It's the unforgivable sin, according to the gospel reading from Mark last Sunday.
I remember reading the gospel at the early service last Sunday, out on the lawn, and when I got to this part, I saw one man near the front row, raise his eyebrows. I'm not sure if he raised his eyebrows at the part about "blaspheming the Holy Spirit", or about "the unforgivable sin", or if it was a combination of the two, but my immediate thought was, "I should have preached about this. People are going to wonder about it."
Preachers, does this ever happen to you? You think you have listened to the Holy Spirit during the week, and as you are reading the gospel, or one of the readings, or as you begin your sermon, you look out at a particular face, and sometimes you even know a story about what that person is struggling with, and you think, I should have preached on this.
I remember thinking about it when I was preparing the week before. There was plenty to wrestle with in the story, plenty to think about, from "family values" to "a house divided," and of course, "blaspheming the Holy Spirit." Back during my dalliance with the Pentecostals, this was one of the verses they liked to talk about, since it highlighted the importance of the Holy Spirit. You can even say bad things about Jesus, and he'll forgive you -- but don't say anything bad about the Holy Spirit! That's what my Pentecostal friends said. So there was a lot of speculation about what "blaspheming the Holy Spirit" would actually look like.
Actually, though, as a Lutheran, it's the "unforgivable" part that gets me. How can there be an unforgivable sin? Confession and absolution is a non-negotiable part of the liturgy for me. And you notice that we always say, "In the name of Jesus, I forgive you some of your sins"? Oh, you notice that we don't say that? We say ALL of your sins. Because we believe that words have power, and that the Word has power, and that when I say "your sins are forgiven," Jesus has bound the strong man and thrown him out.
You know what I think the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is?
It is to believe that there is any sin that God can't forgive.
Showing posts with label Sermons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sermons. Show all posts
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Nativity of Our Lord 2008
John 1:1-14
"Love has Found Us"
One of my favorite carols, an unusual one, begins like this:
"Tomorrow shall be my dancing day.
I would my true love did so chance
to see the legend of my play:
To call my true love to my dance."
The chorus continues:
Sing O my love, oh my love, my love
This have I done for my true love.
The singer, in this carol, is the Almighty Word, the Son of God,
the play is the story of his life on earth among us,
and the "dancing day" he refers to is the day of his incarnation: the day "the Word became flesh," according to St. John.
Perhaps, though, the author of this carol had in mind these words from the apocrypha, from the Wisdom of Solomon:
"For while gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, your all-powerful Word leaped down from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed."
The word leaped down – danced – to the virgin’s womb – to the manger – to our world, and as the carol imagined, it was for love: "this have I done for my true love."
"The word became flesh and lived among us."
With these words John makes his case: the one who was born in a stable and lived among us, the one who healed and forgave, the one who taught the people and held children, the one who died,
was also the one who spoke the heavens and the earth into being, the one who is almighty and all-powerful, the one who Was, and Is, and Is to Come.
The Holy one of God has lived here, among us.
As C.S. Lewis once put it, in his science fiction trilogy, we are the "visited" planet.
But the word, "visited," even the word "lived" does not quite capture it. The real word is "tabernacled" – according to John, God tabernacled with us in Jesus – and the significance of this word goes far back in Israel’s history, back to the time of the Judges.
In those days Israel was a loosely organized group of tribes.
There was not yet a centralized place of worship in Jerusalem, not yet a permanent homo for the Ark of the Covenant, not yet a king to unite the people.
No, the Ark was housed in a tent, and carried where the people went – whether into battle, or to worship, or traveling.
This tent was the "tabernacle" for the presence of God.
In the same way, John believes, Jesus’ flesh was the tabernacle for the presence of God, dwelling among the people again now.
Two things are important to know about this tabnernacle:
First, it was a modest, and a temporary, shelter.
It was, in reality, a tent, and the glory of it, and its strength, was in the Ark of the Covenant inside it.
It was a tent: vulnerable to wind and rain and storms, to fire and water, frail and frayed.
But inside it carried the strength of God.
"And the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory."
The Word took on our frail flesh, vulnerable to diseass and disappointment, to hunger and thirst, to fear and to death.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven not to sit on a throne but to lie in a manger in a stable.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven not to battle Rome, but to battle sin and death.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven to be torn and beaten on a cross for us, "and we have beheld his glory."
Perhaps we feel more acutely our own vulnerability these days.
We hear – or have felt ourselves – the impact of our faltering economy.
People are losing their jobs, their homes – wondering about the predictions of hard economic times ahead.
And we are still at war in Iraq and Afghanistan; terrorists attack in other parts of the world, as well.
200 people in Burnsville this Christmas feel the bitterness of being homeless.
And at this time of year, full of tenderness and hope, we are also especially vulnerable to disappointment, dashed hopes and feelings of inadequacy.
People who are not able to muster up a large crowd of family and friends at Christmas-time might feel judged by the expectations of the season.
People who are not able to show their love for their families by giving lavish celebrations feel that somehow they’ve let others – and themselves – down.
We are made of frail flesh – even the winter wind tells us that.
Here is the second thing about tabernacles: not only are they temporary, they are movable.
Once Israel built the temple, then everyone had to goto the temple to worship properly.
Israel went to find God.
But first, and long ago, God went to the people, and God went with the people.
He went before them into battle, he went before them as they wandered and traveled.
He was a movable God – not just for one place, but for every place.
"And the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory."
The Word became flesh and came to where we are.
We could not go up to heaven and find him, so he came down from heaven and found us.
He came to the stable and the manger where the poor gathered.
He came to the lepers and where the outcasts lived.
He came to the prisoners and he came to those who couldn’t see or walk, and he came to the ones who had not voice to tell him what they needed.
He came to those who couldn’t make ends meet, and he fed them.
He came to the earth, scarred by war, doomed by hate and indifference.
He came to those who were lost, who were wandering, who didn’t know who they were.
He came to us.
In a children’s story by Katherine Paterson, a father is searching for his runaway son.
Two years ago they thought he was dead, but there is a new story around that his son is alive and somewhere in Washington D.C.
On Christmas eve, the father goes in search of him, with only the name of a minster he thinks can help him.
He ends up at an inner city church and shelter, guided by two other runaway children, a boy and a girl. He ends up driving down streets and through neighborhoods that he had never seen before, and hoped never to see again.
He learns that his son has taken a different name, and "didn’t really want to be found."
But he continues, desperate to find his son, to try to repair the breach between them.
Finally he and the other youth see a sign that the girl recognizes, the blinking light of the White Star Savings and Loan Corporation.
It’s a seeding-looking building, but it’s the boarded-up house across the street that the girl points to.
"I think that’s where they are staying," she says.
The father stays in his car for awhile. The house looks uninhabited.
But they notice a thin line of smoke coming from the building.
Someone must be there after all.
When there is no answer at the door, the three of them break in, using a credit card.
There they discover a young girl and her baby – his son’s baby.
She tells him that his son is dead.
The father looks around the place – cold and dirty, with rats running around the room. "Let’s get another place to stay," he urges.
But she refuses to leave. So the father decides that he will stay the night as well – to protect his grandson and to hope to know the child’s mother.
"The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us."
