The Walkup Song of the Lord

Synod Sermon – Pentecost 19, Lectionary 27, Year A

Isaiah 5:1-7; Psalm 80:7-15; Philippians 3:4b-14; Matthew 21:33-46

Dear Friends in Christ,

Grace and peace to you on this celebration of the Lord’s Day. I thank God for you and for all the Spirit is doing in and through you. Remember, beloveds, that the work of God is not only what we can name with our traditional spiritual frameworks, but also the gifts of the seasons, life-giving weather patterns, and the wonder of wild things.

In the shifting sounds of autumn, I would like you to take a moment to reflect on the idea of walk-up music. Almost always, walk-up music is associated with baseball. It is the snippet of a song that comes over the loudspeaker as a player approaches the batter’s box. The music is both for the player and the fans. It hypes up the player and lets the crowd join in on the excitement of who is up next.

Walk-up music makes an appearance in other arenas. Some large public-speaking events have adapted the practice, playing music as speakers take the stage. Just like athletes, the speakers choose songs that reflect their preferences and get them excited.

In today’s reading from Isaiah, the prophet tells us about God’s walk-up music. The song of the speaker is the song of the beloved for the vineyard. It is a song of love and tenderness, a musical testimony of care, compassion, and hope. When the prophet cues up the song, the listeners know that the Creator is coming up to bat – a home run is a sure thing, a score for the team of the good, a W for the vineyard of the Lord.

Unfortunately, though, the prophet is grieving. Those who believe themselves to be on God’s team have let other music drown out the walk-up music of the Lord. A melody of unrighteousness, a drumbeat of nationalism, discordant notes of injustice and idolatry have all made it hard to hear the song of the Beloved Creator to the beloved creation.

In the light of this behavior, the prophet warns that the Lord would rather tear down the stadium than let the music of harm continue. The caution of potential destruction is a call to those who will listen. The walk-up music of the Lord remains a song of love and hope, but those who are distracted by other tunes, however harmonious they seem, will bring destruction.

The other readings today echo this theme. The apostle Paul continues his encouragement of the Philippian community of Christ followers. He tells them how he learned to change his own walk-up music in light of the good news of Jesus. His prior song, one of self-justifying righteousness, became rubbish to him as the Spirit helped him to understand how the song of the Beloved and the vineyard were calling to him.

I must note to you, friends, that it is easy for us to be caught in a tide of poor Christian interpretation and believe that the flaw in Paul’s song was Judaism—as well as misjudging those who heard the prophet and the leaders in Matthew. The failure to understand God’s call and covenants is a flaw of humanity, not a flaw in a particular religious tradition of humanity. We as Christians and as Lutheran Christians are just as prone to misunderstanding, misinterpretation, and mistakes as any other denomination or spiritual connection to the Creator. To believe we are the most right is EXACTLY what Paul is telling the Philippians that he had thought about himself, and he knows he has the capacity to let that song change keys, become about Jesus, and still drown out the music that should actually be about the glory of God. Not the glory of Paul, or Luther, or us.

The parable from Matthew gives us a variation on the theme. The tenants in the story aren’t wicked so much as delusional. As they work in the vineyard, they begin to believe a lie amongst themselves. Their work means the vineyard should belong to them. Did they make the soil, the sun, the seeds, or the rain? Is the fruit actually theirs? No, but their own song of human rewards, social goals, and thirst for power drown out the music of the song of love of the vineyard owner, an allegory for the God whose farm, vineyard, and ranch is all creation.

Remember that Matthew is also the gospel that says, “...Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16) To let our lights shine means to listen for God’s walk-up music, to learn to recognize the verses of love, grace, mercy, inclusion, hope, justice, and peace. Then, beyond recognizing the song, we yield to the Spirit’s work of making that music our own song, the beat that guides our lives.

We are invited through our baptisms, Holy Communion, our ongoing spiritual maturing, and our life together to be a part of the chorus of God’s music. When we join in with our words and our deeds, people are drawn to divine, irresistible grace. We all know what it’s like to have a song stuck in our heads. The song of the beloved to the vineyard should be that song all the time. A song that says, “You are mine. I love you. I will pull these weeds. I will help you grow. I will prune what does not produce. I will spend time with you. I love you. You are mine.”

This is the walk-up music of the Lord—the song that tells us who is deciding the outcome of the game, the game that has already been won.

Continue to help each other and your neighbors to hear this music, beloveds. Hold fast to the truth that you are God’s vineyard. The song of the Lord is a song to you and to all of us. Carry that song with you into the world and learn to perceive it playing all around you.

May God continue to bless and keep you, today and always. Amen.

 

The Cost of Discipleship

In June of 1939, the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer returned to Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He had visited and studied there in the 1930–1931 school year and was returning as a potential lecturer. In the years between those visits, Bonhoeffer had been a founding member of what was called the Confessing Church, a movement of committed Christians—clergy and laity—who were resisting the state church’s alignment with the government of the Third Reich.

Bonhoeffer had been offered several opportunities to leave Germany to teach and preach elsewhere in safety. When he came to the United States in 1939, he was doing so for his safety and to escape conscription into the German army. He was in the U.S. for two weeks before he realized he’d made a mistake.

He wrote to his friend and fellow theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, these words:

I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people... Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that a future Christian civilization may survive, or else willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization and any true Christianity. I know which of these alternatives I must choose, but I cannot make that choice from a place of security.

