What follows is Sunday's sermon first draft that I abandoned a little more than half way through. It lacks only the main point--that Peter and Paul aren't the "Odd Couple" I was envisioning at sermon's start. Instead the real odd couple is us and God. And yet God enters into relationship with us and sticks with us through all the messes we get into. The sermon preached this Sunday is not available electronically this week, but it was very similar--a little more narrative in design perhaps. The main point of that one was we are all imperfect vessels for the gospel, and yet God entrusts it to us.
The Odd Couple
Peter and Paul 6/29/08
John 29:15-19
Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from God’s son and the one we follow, Jesus the Christ.
I’m all about classic TV trivia. You know, those shows you watched when you were growing up—either in prime time or (for you youngsters) in endless reruns each afternoon. I know Alice’s boyfriend’s name from The Brady Bunch. (Sam the Butcher). I know where every episode of Gilligan’s Island begins. (The lagoon). I can sing the whole Facts of Life theme song. (But I won’t!) And I can quote you dialog and “catch phrases” from a myriad of classic TV shows. Good Times? (Dyn-o-mite!) F Troop –“Not in front of the men, Jane.’ Or who can recite this with me. Join in if you can:
On November 13th Felix Unger was asked to leave his place of residence. That request came from his wife. Having no where else to turn, he Oscar Madison. Some time earlier that he never return. Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy?
Of course that is from the classic, classic television show…? The Odd Couple. I watched that show so many times, I could probably tell you what happens in each episode. One of my favorites was when Oscar and Felix went on Password. (with Betty White – some things never change!) Felix, in his usual style, gave Oscar “Aristophanes” as a clue for some mundane word—which Oscar says is “ridiculous.” Later on Oscar’s password just happens to be “ridiculous,” so he gives Felix “Aristophanes” as a clue. He gets it! (Okay so it’s lame—but it beats out Supernanny any day of the week!)
The fun thing about the show was the differences between the two main characters, and how they each lived their lives, both separately and together. And I’ve entitled this sermon “The Odd Couple” because today is the commemoration day for St. Peter and St. Paul, apostles. I find it interesting that these two giants of the early church, important as they are, and as different as they are, yet share a day in the church year. It’s as if the church fathers who put together the calendar realized that the lives of these two were intertwined through the mission they shared, and this in spite of their differences in background and experience. Can two apostles of the church share Jesus’ mission without driving each other crazy?
How much do we know about Peter and Paul—what are their similarities and their differences? Here are a couple of the important ones…
Peter was an original disciple—the first chosen. Paul was chosen after the resurrection—but he was the first apostle to the gentiles.
Peter was a fisherman. Paul was a tentmaker by trade, but also dabbled in the persecution of Christians.
Peter was a simple man, he was not learned or scholarly when it came to scripture. Paul was a Pharisee, born and bred to be a stickler for the laws contained in the scriptures. His advanced education shows in his letters.
Peter was prone to sticking his foot in his mouth and acting oafishly. Paul had a way with the written word—it is Paul’s writings on which much of our theology rests.
So much for differences, how were they alike?
Peter was called by Christ. So was Paul. Each was filled with the Holy Spirit.
Peter was a great evangelist—he converted thousands of people with the good news. Paul also had great success, starting churches throughout the Middle East.
Despite Peter’s and Paul’s success, they each faced difficulties. Peter carried the guilt of denying Christ three times. Paul’s guilt involved his bloodthirsty pursuit of The Way (as the early church was known).
Peter was repeatedly jailed for his witness. Paul also suffered imprisonment as well as floggings and beatings. Each was “broken out” of prison on at least one occasion by supernatural means.
Peter got into trouble by doubting that the gospel was to be spread to the gentile world. Paul also experienced difficulty in the early church hierarchy due to his zeal for proselytizing the Gentiles. Acts tells us that they divided the mission—Peter as apostle to the Jews, and Paul to the gentiles.
Peter continued to be inept at speaking. But it is conjectured from studies of his letters that Paul was also less of a speaker than he was a writer. In them, he rails against the so-called “super apostles,” whose eloquent, yet tainted, message wooed his churches away from the true gospel he had given them.
Finally, Peter was martyred by crucifixion. Legend has it he insisted he be hung upside down, so as not to suffer a death too similar to his master’s. Paul’s death is also shrouded in mystery. He is thought to have been executed in Rome after being imprisoned there for some time.
So, certainly Peter and Paul made up a strange duo, an odd pairing not unlike others that have popped up from time to time in history: Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant, Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett, Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza. To name a few. It seems such unlikely couples have a knack for getting the job done. Peter and Paul obviously did. Despite being an “odd couple.”
And you know what? For all their similarities and differences, one thing effected both of their lives profoundly, transforming them from ordinary beings into workers in God’s kingdom.
Welcome to the Pantry! If your larder and fridge are anything like mine, there's good things in them, and there's some things that are good for you. And then there's the out of date, the mystery meat, and the 5th grade science projects. Life with Parkinson's Disease is like that too...
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Life Out Loud (sermon 6/22/08)
Life Out Loud
Pentecost 6A 6/22/08
Jeremiah 20:9, Matthew 10:27
Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Savior Jesus Christ.
A little boy was kneeling beside his bed with his mother and grandmother and softly saying his prayers, "Dear God, please bless Mummy and Daddy and all the family and grant me a good night's sleep."
Suddenly he looked up and shouted, "And don't forget to give me a bicycle for my birthday! Amen!"
"There is no need to shout like that," said his mother. "God isn't hard of hearing."
"No," said the little boy, "but Grandma is."
The bible book of Ecclesiastes says there’s a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to reap and a time to sow, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to live and a time to die. So, it follows that, for God’s people, there’s a time to be quiet, and a time to be LOUD!
Our problem is that we constantly confuse the two. We speak our minds passionately and loudly when the Christ-like thing to do would be to hold the tongue and turn the other cheek. But, then, when the situation just begs for a response—either as individuals or as the church, we clam up and tend to be silent. What’s up with that?
Jesus said to his disciples, “What I tell you in the dark, say it in the light. What you hear whispered—shout it from the rooftops.” The good news is not a secret. It is the power of salvation for the whole world. The baptized life is not to be lived quietly. For the most part it is life out loud. Meaning, both celebrating God’s love while telling the story of God’s grace in your life, and participating in God’s care of the oppressed and marginalized.
The problem is that both are hard work. The former is difficult enough for us shy Lutherans (the average Lutheran, it has been determined, shares their faith with someone once every 26 years). It’s difficult because it involves reflection on, and the articulation of our beliefs—and we’re not all too sure anymore what they are. It’s been a long time since confirmation! So, when the situation calls for a witness, we ‘re all (look around, whistle, avoid eye contact) until the all clear sounds.
And the latter—assisting God in care and advocacy for the oppressed and marginalized in those instances when that care and public policy collide—the latter has been rendered off limits by our society. A society in which faith has become a highly individualized and private matter. (Unless you’re running for president.) ELCA Bishop Mark Hanson has been roundly criticized for speaking out on public policies—the main complaint being that such matters don’t concern the church. For the most part our society (and we as a part of it) feels that the church should be seen but not heard—that the public practice of religion is confined to soup kitchens and disaster relief.
But it’s not so! Luther affectionately called the church “the mouth house,” and Jesus encourages us in the gospel of Matthew to proclaim the nearness of the kingdom—out loud! It’s part of the commission you were given at baptism. To live among God’s people, to proclaim the good news of God in Christ, and to strive for justice in all the earth. That’s life out loud! And I’m going to tell you, now, about three ways you can live your life out loud. They’re easy to remember. They go like this:
Speak up! Speak out! And speak for!
Number one. Now, I’m the type of guy who processes things internally, so, when called upon to comment on something extemporaneously, I tend to be soft-spoken. So I hear this a lot in my house: “Speak up!”
And speak up is what we need to do in situations that call for faith talk. That call for a witness. Like when someone at work says, “I don’t go to church. Church is a bunch of hypocrites.” You may be tempted to let such talk slide—especially if the one saying it is your boss. But you really should speak up in situations like these. You might just answer back, “I do go to church because it is full of hypocrites. I like to be with people like myself!”
Or you never know when someone’s going to ask you, “Well, what do Lutherans believe?” Rather than mumble something about it being complicated and giving them my number, you should be able to speak up! Not by quoting the Augsburg Confession or the catechism, but with an opening like, “Here’s what I’ve discovered about Lutherans…” and then telling them your faith story. Which you know, of course, because it’s your story. (And then give them my number!)
You gotta tell your story. You need to be heard. So you have to what? SPEAK UP!
Number two. There is injustice in the world—in foreign nations, in this country, in this state, in our communities. And God calls us to speak out against it. To name it for what it is, and denounce it.
Sometimes this injustice is caused by human sin, like greed, prejudice, or hubris, flowing unchecked into a legitimate and normally just system. These moments demand a word from God’s people. Other times there is something far more nefarious afoot. Evil still has a foothold on this earth and we are called to speak out against it. No matter the risk.
Deitrich Bonhoeffer was a Lutheran pastor living in Germany during the rise of Nazism. He knew of the military ambitions of Adolph Hitler and the horrors of his “final solution.” He knew it was all counter to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But he also knew how dissenting opinions were handled in the Third Reich—imprisonment and execution. He had the opportunity to leave for the United States, but stayed in Germany and lead a dissident group known as the Confessing Church. While all the other churches remained silent in the face of evil, Bonhoeffer spoke out against it. He was imprisoned and finally shot to death near the end of the war.
