What Does Conversion Look Like?

In Damascus there was a certain disciple named Ananias. The Lord spoke to him in a vision, “Ananias!”He answered, “Yes, Lord.”The Lord instructed him, “Go to Judas’ house on Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus named Saul. He is praying. In a vision he has seen a man named Ananias enter and put his hands on him to restore his sight.”Ananias countered, “Lord, I have heard many reports about this man. People say he has done horrible things to your holy people in Jerusalem.  He’s here with authority from the chief priests to arrest everyone who calls on your name.”The Lord replied, “Go! This man is the agent I have chosen to carry my name before Gentiles, kings, and Israelites.  I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.”Ananias went to the house. He placed his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord sent me—Jesus, who appeared to you on the way as you were coming here. He sent me so that you could see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Instantly, flakes fell from Saul’s eyes and he could see again. He got up and was baptized. After eating, he regained his strength.He stayed with the disciples in Damascus for several days. - Acts 9:10-19 (Common English Bible) 

If your experience of Christianity is anything like mine, then you have likely been taught to think about Saul/Paul as the follower of Jesus with the ultimate conversion story. Even if you've been led to understand that he remained Jewish (in ethnic practices), his faith in Christ and Christ's salvific purposes gave his life a very specific direction following Saul's experience on the road to Damascus (Acts 9). 

I've always accepted this. Over the years, I've thought about this story to discuss the significance of other vocations, since Paul wasn't making his own clothes or planting and tending crops. While he matters for the spread of the gospel, the work of other believers' daily lives also made that evangelism possible. 

Lately, however, I have been rethinking that story. Is Saul's change of heart really the greatest change in Acts 9? Is the Road to Damascus experience really the conversions experience to which all new Christians (or all Christians period) are meant to aspire? 

As I look at the chapter afresh, I am struck by what is required of Ananias. He believes in Jesus, but now Jesus asks him to welcome a man into his home. This man was known to Ananais to be a threat to his family, his friends, and himself. This man has harmed or witnessed the killing of people whom Ananais knew, maybe loved. Prior to Jesus' request, at best Ananais would have crossed to the other side of the market if he saw Saul, if not actually hide away until Saul left town. 

Now, Jesus is expecting something of Ananais for Saul. Ananias does not want to do it. He would like to say no. He tries to explain to Jesus what's happening. Jesus doesn't change his tune. 

So Ananias must experience his own conversion, his own continued growth in faith, a further step in sanctification, a greater yielding to the Holy Spirit. He must prepare to welcome Saul into his home and he's going to have to tell other people that he's doing it. 

It's not like he's going to be able to keep Saul a secret. It seems likely that Ananias has some kind of household. How will they respond to his revelation: "Jesus told me we need to bring that guy we were all just panicking about into the house." 

If conversion represents a change of heart, a change of behavior, a change of attitude, an application of ethics in the midst of stress and strain, then Ananias is the conversion story we should have been paying attention to all along. 

Most Christians, especially life-long Christians, have very little to do with Saul of Tarsus, but we have a lot in common with Ananias. Instead of assuming or expecting a road to Damascus experience, we are called to be on the look out for a stranger in Damascus experience. And we are meant to be the ones to welcome that stranger for Christ's own sake. 

We are meant to open our homes to someone whose life experience is not like ours. 

We are meant to show hospitality to someone whose history is frightening to us. 

We are meant to welcome the one who differs from us greatly and yet whom Christ loves and for whom Christ died. 

I am not saying that we are meant to knowingly endanger ourselves or our families, but we are meant to take some risks for the sake of the gospel. We are meant to be open to people are different. We are meant to have conversion experiences in our life, again and again. These experiences are the ones in which Jesus speaks to us, moves us, compels us to do the thing that surprises us and yet is absolutely necessary for the sake of the world. 

It's what Ananias did. It's his conversion story from which we are meant to learn how to be followers of the Way of Christ. 

To adapt the verse of There is a Balm in Gilead, "If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul... Like Ananias, you can show grace to all." 

Transfigured (Audio Only)

The audio from Transfiguration Sunday's sermon, 3/3/19.

Choose This Day (Revised)

Joshua 24:1–2a, 14–18, John 6:56-69

If, in the morning, I open my eyes,

My first decision thereupon lies.

