a state of slavery.

The sin of idolatry is so destructive not because it is the breaking of a rule. The sin of idolatry is so destructive because it breaks relationships. You and I are created for communion with one another and with God. As the world refuses the covenant which God intends, we all experience brokenness and pain. Yet, as we in the Church see by the light of Jesus’ resurrection, we are called to refuse the idolatry of the world, the idolatry that breaks communion. We are called to trust in the refuge and help of the Lord.

God promises to provide for us, and as we pray the psalm, we learn that the Lord not only gives to us what we need, but that he gives it bountifully. The psalmist exclaims that what the Lord has given is “surely beautiful above what I deserve!” As we look at what is given to us in creation—our bodies and our minds, our creativity and our potential, our relationships and our means of sustenance—all of this is an abundant gift from God. Surely it, too, is beautiful above what we deserve.

As we pray this psalm, we learn that part of trusting in the refuge and help of the Lord is looking to the holy ones in the land. As you and I look to the holy in the land, we turn to those who are made holy by Christ—the Church. Here, in this community of people shaped by the Holy Spirit, we begin to see what holiness looks like. In the saints who have come before us, and in the saints who are among us right now, we see models of faithfulness in a variety of circumstances. In the saints, we see what wonderful work God can do in every time and place. And in the community of the Church, we find sustenance and support for our own journey in holiness. Together we gather to be instructed. Together we gather to hear the Word and to be nourished with the sacraments, to pray and console and support one another in our joys and trials. Here, we draw strength to continue in faith.

Through the faith that is born and nurtured here in the Church, God provides us with the greatest refuge and strength we could possibly ask. For in faith, we experience here and now the kingdom of God. In faith, we know the abundance of blessings that are beautiful above what we deserve! In faith, we receive forgiveness of sins, reconciliation with our neighbor, healing, peace, and hope. The blessings of faith mean that, though seeing may be believing, faith is seeing beyond our limitations the fullness of God’s eternal intention for us. By our faith, we are already receiving its goal—the joy of salvation and Christ’s presence with us.

So we persevere in this faith, even as we struggle and doubt. In our gospel lesson for today, we hear the story of the risen Jesus showing himself to the disciples. Thomas, who was not among them that day, refuses to believe that Jesus is risen from the dead lest he see and touch Jesus himself. Later, when Thomas is with them, Jesus comes among them again, showing himself to Thomas, and saying to the disciples “blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” Some of us are quick to judge Thomas, who has become known as “the doubter.” However, because of Christ’s graciousness, let’s remember that Thomas also was the first of the disciples to call Jesus “my Lord and my God.”

As we seek refuge, as we pay attention to God’s providence, as we share together as a holy community Christ transforms our doubt and struggle into bold confession. We are sent out to heal the wounds of the afflicted, to mend brokenness, to bear witness to God’s covenant hopefully held out to a hurting world. We are sent out to bear witness to Christ’s resurrection and to participate in God’s work, transforming expressions of doubt into powerful confessions.

The Lord promises to guide us on the path of life. The psalmist tells us that the Lord instructs us and gives us counsel, to teach us. What will refusing idolatry look like in this time and this place? How will each of us reflect on God’s sustenance and providence in our lives, our families, our community? How will this congregation as a people grow together in holiness and support one another in prayer and Christian living? How can we live life more faithfully and obey God’s call to proclaim the hope of Christ? This is not easy work, by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, each of us who has been baptized received the gift of the Spirit, and we are nurtured by bread and wine that are the body and blood of Christ. Together, we are called this Easter season to truly discern what it means to live in the light of the resurrection. And as we live out our calling as the Church, God promises to teach us what it means to be resurrection people.
….
As we pray this psalm with Israel and with Christ, we remember that when all is said and done, the Lord promises to save us from death, just as Jesus was, and to bring us to share his joy with all the saints forever. Jesus Christ is risen. Alleluia.

Sermon on Isaiah 50 for Palm Sunday

2008-03-17T08:18:00.001-04:00

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Today, I would like to focus on our lesson from Isaiah. This is a rare Sunday on which all three of our texts—Old Testament, Epistle, and Gospel lesson—all fit together perfectly. I’m partial to this text from Isaiah, though. It speaks to us not only about the sufferings of our Lord, but the suffering to which all the people of God are called to. Above all else, though, our lesson from Isaiah points toward the joyful mystery of our God, who sustains us in the midst of our faithful suffering, and promises to rescue us from the grasp of sin, death, and the devil and give us eternal life.

Isaiah speaks to a people in exile. Far from their homeland, deprived of their precious temple, defeated by Babylon, the people of Israel were humiliated. They had ignored the covenant that the Lord had made with them. They had turned away from His gracious guidance. They had set up idols of false gods and had rejected the gifts of the one true God, the Lord of Israel. In the first thirty-nine chapters of Isaiah, the prophet cries out to the people, by turns railing at them harshly, and gently persuading them. Despite the warnings, they continue in sin.

Once in exile, the people of Israel seem to lose hope. We have been forsaken and forgotten by God. We have been cast off. However, the prophet speaks words of comfort to them: God has neither forsaken nor forgotten you. In the first verses of chapter 50, the Lord says to the people “Where is your bill of divorce? THERE IS NONE!” The Lord, who created heaven and earth, promises to rescue His people. The same God who brought the nation of Israel forth from slavery, will once again lead His people home again in an Exodus even greater than the first.

Isaiah speaks God’s promises to the people confidently. Yet, these words seem to fall on deaf ears. The prophet speaks hope to a hopeless people. Isaiah’s message is one that, for some, is too good to be true. For many, it was plain nonsense—a light too bright for their exile-darkened eyes.