We may not be called upon to speak out in such dramatic fashion. But speaking out against the evil we know to exist in the world, and not keeping quiet is part of living out loud. The New England Synod spoke out against the genocide in Darfur through a resolution at its assembly this month. It is part of our mission as the church—to what? SPEAK OUT!
Number three. Last week we heard that Jesus’ mission for us is to suffer along with people—to have compassion for the suffering and to bring them hope. Very often those who are suffering have no voice in the world. No voice to tell of their pain, no voice to ask for help, no voice even to pray for relief! The third way to live out loud therefore is to speak for. To speak for those whose voices can’t be heard, or who just aren’t listened to.
This is not an earth shattering thing to do. It’s more of an nuisance—an “inconvenient truth” to borrow from Al Gore. It involves not only speaking for people whose existence and plight we’re embarrassed to admit—the homeless, the mentally ill, the disabled, the poor to name just a few—but it also involves rearranging our busy lives in order to accommodate their proper care. Rising taxes, volunteer hours, and the placement of group homes in our neighborhoods are just a small sample of the ways we must adapt in order to walk the talk of “speaking for.”
Conversely, when governments get into a fiscal bind, these people always suffer disproportionately. This injustice begs a response. And if you think we in New Hampshire are exempt from such, know that in the governor’s latest round of budget cuts, 68% comes from cutbacks in Health and Human Services—the poor, the sick, the needy. Speaking for these who have little voice in the system is doing justice.
Speak up! Speak out! Speak for!
I know, I know. You’re like Moses and have a thing about public speaking. Or you don’t have a golden tongue (or pen) so you’re afraid you won’t be able to make yourself clear or be persuasive enough. You want to speak up, speak out and speak for, but there’s that speaking part of it. Well, not to worry. You know why? Because…
Actions speak louder than words. What we do as followers of Christ is indicative of the gospel message. Here’s the rub though—just as not speaking up, out, and for is a failure on our part to live the faith out loud, to hide in darkness instead of proclaiming in the light, so too the human propensity not to act in certain situations marks a failure to live the faith at all. Like Jeremiah, one must act, or be consumed by guilt.
An example of not acting. The other week in an admittedly unsavory section of Hartford CT, a seventy-three year old man was struck by a car which then drove off, leaving him unconscious and bleeding in the street. But that’s not the worst of this event, which was recorded by a surveillance camera. Bystanders who witnessed the accident did not go to the man’s aid. They never even called 911. Ten cars passed the man’s body. Two turned around! Again, none of them called for help or offered any. Finally a police officer, responding to a different call, saw the man lying in the street and radioed for assistance.
What parable does that sound like? The Good Samaritan—only the Samaritan was missing. I don’t know if any of those bystanders or motorists were Christians. But if they were, they abdicated their God-given obligation to speak the gospel through their actions on behalf of the helpless. Not to excuse non-Christians there present. They were just as negligent—just not in the name of God.
Actions speak louder than words. Leading a life that is godly is speaking up. Putting your well being on the line for justice is speaking out. And living with an awareness that we control an unequal proportion of the world’s resources, and adjusting our living habits accordingly is speaking for.
So, speak up, speak out, speak for—none of them is easy, and several of them are risky and sure to cause an uproar. Jesus tells his disciples that his message of peace, goodwill towards man, has the ironic side effect of actually disrupting the peace. Of splitting families, of polarizing opinions, of calling down retribution upon the heads of those who dare to hold fast to the freedom of the gospel by speaking in the name of the Lord. Jesus doesn’t promise success, or guarantee an easy time of it. Instead he promises dissention and guarantees that some may loose their lives. No wonder we are quiet Christians. Why would we even dare to speak? What could Jesus possibly say that would encourage us to do this radical, risky thing?
Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” In fact he says it multiple times. Don’t be afraid of those who can hurt you. Don’t be afraid of those who deride you. Don’t be afraid, Jesus says, for you, you, are valuable to God. Exceedingly valuable. And nothing that happens to you—good or bad—happens with God apart from you. God is with you always.
The world is listening. What will you say?
Pentecost 6A 6/22/08
Jeremiah 20:9, Matthew 10:27
Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Savior Jesus Christ.
A little boy was kneeling beside his bed with his mother and grandmother and softly saying his prayers, "Dear God, please bless Mummy and Daddy and all the family and grant me a good night's sleep."
Suddenly he looked up and shouted, "And don't forget to give me a bicycle for my birthday! Amen!"
"There is no need to shout like that," said his mother. "God isn't hard of hearing."
"No," said the little boy, "but Grandma is."
The bible book of Ecclesiastes says there’s a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to reap and a time to sow, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to live and a time to die. So, it follows that, for God’s people, there’s a time to be quiet, and a time to be LOUD!
Our problem is that we constantly confuse the two. We speak our minds passionately and loudly when the Christ-like thing to do would be to hold the tongue and turn the other cheek. But, then, when the situation just begs for a response—either as individuals or as the church, we clam up and tend to be silent. What’s up with that?
Jesus said to his disciples, “What I tell you in the dark, say it in the light. What you hear whispered—shout it from the rooftops.” The good news is not a secret. It is the power of salvation for the whole world. The baptized life is not to be lived quietly. For the most part it is life out loud. Meaning, both celebrating God’s love while telling the story of God’s grace in your life, and participating in God’s care of the oppressed and marginalized.
The problem is that both are hard work. The former is difficult enough for us shy Lutherans (the average Lutheran, it has been determined, shares their faith with someone once every 26 years). It’s difficult because it involves reflection on, and the articulation of our beliefs—and we’re not all too sure anymore what they are. It’s been a long time since confirmation! So, when the situation calls for a witness, we ‘re all (look around, whistle, avoid eye contact) until the all clear sounds.
And the latter—assisting God in care and advocacy for the oppressed and marginalized in those instances when that care and public policy collide—the latter has been rendered off limits by our society. A society in which faith has become a highly individualized and private matter. (Unless you’re running for president.) ELCA Bishop Mark Hanson has been roundly criticized for speaking out on public policies—the main complaint being that such matters don’t concern the church. For the most part our society (and we as a part of it) feels that the church should be seen but not heard—that the public practice of religion is confined to soup kitchens and disaster relief.
But it’s not so! Luther affectionately called the church “the mouth house,” and Jesus encourages us in the gospel of Matthew to proclaim the nearness of the kingdom—out loud! It’s part of the commission you were given at baptism. To live among God’s people, to proclaim the good news of God in Christ, and to strive for justice in all the earth. That’s life out loud! And I’m going to tell you, now, about three ways you can live your life out loud. They’re easy to remember. They go like this:
Speak up! Speak out! And speak for!
Number one. Now, I’m the type of guy who processes things internally, so, when called upon to comment on something extemporaneously, I tend to be soft-spoken. So I hear this a lot in my house: “Speak up!”
And speak up is what we need to do in situations that call for faith talk. That call for a witness. Like when someone at work says, “I don’t go to church. Church is a bunch of hypocrites.” You may be tempted to let such talk slide—especially if the one saying it is your boss. But you really should speak up in situations like these. You might just answer back, “I do go to church because it is full of hypocrites. I like to be with people like myself!”
Or you never know when someone’s going to ask you, “Well, what do Lutherans believe?” Rather than mumble something about it being complicated and giving them my number, you should be able to speak up! Not by quoting the Augsburg Confession or the catechism, but with an opening like, “Here’s what I’ve discovered about Lutherans…” and then telling them your faith story. Which you know, of course, because it’s your story. (And then give them my number!)
You gotta tell your story. You need to be heard. So you have to what? SPEAK UP!
Number two. There is injustice in the world—in foreign nations, in this country, in this state, in our communities. And God calls us to speak out against it. To name it for what it is, and denounce it.
Sometimes this injustice is caused by human sin, like greed, prejudice, or hubris, flowing unchecked into a legitimate and normally just system. These moments demand a word from God’s people. Other times there is something far more nefarious afoot. Evil still has a foothold on this earth and we are called to speak out against it. No matter the risk.
Deitrich Bonhoeffer was a Lutheran pastor living in Germany during the rise of Nazism. He knew of the military ambitions of Adolph Hitler and the horrors of his “final solution.” He knew it was all counter to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But he also knew how dissenting opinions were handled in the Third Reich—imprisonment and execution. He had the opportunity to leave for the United States, but stayed in Germany and lead a dissident group known as the Confessing Church. While all the other churches remained silent in the face of evil, Bonhoeffer spoke out against it. He was imprisoned and finally shot to death near the end of the war.
We may not be called upon to speak out in such dramatic fashion. But speaking out against the evil we know to exist in the world, and not keeping quiet is part of living out loud. The New England Synod spoke out against the genocide in Darfur through a resolution at its assembly this month. It is part of our mission as the church—to what? SPEAK OUT!
Number three. Last week we heard that Jesus’ mission for us is to suffer along with people—to have compassion for the suffering and to bring them hope. Very often those who are suffering have no voice in the world. No voice to tell of their pain, no voice to ask for help, no voice even to pray for relief! The third way to live out loud therefore is to speak for. To speak for those whose voices can’t be heard, or who just aren’t listened to.
This is not an earth shattering thing to do. It’s more of an nuisance—an “inconvenient truth” to borrow from Al Gore. It involves not only speaking for people whose existence and plight we’re embarrassed to admit—the homeless, the mentally ill, the disabled, the poor to name just a few—but it also involves rearranging our busy lives in order to accommodate their proper care. Rising taxes, volunteer hours, and the placement of group homes in our neighborhoods are just a small sample of the ways we must adapt in order to walk the talk of “speaking for.”