Will I continue to lie in the bed,

Allowing my thoughts to run through my head?

Will I get up and go to the shower,

Regardless of both the weather and hour?

What of the children, who may want me to play?

What of the tasks that call me this day?

From the moment of waking, there are choices to make,

What will I give this day? What will I take?

I want to be saintly, say my first thoughts are of God,

But sometimes they’re not and, in that, I’m not odd.

We may rise with the sun or maybe at noon,

And most of us promise to get with God soon.

Yet, that instant, a choice has been made-

The balance of time againstGod has been weighed. 

We can’t do it all. Surely God understands.

Did not God make this world, its chores, its demands?

But in each thing we choose, and it ischoosewe must

We have decided in which god we shall trust.

When we make decisions for work or for pleasure,

With money or time, talents or leisure,

With each small decision we leave or we make,

We all choose a god for each task’s sake.

When Joshua says, “Choose this day whom you’ll serve.

My household and I, from God we’ll not swerve.”

He means the God of justice and freedom,

The God who through the desert did lead them.

This God of providence, of mercy and manna

Compared to all others, She proved top banana.

For the Israelites, Joshua lays out a decision,

Because, in history, they’d treated God with derision.

Sometimes God seemed so far and so distant,

They struggled to find His mercy consistent.

Yet, who gave the manna? Who gave the quail?

Who brought forth the water when the people did wail?  

“People of Israel,” Joshua said,

“Turn all that you’ve known around in your head.

Think of the guidance through both day and night,

Think of God’s grace. Think of God’s might.”

The people responded, “Our choice has been made.

We’ve looked around. It’s the Lord who makes grade.

Only one God says, ‘I am who I am’

The same God who was served by our dad, Abraham.”

Israelites promised to serve God, what may come,

For richer, for poor, when happy, when glum.

The years passed, however, and memories faded.

People forgot this choice and became jaded.

The desert, the manna- they all became history.

What God’s doing now… that became mystery.

It became easier to feel freed by law and instruction,

Only community’s structure prevented destruction.

But that structure left some people wanting,

The gift of the law seemed rather daunting.

Late onto the scene, the rabbi, Jesus, appeared.

Some people rejoiced. Some people jeered.

Then, and again, he talked about bread

About life here right now andlife after we’re dead. 

He healed sick people, he fed many others,

But his teaching confused both sisters and brothers.

What was this about flesh to eat, blood to drink?

A hard teaching to swallow, most people did think.

Said his disciples, “Jesus, this is enough.

What you’re talking about- it’s too much. It’s too tough.

We don’t like it. We don’t understand.

We’d like to quit you, but it doesn’t seem that we can.

We’ve looked around as to where we might go.

The problem is, there’s some truth we doknow. 

Within a world of struggle and strife,

Only You have the words of eternal life.

Only you have offered hope in the future,

Between God and us, you are the suture.

Even though it grows quite hard to stay,

We cannot leave you or your way.”

The disciples decided (or most of them did)

It was with Jesus that they placed their bid.

They decided, as their ancestors had,

To be on God’s side couldn’t be bad.

And so I say to you this day…

“Wait, Pastor Julia, I’ve something to say…”

“What is it, my child, what bothers you so?”

“Well, you’ve confused me. And so I must know

I thought God chose us. I thought it was done. 

I thought the war’s over. The fight has been won.

Didn’t Luther write we’d never say yes…

Without God’s Spirit, we can’t acquiesce!

If you tell me, ‘Today you must choose’

Are you not setting us up… to lose?”

You are right, my dear, in every way.

And yet you made a choice today.

You came to be here, to be in communion

To pray, to eat, to embody reunion.

Each day, we see gods far and near.

We can worship success. We can give over to fear.

We can spend our resources or over-honor our kin,

We can reverence our bodies from our toe to our chin.

We can make work our idol, honored, adored.

We can seek that which gives immediate reward.

But in the end, it all fails. It all becomes dust.

These idols- they’ll fade, they’ll die, they will rust.

In the end, what we need is something that lasts,

Something that goes beyond all other forecasts.

What can bring order to confusion and strife?

Only the hope of eternal life.