The prophet tells us about the dangers faced by God’s chosen who live in exile—both the people of Israel who are exiled in Babylon, and you & I, the people of God who live in the midst of a world broken by sin, death, and the devil. Isaiah tells us that there is the danger of growing weary, of tiring in the face of challenge, of growing so used to our oppressors that we begin to see them as normal and perhaps even good. We know that there were those among Israel who tired of waiting for God, who sought to make a comfortable life in Babylon. There is the danger of not hearing God’s voice, of isolating ourselves from it or drowning it out with other, competing, voices. We know that there were those among Israel who turned to false hopes—to idols and to hideous practices. There is the danger of humiliation and scorn; those who mock and accuse the faithful. Those who mock the faithful prophets that speak the promises of God.

I think that you & I know these dangers. I think we know them because we face them ourselves. We grow weary of the challenges of a faithful life. Like the people of Israel, we too grow weary of striving to discern and articulate worldviews that are reasonable and faithful. We grow weary of faithfully striving to articulate identities that sometimes come into tension with our parents and our families. We grow weary as we face the temptations of dangerous behavior with alcohol, drugs, sex, and wastefulness.

Like the people of Israel, we are in danger of turning away from God’s voice so that we do not hear it—all of us face lifestyles and voices that challenge or dismiss the Christian faith. All of us see the appeal of vocations and habits that do not serve others or glorify God but instead seek to serve the self or to oppress the innocent, the poor and the downtrodden.

Like the faithful messengers of God, the prophets, you & I, the baptized, face resistance to the proclamation of good news. As we speak the gospel, the promise of God to forgive sin and to protect and sanctify His people, we are met with unbelief and sometimes even persecution. The faithful people of God always face the reality of suffering and martyrdom. In our culture, we don’t necessarily face the kind of suffering that the martyrs of the early Church faced. None of us will likely ever face the prospect of being fed to the lions or being burned at the stake. Yet we do face attacks on our character. We face unbelief and shock; for we confess a shocking truth—the Lord almighty, the God who created the universe chose a ragtag people called Israel, and despite their failures and disobedience, promises to restore them against all odds.

As we resist the danger of weariness, the danger of turning away from God’s voice, we can expect the forces of sin, death, and the devil to be hard at work opposing us.

In our lesson from Isaiah today, we see a portrait of God’s messenger. A messenger who resists temptation. A messenger who obediently listens to God’s voice. A messenger who boldly proclaims the good news of God’s promises to His people in exile, even when it costs comfort and reputation.

There are many different ways to understand who this mysterious servant that Isaiah presents us with is. But as the people of Israel who are followers of Christ, we can’t help but see Jesus as the one who fulfills Isaiah’s vision of servanthood.

We began this season of Lent with the story of two temptations—the temptation of Adam & Eve that resulted in the fall, and the temptation of Jesus, who resisted and overcame the temptations of Satan. We see in Jesus the one who does not grow weary. We see in Jesus the one who does not turn away from God’s voice. We see in Jesus the one who takes the form of a slave and suffers for the good news, even to the point of death.

In this Holy Week, we have an opportunity to meditate on what Christ’s obedience means. We have an opportunity to hear the words from God the Father that Jesus the Son speaks to us, promises of comfort and deliverance. We have an opportunity to contemplate the sufferings that Jesus bore for our sake, and to wait expectantly for His vindication.

Let us gladly receive Him with shouts of Hosanna as He comes to us, humble and obedient. Let us tune our ears to the good news that He speaks. Let us hold out our hands as He comes to us in bread and wine. And let us follow in the way that He calls us, to freedom in new life with God. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Exciting

2008-03-12T11:43:00.002-04:00

I got my new issue of Lutheran Forum last week, and am excited about having published a poem in its pages. Though it's not a literary magazine, in my mind it's the most serious Lutheran publication out there (in English, anyway.) Under new editorship, the magazine seems to be fostering a real cultural foment amongst Evangelical Catholics with the publication of contemporary art, reflections from seminarians, hymns, sermons from various pastors, and thoughtful editorials.

I am hopeful that both the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America can overcome their internal schisms and reach some rapprochement with one another. This magazine seems like one way among the many needed to heal our wounds and divisions.

A Homily on Mark 8:11-26 for Wednesday of Lent 4

2008-03-06T10:52:00.001-05:00

Grace to you, and peace from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ, who opens our eyes to see the glory of Jesus.

The healing of the blind man in this gospel lesson is one of my favorite Bible stories. The gradual healing of the man is strange! What are we to make of it?

We must remember, first of all, that sight and blindness, faith and unbelief, are intertwined in the gospel of Mark! True perceiving is seeing Jesus, and, fortunately (or unfortunately!) most of Jesus’ followers do not truly see Jesus for who he is.

This is unfortunate because by failing to see Jesus, his opponents—in this lesson, the Pharisees, but elsewhere the folks in his hometown, as well as his disciples and his own family—distance themselves from the healing and restoration that Jesus offers.

The pharisees in this lesson ask Jesus to perform a sign—a sign in order to show to them who he is. It may seem strange for us that Jesus refuses to offer a sign! After all, hasn’t Jesus given signs of his glory on numerous occasions before? Hasn’t he cast out demons, raised a child from the dead, made the lame walk and offered speech to the impaired? It does seem odd…until we realize the intent of the Pharisees. Mark tells us that the pharisees are trying to test Jesus. They do not approach Jesus with faith. Jesus refuses to perform signs and miracles under the conditions which people themselves set up to test him.

Under these conditions, Jesus is little more than a cheap wonder-worker, a magician performing party tricks. This, Jesus refuses to bow to, and it’s a good thing, too.

Jesus takes the initiative—not simply in sending his disciples out to participate in establishing God’s kingdom, but in healing and restoring us to who we were meant to be. Above all else, it is because of Jesus’ own power that we are able to even recognize who he is!

It’s in this sense that it is good that the disciples and followers of Jesus have misunderstanding and doubt—so do we!

Yet, Jesus is patient. He does not condemn our doubt. Look at how he responds to Peter and the disciples as they yet again misunderstand who Jesus is and what his ministry is about. Jesus does not excoriate them. Rather, he asks them “Do you not yet understand?” Jesus gently implies that there will yet be a time when he will show them more fully who he is. Jesus here implies that he will deliver them from doubt.