Conversely, when governments get into a fiscal bind, these people always suffer disproportionately. This injustice begs a response. And if you think we in New Hampshire are exempt from such, know that in the governor’s latest round of budget cuts, 68% comes from cutbacks in Health and Human Services—the poor, the sick, the needy. Speaking for these who have little voice in the system is doing justice.
Speak up! Speak out! Speak for!
I know, I know. You’re like Moses and have a thing about public speaking. Or you don’t have a golden tongue (or pen) so you’re afraid you won’t be able to make yourself clear or be persuasive enough. You want to speak up, speak out and speak for, but there’s that speaking part of it. Well, not to worry. You know why? Because…
Actions speak louder than words. What we do as followers of Christ is indicative of the gospel message. Here’s the rub though—just as not speaking up, out, and for is a failure on our part to live the faith out loud, to hide in darkness instead of proclaiming in the light, so too the human propensity not to act in certain situations marks a failure to live the faith at all. Like Jeremiah, one must act, or be consumed by guilt.
An example of not acting. The other week in an admittedly unsavory section of Hartford CT, a seventy-three year old man was struck by a car which then drove off, leaving him unconscious and bleeding in the street. But that’s not the worst of this event, which was recorded by a surveillance camera. Bystanders who witnessed the accident did not go to the man’s aid. They never even called 911. Ten cars passed the man’s body. Two turned around! Again, none of them called for help or offered any. Finally a police officer, responding to a different call, saw the man lying in the street and radioed for assistance.
What parable does that sound like? The Good Samaritan—only the Samaritan was missing. I don’t know if any of those bystanders or motorists were Christians. But if they were, they abdicated their God-given obligation to speak the gospel through their actions on behalf of the helpless. Not to excuse non-Christians there present. They were just as negligent—just not in the name of God.
Actions speak louder than words. Leading a life that is godly is speaking up. Putting your well being on the line for justice is speaking out. And living with an awareness that we control an unequal proportion of the world’s resources, and adjusting our living habits accordingly is speaking for.
So, speak up, speak out, speak for—none of them is easy, and several of them are risky and sure to cause an uproar. Jesus tells his disciples that his message of peace, goodwill towards man, has the ironic side effect of actually disrupting the peace. Of splitting families, of polarizing opinions, of calling down retribution upon the heads of those who dare to hold fast to the freedom of the gospel by speaking in the name of the Lord. Jesus doesn’t promise success, or guarantee an easy time of it. Instead he promises dissention and guarantees that some may loose their lives. No wonder we are quiet Christians. Why would we even dare to speak? What could Jesus possibly say that would encourage us to do this radical, risky thing?
Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” In fact he says it multiple times. Don’t be afraid of those who can hurt you. Don’t be afraid of those who deride you. Don’t be afraid, Jesus says, for you, you, are valuable to God. Exceedingly valuable. And nothing that happens to you—good or bad—happens with God apart from you. God is with you always.
The world is listening. What will you say?
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The Graduates
We're congratulating a bumper crop of high school graduates at Messiah this June. They're all off to college in the fall (except for Ryan B., who will join Captive Free), and to jobs and camp this summer. So we'll miss them at gatherings and events. But we'll miss them most of all in worship.
Especially me. Because they all sit right in the front row (along with the rest of the youth). Can't help but notice them, listening to my sermon, singing the hymns, saying the Lord's Prayer (old school version), and texting sometimes! They've appeared in countless children's messages, been glad to hand out whatever at congregational meetings, and sung that announcement song (weakly, but audibly!) each week.
Now their smiling faces won't be there to greet me each Sunday. Hopefully they'll find some spirituality to attach themselves to at their various institutions of higher learning. We'll keep in touch, and save their seats when they're home for a visit (or to do laundry).
And as for the front row, a new batch of youth will move up to take their place (some already occupy a front row seat each worship service). That's the way of the world--we move on and others take our place and life goes on. It isn't always the same, but it's always fresh and new--who knows what mischief the new crop of young uns will get into?
So, Godspeed graduates--there are new and exciting front rows for you to occupy out there. I pray that you hold fast to your faith and remember your home is with God always and forever.
And as for you up and coming youth... see you in the front row!
Peace, Pastor Tom
Especially me. Because they all sit right in the front row (along with the rest of the youth). Can't help but notice them, listening to my sermon, singing the hymns, saying the Lord's Prayer (old school version), and texting sometimes! They've appeared in countless children's messages, been glad to hand out whatever at congregational meetings, and sung that announcement song (weakly, but audibly!) each week.
Now their smiling faces won't be there to greet me each Sunday. Hopefully they'll find some spirituality to attach themselves to at their various institutions of higher learning. We'll keep in touch, and save their seats when they're home for a visit (or to do laundry).
And as for the front row, a new batch of youth will move up to take their place (some already occupy a front row seat each worship service). That's the way of the world--we move on and others take our place and life goes on. It isn't always the same, but it's always fresh and new--who knows what mischief the new crop of young uns will get into?
So, Godspeed graduates--there are new and exciting front rows for you to occupy out there. I pray that you hold fast to your faith and remember your home is with God always and forever.
And as for you up and coming youth... see you in the front row!
Peace, Pastor Tom
Thursday, June 19, 2008
There By the Grace of God Goes You
"Save me from the mire, do not let me sink, let me be rescued ...out of the deep waters... Let not the torrent of waters wash over me, neither let the deep swallow me up..." from Psalm 69
Although the psalmist is speaking metaphorically of water here, it is ironic that this psalm is appointed for a week in which a good part of the US is underwater, and other countries like Burma still struggle to recover from floods caused by a typhoon. Water is a symbol of chaos in the Hebrew scriptures, and the imagery of waters flooding the earth is used extensively to represent the disintegration of Israel and all of creation into the mire of sin.
Water is also a sign of cleansing and rebirth however. And as we react to the watery disasters of our day, that should be the focus. Being present to those in need in whatever ways we can. Washing away the horror and destruction, and bringing new life through the love of Jesus expressed in working hands, giving wallets, and praying hearts.
Sunday we will remember those affected by flooding in prayer and you will have a chance to offer your assistance.
"Hide not your face from me, be swift and answer me, for I am in distress." v17
Although the psalmist is speaking metaphorically of water here, it is ironic that this psalm is appointed for a week in which a good part of the US is underwater, and other countries like Burma still struggle to recover from floods caused by a typhoon. Water is a symbol of chaos in the Hebrew scriptures, and the imagery of waters flooding the earth is used extensively to represent the disintegration of Israel and all of creation into the mire of sin.
Water is also a sign of cleansing and rebirth however. And as we react to the watery disasters of our day, that should be the focus. Being present to those in need in whatever ways we can. Washing away the horror and destruction, and bringing new life through the love of Jesus expressed in working hands, giving wallets, and praying hearts.
Sunday we will remember those affected by flooding in prayer and you will have a chance to offer your assistance.
"Hide not your face from me, be swift and answer me, for I am in distress." v17
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Heirloom Religion
My wife and I wanted to plant some tomatoes this year, but hadn't had a chance to purchase the plants. I thought most places would be all out, so when Lisa mentioned a sign she had seen on the side of the road, I was interested. The sign advertised "heirloom tomato plants."
Now, I don't know much about heirloom varieties. All I know is that they're "old fashioned" meaning that they haven't been hybridtized, hydrolisized, pesticized, etc. The fruit, as I understand it, isn't perfect tomato looking, but has great flavor. People like to grow the old varieties not because they're nostalgic--but because some things don't have to be perfect to be good. And some times improvements make for too much homogeneity.
Heirlooms--there's a lot of interest in them nowadays. Heirloom quilts, heirloom furniture, heirloom clothing. even heirloom religion. People are becoming attracted to some of the ancient practices of the church. Not "that old time religion," but rather candles, icons, chants, meditation, and prayer labyrinths--just to name a few.
Again, it's not nostalgia on their part, nor is it "those were the good old days." Because the ancient heirlooms are transferred into a modern context, they take on a whole new character, while retaining the feeling of antiquity and connection to tradition. One author calls this "Ancient / Future Church.
I like the idea. Perhaps we'll try some heirloom religion as part of our Advent devotions this winter. I think it would be meaningful and spiritually uplifting. What do you think?
Now, I don't know much about heirloom varieties. All I know is that they're "old fashioned" meaning that they haven't been hybridtized, hydrolisized, pesticized, etc. The fruit, as I understand it, isn't perfect tomato looking, but has great flavor. People like to grow the old varieties not because they're nostalgic--but because some things don't have to be perfect to be good. And some times improvements make for too much homogeneity.
Heirlooms--there's a lot of interest in them nowadays. Heirloom quilts, heirloom furniture, heirloom clothing. even heirloom religion. People are becoming attracted to some of the ancient practices of the church. Not "that old time religion," but rather candles, icons, chants, meditation, and prayer labyrinths--just to name a few.
Again, it's not nostalgia on their part, nor is it "those were the good old days." Because the ancient heirlooms are transferred into a modern context, they take on a whole new character, while retaining the feeling of antiquity and connection to tradition. One author calls this "Ancient / Future Church.
I like the idea. Perhaps we'll try some heirloom religion as part of our Advent devotions this winter. I think it would be meaningful and spiritually uplifting. What do you think?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Whine and Jesus
Maybe a better word for whine is lament. Two, possibly three of our readings for this Sunday have elements of the genre "lament" is them. What is a lament--and what makes it different from whining or complaining?