Bonhoeffer’s seminal work, The Cost of Discipleship, was published just two years before in 1937. In that book, he wrote about the idea of followers of Jesus who take the commitments of discipleship too lightly. In the words of today’s gospel reading, Bonhoeffer was watching many who called themselves Christian say yes to Jesus but then fail to do the very things that the Savior commands in daily living.

One of the most famous passages from The Cost of Discipleship is this:

Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks' wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices… The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite. What would grace be if it were not cheap?... Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.

In 1939, Bonhoeffer felt that by coming to the United States, he had availed himself of a kind of cheap grace. In less than a month, he was on a boat back to Germany. He continued to preach, to train up new pastors and vicars in the Confessing Church, and to try to rescue Jews and others condemned to die. The latter is what eventually got him arrested and then hanged in a prison camp.

When Bonhoeffer wrote about cheap grace, he did not mean that the Church should fail to offer God’s assurance of forgiveness or the consolation of the sacraments. He was specifically addressing the idea that people who consider themselves disciples of Christ cannot do whatever they want, say whatever they want, live however they want, and then say, “But I am forgiven by the blood of the Lamb.”

To understand the cost of grace, in Bonhoeffer’s mind, one must be doing absolutely everything in one’s power to live in accordance with God’s will. In that willingness to take up the cross every day, one will stumble or make a mistake. It is then that the grace of God covers us—not through erasing harm caused through carelessness or intention, but pain caused by accident in the effort to do what was right.

And Bonhoeffer understood that intention cannot override impact. His intent by going to the United States was to be able to write, preach, and offer encouragement, but he realized the impact of being so far away from those who were suffering in the day-to-day was too great. The pain of receiving sermons from safety would cause a wound greater than his words could heal among the people whom he loved.

This same tension is evident in our readings today. The people listening to God’s words through Ezekiel cry out about the unfairness of the Lord. The Creator responds with wonder at how humans can think Divine action is unfair when their days are filled with injustice, destruction, and unfaithfulness.

The religious elders ask Jesus a pointed question, but not because they’re curious or want to learn. They want to protect their turf, their system, and their fragile peace with the Roman Empire. Jesus answers them with parables about obedience, truth, and heart-change. But the deeper question underneath their interrogation echoes down to us: Where does authority come from, and what does it look like when it is handed to us?

Paul gives an answer in his letter to the Philippian followers of Jesus. In observing the Christ, we see a different way of being, a different kind of authority: Though Christ was in the form of God, He did not count equality with God something to be taken advantage of or exploited. Instead, He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.

Worldly authority says, “Get yours and hold on to it. Climb to the top, protect your power, and command others.”

Christlike authority says, “Hold everything lightly for the sake of the gospel. Descend into the mess, wash feet, empty yourself, and love to the point of cross-bearing.”

The authority Jesus gives His followers is never a badge for domination, status, or spiritual pride. It is an authorization to love sacrificially, to speak truth to power, and to serve a broken world. It is instruction, equipping, and empowerment to make choices that reflect the cost of God’s grace and our understanding of that cost.

When Paul says, “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure,” he does not mean that we have to make our own salvation happen. He is reminding those who hear his words to continue to strive every day to understand the gift of salvation, to live into it, and to pray once more to have joy in that gift.

Years ago, I was in a church meeting in a different congregation. The young child of one of the council members was playing with cars on the floor next to me as I sat at one end of the table. I heard him talking, but when I turned to look at him, I realized he was speaking to me. I hadn’t recognized that before because he wasn’t saying my name.

“Jesus, Jesus!” he said, looking at me.

“Are you asking me something?” I said to him.

“Yes, Jesus,” he replied. “Watch this.”

He then sent a car flying down the ramp of the toy garage.

We corrected my identity later, but I have always known that for children, the role of the pastor can sometimes be conflated with the role of God. The same goes for parents, elected officials, community leaders, or ever-present volunteers.

Anyone who takes action and is known as a follower of Christ will be assumed to be acting in accordance with their faith. Someone is watching us and either recognizing Jesus in us or not.

And I know some of you are thinking, Not every action has to do with my faith in Jesus. Sometimes it’s just buying an apple, getting my car washed, or venting with a friend.

That’s the thing about costly grace, though. If we believe in it, if we do not wish to cheapen it, if we want it to change the world in us and through us, then it does and it will affect everything.

Our yes to Jesus in song and devotion in the sanctuary means very little if it becomes a no in the vineyard of God’s world.

A no to Jesus, coupled with the right actions, means very little in terms of our evangelism and pointing toward the One who knows and loves us best.

We all must come to the same understanding as Bonhoeffer in June of ’39. Our words and our deeds must match, and they must do so for the sake of Christ in our neighbor.

The grace of God is free, but it will cost everything we have to understand its worth. And it is by living out that value in every aspect of our lives that we can be part of how the irresistible grace of God continues to redeem the world.

Amen. 

The Way of the Cross Can Have Rhinestones (Sermon)

This is a sermon about Jesus, adversaries, and Dolly Parton. 

When Jesus says to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan”, I imagine the other disciples all sucking in their breath and averting their eyes. None of them would have imagined Peter as a red devil with horns and a pitchfork, that’s an image from much later. 

Jesus is giving the disciples information they need to know about the kind of opposition, pain, and grief they are going to face when they come into Jerusalem. It is going to come from both civil and religious authorities, Jesus warns, but God’s authority is greater and trauma and destruction will not be the end of the narrative. 