So too, at a time when I struggled with my own faith as a younger man, Jesus delivered me from doubt. As much as I believed that I could deliver myself, will myself to faith through herculean effort, I simply was not able to. A wise mentor told me that God would offer me what I needed to believe; He would speak to me in a manner that I could understand. Again and again, despite all my blindness, all my self-pride and misconception, Jesus spoke to me in a language that I could understand, Jesus healed my blindness in steps. Through the witness of friends, through scripture, through prayers—my own, and intercessions from faithful friends, most of all through the touch and taste of Holy Communion—Christ’s own body and blood—God brought me to a fuller vision of who Jesus is.

We shall see that the disciples, as the blind man, are healed in steps. They begin in sheer blindness. Yet through Jesus’ own initiative, they begin to see dimly, and step by step more clearly. We shall see the parallel between the blind man’s gradual healing and the disciples dawning & gradual confession of Jesus as Messiah. However, only in the light of the cross and the empty tomb will we be able to know who Jesus is most fully.

What’s important here is that Christ takes the initiative. He calls on us to trust him. He calls us to lay aside our preconditions. He calls on us to lay aside the hoops that we would have him leap through. He calls on us to wait patiently as he lays his hands on us and restores us to sight. We are, as Martin Luther said upon his deathbed, truly beggars for God’s mercy. And this is good news! For faith is a gift and not a work which we perform. Faith comes through Jesus himself, at his initiative. And the faith of Jesus Christ
leads us out of blindness to a rich and perceptive life in communion with God—Father Son and Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Homily on Mark 6:7-29 for Wednesday of Lent 3

2008-03-03T09:24:00.002-05:00

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who sends us into the world to do ministry in his name.

Today in our lesson from Mark, we see once again the mystery of Jesus’ identity. All people who encounter Jesus wonder who he is! His family, his disciples, the religious authorities all are baffled by who Jesus is, and what the nature of his power is. The only ones who truly recognize him are the demons and evil spirits that he casts out of the possessed. Yet no one seems to take note of the title with which they address Jesus—Son of the Most High God, the Holy One.

In our lesson today, it is King Herod’s turn to be baffled by Jesus. Now Herod is not really a king. However, he is granted power by the Roman Empire to have a small measure of authority, and what he does have, he lets go to his head. And he is truly perplexed by what is happening in Jesus’ ministry. He hears about Jesus’ disciples: they are sent out. Sent out to preach repentance. Sent out to exorcise demons. Sent out to anoint with oil and heal the sick.

King Herod hears about Jesus’ disciples being sent out to do ministry. King herod hears this and he is afraid. Herod is afraid because he believes that Jesus is really John the Baptist back from the grave.

In a flashback, we, the audience of Mark, learn about Herod’s history with John. You see, Herod—like the Old Testament King Ahab—was under the thumb of his evil wife, and like the prophet Elijah, John the Baptist was a thorn in Herod’s side. Mark tells us that John disturbed Herod. John disturbed Herod because he told him that his marriage was unlawful and improper. John disturbed Herod so much that he sent his soldiers to arrest John and to put him in prison. John disturbed Herod. Yet because Herod was so intrigued, he refused to kill John.

Yet, when backed into a corner by the cunning of Herodias and her daughter, Herod is trapped. In order to please his evil wife and her daughter, Herod sends his soldiers to behead John and to present his severed head to his wife.

We see here a glimpse of what is to come for Jesus and for his disciples. Herod is disturbed by Jesus. Yet Herod is mistaken when he sees in Jesus simply another prophet like John. For Jesus comes not only preaching repentance, but he engages and overpowers the evil forces of the world directly: Jesus casts out demons. Jesus heals the sick and the suffering. And what’s more, Jesus sends ordinary disciples into the world with authority. Jesus sends his disciples to preach repentance. Jesus sends his disciples to cast out demons. Jesus sends his disciples to heal the sick and the suffering.

And Jesus sends with the authority of a king who has already conquered the forces of evil. Though the false king rises up, threatened, Jesus remains faithful to the point of death. Though the false authorities of the world ultimately nail Jesus to a cross and bury him in a tomb like John, God raises Jesus again to new life and continues his ministry in you and in me, the people of his Church.

Once again, today, the authorities of the world see the ministry that Jesus has sent us to do and is disturbed. They hear our call to repentance. They see the exorcism of evil. They know about healing of the sick and the suffering. And the powers that be resist this. We see the powers of the world at work around us. In addiction and oppression. In violence like what has happened at northern Illinois University. In family members that are sick and dying.

Yet Jesus sends us with the authority of a king to bear his good news faithfully to the world. We meet the challenges and resistance of the world boldly and faithfully, knowing that like our king, God will bring us, too, to new life.

Homily on John 4:5-42 for the Third Sunday of Lent

2008-02-26T17:06:00.004-05:00

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who challenges our preconceptions of the Christian life and leads us into a more sustaining faith. Amen.

Today, I am happy to preach from the gospel of John. I relish the challenge even while I tremble to touch this gospel, as sophisticated and complex as it can sometimes be. What’s more, as we hear this story, like the woman to whom Jesus speaks, we think that we understand so well, while in reality we miss the point just like our Samaritan sister.
I want to retell the story here, in brief, so that we can get to the bottom of what’s going on. I think that as we engage with scripture, we find that we do not interpret it so much as it interprets us.

This passage begins with a discussion of water. While he’s resting after a long journey from near Jerusalem, Jesus asks for a drink. The woman he asks is shocked that he is speaking to her, replying “how can a Jew ask something of me, a Samaritan.” Jesus replies by pointing to himself: “if you only knew who was asking this of you, you would’ve asked him for water.” We see here just the beginning of a whole train of misunderstandings. Jesus speaks of living water, the woman misunderstands this as moving water. John almost seems to delight in this dialogue at cross-purposes like a stand-up routine.

Like the woman here, we understand Jesus as offering convenience and shelter from the necessities of life. Like the woman, we try to bargain with Jesus for shortcuts in life-as-we-know-it. But Jesus doesn’t necessarily offer us freedom from a water bill, or for that matter, from college loans, tests, or the other trials of life. Jesus offers us something even better: a transformed life. Like the Samaritan woman, though, we need to listen to what it is that Jesus offers us!