When Jeremiah says, "I have become a laughingstock all day long; everyone mocks me." he boarders on whining. Whining has much to do with attitude of the whiner. If the grievance is trivial and the response to it out of proportion, you got yourself a whine. Likewise, if someone is acting out just to get out of doing something odious to them, complaints might be heard. Again the attitude meter is on overload with both, and their rhetoric is annoying and repetitious.
The simplest lament would probably be a single word--"WHY?" (Remember back when figure skater Nancy Kerrigan was attacked after a practice session? She lamented the whys big time.) A lament expresses anger, fear, anxiety, doubt, and a whole lot of other emotions all wrapped up into a statement shouted or cried out. There's real pain in a lament--gripping pain, devastating pain.
And yet, there's usually hope at the end of the lament. The lamenter keeps their faith in God and submits to his will, which he knows to be ultimately good. We who know Jesus especially have this hope, though it can disappear deep into the fabric of our laments. But the cross of Christ is proof that God is present with us even at the most heinous times.
Is lamenting a lost art? Yes and no. Yes, because we are reluctant to be angry at God--even when life throws the wickedest curve. And no--because the scriptures preserve laments for us to use when our own vocabulary won't suffice!
When Jeremiah says, "I have become a laughingstock all day long; everyone mocks me." he boarders on whining. Whining has much to do with attitude of the whiner. If the grievance is trivial and the response to it out of proportion, you got yourself a whine. Likewise, if someone is acting out just to get out of doing something odious to them, complaints might be heard. Again the attitude meter is on overload with both, and their rhetoric is annoying and repetitious.
The simplest lament would probably be a single word--"WHY?" (Remember back when figure skater Nancy Kerrigan was attacked after a practice session? She lamented the whys big time.) A lament expresses anger, fear, anxiety, doubt, and a whole lot of other emotions all wrapped up into a statement shouted or cried out. There's real pain in a lament--gripping pain, devastating pain.
And yet, there's usually hope at the end of the lament. The lamenter keeps their faith in God and submits to his will, which he knows to be ultimately good. We who know Jesus especially have this hope, though it can disappear deep into the fabric of our laments. But the cross of Christ is proof that God is present with us even at the most heinous times.
Is lamenting a lost art? Yes and no. Yes, because we are reluctant to be angry at God--even when life throws the wickedest curve. And no--because the scriptures preserve laments for us to use when our own vocabulary won't suffice!
Monday, June 16, 2008
God's Work, Our Hands (sermon 6/15)
Do you remember your first job? What was it? Call out your answers. My first “job,” if you can call it that, was back on Long Island, New York, delivering a shopper’s publication known as The Pennysaver.
The Pennysaver was a magazine printed on newspaper stock, a little larger than the TV guide you get in your Sunday paper, and it was delivered free to all the houses in town. (Whether you wanted it or not—kind of a precursor to spam!) Along with it came advertising circulars, the number of which determined the carrier’s income for the week—the more circulars there were the more you got paid—I think it was several cents a circular delivered.
The circulars and the Pennysaver were rolled up together and put in a special plastic bag that was designed to hang on the front door knob of the house. You weren’t allowed by law to put it in the mailbox, and it was against company policy to throw them on the lawn or front walk. (I did sometimes anyway—once I even rode my bike down the middle of the street, flinging Pennysavers left and right to save time!) Mostly though you filled up one of those folding shopping carts with the papers and wheeled it up and down the streets on your route(s), stopping at each house to make the delivery. It was a geeky version of paper boy, which in and of itself is quite a geeky job.
Now, granted, this job was pretty much a no-brainer. But there was a certain way you were supposed to do it, and there were “tricks of the trade” that made it easier. However, we received no training at all. The “boss” just dropped off two thousand or so circulars and it was up to you to get them delivered. So, I learned from experience how to arrange a workspace for the rolling and bagging. I learned from other carriers where to get a cart and to cut across people’s lawns instead of going up and down each front walk. (Unless of course, the homeowner was watching!) It was on the job training.
Most of my jobs were like that. I started at Macrose Lumber as a counterman the day of their big Columbus Day sale. Didn’t know a thing about lumber or home improvement. But I learned from the other workers, and from the customers, and from experience. Same thing with my other jobs: receiving department clerk at Masters Department Store, camp counselor, selling lighting fixtures at Andrea Electric, camp director, working at the bookstore at the seminary.
All of these jobs I was just launched into with very little if any practical training. And you know what? I did okay—it wasn’t always easy, or pleasant, or productive—but I survived and I got good at my jobs, and I even came to like doing them. Hopefully you had the same experience with your jobs as I did.
Now, why did I use up a perfectly good piece of your Sunday morning giving you a resume of my early vocational life? Well, other than giving us something to talk about after the service as we say good morning, my experiences of “on the job” training serve as an illustration for one of the points I want to make today. And that is: you are qualified to work in God’s kingdom. You may not feel “ready,” and you may think you need advance training, but regardless—today’s gospel spells it out—Jesus is hiring, and you’re the ones he wants. And he needs you now. You can learn on the fly.
But let’s take two steps back before we get into that. First, let’s ask ourselves, “If Jesus is hiring—what’s the job description?” And second, “Why us—what makes us so desirable for this position? To answer these questions we turn to the gospel of Matthew.
Our gospel for this morning opens with a “summary” of what Jesus has been doing prior to this moment. He had been preaching and teaching about the coming kingdom, and he had been healing extensively. His popularity was growing due to these activities, and the crowds he was drawing were growing as well. They came from the villages, and cities, and from the countryside—thousands of them—men and women, young and old—the skeptics, the believers, those afflicted with a disease or infirmity.
They all came to see this man who spoke of God’s graciousness with such authority, who wasn’t afraid of anyone in power, and whose miracles were potent signs of something divine breaking into their mortal realm. They came because they were curious. They came because they were hungry. They came because what Jesus promised was reward for those who were poor and retribution for the callous rich. An existence in which all were brothers and sisters with the same heavenly Father. A God who was forgiving and loving.
This was not what they were used to hearing—neither in synagogue, nor in the marketplace. In their synagogues they were bombarded with a myriad of rules and rituals designed to insure that they kept the law exactly, or, failing that, earned God’s forgiveness with a suitably expensive sacrifice or complicated rite. And in the streets they learned that power is equal to the blade of a sword, and that freedom was an alien term to their Roman oppressors. Surrounding Jesus that day was a people who had lost their direction, knocked off the trajectory by restrictive and corrupt religious practices on the one hand, and on the other, by the occupying army watching their every move.
So as Jesus looks out over the crowd, that is what he sees. But he isn’t repulsed by their palpable weakness. And he isn’t angered by their inability to speak out against the tyranny raining down on their heads. But neither does he call down holy fire to consume the evil in the world, or raise them up as God’s avenging army. No. Those were certainly options. But no.
Instead, Matthew says, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” He had compassion for them—he “suffered along with” them.
And that’s the larger part of the job description Jesus is hiring for.—suffering along with people. Being present with them in their hardships and challenges. Betcha thought it was casting out unclean spirits and demons, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and curing every sickness and disease. That’s what appears to be the job description for the twelve as they are sent out. But it’s not really. That’s the strategy Jesus uses to do the job, and he commends it to the disciples. But Jesus knew that he wasn’t sent to wipe out disease from the earth, or immediately raise all who had died. Even with the twelve helping, many would stay sick and many more would remain dead until the day of the Lord. So these are not the mission itself, instead they are ways to accomplish it in their context—their situation—first century Palestine.
The mission is to suffer along with people. And to proclaim the good news that the kingdom of heaven had come near, in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Proclaiming the nearness of the kingdom insures that people won’t wallow despairingly in their suffering—there is always hope well founded with God. So compassion and hope—that’s the job description for the task Jesus is calling us to. And if that weren’t urgent enough—that Jesus himself calls us to action, Jesus also notes that the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. There is a dire need for workers to do this job. Because it’s still a big job.
People are still harassed and helpless—some in the same ways the people of Israel were, and many more in new ways Jesus never encountered. People today are harassed by an economic system that favors the rich and exploits the poor. People today are helpless in navigating a badly balanced health care system that leaves tens of thousands of children without even the most basic of medical attention. People are harassed by the specter of terrorism, and stand helpless as their civil rights are tested in the pursuit of militant groups. People are harassed by high gas prices, by an unsatisfying religion of retail, by natural disasters, by repressive governments that care more about their power than their people, by attempts at ethnic genocide, by uncertainty and doubt. And they’re helpless to do anything about it.
That’s where we come in—the workers sent out into this harvest of tears—to suffer along with them, cry along with them and be God’s presence bringing hope when there is no hope. That’s our mission—whether the suffering is halfway around the world, or right here in our community. Our strategy will be dictated by the context and the resources we have.
To be present for the starving children in the Sudanese refugee camps we might donate to World Hunger or Lutheran Disaster relief—because that is the best way to be present. To be God’s hands for refugees and those whose status in this country is in jeopardy, a more active role may be required. Perhaps walking with them in their journey through the legal system, or sponsoring a family seeking freedom here, or writing a government official urging that action be taken to help may be the plan of action. Other strategies might include volunteering your time and effort to work on homes in New Orleans. They might involve setting up a counseling service that gives an outlet to teens who are at risk. The possibilities are endless and are limited only by our imaginations. But the mission remains the same—compassion and hope.
