Epiphany 3 - John 4.1-42 - February 2, 2014

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

This long lesson was adapted into a poem that I want to share with you. If you go to the church facebook page you can find link to a video in which a young woman performs the poem in a spoken word, slam poetry style. It's really powerful. Let me share it with you.

http://youtu.be/Q49BbfgJbto

Jesus knows. He knows the woman at the well. He know about how she is living with a man who is not her husband, he knows how (for whatever reason) she has had five other husbands in the past, he knows that she does not believe in God, he knows that she is at the well at midday, instead of the morning with the other women, he knows that she is rejected by society, by her family, by her friends, by her town. Jesus knows her, maybe even better than she knows herself.

As the poem suggests, to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known. Have you ever had anyone who has known you? Who has known everything about you? Have you ever had someone who knows your deepest, most painful secrets? Have you ever had someone who knows you for the real you?

We all long for this. We all yearn to have someone know everything about us. We all hope that someone in this world will understand who we are, and how we are, and why we are. 

At this well, Jesus knows this woman. He knows everything about her. And for this woman to be known completely by this man of God, changes how we should see the world. Here is a woman, an outcast, a failure, a sinner, a disappointment, and yet, Jesus, God in the flesh, knows her. He doesn't have to take the time to get to know her, he already does. This woman, on the total outside of life, is known by God, and she is loved. 

She is loved so deeply that she comes to believe that Jesus is the Messiah. She is loved so deeply that her entire life is changed. The way she sees herself and the way she sees the world are completely changed. 

If you've ever longed for someone to know you, then you should know this: God does know you. God knows you better than you know yourself. God knows your every secret, your every desire, your every hurt, your every hope. God knows you and God loves you. 

And if that were the end of the story, what an incredible one it would be. But this woman at the well is loved so deeply that she can't help but want to bring this good news to others. Because Jesus knows her and because he loves her, she can't help but bring this good news to the rest of the city. The same is true for us. When you know how much God knows you and loves you, it's hard to not want to share that with others. To be known and loved so deeply by the God who made everything will change your life and will change the world.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Sermon from Sunday, January 26, 2014

John 3:1-21

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?”Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

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In the name of Jesus. Amen.

For God so loved the world. For God so loved the world. For God so loved the world.

More than any other verse in the bible, John 3:16 is probably the most familiar, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life." These words have been heard over and over and over again. From NFL football players, to nationally known TV and radio personalities, and even WWF wrestlers, John 3:16 has to be the most enduring and well-known verse of the bible.

Jesus' words here have meant more and said more to more people in history than almost any other words that have ever been recorded. You've heard them at funerals, and weddings, and Sunday School classes, and VBS extravaganzas, and bible camps, and even painted in memorial on the walls of our East Hallway here at Clarkfield Lutheran. Let's just say that these words of John 3:16 have staying power.

But have you ever really taken much time to look closely at the words that surround John 3:16? Did you know that there is a whole chapter, a whole book, and a whole bible that surrounds these words? It's hard to believe, I know, but the bible says more than, "For God so loved the world."

One could argue that these worlds are some of the most important in the bible. In fact, I've made that argument before. But it's at least interesting to see that these words actually fall into the middle of a very interesting story: the story of Nicodemus.

Nicodemus was a Pharisee, sort of a religious nerd, who came to Jesus in the middle of the night and to tell Jesus something Jesus already knew. "Jesus," Nicodemus says, "you're a pretty great teacher. You must be sent from God." Gee, thanks for pointing out the obvious, Sherlock. Did it take you a whole week of sleuthing to figure that one out?

Good thing I didn't write the bible. I'd probably be too sarcastic. Well, anyway. Nicodemus points out this glaringly obvious thing about Jesus, that Jesus was sent from God and that he was a great teacher. So Jesus decides that he isn't done teaching and that Nicodemus still has some learning to do. "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above," or "born again."

And Nicodemus, not so smart now, replies, "Born again? Born again? Do I crawl back in my mother's womb?" He doesn't get it. Nicodemus came to Jesus by night, in the dark, and he is still in the dark. He doesn't get it. A religious nerd, stumped by this great teacher of God.

"Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?" For pete's sake, Nicodemus, you don't even get that a person must be born again in order to see God's kingdom. Here you are, you've spent your whole life studying the scriptures, geeking out on religious encyclopedias, and yet you still don't get this simple, basic fact about God's kingdom?

Nicodemus, having been in the dark his whole life, is finally coming to the light. But it's not as simple a fact as it might seem. Born again. Since Nicodemus first heard these words, the world has been wondering what they mean. Nicodemus took them literally, asking if a person must crawl back into their mother's womb and be born again. Others have wondered if these words actually should be translated like they are in our version we read today to mean, "born from above." Still others have interpreted them figuratively to mean giving your life to Christ, or accepting Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior. 

You might be surprised to hear this, but this last one is the least convincing for me. I don't think Jesus meant at all that you have to give your life to Christ or accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior. 

Jesus tells Nicodemus, "Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be born again.' The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." The Holy Spirit blows like the wind, Jesus says. You don't get to make a decision for Christ, you don't get to control where God works in the world, you don't get to decide when or how the Holy Spirit shows up. Your decision has nothing to do with God. God is God and you are not.

This is what Jesus teaches Nicodemus. This is what Nicodemus is in the dark about: that God is uncontrollable. God shows up when and where God chooses. God loves whomever God loves. How scandalous! How crazy! How wild to have a God who chooses to do whatever God chooses to do! It's a hard thing to have a God who doesn't bend and twist to our every whim and will.

Instead, we have a God who loves the world. The whole world. We have a God who gave his only son so that we would not die, but have eternal life. We have a God who brings light into the dark places. We have a God who shows up, and who shows up in love and light.

The world was dark, people didn't know God. But this is God's judgement, "that the light has come into the world." God shines in the dark places. God loves the unlovable. God is God and we are not.

What a thing it is to have a God and not pretend to be a god. Our God shows up. God shows up whenever and wherever God chooses. But you can be sure about one thing. That God shows up in love. And God shows up to light up the dark places. So thanks be to God, who loves and gives us light.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Sermon for 2nd Sunday After Christmas

Lesson is John 1.35-51

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Even though the church calendar is still celebrating the season of Christmas, with it being the second Sunday of Christmas, the world is done with Christmas. Christmas lights on houses are slowly being turned off, trees are coming down, decorations are being put away. At this point, the big box stores have probably been done with Christmas decorations for two months and are busily putting up 4th of July decorations. The world is done with Christmas.

And yet the church is still clinging to this Christmas season with all its might. The church wants one more Sunday of Christmas.

But why? What for? Why is this grip we have on Christmas so important? 

I wonder if it isn't because the church knows something that the rest of the world doesn't. And that something is this: that Jesus Christ is something more than just a simple holiday party. God born in the flesh is something more than presents, and food, and even family. God born in the flesh, the reality we celebrate in Christmas, is beyond us and our holiday gatherings. There is something more tangible, more lasting, more solid that is beyond all of our celebrating and we're still clinging to it.