Peter either cannot comprehend what Jesus is telling them or doesn’t want to. The careful explanation and spiritual preparation do not comport with the image he has in his mind of the one he has already named as Messiah. The healings he’s seen, the teachings he’s heard, the miracles he’s observed, surely all of this will not end in the horrific way Jesus is describing. Surely, God will not let it happen. 

Jesus’ rebuke has two directions. First, the Savior identifies the disciple as an adversary. The original meaning and phrasing for “satan” (or ha satan) is an adversary or the adversary. In this language context, Peter’s denial of Jesus’ truth-telling will make him an opponent rather than a follower, if he keeps arguing. 

Called out for resisting Jesus’ prophetic words, Peter then is forced to grapple with whether God will act in accordance with his (Peter’s) will or with the Divine will. Peter’s spiritual struggle is one to which we can all relate. Jesus is describing some terrible things. Why is God going to permit these things to happen? What makes these horrors acceptable? Why shouldn’t Peter, indeed any of us, be an adversary to pain and suffering? 

There’s more than one way to fight against suffering. Peter’s way was to demand that it never happen, at least not to Jesus and, preferably, not to him. We can be adversaries to suffering by denying it, by believing it won’t happen to us if we believe enough, pray perfectly enough, study enough. We can be adversaries to suffering by demanding that we know God’s plan and how it will work and exactly who will be affected and why. And when people have questions or doubts, we can shame them because they don’t believe the way we do. 

That’s one way to do it. The way that Peter was determined to embrace for a hot minute. 

There is, though, another way to be an adversary to suffering and to be on the side of Jesus. There’s a way to honor and glorify God and to not claim more knowledge than you have and to be an opponent to pain, hardship, and struggle. That’s the Dolly Parton way. In the past week, no one thinks she was perfect. No one says she didn’t struggle. No one is attesting that things were easy for her or that she didn’t have griefs and pain. 

Every story about Dolly Rebecca Parton Dean this week pointed to how she did not close her hand. She reached behind her; she pushed people ahead of her; she not only didn’t pull up her ladder behind her; she built additional supports for it so that others could climb up without fear or hindrance. 

She paid for books for children, for college for employees, for band uniforms and instruments in predominantly black high schools, for vaccine research, for support for victims of fires and hurricanes. Her nephew said, in his statement from the family, that she made sure everyone in that family had the support to achieve their goals. 

You can be an adversary to suffering. You can be an opponent of pain. You can resist the terrible things that human beings do to each other and the awful things that happen that are beyond our understanding. We can choose together, and as individuals, to embrace the fullness of what Jesus speaks over his hearers earlier in Matthew, to be the light of the world. 

Peter is going to make a few more mistakes before he gets it right. He does not want to be a satan, an adversary, to Jesus, yet he’s going to fumble, he’s going to deny, he’s going to doubt the resurrection. 

We, on the other hand, have information he didn’t have. We have the whole story, we have the faithfulness of God in Christ, we have the Holy Spirit. What do we do with what we have, with the grace we have been given? 

We have a choice every day when confronted with suffering. We can be like Peter and reject it, turning away because it doesn’t fit with what we want to be true. Or we can be like Dolly. We can profess our love for Jesus, acknowledge the suffering we can plainly see, accept that we cannot do everything, but we can do something. And then go about it. 

Take up your cross and follow doesn’t always mean crucifixion. Sometimes it just means hard work, a genuine smile, and a sincere effort to be an enemy of suffering in whatever form you find it. In living that way, Miss Dolly set her mind on divine things, and we can to. Amen. 

 

Truth and Consequences (Sermon)

Texts: Acts 5:55-60; John 14:1-14

I have been in a lot of conversations around the theme of forgiveness recently. It’s not just in Bible study, but also in individual exchanges as well. One thing that I’ve noticed in these discussions is that there seems to be a cultural expectation that if a person who has been harmed forgives, then the consequences will go away. 

That is not how forgiveness works. 

 

To forgive because of what has been done to us or to others is important work. It is not fast. It is not easy. It is, however, essential because it affects our relationship with God and our relationship with the work to which we are called. 

 

Forgiveness, because it is on a vertical plane, may not actually alter anything on the horizontal plane. Things between people may remain broken because forgiveness does not eliminate the consequences of harmful actions. Forgiveness is not a magic eraser or strong coat of paint.  

 

We actually see an example of a harmful action that can never be undone in today’s reading from Acts. When we read the story of the stoning of Stephen, particularly with his speech that directly precedes it, we have a sense of awe at his faith and an understanding of the grief of his martyrdom. 

 

We get a tiny mention here of something else, though. There is a description of a young man named Saul, standing with the coats of those who killed Stephen. This is the very end of ch. 7 of Acts and ch. 8 begins with this verse, “And Saul approved of the killing of Stephen.” Remember that when Luke wrote this, there were no chapters and verses. The words about Saul’s approval would have immediately followed the death of Stephen and his words of forgiveness. 

Saul, you may or may not know, goes on to become Paul, the one we sometimes call the Apostle Paul. He has a powerful encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, when he (Paul) is on the way to commit more persecutions against Jesus’ followers. Jesus speaks to Saul, blinding him temporarily, until his mind is opened and his heart is softened through the work of the Spirit and the teaching of Ananis and others. 

 

We don’t have a good timeline for Acts, so we don’t have an accurate idea of how close in time the events are between Stephen’s stoning and the road to Damascus event. It’s likely between 2-4 years apart. 