Well there’s one question still to be answered. Why you? Why me? Why Kay or Carl, or Kathy, why John, or Joe, or Julie—why any of us? We don’t know how to do this kind of work—or do we? Because it doesn’t take a PhD to comfort someone who’s lost a loved one. You don’t need to be ordained to pick up a hammer and join in the rebuilding of lives. And you aren’t expected to be perfect as God’s hands, because they’re our hands too, and we are only human beings. So it’s not your skills that make you acceptable for harvest work.
It’s the fact that you were once harassed and helpless and someone came to you with compassion, and gave you hope in the person of Jesus Christ. And you believed and you made it through the suffering. So you are eminently qualified to reach out to others in God’s love, because you have experienced that love yourself, you experienced that compassion and hope.
You have received the good news and it has affected your life, and so, when Jesus calls for laborers to go out into the harvest, know this: you are qualified and everything you need to know you already know, everything you need to do will be revealed to you, and every challenge that comes your way will also come with a solution.
Does that insure success? No. Some days you’ll be hanging your Pennysavers on each and every doorknob and people will read them and save pennies. And some days you’ll toss them from the middle of the street and people will be less than receptive. But God requires action, not perfection. Our mission as a congregation is to be Christ to others. To be present in their suffering and to speak words of hope in Jesus’ name. Lets get to work! Amen
The Pennysaver was a magazine printed on newspaper stock, a little larger than the TV guide you get in your Sunday paper, and it was delivered free to all the houses in town. (Whether you wanted it or not—kind of a precursor to spam!) Along with it came advertising circulars, the number of which determined the carrier’s income for the week—the more circulars there were the more you got paid—I think it was several cents a circular delivered.
The circulars and the Pennysaver were rolled up together and put in a special plastic bag that was designed to hang on the front door knob of the house. You weren’t allowed by law to put it in the mailbox, and it was against company policy to throw them on the lawn or front walk. (I did sometimes anyway—once I even rode my bike down the middle of the street, flinging Pennysavers left and right to save time!) Mostly though you filled up one of those folding shopping carts with the papers and wheeled it up and down the streets on your route(s), stopping at each house to make the delivery. It was a geeky version of paper boy, which in and of itself is quite a geeky job.
Now, granted, this job was pretty much a no-brainer. But there was a certain way you were supposed to do it, and there were “tricks of the trade” that made it easier. However, we received no training at all. The “boss” just dropped off two thousand or so circulars and it was up to you to get them delivered. So, I learned from experience how to arrange a workspace for the rolling and bagging. I learned from other carriers where to get a cart and to cut across people’s lawns instead of going up and down each front walk. (Unless of course, the homeowner was watching!) It was on the job training.
Most of my jobs were like that. I started at Macrose Lumber as a counterman the day of their big Columbus Day sale. Didn’t know a thing about lumber or home improvement. But I learned from the other workers, and from the customers, and from experience. Same thing with my other jobs: receiving department clerk at Masters Department Store, camp counselor, selling lighting fixtures at Andrea Electric, camp director, working at the bookstore at the seminary.
All of these jobs I was just launched into with very little if any practical training. And you know what? I did okay—it wasn’t always easy, or pleasant, or productive—but I survived and I got good at my jobs, and I even came to like doing them. Hopefully you had the same experience with your jobs as I did.
Now, why did I use up a perfectly good piece of your Sunday morning giving you a resume of my early vocational life? Well, other than giving us something to talk about after the service as we say good morning, my experiences of “on the job” training serve as an illustration for one of the points I want to make today. And that is: you are qualified to work in God’s kingdom. You may not feel “ready,” and you may think you need advance training, but regardless—today’s gospel spells it out—Jesus is hiring, and you’re the ones he wants. And he needs you now. You can learn on the fly.
But let’s take two steps back before we get into that. First, let’s ask ourselves, “If Jesus is hiring—what’s the job description?” And second, “Why us—what makes us so desirable for this position? To answer these questions we turn to the gospel of Matthew.
Our gospel for this morning opens with a “summary” of what Jesus has been doing prior to this moment. He had been preaching and teaching about the coming kingdom, and he had been healing extensively. His popularity was growing due to these activities, and the crowds he was drawing were growing as well. They came from the villages, and cities, and from the countryside—thousands of them—men and women, young and old—the skeptics, the believers, those afflicted with a disease or infirmity.
They all came to see this man who spoke of God’s graciousness with such authority, who wasn’t afraid of anyone in power, and whose miracles were potent signs of something divine breaking into their mortal realm. They came because they were curious. They came because they were hungry. They came because what Jesus promised was reward for those who were poor and retribution for the callous rich. An existence in which all were brothers and sisters with the same heavenly Father. A God who was forgiving and loving.
This was not what they were used to hearing—neither in synagogue, nor in the marketplace. In their synagogues they were bombarded with a myriad of rules and rituals designed to insure that they kept the law exactly, or, failing that, earned God’s forgiveness with a suitably expensive sacrifice or complicated rite. And in the streets they learned that power is equal to the blade of a sword, and that freedom was an alien term to their Roman oppressors. Surrounding Jesus that day was a people who had lost their direction, knocked off the trajectory by restrictive and corrupt religious practices on the one hand, and on the other, by the occupying army watching their every move.
So as Jesus looks out over the crowd, that is what he sees. But he isn’t repulsed by their palpable weakness. And he isn’t angered by their inability to speak out against the tyranny raining down on their heads. But neither does he call down holy fire to consume the evil in the world, or raise them up as God’s avenging army. No. Those were certainly options. But no.
Instead, Matthew says, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” He had compassion for them—he “suffered along with” them.
And that’s the larger part of the job description Jesus is hiring for.—suffering along with people. Being present with them in their hardships and challenges. Betcha thought it was casting out unclean spirits and demons, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and curing every sickness and disease. That’s what appears to be the job description for the twelve as they are sent out. But it’s not really. That’s the strategy Jesus uses to do the job, and he commends it to the disciples. But Jesus knew that he wasn’t sent to wipe out disease from the earth, or immediately raise all who had died. Even with the twelve helping, many would stay sick and many more would remain dead until the day of the Lord. So these are not the mission itself, instead they are ways to accomplish it in their context—their situation—first century Palestine.
The mission is to suffer along with people. And to proclaim the good news that the kingdom of heaven had come near, in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Proclaiming the nearness of the kingdom insures that people won’t wallow despairingly in their suffering—there is always hope well founded with God. So compassion and hope—that’s the job description for the task Jesus is calling us to. And if that weren’t urgent enough—that Jesus himself calls us to action, Jesus also notes that the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. There is a dire need for workers to do this job. Because it’s still a big job.
People are still harassed and helpless—some in the same ways the people of Israel were, and many more in new ways Jesus never encountered. People today are harassed by an economic system that favors the rich and exploits the poor. People today are helpless in navigating a badly balanced health care system that leaves tens of thousands of children without even the most basic of medical attention. People are harassed by the specter of terrorism, and stand helpless as their civil rights are tested in the pursuit of militant groups. People are harassed by high gas prices, by an unsatisfying religion of retail, by natural disasters, by repressive governments that care more about their power than their people, by attempts at ethnic genocide, by uncertainty and doubt. And they’re helpless to do anything about it.
That’s where we come in—the workers sent out into this harvest of tears—to suffer along with them, cry along with them and be God’s presence bringing hope when there is no hope. That’s our mission—whether the suffering is halfway around the world, or right here in our community. Our strategy will be dictated by the context and the resources we have.
To be present for the starving children in the Sudanese refugee camps we might donate to World Hunger or Lutheran Disaster relief—because that is the best way to be present. To be God’s hands for refugees and those whose status in this country is in jeopardy, a more active role may be required. Perhaps walking with them in their journey through the legal system, or sponsoring a family seeking freedom here, or writing a government official urging that action be taken to help may be the plan of action. Other strategies might include volunteering your time and effort to work on homes in New Orleans. They might involve setting up a counseling service that gives an outlet to teens who are at risk. The possibilities are endless and are limited only by our imaginations. But the mission remains the same—compassion and hope.
Well there’s one question still to be answered. Why you? Why me? Why Kay or Carl, or Kathy, why John, or Joe, or Julie—why any of us? We don’t know how to do this kind of work—or do we? Because it doesn’t take a PhD to comfort someone who’s lost a loved one. You don’t need to be ordained to pick up a hammer and join in the rebuilding of lives. And you aren’t expected to be perfect as God’s hands, because they’re our hands too, and we are only human beings. So it’s not your skills that make you acceptable for harvest work.
It’s the fact that you were once harassed and helpless and someone came to you with compassion, and gave you hope in the person of Jesus Christ. And you believed and you made it through the suffering. So you are eminently qualified to reach out to others in God’s love, because you have experienced that love yourself, you experienced that compassion and hope.
You have received the good news and it has affected your life, and so, when Jesus calls for laborers to go out into the harvest, know this: you are qualified and everything you need to know you already know, everything you need to do will be revealed to you, and every challenge that comes your way will also come with a solution.
Does that insure success? No. Some days you’ll be hanging your Pennysavers on each and every doorknob and people will read them and save pennies. And some days you’ll toss them from the middle of the street and people will be less than receptive. But God requires action, not perfection. Our mission as a congregation is to be Christ to others. To be present in their suffering and to speak words of hope in Jesus’ name. Lets get to work! Amen
Dream On
"Last night I dreamed I shot an elephant in my pajamas. What he was doing in my pajamas, I'll never know." -- Groucho Marx
Do you remember your dreams? I rarely do. Lisa remembers every last detail of hers! And are they ever goofy and far out! Sometimes they follow her into wakefulness. Like the time she shook me awake to tell me there was a bear at the window (never you mind that the ground was a good ten feet away!). Another time she (in her dream) punched someone in the stomach. Only it was going on parallel in real life and she socked me in the gut!