So just why is it so important that Jesus came in the flesh and why is it so important that we need two more Sundays after a Christmas Eve service to hear that message?

I think that the questions that we encounter in our Gospel lesson for today point to some reasons for our tight grip on Christmas and the reality of having God in the flesh.

The first question comes from Jesus. As he's cruising along on the road, he hears some footsteps shuffling along behind him. When he finally can't stand their silence anymore, Jesus spins around and he sees two of his cousin John's disciples following him on the road. "What are you looking for?" Jesus asks them. He knows they are looking for something. They are just following him silently on the road, walking behind him like a couple of children dragging their feet as they trudge through the store with their mother.

This first question, "What are you looking for?" points us to something significant: people knew that there was something important about Jesus. They just didn't know what it was. This guy Jesus was somebody special, but they really didn't yet know just how special he was. They really didn't know that he was God in flesh, God walking around in their neighborhood.

These disciples are seekers, spiritual wanderers looking for something to grip tight to, looking for something or someone to believe in. They know that there is something about Jesus that is special, but they're not quite sure what. They're really not quite sure what they are looking for. And so, Jesus simply offers them an invitation to come and see what he is all about.

Jesus doesn't launch into some long, drawn out explanation about how a person can get saved, Jesus doesn't ask them to turn over their lives to him. Instead, he offers a simple invitation: come and see. Come and see what you're missing out on. Come and see what real life looks like. Come and see what it means for God to be born in the flesh, to walk among God's people. Come and see God, living and laughing and loving alongside you. Come and see, Jesus says.

Now, the second question was Nathanael's. He'd heard about this strange Jesus guy from a man named Philip. When Philip told Nathanael that Jesus was one the prophets had talked about in the scriptures and that he was also the son of Joseph from the town of Nazareth, Nathanael asked, "Can anything good come out of that backwater, hick town of Nazareth?"

The first question was the question of a seeker. But this is a skeptics question, "Can anything good come from a town like that?" How could something special possibly come from Nazareth? How could anything good come from there? What has ever come from that place that is worth anything? I don't believe it, Nathanael would say, the Messiah could never come from a place like that.

Nathanael is a skeptic, a spiritual fact-checker, sorting out fact from fiction, truth from falsehood. He's like a filter for religious claims about the Messiah, keeping the riff raff from claiming to be the one they've all been waiting for. Skeptics are a gift, in many ways; they keep us from simply assuming or from taking things as the truth with out checking first.

Philip's reply to Nathanel is interesting. Rather than try to argue with him, rather than try to fight about how wrong he thinks it is to question the Messiah, Philip simply says, "Come and see." 

"Can anything good come from Nazareth?"

"Well, rather than argue with you, come and see." Philip invites the skeptic to check it out for himself. Come and see if anything good really can come from Nazareth.

Seekers and skeptics. While each of them clearly doesn't fit well with our classic assumptions about who religious types are, they are nonetheless very important parts of the story of Christmas. God in the flesh, Jesus Christ, uses these seekers and skeptics to teach us that not all religious types have it all figured out. 

These seekers and skeptics are not all that much different than today. Today, too, we have lots of seekers and skeptics. Perhaps you might consider yourself to be a person in one of these categories. After all, the minute any one of us thinks we have this whole God and Jesus thing figured out, God throws us a curve ball. God in the flesh is not something we can figure out, it's a mystery really.

The church clings to Christmas, to this reality and mystery of God in the flesh, because the world is still seeking and the world is still skeptical. Whether you are seeking or skeptical, why not come and see what Jesus is all about?  Follow me on the journey; I'm not quite sure either, but gosh it sure is interesting!

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Lent 1 :: Feb 17 :: Luke 10:25-42

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Our two lessons for today might seem like they don’t have very much in common, but they share one, fundamental theme: distraction. Perhaps you’ve met some of the people who are the easily distractible types. You know, the one’s whose trains of thought keep hopping the tracks and you can never keep up. I know that there are even a few of you here who are like that.

Me, I’m the kind of person who has to follow a train of thought until it comes to a complete stop. But I want to twist this around a little bit and make you think about this all very differently.

Those of you who are much more like me, the kind of people who have to follow a train of thought until it comes to a complete stop, are guilty of distraction as well. How, you ask? Let me tell you.

As much as my kind of brain is applauded for being on task and for being perseverant, my kind of brain is also missing everything that it is not able to focus on. Every little piece of information that doesn’t happen to be on the same train as the one chugging through my head is completely missed. I fail to notice, when I am reading a book, the wonderful conversations going on the hallway. I fail to notice the beautiful sunset when my eyes are glued to the TV. I fail to notice my beautiful little girl twirling in her princess dress when my mind is fixated on the frustrating thing that happened at church that morning.

While I might not be easily distractible, I am also missing out on much of life. You see, life happens in the interruptions. Life happens in all the little things that go on around you, some of which you might notice and some of which you don’t. Life happens in the distractions.

Those of us with one-track minds, who cannot possible jump the track for some other distraction, are cursed with blinders, causing us to miss everything going on around us.

That’s the kind of distraction we are talking about in our lessons for this morning. It’s the kind of singularly focused, unshakable attention of the lawyer and Martha, the law keeper.

In the first lesson, we have the lawyer, who is out to test Jesus. He asks Jesus, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Now, you have to understand a thing or two about Jesus if you are going to understand why Jesus responds the way he does. Jesus is the master storyteller, a master teacher, he is a true Jewish rabbi. Turning the question right back around, Jesus asks the lawyer, “You’re the lawyer. What is written in the law? What do you read there?”

And the lawyer responds with the Greatest Commandment from Leviticus 19:18 and Deuteronomy 6, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus says, “yes, you’re right. So get out there an do it.”

Imagine the offense the legal expert took when Jesus assumed he hadn’t been following the law. So, to continue to test Jesus, the lawyer asks, “Well, who is my neighbor?”

And this is where Jesus’ mastery comes in. He tells the legal expert a parable. It’s a story about a man who’d been traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho (just the opposite of Jesus who was traveling from Jericho to Jerusalem were he would be beaten a crucified). On the road, the man was mugged, and left half dead. Two priests walked right past the man left for dead, a regular priest and a priest of the Levitical order, one who knew the law from Leviticus about loving your neighbor as yourself. Except that neither one of them must have understood who their neighbor was.

And then Jesus works his story telling magic. Just then, Jesus said, a Samaritan walked by. A SAMARITAN! Can you believe it? He stopped, helped the man, cleaned him up, got him a place to stay and anything else he needed. A Samaritan! Now, Jesus reminds the lawyer, who followed that law of loving neighbor as yourself?

The one who showed him mercy, the lawyer chokes out, unable to even say the word Samaritan.

Precisely, Jesus says, now get out there and do the same.

Jesus uses the story to show just how distracted by the law the two priests were. In doing their very best to avoid being made unclean by the dying man, the priests walked right past the man left for dead. These two priests were so distracted by the law of uncleanness that they completely avoided the law to love one’s neighbor as one’s self. Their singular focus, their one track minds, led them to completely avoid a hurting, dying man on the road.

