Christmas Eve

Luke 2:1-20

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Did anyone else go stargazing on Monday night?

Monday marked the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and for the first time in nearly 400 years, the planets Saturn and Jupiter could be seen so close together in the sky that they almost appeared to be one star. At my house, we took binoculars and caught a glimpse of them before they sank into the horizon. This rare event is called a “great conjunction” and comparisons were made between it and the Christmas star that appears in the story of the magi that is in Matthew’s gospel.

Luke’s telling of the Nativity story doesn’t include the magi following the Bethlehem star; instead, we meet the shepherds who first hear about the birth of the Messiah from the angel of the Lord. They seek out the newborn child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger and then tell his mother Mary all that they had heard. And then Luke says, “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”

The Greek translated as “pondering” is a word that means “thrown together.” All these words that have been said to Mary are thrown together in her heart:

The angel Gabriel’s proclamation that she had had found favor with God

The announcement that she would bear the Son of the Most High who would be called the Son of God

The declaration that her son would reign over the house of Jacob forever and have a kingdom with no end.

And now, the revelation by these outsiders that the infant she has born is the Messiah, the Lord of all.

Mary didn’t dreamily or sigh in wonder. She pondered.

She took in all these things thrown together at her. Maybe she scratched her head, trying to puzzle out why she was chosen. Maybe, she ran her fingers through her hair like I do when I’m trying to understand something new. Maybe she shed tears at the enormity of it all. Or even argued with God.

And still, she treasured this Christmas miracle, the birth of the infant Jesus, the God coming into the world as a helpless infant, fully human and fully divine, to show us how much God loves us all.

I think as Christmas comes this year, Mary invites us to ponder all that has been thrown together in 2020. Let out a frustrated scream, shed a tear or two, and maybe even argue with God. God is big enough to hear us cry out; strong enough to wrestle with us; and steadfast enough to wait for us.

The second part of Mary’s invitation is to treasure the Christmas miracle that God gives each one of us, the revelation that God is born tonight for us, no matter what this year has held. Tonight our newborn hope is found in the birth of our Savior and Lord.

Amen.

Fourth Sunday of Advent

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Wish lists and grocery lists, checking off chores – do you know where you stashed the gifts you bought, is the angel on the tree, is the bathroom clean? Even a favorite carol has St. Nicholas checking his list twice.

The days leading up to Christmas can be full of busy-ness - some sacred, some festive and some more mundane. And it’s in the midst of this busy-ness on this Fourth Sunday of Advent that we meet Nathan and David in today’s reading from Second Samuel. 

Chapter 7 begins saying that the Lord had given David rest from his enemies. And it sounds like David is about as good at resting and stillness as many of us today. Instead of taking time for prayer to wait to hear what God might say, or for stillness where he might experience God’s presence with him, David starts thinking.

And instead of enjoying the respite from strife in his family, court and kingdom, he decides he will build a house to the Lord, a temple, a permanent dwelling place to replace the tent that had housed the Ark of God since the Israelites had fled Egypt.

And the prophet Nathan, whom we meet here for the first time, encourages him, telling David, “The Lord is with you.”

But then we hear, 4 “…that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan….”

And the Lord tells Nathan to tell David that building a temple is not his work to do.

It’s not a bad idea; in fact, it’s good and important work, but it will be done by someone else.

It can be fun thinking up ideas - in seminary we called them “big hairy audacious goals” or BHAGs - and jumping in with both feet.

During this pandemic, as colleagues have shared resources and ideas for forming faith digitally and leading worship creatively, it’s been tempting to think about virtual choirs and Christmas pageants, drive through Nativities and Advent boxes for worship-at-home. It has felt sometimes like it was especially important to make Christmas even more memorable or special because of all the loss and upheaval we have experienced this year. And I have had to catch myself and remember that as your pastor, I cannot bring you Christmas.

As Dr. Seuss’ Grinch Who Stole Christmas learned, Christmas will come without ribbons and bows, packages, boxes or bags.

It will come because God so loves the world and sends us Jesus, the infant Son of God, from the house of David, who is born under a star.

In this story in Second Samuel, David teaches us two important lessons:

The first lesson is that God actually creates moments of rest and respite for us, if we only will take them.

Psalm 37 says, “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently…do not fret,” and psalm 46 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” God creates these spaces for our good, but we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we are being lazy if we take time to spend time in stillness.

Our lectionary reading ends before we hear how David responds to Nathan, but if you keep reading in Second Samuel, you’ll see that he doesn’t get angry or argue with the prophet. He doesn’t become indignant. Instead, he responds by sitting before the Lord and entering into prayer, declaring who he knows God to be and proclaiming God’s greatness.  

The second lesson we learn from David is that the work to honor God, to set apart places and times for what is sacred and holy, is not our work alone.

When I’ve got big ideas, or long and varied lists, or find myself trying to move mountains to make something happen, it’s a good idea to check in with God to see whether my ideas reflect what God wants, or reveal, in fact,  that the work is better suited to another person or time and place.

It doesn’t mean that the work isn’t good or important, only that someone else may be called to it.

David’s story reassures us that God is inviting us to rest in God’s presence and to listen for God’s leading, and not try so very hard to solve the world’s problems on our own. Those are comforting words in these busy days leading up to Christmas and my prayer is that you will find the rest and assurance that God offers.

Amen.

Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 61:1-4,8-11 

Did Isaiah’s words sound familiar when you hear them today? Jesus uses these words as his topic sentence for his first public sermon in Luke Chapter 4. There he is speaking to the assembly in the synagogue and when he finishes, the people try to throw him off a cliff.

His words were good news to the ones named in these verses – the oppressed, the brokenhearted, the captives and prisoners and those who are mourning. But they meant that things would not be the same. People would not be able to do the things they have always done. In Jesus, God was breaking into the world, turning things upside down and doing something new.

When Isaiah speaks these words for the first time, in Third Isaiah, he wants the people to know that whatever they are facing – unfairness, sorrow, grief, or the loss of freedom – their suffering has not gone unnoticed. The Lord has anointed him and sent him to initiate a new beginning for God’s people.

When we have faced defeat or are suffering or grieving, and we are laid low, it can be difficult to expect anything good, to recognize kindness or find hope.

But into the uncertainty that surrounds God’s people upon their return from exile, the prophet speaks, promising to clothe them, replacing their ashes with garland, their mourning with the oil of gladness and their faint spirits with a mantle of praise.

This is God’s merciful and redeeming action for them; not the result of anything they have done or said.

The prophet then says,

3b [The people] will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, to display his glory. 4 They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.” (Isaiah 61:3-4)

Isaiah was no longer calling the people grass that would wither or flowers that would fade. (Isaiah 40:7) Now they were to be oaks, mighty trees that endure centuries and withstand hurricanes, tornados, and droughts. Mighty trees that began small, insignificant and easily overlooked, as acorns.

As we hear these verses today, hopefully we can place ourselves in the text, and hear the prophet’s charge to us as God’s people. We are to stand strong and visible, as witnesses to God’s activity in the world. Our beginnings may be humble, but God is the one leading us and strengthening us.