 

After his encounter with Jesus, Paul spends time in Damascus and parts of Arabia. He is learning about what it means to be a follower of the Christ. As best we can tell, he comes back to Jerusalem three years later, so between 5-7 years after Stephen’s death. Acts 9 tells us that the believers in Jerusalem did not trust him and were afraid of him. Barnabas takes up Paul’s cause and tells of Paul’s witness in Damascus. 

 

Even with Barnabas facilitating reconciliation, it is not really possible for Paul to remain in Jerusalem. Part of it is his personality: he’s strong-willed and ends up in a lot of arguments. The other issue is that people still struggle with trusting him. The community is full of people who remember Stephen- their friend and co-worker in the Lord, maybe even their relative. 

 

Eventually, Paul’s friends move him out of the area. A major reason that Paul’s mission becomes to the Gentiles of Asia Minor is not purely because God called him to that. Paul is called to that work because his behavior prevents him from being anywhere else. His watching and approving of the death of Stephen closes the door on his ability to be part of God’s mission anywhere except to people who do not already know him. (And who aren’t yet annoyed with him.) 

 

The believers in Jerusalem can have God’s help in letting go of their anger and grief, but that does not mean that they have the human capacity to welcome Paul back into their company- at table, in worship, through prayer. Their forgiveness means they can commend Paul to God and understand God to work in him and through him, but just not near them. There is too much pain on the horizontal level, within the human relationships, for there to be trust and community. 

This is what I mean when I say that forgiveness, between us and God, does not remove consequences. Human relationships are not Legos. They can’t come apart and then just snap back together. Sometimes things that have been broken can be mended, but sometimes they stay broken. 

 

The harm is too great. The grief is too deep. The wound may scab, but the scar remains. 

 

When we think of Jesus proclaiming that He is the way, the truth, and the life, part of what we are called to consider is how following in His way and living in his truth is meant to guide us into lives of care and compassion. It is his life, death, and resurrection that helps us to comprehend the fullness of God’s grace and mercy. 

 

In living like Jesus, however, we acknowledge that we are still in this life wherein actions have reactions and consequences. We must make every effort not to stand by, watching the coats and approving of harm that is done to anyone. What happened to Stephen was legal, but not moral. That can happen in our own time and the converse as well, illegal actions that are moral. 

 

As people who are called and equipped to live in the way of Jesus, we can help one another with forgiveness - relief and healing in our relationship with God. We can also live the truth of faithful community, acknowledging that sometimes people may not be able to be welcomed back to a space where they caused harm, but perhaps they can be received in God’s name elsewhere.

We cannot treat grace cheaply, allowing it to cover a multitude of sins without acknowledging pain. We can handle grace with generosity. We can support those who have been hurt and recall that our Savior bore his own scars in his resurrected body. 

 

Hope and healing are real. They can happen; they do happen. Reconciliation between people can happen as well, but sometimes on-going relationship is no longer possible. Even so, the grace and love of Jesus remains and the promise of all things being made new in the life of the world to come is still true. For Stephen and Saul, for Barnabas and Paul. And for us and all people. 

 

Amen. 

 

 

A Political Gospel (Sermon)

Transfiguration Sunday: Year A: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9

I know, and you know, that people do not like sermons they perceive to be "political." Many come to church hoping for a break from the endless news cycle and its doom, gloom, and overwhelming encroachment on peace of mind. Desperate for good news, they implore the pastor: "Stay away from politics... just preach the gospel."

But what is that gospel, exactly? Does it mean hearing the story of Jesus on the mountain today as a mere special effects show, with no assessment of why the Law and the Prophets—represented by Moses and Elijah—stand there with him?

We know that when people say "the sermon was too political," they often mean "I heard something that made me uncomfortable." The reality of biblical preaching is a focus on people and the situations that affect them. We cannot avoid how the written word of God has life and breath and shapes the world.

Consider our reading from Exodus 24. In that text, Moses isn't just taking a hike; he is entering a cloud of glory that looks like a "devouring fire" to the people below. He is there to receive the Law—the very blueprint for how a liberated people should treat one another, how they should handle property, and how they should protect the vulnerable. The very cloud that is the "glory of the Lord" is delivering the "justice of the Lord"—affecting not only the freed Israelites but also anyone else who lives with or near them.

Psalm 99 reiterates the theme. The psalmist declares that our God is holy, yes, but also specifically praises a ruler who "loves justice" and has "established equity." To praise the holiness of the Divine while ignoring the Divine demand for equity is to read only half the page.

When people ask for an "apolitical" gospel, they are often asking for a safe, spiritualized myth. But in 2 Peter 1, the apostle is adamant: "We did not follow cleverly devised myths." He is talking about the Transfiguration. He’s saying, "I was there. I heard the voice from the Majestic Glory." Peter insists on the reliability of this message. Why? Because the early Christians were living in an Empire that claimed the Emperor was the "Son of God." For Peter to stand up and say, "No, I saw the real King on a mountain, and his name is Jesus," was the most politically subversive thing he could do. It was a declaration that the current power structures were not ultimate.

In Matthew 17, we see Jesus transfigured—his face shining like the sun. But look at who is with him: Moses, who stood up to Pharaoh, and Elijah, who stood up to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. They are not talking about "spiritual" abstractions. In the broader context of the Transfiguration story, they are discussing his "exodus"—his departure which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

The original Exodus story featured a despotic ruler, a hardened heart, and a struggle for freedom. By standing with Moses and Elijah, Jesus is signaling that his mission is a similar type of exodus. He is focused on the freedom that comes from being in relationship with the God of released captives. To appreciate the fullness of the Incarnation, we must recognize that Jesus pursued justice throughout his life. The truth that makes us free is political because it affects people. We cannot ignore it.