Sometimes in life, in fact more often than any of us would care to admit, we are so distracted by our singular focus that we completely avoid loving our neighbor as ourselves. Even when we are trying to be virtuous and morally good, we forget that we are called and commanded by God to love God and to love our neighbor. This great commandment goes unnoticed by us because our one-track minds are focused on other things, even if they are virtuous and good.

Our mission, our calling, God’s commandment, is to love God and love our neighbor. Loving God means stopping when someone is hurt and caring for them. Loving God means forgetting about our own, singular agendas, even if they are good, to sit with someone who is in pain, either emotionally or physically. Loving God means loving your neighbor.

Our virtues often get in our way. Our best efforts are often our biggest enemies. This is why I believe Sunday worship is so important. We are all out in the world, doing our best to live good and decent lives, but we are distracted by those things. We need someone to tell us to remember to love God by loving our neighbors. We need someone to throw us off track.

Just like in our second lesson where Martha was so distracted and worried about making sure the house was in perfect order for her houseguest, she forgot the better part of all of it: that Jesus was in town and he was there to preach and teach.

Our distractions, even if they are good ones, keep us from loving God and loving our neighbor. Our focused attention, even when it is on something worthwhile and worthy, often blinds us to the real life that is going on around us.

In the first lesson, the lawyer wanted to know how to inherit eternal life, but Jesus showed him what real life was all about. Jesus pointed out to the lawyer that eternal life has its roots and origins in what life is like here down on earth. These parables are down to earth stories about how to love God and love neighbor.

So, people of God. You are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing: and that one thing is Jesus Christ himself. He will show you what real life is. He will show you the love of God in the little princess dancing while you are distracted by that bad thing that happened at work that day. He will show you the beautiful sunset while you are sucked into the TV. He will show you the wonderful, fruitful conversations while you are stuck in a book. Even if your focus is a worthy one, pay attention. God has a gift for you. In Jesus Christ, his gift is being made known and it is life-giving.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Transfiguration Sunday :: Feb 10, 2013

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

            Today is Transfiguration Sunday in the church calendar. It is also the final Sunday of the season of Epiphany. So far this season, we have been hearing about the ways in which God reveals God’s self to us in Jesus.  Today is no different. Today’s Gospel lesson is a remarkable, and a nearly unbelievable, act of God revealing God’s self in Jesus Christ. The scene takes place on an unnamed mountaintop where, together with the three apostles Peter, John and James, Jesus goes up to pray. I can imagine the setting of a mountaintop to be a good one to pray; a majestic place somehow seeming to be closer to God than anywhere else in the world.

            At the top of the mountain, the scene comes alive with a breathtaking experience for the apostles. In the middle of his prayer, Jesus’ face changed appearance and his clothes became dazzling white. Along with this Transfiguration, Moses and Elijah appeared, together with Jesus in glory. This scene is probably the most misunderstood gospel scene in all four of the gospels. It’s a strange scene, one that you can hardly make heads or tails of. But even if it is strange, it is pretty dazzling.
            This is a mountain top experience if ever there was one. I’m reminded of a friend from high school and college, this was a friend who had never really been financially well off. He couldn’t afford much of anything, really. I remember inviting him over to my house everyday after school to do homework and share a meal with our family. He almost always accepted because he knew that at home, he would have to eat the frozen, 50-cent tacos from Taco Bell that his parents stocked up in the freezer. He didn’t have much and while he was never looking for handouts he almost always accepted a full meal. As he and I were preparing for college we were both looking at Augustana College right there in Sioux Falls. Augie is a private college and tuition, at that time, was about $19,000 a year. This friend of mine had dreamed of going to Augie, but was sure he’d never have a shot at such a school. He applied to Augie, wishing me the best on my application and thinking he’d never even see the inside of an Augie classroom.

            The day letters were sent out he refused dinner and chose to race to the mailbox at home. Sure enough, he’d been accepted. We both had; but I can still picture his face as he proudly announced to me that not only had his dream school accepted him, he’d been given enough in scholarships to make his way through without hardly owing them anything. That image of his face was incredible; it was though he’d been given a second shot at life. The acceptance to Augie meant a lot to me, but to my friend who’d struggled for everything his entire life I could tell it meant a new life. He’d tell me after school in the months following what a blessing it would be to have the chance to reinvent himself. “You can be anyone you want to be, Chris. You can reinvent yourself and become the person you were intended. Nothing is holding us back.”
            This, too, is a mountaintop experience, a moment of transfiguration. I’m sure that many of us can relate to a mountaintop experience in our lives, and if not we know someone whose had one. And so we know all too well that eventually mountaintop experiences must come to an end. We cannot stay up on the mountain forever; we must eventually come down.

            When Jesus and his disciples came down from the mountain the very next day, Jesus was back to the old grindstone. Healing, casting out demons, preaching and teaching. In fact, it was straight from the mountaintop to the valley, deep in the muck and mess of human life again.

            With all of this dazzling stuff, its hard to think that on Wednesday night we will gather again for worship with our Ash Wednesday service, receiving the mark of the bleak cross on our foreheads. We’ll hear the words, “you are dust and to dust you shall return.” With these words, we begin the season of Lent, a season of repentance for sin.

            This is probably the most beautiful part of the church calendar to me. With Transfiguration Sunday and the move into Ash Wednesday, we step into a steady flowing stream of liturgy, a stream running from the beginning of the Christian church until today. The liturgy moves us from this mountain top experience of Jesus, Moses and Elijah to the depths of the valley of sin.

            Psalm 23 says it best, “even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” The move from mountaintop to the shadowy valley is part and parcel of this Christian life. Our mountaintop experiences are rare, if they ever do happen to us, and then immediately following we are sent straight into those dark valleys.
            Many commonly mistake the Christian life to be somehow easier and less complicated. In fact, the Christian life is almost always lived in the valley. This is the nature of this broken, crucified body of Christ in the world. Christian life and faith are lived here, with real people, with real problems, and real brokenness.
            Baptism is that one mountaintop experience we can count on in the Christian life. The rest of Christian life is lived in the valley, with God’s beloved people, people with real struggles. This is not to sound bleak and depressing about the life we live as Christians. In fact, you’ll discover that if you actually allow yourself to enter in to life in this valley, you will be blessed by it.
            As we move from the mountaintop experience of this Transfiguration Sunday into the valley of Lent, I encourage you to think about your own life, your own mountaintop experiences and your own valleys. And then really enter into life with the people God has made, all of the real people, with their real problems. Live there, pray there. You will no doubt be blessed by God in Christ in this valley of life. This Christian life is a true blessing.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Epiphany 5 :: Feb 3, 2013 :: Luke 7:1-17

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

I love that these two stories are placed together like this; the first story, about the Roman military leader (called the centurion) and the second story about widow and her son. I believe that you cannot read one without the other.