The prophet continues to say that God’s people will be the ones who

shall build up the ancient ruins, …raise up the former devastations; …[and] repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations. (Isaiah 61:4)

The prophet isn’t the one who will pour sweat and tears into this work of restoration and renewal. It’s God’s own people who are being called.

One of the observations that has been made about this year and the pandemic is that the fissures or cracks in our systems and safety nets, our healthcare and even our economy have been exposed. It’s not that the problems we are facing originated in the last nine months, but that our vulnerabilities were unmasked.

And when the pandemic ends, we aren’t going to be able to do the things we have always done.

As Jesus’ followers, we must go into places of ruin, bear witness to God’s presence, and walk alongside people who have been hurt by the church and world, and listen to the devastation in their lives.

For us today the verbs Isaiah uses aren’t about bricks and mortar; they are about people, the very brothers and sisters who are our neighbors. Redeemed by God, we are called to build up God’s people, raise up faithful disciples and repair broken relationships.

And when any one of us feels overwhelmed by that work – because it is hard work – may we remember that the mighty trees we are called to emulate survive because they have a sprawling root system that goes deep into the ground, and when they grow in dry places, the roots grow even more deeply. Those roots are anchors, securing the trees to the ground and they are lifelines, sending up new sprouts when the tree is damaged and storing what they need to grow and endure.

In the same way, our relationships with God and with one another keep us connected in a system where we will find encouragement and strength to weather whatever comes our way.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for sending your Son Jesus into the world to bring light into darkness and hope to the weary.

Thank you for your mercy and grace that is unmerited and unearned, but ours all the same.

Nourish us in our congregation with Your Word,

and by Your spirit strengthen us to be witnesses

to your presence in the world and messengers of the good news of Your love.

We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

Amen.

Second Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 40:1-11

Sometimes we read the Bible continuously, neatly following the passages as one leads to the next. But the lectionary readings during Advent aren’t so orderly. Today’s reading from Isaiah and the Gospel reading from Mark both go backward from where we were a week ago.

You may remember that last week’s Old Testament reading was in Third Isaiah, the section written after the Israelites were allowed to return from exile to Jerusalem.

First Isaiah is the first 39 chapters of the book that address Judah in its stubbornness and failure to follow God; that section ends with an oracle in Chapter 39 that anticipates the exile into Babylon.

This week’s verses in Chapter 40 are the poetic opening of Second Isaiah. It’s thought that as much as 150 years passed between First and Second Isaiah  ̶ 150 years of living in exile, of dislocation and disruption, disconnected from God’s presence and voice.

Our reading begins with God speaking, breaking into the emptiness of exile and speaking hope to God’s people. Scholars say the prophet is listening to God address a “divine council” or heavenly assembly of angels and messengers.[i]

It’s easy to miss in our translation, but the passage actually has multiple voices. In the first two verses, God is commanding that God’s people be comforted, effectively saying, “Enough is enough and your suffering is ended.” [ii]

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, her penalty is paid... (Isaiah 40:1-2)

This is good news for the Israelites who had spent the exile
looking backward to the Exodus, the time in which God had freed his people from oppression,
and looking forward with uncertainty, waiting for God to again act decisively for God’s people.

And then another voice breaks into the discourse and the third verse is the one Mark uses to announce John the Baptizer in today’s gospel.

3 A voice cries out:

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

God promises there will be a public return, demonstrating God’s triumphant victory over Babylon.

When a third voice joins in asking, “What shall I cry?”, scholars say it is the prophet himself. He protests that after such a prolonged separation, the people are more comfortable with God’s absence than God’s presence. And they have proven themselves unreliable. What can he say to change their hearts and minds?[iii]

And then like last week’s mighty “Yet” we hear one of the council voices saying,

“Yes, but the word of God will stand forever.

Yes, the people have been fickle. Yes, they have turned away from God. But God is God and God’s grace for us is not dependent upon any human effort or merit. It is always God’s saving action for us.

And then the council voice speaks again, calling Isaiah the herald of good tidings, the bearer of the Good News that God is decisively present, here with God’s people, and “the world is changed by God.”[iv]

As God’s messengers, we too are called to be the herald of good tidings, the Good News, in today’s world.

I wonder, what message comes to you if you read this passage with the name of our congregation and community in place of Zion and Jerusalem and Judah?

Lift up your voice with strength, Ascension Lutheran, herald of good tidings. There is good news for the city of Shelby. Shout it as loud as you can from the highest mountain. Don't be afraid to shout to all of Cleveland County, 
“Your God is here!”

Especially in Advent, we are called to proclaim the Good News of God’s presence and mercy to our community with joy:[v] 

The Good News that, as long as the nine months of the pandemic have been, they have not been an exile from God’s presence.  God is with us.

The Good News that God comforts God’s people, recognizes our suffering, and does not leave us alone.

The Good News that God is both a warrior for God’s people who conquers God’s enemies, and a gentle, shepherding God who cares for the vulnerable and shows mercy to those in need.

The Good News that the long-expected Jesus is coming into the world, delivering us from evil, freeing us from our fears and sins and giving us hope and peace.

Thanks be to God for the Good News.
Amen.

[i] Walter Brueggemann, Isaiah Chapters 40-66. 15-17.

[ii] Brueggemann, 18.

[iii] Brueggemann, 19.

[iv] Brueggemann, 21.

[v] “Light on the Lessons”. Lutheran Bible Ministries. © 2011. Used with permission.

First Sunday of Advent

 Isaiah 64:1-12

What is the last thing you had to wait for?

Do you remember the nervousness that accompanied the waiting? The way you repeatedly checked the clock or your watch or phone, willing the time to pass more quickly? Or how impatient you felt as you watched for a sign that the waiting was coming to an end?

In the novel This Magnificent Dappled Sea author David Biro tells the story of a young Italian boy whose life is saved when a New York rabbi volunteers as a bone marrow donor and is a match for the boy. Months after the boy’s health was restored, arrangements were made for the Americans to travel to the village where he lived and everyone is eager to meet the man who had saved the young boy’s life. The author describes the boy’s anticipation and excitement waiting outside customs for the rabbi and his family, the way they recognized each other from photographs, and how the whole town filled the street and swarmed around their car when they arrived in the village. Chaotic but joyful scenes began a new season in their lives.

Today we are beginning a new church year and a new season in our liturgical year. Advent comes from the word adventus which means approach or arrival, and during these next four weeks we are invited into a time of waiting with eagerness and anticipation, but what are we waiting for?

One narrative tells us these next four weeks are about grand surprises and perfect presents, blazing displays of colorful lights, popular carols and Christmas music, fanciful food and family celebrations. And, before you call me Scrooge, those things can bring a lot of happiness in their own hectic and hurried way.

But Scripture and Christian belief tells another story – a story that invites us to remember that we are waiting for something new and that God is the one who fulfills our waiting.

In our first reading, we heard from the prophet Isaiah. The passage is in the portion of Isaiah called “Third Isaiah” written after 538 BCE when Cyrus of Persia conquered Babylon and allowed the Israelites to return to Jerusalem.

The prophet, now an old man, has returned to the ruins of his city and together, with the people of Israel, they cry out to God.

For a generation, they had wanted to return and now, they are there and it isn’t what they expected.

If there has ever been an Advent when we could relate to things not being as we expected or hoped, this is the year.