While the Samaritan woman seems caught in thinking about literal water, Jesus strives to break through her misunderstanding. Finally, when she asks for some of the living water for herself, so that she need not return to the well, Jesus tells her: “fine, go ahead, bring back your husband and come.”

Here, again, she and Jesus are at cross-purposes in their conversation. While she attempts to cover up the truth, Jesus attempts to uncover it. Not like a vicious gossip or a moral-policeman, but with a desire for the truth, with a desire to show his power, and an intent to heal.

Like the woman, I can say that there have been things in my life that I’ve sought to cover up in Jesus’ presence. Secret sins and petty selfishness. However, the power of Jesus brings these things to light and offers new and unexpected possibilities for life. The beginning of healing is truth, and Jesus shows us, alongside the Samaritan woman, that nothing is hidden from his gracious sight.

The woman at this point is surprised at Jesus’ insight! Again, she misunderstands, but this time in a better light—Jesus is a prophet. Here, she brings up a controversy for Jesus to settle: Should people worship as the Samaritans do, on Mt Gerizim, or as the Jews do, in Jerusalem. Jesus gives us an answer that defies convention or expectation—the Father desires us to worship Him in Spirit and in Truth. God desires lives that are focused on Him and animated by His very breath, the Holy Spirit. Jesus tells us that “I AM is speaking to you.” In Jesus, we encounter the end of our squabbles and disputes about smaller matters. Place, manner, all these are relative to who it is that we worship with our whole lives.

As 21st century Christians living in a divided Church, when people are claiming many conflicting things about what it means to truly worship God, these words of Jesus address us all the more powerfully. It is only as we encounter Jesus, as we dwell with him and listen to him, that we are able to worship in Spirit and in Truth. In Jesus, we are freed from bondage to this or that cause, from this or that political party, from this or that set of ideas. It’s not that causes, parties and ideas are bad, but we can never let them wrest our allegiance from Jesus himself.
As a parting shot for today’s lesson, we see a picture of what it means to grow in the Christian life. The Samaritan woman leaves the well, tells the people in her village about Jesus and what he has said, and they come to see him. John tells us that first, they believed in Jesus because of the woman’s words. Then, they believed because of the words of Jesus himself.

Finally, they believe because Jesus himself is with them in person. I think that this Lent, as we think on baptism and what it means to grow in our baptismal life, this can serve as a helpful model for us: many of us were either brought to faith through our parents or through friends who invited us to church. We believed in their testimony and grew in faith because of it. Then, as we matured, we studied Jesus’ words for ourselves, heard them proclaimed in preaching and teaching.

Yet, as we grow in faith, as we deepen our discipleship, as we become adults and leaders of the Church, we are encountering Jesus in person. In our prayer, we learn to listen and contemplate. In our reading, we learn to ask difficult questions. In our life together, we learn to see Christ in one another. And in the sacrament, we draw close to Jesus and take into ourselves his very body and blood.

My prayer is that we might all learn to worship God in Spirit and in Truth. Jesus has promised to be near us in our journey—and in the midst of our misunderstanding, selfishness and doubt—to graciously and lovingly guide us into all truth.

Books

2008-02-14T17:02:00.002-05:00

Rusty Reno has a great reflection on books and serendipity on the First Things Blog. A distinctive moment in my maturation was when I realized that even were I to dedicate all my time to it, I would never even begin to read all that I would like or even need to. As a remedy to this, I've been a great list-maker ever since...lists for all the books I'd like to read in a particular genre or discipline, lists for all the books I remember reading and notes on what I gleaned there.

However, some of the best books (or at least the most influential books) I've encountered have been completely fortuitous finds. Sometimes they are even assigned readings. I discovered the poetic hero of my college days, Pablo Neruda, by wandering the stacks at Berry College's library. I've picked up many a mildewed book in a used bookstore because of a warm blurb on it's jacket from an author I admired. In some fashion, leisure really is a great aid to intellectual development. (I like to say that laziness is, but it's more accurate to clarify it as leisure.)

Lists are not all they seem to be. In any case, my train of interest veers off in a different direction every time I finish a book. That is why my hope is to die with a useful amount of knowledge about many things rather than a penetrating understanding of just one or two things. Whether that's borne out or not remains to be seen. I simply hope that I don't die ignorant!

A Sermon on Genesis for the First Sunday of Lent

2008-02-14T16:59:00.001-05:00

Grace to you and Peace, from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who calls us to remember. To remember our beginnings…our beginning in the creation; our beginning in sin at the Fall; and, above all, our New Beginning in the waters of Holy Baptism, where God calls us back to relationship with Himself and, though us, with the whole creation. Amen.

In this season of Lent, we in the Church have a distinct opportunity to remember. We remember that we are dust, and that our lives, with all their furious activity and urgent projects, will, soon enough, be dust again. With one of the Church’s most strongly worded confessions, we remember our sins and repent of them publicly. Some of us turn to our personal habits and endeavor to take on more fruitful spiritual disciplines in order to remember and to grow in God’s love. All of us are called during this time to remember and return to our baptism, to remember our total dependence upon God’s grace. Here in the waters of baptism, God marked us out and claimed us, setting us free from sin, death, and the power of the tempter. Yet, even while we now know the salvation God has given us in Christ, our lesson from Genesis today calls us to remember our beginnings. Our lesson calls us to remember, first and foremost, God’s original and continuing intent for us.

God’s intent for us from the very beginning has been a relationship rooted in trust and self-giving love. And God has given us all of our needs from the very beginning. He has graciously supplied what we need to live in loving relationship with Him.

Our first lesson today, this story of creation in the second chapter of Genesis shows us in loving detail God’s shaping of the first human beings from the dust of the ground, and animated with His very breath. First of all, God provides the first humans with sustenance—trees good for eating, and a garden in which they can live.