In the first story, Jesus was walking around in the country, teaching and preaching in the Jewish churches. He shows up to an area of the country called Capernaum. When he shows up, a high-ranking Roman soldier hears that he is in town and sends some of the old Jewish elders to go get Jesus. The soldier’s slave was very ill and close to death.

When Jesus arrives, the Roman soldier can hardly believe that Jesus had actually showed up. In fact, he sends out some friends before Jesus gets there to tell Jesus not to come.

I’ve always wondered exactly why the soldier does this. He asks Jesus to come and when he does, he tries to send Jesus home. He says that he doesn’t want Jesus there because he doesn’t deserve to have him come, but why doesn’t he deserve it? Is it because he’s a Roman soldier and not a Jew? Has he done something bad in his life that he doesn’t want Jesus to know about? Is he ashamed of the laundry on the floor and the unmade bed? Is it like when I show up for a visit at someone’s home and they feel they have to ask me to excuse the mess?

For the Roman soldier, there is something about Jesus that makes him feel unworthy. He doesn’t even want to see Jesus face to face. And yet, he still asks Jesus to heal his slave. “But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed.”

The funny thing is, Jesus never really does show up at the house. But when the soldiers’ friends return to the house, the slave who had been ill and close to death had been healed. Jesus is amazed at the faith of the Roman soldier.

This first story is an odd one to me. It’s odd because the faith of the Roman soldier, not even a good Jewish man, is what seems to get Jesus to heal his slave.

I don’t know about you, but in my experience a person’s faith has never been able to predict whether a person is healed or not. More faith does not equal greater healing. And less faith does not equal less healing. The only thing that faith and healing have to do with one another, in my experience, is that having faith when you are ill means that you believe in the power of God to do anything God chooses, including healing. God could heal if God wanted to, but my having faith or not having faith won’t force God to make the decision. God will decide when and how God will heal.

So this first story is odd, because on the surface it seems like the Roman soldiers faith is what brings healing to the slave who is close to dying.

But this is why I like the two stories together. The second story is about Jesus going into another little town, called Nain. In Nain, a large crowd and Jesus’ disciples are following him. As Jesus gets to the gate of the town, a funeral procession makes its way past him. Being carried out on the funeral bier is a young man. His mother and a large group of mourners are following. When Jesus sees the young man who had died and his mother, the widow, Jesus’ heart breaks.

Interrupting the funeral procession, Jesus reaches out and touches the funeral bier. And then Jesus speaks, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” And the dead man sat up and began to speak.

In this second story, faith has nothing to do with Jesus raising the young man from the dead. Instead, Jesus simply interrupts the funeral procession, the widow, and the eternal sleep of the young man. By his compassion and his word, Jesus raises the boy from the dead. It has nothing to do with the faith of the widow, or the crowd, or the young man. It only has to do with the love of Jesus spoken through his word.

Many of us have our own stories of miraculous healing. Unfortunately, many of us also have our own stories of illness that leads to death. Sometimes it is true that God chooses to heal us. And sometimes it is not. Some of us struggle with loved ones who pray for healing for years and years and years. Some of us struggle with our own illnesses, wondering if God will ever heal our bodies, trapped as they are in sickness. Our stories are filled with struggle and illness.

But more importantly, what we learn from these stories this morning is that God will always interrupt, always break in, always intrude on our funeral processions with a word of resurrection moved by his great love of his people. When it really matters, God looks at us and in only the kind of love and compassion that God could have for his creation, raises us up and gives us the promise of eternal life.

But we don’t have to wait to benefit from that kind of love. It’s the kind of love that works even now. God has already taken one look at your life, dead in sin, and forgiven you and spoken the word: “rise!” We have a God whose compassion knows no limits, whose love knows no laws, who looks upon his creatures with stars in his eyes and says, rise up, my people! You are mine and I am yours.

The beauty of these two stories together this morning is that they are the living word of God for you, right now. In sickness and in health, in life and in death, this God takes one look at you, moved with love and compassion, and speaks that simple word of resurrection, rise!

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Epiphany 4 :: Jan 27, 2013 :: Luke 6:1-16

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

So let’s begin with a bold statement for you this morning: the church is falling apart because we do not know what it means to take Sabbath rest.

Let’s face it, we live in a world where the ONLY measure of success is if we work harder and have more. Without us even knowing it, this plague is wiping out both the church and our very lives. If this sounds like too strong of a statement for you, you’d better look around.

The people sitting in the pews next to you are part of a steadily shrinking population, now less than 50% of Americans, who gather together to worship the Lord of the Sabbath. But let’s not get confused about what Sabbath is. Sabbath is not sitting in church on Sunday morning for an hour. Sabbath is a way of life; Sabbath is setting aside time for God to work on your heart. Sabbath is time for you to rest and play, knowing that God is working, even when you are not. Sabbath is time for us to remember that God is God and we are not.

The insidious thought that we can do better, be better, live better if we just work harder and harder and harder, is killing us. And the answer to it all is staring us right in the face: the answer is God. Letting God be God, not playing the hero, not playing the savior, letting a Sabbath way of life have its way with us, is the only answer to our own self-destruction.

Our constant work is actually counterproductive to having a life that is full. A full life includes intentional time for God’s Word, time for rest, and time for play.

Most of us know the third commandment: “Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the LORD your God commanded you. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, or your male or female slave, or your ox or your donkey, or any of your livestock, to the resident alien in your towns, so that your male and female slave may rest as well as you. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the LORD your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.”

But Sabbath goes so much deeper than this commandment. Built into the DNA of God’s beautiful and good creation is keeping Sabbath. In the beginning, God created all that exists and on the seventh day, even GOD rested! Ordained since the beginning, keeping Sabbath is a way of life for all of creation. Time to rest, time to play, time to bask in the goodness of God’s good creation.

Until the Jewish laws came along that tried to protect the Sabbath from being broken, Sabbath was built into creation itself.

With all of this in the back of your mind, think about the lesson from this morning again. Jesus was walking in the fields, plucking grain and eating it. This was a Sabbath law meant to keep God’s people from harvesting on the Sabbath. And then there is Jesus in the synagogue, healing on the Sabbath. This was a Sabbath law meant to keep doctors and other healers from working on the Sabbath.

Here is God’s only Son, breaking Sabbath law, right before our eyes. Our first thought is to say that Jesus is just like us, breaking Sabbath laws and instead of resting! But, as Jesus reminds us, “The Son of Man is lord of the sabbath.”

Jesus reminds the Pharisees and the congregation that Sabbath is about what gives life, “I ask you,” Jesus says,”is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?”

Sabbath is about life, what gives life, what leads to life. Eating and healing are Sabbath ways of life. And so are the other things of life, things like rest and play and relaxation. Jesus is Lord of the Sabbath, we are not. We must not think that life only happens if we work hard enough. God is the giver of life, he is Lord, he has it all in his hands.