So, as tempting as it is to skip these troubling texts and find more encouraging words in Scripture, words that leap to Christmas joy, we need to hear these laments because they are honest.

These verses give us the words we need when it feels and looks like everyone around us is celebrating but we are struggling.

They help us name the distance, and even the absence, of God that we feel when we are suffering from pain or loss.

And, they give us language, and permission, to yell at God when the world around us doesn’t make sense.

We actually only hear one part of the full lament. The full text begins in 63:15, but we pick it up at the beginning of chapter 64 with the prophet’s plea:

1O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,

The prophet invites Yahweh to intervene forcibly and physically in the world, to obliterate any distance between creator and created, and show up in the same way God that had delivered Israel from previous enemies and calamities.[i]

The words are spoken even as the world feels like it is falling apart and all we feel is anguish and agony. They are spoken with confidence that God is with us even when we feel alone.

Here we are. Your promises tell us you are here too. Restore us, O God, let your face shine on us and we shall be saved.

The next verses confess Israel’s sin, in the same persistent patterns that we have of ignoring God and forgetting our dependence upon God. The prophet’s words are filled with sorrow and shame, or what some old-timers might call “sorry-ness” – when you have nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but fall on your knees and confess how hard hearted you have been.

Incredibly, in the confession, the poet tries to point the finger at Yahweh. Toward the end of verse 5, he tries to lay the blame on God, saying, “We only acted that way because You hid from us.” Sometimes the responsibility we bear for our own transgressions is too much, but, even then, God does not turn us away.

Here we are. Forgive us for what we’ve done and not done, what we can name and what we cannot bring ourselves to name. Restore us, O God, let your face shine on us and we shall be saved.

And then “the prayer continues with a mighty ‘yet.’”[ii]

8 Yet, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.

In this one verse, the prophet moves us from past to present. We know God’s actions and character from the stories shared with us by our ancestors in faith; we trust in God’s mercy and goodness; and now we name God as Lord and Father, and ask God to be faithful, renewing us and recreating us that we may know hope and healing.

The prophet also calls God “our potter.”

Over the last year and a half or so, I had the opportunity to begin learning pottery and I discovered that wheel thrown pottery begins with a process called centering. As the potter, you take a lump of clay and, with some force, you throw the lump of clay onto the wheel and slowly begin pushing the clay down and coning it back upward and pushing it down and then up again. You’re always watching to see whether the clay is centered; there’s a lot of joy when you’ve centered it and you begin to see a shape come into its own as you work with it. It’s harder when the clay gets off kilter or wobbly and you realize it’s not centered anymore; and it’s surprising how quickly it can happen. And how obvious it is - there’s no hiding it. Sometimes, you can salvage it, or create something “organic” but just as often, all you can do then is set the clay aside, adding some water to it so it won’t dry out and become unusable. After some time has passed, you can come back to that clay and begin again.

Imagining God as the potter, I can picture both the joy and the consternation that must accompany watching creation as we first draw near, centered on God, and then we turn away, distracted and deceived into thinking that we don’t need God at the center of our lives.

But the prophet knows that despite whatever disappointment we’ve inspired, the potter will not reject us.

Remember that we belong to you. Restore us, O God, let your face shine on us and we shall be saved.

As we enter into this Advent, may we have this same confidence that God hears us, forgives us and restores us. In God’s own time, as we wait expectantly and hopefully, God is doing a new thing, with all of us.

Amen.

[i] Walter Brueggemann. Isaiah 40-66. 233.

[ii] Brueggemann, 234.

Reign of Christ or Christ the King Sunday

Matthew 25:31-46

On this Christ the King Sunday, the lectionary readings help us remember that neither Christ’s kingship nor the kingdom of God are made in the image of the world, with ostentatious displays of wealth or power, or with legions of sycophants.

Instead of parades, pomp and regalia, we get Jesus, speaking to his disciples, two days before Passover and his arrest and crucifixion.

And by now we shouldn’t be surprised that he is telling them a story or parable. Sometimes these verses are called “The Great Judgment” or “The Judgment of the Nations” but this speech isn’t speculation about the end times, and it isn’t about “being ready for the end.” Addressing a Christian community that has been persecuted, Matthew is delivering a word of salvation and grace.

Jesus begins by describing the Son of Man sitting on a throne of glory with all the nations gathered before him.

And, I wonder how often we miss that detail. All the nations - all the peoples, believing and unbelieving - are gathered there. And Jesus is the shepherd of us all, of the whole world.

Jesus then says the shepherd king separates the sheep from the goats.

Jesus the Good Shepherd has both sheep and goats in his flock. The same Good Shepherd lays down his life for all of his flock on the cross and “draws all to himself.”[i]

All means all. Absolutely nothing and no one is outside the kingdom of God, and nothing, not even evil, willful disobedience or ignorance separates us from the love of God.

So what do we make of the separation that Jesus describes? What could it mean?

One possibility is that the first group, those on the king’s right hand, is called righteous and rewarded with blessing for the works they did while the other group, those on the left, is called cursed and punished for what they failed to do.

But Jesus hasn’t shown a lot of interest in making goodness or badness the criteria for entering God’s kingdom or providing reward or punishment to his followers. He eats dinner at sinners’ homes and spends time with pariahs like tax collectors and prostitutes. And, in other parables, he welcomes “unreformed bad people [such as the prodigal son] as acceptable” and he lets both bad and good - weeds and wheat – grow together until the harvest.[ii]

Another way to hear Jesus’s words is that the hungry, thirsty, stranger or prisoner are angels hiding among us in disguise, so we better feed them, give them something to drink, welcome them and visit them, just in case God is watching.

But Jesus hasn’t shown much interest in seeing us prove our worthiness or earn our place in his kingdom either.

Instead, we are called to humility.

The Beatitudes give us the reversals that say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, …the merciful.…the poor in heart.” (Matt. 5:3,7-8) and when the disciples are arguing about who will sit at his right and at his left, Jesus reminds them:

whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, 27 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave (Matt. 20:26-27)

And then Jesus gives them the two greatest commandments:

'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' [and] 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' (Matt. 22:37,39)

What is interesting to me is that the righteous group is just as surprised as the so-called accursed group at the judgment they receive. They weren’t keeping score or trying to earn a reward. They were in relationship with their shepherd king, and they were living out of their identity as sheep of his flock and subjects and being obedient to him. Their lives weren’t a game or competition, but a practice of faith in the every day.

In the same way, when we go about our lives in the world following Jesus, we don’t need to be worried or anxious about judgment and end times or wondering where we stand with God. To quote Martin Luther, “No one can know or feel he is saved; he can only believe it.”[iii]

Jesus, our Good Shepherd, draws us all to him, and we are to be obedient to the commandments we’ve been given and let our lives reflect our desire to love God and love our neighbor.

Let us pray…

Sovereign God,

Thank you for your Son Jesus, our shepherd king who gathers us to him, that we would know your abundant grace.

Help us live out of our identities as your beloved flock, following your Son.

May your Holy Spirit guide us and empower us to reflect your love and mercy in all of our actions and words.

We pray in your Holy name.

Amen.

[i] Robert Farrar Capon. Kingdom, Grace and Judgment. 505.