And, glimpsing something of God’s creative power, we see that God provides the first human beings not only with flat sustenance, with the bare minimum of survival but grants them beauty—and in this account, not only are the trees God provides good for food, but they are “pleasing to the eye.” Here, the sheer descriptive details—the good land, the many animals—this sheer profusion and orderliness of creation is beautiful and delights the senses that God gave to the first humans.

What’s more, though, God provides the first humans, in the midst of a beautiful and sustaining creation, with community. God presents to the man all the animals that He has created. We see here that human beings are not alone in the world, but are situated in a community that goes beyond them. As a crown and capstone to this community, God forms another human out of this man. Shaping her out of the man’s own body, God creates woman. God doesn’t desire us to be alone, but provides for us a community.

Above all else, though, God provides for the first human beings with boundaries and instruction. God tells them that they are to eat of all the trees in the garden, but they are commanded not to eat of the tree of knowledge of good & evil. It’s important to notice that this negative commandment is given in the context of God’s larger permission for the human beings to eat of every other tree in the garden. God’s instruction to the first human beings is not simply an arbitrary command imposed upon human beings for no reason. This commandment is given to the human beings by God as a concrete sign of the love that is between us. Just as love between human beings can never be an entirely abstract thing—children want to hug their parents, sweethearts want to give each other tokens of their affection, friends want to demonstrate their fondness for one another—so, too, God provides a tangible and outward way for human beings to live in trust with God. This command, then, is God’s way of directing His creatures toward what is best—relationship with Him.

Yet, into the midst of the garden in which God had provided the first man & woman with sustenance, with beauty and its delight, with community, and above all with a concrete way to live in relationship, came the serpent, the tempter. We can easily see in the dialogue between the woman and the tempter a script of our own temptation and Fall. Notice that with its craftiness, the tempter’s first words mistake God’s own command: “Did God say ‘You are not to eat of any tree in the garden?’” This is the beginning of the humans’ eroding trust in God. The seed of doubt is planted in the human mind. Next, notice that the woman adds to the commandment, again mistaking the fullness and intent of the command. As she recounts it, human beings are neither to eat nor to even touch the fruit of the tree in the midst of the garden. As the serpent begins to describe what will happen once she eats of the tree, we see a shift in her vision: suddenly, the fruit of the tree seems “a delight to the eyes, and good for food, and to be desired for wisdom.” From here, it is a short step to actually eating the fruit and rupturing the relationship God graciously created between human beings and Himself.

We see in the tempting serpents subtle lies, in the woman’s poor memory of God’s commands, in her naïve trust of the serpent’s promises, that before it is actual and external, sin is a failure to trust God. Sin begins with a shift in our vision. Rather than seeing what God has given as good and desirable, we seek sustenance, beauty, and community elsewhere. We want to heed no one’s instruction but our own. Sin is a failure to trust in what God has provided for us from the very beginning.

It is easy to read this story as a quaint mythology—and we students have an ample vocabulary that we might use to distance ourselves from the story’s claims upon us. But in this Lenten exercise of memory, we can never stray too far from the fact that the story of Adam & Eve is our story, too. Just like the first man and the first woman, we turn away from God’s intent for us and fail to trust in His gracious gifts to us. When we horde resources, when we allow our appetites to rule us, we fail to trust in the sustenance that God has given to us. When we pollute our rivers and skies, when we allow the vulgar and the sentimental to triumph in our speech and in our arts, we turn away from the beauty that God has so graciously provides for us out of sheer delight. When we refuse to reconcile with our brothers and sisters, sometimes even as we share in the body and blood of our Lord at the communion altar, we reject the community that God intends for us. We too easily forget that the story of Adam and Eve is our story, too, and like them, we have stepped outside of God’s gracious instruction for us. We have turned away from His intent for relationship with us and with all of creation.

Is there good news to be found in this lesson, though? Well, we know that this rupture between God and humanity was certainly not the end of our relationship! The goodness of God’s creation remains, albeit in a warped form. We still have sustenance, beauty, community and some form of guidance in God’s good creation itself, though our vision of these is clouded. Despite our falling short of God’s intent, what is created by God is not utterly destroyed, but preserved, out of God’s great love for us. Furthermore, God continues to pour out His love for us. In Christ, God’s original intent for us is renewed and restored.

We see in our gospel lesson for today that our Lord’s relationship with the Father is so strong that it cannot be broken by doubt; His struggle with the tempter in the wilderness does not wrench away His single-minded focus upon obeying the Father.

Here, we see an uncanny reversal of the Fall Story, an inversion of Adam & Eve’s disobedience. Despite the tempter’s uncanny ability to utter half-truths and to quote scripture, despite the tempter’s urgings to turn Jesus away from His relationship with God, Jesus refuses to do so. He refuses to abandon trust in God’s gracious providence.

Jesus opts for the sustenance that God provides—the words of God’s mouth and God’s protective power—and not the tempter’s distorted desire for cheap miracles.

Jesus opts for the beauty that God has provided—the beauty of a holy life poured out for the world—and not the tempter’s distorted vision of power when he shows to Jesus all the nations laid out beneath the mountaintop, their glory shimmering in the distance.

Jesus opts for the community that God has provided—the community of faithful Israel—and not the tempter’s distorted vision of self-centeredness that would drive Jesus to throw himself from the pinnacle of the temple in order to test God’s care.

Above all, Jesus honors the boundaries and instruction that God revealed to His people in Eden and later at Mount Sinai. Jesus shows us that God’s purposes for His people are not the designs of a power-monger, but the intent of One who will pour Himself in love, so that we might be included in God’s own life.

As we remember, we grieve for the suffering that’s ensued from human disobedience. From our corporate and personal sins. As we remember, we lament our lack of trust in God’s goodness. We mourn the destruction that has come from our sin.

But the good news is that in Christ, we are free to confess our sins, and to turn from death to life. The tree on which Jesus was hung is our tree of life. When we come before it, we receive forgiveness of sin and the promise of the resurrection.