Today, remember to rest. Remember to play. Remember to relax in the word of God and let him care for you. You belong to God and God is caring for your even when you are at rest.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Epiphany 3 :: Jan 20, 2013 (and pastor's conference) :: Luke 5:1-11

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

When I was a kid I used to push myself to swim past the buoy. On hot and humid summer days in South Dakota, the lake called to us with the promise of clear, cool water. And the further you swam from shore, the deeper the lake was, and the deeper the lake was, the cooler the water.

Into my late teens, and sometimes even now, the deep water of a lake terrified me. The water was cool and it felt so good, but my imagination was drenched with images of slimy, long-bodied fish slowly slipping past my leg. It gets worse. I’d get imagines running through my head ranging from the simple walleye to the simply ridiculous sea-monster…Leviathan, lurking in the depths of Wall Lake, South Dakota. [PAUSE]

Job, chapter 41,

“¹ Can you pull in the leviathan with a fishhook or tie down his tongue with a rope?

¹⁴ Who dares open the doors of his mouth, ringed about with his fearsome teeth?

¹⁸ His snorting throws out flashes of light; his eyes are like the rays of dawn.

¹⁹ Firebrands stream from his mouth; sparks of fire shoot out.

²⁰ Smoke pours from his nostrils as from a boiling pot over a fire of reeds.

²¹ His breath sets coals ablaze, and flames dart from his mouth.

²⁵ When he rises up, the mighty are terrified; they retreat before his thrashing.

²⁶ The sword that reaches him has no effect, nor does the spear or the dart or the javelin.

²⁷ Iron he treats like straw and bronze like rotten wood.

²⁸ Arrows do not make him flee, sling stones are like chaff to him.

²⁹ A club seems to him but a piece of straw, he laughs at the rattling of the lance.

³⁰ His undersides are jagged potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing-sledge.

³¹ He makes the depths churn like a boiling cauldron and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment.

³² Behind him he leaves a glistening wake; one would think the deep had white hair.

³³ Nothing on earth is his equal— a creature without fear.

³⁴ He looks down on all that are haughty; he is king over all that are proud.”

Deep water is terrifying to me. Well, if I let my imagination run too long and start wondering what’s down there it is. Just what is down there in the deep water? What would we find if we let our feet dangle a little bit further into the cool depths?

In Scripture, deep water is full of chaos, churning and mysterious. Only God knows what we’d find down there in the deep. And yet, fishermen have drug nets on the bottom of the sea floor for thousands of years. Among other things, there must be fish down there.

When Jesus tells Simon Peter to put out into the deep and let down the nets for a catch, Simon Peter, confesses. “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing.” Simon Peter has some experience with casting his net into the deep sea, some very recent experience. Fishing hasn’t been good. In fact, it’s downright discouraging. All night long; Simon Peter and the others are no doubt exhausted, frustrated, sick, and tired and sick and tired of being sick and tired. Sometimes fishing in the deep can be discouraging. [LONG PAUSE]

I am learning that this work of Christian ministry is at times terrifying and at other times deeply discouraging, (sometimes especially when your call is pastor). The empty nets after days and nights of hard, grueling work are more frequent than not. And who can forget the times when you dangle your toes in deep water, terrified about what you’ll find.

For all of us (and even those in our pews on Sunday morning) the deep waters of life are both terrifying and discouraging. Life seems troubling. You don’t have to look much further than the front page of the newspaper to see the churning of deep water everywhere you go. It is both terrifying and discouraging to think that God has called us as Christian people into this deep water. And yet, God has.

We are called into water so deep we cannot see the bottom. In fact, when we stick our heads below the surface it is simply dark and murky. A life in service to God and the world is murky, muddy, deep, and churning.

[As pastors, we run ourselves ragged doing the young adult program, teaching confirmation, administrating the office, fixing the Sunday bulletins, visiting the 10 people having surgery on their knees at one of the three hospitals, each a two hour drive from the church we serve, we are constantly hearing the complaints about the new carpet color. And that is all on a Wednesday]

This life of service is terrifyingly deep and discouraging. And yet this is precisely where Jesus told Simon Peter to drop his nets and start fishing. In the terrifying and discouraging waters, Jesus teaches Simon Peter where to fish. And as the nets stretch and strain to pull in the catch, Simon Peter is confronted with his own sin, doubting the deep and discouraging. The abundance is overwhelming. And instead of scolding Simon Peter, Jesus calls him into a life of service.

In what seems to be a parable playing out in Simon Peter’s own life, Jesus teaches him what fishing in terrifying and discouraging waters can produce. Fishing in these waters produces abundance. It’s just what God does.

Scripture testifies over and over and over again to a God who takes nothing and makes something, a God who takes soil and plants and tends and reaps a great harvest, a God who takes the death of his only Son and turns it into the life-giving Gospel for you.

We have a God whose favorite thing to do is take the deep, chaotic waters of the world and produce from them an abundant creation. Our God moves from nothing to something, from death to life. And in baptism, so do you.

It seems so strangely ironic to me that God has used water and a promise to call us to into this deep, chaotic water of life. In your baptism, water was poured over your head, giving you something tangible, something graspable, to call you into a life of service to God in the deep waters of life.

When Jesus called his first disciples, especially Simon Peter, he had them put out into deep water and let down the nets there. When he hauled the nets up, to everyone’s amazement, the nets were full, teaming with fish, in an incredible abundance. God’s call into the terrifying and discouraging promises abundance because God is at work there.

And, in hearing, the Scripture has been fulfilled. God has done this for you: in confession and absolution, in water together with God’s Word, in bread and in wine. God is at work in you, calling you to a life of service in the terrifying and the discouraging. Thanks be to God, who puts us out in deep, terrifying and discouraging water and calls us to a life of abundance with him.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Epiphany 2 :: Jan 13, 2013 :: Luke 4:14-30

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Jesus knows how to make an entrance! In his first day of work, he just about gets himself thrown off the cliff! Thankfully, Jesus plays it cool, passes right through the angry crowd as they push him toward the cliff, and goes on his way.

Today’s lesson is often called the inaugural speech of Jesus and his ministry. It’s almost like a speech a new president of the United States would give as he begins his presidency. And Jesus is a master in speech. He’s got all of the great quotes of the day memorized and he uses them to his advantage.

So let me set the stage for you a little bit. Jesus is traveling around Nazareth, just after he’s been baptized by John in the Jordan river, if you’ll remember the lesson from last week. It happens to be the Sabbath, the Jewish day of rest and focus on God’s Word. The people are gathered in a local church and Jesus gathers with them, because he’s a good Jewish man who wouldn’t miss the Sabbath.

On this particular Friday evening, the good folks in the church, hoping to hear the wonderful teaching of this new Rabbi, hand him the scroll with the prophets. He unrolled the scroll and turned to an old prophet, a guy named Isaiah.

In the words of this prophet, Jesus proclaims that God’s Spirit is upon him and given him a task. Here is where Jesus begins his inaugural speech. His task, he proclaims, is to preach good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, recover the sight of the blind, and let the oppressed go free. All of this stuff, good news, release, recovery and freedom, are part of a unique and very underused cultural custom called the Year of the Lord’s Favor. This was a real custom, even though it was rarely practiced.