[ii] Capon. 507.

[iii] Capon, 511.

Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 33A

Matthew 25:14-30 

Today’s readings continue to prepare us for the end of the Church year which we’ll reach next Sunday when we celebrate the Reign of Christ the King. These apocalyptic texts challenge us to remember that the same God who created us and put us on the earth is with us “from age to age” (Ps. 90:2) and, in St. Paul’s words, “has destined us not for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us.” (1 Thessalonians 5:9)

The parable in Matthew’s gospel appears at first to contradict that. It puts into words the fear many of us have that when we face God, the Master will chastise us, call us wicked and lazy, (Matt. 25:26) and cast us into an outer darkness where we will suffer. (Matt. 25:30) But I think it warrants a second look.

Remember that Scripture reveals who God is?

When our interpretation of the parable focuses on the math of the five talents, the two talents, and the one talent and what each slave did to increase their yield, we aren’t focused on God. We are focused on human efforts and abilities.

To begin with, the master entrusted the slaves, or servants, with the abundant wealth that he had. A talent was a measure of money worth fifteen years of labor. One received five, another two and another one: 75 years of earnings, 30 years, 15 years. Each received an extravagant trust.

And then the master went away for a long time, leaving them each to live with this abundance. The text doesn’t tell us that the master demanded anything from them during that time. The master trusted each of them to live according to his ability. But the Greek word ‘ability’ used in v. 15 isn’t skill or expertise. It is ‘power’ or ‘capacity’.

So what is the ‘ability’ or ‘capacity’ that’s being measured?

For all of us who aren’t mathematicians, or financiers, I think we can breathe a sigh of relief that the parable isn’t about financial or mathematical acumen. Instead, what is measured is our capacity to live as a disciple of Christ, a follower of Jesus, a servant to all.

Martin Luther defined sin as being curved in on one’s self. The temptation of our human nature is to keep focused inwardly on ourselves, on the expertise we bring and the work we are doing, and only to look outwardly to see how others are falling short.

So, when the master returns and speaks to the slaves we immediately hear the accusation and cursing to the outer darkness that is delivered to the third one but it’s really easy to miss what he says to the first two.

(I know I had missed it.)

The master responds to the first two servants with an invitation, “Enter into the joy of your master.”

A cynical reading might say the master is joyful because his wealth increased, but that’s not the context where we see joy expressed in Matthew’s gospel or elsewhere in Scripture.

There is joy when the birth of the Savior is announced (Matt. 2:10);

there is joy when the Gospel’s good news is heard and received (Matt. 13:20); and,

there is joy when the disciples discover the empty tomb (Matt. 28:8).

Joy is not mere happiness or contentment with our current circumstances, or increased safety or security, but a response to God’s presence with us, in all places and all situations.

The judgment against the third servant still sounds harsh, but in the context of gift and invitation, we see that person has chosen to bury himself and to ignore the gift and trust given by the master.

Artist and poet Jan Richardson writes that

when we cannot imagine other possibilities we tend to hoard what we have, clinging to what is comfortable or at least familiar, and not only to hoard but to hide.[i]

Unable to escape his own fears, he’s created a cell of his own design that he cannot escape.

The Good News is that God invites us into a kingdom of possibilities where we live fully in the abundance of God’s love, mercy and compassion and enter into God’s joy and delight.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for your Son Jesus who died for us and in whom we have salvation.

Help us remember your love and mercy for us does not end in death and suffering but joy.

Free us from our fears and show us how to enter your joy that we would live the abundant life you give us.

We pray in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

Amen.

[i] Jan Richardson. “Parabolic Curves.”  https://paintedprayerbook.com/2008/11/11/parabolic-curves/, accessed 11/14/2020.

Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 32A

Matthew 25:1-13

This is a strange parable.

The setting is unfamiliar; it reflects a culture that celebrates weddings differently than we do today and describes customs that sound odd to us. The community is under duress and being persecuted for their religious beliefs; they’ve already waited for the return of Christ longer than the first generation of Christians expected and now Matthew is urging his listeners to keep the faith, confess Christ and wait expectantly for Christ’s return. Two thousand years later, that plea has lost its immediacy, and it all just sounds strange to our hearing.

But at the heart of the parable, Matthew is addressing two questions: “When will Christ return?” and “What shall we do while we wait?”

In these last few weeks of the Church Year, “the lectionary texts [are] about the coming of the Son of Man” as the season of Advent nears. Advent or “the season of coming” prepares us for Christ coming both as the conquering Son of Man at the end of time and as the helpless infant in a manger.[i]

But meanwhile we wait.

In Matthew’s parable, the bridesmaids are waiting together for the bridegroom’s arrival. Matthew divides them into two groups and describes them as wise and foolish but doesn’t say more about what makes one wise and the other foolish. What we do know is both groups fall asleep while they wait.

Matthew tells us later that the wise ones carried extra oil with them while the foolish ones only had what their lamps could hold.

Martin Luther understood the oil as faith but how can we run out of faith? And if the burden of having enough faith falls on us, how do we square that with Jesus’ own words in Matthew 17 when he said to his disciples,

“For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”(Matt. 17:20)

Others think of the oil as “good works” but then, how can we buy more good works? And how do we reconcile that with our Lutheran understanding that salvation is only possible through God’s loving mercy and not something that we ourselves can do? I don’t think we can.

I don’t think the oil matters. What is important is that we are invited to wait, and how we wait matters.

One of my preaching professors, Karoline Lewis, has told the story of her father-in-law, who was 96 when he died. Sam was a World War 2 veteran, and he didn’t talk much about the war, but one day, not too long before he died, he asked for his grandchildren to come over and he bequeathed his items from the war to them. And as he told the stories behind the items, he talked about his experiences in the war, and

He talked about the waiting. [You see, Sam] had been selected, singled out, not to be sent to the front, but to stay behind [because he] was good in math. He showed [his family] his notebook in which he had calculated multiple ballistic measurements. And as he worked on his equations, he waited for his fellow soldiers, his friends, to return.

Some did. Some did not.

He could not understand how he was spared. Yet in the waiting and the wondering he knew God was there, and there was nothing else he could do but trust that truth.[ii]

The waiting we are invited into in this parable is waiting with uncertainty. Waiting when we have no control over what happens next. Waiting even when we don’t understand why it is taking so long. Waiting even when we feel unprepared.

The foolish bridesmaids were not foolish because their lamps ran out of oil. They were foolish because they left to search for more oil.

They forgot why they were there. They were there to wait for the bridegroom, even if that meant waiting in the dark.

A few years ago, Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor wrote a book called Learning to Wait in the Dark where she describes the darkness as anything that scares us and then lifts up the idea that Christ finds us there, saying:

Between the great dramas of life, there is almost always a time of empty waiting — with nothing to do …— a time when it is necessary to come up with your own words and see how they sound with no other sounds to cover them up. If you are willing to rest in this …., where you cannot see your hand in front of your face and none of your self-protective labors can do you one bit of good, then you may come as close to the Christ as you will ever get —

We must not be afraid, or frantically search out ways to bring light in; instead we must remember that the Light of the World shines brightest in the dark, and Christ comes to us in our waiting.