Each of us, in our baptism, were joined to Christ’s own body. Because of that, all of His gifts are ours. His trust in the Father is our trust. His life lived in the beauty of holiness is ours. And as we gather around the table together, as we break the bread and drink the wine, we see Jesus anew, and we remember who He is for us. Our savior and our friend, the One who gives us life. Let’s remember that.

Sermon on Isaiah 9, on the Third Sunday After Epiphany

2008-01-28T10:36:00.000-05:00

Our Old Testament lesson from Isaiah today is one that can easily slip past us as we listen to it. Its promises of peace and release can lull us into inaction. As we travel through this Church season of epiphany, we turn our attention to the light of Christ that has been revealed in a dark world. As we travel through this season of epiphany, we turn our attention to the waters of baptism and the mission of Jesus that began at his baptism. As we travel through this season of epiphany, we focus on what it means for us, as a community of believers and as persons, to live out the mission that was given to us in our own baptism. And if we’re not startled by the light, and surprised—maybe even shocked—by the calling that we’ve received, we are probably not paying attention.

So let’s pay close attention to our lesson from Isaiah, with its proclamation of the light to come, and its promise of release from oppression. We do well to remember that every word of hope that the prophet Isaiah proclaims is a direct response to a preceding word of gloom.

You see, as Isaiah was writing, Israel had been split in two, divided into kingdoms in the north and in the south. Isaiah’s home in the south watched as the empire of Assyria crushed the northern kingdom of Israel. As we watch what’s happening through the eyes of the prophet, we can’t help but be shocked by the horrible oppression that has come upon the people of Israel. The closing verses of chapter 9 describe people driven to desparation—the smoke of burning crops clouded the skies, the deception of the prophets led the people astray, and starving to death, some were driven to eat the flesh of the dead.

Those who remained faithful to the Lord found themselves living as exiles struggling for survival in a hostile land. Their lives were painful and their hopes were slim.
Do we find ourselves in a similar situation? Sure, those of us in this community probably do not face literal hunger and few of us are plagued by life-threatening oppression. But as students, I think that all of us can experience what it means to live as strangers in a strange land. We find ourselves adjusting to life without family close by. We struggle to learn how to live faithfully in adult relationships with our teachers and peers, and with boyfriends and girlfriends. Our faith is challenged in the classroom and outside the classroom. We face many temptations, from alcohol and drug abuse, to casual sex, to wasting big money on credit cards. As we come of age, we see that all is not well with the world—thousands are displaced in Africa, war rages in the middle east, and many struggle with disease and oppression right here in the city we live in.

To us, and to the people of Israel, the prophet Isaiah declares: those who live in darkness can hope in the light. And this light is not just a hallmark pleasantry or a flashy metaphor. It is quite literally a social reality. Those who are crushed by oppression can be confident that the yoke of burden will be broken. Those who live with war and violence will one day see the blood-stained uniform of the enemy soldiers burn. Those who struggle with loneliness and doubt can be confident in the fulfillment of the Lord.

In our gospel lesson from St. Matthew today, we begin to see that promise of God take shape in a very concrete way. Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near. Now, we might think that the “kingdom of heaven” is a pie-in-the-sky way to talk about paradise, but a better way to translate the greek word “basilea” here would be “reign” or “rule.” Repent, for the reign of God has come near. Repent, for the rule of God has come near. And this ruling of God in Jesus Christ grasps hold of us and draws us out of the darkness we find ourselves enmeshed in.

Just as Jesus calls Simon and Andrew, James and John to new lives of service and discipleship, so too he calls us to live new lives. Like fish in a net, we are caught up in the grace of God unexpectedly, heaved up out of the darkness and into new light. Though this new light may initially blind us, though the transformation that Jesus makes possible for us may sometimes be painful, we take comfort in the fact that we walk behind Jesus. Jesus himself is the light by which we see, and we know that we walk through no temptation that he himself has not faced.

What’s more is that we walk in this new light with a whole company of others. Here in the Church, we have one another to support us. In our worship together on Sundays, in our study and discernment on Tuesday nights, in our prayer and contemplation on Thursday evenings, and in our friendships, in our community service, we find lights in the darkness that reflect the hope and guidance of Christ. And by virtue of our baptism, we belong to a community that stretches much wider than Lutheran Campus Ministry here at USC. As we share in the body and blood of Jesus during communion, we join ourselves to saints past and saints present and saints yet to come—ordinary disciples who follow the light through darkness.

So as we go on our separate ways tonight after worship, let’s be mindful that the light has dawned on our darkness. And just as the darkness we face is very real: hunger, temptation, war; the light of Christ is even more real, and we as a community partake of that reality in Holy Communion, in prayer and in Christian friendship, in service to those in need, we experience the reign of God that has broken into the world. Let your light shine.

Meditations on a Few Advent Texts

2007-12-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

I offered these meditations last Sunday, which was the first in Advent. As we watch and wait, we can't always do so together. And as our group finishes the academic term, we scatter homeward to spend time with our families, and-- hopefully-- to let our minds and bodies rest! We gathered to celebrate all the Sundays of Advent in one, and these meditations were from the First, Third, and Fourth weeks of Advent, respectively.

Romans 13:11-14
Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and his Son Jesus Christ, whose “Salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.”

I have a professor who likes to qualify his statements about what he’d like to cover in the next class period or semester with the caveat “unless Jesus comes back before that.” As funny as I initially thought that was, I’m beginning to really appreciate it. As I burn the midnight oil working on papers and projects, as I turn in my paperwork for my first call, as I struggle with difficult relationships between my family members and between my classmates. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think Jesus offers us a cosmic escape hatch from all of our problems. Sometimes, through God’s grace, our minor problems can become divine opportunities for growth.

Yet I am certain that all of us can point to times in our lives, or in the lives of our loved ones and our neighbors when the only hope was the fulfillment of God. As we look at many of the difficult situations that we are embroiled in, as we wrestle with broken relationships, as we observe the horrible violence and chaos in Iraq and Darfur and Chechnya, we can only cry out for the saving help of the Lord.
St. Paul tells us today in our lesson that “salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.” Even as we long for this day of salvation, even as we long for the fulfillment and peace of Christ, we have signs of hope.