He lived in whatever bad neighborhoods we live in, broke into the house just to see us, slept on our floors to protect us from danger.
Even though we had changed our names, even though we didn’t want to be found, he came to us, to our world, to heal the breach that was between us , to save us and protet us.
And this he did for his true love – for you and me.
So the father slept on the floor of the old tenement house that Christmas Eve.
In the middle of the night he was awakened by a rat that was attacking his grandson.
He leapt up from the floor and, with a strength he didn’t know he had, attacked and killed the rat.
Little did he know that his son was watching through a crack in the door.
He wasn’t dead.
He had been found.
Love had finally found him.
For so long he had doubted his father’s love, but now he knew.
If ever you have doubted the father’s love, now you know... "for the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of a father’s only son."
The Word was born among us, laid in a manger, vulnerable and helpless as we are.
The Word lived among us, sharing our lives, sharing our fears and our fate. The Word leapt down from heaven to seek and to find us, and continues to seek us even this day, this cold Christmas Day.
The Almighty Word went to the outskirts of town, went to the cross, went to death, seeking us, healing the breach that was between us.
He still goes with us.
He goes with the hungry, those made homeless by fire or fate, the lonely, the wanderers.
And still the minstrel sings, "This have I done for my true love."
AMEN
"Love has Found Us"
One of my favorite carols, an unusual one, begins like this:
"Tomorrow shall be my dancing day.
I would my true love did so chance
to see the legend of my play:
To call my true love to my dance."
The chorus continues:
Sing O my love, oh my love, my love
This have I done for my true love.
The singer, in this carol, is the Almighty Word, the Son of God,
the play is the story of his life on earth among us,
and the "dancing day" he refers to is the day of his incarnation: the day "the Word became flesh," according to St. John.
Perhaps, though, the author of this carol had in mind these words from the apocrypha, from the Wisdom of Solomon:
"For while gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, your all-powerful Word leaped down from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed."
The word leaped down – danced – to the virgin’s womb – to the manger – to our world, and as the carol imagined, it was for love: "this have I done for my true love."
"The word became flesh and lived among us."
With these words John makes his case: the one who was born in a stable and lived among us, the one who healed and forgave, the one who taught the people and held children, the one who died,
was also the one who spoke the heavens and the earth into being, the one who is almighty and all-powerful, the one who Was, and Is, and Is to Come.
The Holy one of God has lived here, among us.
As C.S. Lewis once put it, in his science fiction trilogy, we are the "visited" planet.
But the word, "visited," even the word "lived" does not quite capture it. The real word is "tabernacled" – according to John, God tabernacled with us in Jesus – and the significance of this word goes far back in Israel’s history, back to the time of the Judges.
In those days Israel was a loosely organized group of tribes.
There was not yet a centralized place of worship in Jerusalem, not yet a permanent homo for the Ark of the Covenant, not yet a king to unite the people.
No, the Ark was housed in a tent, and carried where the people went – whether into battle, or to worship, or traveling.
This tent was the "tabernacle" for the presence of God.
In the same way, John believes, Jesus’ flesh was the tabernacle for the presence of God, dwelling among the people again now.
Two things are important to know about this tabnernacle:
First, it was a modest, and a temporary, shelter.
It was, in reality, a tent, and the glory of it, and its strength, was in the Ark of the Covenant inside it.
It was a tent: vulnerable to wind and rain and storms, to fire and water, frail and frayed.
But inside it carried the strength of God.
"And the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory."
The Word took on our frail flesh, vulnerable to diseass and disappointment, to hunger and thirst, to fear and to death.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven not to sit on a throne but to lie in a manger in a stable.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven not to battle Rome, but to battle sin and death.
The Almighty Word leaped down from heaven to be torn and beaten on a cross for us, "and we have beheld his glory."
Perhaps we feel more acutely our own vulnerability these days.
We hear – or have felt ourselves – the impact of our faltering economy.
People are losing their jobs, their homes – wondering about the predictions of hard economic times ahead.
And we are still at war in Iraq and Afghanistan; terrorists attack in other parts of the world, as well.
200 people in Burnsville this Christmas feel the bitterness of being homeless.
And at this time of year, full of tenderness and hope, we are also especially vulnerable to disappointment, dashed hopes and feelings of inadequacy.
People who are not able to muster up a large crowd of family and friends at Christmas-time might feel judged by the expectations of the season.
People who are not able to show their love for their families by giving lavish celebrations feel that somehow they’ve let others – and themselves – down.
We are made of frail flesh – even the winter wind tells us that.
Here is the second thing about tabernacles: not only are they temporary, they are movable.
Once Israel built the temple, then everyone had to goto the temple to worship properly.
Israel went to find God.
But first, and long ago, God went to the people, and God went with the people.
He went before them into battle, he went before them as they wandered and traveled.
He was a movable God – not just for one place, but for every place.
"And the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory."
The Word became flesh and came to where we are.
We could not go up to heaven and find him, so he came down from heaven and found us.
He came to the stable and the manger where the poor gathered.
He came to the lepers and where the outcasts lived.
He came to the prisoners and he came to those who couldn’t see or walk, and he came to the ones who had not voice to tell him what they needed.
He came to those who couldn’t make ends meet, and he fed them.
He came to the earth, scarred by war, doomed by hate and indifference.
He came to those who were lost, who were wandering, who didn’t know who they were.
He came to us.
In a children’s story by Katherine Paterson, a father is searching for his runaway son.
Two years ago they thought he was dead, but there is a new story around that his son is alive and somewhere in Washington D.C.
On Christmas eve, the father goes in search of him, with only the name of a minster he thinks can help him.
He ends up at an inner city church and shelter, guided by two other runaway children, a boy and a girl. He ends up driving down streets and through neighborhoods that he had never seen before, and hoped never to see again.
He learns that his son has taken a different name, and "didn’t really want to be found."
But he continues, desperate to find his son, to try to repair the breach between them.
Finally he and the other youth see a sign that the girl recognizes, the blinking light of the White Star Savings and Loan Corporation.
It’s a seeding-looking building, but it’s the boarded-up house across the street that the girl points to.
"I think that’s where they are staying," she says.
The father stays in his car for awhile. The house looks uninhabited.
But they notice a thin line of smoke coming from the building.
Someone must be there after all.
When there is no answer at the door, the three of them break in, using a credit card.
There they discover a young girl and her baby – his son’s baby.
She tells him that his son is dead.
The father looks around the place – cold and dirty, with rats running around the room. "Let’s get another place to stay," he urges.
But she refuses to leave. So the father decides that he will stay the night as well – to protect his grandson and to hope to know the child’s mother.
"The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us."
He lived in whatever bad neighborhoods we live in, broke into the house just to see us, slept on our floors to protect us from danger.
Even though we had changed our names, even though we didn’t want to be found, he came to us, to our world, to heal the breach that was between us , to save us and protet us.
And this he did for his true love – for you and me.
So the father slept on the floor of the old tenement house that Christmas Eve.
In the middle of the night he was awakened by a rat that was attacking his grandson.
He leapt up from the floor and, with a strength he didn’t know he had, attacked and killed the rat.
Little did he know that his son was watching through a crack in the door.