The reason I bring this all up is that I remember a dream I had recently, and it was a bit unusual. In the dream I saw the Pope passing down a hallway (Pope John Paul - not Benedict). I intercepted him and asked him a question. He answered. I can't remember what he said in response, but that was it. end of dream.
What does it mean? Probably just my subconscious working out some inner feelings or conflicts. I may never know what my brain was up to that night!
Luther had mixed feelings about dreams. He saw dream interpreters of his day as charlatans and frauds. But he also conceded that there is biblical warrant for the importance of dreams, and sometimes dreams did come to pass in real life. In the end Luther said that he would rather have scripture any day, over and above dreams, and that the interpretation of dreams of a religious nature should agree with the Word to be valid.
I don't think Luther would have approved of my dream (he wasn't on good terms with the pope in his day). And he would likely have interpreted it as "meaningless...[and] should be ignored." But I"ll still remember my chance encounter with a great church leader. Even if it only was "in my dreams!"
Do you remember your dreams? I rarely do. Lisa remembers every last detail of hers! And are they ever goofy and far out! Sometimes they follow her into wakefulness. Like the time she shook me awake to tell me there was a bear at the window (never you mind that the ground was a good ten feet away!). Another time she (in her dream) punched someone in the stomach. Only it was going on parallel in real life and she socked me in the gut!
The reason I bring this all up is that I remember a dream I had recently, and it was a bit unusual. In the dream I saw the Pope passing down a hallway (Pope John Paul - not Benedict). I intercepted him and asked him a question. He answered. I can't remember what he said in response, but that was it. end of dream.
What does it mean? Probably just my subconscious working out some inner feelings or conflicts. I may never know what my brain was up to that night!
Luther had mixed feelings about dreams. He saw dream interpreters of his day as charlatans and frauds. But he also conceded that there is biblical warrant for the importance of dreams, and sometimes dreams did come to pass in real life. In the end Luther said that he would rather have scripture any day, over and above dreams, and that the interpretation of dreams of a religious nature should agree with the Word to be valid.
I don't think Luther would have approved of my dream (he wasn't on good terms with the pope in his day). And he would likely have interpreted it as "meaningless...[and] should be ignored." But I"ll still remember my chance encounter with a great church leader. Even if it only was "in my dreams!"
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Timing is Everything
"...at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly..." - Romans 5:6b
To tell a joke or story well your timing has to be right. Some things have to be said fast, some slow and at the end of a long pause. Otherwise the audience misses the point or punchline and the speaker "lays an egg." Additionally, the story or joke has to be told in a certain sequence to be effective. For instance, you wouldn't start out telling a mystery story with, "The butler did it." Or a joke with, "To get to the other side!"
Likewise, in life, timing is important. Why else would we say, "I was in the right place at the right time"? Usually in life, events fit a distinct pattern of if...then. If such and such happens, then this will follow. That's the way of the world. And that "way" colors our thinking about God as well. We think, "If I follow the commandments, then God will love me." Quid pro quo.
Unfortunately for us, we can't keep the commandments--our timing is off, and we bomb.
Fortunately for us, God's timing is different than ours. At the right time, Paul writes, Christ died for our sins. And when was that "right time?" When we are at our best, most behaved, most godly? No. The right time for God to send Christ is when we are weak and sinful. Anyone can love somebody who causes no offense. God proves that God loves us by sending Jesus at that so unright right time--just when we need him most!
Brothers and sisters, it may not feel like the "right time" for you to have a closer relationship with God. There might be many obstacles in the way from your end. But for God, anything is possible--and now is the right time for God to reach out in love for you.
To tell a joke or story well your timing has to be right. Some things have to be said fast, some slow and at the end of a long pause. Otherwise the audience misses the point or punchline and the speaker "lays an egg." Additionally, the story or joke has to be told in a certain sequence to be effective. For instance, you wouldn't start out telling a mystery story with, "The butler did it." Or a joke with, "To get to the other side!"
Likewise, in life, timing is important. Why else would we say, "I was in the right place at the right time"? Usually in life, events fit a distinct pattern of if...then. If such and such happens, then this will follow. That's the way of the world. And that "way" colors our thinking about God as well. We think, "If I follow the commandments, then God will love me." Quid pro quo.
Unfortunately for us, we can't keep the commandments--our timing is off, and we bomb.
Fortunately for us, God's timing is different than ours. At the right time, Paul writes, Christ died for our sins. And when was that "right time?" When we are at our best, most behaved, most godly? No. The right time for God to send Christ is when we are weak and sinful. Anyone can love somebody who causes no offense. God proves that God loves us by sending Jesus at that so unright right time--just when we need him most!
Brothers and sisters, it may not feel like the "right time" for you to have a closer relationship with God. There might be many obstacles in the way from your end. But for God, anything is possible--and now is the right time for God to reach out in love for you.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Assembly Required
"We are called, gathered, and enlightened by the Holy Spirit." - Luther's Small Catechism
I remember Christmases and birthdays past, when my son was young, how we often got him presents that had those dreaded words on the outside of the box--"assembly required." That's enough to strike fear in the heart of the most handy guy--and I'm not always the handiest. (For instance - I'm not allowed to work on anything in the car that's made of plastic. I tend to break them)
Assembly required. That meant sorting out zillions of different length screws and different sized nuts and bolts, identifying the various components (marked "a" "B" etc.), and then following the instructions as best as you can considering the pictures they give you have no resemblance to anything in front of you.
Assembly required. Makes me almost cuss just thinking of it! Sometimes disassembly was needed too---like when you bolted flange A to do-hickey Z when it was supposed to be attached to widget #2 first. Then it's reassembly required!!
I just came back from a different kind of "required assembly." Our church's synod assembly. That's when all the churches in the synod (grouping of churches administered together due to geographic proximity) send two voting members and their pastor to a big meeting during which there are elections, resolutions, reports, a budget vote, and a keynote speaker.
For some reason, this required assembly is viewed by many with the same type of trepidation that's stirred up by the thought of assembling Barbie's Malibu Beach House. The sheer thought of speakers droning on, people saying the same thing in different ways in objection to a resolution, the endless budget discussion, and voting for people you've only read a paragraph about, seems to put off a lot of folks. And the insecurity of "not knowing what goes on during those assemblies" nixes quite a few others.
But some put aside the fear of the assembly required and leap out in faith. And you know what--they do have those experiences aforementioned. But they also meet other Lutherans. They sing together with 600 other voices (lots different if you've never done that!). They experience worship in all its mystery and simplicity and elegance. And they feel the cool wind of the Holy Spirit blowing throughout! The Spirit blew through the assembly several years ago and a pastor from New Jersey, recently moved to MA, became our Bishop. Things like that (though perhaps not so evident) happen all the time at Synod assembly.
The next time you hear the call for voting members, don't be put off or shy. You may struggle a bit with the issues and have trouble following the discussions. But overall, when it's all put together and we're standing there Spirit beside, it's a grand thing to see.
Even if there are parts left over.
I remember Christmases and birthdays past, when my son was young, how we often got him presents that had those dreaded words on the outside of the box--"assembly required." That's enough to strike fear in the heart of the most handy guy--and I'm not always the handiest. (For instance - I'm not allowed to work on anything in the car that's made of plastic. I tend to break them)
Assembly required. That meant sorting out zillions of different length screws and different sized nuts and bolts, identifying the various components (marked "a" "B" etc.), and then following the instructions as best as you can considering the pictures they give you have no resemblance to anything in front of you.
Assembly required. Makes me almost cuss just thinking of it! Sometimes disassembly was needed too---like when you bolted flange A to do-hickey Z when it was supposed to be attached to widget #2 first. Then it's reassembly required!!
I just came back from a different kind of "required assembly." Our church's synod assembly. That's when all the churches in the synod (grouping of churches administered together due to geographic proximity) send two voting members and their pastor to a big meeting during which there are elections, resolutions, reports, a budget vote, and a keynote speaker.
For some reason, this required assembly is viewed by many with the same type of trepidation that's stirred up by the thought of assembling Barbie's Malibu Beach House. The sheer thought of speakers droning on, people saying the same thing in different ways in objection to a resolution, the endless budget discussion, and voting for people you've only read a paragraph about, seems to put off a lot of folks. And the insecurity of "not knowing what goes on during those assemblies" nixes quite a few others.
But some put aside the fear of the assembly required and leap out in faith. And you know what--they do have those experiences aforementioned. But they also meet other Lutherans. They sing together with 600 other voices (lots different if you've never done that!). They experience worship in all its mystery and simplicity and elegance. And they feel the cool wind of the Holy Spirit blowing throughout! The Spirit blew through the assembly several years ago and a pastor from New Jersey, recently moved to MA, became our Bishop. Things like that (though perhaps not so evident) happen all the time at Synod assembly.
The next time you hear the call for voting members, don't be put off or shy. You may struggle a bit with the issues and have trouble following the discussions. But overall, when it's all put together and we're standing there Spirit beside, it's a grand thing to see.