If we are to pretend there are no politics in scripture, we must ignore the cloud that overshadows Peter, James, and John. We must ignore the fact that Peter’s first instinct was to build "dwellings"—to institutionalize the moment, to stay safe on the mountain.

But the voice from the cloud interrupts him: "Listen to him!"

Listening to Jesus means following him down the mountain. It means following him into the valleys where people are sick, where children are afraid, and where the "powers that be" are crushing those without the power or platform to be heard. To strip the Transfiguration of its political implication, we must water down the command to "Listen to him" into a mere suggestion for private meditation.

Here we stand on Transfiguration Sunday, about to enter Lent. We are on a mountain peak with Jesus, and while we can see the empty cross from here, we are compelled by the Holy Spirit to proceed into a season of reflection and repentance.

In the Christmas carol O Little Town of Bethlehem, we sing about the will of God becoming flesh and resting in a manger. We sing: "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight"—"thee" being both the town and the infant Jesus.

Those hopes and fears are not just "spiritual" anxieties; they are the concrete fears of people living under occupation, the hopes of those who hunger for justice. They were the realities for the people of the first Exodus, the Temple congregation singing the psalm, the crowds who followed Jesus, and the people who received the epistle from Peter in hope.

Our faith cannot be untangled from the political realities of our day, nor from our prayer that God’s "will be done on earth as in heaven." Each time we say those words, we are asking God for the courage to be part of accomplishing that will.

Let it be our hearts and minds which are transfigured today. Let it be our spirits which shed the fear of "being political" in favor of the courage to be biblical. Let it be our lives, transformed by the grace which has met all our hopes and fears, that compel others to seek a Divine will of love and justice—in the mundane and in the political.

Amen.

 

Look up and Live (Sermon)

A Sermon for Holy Cross Day 
(Numbers 21;4b-9; 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17)

Look up! Moses says to the snake bitten children of God. 
Look up and live! 

You are being poisoned by a false memory. The scars of the lashes of slavery are still with you, yet you want to remember the grimaces and call them smiles. 
Look up, cries Moses, look up at the truth. 
The truth of God’s provision, the truth of walking in freedom, the truth of hope – these truths are indeed a new landscape, but your eyes can adjust. Your body can adjust. Your breath can adjust. 
But for these truths to do their healing work, you must look up. 
Lift your eyes to the one who heals you, past the medicine in its curious form. Look to the One whose power is over you, whose love is around you, whose Divine desire is for your healing. 
Tell them to look up, says the Lord to Moses, to look up from their pain, to turn away from lies, to want healing as much as I, the Lord, want to heal. 

Look up! Moses says to the snake bitten children of God. 
Look up and live! 
 
Look up, says Jesus to the Pharisee Nicodemus, who crept in under the cover of darkness.
Look up and live! 

Like your ancestors, you are wandering, absorbed in memory of when things were better. A memory can deceive you, but the God who was with you then and is with you now will not. 
Look up, says Jesus, look up and see the Spirit, the breath of God. Perceive how the wind moves, even when you cannot see the force itself. 
Look up and be born again into a new hope, a renewed hope, a hope that demonstrates how God is still speaking. 
Your first birth brought you screaming into brightness. Look up, says the Christ, and know that the second birth, through water and Word, brings you into the brightness of eternal love. 
God so loves. God so loves. God so loves. The world, the cosmos, the height and depth and breadth, Nicodemus. God. So. Loves. 

Look up, says Jesus to the Pharisee who crept in under the cover of darkness. 
Look up and live! 
 
Look up, says Paul to the divided Corinthians, look up to the shape of your salvation. 
Look up and live. 

I know, my beloveds, writes the Apostle, that you long to seem wise. You want to be able to debate with clarity and rhetoric. What good is the gift of salvation, if you cannot shout down every opponent and watch their efforts burn with holy fire, like Elijah and the prophets of Baal. 
Look up to the cross, my Corinthian friends. The joy of our salvation does not lie in proof-texted arguments and quick comebacks, so valued by the powers of this world. The cross turns the world and its “wisdom” upside down. 
If the cross finds meaning in our boasting of our self-righteousness and superior claims to understanding, says Paul, then it has no meaning at all. 
Look up and remember the One who called down forgiveness, who welcomed sinners to paradise, who committed his life to the hands of the Father. Look up and see that it stands empty because neither God’s will nor God’s grace nor God’s plan for redemption can be nailed down and forced to conform to the expectations of this world. 

Look up, says Paul to the divided Corinthians, look up to the shape of your salvation. 
Look up and live. 
 
Look up, says the pastor to the weary soul, look up at the cross of Christ and remember that it is not your own. 
Look up and live. 

Like our siblings in the wilderness, we are snake-bit by false memories and misinformation. We callback a time of glory that never really was only because it wasn’t glorious for everyone. The gospel is only good news when it is good news for the whole creation. 
Look up, says the pastor, look up and learn from our human history, so that all may have cups that runneth over and tables prepared - not in the presence of enemies, but in the company of friends. 
Caught like Nicodemus in trying to sort out Jesus’ confusing words, we sometimes forget the clearest commands of our Savior. Look up, says the preacher, and remember the blessing that comes from peacemaking. Remember how the Savior is met in the hungry, sick, and lonely. Remember how to show mercy to your neighbor and go and do likewise. 
Look up and recall how God so loves and how the Son was sent not to condemn, but to rescue.
Look up, says the preacher, from the same news stories told the same way over and over, stirring up frustration that has nowhere productive to go. Look up from what you use to distract yourself- the thing that in the dark of the night makes you wish you spent your time or your money or your strength differently. 