He wasn’t dead.
He had been found.
Love had finally found him.
For so long he had doubted his father’s love, but now he knew.
If ever you have doubted the father’s love, now you know... "for the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of a father’s only son."
The Word was born among us, laid in a manger, vulnerable and helpless as we are.
The Word lived among us, sharing our lives, sharing our fears and our fate. The Word leapt down from heaven to seek and to find us, and continues to seek us even this day, this cold Christmas Day.
The Almighty Word went to the outskirts of town, went to the cross, went to death, seeking us, healing the breach that was between us.
He still goes with us.
He goes with the hungry, those made homeless by fire or fate, the lonely, the wanderers.
And still the minstrel sings, "This have I done for my true love."
AMEN
Friday, October 31, 2008
A Reformation Day Sermon
....from a couple of years ago. I'm not preaching, so I thought I'd put up former sermons on Reformation and on All Saints.
"Free!"
Lately the word "Free!" Has been going through my mind, in exactly this way: "Free! Free!" And here’s why: It all has to do with training our dog, in this case, to walk nicely on a leash. The first week of "leash training" class, we were told that the key words for nice leash-walking were "Let’s walk," and told exactly how to hold the leash and what to do if your dog tries to get ahead of you. When the dog hears "Let’s walk", she has to learn to obey: no sniffing, no checking out the squirrels, no pulling. The idea is that the dog goes where you want to go, NOT where the dog wants to go. Inevitably, someone at that first class asked, "So what do you say when you WANT your dog to be more relaxed? – you know, not have to follow all of those rules?" – not obey you?
You guessed it! You say, "Free! Free!" Then the dog can sniff and wander and generally speaking, act like a dog.
"So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed," Jesus says to his disciples in our Gospel on this Reformation Sunday. "Free indeed!" It sounds like it should have an exclamation point at the end of it, like this is something really important, and really exciting. And it’s also no accident that this is one of the Scriptures lessons always chosen for Reformation day, for the issue of freedom was very important to Martin Luther. He desperately wanted the people of his day to know that, in Christ, they were "Free! Free!" And this issue of freedom was behind the 95 theses he posted on that church door in Wittenburg back in 1517. He posted those 95 theses primarily because he had questions about the practice of selling something called "indulgences" – basically a piece of paper you could buy that assured you or a loved one of eternal life. Luther felt that a Christian who knew that he or she was really free wouldn’t need to buy an indulgence in order to be sure about it.
Also, the same issue, the issue of freedom was behind a little tract that Luther wrote just three years later, called "The Freedom of a Christian." (For those of you in confirmation who just saw the Luther movie, this was one of the writings that Luther was asked to renounce... but he wouldn’t) Outside of the small catechism, this is probably Luther’s clearest and most important statement of what the Christian faith is all about: and he says that it is all about being free, free in Christ. In this tract, Luther asks and answers the question: What does it mean to be free?
What do you think? Does it mean that in Christ we are free to do whatever we want to ... like the dog who is "free" to wander away from her master, to sniff the ground and go wherever she wants to go? Does it mean that we don’t have to pay attention to the law any more? Does it mean that we don’t even really "have to" do acts of piety, prayer and Bible reading and worship? Luther’s answer, surprisingly, was "yes... and "no."
Luther begins this little book with two provocative statements. First he says "A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none."Think about how that must have sounded to the people of his time.Very few people thought of themselves as "free." Not a democratic society. So. This was a radical statement. And: "A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all." How can both statements be true? But Luther claims that they are, and goes on to explain – first of all that we are truly free. In other words, we don’t have to do anything ... to earn God’s love.
We don’t have to buy an indulgence to be assured a place in heaven. We don’t have to say a certain prayer, or climb a certain number of church steps in order to be forgiven, because God has already forgiven us through Jesus’ death and resurrection. That is the truth that sets us free.
It’s like the story I heard about a teacher who said to her students, on the first day of class,"First of all, I’d like you all to know that you all get ‘A’s. Now, here is the syllabus. Any questions?" That wold be a really radical thing to do – kind of dangerous – probably why you have never heard of a teacher actually saying that ... and why many people shy away from the truth of the gospel .. The truth that in Christ you are really free, in Christ each of us has already earned an ‘A’. It’s easy to become a Christian, as easy as being carried to the font as a baby. But it’s dangerous too, and that gets us to the 2nd statement that Luther made, the second truth about Christian freedom."A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all." So it’s true... we don’t have to do anything ... but we do, as servants of Christ. We serve ... we give... we love...
Luther used many analogies in his little book to describe what it means to be free and at the same time a servant. One of the illustrations that Luther uses is that of a tree, with deep roots and strong branches. If a tree is planted in good soil, it will grow strong and it will bear good fruit.No one comes up to the tree and orders it to bear good fruit. In fact, that won’t work.
We can’t make an apple tree give us good apples by demanding them. And an apple tree doesn’t Have to make apples, it just does, because it’s planted in a good place, and nurtured and fed. It’s the same with us. If our roots are in the good soil of Jesus, and faith in him, we will bear fruit, we will be servants, but not because we have to. It will be part of who we are ... not something to be proud of, or that makes us better than anyone else. But something that happens naturally.
I’d like to think about that classroom again, the classroom where all the students get ‘A’s. Now they are free – they are free from staying up all night studying and worrying about whether they will "make the grade." And now they are also free ... free to study simply because they want to learn all about astronomy, or history or biology. Now that they don’t have to worry about the score, they can study for the love of the subject. That’s being "free indeed."
Just last Friday there was a funeral here at Woodlake for a man who had served his community in a lot of ways. And one of the stories that was told about this man was this incredible story about how he had actually saved a woman from being hit by a train several years ago. He said it was one of the proudest moments of his life. And what struck me was that he didn’t think he did anything particularly heroic. He was pretty sure that anyone else would have done the same thing in his place. And he was grateful that he had the opportunity to do something like that in his life. Can you imagine? He didn’t think it was something he "had to" do? It was an opportunity he had been given. In Christ we are perfectly free, lords of all.. We don’t have to do anything. And in Christ we are perfectly dutiful, servants of all.
There’s another way to think about all this. It’s true, we don’t have to do anything. But we "get to" do things, instead. Remember when we were children and we were excited because we "got to" go skating, or help grandma with gardening, or go to visit someone. In Christ, we are children, serving our father not because we have to, but out of pure joy.Writer Gerhard Frost tells about the day his two children decided to serve his wife and him ... breakfast in bed.
They were two and four at the time, and when they proudly brought the trays in to serve their parents, the breakfast consisted of chilled burnt toast, with peanut butter; eggs, fried, and chilled, too; soggy cereal (the milk had been added too soon) and tepid tea! When the children left the room to get something they forgot, his wife whispered "you’re going to have to eat this! I can’t." And you know what. He did. He didn’t eat it as a gourmet. It wasn’t gourmet cooking.
He didn’t eat it because he was hungry. He wasn’t. He ate it because he was a father and because it was made for him; he ate it because his children had faith in him; he didn’t want to let them down. He ate it because he saw how eagerly his children served him. That’s the way it is with us as well ... with joy in our hearts we serve...And sometimes what we come up with is soggy cereal and tepid tea.But our father takes our service and makes it into something wonderful.