Eternal life, both for there and for here.

A growing, a knowing, a ridding of fear.

This is what Jesus offers- in body and blood.

Without that promise, bread and wine are just mud.

Like us, they’re from dust and to dust shall return,

But through eating and drinking, still we can learn

That God has chosen in creation’s favor,

The presence of Christ is what we savor

When we gather at table, both willing and able

To experience Jesus as the Truth and not fable.

To trust, to be open, is the choice we must make,

Each day, in the moment right when we wake.

In every moment, we choose a god to serve

With all that we have, each sinew and nerve.

 Our God is a God on the side of all of creation, 

Who knows and who loves without cessation.

Who gives us each talents, who gives us each gifts,

Who forgives our sins, who mends all our rifts.

Who with body and blood has chosen to feed us.

Who through valleys and o’er mountains, has chosen to lead us.

Lord, where could we go? You made us, you know us.

Now, through the Spirit, continue to grow us.

God has called you by name, so as your fear eases,

Choose your god every day. I recommend… Jesus.

Come Sit By Me (Sermon)

Pentecost 12B

12 August 2018

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

              There is a phrase: If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. What does this mean? (If you can’t say something that’s helpful or kind, then stay quiet.) There is an alteration of this quote that I’ve been thinking of lately: If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me.[1]

            In our society, “nice” doesn’t usually mean kind, truthful, or helpful. Usually, “be nice” means “don’t make a fuss” or “just go along with it” or “don’t be loud” or “stop making such a big deal”. Being nice often means less about fixing a problem and more about pretending there is no problem. When I think of the stress I feel on a daily basis, when I think of the news stories we hear, when I think of people who are being hurt daily by situations that are alterable or preventable, I want to say, “Yes! If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me.” 

            I don’t want to hear nice things. I want to hear honest things. I want to hear hard conversations. I want to hear about broken hearts, deep frustrations, apologies, forgiveness, and change. I want to hear people talk about how to change systems like racism, sexism, classism, ageism, ableism, LGBTQ-exclusion, injustice, inequity, mental illness, addiction, and the brokenness of cultural norms, ethics, and systems. I don’t want to talk about nice things. I want to talk about truth. If you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me, because I don’t want nice. 

            The writer of Ephesians, using Paul’s writing style, is communicating with the church at Ephesus, reminding them of what it means to be the community of Christ. The reading we have today from Ephesians (4:25-5:2) shows a communal path with niceness and wrath as pitfalls on either side. The life of a Christian is a community life- lived together for support of one another and for work together for the sake of the world. Slander, bitterness, and unmitigated anger with one another mean that the community will be stunted in growth, failing to support one another. Niceness- surface relationships and conversations- means that the community will never take seriously the issues within and without that need attention, repair, and prayer. 

            It is the path of truth, the path of honesty, forgiveness, and grace, which leads us to where God wants us to be. Anything else, any other type of action, grieves the Holy Spirit. What does it mean to grieve the Spirit? If a child asked, it would be easy to say, We make the Holy Spirit sad when we make bad choices and when we don’t do the things we know are right. Most of us, however, are adults and need more solid spiritual food. As adults, we can handle more solid spiritual food. 

            How do we know what the Holy Spirit does? We are taught about the Spirit from the scriptures and from the documents of our faith that come through the traditions of the church. The Holy Spirit moved over the void at the beginning of creation (Genesis 1) and She breathed holy creative order over the chaos that previously existed. Creative ordering is the work of the Spirit and we see that outlined further, then, in the Apostle’s Creed. 

            The Holy Spirit brings order through the gift of the holy catholic church- where people gather in truth and power to worship, share what they have, and work for the sake of Christ in the world. The Spirit creates eternal stability for us, and all people, through the mysterious connection and hope of the communion of saints- the way we are interconnected with all people in God. The Spirit creates order through the forgiveness of sins- making it possible for us to trust one another and have faith in God’s mercy. The Spirit brings about the resurrection of the body- a wholeness that is our hope and God’s promise. And the Spirit continues the work of creation by the transformation that is and will be the life of the world to come. 