Let us pray with the psalmist, saying,

“Lord, make haste to help me…
come to me quickly, O God.
You are my helper and deliverer;
O Lord, do not tarry.” (Ps. 70:1, 5)
Amen.

[i] Brian Stoffregen. “Exegetical Notes.”

[ii] Karoline Lewis. “How to Wait.” Dear Working Preacher. Luther Seminary.

All Saints Sunday

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Today’s gospel text comes from the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, a sermon Jesus preached to the crowds who had begun following him after he had begun showing up in their neighborhoods and towns and healing people. He had traveled all around Galilee, where Nazareth was, and he was known there and even farther north and east, throughout Syria.

Sometimes we turn these verses, known as the Beatitudes, into a set of rewards that say, “IF you will do this, THEN you will be blessed.

As if God’s love for us is transactional.

As if God’s blessing depends on us. 

But thankfully God’s love and grace for us is not dependent on us. As Luther tells us in his Small Catechism in the explanation of the first article of the creed, God provides for us and protects us “out of pure, fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness” of ours![i]

So why does Jesus say these things if it isn’t to put a carrot out in front of folks, to encourage us to be better people? 

Remember Scripture is always revealing who God is and what God is doing. God is the actor, not us. So when we hear Jesus’ words, we want to ask, “What do his statements reveal about who God is and about God’s character?”

On this All Saints Day verse 4 stands out:

“Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”

Today we particularly remember those whom we have loved who have died during the last year. And certainly we hope ritual and remembrance bring comfort to those who grieve and mourn, and we trust that God is with you today and every day.

But Jesus isn’t saying “Oh, lucky you, here’s your reward for your suffering.” Loss and death are not blessings, and in the depths of new grief, especially, I don’t think anyone feels “blessed”.

Instead Jesus is saying, “God sees you are hurting and the same God who created you and loves you, will comfort you, wipe away your tears and sit with you in your grief.”

This is the God who is portrayed in the beatitudes, one who sees and honors those who are suffering.

It is in words like the ones Jesus preaches today that Scripture is so clearly a living Word that we hear differently in different seasons of our lives. It is not a historical document chiseled in granite, but a Word that God speaks that we may hear and know who God is, and who we are as God’s people.

In Jesus’ words, we are reassured that God does not simply leave us in a deep pit and say, “there, there.”

But, sits with us in the midst of ugly tears and sleeplessness, in the too-quiet house or at the desk where a stack of papers waits for our attention.

Later in his sermon, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who are merciful because they shall receive mercy.” And while the word here is “merciful”, I heard it today as “full of mercy.”

I believe God’s comfort is mercy itself. One definition of mercy is “kindness or help given to people who are in a very bad or desperate situation.”[ii]

A distant and impersonal God who sets the world in motion and then leaves wouldn’t draw near to us in grief.

A God who wants to play “gotcha” and punish us when we make mistakes wouldn’t be there to wipe away our tears.

Instead, we know this loving God whose mercy, compassion and steadfastness is revealed to us first in the cross.

When sin and brokenness bring us to the foot of the cross, aware that we cannot live and be who God created us to be on our own, God doesn’t leave us there either. God forgives us and gives us new life.

I think Jesus is saying to all of us, who are full of God’s mercy for us, that whatever fills us up are the things that the world will see overflowing from us. When we are full of God’s mercy, we will be merciful to others.

Psalm 57 isn’t a psalm that’s assigned in the lectionary so we don’t usually hear it in worship, but in its first verse, it names why God’s mercy is so important to us all. It says:

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful, for I have taken refuge in you; in the shadow of your wings will I take refuge until this time of trouble has gone by. (57:1) 

The psalmist often calls upon God to be the God that Scripture has already revealed. The God we call upon is the same merciful God who saved Noah from the flood and Isaac from death; the same God who parted the Red Sea so the Israelites could escape from Pharaoh; the same God who spared Nineveh from destruction. 

And, in God’s mercy, God provides us with refuge, a place apart from the time of trouble, or the destroying storms. God shelters us, like a mothering hen gathers her brood under her wings (Matt. 23:37)

The psalmist tells us God does not leave us alone to wait out the storms. Living in the shadow of God means God is always nearby. God remains with us and promises us that “the worst thing is not the last thing.”

That is the resurrection promise: that evil and death will not win; in Christ, God’s love for us and the world wins, and we are freed from our fears and transformed.

The Beatitudes aren’t a system of rewards, and we have confidence in God’s love and mercy for us. As we are sent into the world this week, I wonder where we can notice what God is doing, and, with God’s help, how we can participate? How can we let the things of God overflow from us? How can we extend God’s mercy to others? How can we provide refuge and safe shelter to others? How can we accompany others so that they do not have to be alone?

Let us pray…

Good and Gracious God,
Thank you for your love and mercy, and for making us all your saints in your kingdom.
We give thanks especially for those who have gone before us and showed us how to live faithfully here on earth.
By your Holy Spirit, continue to fill us with the things of God that our words and actions would reflect who we are as Your people.
We pray in your Holy Name.
Amen.

[i] Martin Luther. “Explanation of the First Article of the Apostles Creed.” Small Catechism.

[ii] Karoline Lewis. "A Merciful Advent." Luther Seminary. https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4225

Reformation Sunday 2020

John 8:31-36

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Today we celebrate the 503rd anniversary of the Reformation, recognized on October 31st each year. While the Reformation is rooted in history, it is a movement toward the future.

As we celebrate the bold actions that Martin Luther took to hold the Church accountable, and recognize his place in the collection of reformers who challenged wrong when they saw it, we celebrate a Church where the Holy Spirit gathers us around word and sacrament; where God hears our cries for mercy and pours out abundant grace; and where the Spirit leads us into Christ’s future with glad and generous hearts.[i]

This year we have had to learn how to be the gathered church without being in the same building, or sometimes, even the same state, as is the case when members who have moved away or others who are on vacation worship online. And while we lament and grieve the losses and some of the ways that we are different now, we also have confidence that God is at work, that it is the Holy Spirit who gathers us together in Christ, and the Holy Spirit is not constrained or confined to one location.

We have also had to learn what it means to gather around word and sacrament, when physical touch is discouraged. We’ve turned new attention to the significance of our rituals and been curious about the longings people have for them and we have had to re-form what they look like. This re-forming and re-shaping has always been the legacy of the sixteenth-century Reformation.

In the midst of the pandemic and changes to how we gather and worship, the truth that we know, the truth that frees us in Christ, is that, through it all, God remains steadfast and in our midst. As the psalmist declares in Psalm 46,

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change.[ii]

This is the psalm that was the basis for Martin Luther’s Reformation hymn “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” where he wrote, 

though hordes of devils fill the land, all threatening to devour us, we tremble not, unmoved we stand; they cannot overpower us.[iii]

Against the evil in the world, God is our refuge and fortress, a hiding place where we can rest safe and secure. And God hears our cries for mercy , and pours out abundant grace.

Describing this wellspring of saving grace, German Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote:

The past and future of our whole lives are merged in one in the presence of God.

The whole of the past is comprised in the word forgiveness. 

The whole of the future is in safe keeping in the faithfulness of God.[iv]

Forgiveness and faithfulness.