Friends, that’s being free indeed ... subject to none.... and servant of all.
Let’s walk.
AMEN
.
"Free!"
Lately the word "Free!" Has been going through my mind, in exactly this way: "Free! Free!" And here’s why: It all has to do with training our dog, in this case, to walk nicely on a leash. The first week of "leash training" class, we were told that the key words for nice leash-walking were "Let’s walk," and told exactly how to hold the leash and what to do if your dog tries to get ahead of you. When the dog hears "Let’s walk", she has to learn to obey: no sniffing, no checking out the squirrels, no pulling. The idea is that the dog goes where you want to go, NOT where the dog wants to go. Inevitably, someone at that first class asked, "So what do you say when you WANT your dog to be more relaxed? – you know, not have to follow all of those rules?" – not obey you?
You guessed it! You say, "Free! Free!" Then the dog can sniff and wander and generally speaking, act like a dog.
"So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed," Jesus says to his disciples in our Gospel on this Reformation Sunday. "Free indeed!" It sounds like it should have an exclamation point at the end of it, like this is something really important, and really exciting. And it’s also no accident that this is one of the Scriptures lessons always chosen for Reformation day, for the issue of freedom was very important to Martin Luther. He desperately wanted the people of his day to know that, in Christ, they were "Free! Free!" And this issue of freedom was behind the 95 theses he posted on that church door in Wittenburg back in 1517. He posted those 95 theses primarily because he had questions about the practice of selling something called "indulgences" – basically a piece of paper you could buy that assured you or a loved one of eternal life. Luther felt that a Christian who knew that he or she was really free wouldn’t need to buy an indulgence in order to be sure about it.
Also, the same issue, the issue of freedom was behind a little tract that Luther wrote just three years later, called "The Freedom of a Christian." (For those of you in confirmation who just saw the Luther movie, this was one of the writings that Luther was asked to renounce... but he wouldn’t) Outside of the small catechism, this is probably Luther’s clearest and most important statement of what the Christian faith is all about: and he says that it is all about being free, free in Christ. In this tract, Luther asks and answers the question: What does it mean to be free?
What do you think? Does it mean that in Christ we are free to do whatever we want to ... like the dog who is "free" to wander away from her master, to sniff the ground and go wherever she wants to go? Does it mean that we don’t have to pay attention to the law any more? Does it mean that we don’t even really "have to" do acts of piety, prayer and Bible reading and worship? Luther’s answer, surprisingly, was "yes... and "no."
Luther begins this little book with two provocative statements. First he says "A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none."Think about how that must have sounded to the people of his time.Very few people thought of themselves as "free." Not a democratic society. So. This was a radical statement. And: "A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all." How can both statements be true? But Luther claims that they are, and goes on to explain – first of all that we are truly free. In other words, we don’t have to do anything ... to earn God’s love.
We don’t have to buy an indulgence to be assured a place in heaven. We don’t have to say a certain prayer, or climb a certain number of church steps in order to be forgiven, because God has already forgiven us through Jesus’ death and resurrection. That is the truth that sets us free.
It’s like the story I heard about a teacher who said to her students, on the first day of class,"First of all, I’d like you all to know that you all get ‘A’s. Now, here is the syllabus. Any questions?" That wold be a really radical thing to do – kind of dangerous – probably why you have never heard of a teacher actually saying that ... and why many people shy away from the truth of the gospel .. The truth that in Christ you are really free, in Christ each of us has already earned an ‘A’. It’s easy to become a Christian, as easy as being carried to the font as a baby. But it’s dangerous too, and that gets us to the 2nd statement that Luther made, the second truth about Christian freedom."A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all." So it’s true... we don’t have to do anything ... but we do, as servants of Christ. We serve ... we give... we love...
Luther used many analogies in his little book to describe what it means to be free and at the same time a servant. One of the illustrations that Luther uses is that of a tree, with deep roots and strong branches. If a tree is planted in good soil, it will grow strong and it will bear good fruit.No one comes up to the tree and orders it to bear good fruit. In fact, that won’t work.
We can’t make an apple tree give us good apples by demanding them. And an apple tree doesn’t Have to make apples, it just does, because it’s planted in a good place, and nurtured and fed. It’s the same with us. If our roots are in the good soil of Jesus, and faith in him, we will bear fruit, we will be servants, but not because we have to. It will be part of who we are ... not something to be proud of, or that makes us better than anyone else. But something that happens naturally.
I’d like to think about that classroom again, the classroom where all the students get ‘A’s. Now they are free – they are free from staying up all night studying and worrying about whether they will "make the grade." And now they are also free ... free to study simply because they want to learn all about astronomy, or history or biology. Now that they don’t have to worry about the score, they can study for the love of the subject. That’s being "free indeed."
Just last Friday there was a funeral here at Woodlake for a man who had served his community in a lot of ways. And one of the stories that was told about this man was this incredible story about how he had actually saved a woman from being hit by a train several years ago. He said it was one of the proudest moments of his life. And what struck me was that he didn’t think he did anything particularly heroic. He was pretty sure that anyone else would have done the same thing in his place. And he was grateful that he had the opportunity to do something like that in his life. Can you imagine? He didn’t think it was something he "had to" do? It was an opportunity he had been given. In Christ we are perfectly free, lords of all.. We don’t have to do anything. And in Christ we are perfectly dutiful, servants of all.
There’s another way to think about all this. It’s true, we don’t have to do anything. But we "get to" do things, instead. Remember when we were children and we were excited because we "got to" go skating, or help grandma with gardening, or go to visit someone. In Christ, we are children, serving our father not because we have to, but out of pure joy.Writer Gerhard Frost tells about the day his two children decided to serve his wife and him ... breakfast in bed.
They were two and four at the time, and when they proudly brought the trays in to serve their parents, the breakfast consisted of chilled burnt toast, with peanut butter; eggs, fried, and chilled, too; soggy cereal (the milk had been added too soon) and tepid tea! When the children left the room to get something they forgot, his wife whispered "you’re going to have to eat this! I can’t." And you know what. He did. He didn’t eat it as a gourmet. It wasn’t gourmet cooking.
He didn’t eat it because he was hungry. He wasn’t. He ate it because he was a father and because it was made for him; he ate it because his children had faith in him; he didn’t want to let them down. He ate it because he saw how eagerly his children served him. That’s the way it is with us as well ... with joy in our hearts we serve...And sometimes what we come up with is soggy cereal and tepid tea.But our father takes our service and makes it into something wonderful.
Friends, that’s being free indeed ... subject to none.... and servant of all.
Let’s walk.
AMEN
.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Shameless Self-Promotion
I'm really tired this evening. I had the matins service at 8:00 this morning, and preached at 12:15, 5:30 and 7:00 for the Wednesday Lenten services. After preaching on Sunday as well, tonight I feel a little preached-out.
However, this evening after the service a member of our congregation approached me. They used to be Missouri Synod Lutherans. They had family visiting this last Sunday. They are still Missouri Synod Lutherans. This man explained that his brother still has problems getting used to a woman pastor.
But you know, he said, She had a really good sermon.
He asked for a copy.