            This is the work of the Spirit. Speaking truth about this work and living lives that do not undermine this truth is what brings joy to the Holy Spirit. A bland niceness that fails to wrestle with the doubts and effort it takes to trust in mystery does not create community. Spiteful gossip or frustrated bitterness turns away people whom the Spirit is driving toward our community. Those are the things that grieve the Spirit. The path of discipleship, the way of Christ, the walk of life together means speaking truth to one another, being kind, forgiving, and being willing to ask for and accept help from each other. 

            It would be easier, sort of, to talk about the John reading today- to say Jesus is food for everyone. There’s enough Jesus to go around. God will feed us. That would be a nice sermon. I could do it. You could like it. We’d be fine. But I don’t have anything nice to say because nice is not what the world needs now. Nice is not the Spirit moving over creation. Nice is not the meaning of Easter resurrection or the promise of God with us. 

            Nice isn’t enough. And the opposite of nice isn’t mean, it’s ambivalence. It’s feeling helpless and hopeless and defeated. It’s feeling alone, ineffective, and unimportant. There is no space for nice in a healthy community of Christ. Not in the time of the Ephesians, not now. If you feel that way, and you might, if you feel that way, sit by me. If you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit by me. If you have something you want to change, something that breaks your heart, something that you need to address, come sit by me. 

            Now, who else is willing to be a partner? Who else is willing to open a seat? Who else is willing to say, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, sit by me because I am ready to be part of God’s work”? 

            The writer of Ephesians says, Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (5:1-2) Imitators of God- that’s a broad expanse of possibilities- imitating God. We can create, unite, heal, feed, free, forgive, build up, put to rest, restore, listen, speak truth to power, rest, befriend, and so many other things. If we wonder what imitation might look like- we have Jesus as the pioneer of a faithful life, worthy of imitation. Jesus was not nice. I’m sure he was pleasant and affable, but his definitive state wasn’t to talk about the weather, the lamb, and the price of olives in the market. He made relationships, spoke truth, and showed compassion. 

            He was a companion- a bread friend[2]- to the people who traveled with him, who he met on the way, and to the people who were otherwise shut out of his society. If you don’t have something nice to say, sit by Jesus. And we are now his hands and feet, we are now his ears and words, we are now the workers in the kingdom. We are called to the imitation of God in Christ. We are called together- as community- to help one another in the imitation of God in Christ. We are called to help one another, to hold one another accountable, to be truthful and generous to one another in the imitation of God in Christ. 

            The Spirit draws us together, tethers us through her creative ordering, for the sake of one another, for the sake of Spenard and Turnagain, for the sake of Anchorage and Alaska, for the sake of our country and the world, for the sake of others and the world that God made, as it says in our baptismal vows. 

            Here we are- you and me. There are many chairs, but if you don’t have anything nice to say, please- come sit by me. 

            

---

[1]Alice Roosevelt Longworth (Teddy Roosevelt’s oldest daughter) had a sofa pillow that said, “If you don’t have something nice to say about someone, come and sit by me.” All variations of this quote are usually traced back to reporter commentary on that decoration. 

[2]Companion comes from words meaning bread (pani-) and with (com-), making the word mean something more like messmate or bread friend, describing someone with whom you eat more than simply an acquaintance. 

Yes And (Sermon)

Sermon for 18 July 2018, Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

Some of this sermon was inspired by this book: God, Improv, and the Art of Living.

The person who helped with the sermon works for this theater company: https://www.tbatheatre.org

The Time is Now (Sermon Audio)

Sermon for Sunday, August 13

Blessed and Cursed (Sermon)

Sound for a sermon on Matthew 5:1-12 on 1/29/17

Koinonia (Sermon)

1 John 1:1-4

           

            How many of you have at least one sibling, whether living or dead (or estranged or close)? What does it mean to have a sibling or a close friend? That person becomes part of how you remember events, people, and places in your life. You compare notes, repeat the stories, and recall facts that the other person forgets. Having a close relationship with someone else, especially a brother or sister or close cousin, is the way that you make sense of history and your place in it.

            When a community formed around the teaching and understanding of the apostle John, the writer of the Fourth Gospel lifted up the divinity of Jesus. In that gospel, Jesus’ feet are just a little bit above the ground. The theme of the gospel according to John is “Like Father, like Son.” When we read that book, we cannot fail to grasp that Jesus is divine, is of God, is specifically and necessarily revealing God the Father to us.