These signs are not the unmistakable portents that some of our brother and sisters look for. Paul isn’t interested in distributing decoder rings to discern the signs of the times. The sign of the end of the age has already happened in the cross of Jesus Christ. And the unmistakable sign to the world is the Church. You and I in all of our speech and action are a marker of what’s to come!

Even as we struggle, even as we wait, we gather together to watch and wait, to sing and pray. We gather to console each other in sorrow and to support one another as we walk as children of the light. We gather to hear and to remind one another of God’s promises. And we taste the hope of that last day, the sign of reconciliation and fulfillment in the Holy Supper. Salvation is nearer now than it was when we first believed. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Matthew 11:2-11
In this Advent season, let us be ever mindful that in Jesus Christ, “good news is proclaimed to the poor.” Jesus tells us in our lesson that his mission as Messiah is not what we expect. Nor is it what John the Baptist expected.

This ought to come as quite a surprise for us—after all, John the Baptist is the forerunner and herald of Jesus. John is the one who has special insight into Jesus’ mission. John participates in the beginning of this mission, at Jesus’ baptism. Though it’s in a different gospel—in Luke—we hear that John’s life is so attuned to Jesus’ messianic mission that he leaps for joy in his mother’s womb when Jesus’ mother comes near. Still, John is confused, and his disciples share his confusion. They are sent to Jesus to ask whether Jesus is indeed the Messiah. This after nearly six chapters that record continual teaching, healing and miracles done before the people.

Despite all of Jesus’ activity, despite all of his teaching, there is much confusion. In our own day as much as in John’s. In John’s day—and in ours—Jesus is expected as a militant soldier come to overtake the world. In John’s day—and in ours—the messiah is expected to bring prosperity and comfort. In John’s day—and in ours—the messiah is expected as a political activist. Yet here stands Jesus, against all of our expectations.
Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is advancing despite those who would try to twist it to suit their own agendas. This we can be sure of. Yet—surprisingly again—even the force of the kingdom is not what we expect. Notice Jesus’ answer to the disciples of John. He does not answer their question with a simple “yes/no” answer. He answers it by pointing to his own life and action. He answers their question in an embodied way. The work of the kingdom is self-evident in Jesus.

Especially in an age of argument and antagonism, when we are often tempted to win arguments rather than to show the truth in our lives. When we are tempted to answer with sound bytes rather than careful consideration, Jesus calls us today to confirm him as Messiah by righteous lives that are given in service to the sick, the poor, the oppressed and the lowly. We are called to be the truth, not simply to speak it.
This is a gracious calling, and God gives us all that we need to accomplish it.

Tonight—and every time—we take Jesus’ body and blood into ourselves, we are made more fully into his body. Though we consume this bread and wine physically, it consumes us spiritually, and forms us more fully into the people that God would have us be. As the body of Christ, we are people on a journey. A journey of service and proclamation, moving ever towards that final day, when all will be fulfilled. Amen.

Matthew 1:18-25
The good news that St. Matthew brings to us in this lesson is that “When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him…” This year’s last Advent lesson from the Gospel of Matthew seems a bit anti-climactic. Especially when we hold it up against the birth narrative in the Gospel of Luke, the one which we read last year. There are no choirs of angels, no caravans of shepherds, no manger. Only a solitary man, struggling to be faithful in a difficult situation. Yet for all its starkness, I think that our lesson today shows us precisely what Immanuel means for us as Christians in a daily, lived way.

Last week, I was talking with [a student] about the first year reading experience here at USC. He reminded me of one of my favorite books from high school—Catcher in the Rye. One of the most poignant scenes in that book portrays the main character Holden Caulfield at an elaborate Christmas play in Manhattan. As multiple processions file into the theater in solemn pomp & circumstance, and lush music is broadcast over the perfect sound-system, Holden can only remark with disgust “This is fake. If Jesus were here, he would puke.” Neither the schmaltziness of Hallmark nor the elaborate Christmas rituals our culture has drawn up can adequately communicate to us a God who has taken on flesh, who has come to be truly present with us.

Present in pain and sorrow. Present in loneliness and confusion.

Joseph, in our lesson for today, finds himself in a situation that some of us may have been indirectly acquainted with. A fiancée or girlfriend turns up pregnant. A disappointment, but hardly out of the ordinary. Joseph, the righteous son of David though obviously perturbed, is considerate of Mary and seeks a quiet divorce.

Two things seem striking here—first, this situation is hardly the way in which we’d expect the savior of the world to appear, this is hardly the way we expect God to take on flesh. Second, given such a potentially embarrassing incident, we might expect the narrator of the story to simply cover it up! Why talk about something that might cause scandal.

It’s been said, and I think it’s a fact, that if you aren’t scandalized by the gospel, you probably aren’t listening. We know that Joseph is indeed a righteous and considerate man, because he is listening. He is scandalized. Yet, as God reveals to him the uniqueness and wonder of his situation, of his own participation in the salvation of the world, he is faithful. He remains as husband of Mary and father-figure to Jesus.
In this situation, we see that God chooses to be present even in the midst of situations that might appear embarrassing and tawdry. Not present in a simply passive way, but present and active. God is not just soothing Joseph, but is at work to bring about salvation through the forgiveness of sins. In Joseph’s attentive listening, and in his quiet faithfulness, we see that God is present and active in our daily lives and in our smallest choices.

There are certainly no stunning choirs of angels here, no touching scenes at the manger. There is only a quiet man struggling to be faithful. Yet here, as everywhere else, God, Immanuel, has chosen to make himself present. Alleluia. Amen.

Some Prescient Observations from Philip Reiff, with special relevance for the ELCA...

2007-10-23T20:27:00.001-04:00

"The wisdom of the next social order, as I imagine it, would not reside in right doctrine, administered by the right [people], who must be found, but rather in doctrines amounting to permission for each [person] to live an experimental life"

--The Triumph of the Therapeutic

All people desire the last end, whatever they desire.