I know, it doesn't quite seem right to be proud. This being Lent and all.
However, this evening after the service a member of our congregation approached me. They used to be Missouri Synod Lutherans. They had family visiting this last Sunday. They are still Missouri Synod Lutherans. This man explained that his brother still has problems getting used to a woman pastor.
But you know, he said, She had a really good sermon.
He asked for a copy.
I know, it doesn't quite seem right to be proud. This being Lent and all.
P.S. drawing saved from a bulletin doodled on by a young person in our congregation.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sermon for Advent 3
Advent 3 Year CMatthew 11:2-11
"Will the Real Messiah please stand up?"
The other day, my husband and I were doing some Christmas shopping and we came across what I thought at the time was an unusual item. It was an "Olive the other Reindeer" pop up Advent calendar. (FYI: Olive is relatively new in the Christmas pantheon. and by the way, she is not really a reindeer, she's a dog. But her name is Olive. And she helps Santa) I stood there, looking at the Olive Advent Calendar for a minute, trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture. Olive the reindeer... Advent... hmmm.... then I called my husband over to take a look at it as well. "I thought advent was about waiting for Jesus to come," I finally said. He agreed, and added, "Maybe the Olive calendar is for people who are waiting for Christmas, but who aren’t quite sure what they are waiting for."
The more I think about it, the more I think that statement describes most of us, at least sometimes. We’re waiting, but we’re not quite sure what we are waiting for – or how to know when it has arrived. Certainly this describes John the Baptist, who in our gospel lesson today asks the question, through his disciples, "Are you the One who is to come? Or are we to wait for another?" He’s been waiting for the Messiah all his life. He’s even been preaching about the Messiah, calling people to repentance to prepare for the Messiah, baptizing people in the river Jordan because the Messiah was coming soon. And yet....here he is today, sitting in prison, and he’s wondering, and doubting, "Is he the Real Thing? Or should I keep waiting? Should we keep waiting?"
We’re all looking for the Real Thing, aren’t we? But how do we know it when we see it? Sometimes we’re sure that we have the genuine article, only to be told the what we have been believing in was FAKE, what we have been treasuring was WORTHLESS. I still remember how once long ago I had to (well, I guess I didn’t HAVE TO) tell a group of young women that Betty Crocker was NOT a real person. They were devastated. They had bought CAKE
MIX because of her. She had such an honest face. They trusted her. Then they found out that she was just another marketing ploy, like the kindly faced man on the cover of the Quaker Oats box, who used to always say, "Nothing is better for Thee than me." And we believed him, didn’t we? He has such an honest face.If John the Baptist has doubts, perhaps he can be excused. After all, he is in prison, and he has a lot of time on his hands – time to think about how certain he was about everything when he was out on the road eating locusts and wild honey, and preaching judgment and repentance. The crowds loved him; the leaders did not. And perhaps he can be forgiven his doubts when we consider that he is in prison – probably not the place where he thought this whole enterprise would end up. If this Jesus was the Messiah, he must have thought, what was he (John) doing in prison? Wouldn’t the Messiah have the power somehow to vindicate his servant? If the Day of the Lord was really approaching, as John had preached with conviction, why were the wicked still prospering and people like John the Baptist still sitting in prison?
Then again, Jesus’ preaching seems to have taken a different direction than John’s. Where John preached fire and brimstone, warning the comfortable about the upcoming Day of the Lord, Jesus comforted the poor and the afflicted, promising that there would be a Day of the Lord for them: and that it would be a day of healing, grace and forgiveness. John was waiting for a Day of Judgment, a Messiah who would deal with the wicked once and for all, and permanently. Jesus was proclaiming a day of Salvation, a day of grace, especially for those who needed it most.
So John asks his question, not so far away from ours, "Are you the one who is to come? Or are we to wait for another?" It’s the question for people who are waiting, but aren’t quite sure what they are waiting for. It’s a question particularly appropriate for this time of year, when we see Olive the Other Reindeer calendars and watch heartwarming Christmas specials and hear messages proclaiming from the wilderness: "Buy more Christmas presents! You aren’t done yet!" We’re waiting, at this time of year, but what is it, exactly, that we are waiting for?Are we waiting for just the right present? Are we waiting for a family reunion, all gathered around a warm fireplace, eating and talking and loving each other? Are we waiting for special gatherings with friends who care about us, and who we care for? What is the real meaning of Christmas, anyway? ...Will we know it when it comes? One Christmas special recently announced, "It’s all about family and friends. That’s the real meaning of Christmas." What are we waiting for? Or who? And how can we tell when he has arrived? How can we tell that Jesus is the real thing, the Messiah, the One that we really are waiting for?
This is the answer that Jesus gave John’s disciples: "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them." He doesn’t say, "Yes, I’m the Messiah," or "No, I’m not" – he points to what he has been saying and what he is doing – healing, forgiving, raising the dead – and who he is speaking to – the poor, the lonely, the vulnerable, the dying. And then he says: "You be the judge. I make the blind see and I raise the dead. I set free the captive and feed the hungry. I am on the side of the poor and the grieving, on the side of the prisoner and the homeless. Is this what you have been waiting for? Am I the One you have been waiting for?" What is the real meaning of Christmas? What kind of a Messiah are we waiting for?
That’s the heart of the question today. Because there are a lot of different messages being proclaimed this time of year, some of them commercial, some of them sentimental, and some are spiritual. What kind of a Messiah are you waiting for? Because Jesus is the Messiah who makes the blind see and raises the dead, who cleanses lepers and sets the captives free. Jesus is the Messiah who feeds the hungry, and lifts up the poor, who sets free the captives and sits down to eat with sinners. And it seems that this is the way you can test the different messages you hear at Christmas: any Christmas message which includes you and your loved ones but leaves out the poor and the hungry and the lonely – is a FAKE Christmas message, not a real one. Any Christmas message which promises peace to our friends, but not our enemies, is a FAKE Christmas message, not a real one. Really good good news has to be for you and me, and for John sitting in prison, for our children who will be performing here today, and for the children who come to us homeless with Families Moving Forward. Really good news promises forgiveness to those who really need it; God’s presence to those who are really lonely; God’s healing to those who are really hurting; God’s life to those who are really dying. All too often, people who doubt or disbelieve the Christian message do not see enough evidence of its truth in our lives. Are we the Real Thing? What kind of a Messiah do we believe in? What kind of a Messiah are we waiting for?
The news was scandalous, but also all too common. A school shooting; 5 dead, and the shooter.But this time it was different. For this particular school shooting was in an Amish community, where no one could imagine something like this happening. And after this particular school shooting there was an outbreak of scandalous forgiveness. It was the big story, even bigger than the shooting itself. People could not comprehend the action of the shooter; but even more, they couldn’t comprehend the community, which reached out to the family of the murderer with words and actions, words and actions – of forgiveness and reconciliation. How could they do this? They have been praised – and they have been criticized. But this is the kind of Messiah they are waiting for, the kind of Messiah they are preparing for: one who heals and feeds and raises the dead, even forgives enemies. This is the kind of Messiah Jesus is: God with us, all of us, and especially with those who really need him.