            This was the prevailing understanding of the Johnannine community, the brothers and sisters who came together around John’s understanding of Jesus. However, when Jesus’ divinity becomes the main focus, what is lost? We miss out on the crucial other part of the incarnation, God becoming enfleshed,… Jesus’ humanity.

            Why does Jesus’ humanity matter? The less human Jesus becomes in our recollection, the less we feel able or compelled to imitate him. It is very easy to think of the divine Jesus as our Savior and Lord. That begins to move him over there, while we remain here. The further we feel from divinity ourselves, the tougher it is to believe that 1) salvation has actually been achieved, 2) what has been achieved is at work in us, changing us, and 3) that we are called and equipped for exactly the same kind of work for the sake of the world around us.

            The writer of 1 John, sometimes called the elder or an elder of the church, understood the significance of lifting up both Jesus’ divinity AND his humanity. Paying equal attention to Jesus as a man, as someone we could know, as a person who got scraped, had his feelings hurt, got tired and hungry, and needed to go to the bathroom, who became frustrated, who hugged children… remembering all of that as having equal importance to his eternal existence as the Word of life and love is valuable and imperative.

            It was because of people’s physical experiences of Jesus that they came to understand him as Emmanuel- God with us. It was because of people’s physical experiences of Jesus that they came to understand him as the Son of God. It is what they saw, heard, tasted, smelled, touched, and otherwise experienced that the Holy Spirit used to open their minds and hearts to this physical revelation of God’s own self.

            After the ascension, Christ’s presence was encountered differently. His presence was made real in the recounting of his deeds, sharing of his teaching, marveling at the healings, and living as he had commanded- loving God and neighbor. The elder writer of 1 John wants his hearers, including us, to understand that the humanity of Jesus, as well as his divinity, was part of God’s work to make a holy community, the followers of the way of Jesus, brothers and sisters bonded in a new way.

            The word in 1 John is koinonia. This word originates from the Greek word koinos, meaning “common.” When this word is used in the New Testament, it is typically translated as sharing, fellowship, or partnership. Koinonia means a special joint partnership, a unique fellowship, a creative community that shares one story. The story of Jesus, human and divine, makes us brothers and sisters. It shapes us as a koinonia, a unique kind of fellowship, in which we all share our stories, our experiences of Jesus in our lives and in the world. We share and carry the history together, the history of the church, of this church, of creation, of miracles, joys, and griefs.

            According to 1 John, this is the purpose of Jesus’ humanity- to bring us into this special kind of relationship with each other and God. We are not yet there, meaning whatever comes next. We are here now, as Jesus was and as Christ is. This means, brothers and sisters, that we are still at work and God remains at work in us. It means that our story-telling, our memory making, our shared laughter, tears, and labors are still on-going.

            The real person of Jesus, the story of his life, death, and resurrection, created koinonia, a community with shared story and purpose. The real presence of Christ makes that koinonia real here, in this time and place. We may not always agree as brothers and sisters. Our memories may differ. Our sense of what should be next may differ. However, we cannot actually disagree or undo what is of central importance, we have been made a family in Christ, a special and holy community with a shared sense of responsibility for one another, for this property, for Anchorage, and for all creation.

            We are never on our own in Christ. We die and are raised to new life in him through his story, as it has been carried through the family since the early days of the church. With the help of the Spirit, Our task now is to keep the community and the story alive, to share with one another (and the world) what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life. Amen.

Humble Thyself (Sermon)

Philippians 2:1-13

            A few weeks ago, I watched a great local production of the play Charlotte’s Web, put on by TBA. The play, based on the book, is about a little pig named Wilbur whose bacon is saved by Charlotte, a spider, who spins words in her web that describe Wilbur. Coming up with the words requires some help from other animals.

            When Wilbur has been carted off to the fair, because he’s not just some pig, Charlotte and Templeton the rat go with him. Charlotte tasks Templeton with finding piece of paper with a good word on it that she can use as inspiration. Templeton comes back with a paper scrap that he asserts has a great word, “Humblé”. (“Hoom-blay”- like it’s French.)