Even if there are parts left over.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Joyful Noise
Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all you lands! -Psalm 100
What do you say when you are filled with joy? What sound comes out of your mouth when you're so happy words won't suffice?
Yippee!
Yahoo! (careful, that's trademarked now)
Hooray!
Huzzah! (for you Civil War buffs)
Yeeeehaaawww!
Alleluia!
Praise the Lord!
Cowabunga!
No matter what the utterance the reason for your joy is the same - because you have the great pleasure of coming to worship and serving God.
Now, it may not seem to be such a pleasure when the sun is shining and the beach is calling to you. But think about it--worship is the place you're guaranteed to meet Jesus, for not only did he promise to be where two or more are gathered in his name, but Jesus also promises to be present bodily in the Eucharist!
Contact with God, the ground and source of all being! Who would pass that up for a dip in the ocean? The sea will be around later, Messiah gathers for worship only once a week. Do you really want to miss out? God is offering godself to you! Here. Now.
That deserves a HALLELUJAH!
Or whatever noise you want--joyful, of course!
What do you say when you are filled with joy? What sound comes out of your mouth when you're so happy words won't suffice?
Yippee!
Yahoo! (careful, that's trademarked now)
Hooray!
Huzzah! (for you Civil War buffs)
Yeeeehaaawww!
Alleluia!
Praise the Lord!
Cowabunga!
No matter what the utterance the reason for your joy is the same - because you have the great pleasure of coming to worship and serving God.
Now, it may not seem to be such a pleasure when the sun is shining and the beach is calling to you. But think about it--worship is the place you're guaranteed to meet Jesus, for not only did he promise to be where two or more are gathered in his name, but Jesus also promises to be present bodily in the Eucharist!
Contact with God, the ground and source of all being! Who would pass that up for a dip in the ocean? The sea will be around later, Messiah gathers for worship only once a week. Do you really want to miss out? God is offering godself to you! Here. Now.
That deserves a HALLELUJAH!
Or whatever noise you want--joyful, of course!
Monday, June 9, 2008
And Now a Word from Your Sponsors (sermon)
One of my favorite television shows is How I Met Your Mother, which begins and ends each episode with a father, played off camera by Bob Saget, relating to his not-too-interested teenaged children the long and roundabout story of, well, how he met their mother. And, you know, I think it’s great when adults relate family history to their young ones—even when it is only on TV.
So, as I was preparing for today’s message, thinking about the gospel and the two baby girls who will be baptized this morning, Anika and Lila, I thought, here is an opportunity—an opportunity to tell some family stories. Specifically the story of Anika and Lila and how they came to be baptized here at
Now, one teensy-weensy problem—neither little girl can understand what I’m saying now, nor can they read it tomorrow on my blog. Hmm. Here’s the solution I came up with. I wrote them a letter—to be opened on the day of their confirmation, or there abouts. In that letter is the story and some advice about living the Christian life. I call it And Now a Word From Your Sponsors, because we, the people of Messiah, are every bit as much of a sponsor for these new children of God as is their “God mother or father.”
So, years from now, teenaged Anika and Lila will open these letters and be immersed in the story of their baptism. And to make it all the more fun for them and for us here—first of all, I am going to read the letter to you, plus—I’m going to pass around two cards, on which you can write your own (short) message to Anika and Lila, and sign it, documenting your presence here this auspicious day in their lives. Furthermore I’m going to ask a family member to come up here and take our picture, so we can be remembered as part of this occasion. Then these girls will know who has prayed for them all those years in between.
[Hand out cards and pens, take picture.] So now, here’s the letter—and let me say, it is just as much for you as it is for them.
Dear Anika and Lila,
Greetings to you from those assembled at Messiah Lutheran Church in Amherst, New Hampshire this eighth day of June, 2008—the day and place of your baptisms. How wonderful it is that you share your baptismal birthday as cousins! We are so happy that your moms and dads brought you here to be baptized!
Of course you won’t remember this day and what happened. What outfit you were wearing, who was here from your families, how you cried and fussed (or slept through the whole thing), how we all sang to welcome you into God’s family and this church! Of course there will be pictures for you to see later—probably a lot of them—we have these digital cameras now that use no film. (If you even know what that is in 2022!) But we wanted to take a moment and tell you the story that even a thousand pictures couldn’t tell. And that’s the story of how you became part of God’s family by water and the word, and why that effects you even now, as you become young women.
You’d think this story would begin with the day you were born, but actually it starts way before then—way, way before then. Because God chose you both before you were born—before the universe was born—chose you to be special. Just as God chose the people of
But even special people make bad decisions sometimes, and do the wrong thing and act selfishly. That’s part of being human. A part God longed to “fix.” So God became like us in the flesh in Jesus of Nazareth—who was at once God and human being. And Jesus taught, and healed, and did great deeds of power.
But some of the people back then did not believe that Jesus was God. And they had him killed. But the tomb could not contain him and he rose from the dead. He appeared to his friends—who were surprised to see him walking and talking since he was supposedly dead. And he told them two things. First that he was sending help to them in the form of the Spirit’s presence with them always. And second, he told them to let people know the good news that God has forgiven them and wants to make them part of his family. “Go,” Jesus said, “Go to all people, teach them what I taught you, and baptize them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Spirit.”
And so they went and they baptized, and then those who were baptized, baptized others, and then they baptized others, and so on, and so forth—all the way down to you, Anika and Lila.
Your moms and your dads were baptized and they wanted you to be in God’s family and come to know Jesus and his love. They brought you here and you were baptized by me, Pastor Tom Teichmann, in the middle of our worship service today. But even though I poured the water on your heads—it wasn’t me who baptized you. And even though your parents brought you in faith to be baptized, it wasn’t their faith that “filled in” for yours because you were too young.
You came to be baptized as an infant, not knowing God, or having faith in God, human and not really worthy of such a gift. And yet God gave it to you, graciously, anyway. Baptism is something God does that we could never do ourselves. Baptism is belonging, it’s a promise of a life with God, it is being washed clean and made acceptable to God. Baptism is a free gift.
It is not the end of your story with God, however. It is only the beginning—over and over again anew beginning, a fresh slate. As often as you need to recall it, your baptism has the same power of forgiveness and inclusion that it did when you were still wet from it. The story continues as your parents tell you God’s story, bring you to worship, and encourage you to serve others in God’s name.
Here’s where we come in. We also promised this day to support you in your Christian journey, to pray for you, to teach you about Jesus in Sunday School—Anika, since you are a native New Hampshirite—but you too Lila—you’ll attend Sunday School in CT, but I hope you came to Sunday School here with your cousin when you visited her. We took responsibility for you as a community of believers, charged with making you into a follower of Jesus. If you’re reading this as teenagers, you probably have become ones.
But even if you find this is a closet when you’re forty four, having drifted away from God and the church—take it from us. It’s never too late to reconnect with your roots. And your roots will be there, because your baptism doesn’t have an expiration date, it doesn’t wear out, and it’s never obsolete. It’s always as fresh and good as today. If you wander know that there will always be someone here to welcome you home!
One more thing. The gospel for this morning, your baptism day, told the story of Jesus being asked to raise a little girl from death. This girl did not know Jesus. Her father was part of the group who opposed Jesus’ teachings. Jesus had no reason to help them at all. And yet Jesus went to their house, took that girl by the hand and she got up to live a new life created by Jesus Christ.
Lila and Anika, today Jesus comes to you and gives you a new life, as he did for all of us. It is a life filled with love and caring and joy, but it has its share of suffering and hardship as well. God’s mark that I traced on your forehead this day will always be there though—and come god or bad, God will be with you, loving you and guiding you along the way.
As we prayed God’s blessing on you and your new lives in Christ this day, so too do we ask God’s grace to be upon you now as you grow in faith and serve the Lord.
Your brothers and sisters in Christ,
AMEN
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
What Did Jesus Mean?
There are so many instances in the gospels when Jesus says something that makes you think, "Huh?" Of course there are many many more things he says that are crystal clear. But every once in a while, Jesus puts a spin on a situation and says something weird.
For instance, in the week's gospel Jesus is summoned to a synagogue leader's home where the daughter has just died. The father knows Jesus is a healer, and so hopes against hope that he can do something even at this point.
Jesus heads for the house, has an interlude with a sick woman who is cured when she touches Jesus' cloak, and finally arrives. The house is in full mourning mode--flutes and wails and the whole nine yards. Jesus opens his mouth and says--not what you might expect--but this:
"Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping."
This without seeing her. This with the father's admission that the girl had died. This in the face of the flute players and wailers who were hired for the funeral. Not dead--sleeping. What does that mean? Why did he say that?
It has been suggested that Jesus had insight into the girl's condition and knew she was in a deep coma. But the fact that she was dead is further attested to by Matthew who writes that the girl "got up," or arose--the standard terminology for resurrection.
More likely Jesus first wanted to get rid of the professional mourners, and at the same time relate something about physical death through the eyes of faith. It is like sleep--temporary--and ends in "getting up" with Jesus. Those who don't have faith in Christ and his resurrection laugh at such a notion, but we who believe trust in God's promise of resurrection.
Somewhere in Israel the molecules that made up the earthly body of that little girl are scattered. For though Jesus resuscitated her, she did die eventually. But she and those who followed her in a long line of witnesses to the truth are not dead. They're only sleeping. Resting in peace until that day Jesus grasps them by the hand and says, Wake up!"
For instance, in the week's gospel Jesus is summoned to a synagogue leader's home where the daughter has just died. The father knows Jesus is a healer, and so hopes against hope that he can do something even at this point.