The Year of the Lord’s Favor, or the Jubilee Year as it was sometimes called, required all of the Israelite people to forgive any debt that was owed to them, let all of their slaves go free, let their land lay fallow, and release to anyone who’d been held in prison. Now, you can imagine, if you were the one who owed all the debt, or if you were the slave, or if you were the criminal behind bars, this Year of Jubilee is good news, or maybe even GREAT news! But if you are the one who is waiting for the loans to be repaid or relying on the slaves to work the fields, or if you were the judge who sentenced the criminal to hard time, this would be very bad news.

Lots of times, whether the Word of God sounds like good news or bad news depends on where you’re sitting. And the folks in the pews in that little church in Nazareth, in Jesus’ hometown no less, are hearing this and wondering, “Is he talking about me?”

In his opening speech, in his home town, reading from an old prophet, Jesus proclaims that this year, this year, is a Year of Jubilee, a year of forgiving debts, of freeing slaves, of letting fields lay fallow, of releasing prisoners. This is a year of freedom.

Stunned, shocked, speechless. The congregation, with mouths gaping, stare at Jesus as he rolls up the scroll and calmly sits down and says, “Today this scripture is coming true. This scripture is being fulfilled. The poor will have good news preached to them, the blind will see, the captives will be freed and the oppressed will be freed from their burdens.”

The congregation begins to murmur. Is this Joseph’s son? Isn’t this that little kid from down the street who used to play tee ball with our boys? Isn’t this that son of the carpenter who made our kitchen table? Isn’t this that little same little boy who we had over for supper, who played in our backyard, who went to school with our kids? Is this not Joseph’s son?

And before they could get too far, Jesus had to tell them exactly what side of the fence they were sitting on. In this quiet little town, in his home church, Jesus continued his opening speech, the speech that would define his ministry forever.

“No one is ever accepted in his hometown,” Jesus said. “And not only that, I’m not even here to preach the good news to you, my neighbors and my friends. Just like Elijah helped a widow not from his own people, but from the neighboring religion; or just like Elisha who healed the skin disease, not of the guy from his own people, but the guy from another region and religion all together.”

“I’m not here to proclaim freedom to you, but to the very people whom you hold in slavery. I’m here to proclaim release to those who owe you debt. I’m here for them, not for you.”

And with that, Jesus let his little congregation, in his hometown of Nazareth, know right there in his opening speech, exactly what he had come for. His ministry was to those far off, his ministry was to the Gentiles, not to the Jews. Jesus’ ministry was to those who weren’t in church, sitting in the pews, but to those who spent their Sunday mornings sleeping in, watching football, shopping at the mall.

It’d be like me, on my first Sunday here, coming in and tell you, “I’m here to proclaim freedom,” but don’t get too comfortable, because I won’t be here on Sunday’s. I’ll be out there, proclaiming freedom of all of those people who sit on the outside of the church. I’m here for all of the people who have been hurt, disillusioned, miffed, stunned, oppressed and shunned by the church.”

And just like that, the congregation gets up and seething with anger, begin shoving Jesus out the door and to the edge of the cliff so that they can throw him over and finally put all of the nonsense to rest.

Yet there is more to this story than just what is told. What the Jews and the Gentiles find out is that Jesus has actually come for both of them. The beauty of Jesus’ sermon in church that day is that that good little congregation gathered there for church got exactly what they needed. And so did the Gentiles.

You see, freedom comes in many forms. The freedom that that little congregation needed was the freedom from their self-righteousness. They needed freedom from their sin of pride and arrogance and prejudice. That little congregation, even though it made them want to hurl Jesus off the cliff, got precisely the kind of Word from God that they needed to hear. It was a Word of judgment from God, God telling them to forget their self-righteous piety and remember that there is a whole world full of people out there that God has made and God loves them just as much. Freedom, for that little congregation, meant freedom from their sin.

And freedom for the Gentiles, those who’d been on the outside of the church walls for so many years, was coming, too. God was ushering them into the kingdom just as quickly as their Jewish brothers and sisters. You see, the funny thing about freedom and God is that God has no sense of who’s in and who’s out. God forgives and calls the whole world; God so loved the whole world. So, hear this dear friends, this is the year of the Lord’s favor. God is bringing good news to you. He is releasing you from your sin and captivity. God is ushering you into his kingdom. No matter where you’re sitting.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Epiphany 1 :: Jan 6, 2013 :: Luke 3:1-22

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”

I am so tempted to give you a ‘fire and brimstone’ sermon this morning. With a proclamation like John the Baptist gives, who could resist? After all, are we not the same crowd of unlikely sinners, gathered around baptismal waters?

I sometimes think that church should be just like this scene we read this morning: a group of unlikely sinners gathered around baptismal waters. We should think of ourselves as that group tax collectors and soldiers trying hard to serve God, yet slaves to a Roman lord telling them to steal and kill from God’s own people.

And then we should hear those words of rebuke and they should make our ears tingle, “you brood of vipers!” In the middle of a world of sin, tempted and giving in to temptation, we are that brood of vipers, guilty of stealing and killing and wanting more that we deserve all the while.

And let’s not be confused, John the Baptist is not talking about stealing and killing in some metaphorical sense, but real stealing and killing that hurts the neighbor, that spreads the sin around.

This lazy crowd gathered around him has begun to think that their heritage, being an ancestor of Abraham has saved them. That if they just had the right type of blood, the correct skin color, the right kind of hair, the proper traditions, if they ate enough lutefisk, and spoke Norwegian until the day they died, they were children of Abraham. But God can make children of Abraham out of the rocks, John the Baptist proclaims. Your salvation, your being a child of Abraham, your being a child of God, is not whether you’ve been born into the right family, but if God has been at work in your life.

And when God is at work in your life the fruits of that work look like sharing one of your two coats with one who has none, sharing your food with one who has none, not extorting money from someone, being content and satisfied with what you’ve been blessed with. In other words, the fruits worthy of repentance look a lot like when you follow God’s commandments. When God is at work in your life, when you have been given the gift of salvation, your good works follow.

Salvation belongs to our God and the fruits of salvation look like caring for one another. Which is why John proclaims his message to a lazy bunch of sinners gathered around the waters of baptism. He does this because Christ is about to do a new thing. “I baptize you with water,” John says, “but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

One is coming, John says, who will clear the chaff and gather in the grain, one is coming who will sort the corn from the husk; and this one who is coming will keep that which is pleasing in his sight. Prepare his way, make his paths straight. He will come to fill every valley and make low every mountain, he will make the crooked straight, and the rough smooth. He is bringing salvation to all flesh.

This poor crowd of sinners gathered around the baptismal waters had no idea what was coming. In fact, they didn’t even know that they needed the kind of salvation Christ was bringing them. Much like us. None of us, I think, know how much we truly need the kind of salvation Christ brings. None of us hardly have a clue that the salvation which belongs to our God is the forgiveness of sin.