Look up and consider that when Paul told the Corinthians to stop trying to do things in the way of the world, he then told them that the way of discipleship was one of love- patient, kind, not boastful or rude, no jealousy and no record-keeping of wrongs. 
Look up to the world of the Good Shepherd around you, the blessings of your Creator, the consolation and encouragement of the Holy Spirit. 
Look up and sing again the words of “Amazing Grace”. 
Look up and remember that when we say, “God so loves”- this means you. For you. For you. For you. 
Look up and know that nothing is inevitable except the grace of God. No powers of this world, no spiritual forces, no human mistakes can derail God’s ultimate desire for reformation, restoration, and resurrection. Look up and know that nothing is inevitable except the grace of God.

You have been equipped for living a life of hope amidst doubt, possibility amidst fear, and love amidst violence, for unity amidst division. 

You have been equipped for living for Christ, living abundantly. 

Look up, says the pastor to the weary soul, look up at the cross of Christ and remember that it is not your own. 
Look up and live. 
 

The Constancy of Christ

 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. - Hebrews 13:8

In every conversation about societal change, people who seek wisdom from the Bible turn to this phrase. Maybe not every person, but these words show up in each argument. 

Once this phrase appears, the person using it has shut down. They’re no longer open to holy imagination, reason, or even (eyeroll) the devil’s advocate. They’re done. 

Bear in mind, please, that people used these words to justify the chattel slave trade, the subjugation of women, the forcible removal and attempted extermination of Native peoples, the right to “subdue” the land without thought for renewal or regeneration. 

The sameness of Christ has been invoked to support antisemitism, racism, LGBTQ+ shaming and harm, marginalization of those with mental illness, harm to neurodivergent folks, people who are divorced, people with physical illnesses, and the list goes on and on. 

There is no one reading this who hasn’t been harmed by these arguments, directly or indirectly. 

If the constancy of the nature of the Divine, especially in Jesus Christ, is thrown down to show that Jesus dislikes the behavior that I dislike, I might as well allot time in my week to polish the golden calf I’ve made of my own understanding, my own comfort, and my own expectations. 

If Jesus hates who I hate and loves who I love… then the message of Jesus is not good news for me or anyone else. 

Since our faith tradition firmly asserts the mercy of God in Christ as gospel (good news) for all people, then the living out of that faith means examining what we’ve been taught and how I show up in the world. Are our words and deeds showing forth Christ’s love and grace, inclusion and hope, mercy and justice? 

“But Jesus would never want people to continue in sin.” This is true. It is also true, however, that the only sinner I am able to correct is myself. Herein lies the consolation of the constancy of Christ. I am going to sin through things done and left undone, what is said and left unsaid. The sameness of Christ from day to day means the consistent truth of forgiveness, guidance, and connection to the Creator. My sins do not create a chasm of varying depth and breadth, depending on how much I am forgiven and claimed. Jesus’ consistent and gracious presence eliminates those things and, by His example, leads me to better behavior. 

If or when we use the verse, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” as a way to shut down conversation, then the words are no longer good news. They have become a weapon we are using to shape the world the way we want it. This way leads to death- death of the conversation, death of relationships, death of community, death of the hope of God’s will being done on earth as in heaven through our hands, feet, mouths, and ears. 

When we invoke the constancy of Jesus, God’s son, to say, “This is how it is”, we are no better than the folks in the parable who sit themselves right down next to the host, at the top of the table, in the place of honor. (Luke 14) Jesus warns that kind of thinking will lead to shame when a person is asked to move on down to a less prominent seat. It can happen to me, to you, to any of us. 

The humility that is needed in our time, the humbleness of heart that can end bullying, division, all the “isms”, and the taking of God’s name in vain by asserting zeal God would not own… that softness of heart comes in considering the constancy and consistency of Christ to be a comfort and tool for hope, not a weapon or a punctuation mark on an argument. 

 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. This is not an invitation for us to harden our hearts or close our minds. It is meant to be the everlasting arms that surround and guide us into new growth, new understanding, and new life every day. For the gospel to be good news for us, it has to be good news for everyone. And the constancy of Christ is definitely good news in a world desperate for it. Let us bear it in truth with soft hearts, open minds, and deep faith. 

 

Amen. 

Some thoughts on rewriting a sermon on Saturday night because of current events

 Isaiah 65:1-9; Psalm 22:19-28; Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-3

 

Goodbye well-crafted words based on the Galatians text of the day. Reflections on unity in the early church, of social sacrifice, and mutual care across social and racial lines will have to wait for another day. Another time, God willing, we will return to Paul’s words regarding the disciplined Divine love in the law and the matching compassionate grace to be found in Christ, the inheritance of the descendants of Abraham, the children of God.

 

Farewell to thoughts on Isaiah- musings on people who sought power in the wrong ways and worshipped their own understanding, rather than the mystery and awesomeness of God. Delete, delete, delete over sentences regarding what it might mean for a people to follow their own certainties to such an extent that they miss the providence and guidance of God right before them. The prophet speaks of God’s impatience, but the people do not see it and we will not spend time with that truth today. 