2007-10-14T09:28:00.000-04:00

"To say that human life has a fundamentally liturgical character is a way of recognizing that even the most pragmatic actions exceed themselves by pointing to the unquestioned and the transcendent, which is the horizon within which they operate." --Catherine Pickstock

Liturgy, Language, Corndogs and the Summa

2007-10-13T12:01:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a happy day at the seminary-- the fall semester book sale at the library. Two beloved professors who recently retired donated most of their personal libraries to the cache of great books being sold by the library. I left with a box of books that I look forward to reading over the years: the first few volumes of Luther's Genesis Commentary, Gadamer's Truth & Method, two books by Colin Gunton, E.P. Sanders' book on Paul and Judaism, and lots of others I'm failing to remember.

One book I have been especially curious about but have not had the wherewithal to dive into yet is Catherine Pickstock's After Writing. As a creative writing student (at the time, admittedly far from Christianity) I wrote an essay on the connections between liturgy, language and the sorts of theological (or at least metaphysical) concerns that I was trying to address in the poems I was writing at the time. As I remember the paper, it was awful in many respects, largely because there was very little written about those interconnections in
the literary field. Pickstock's engagement with those issues on an explicitly philosophical level looks to have some very pertinent things to say about what I wrote on earlier. Furthermore, her engagement with liturgical language as an embodied way of being in the world seems to have some very important pastoral connections, too.
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The South Carolina State Fair is in town this week, and I am rarin' to get
a fried snickers bar and ride a few rides with some friends tonight. It ought to be a good way to enjoy Columbia's recently-arrived fall weather.

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Though I have never been very successful at such things, the thought occurs to me that keeping a journal of sorts for my reflections on the Summa just might help me clarify and record my thoughts for my class St. Thomas Aquinas. We'll see.

I am thoroughly enjoying St. Thomas, and while his writing is difficult to stay with at times (his mind is rigorous and thinks through the implications of each word, phrase, and idea), he is also eminently practical. I come away from reading him with an appreciation for wisdom, that way of being in the world that transcends efficiency or mere correctness, but cherishes the Good and seeks to act in such a way that the common good is realized.

Lutheran Forum

2007-10-05T23:33:00.000-04:00

I am excited to see Lutheran Forum under new editorship. Which isn't to say that the previous editor did a poor job at all. LF is the only magazine to my knowledge with a solid commitment to an Evangelical and Catholic outlook on matters Lutheran. I was drawn to LF by the stack of old copies that a mentor in seminary passed down to me early on. Reading articles that took Biblical, patristic and Reformation perspectives to the heart of the contemporary Church and her struggles, I got excited at the prospect of doing ministry. LF is both theologically solid and inclined toward the point where all things meet for folks in the Church-- ministry in the local parish.
Sarah Hinlicky-Wilson, new associate editor at LF was on campus here last week and talked a bit about some ideas she has for the magazine and showed some of us the new format. There are hymns included, and special space dedicated for the concerns of seminarians and young pastors. I am also happy to see a new and much more navigable website in operation.
All in all, it looks like it will be worthwhile to continue to subscribe.

Weekend Fun

2007-09-25T17:36:00.000-04:00

On retreat with Lutheran Campus Ministry at University of South Carolina, in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. Blue Ridge, how I miss you!

Enjoyed getting to know the students; spending some QT with them could not be topped.

Brave New Statement

2007-09-25T17:02:00.000-04:00

Last week, here at Southern Seminary in Columbia, a geneticist who is part of a panel put together by the ELCA (my church body), came to speak to the community here about a social statement that's being developed on genetics. Now, the ELCA has many statements on a number of issues-- abortion, sustainable livelihood, care for creation, domestic abuse. Our speaker this past week helpfully pointed out to us that these social statements are crafted in the tradition of Roman Catholic moral encyclicals promulgated by the Pope on occasion. Our speaker also pointed out (though without the sense of lament that I feel), that our ELCA social statements are crafted to land squarely between the poles of contending positions on difficult issues.
This is unfortunate, I think. While thinkers of different stripes certainly may hold opposing views on particular issues, for Christian some issues should not be quite so abstract. To use an extreme example (which I think compares readily with other contemporary moral problems), there are are a variety of opinions which a faithful Christian might hold on the teachings of National Socialism, but the faith of the Church would require the Christian to reject nearly all the actions ever performed by Germany and Italy under National Socialism. There are actions which, though contested, are clearly wrong when viewed from a faith that is Biblical and apostolic.
Reading my body's own social statements makes me envious of the teaching authority held by the Roman Catholic Magesterium, the Teaching Magesterium of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, or even of the broad Biblical consensus of Evangelical denominations, which more often than not make faithful declarations on social issues.
That aside, the discussion was rather good. One question haunts me after
leaving the discussion: if the human identity is constituted by certain limitations, limits which when crossed betray a lack of trust in God's providence, then how do we approach the issues of genetic technology and manipulation responsibly, using our power for the greater good. This interrelationship is something that causes me great fear. This is hardly a substantive discussion of the issue, but it'll have to do for now.
Three resources that have proven to be invaluable for me in thinking about these issues: Gilbert Meilaender's Bioethics: A Primer for Christians; from a more secular standpoint, Francis Fukuyama's Our Posthuman Future, in which this Hegelian thinker takes an unexpected Aristotelian turn; and this article on Huxley's classic from Caitrin Nichol at the New Atlantis.
I hope to have some more time to write at greater length here soon...Until then, peace.

Missa Est

2007-09-14T17:02:00.000-04:00

I'm back in Columbia, after a wonderful year of internship in Boone.

After a long hiatus...and a dire need for yet another venue of procrastination...I decided to write again in blog-space. Having changed e-mail addresses and having lost my old password, I've had to move my address, though.

So. This space is a bit stripped-down. But I'll put up new links, write about classes, readings, and seminary life in Columbia. This is my last year and I am striving to make the most of it, despite being behind in my readings already.