And thankfully, neither one depend on my effort or ability. These are God’s actions toward us. It is God who forgives us when we sin; in the borrowed words prayed by the Jewish people at Yom Kippur, when,:[v]

We abuse, we betray, we are cruel.
We destroy, we embitter, we falsify.
We gossip, we hate, we insult.
We jeer, we kill, we lie.
We mock, we neglect, we oppress.
We pervert, we quarrel, we rebel.
We steal, we transgress, we are unkind.
We are violent, we are wicked, we are xenophobic.
We yield to evil, we are zealots for bad causes.

It is God who forgives us –

God who created the whole world and loves us too much to let judgment and death have the final word against us when we are convicted by our sin.

Recalling Bonhoeffer again, he wrote:

We who once were lost, now are found in Christ and made members of his Body. In the rescuing light of God’s word, we become aware of the God who loves us; we see our neighbors and their need…[vi]

Forgiven by God, we are sent into the world,
where the Spirit is leading us into Christ’s future –
into a future freed from contention and divisiveness,
a future freed from strife or envy, ill will or spite.[vii]
And so, we go, with glad and generous hearts,
trusting God to guide our thinking and speaking, and to strengthen us by grace.

Let us pray…[viii]
O God,
you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending,
by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.
Give us faith to go out with good courage,
not knowing where we go,
but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

[i] from Reformation 500 Sourcebook, copyright © 2016 Augsburg Fortress.

[ii]  Psalm 46:1-2

[iii] “A Mighty Fortress is our God”, excerpt from v. 3.

[iv] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics, ed. Eberhard Bethge (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1962), 79–80.

[v] The confession from Yom Kippur evening service, Mahzor for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, ed. Rabbi Jules Harlow (New York: Rabbinical Assembly, 1972), 403, 405.

[vi] Bonhoeffer.

[vii] “Where True Charity and Love Abide.” Text: Latin hymn, 9th cent. Translation © 1995, 2001 Augsburg Fortress.

[viii] Eric Milner-White and George Wallace Briggs, Daily Prayer (London: Oxford, 1941), 14; reprinted in Evangelical Lutheran Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006), 317.

Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 29A

Matthew 22:15-22

Have you ever set a trap for someone?

In one of the last scenes of the second Harry Potter movie Harry confronts the villainous Lucius Malfoy, returning a troublesome diary to him. Angrily, Lucius thrusts the book at his house elf Dobby, but when Dobby opens the book, he discovers a sock. If you don’t know, giving a house elf clothing is how a master frees the house elf, so unwittingly Lucius has set Dobby free. When he realizes he was tricked, Lucius sputters and spits at Harry, but he cannot change what has happened. Harry has defeated him.

In today’s gospel, the Pharisees set a trap for Jesus.

And – spoiler alert – the trap backfires.

There’s an ancient proverb that says, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” and the Pharisees, who were the Jewish leaders and teachers, team up with the Herodians, who supported the political appointees who governed the region, and were dependent on Roman favor. [i]

The trick question they ask Jesus is, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?”

Earlier, in Matthew 17, the collectors of the temple tax asked Peter if Jesus paid that tax. Prior to the destruction of the temple in 70CE, the temple tax was a sign of solidarity of the  Jews in Israel and the Diaspora, and it supported the sanctuary in Jerusalem; after the temple’s destruction, the Romans continued to levy the tax to keep up the Jupiter Capitolinus temple in Rome.[ii] Peter answered that Jesus did pay the temple tax, and Jesus instructed Peter to pay the tax for them both, “to avoid giving offense….”[iii]

Ironically, in today’s gospel reading, the Pharisees and Herodians begin with false praise of Jesus, including stating that he does not show deference or partiality to others; they say that he is not swayed by the opinions of others. The truth is he isn’t swayed by superficial arguments or illegitimate leaders, but, throughout Scripture, Jesus is moved by the suffering he sees and has compassion upon the crowds he meets.

Today his opponents are asking about the census tax. That was a direct poll tax or “head tax levied by the Romans on all adults under their rule.”[iv] To call the census tax unlawful wouldn’t merely give offense; it “would be a public and dangerous repudiation of Roman authority.”[v] And yet, to call it lawful, without qualification, would appear to endorse the Roman occupiers.

But Jesus evades their trap.

He asks them to show him the coin used for the tax. When they produce the Roman coin imprinted with the image of Tiberius Caesar on it, and inscribed with the title, “Tiberius Caesar, august son of the Divine High Priest Augustus” Jesus simply asks them whose head and title are on the coin, and then he delivers the familiar one liner:

Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s , and to God the things that are God’s. (22:21) [vi]

Not only does Jesus evade the trap they’ve set with their question, but he also exposes them and the nature of their hearts.

Too often when we hear this parable, our attention turns toward the role of government and taxes, or even separation of church and state. But the question that matters isn’t about civics or money or taxes. The question that matters is, “Who is the Lord and ruler of our lives?”

When we proclaim that God is sovereign, then everything in creation belongs first to God. There is nothing to reserve or keep from God.

In his book Giving to God, Lutheran pastor and teacher Mark Allen Powell begins by telling a story about the baptism of the Gauls. He’s careful to say that while the story may not be historical fact, it is nonetheless true.

The Gauls were an ancient people who lived in what is now France and Belgium, and by the time of the Christian era, they had been conquered by the Roman Empire and were supposedly under their control. As Christian missionaries arrived in the region, many of the Gauls became Christians.

As the story goes, when a converted Gaul warrior was baptized in a river or stream, he would hold one arm high in the air as the missionary dunked him under the water. This seemed peculiar to the missionaries but they soon learned the reason for it. When the next battle broke out, the Gaul would proclaim, “This arm is not baptized!”, grab his weapon, and ride off to brutally destroy his enemy.

Even as he acknowledges the story is more likely myth than history, Powell tells the story because it gives us the compelling image of someone trying to keep part of their body, one aspect of their identity, free from the influence of baptism.[vii]

Baptism delivers us from the forces of evil, puts our sinful selves to death, gives us new birth, and makes us one with Christ and the whole people of God.[viii]

When I hear Jesus say, “Give to God what is God’s.” I am reminded of Psalm 139 where the psalmist writes,

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.  15 My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. 16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. 17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! 18 I try to count them-- they are more than the sand; I come to the end-- I am still with you. (v. 13-18)

God— our creator, our life-giver and our sustainer — knows us inside and out and loves us, and delivers us wholly and completely. Following Jesus, being a disciple, means surrendering ourselves, without qualification, to God. As Luther writes in the catechism regarding the first commandment, “We are to fear, love and trust God above all things.”[ix]

We can no more hide, reserve, or withhold a part of ourselves from God — our lives, thoughts, words or deeds — than live with a gangrenous limb. And if we think we are succeeding at separating what is ours, what is theirs and what is God’s, we are allowing the powers and principalities of this world to trap us in a reality that does not reflect God’s abundant kingdom. And we are deceiving ourselves, not God.

Let us pray.

Holy and Lifegiving God,

Thank you sending your Son Jesus that we can know your abundant love for us.

Show us how to fear, love and trust You above all things. Following Jesus, may we withhold nothing, show compassion for those who suffer and not be swayed by false teachers.

By the power of your Holy Spirit deliver us from division.