 

The laments of Psalm 22 are not ours for discussion at this service. A man feeling forsaken, a people who feel unheard, any understanding that dominion belongs to the Lord…. Those words are all sermons in themselves, if we pray with humility to hear them.

 

Erased too are the thoughts on the suffering of a man who suffered the effects of a mob of demons. The pain of isolation, of mental and physical torment, the grief of feeling out of control. No time today to discuss both the real spiritual, physical, and psychological aspects of being ill- and how we should consider all of those as equally important. 

Here I am deleting the Flannery O’Conner quote, “All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful.” Contemplation on why the folks asked Jesus to leave town after such a powerful healing. The restoration of a man to wholeness cost at least some of them their livelihoods in the form of the pigs. They had to consider how to relate to the healed man in a new way. It was too much, too fast and change is painful. And grace both requires and facilitates change.

 

In light of the bombs dropped on Iran, based on what I know on Saturday night, looking at my computer at 10 pm and knowing the outline I memorized will not be the words I deliver, this is what I believe we must consider today. 

 

We must think about this in the light of being followers of Christ- people called and equipped to give glory to God in word and deed, to imitate Christ, and to share his love. 

 

It is easy to listen to this story from Luke and to think its first hearers would have kind of been glad about the death of a herd of pigs. They didn’t eat pork. Why should they care? 

 

It is easy to listen to this story and to think about Acts and the early church learning about the wideness in God’s mercy and considering what it truly means not to call something or someone whom God has made unclean. 

 

But the pigs aren’t just dead pigs. They don’t just represent lost livelihood. The pigs are the collateral damage of evil. 

 

The demons did not wish to be cast into the abyss- a permanent destruction that the first century hearers of the story would have recognized as the end location of conquered evil spiritual forces. 

 

The demons beg to be sent into another host; they want to live. Evil does not go quietly into the night. It fights and fights and it takes down everything it possibly can on its way. Spiritual evil. The powers and principalities of this world that oppose the Divine will. The evil of human brokenness in sin. 

 

Jesus knows the consequences of letting evil have its way, but he permits the demons to enter the pigs. And the pigs respond by rushing down the steep bank and drowning, which effectively sends the demons into the abyss, permanently, anyway. Evil is destructive and, ultimately, self-destructive. It will not win, and it doesn’t actually care who or what it takes down on the way to the abyss. 

 

It is far too reductive, too simplistic, to read today’s story and say, “Sometimes some pigs have to die for someone to be free.” That is never the conclusion of the gospel. 

 

Jesus came upon a scene of despair, pain, and torment, which had occurred through years of evil at work in the form of the demons and complicity with evil in the form of how the man had been treated through isolation, force, and domination. It was not inevitable that the pigs had to die. There is more than one way to combat and reject evil. 

 

Almost everyone in this room has a different idea of what exactly is evil in our present circumstances in the world. And we could fight about that all day. Our call, however, is not for arguing about evil, but living together for the good will of a gracious God. And that is why this sermon had to be rewritten on Saturday night. 

 

Followers of Christ do not accept that evil is inevitable. We renounce it. 

Followers of Christ do not accept that isolation, force, and domination make for safety. We renounce it. 

Followers of Christ do not accept that sometimes the pigs just have to die. We renounce it. 

 

In this world, in a time in need of hope and peace, followers of Christ are called to believe, attest to, and live out the only thing we truly believe is inevitable- the grace of God. And that’s the sermon. 

 

 

 

Prayer of the Day: O Lord God, we bring before you the cries of a sorrowing world. In your mercy set us free from the chains that bind us, and defend us from everything that is evil, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.

 

 

 

 

Top Ten Things to Learn from the book of Job

Readings: Job 1:1-22; Job 38:1-11; Luke 8: 22-25

10. Job contradicts Proverbs.  The writer of Proverbs offers the hope and consolation that people who live wisely and faithfully, according to the will of God, will flourish and prosper. The very first chapter of Job says: it ain’t necessarily so. You may well live righteously and with great integrity and, still, terrible things may happen. A faithful life is not an automatic buffer to calamity. Due to this contradiction between the books, both of which are categorized as wisdom literature, we are reminded of all those who have gone before us who tried to make the Bible speak with one voice. It doesn’t. The Bible has many voices, some of which are quite dissonant together, but they sing one song about the presence and providence of God. 

9. Job is an old story, but a young book, relatively speaking. Since Job doesn’t mention Abraham or Moses or the laws or the Temple, some interpreters have considered it the oldest story in the Bible. Not, of course, older than the creation story, but a story that predates the famous men of the Hebrew scripture because otherwise they would surely be mentioned. The story of human suffering is timeless, but vocabulary isn’t. We can tell from the written forms of Job- its style and word choices that it is probably from after the exile (post-exilic), between the years 540-330 BCE, in the Persian period. 

Discerning why bad things happen to good people would have been a significant item of contemplation following both Assyrian and Babylonian exiles, even though there were many prophets who explained to the people what the consequences of their choices would be. Innocent people suffered alongside those who committed wrongdoing. 