            Charlotte rolls her eyes, “The word is humble!” There is a big audience laugh at that moment. Humblé sounds like the categorical opposite of what we understand “humble” to mean. In particular, we do not have a great cultural love of humbleness (or its partner, humility). When humble is used to mean “subservient” or “insignificant”, no one wants to sign up for that. When people say, “In my humble opinion”- they usually mean, “I definitely know what I’m talking about and if you had any sense, you’d listen to me.” On the whole, people would rather be humblé, even though it’s not a real word, than be humble.

            Thus, we come to today’s reading in Philippians and we read about Jesus being willing to humble himself. Was Jesus insignificant? Was he demeaned or low in status? Yes, he was friends with many who were on the lower rungs of society. He was from Nazareth, a bit of a backwater. However, Paul is referring to Jesus’ humbleness, his humility, in that he did not exploit the power that was within him (equality with God) while he was walking among us. He healed, he multiplied food, he raised people from the dead- but he didn’t smite, he didn’t heal for status gain, he taught so that minds and hearts would yield to embrace of mercy.

            Jesus had the skills and the opportunity to be humblé, whatever that would mean, but he did not seize them. He, instead, was humbled- modest and unpretentious- to be God- enfleshed- in the flesh, walking among us. And what was in his mind? Love for creation, a desire for reconciliation, hope for God’s people, knowledge of God’s faithfulness- this is the same mindset that Paul calls for the Philippians to have in themselves. It is the mindset that we are called to have as well.

            Too often, we as a church (and as people) are more about being humblé than humble. More time spent worrying about the building, about finances, about who does what and gets credit for it… all of this is humblé. We no longer live in a culture where we can be certain that people know who Jesus is, where church has a priority in people’s lives, where a relationship with God and God’s people is more common than not. Since this is the case, since the good news of Jesus needs to be spread far and wide, there is not the time or the room for humblé.

            Paul writes to the Philippians, “If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.” When he says, “If then there is…”, it is not actually an argument to say, “If these things exist…” It sounds that way in English, but Paul’s argument is actually more along the lines of “Since we have encouragement, consolation, love, compassion, and sympathy in and out of our relationship with God… let us have the same mind together.”

            Having the same mind does not mean that the Philippians, or any other Christians will agree on everything. Having the same mind means a kind of lifting up and privileging the care of one another. It means having a deep consideration for the feelings and experiences of one another. It means setting aside all that is humblé and being willing to be humbled by caring for one another.

            If we do this for each other, within the church, it will easily become our habit. Habits carry over beyond specific spaces. Our church habits can become our home habits and then our out-in-public habits. In consistently praying for and seeking to have the same mind with Christ Jesus, and then having that mindset together as a family in Christ, all traces of humblé will fad away- self-importance, frustration, superiority, disdain. Humbleness becomes the perfume of our lives, the song of our hearts, the tint through which our eyes see the world.

            Humbleness is not about being a doormat or groveling or do anything and everything for anyone and everyone. It is about working out, coming to a deeper and broader understanding, of our salvation- of what God has done and called us to in Jesus Christ. To know what and how we have been forgiven, to consider that we are daily gifted with help for faith and service, to trust that we are never alone… if that doesn’t cause you to tremble, tremble, tremble, what will?

            We are humbled by stepping out into the world on the faith that the One who knows us best, loves us most. That’s humbling. When we are at work with one another, when service busies our hands and prayer consumes our lips, as we work toward having the mind of Christ individually and together… as humbleness takes deeper root- it’s not that there’s no room to be humblé. It is that it is no longer necessary.

Amen.

The Intimacy Conspiracy

John 13:1-17

         In Lutheran understanding, a sacrament is 1) an event associated with the life of Christ that we are commanded/commended to repeat, 2) an event that has an earthly element or elements (tangible parts or acts), and 3) has a promise of God attached to it.

         What makes foot washing not a sacrament?

         When Jesus tells his disciples to serve one another in this humble way, what’s happening?

- He’s wearing nothing, but a towel (exposure).

- He’s physically close to them (proximity).

- They have to respond by receiving (communion).

         It’s a terribly, terribly intimate scene. Intimacy is a word we don’t use a lot in church. We talk about sex occasionally. (Okay, I do and you listen horrified.) We talk about service. But we rarely discuss intimacy.