What kind of a Messiah are you waiting for? What kind of a Messiah are you preparing for?John prepared for a Messiah who would judge the world; he got a Messiah who opens his arms to embrace the world, who loves us, the lonely, the forgotten, the hungry, and the fakers— he got a Messiah who came to us as a child, and who speaks to us even through the words of children. He got a Messiah who is on the side of the broken and the misfits, not the rich and the successful.
Advent is a time of waiting: and it’s not a bad question to ask ourselves at this time of year, as we light candles and make cookies and sweep our floors and dream: What is the real meaning of Christmas – for you? What kind of a Messiah are you waiting for? What kind of a Messiah are you preparing for?
AMEN
More thoughts on Betty Crocker here
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thanksgiving Sermon
Day (and Eve) of Thanksgiving 2007
Text: Phil 4:4-9
One of my father’s favorite movies is the old Disney classic "Pollyanna." You know, the one about the little girl who was played the "Glad Game" and thought of something to be glad about in every situation. If you recall the movie, she eventually turns a whole town around with her sunny attitude and ability to find something glad everywhere she went. If you read the book upon which the movie is based, it turns out that Pollyanna’s father, a traveling minister, taught her this game. They were a family of no means, and Pollyanna had been expecting a doll for
Christmas. However, when they went down to the mission where they were giving away gifts, she got a pair of crutches instead. That’s when her father taught her the "glad game", saying that "at least they could be glad — because they didn’t need the crutches." However, the word "Pollyanna" has also come to have a somewhat negative meaning – it has come to refer to a person who looks at the world through rose-colored glasses, a "bright-eyed optimist,’ and an unrealistic one, as well.
"Rejoice in the Lord, always, and again I will say, Rejoice!" are Paul’s instructions to the people of Philippi -- and to us -- on this Thanksgiving Day. "In everything give thanks..." he also advises them, and finally, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just...if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." He seems unrelentingly cheery in these verses, and it is tempting to stamp him with the "Pollyanna" stamp – the starry-eyed optimist, who has no concept of the trials of the real world. It’s tempting to imagine him advising the Philippians to minimize the sorrows and tragedies of the real world by playing a kind of "glad game" with one another. Except for one thing. Paul is writing this letter from prison. And he’s not in prison for stealing anything or injuring someone. He is in prison for preaching the gospel, for sharing the Good News of God’s forgiveness and love for the whole world. I’m sure if he could help it, he would have been anywhere else. It’s not where he chose to be. And if he chose to, he could think about it as the end of his ministry, a sign from God that he should quit this business and give up. But he didn’t. "Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice." "In everything give thanks," he said. And "If there is anything worthy of praise....think about these things."
I remember standing in front of a small country congregation one cold Thanksgiving Eve. I had gotten used to not going home for Thanksgiving, but it still seemed odd to me, not to be with my family at this time of the year. Growing up, I associated Thanksgiving with the pilgrims, of course: but also with impossibly large family meals, television specials, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I associated Thanksgiving with family and leisure and abundance. And of course I associated Thanksgiving with the anticipation of Christmas: just as it was planned back in the 1940s when Thanksgiving came to be celebrated regularly on the 4th Thursday in November. The beginning of the Christmas shopping season! That is how I thought of Thanksgiving Day. It was a marker between the fall and the Christmas shopping season.
However, standing in front of the congregation that evening, I understood for the first time that Thanksgiving was really about two things: it was about the harvest, that end-of-the-year time in our almost-forgotten rural past, and looking back on a year filled with both tragedy and blessing. And it was about a particular way of looking at life: a way that Paul knew and a way that the people in that small farming community knew. They lived a thankful life. And I am not talking about optimism. I am not talking about looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Both the apostle Paul and my farmers knew that there were many things in life that were beyond their control. Paul preached the gospel in a time when he could be thrown in prison for what he said. But he said it anyway, giving thanks to God for giving him work, a message, that is life-giving. My farmers worked hard planting and harvesting and doing everything in between, but knowing that they depended on God for everything that was important: from good weather to life itself. And they knew that they did not get everything they wanted. The year before, winter had come early and they had not been able to get their crops in, no matter how hard they worked. Some of them had been hailed out the summer before. At least one family had lost their farm. And there had been other sadness as well. Many of the older saints of their community had died in the past year. A young husband and his three sons were killed on icy roads the January before. There was much to grieve, sorrows they did not deserve.
And yet, on that Thanksgiving Eve, as I looked out over my congregation in that little church – which has, by the way, since closed its doors – I saw the faces of people who were both tired and grateful. They were tired from their hard work of bringing in the harvest, but they were grateful because they saw clearly that during the past year were not only sorrows they did not deserve, but also blessings – big and small. "In everything give thanks." "If anything is worthy of praise, think about these things." So that is what we did. We gave thanks. We gave thanks for the babies baptized, although there were just a few, and we gave thanks for the saints who had died during the past year. We gave thanks for the anniversary of one of the congregations, which had turned 100. We gave thanks for the youth of the congregation, though few in number, they were active and growing in faith. We gave thanks for the gifts and talents that kept the congregations going, from cooking and cleaning, to making banners and playing instruments, to praying and visiting. I suppose, if we had wanted to, we could have lamented instead. We could have lamented that fact that we were few, and dwindling in number. We could have worried about our futures, so uncertain, and grieved the loss of the small towns. But instead, we each took little pieces of paper, and wrote down what we were thankful for. During the offering the ushers picked up the little pieces of paper and during the prayers the pastor read each one. Because we were small, I could do this. And I have kept these little pieces of paper until today. The thanksgivings written there are mostly simple ones, but I’d like to read just a few for you:
-I’m thankful for this church my ancestors helped organize and build – giving me a strong faith in our Lord
-I’m thankful for the bountiful garden our neighbors shared with us
-I’m thankful for family and their good health. Also for good fall weather to get the harvest done this year
-I am thankful for health, and a good crop
-I’m thankful for my six children and their families.
-I’m thankful for all the good farming years God gave to my husband and me when we were raising our family.
-for beautiful sunrises and sunsets
-I’m thankful for staying warm last winter when the power went out in the blizzard
and finally
-I am thankful that we have a God who comes to us to share in every aspect of our lives.
"Rejoice in the Lord always." Paul advises us on this Thanksgiving Day. "In everything give thanks...." And finally, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Think about these things. For, as Paul also writes, "The Lord is near." We have a God who comes to us to share in every aspect of our lives – our joys and our sorrows, our tragedies and blessings. We have a God who comes to us in Jesus, and in his death and resurrection will never let us go.Thanksgiving is not about looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, just as joy is not the same as optimism. Thanksgiving is about looking at the world as it really is: with all of its sorrows and all of its joys, and realizing that in the midst of all of it, The Lord is near. Whether you are in prison or free, in plenty or in want, in loneliness or community: The Lord is near. Whether you get the doll you wanted for Christmas, or a pair of crutches instead. Or even if you need the crutches. The Lord is near.
Think about these things.
And we have the privilege of serving him, of seeing his face, as we care for the needy, as we celebrate with family and friends, as we work and as we share the harvest of our lives with one another. The Lord is near. Happy Thanksgiving.
AMEN
I want to credit the apostle Paul and also Songbird for helping me think of the words "think about these things" as a refrain.