8. In Job, the Satan is not who you think it is. At the time of writing, Satan was not a proper name, it was a title- Ha Satan. The first chapter of the book tells us about the being who hold the title, ha Satan, or the Adversary. In the first chapter, the Satan functions like a prosecutor or challenger, perhaps to people and to God. Job gives us a complicated, and indigestion-inducing, picture of the Satan as a member of God’s heavenly council, with an advisory role. This does not line up with later images or understandings we have regarding the forces that oppose God. The role of the Satan here is upsetting and frustrating. Why don’t we know more about this character? The Bible gives us what we need, and it does not give what we do not need. We do not need to know more about the Satan than they are the adversary. That’s all we need to know for interpreting Job and, frankly, all we need to know for our daily lives. Where people and actions oppose the will of God, the adversary is likely at work- sometimes actively and sometimes passively. The Satan is active in causing Job’s suffering. The Satan is passive in watching humans make bad choices all by themselves, which lead to situations of grief, suffering, and destruction. 

7. We don’t have a good answer as to why bad things happen to good people. Why would God enter into a bargain with the adversary? How do you know God did? There is no heavenly court reporter who sends down transcripts of holy shorthand for people to interpret and know for certain what happens in the heavenly realms. The celestial scenes of Job come from someone’s holy imagination. The writer cannot say that God caused the suffering of God’s own accord because that violates what will be revealed in the end about the nature of God. The writer cannot imply God does not know about the suffering. The best the writer of Job can do is imply that God permits but pays close attention. This is still somewhat unsatisfactory, but the best of the available options. 

6. Don’t be a bad friend. Job has 42 chapters. Chapters 1-2 are the prologue and set up what happens to Job. God starts talk to Job in chapter 38. Chapters 3-37, so thirty-four chapters, have a very specific aim. These chapters teach how not to be a bad friend in a time of suffering. Job’s friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, start out well- sitting with him in his grief. This is the right thing to do. Then they start to talk. Eliphaz is certain that Job must have sinned, since God is always righteous. Job has brought his suffering upon himself, according to Eliphaz, and if he confesses, things will improve. 
Bildad thinks similarly but tells Job that divine justice is always clear. If one suffers, says Bildad, God’s retribution is obvious. Bildad notes that Job’s children must have sinned and so had Job. 
Zophar tells Job that his suffering is less that what he deserves since God is righteous, justice-minded, AND merciful. Zophar urges Job to repent before the suffering becomes worse because why should God hold back forever. 
When God eventually speaks, God excoriates these three friends for talking about what they do not know. So not only did they increase Job’s pain, but they also weren’t even right. In your friend’s time of suffering, show up and shut up. Do not speak about what you do not know. Do not make it worse. 

5. A lot of wise-sounding words and quoting of Bible passages can still be wrong. After the three friends, a young man, Elihu, comes. Elihu does not believe Job's suffering is necessarily punishment for sin, but rather a way for God to correct, teach, and purify the soul. He asserts that God is not obligated to explain His actions to humans and that suffering can be a means of spiritual growth. When someone is suffering, they do not want to learn about how their soul might be being corrected. They need casseroles, coffee, and company- not philosophical reflections. God says Elihu also was speaking out of his… elbow (not the place of wisdom). 

4. God cares about the fullness of creation. When God finally addresses Job, God points to the wide spectrum of all that is and tells Job that everything that exists is part of the Divine awareness. There are not small things happening in the depths of the sea or in the crevices of mountains about which God does not know. Not only is God aware of all these things, but God also cares about them. Job has not languished outside of God’s compassion. God provides for all of creation, including the long-suffering Job. God does not delight in pain, but in the ordered functioning of everything the Holy has put into place. God’s on-going work within all of creation is to restore order where disorder has occurred because of the adversary, because of sin, because of the forces of this world that oppose God’s designs and will. 

3. God does not create drama in order to be a hero. Even with Job in hand, as disciples of Christ, our clearest revelation of God’s way of being in the world is through Jesus. If we are unsure about how God operates, we look to the life of Christ for clarity. If we believe that God creates suffering in order to heal it, then we would say that Jesus made the storm in order to calm it. Remember Jesus is God. Would you ever say that Jesus made people hungry in order to feed them? Let their bodies be broken in order to heal them? Let demons run rampant just to exorcise them? Regardless of human interpretation through the ages, it does not make sense for God to create pain in order to reveal holiness like a superhero. Jesus shows forth God’s power and compassion, mercy and inclusion, justice and peace. If Jesus wouldn’t, God doesn’t. If Jesus did, God does.

2. Lament and honest prayer help. Job grieves. Job gets angry with God. Job is frustrated. Job prays everything he feels. He is not punished for his honesty. The most obvious tools can be the most helpful. Do not neglect them. 

1.  If you don’t know, admit it, but when you do know, speak up. Many times, people have told me, “I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.” It is indeed better to remain silent than to turn out to be one of Job’s friends and to speak wrongly about God. There are many things, however, that can be said that we trust are true about God- what has been shown forth in creation, through the healing words of the prophets, through Jesus, through the Spirit’s sustaining of the community of Christ, through faithful people today. You will not be a bad friend to someone or to Jesus when you speak of God’s love (1 John 4:8), God’s mercy (Psalm 103:8), God’s inclusion (Galatians 3:28), God’s provision (Matthew 6:26), God’s power (all the resurrection stories), and God’s abiding presence (Romans 8:38-39). God’s words to Job remind us that God’s knowledge and ways are not our knowledge and ways, which is a blessing for everyone. 
Job is a wisdom book, not necessarily giving us tidbits for how to live or how to be smarter, but granting us a bigger picture of a God who knows more than we can imagine and is present in height and depth and breadth greater than our comprehension. This was the good news for Job, even before the restoration of his life, and it is the good news for us and all people. May our words and our lives reflect our faith in this truth. Amen.