         Here we have a semi-naked Jesus, clothed like a slave, performing the task of a slave, for other free men. He is on his knees. His hands are on their feet. He is cleaning them, drying them, touching them. Peter can literally feel the breath of God on his shins, shifting the dark hairs numbered by the same Lord.

And, God love him, Peter gets it. He’s as uncomfortable because he can grasp the edges of what Jesus is doing, is saying, is revealing. Does he want to accept it? Will he lean into this intimacy? Is this discomfort worth it to dwell in the light?

This is precisely the question the Johannine community would have been asking themselves. Is the persecution, the rejection, the frustration worth it to dwell in the light they have perceived, received, believed? The gospel writer organizes this scene for that early church community, urging them to care for one another because they are all they have.

For most of us, church is but one community in our lives. It is important to us, but intimacy is not a word we associate with this experience. It might not be a word we want to associate with church. However, intimacy, closeness, deep vulnerability is supposed to be the hallmark of who we are and what we’re about.

Every week, we have six or so 12-step groups that meet in this building. When people go to those meetings, they introduce themselves- I’m so-and-so and this is my struggle. They are greeted by name, Hi, So-and-so, and brought into the intimacy of that community. Of knowing that other people have the same struggle, of hearing the stories of people who would be strangers except for the common bond. A stranger going into a 12-step knows he or she can find people to hold him or herself accountable, to intercede, to advise. They have a closeness, a bond, that is enviable.

Except that we shouldn’t envy it, we should be re-creating it. Right here, right now. Hi, I’m Julia and I’m a doubter, a Lutheran, a follower of Christ, a believer with questions. Everyone who comes in those doors should know that they’ll be welcomed by name and that they have entered into a community of people who are like them, who have the same struggles, and who are prepared to walk with them through darkness and light.

         Kneeling at the feet of the disciples, in this intimate moment, Jesus is creating a holy conspiracy. Not a plot, but a community rooted in the true meaning of conspire- in Latin= con- with, spirare- to breathe. Literarly, to breathe with, to breathe together… Spirare is also the root of Spirit, respiration, inspiration, aspiration. Jesus is close enough as he washes their feet to breathe with them and this is what he urges them to do for one another. It’s not just about feet, it’s about being will to serve and be served with a closeness that allows breathing together.

         It’s about being willing to see others for who they truly are and allowing them to see you. It’s about sharing, not gossiping, lifting up, honesty and compassion together. When we breathe together, our stewardship takes on a different look. We know that we are giving our money, our time, our talents to something that affects us deeply, affects us at the core even to the way we do something as necessary as breathing.

         We have sanitized the sacraments in the church over the years. They are small, quick, and clean. We don’t fling water everywhere. We don’t set up tables for a love feast. We’ve made as much space between ourselves as possible. When we do that, we cannot con-spire. And then, most assuredly, we are not creating the beloved community that Jesus is commanding here.

         It’s a terrible, frightening intimacy to which we are called. If we avoid it, we are truly failing to heed Jesus’ most basic instructions. There is grace in this closeness, in this together breathing, in this intimacy, that we are depriving ourselves and others of because of what… fear?

         This is the life to which we have been called. This is the work for which we have been strengthened. This is the truth that has been poured into our hearts. Do we dare to embrace it and all that comes with it? Do we dare to breathe together, to risk intimacy, to realize that beloved community is only a hand or a foot away?

The Intimacy Conspiracy by lutheranjulia

Wild and Holy is Our God (Sermon)

Advent 2

Ezekiel 37:1-14

            God is wild and holy, untamed by our efforts to tame, contain, or fully understand. The book of Ezekiel reveals some of the nature of a wild and holy God. The prophet Ezekiel speaks to the people of Israel as they are in exile in Babylon. He is among the first deportation from Israel and is still there as two generations of children have been born on Babylonian soil.

            Ezekiel rails against Israel’s idolatry (worshipping of other gods) and failure to trust in the covenant God has made with them. He receives and presents visions of God’s holiness that pursues Israel in a chariot, seeking to overtake them, even as God’s people flee to other paths.