We pray in the name of our Savior and Lord, Jesus the Christ.

Amen.

[i] Donald Senior. Matthew. 248.

[ii] Senior, 202-203.

[iii] ibid

[iv] Senior, 247.

[v] Senior, 247.

[vi] Senior 248.

[vii] Mark Allen Powell. Giving to God: The Bible’s Good News about Living a Generous Life. xi-xii.

[viii] Evangelical Lutheran Worship, 225.

[ix] Ibid, 1160.

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 28A

Matthew 22: 1-14

One of the podcasts I listen to in the course of my preaching preparation describes the Revised Common Lectionary, the three-year cycle of four readings for each Sunday, as being “designed to bring congregations through the great narrative of scripture without being constrained by the choice of the preacher.” This is one week when I might have chosen differently.

In the gospel text we just heard Jesus tells another parable, where he compares the kingdom of heaven to a wedding banquet given by a king. Maybe, Matthew wants us to recall the wedding at Cana, the first of the miracles Jesus performed, and a story we only hear from the evangelist John. Or maybe we are to compare wearing the wedding garment to being clothed in Christ at baptism. Maybe Matthew is comparing the king to God and the son is Jesus, but then, what meaning are we supposed to make from the enraged king who sends his troops to destroy murderers and burn the city? (v. 7) Or from the later actions of that same king, who invites everyone to come to the feast, and then casts out one man, condemning him to the outer darkness? (v. 13) It is a difficult text.

The epistle we have today is difficult in another way. It is Paul’s conclusion to his letter to the church at Philippi. And one of the most well-known lines is verse 4:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

The risk is that in the midst of current events Paul’s words come across as tone-deaf, starry- eyed, or helplessly idealistic.

Over the past week, there has been violence and unrest in our country and in places like Kyrgyzstan where the election may have been corrupted; there has been destruction where a fourth named storm has made landfall on the Gulf Coast, and lives and homes have been endangered by fires in the Pacific northwest and by flash floods that rose in France and Italy; and life and dignity continue to be disregarded in Myanmar where children are exploited for labor and in Yemen where they are facing a fifth year of famine.

And even closer to home, loved ones have died, others have fallen ill, and still others have lost jobs, been isolated and alone and struggled to know God’s love.

And then there’s COVID-19.

It is a time of disorientation and dis-connectedness. And, I imagine rejoicing is probably not the first response most of us have. Rage, anxiety, despair, and lament, but not rejoicing.

But Paul wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses when he wrote these words.

Paul wrote this letter to the church in Philippi, a Roman colony and the center of Christianity in Europe at the time, early in his imprisonment in Rome.[i] He had been arrested and jailed, and he probably expected to die there, killed or martyred. He could see quite plainly what lay ahead.

And yet, he writes about the joy that is found in centering our lives in Christ. Listen to what he writes:

1 Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.  

2 I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord.  3 Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life.

4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.  

5 Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.  6 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  

8 Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

9 Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

The word “therefore” points us back to the earlier parts of Paul’s letter, as does the phrase “in this way.” Far from being flippant, or dismissive, Paul is re-orienting these Jesus-followers, reminding them that they are not at the mercy of the world around them.

He instructs them first, “Stand firm in the Lord.” Having heard the stories of who God is, and witnessed God’s activity in the world, we are called to remember who we know God to be, and who we are as God’s people.

Paul recognizes that Gospel work, following Christ and pointing to God’s love for the world, is challenging work, but importantly it is not work we do alone. God provides us with companions and co-workers.

And then Paul continues with encouragement, urging the Philippians to rejoice.

He doesn’t say, “Rejoice in the suffering of others.” He doesn’t say, “Rejoice because of your victory.”

He says, “Rejoice in the Lord.” Rejoice because we share in God’s grace (1:7); rejoice because Christ Jesus has made us his own (3:12); rejoice because our citizenship is in heaven (3:20).

We rejoice because God is God and we are not. We are not rejoicing to express an emotional high or to ignore the suffering we witness, but to proclaim our faith, deeply rooted and grounded in knowing Jesus as Lord and Savior.

When Paul continues, his emphasis is on gentleness, prayer and thanksgiving. This isn’t aspirational language. These are the characteristics of disciples, living out of who we are as followers of Jesus and standing firm in the Lord.

A popular prayer or call and response we used to say before Wednesday night meals in my home congregation was, “God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.” I admit that I have wondered sometimes about those words. There are definitely days when it doesn’t feel true. I don’t feel like rejoicing. But at the ground of my being, I know God is good.  God, the Creator, Life-giver and Sustainer is good. It doesn’t mean I have to like everything I see happening, or even understand it, but I have confidence in the God whom I know through the person of Jesus, and I can offer thanksgiving and prayer.

Paul concludes by urging the people in Philippi to “think about these things”, referring to the things that reflect the good in the world. Like a modern gratitude practice where you name something everyday and give thanks, Paul encourages us to pay attention to the world around us and notice where God is showing up, confident in God’s presence with us in all circumstances.

Paul isn’t urging us to sentimentality; instead he is urging us, as one colleague wrote, to “live into the belief that God can and will bridge the gap between the world we long for and the world we see before our eyes.”[ii]

That’s not so difficult after all.

Amen.

[i] Enter the Bible. Luther Seminary. https://www.enterthebible.org/newtestament.aspx?rid=9, accessed 10/9/2020

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Sunday’s Coming.” The Christian Century.

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 27A

Matthew 21:33-46

The parable we just heard is set in a vineyard that the landowner prepared for planting, put a fence around and built a watchtower over.

Often it’s risky to turn parables into allegories, associating each character in the parable to something, or someone, in the world where we live. But there’s widespread agreement that this parable is an allegory. Matthew has taken the text from Mark and told this story in a way that would speak to his community, a community of Jesus followers living after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in 70 AD.

In Christianity, this text has been misused dangerously and inaccurately to suggest a supersessionist view where God replaces a disobedient Israel with faithful Gentiles. But Matthew’s community were Jewish Christians, not Gentiles, so that doesn’t make sense; it also assumes that the Gentile church has been more faithful than the Jews and, sadly, history refutes that claim.[i]

Listening to this parable, Matthew’s audience would have immediately recognized that the vineyard represents Israel.

We didn’t hear it but today’s Old Testament reading is the “Song of the Unfruitful Vineyard” from Isaiah 5, a poem and allegory that “expresses the divine pain at the people’s failure to live out the relationship with their God.”[ii] “God richly blessed and tended God's "vineyard," the chosen people, giving them everything they needed to thrive. But instead of grapes, God got wild grapes, so the vineyard must be radically pruned.”[iii]

In Matthew’s parable, the landowner is God and the two groups of servants reflect the “typical Jewish groupings of the Scriptures into the “former” prophets [which are Joshua through Kings] and the “latter” prophets [which are Isaiah through Malachi].”[iv]

Of course, the son, and heir, is Jesus himself, who was sent by God to God’s people, and then arrested and executed.

And the tenants, well, the tenants, are the people of God, the ones entrusted to care for God’s kingdom; and in the parable, the tenants are the Pharisees, the chief priests and elders. They ignore the landowner’s authority over them in favor of their own plans, and instead of responding with gratitude for the plentiful harvest, or recognizing the abundance they’ve been given, instead of returning to God a portion of what God had provided them, the tenants act out of greed and self-interest. Their “attitude of selfishness that has no need for God” leads them to violence and murder.