Text: Phil 4:4-9
One of my father’s favorite movies is the old Disney classic "Pollyanna." You know, the one about the little girl who was played the "Glad Game" and thought of something to be glad about in every situation. If you recall the movie, she eventually turns a whole town around with her sunny attitude and ability to find something glad everywhere she went. If you read the book upon which the movie is based, it turns out that Pollyanna’s father, a traveling minister, taught her this game. They were a family of no means, and Pollyanna had been expecting a doll for
Christmas. However, when they went down to the mission where they were giving away gifts, she got a pair of crutches instead. That’s when her father taught her the "glad game", saying that "at least they could be glad — because they didn’t need the crutches." However, the word "Pollyanna" has also come to have a somewhat negative meaning – it has come to refer to a person who looks at the world through rose-colored glasses, a "bright-eyed optimist,’ and an unrealistic one, as well.
"Rejoice in the Lord, always, and again I will say, Rejoice!" are Paul’s instructions to the people of Philippi -- and to us -- on this Thanksgiving Day. "In everything give thanks..." he also advises them, and finally, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just...if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." He seems unrelentingly cheery in these verses, and it is tempting to stamp him with the "Pollyanna" stamp – the starry-eyed optimist, who has no concept of the trials of the real world. It’s tempting to imagine him advising the Philippians to minimize the sorrows and tragedies of the real world by playing a kind of "glad game" with one another. Except for one thing. Paul is writing this letter from prison. And he’s not in prison for stealing anything or injuring someone. He is in prison for preaching the gospel, for sharing the Good News of God’s forgiveness and love for the whole world. I’m sure if he could help it, he would have been anywhere else. It’s not where he chose to be. And if he chose to, he could think about it as the end of his ministry, a sign from God that he should quit this business and give up. But he didn’t. "Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice." "In everything give thanks," he said. And "If there is anything worthy of praise....think about these things."
I remember standing in front of a small country congregation one cold Thanksgiving Eve. I had gotten used to not going home for Thanksgiving, but it still seemed odd to me, not to be with my family at this time of the year. Growing up, I associated Thanksgiving with the pilgrims, of course: but also with impossibly large family meals, television specials, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I associated Thanksgiving with family and leisure and abundance. And of course I associated Thanksgiving with the anticipation of Christmas: just as it was planned back in the 1940s when Thanksgiving came to be celebrated regularly on the 4th Thursday in November. The beginning of the Christmas shopping season! That is how I thought of Thanksgiving Day. It was a marker between the fall and the Christmas shopping season.
However, standing in front of the congregation that evening, I understood for the first time that Thanksgiving was really about two things: it was about the harvest, that end-of-the-year time in our almost-forgotten rural past, and looking back on a year filled with both tragedy and blessing. And it was about a particular way of looking at life: a way that Paul knew and a way that the people in that small farming community knew. They lived a thankful life. And I am not talking about optimism. I am not talking about looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Both the apostle Paul and my farmers knew that there were many things in life that were beyond their control. Paul preached the gospel in a time when he could be thrown in prison for what he said. But he said it anyway, giving thanks to God for giving him work, a message, that is life-giving. My farmers worked hard planting and harvesting and doing everything in between, but knowing that they depended on God for everything that was important: from good weather to life itself. And they knew that they did not get everything they wanted. The year before, winter had come early and they had not been able to get their crops in, no matter how hard they worked. Some of them had been hailed out the summer before. At least one family had lost their farm. And there had been other sadness as well. Many of the older saints of their community had died in the past year. A young husband and his three sons were killed on icy roads the January before. There was much to grieve, sorrows they did not deserve.
And yet, on that Thanksgiving Eve, as I looked out over my congregation in that little church – which has, by the way, since closed its doors – I saw the faces of people who were both tired and grateful. They were tired from their hard work of bringing in the harvest, but they were grateful because they saw clearly that during the past year were not only sorrows they did not deserve, but also blessings – big and small. "In everything give thanks." "If anything is worthy of praise, think about these things." So that is what we did. We gave thanks. We gave thanks for the babies baptized, although there were just a few, and we gave thanks for the saints who had died during the past year. We gave thanks for the anniversary of one of the congregations, which had turned 100. We gave thanks for the youth of the congregation, though few in number, they were active and growing in faith. We gave thanks for the gifts and talents that kept the congregations going, from cooking and cleaning, to making banners and playing instruments, to praying and visiting. I suppose, if we had wanted to, we could have lamented instead. We could have lamented that fact that we were few, and dwindling in number. We could have worried about our futures, so uncertain, and grieved the loss of the small towns. But instead, we each took little pieces of paper, and wrote down what we were thankful for. During the offering the ushers picked up the little pieces of paper and during the prayers the pastor read each one. Because we were small, I could do this. And I have kept these little pieces of paper until today. The thanksgivings written there are mostly simple ones, but I’d like to read just a few for you:
-I’m thankful for this church my ancestors helped organize and build – giving me a strong faith in our Lord
-I’m thankful for the bountiful garden our neighbors shared with us
-I’m thankful for family and their good health. Also for good fall weather to get the harvest done this year
-I am thankful for health, and a good crop
-I’m thankful for my six children and their families.
-I’m thankful for all the good farming years God gave to my husband and me when we were raising our family.
-for beautiful sunrises and sunsets
-I’m thankful for staying warm last winter when the power went out in the blizzard
and finally
-I am thankful that we have a God who comes to us to share in every aspect of our lives.
"Rejoice in the Lord always." Paul advises us on this Thanksgiving Day. "In everything give thanks...." And finally, "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Think about these things. For, as Paul also writes, "The Lord is near." We have a God who comes to us to share in every aspect of our lives – our joys and our sorrows, our tragedies and blessings. We have a God who comes to us in Jesus, and in his death and resurrection will never let us go.Thanksgiving is not about looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, just as joy is not the same as optimism. Thanksgiving is about looking at the world as it really is: with all of its sorrows and all of its joys, and realizing that in the midst of all of it, The Lord is near. Whether you are in prison or free, in plenty or in want, in loneliness or community: The Lord is near. Whether you get the doll you wanted for Christmas, or a pair of crutches instead. Or even if you need the crutches. The Lord is near.
Think about these things.
And we have the privilege of serving him, of seeing his face, as we care for the needy, as we celebrate with family and friends, as we work and as we share the harvest of our lives with one another. The Lord is near. Happy Thanksgiving.
AMEN
I want to credit the apostle Paul and also Songbird for helping me think of the words "think about these things" as a refrain.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Sunday Sermon: The Grand Canyon
This was my sermon this morning. I even learned how to copy it from my computer at work! I am learning more of this computer business every day.
The Grand Canyon
Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? There’s really nothing else like it anywhere, is there? You can see pictures, but they don’t really capture the sense you get when you are standing there, looking down into the huge unbridgeable chasm. My family stopped at the Grand Canyon when we were on a family trip when I was a teenager – just stopped to take a look. We took some pictures – little square pictures – but when we got home, we agreed that they just didn’t do the Canyon justice. This last time we took two teenagers with us – and their first reaction was like ours – there is nothing like it. "Wow!" they said – and some other words too. The Grand Canyon is awesome – in its beauty – but also in its danger.