We like to think we’re relatively good people, with relatively good lifestyles and that we make moral, righteous decisions as much as we can. And yet, those prideful thoughts get us stuck in the same laziness of the crowd who thinks they are just fine because they are children of Abraham by blood.

You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath that is to come! Nothing you do can make you righteous. In fact, you are a lazy bunch of sinners just like the rest of ‘em! This fire and brimstone sermon is going pretty well so far, don’t you think?

While the fire and brimstone is a very appealing way to preach, it doesn’t quite do the job. Because not only will you hate me by the time you walk out the doors this morning, but you won’t do what I tell you anyway. It’s just the way we sinners work.

So, that is why John the Baptist says there is one more powerful coming. There is someone coming who will do what he cannot: he will forgive sins and judge his people by his own righteousness, not by their unrighteousness. It is why the voice from heaven responds to Jesus being baptized, saying, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

God looks at the world of lazy sinners and only sees his beloved Son. God’s view of the world is the view that Christ gives, a world that he died for. It is the world that he loves and cares for by being born, living, dying and being raised for your sake. God’s eyes see differently than our own. There is work to be done, sinners to be saved, needy people to care for.

God looks at each one of you and instead of the fire and brimstone, he gives you his only, beloved Son. He hands him over on the cross so that you might know the depths and the heights and the lengths of God’s love for you. God hands Christ over in the waters of your own baptism; you remember that one? The one were water dripped on your forehead and God said, “you are mine, you belong to me.” God hands Christ over in bread and wine, too; and in confession and absolution. And sometimes God hands over Christ in all the places you’d never expect, but are there, charged like electricity with the beauty and grace of a God who loves this sinful world so darn much that he gave his Son to save you.

Thanks be to God, in the name of Jesus. Amen. 

Christmas Eve :: Dec 24, 2012 :: Luke 2:1-14

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

As much as we’d like them to be, beginnings are rarely marked with the kind of lavish extravagance we imagine and hope for.

Think about it, that first day of school when we were gearing up all summer for a new year begins with the bell ringing, attendance taken, and homework sent home. Hardly the kind of lavish beginning we expected all summer.

Or how about when we begin a new job. In anticipation of the new beginning we go and buy a new set of cloths, we get up and ready extra early, and we show up about 15 minutes before we are supposed to. And then when it is time to clock out for the day, the flourish is gone, the work to do has piled up on the desk, the phone calls have been endless, and the sense of accomplishment is no where to be found.

Or how about the first snow fall. With anticipation we look forward to the moisture, the pristinely white cover of all that is brown and dead, the feeling of a white Christmas soon. And then there is the shoveling, and the cold, and the slippery ice.

Beginnings are strange. With all of the anxiety and anticipation we put into them, they rarely are marked with the lavish extravagance we imagine they should have.

Our story this evening is a beginning, too. So much history, so many stories have built up this moment that we’d expect a grand, lavish extravagance would mark its occasion as well. The story of this beginning, the birth of Christ, should be marked with lavish extravagance, too.

And yet this story is like every other story of beginning that we know. Just like the first day of school or the first day of a new job, or the first snowfall, the story begins with humility and ordinary occasion. In fact, this story begins with the complete opposite of lavish extravagance. A young child, born in a stable, the animal bedding pushed aside for the young mother, a feeding trough for a crib, a dark night lit only by a single, bright star in the sky.

This is an ordinary beginning for the birth of God in Jesus Christ. As far as beginnings go, this one is about as plain as it can get; maybe even downright crude given the barn, the feeding trough, and the cold, darkness.

As much as we celebrate this birth and build it up in our Christmas Eve worship; as much as we like wearing our best to church, doing our hair so it looks just right, singing louder than we normally do, lighting candles, putting on an impressive display of devotion and honor for the birth of this little baby, this beginning is quite ordinary, quite crude even.

A young woman, her terrified fiancé, a few animals, some straw, a feeding trough, and a dark, cold night; hardly an extravagant beginning for the birth of Christ our king.

As if that all weren’t enough, we are told even more about the beginning; a group of shepherds, living in the fields, keeping watch at night, show up at the stable, there to witness this ordinary beginning. If you can’t quite imagine the scene, thinking about the children in our Christmas program should help. Imagine our kids after they’ve been with the sheep for weeks at a time, no shower or change of clothes, wandering into the stable that dark, cold night to see the baby boy lying in the manger.

Shepherds themselves were not quite known for their reputations, often crass and dirty folk, unfit to even testify in court because of their lowly existence in the fields. And here they are, unable to witness in court, but the first to witness Jesus, the Messiah, a small baby in the arms of his mother.

An ordinary, humble beginning for the Son of God. And yet, we have a God who wouldn’t have it any other way. This God of ours is renowned in the world for this kind of humility. For caring for the widow and the orphan, for feeding the hungry and healing the sick, even raising the dead to life. We have a God whose favorite material to work with is nothing. In the beginning, out of a dark and formless void came all of creation, out of dirt and wind came the life and breath of man. Our God, the one, true God of heaven and earth, likes to begin with nothing. Fallow, unworked soil is the blank canvas of a God who takes the lowliest, most humble beginnings and does something remarkable in the end.

Tonight is a celebration of humble beginnings; so humble that God can actually begin the kind of work God prefers to do: forgiving and welcoming home God’s children. God’s favorite material is a humble and contrite heart, ready for planting and tending and reaping; God’s favorite material is you. Your life, whether it is full of sorrow and pain, full of pride and prejudice, full of sickness and sadness, or full of joy and hope, your life is a good beginning for a God who likes to take nothing and make it something.

This incredible God we have begins incarnated life as a young baby, born to an unwed mother, in a dark, cold stable, on a bed of straw, lay in a feeding trough, and visited by lowly shepherds straight from the field. He lives and does his work in all the wrong places, eating with tax collectors and sinners, healing the sick on the Sabbath, touching the untouchable, and raising the dead to life.

And not only that, this incredible God we have begins life anew in life’s most humble and lowly point of death. In this dark and formless void of death on a cross Christ is resurrected for your sake, to take your life and make something completely new.

This Christmas, celebrate humble and lowly beginnings. Celebrate ordinary. Celebrate the dark and the formless. From these things God brings the grand, the extravagant, the extraordinary, the light and the well-formed life of his new kingdom. In Christ, the baby born in the dark, the light of God shines in all the world and we see that humble and lowly are, in the end, grand and extravagant.

May God bless all your ordinary, your humble, and your lowly beginnings and may God do something as grand as he did in the birth of Christ for you.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Advent 2 :: Dec 9, 2012 :: Joel 2:12-13, 28-29

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

The prophet Joel continues to prepare us by heralding the coming of Christ way back in Old Testament times. Joel’s prophecy proclaims the God who is both goodness and mercy, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.

In this Advent season, as we prepare ourselves for celebrating God-with-us, or Emmanuel, we are bombarded with busy-ness. We are rushing, huffing and puffing through our days, barely taking the chance to slow down, to savor the season of expectation and hopefulness.