Matthew, Luke and Mark all include a version of this parable and say that that when the chief priests and the Pharisees realized Jesus was speaking about them, they wanted to arrest him but they didn’t for fear of the crowds. (Matt. 21:45-46, Mark 12:12, Luke 20:19)

Jesus didn’t avoid conflict but called the religious leaders and the people of Israel to be accountable as God’s people. Then as now, being God’s people means that we follow God’s commands for our relationship with God and with each other. As Luther states throughout his catechism, we are first “to fear and love God so that” our actions will reflect God.

Today, when we hear this parable and understand ourselves as the tenants, we may think of our congregation as the vineyard, a bountiful place where we build a fence or hedge around us for protection, and add a watchtower to alert us to those who might cause trouble.

The parable then is a warning, because the fence and watchtower only separated the tenants farther from the rest of the world. The community became one of insiders and outsiders and the tenants felt threatened by people they didn’t know who came to the vineyard.

I recently heard Pastor Kelly Chatman from North Minneapolis describe his congregation there, and he said, one time, when some people from the neighborhood came to worship for the first time, someone complained because they saw the visitors eating potato chips in the back of the sanctuary. Even Pastor Kelly said he started to say something, to gently correct them, but he caught himself because he recognized what was happening in that moment: there were visitors eating potato chips in the back of the sanctuary because there were people coming to church who didn’t already know the rules, they didn’t know all the words to the prayers or the hymns, when to stand and when to sit, and they’d come anyway.

They saw something in that congregation that made them want to be a part of it. They saw Jesus there.

And, that is Good News.

If we’re serious about working for the kingdom of God, then the vineyard is “all the places where we have been called by God to produce the fruits of the kingdom.”[v] And when we use that definition, the whole world opens up. The kingdom isn’t limited to one congregation, or even one denomination or doctrine, but the whole world.

Following Jesus, we all are entrusted with God’s kingdom and that includes the ways we live out the kingdom of God in our homes and places of business, our schools and neighborhoods, our friend groups and associations, as well as our congregation.

And when we see the expansive kingdom of God, the watchtower is transformed into a lighthouse illuminating God’s love for our neighbors and guiding us to those places where we may be in service in our community and world.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for sending Your Son Jesus to us, and for your forgiveness when we do not receive him and we reject your love for us.

Help us to see all that we are and all that we have is because of your abundant grace for us.

Send us out into your kingdom, into all the places of our lives,

That the world would see Jesus.

We pray in the name of Your Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

[i] Donald Senior. Matthew. 238-244.

[ii] Charles Aaron, Jr. “Commentary on Isaiah 5:1-7.” Luther Seminary. Workingpreacher.org

[iii] Fred Gaiser. “Isaiah.” Luther Seminary. EntertheBible.org

[iv] Donald Senior. Matthew. 239.

[v] Brian Stoffregen. “Exegetical notes on Matthew 21:33-46."

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 26A

Who remembers Holy Week?

It’s not a trick question. Believe it or not, Palm Sunday, which marks the beginning of Holy Week, was April 5, just a little less than six months ago.

A little over six months ago on March 13 our congregation, and many around us, moved worship online and closed our buildings, in a faithful effort to manage the impact of the novel coronavirus on our community. None of us imagined then that we would still be managing life in a pandemic six months later, but here we are.

And while autumn’s arrival helps us mark time and distances us even farther from springtime, this year especially, it feels like Holy Week happened a very, very long time ago.

But today’s gospel is a Holy Week text. On Palm Sunday our attention turns to the triumphant procession that carries Jesus into Jerusalem, but this gospel text takes place on what we call Holy Monday, the day following Jesus’ arrival in the royal city.

As we listen to this gospel text, it’s helpful to place it in the context of the days preceding Jesus’ arrest and execution.

It isn’t surprising to hear some of the religious leaders question Jesus’ authority. These same leaders had questioned his disciples about why he ate with tax collectors and sinners (9:11) and why they didn’t fast (9:14) and why he healed on the Sabbath. They were convinced his authority came from the devil. (9:34) Matthew tells us they were angry after hearing about the Hosannas that were shouted the day before. (21:15)

So now, fueled by their resentment and fear, they confront Jesus, hoping to expose him as a charlatan, a fraud.

And instead, he reveals their own hypocrisy.

Jesus tells the leaders he will answer their question if they will answer his. Similar to Socratic questioning where the teacher probes the students’ knowledge with questions, Jesus poses his own question to search for the truth behind the question they have asked.

But instead of answering truthfully, the leaders hem and haw, arguing about which answer was best. They could answer that the baptism of John came from heaven and, consequently, admit they denied the evidence of God’s power at work in front of them. Or they could deny God’s power was at work in John and incur the wrath of the people who saw him as a prophet.

When they realized that neither answer would get the result they wanted, they chose not to answer at all, telling Jesus, “We don’t know.”

He wasn’t fooled.

They didn’t like the evidence before them, but they knew the answer.  They didn’t like what telling the truth would cost them, so they lived the lie.

When the leaders wouldn’t answer him, Jesus tells them the parable of the two sons, clearly comparing these leaders to the second son, the one who feigned obedience and told his father he would go to the vineyard and work, but never went.  Like the leaders, that son had all the right words and he was courteous and respectful, but his actions were empty.

In contrast, the first son answered truthfully, “No, I won’t go.” Jesus doesn’t tell us how the father reacted, but he does tell us that late, this son changed his mind. The Greek here is “he repented.” And after he repented, he followed his father’s instructions and did his father’s work.

Jesus compares the tax collectors and prostitutes to this son. These same sinners who had drawn the leaders’ criticism earlier in Jesus’ ministry aren’t the people who spend all day in the temple court (or the church). They don’t know the prayers, they don’t follow the rules, and they don’t show the religious leaders the reverence they expect. But they see the truth in John’s proclamation, and they believe and follow Jesus.

And Jesus says they will go into the kingdom of God before the so-called religious leaders who have failed to recognize God’s power at work first through John and then in Jesus.

Jesus’ question, “Which of [these] did the will of his father?” invites us to reflect on how we respond to God.

When have we said, “yes” but not lived out that “yes”?

When have we said we are “Christian” but forgotten to follow Christ?

When have we been unwilling to give the unpopular answer because it will be uncomfortable or inconvenient?

When have we refused to let God change us?

When have we rejected the ways God is at work because accepting God’s transformative love for all is disruptive?

I expect most of us recognize times when we have followed more closely in the footsteps of the chief priests and elders, than we have followed Jesus. Our sinful nature turns our attention to ourselves and our self-preservation and turns us away from God.

The Good News we hear today is that we can repent,
change our minds and hearts, think differently,
and go to work in the vineyard, doing our Father’s work
in God’s kingdom here on earth.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for your Son Jesus who came into this world, revealing your power and authority.

Forgive us when we become captive to fear, resentment and self-centeredness, especially when it hurts your beloved children.

Help us see how you are changing lives in our congregation and in our community and drawing people to you, and put us to work in your kingdom here on earth.

Amen.