I would like you to have that picture in your mind – the picture of the Grand Canyon – when you think of the Great Chasm in the story from our gospel today – the story of the rich man and Lazarus. After both of them die – and Lazarus goes to the bosom of Abraham, and the
rich man to the fires of Hades – there is an unbridgeable chasm between them. That’s what Abraham says, anyway, when the rich man begs him to have Lazarus come over and help him – just a little bit. Just as Lazarus, while he was living, longed for just the crumbs from the rich man’s table, the rich man longs for just a little bit of water. He isn’t asking for a lot. But Abraham says, "I’m sorry, but there is this unbridgeable Grand Canyon-size chasm between us. And there’s nothing I can do about it." And I imagine that he is saying this to the rich man in the nicest way possible. This is really, in some ways, an incredibly frightening parable, just as the Grand Canyon is a frightening place. If you slip and fall off the edge of the Grand Canyon, there is no way you can be saved. There is no hope for you. The familiar song "Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham" ... might have that lilting chorus "So high you can’t get over it/so low you can’t get under it/so deep you can’t get around it..." but the meaning is ominous. It’s the unbridgeable chasm. That's the picture at the end of this parable. It’s a dark and sobering picture of danger and judgment.
But if you look closely, you will notice that this Chasm was also there before the rich man and Lazarus died.. Though it was invisible, perhaps, it was just as deep and just as wide. Lazarus was sitting every day at the rich man’s gate, so close to help, so close to food, so close to a little bit of riches – but it seemed there was an unbridgeable chasm, and the rich man just couldn’t get over it to help him. In fact, it seems that the poor man was invisible. We don’t know what was going through that rich man’s mind. We don’t know if he was too busy, too preoccupied with his own life to help the poor man. We don’t know if perhaps that’s why he didn’t stop and at least throw some crumbs to Lazarus. We do know one thing though: we know that the first hearers of this parable, the people who were listening to Jesus at that time, would have heard the first two verses of the story and assumed a different outcome. They would have imagined the scenes in their head of the rich man and his fine clothes and large dinners and his great house in the gated community, and they would have imagined that poor sick man – and they would have assumed that in the next verse the rich man would be in heaven and the poor man would have gone to the other place. They would have gasped in surprised when Lazarus – Lazarus!!! – was carried off to the bosom of Abraham. They would have assumed that the man who was rich was blessed by God and that the man who was poor was obviously – not. Not blessed, not righteous, somehow morally inferior. And perhaps the rich man himself thought this – as he passed through his gate to go to the synagogue and pray, and as he thanked God for his big house and his good food – perhaps he thought as he looked at the poor man who lay there: "He is not worth helping. He has been cursed God. That’s why he’s poor."
And lest you think that this attitude does not exist even today: I know of a pastor who was teaching confirmation, and talking about the 7th commandment: "You shall not steal." And they were talking about different kinds of stealing – shoplifting, cheating on tests, other sorts of things ... and the pastor told the students about a business practice he had heard of – I don’t know if it still occurs – that in grocery stores in the inner cities, (where people are often poor) they often charge more than they do in grocery stores in the suburbs. "Do you think this is a kind of stealing?" the pastor asked. And one of the students answered, "That’s not stealing. That’s just GOOD BUSINESS." Is it? "So wide you can’t get around it..."
As I said – the chasm between Lazarus and the rich man existed before they died – and it exists even today. There’s a chasm between the rich and the poor – but that is not only chasm. There are chasms not only between rich and poor, but between people of different races and religious and political affiliations, people who speak different languages and live in different places. But who created these great and dangerous canyons? So wide you can’t get around them, so deep you can’t get under them... who creates them now? The chasms that say: "You are poor for a reason. I don’t have anything in common with you. You are not like me. You are not worthy of help." The chasms that separate us into US and THEM.
"The man who washes cars... does not own one. The clerk who files cancelled checks at the bank has $2.02 in her own account. The woman who copy-edits medical textbooks has not been to a dentist in a decade..... This is the forgotten America. At the bottom of its working world, millions live in the shadow of prosperity and well- being.... They serve you Big Macs and help you find merchandise at Wal-Mart. They harvest your food, clean your offices, and sew your clothes."
Lazarus is at our gates. We probably look each other in the eye every day. Or do we look away? Do we look away, or turn away? For whenever we look away, or turn away from Lazarus at our gates..... we create the Grand Canyon – the unbridgeable chasm between us. Maybe we turn away from fear, or maybe from shame, or maybe we are just distracted by our own concerns and cares. Whatever the reason, whenever we look away, whenever we harden our hearts, we create the chasm between us. God doesn’t fix the chasm. We do. By isolating ourselves from one another, from others – the poor, the outcast, the lonely. By not seeing that they are our brothers and sisters, people who God also cares about, sinners who God wants to be fed and cared for and clothed. By not seeing that we are a part of them, and they are a part of us.
By not seeing that our fates are intertwined. We create the chasm – not God. And in the end it turns out that the chasm doesn’t just separate us from them – it also separates us from God.
So wide you can’t get around it, so deep you can’t get under it....
By not seeing that our fates are intertwined. We create the chasm – not God. And in the end it turns out that the chasm doesn’t just separate us from them – it also separates us from God.
So wide you can’t get around it, so deep you can’t get under it....
But Jesus can. Jesus can and Jesus did. Jesus came here, to this poor earth, to walk with us, and to live with us. Jesus bridged the chasm that separates us from God and from one another –
and shows us that there is no human power that can dig a chasm so wide or so deep that it cannot be bridged in God’s grace – and by God’s love. "Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord," Paul writes. "Not life or death, nor things present nor things to come...." His love is ... "so high you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under, so wide you can’t get around it..."
Because Jesus is not afraid to call us, all of us, rich and poor, young or old, lonely and outcast – his brothers and sisters. He does not look away from us, or run away from us, but comes to us with healing and food, with cool water for our heads, with forgiveness, life. He comes to every single one of us sinners this day. He is not afraid to eat and drink with us, not afraid to sit at our bedside, not afraid to live and die with us. He calls us "sisters and brothers" – no matter who we are – and he invites us to look at his face, and to serve him as we serve the lonely and the outcast, the homeless and the poor – and so see them as our brothers and sisters, too. Every time we do this – we bridge the chasm – in Jesus’ name.
and shows us that there is no human power that can dig a chasm so wide or so deep that it cannot be bridged in God’s grace – and by God’s love. "Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord," Paul writes. "Not life or death, nor things present nor things to come...." His love is ... "so high you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under, so wide you can’t get around it..."
Because Jesus is not afraid to call us, all of us, rich and poor, young or old, lonely and outcast – his brothers and sisters. He does not look away from us, or run away from us, but comes to us with healing and food, with cool water for our heads, with forgiveness, life. He comes to every single one of us sinners this day. He is not afraid to eat and drink with us, not afraid to sit at our bedside, not afraid to live and die with us. He calls us "sisters and brothers" – no matter who we are – and he invites us to look at his face, and to serve him as we serve the lonely and the outcast, the homeless and the poor – and so see them as our brothers and sisters, too. Every time we do this – we bridge the chasm – in Jesus’ name.
AMEN
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