We rush, we dash, we even sprint through our days, busily preparing for the annual Christmas family get together, wrapping the presents for under the tree, putting the Christmas lights on the house. With breathtaking pace we ask our neighbors, “So, are you ready for Christmas yet?” or, “How are your Christmas preparations coming along?”

And yet, as we remember the story of Christ’s birth, we forget that this season in the church year, this season of Advent, is not about being busy, but about slowing down. This season is about waiting, along with Mary and Joseph, for the birth of Christ. Imagine if Advent were nine whole months of waiting, of expecting, of hoping!

This waiting and expecting and hoping is not always pleasant, however. Some of us do not look forward to this holiday season. Some of us dread getting together with our family while others of us dread being alone for the first time during the holidays. Christmas preparation can be very hard for some of us.

And yet, there is hope. The words from the prophet Joel for this morning point to something far beyond all of our rushing and our dread. Joel proclaims to the people of God, who are dreading a tough time ahead.

Joel proclaims these words, “Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart.” God is after you, God is seeking you, looking for you to return to him with all your heart. Even for those of us who do not look forward to the Christmas-time homecoming can return to the Lord. This is a different kind of homecoming, a homecoming to the Lord. Joel proclaims that God desires our whole heart, not just the parts of our heart that are not busy, not just the parts of our heart that our happy for the season; God wants our busy and dreading hearts. God wants all of us this Advent season.

Returning to the Lord is like doing a 180 degree turn. Turning to the Lord and facing him when we wander off and struggle to find our way. Rend your hearts, tear your hearts, God says, not your clothing. When the Israelites wanted to repent, when they wanted to return to the Lord, they would tear their cloths to show their repentant hearts. But now God wants them to tear not their cloths, but their hearts. God wants their hearts.

And it is because of God’s mercy and goodness, it is because of God’s slow-to-anger nature, it is because of God’s steadfast love for his people. God knows what you desperately need this Advent season: you need a heart that has returned to the Lord.

But you will not do this on your own. That is the promise of Jesus Christ. God will have to come to you, born a little babe, in a cold and dirty stable, in a world that was in chaos. He was born for you, he died for you, he was raised on the third day for you. Your hearts are torn in two.

And he does this because, as Joel says, “Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” God will send his Holy Spirit to mend your torn hearts. You will return to God with a clean heart. Your hearts will be stitched together again and God will give you a clean heart; a heart that is ready to love and serve the Lord and your neighbor. You will not look with dread on this season of Christmas, you will not rush and huff and puff your way through Advent. You will look forward with a holy expectation, a hopefulness like you’ve never had before.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

All Saints Sunday - Nov 4

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

What does it mean to be alive? What keeps us alive? What’s necessary for life? Most of us know that the essentials of human life are simple, basic things; things like oxygen, food, water, fire, shelter, clothing, We also know that without these things, human life has a difficult time flourishing. Life seems to hang on these things.

Living happens in breathing in and exhaling, eating and drinking, cooking and clothing. In these things, life finds support, life clings to these things. And yet, as we are so bluntly confronted this morning, the reality of life is that it must end someday. Life cannot cling to these things forever. They will only support life until life’s end.

So, we can easily see that life doesn’t really hang on these things. We can see that life must really hang somewhere else; life must cling not things like oxygen, food, water, and the rest.

In our story this morning, we are met with a couple of interesting characters. First, is the prophet Elijah. Elijah was on his way to learning how to be a prophet of God. But his road wasn’t easy. The prophet was learning to be a prophet while King Ahab was in charge. And there were very few good things to say about this king. Worst of all was the king’s constant worship of other gods.

So, God thought Elijah needed some training if he was going to be a man of God in this kind of time. And what did God do but send him straight into enemy territory, during a great drought, where the evil king was ruling. And God sent him to a poor widow and her dying son. And God told Elijah that the widow and her dying son were going to feed him and give him something to drink. They were going to support his life with the scare and few things they still had left.

When he arrived, the widow, hearing that Elijah wanted her to feed him, laughed in his face and told him to go away so that she could take her last little morsels of flour and oil, cook them up, eat the cakes, go, and die with her son. The widow knew that the little stuff of life was running low and they didn’t have much to cling to anymore.

But if Elijah was going to possibly make it as a prophet in the time of the evil King Ahab, Elijah had to speak God’s Word of promise in the middle of the poor widow’s despair; and not only did he have to speak it, he had to live by it as well.

And so Elijah announces, for the widow and himself, “Thus says the LORD the God of Israel. The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail til the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.” And, as the story proclaims, “the jar of meal was not emptied, either did the jug of oil fail, according to the word to the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.”

Both Elijah and the widow learned at that very moment that real life does not cling to the things of life, but the things of life cling to the word of the Lord. That little word, “according,” means that life clings to the word of the Lord. By God’s promise, made through the mouth of Elijah, the meal in the jar did not run out, and neither did the oil.

But, of course, the things of life were not able to keep the widow’s dying son alive. And when he died, the widow yelled at Elijah. She said, “have you come to cause the death of my son?!” Elijah, finally learning to be a prophet of God, took the widows son, prayed over him, prayed to God and said, “O LORD my God, let this child’s life come into him again.” Elijah knew all too well that life clings to the word of God. And God heard Elijah and listened to him and the child lived again.

In dying, there is living. And living is made possible because life actually clings not to the stuff of life, but the very word of God. For Christians, this word of God goes by another name, and his name is Jesus Christ. The word of God is a person. Christians live by the word of God, we have life in his name.

This is what it means to be a saint. A saint is not some spiritual superstar, but a person who lives by the very word of God, Jesus Christ. A saint is one who clings to life only in the promise. We know that right now is the time for our lives to cling both to the stuff of life and the word of God. But the time is coming when we will live only by the word of the Lord.

And we celebrate the lives of those saints who have gone before us who now have life only by the word of God. These brothers and sisters who we remember today are simply clinging to the word of God. We live in communion with these saints, we share in the kind of life they have because we have been baptized by the word of God. As the apostle Paul writes, “Now we see in the mirror dimly, but then we shall see face to face.” We will someday see the very face of the word of God, but now we only glimpse and strain to see.

Now is the time for the word of God to be found stuffed deep in the things of life: things like water and bread and wine, these are ordinary things that hold and carry the very promise of God for eternal life, real life much further beyond the kind of life that clings to the stuff.

As we share in Holy Communion today, we join together with all of God’s saints who have gone before us, God’s saints who are now clinging only to the word of God. We receive the word of God, hidden and revealed in bread and wine, and it comes in the form of a promise: this is the body of Christ, given for you; this is the blood of Christ, shed for you.

Our churches architecture even proclaims our communion of the saints as we gather in this half circle shape at the alter railing, we look across the table and are joined in a full circle of God’s saints who have gone before us. The other half of the circle are our brothers and sisters in Christ, who see God face to face. Our loved ones, our friends, our enemies, our neighbors, all gathered at the table with God at the center. We sing with them, “Holy, holy, holy.” We join their prayers, we eat with them, we commune with all the saints in heaven. We live by the very word of God in our midst.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.