            Ezekiel notes the unfaithfulness of the people again and again. In almost the same breath, he pours forth promises from the Lord that the covenant will still be upheld from the Lord’s end. That God will not fail to keep God’s word is the refrain of the fiercesome song that is the book of this prophet.

            In chapter 33, Ezekiel gets word from a refugee from Jerusalem. The temple has fallen. The place where God was believed to reside was now a pile of rubble. What does that mean for where God is now? How can God act without a base of operations? What will become of those who called themselves people of God?

            Now you will see, Ezekiel says. Now you will understand God’s faithfulness, God’s holiness, God’s way of being in the world and beyond. And so we come to the vision described in chapter 37. Up to this point, Ezekiel has been describing the destruction and pain of the Israelites in Babylon and scattered throughout Egypt and along the trade routes of Northern Africa and toward India.

            The scene we see at the beginning of 37 is a battlefield. In ancient (and not so ancient) tradition, the victors did not bury the bodies of the defeated. Those who lost in battle and who lost their lives were left where they fell. Presumably the victors carried any living off into slavery or also slew them on the spot. The dead lay out, under the hot sun, as carrion for all predators, including the birds of prey. The bones would have been picked clean and then sun-bleached. The battlefield, with its dry, gruesome memorial, would have been a testament to the strength of the victors.

            So we are talking about a scene of death. Nothing living. Nothing even rotting. Just death. Yet nothing is too dead for God. Nothing is beyond God’s ability to restore life and bring wholeness. Nothing is past where God can heal and bring peace.

            This is the vision and message that God brings to Ezekiel to tell the people who are prepared to abandon all hope. God doesn’t need a base camp. God is wild and free and able to bring life out of death.

            For we who are Easter people, that God brings life out of death is a refrain we are almost too used to hearing. Yet, that was not the case in this time period. The people of Israel, at this time, did not have a fully developed embrace of resurrection. It was not part of their religious faith or understanding. Thus, this vision was ASTOUNDING. God would bring dead things back to life… God would restore life to Israel… a life of promise and possibility… enfleshed, muscled, and filled with breath, with the Spirit.

            Why does God do this? We would be quick to say because of grace. Others would say it is for the sake of God’s reputation. I don’t think it is grace or because God is worried about what people think.  Instead, this vision is a revelation, like so many from Scripture, about the fundamental nature of God. God is a God of revelation, resurrection, and reformation. Not just in Babylon, not just in 15^th century Germany, not just in the person of Jesus (though especially in the person of Jesus), but in all times and all places.

            God brings life out of death… creation out of a void… light out of darkness in all times and all places. This is who and what God is about. That is the essence of the wild and holy nature of God. What we might declare dry, life pours out of – by the hand of God. What we would declare dead lives- by the hand of God. What we would declare unchangeable is recreated- by the hand of God.

            There is nothing that is too dead for the God who has called us, named us, and claimed us. Not society, not creation, not the church, not anything in our lives. Thus, we are called to look- look for real signs of life, look for the shoots of promise growing, look for springs of hope pouring forth. We too, like the Israelites, must avoid the idolatry of resignation, of impatience, of lack of eager anticipation. What in your life, in your neighborhood, in the world needs resurrection? What is the vision God is giving you of flesh on that skeleton, of breath in that body, of movement in what was previously still?

            Many centuries ago, Advent lasted until Epiphany. It was much more clearly a season marked by prayer and anticipation of God’s promises in Christ. Slowly, as Christmas became a bigger celebration, Advent became smaller. It was still a marker to think about Christ coming again, but as that became intertwined with anticipating the celebration of Jesus’ birth… Advent became somewhat secondary.

            However, Advent is the season to speak to dry bones. Advent is the season that speaks to God’s wild holiness. Advent is the season that says we are engaged in a mystery- a mystery which we cannot fully understand or resolve, but in which we are called to full participation.

            If you are here, if you can hear my voice, if you are reading this… you, like Ezekiel, are called to speak to dry bones- whatever they might be in your life. Declare that the very nature of God is to restore life to what seems dead. Speak firmly that nothing, nothing is too dead for God. The very hope we have in the Christ we await is the clearest revelation of that truth: nothing is too dead for resurrection. God is wild and holy, untamed by our efforts to tame, contain, or fully understand.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.