Jesus heads for the house, has an interlude with a sick woman who is cured when she touches Jesus' cloak, and finally arrives. The house is in full mourning mode--flutes and wails and the whole nine yards. Jesus opens his mouth and says--not what you might expect--but this:
"Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping."
This without seeing her. This with the father's admission that the girl had died. This in the face of the flute players and wailers who were hired for the funeral. Not dead--sleeping. What does that mean? Why did he say that?
It has been suggested that Jesus had insight into the girl's condition and knew she was in a deep coma. But the fact that she was dead is further attested to by Matthew who writes that the girl "got up," or arose--the standard terminology for resurrection.
More likely Jesus first wanted to get rid of the professional mourners, and at the same time relate something about physical death through the eyes of faith. It is like sleep--temporary--and ends in "getting up" with Jesus. Those who don't have faith in Christ and his resurrection laugh at such a notion, but we who believe trust in God's promise of resurrection.
Somewhere in Israel the molecules that made up the earthly body of that little girl are scattered. For though Jesus resuscitated her, she did die eventually. But she and those who followed her in a long line of witnesses to the truth are not dead. They're only sleeping. Resting in peace until that day Jesus grasps them by the hand and says, Wake up!"
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Mom Always Said...
Don't play ball in the house.
Don't cross your eyes--they'll get stuck like that.
Don't lean back in your chair.
Eat your vegetables.
These are things that mom always said, bless her heart, as she tried her best to tame a wild bunch of brothers in our house. Finally, after a long day of chasing after us, she'd say, "What am I going to do with you?" It was an exasperating statement to say the least. We usually added gas to the fire by saying something like, "Well, what do you want from us?"
That's basically how the Psalm for this week describes God's frustration with Israel--his people, who acted all proper-like on the outside, but were forgetting their heritage on the inside. Neglecting the poor, the sick and the widow and orphans. Not being truly thankful for all that God had done for them. Finally God says, "What am I to do with you?" God wants their steadfast love more than their religious rites, their sacrifices, their good behavior. He wants Israel to live in the love of the Lord--and all that follows.
I can imagine God still saying this. Because we sometimes just go through the motions of Christian love, relying on our attendance at church to make us righteous. But God wants mercy, not sacrifice. Love for one another, not empty rituals used to fulfill our obligations. God wants us to be what our rituals imply--that is God's people--serving each other in love, suffering for each other in solidarity, and encouraging each other to live for others and not only for yourself.
So what does God do with us? He loves us. He works tirelessly to make us holy and good. He never gives up on us. Just like mom.
Don't cross your eyes--they'll get stuck like that.
Don't lean back in your chair.
Eat your vegetables.
These are things that mom always said, bless her heart, as she tried her best to tame a wild bunch of brothers in our house. Finally, after a long day of chasing after us, she'd say, "What am I going to do with you?" It was an exasperating statement to say the least. We usually added gas to the fire by saying something like, "Well, what do you want from us?"
That's basically how the Psalm for this week describes God's frustration with Israel--his people, who acted all proper-like on the outside, but were forgetting their heritage on the inside. Neglecting the poor, the sick and the widow and orphans. Not being truly thankful for all that God had done for them. Finally God says, "What am I to do with you?" God wants their steadfast love more than their religious rites, their sacrifices, their good behavior. He wants Israel to live in the love of the Lord--and all that follows.
I can imagine God still saying this. Because we sometimes just go through the motions of Christian love, relying on our attendance at church to make us righteous. But God wants mercy, not sacrifice. Love for one another, not empty rituals used to fulfill our obligations. God wants us to be what our rituals imply--that is God's people--serving each other in love, suffering for each other in solidarity, and encouraging each other to live for others and not only for yourself.
So what does God do with us? He loves us. He works tirelessly to make us holy and good. He never gives up on us. Just like mom.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Code Enforcer? (sermon draft 6/1/08)
Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
This is a tale of two houses, one built on a rock, in this case the “Rockpile,” as the summit of
Built in 1853 at a cost of $7000, the Tip Top House was the second “permanent” structure to be built on
The building itself is made of rocks levered into place, and is topped with a flat roof, so as to present little surface area to the high winds. Chains anchored into the rock summit help hold the roof on in winds that have been measured at 231 mph. The Tip Top House not only is built on a rock—it clings to it for dear life! The design must have been good, for it has outlasted every structure of its time, and a good many thereafter!
The other house is much more modern. Built in the 1930’s as a beach cottage, it suffered damage in a hurricane several years later, and was rebuilt as a year-round dwelling. Over the next sixty years the house was pummeled by wind and rain, suffered from an eroding shoreline, was nearly destroyed three times, and each time was rebuilt. The final blow to the house came in another hurricane the storm surge of which totally and completely wiped the house and street and all the property from the face of the earth. That address now is located underwater off the new coastline.
The wise man built his house upon the rock. The foolish man built his house upon the sand. So, what am I saying? That, if you own a house at the beach, you’re a fool? Not hardly (cause then you wouldn’t invite me over for the weekend!). But the evidence is right there and it’s irrefutable—if you want your house to be strong enough to hold up to the worst of storms—you had better build it on something solid.
Of course, now-a-days, there are strict building codes that govern exactly how a home is built, and what materials go into it. Places with extreme environmental risks—say, that of hurricane, or earthquake—have extra codes that must be adhered to. In the case of beachfront property, the code in most towns now requires that the structure be built elevated upon telephone-pole-width pilings, which in turn are driven deep into the sand.
How do municipalities ensure that these regulations are being adhered to? There is a Code Enforcement Officer who inspects the construction at various stages to make sure the will of the town is done. My son, Erik, after moving to PA, got a part time job as the Assistant Code Enforcer of the town he lived in. He was told that he would be the “second most hated man in town,” the Code Enforcer being number one! That’s because, surprise, surprise! No one likes to be wrong, or to have others discover where they might have fudged things a little to save time, money, or aggravation.
And that includes us. Not in building a house. In building a Christian life. Sometimes we take a shortcut, cheap out, or just get lazy, and subsequently we violate the “codes.” And who is there to call us on it? Who’s there to shine a flashlight on our substandard workmanship? To ask about the cracks in walls? To point out our errors and our willfull disobedience? Well…it seems from today’s passage from Matthew, that the Code Enforcer is…Jesus.
Yeah, Jesus comes off looking a little harsh this morning. He tells his disciples, that not everyone who says to him, “Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoa! Futhermore, on that day of judgment, even many of those who prophesy, exorcise, or do other deeds of power in his name will be denied a certificate of occupancy by the Lord. Hey, come on now! Those activities sound fairly meritful—didn’t Jesus say elsewhere that whoever isn’t against us is for us? Why is Jesus being such a pain? Isn’t he supposed to be all merciful and kind and forgiving and such? What gives?
The thing is—Jesus is not the Code Enforcer. Jesus didn’t come to us to enforce the law—he’s not grading you on your worthiness to be worthy of the kingdom. You’re not worthy—Paul says so in living color in the passage from Romans. “…all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” All.
But Jesus wasn’t sent to negate the law, either. He does not release us from obedience to God, but he does change how that obedience is experienced. No longer do we see the law as an impediment to our individual happiness. No more do we use the law as a means to win God’s favor and love. Instead, the law, and mainly our inability to keep it, drives us into the arms of a loving God. Where we are forgiven and rescued from the power of sin through Jesus Christ. Then, and only then—we are able to experience obedience to the law not as fearful compulsion, but instead as joyful honor. We gladly keep the law in thnksgiving for the grace given us. That is because we can now clearly see the scope of God’s plan and Jesus’ role in it—as Code Fulfiller, not code enforcer.
Now there’s a great amount of difference between the two. But suffice it to say that Jesus ushers in a new era in our relationship with God and Law. Whereas before the will of God could be equated with the Torah, the Law of Moses, now Jesus reveals that the will of the Father is for us to love God and love one another, as he does. Jesus, the Code Fulfiller, bridges the chasmic gap between Law and Salvation, not by destroying the Law, but by bringing it to perfection through his obedience on the cross. Jesus does what the law was intended always to do—bring us into right relationship with each other and with God.
That is the foundation of our faith. And the rock on which we build a Christian life is this new obedience, this hearing Jesus and acting upon what one has heard and experienced. Only these are able to bolster us in times of stress and questioning of that faith. Only these inspire us to do those things we’d rather not do, associate with people we’d normally not be caught dead with, give of ourselves when it is just as easy not to. Only grounded in the love of God and of one another can we genuinely reside in the kingdom of heaven.
For to be otherwise is to shortcut, cheap out, and willfully disregard God’s blueprint. What we end up with then is not a prison or hell per se, but instead we build for ourselves a facsimile kingdom, a movie set kingdom—one that looks right from one angle, but is really only a facade. So when we cry “Lord, Lord, we did such and such in your name,” Jesus doesn’t recognize it as real. So, Jesus’ words are a red flag on our building inspection sheet that says the way we are living can only end up disastrously.
Now, important to know. How do I go about building on the rock—how can I be sure I’m not on shifting sands? Some practical advice: when in doubt, let the Lord’s Prayer guide you. It says, “thy will be done.” Jesus said, “only the one that does the will of my Father in heaven” will enter the kingdom. So let the love of God and love of neighbor be your soil test. Is this my will be done, or thy will be done.
And if you’re still not sure, take Luther’s advice—do what you feel is right, and if it be a sin, the sin boldly—but trust ever more boldly in the grace of God. Amen
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