Fourth Sunday in Lent

Luke 15:1-2, 11b-32

When I was in seminary, I was part of a cohort or group of students that began our coursework together and, in every class, our professors would invite us to introduce ourselves. It didn’t take long before we knew each other’s introductions well enough that we could introduce each other. Chris from Ames, Iowa was a painter, a retired nurse, a wife and a mother of 3 grown children; Aaron from Eau Claire, Wisconsin had been a PK – a pastor’s kid – and he was married and expecting their first child, and so on and so on. We knew each other’s stories so well that eventually we stopped listening carefully.

I would guess that many of us when we hear Jesus say, “There was a man with two sons…” do the very same thing. The parable we have in today’s Gospel is one of the most familiar stories in Scripture and, because it’s so familiar, we may stop listening carefully when it’s told.

The other thing that often happens with parables – the stories that Jesus tells to illustrate the Good News – is that we start trying to figure out who the characters are. If the father is God, then who are the sons? Is this a morality tale? 

But treating this parable as an allegory with a hidden meaning or a puzzle to be solved distracts us from hearing what Jesus is saying.

Because in Scripture –God’s story – God is always the actor – the main character – and the text is telling us something about who God is.

So, the first thing we need to do is listen attentively to the gospel, as if we haven’t heard the story before, as if it were completely new.

Luke begins by explaining that the religious experts were criticizing Jesus. Now that in itself is not new, but this time, they’re complaining because he is drawing crowds that include known troublemakers. They don’t want those people in their spaces, listening to Jesus.

And Jesus doesn’t just say “all are welcome”. He goes a step further, giving them seats at the table and eating with them.

It’s scandalous. Doesn’t he know better? After all, where are his standards?

Well, when Jesus hears them grumbling, he tells them three stories.

The first two aren’t in our gospel text this morning. First Jesus tells them about a lost sheep and the shepherd who went after him and found him and rejoices. And then he tells the story of a lost coin and the woman who searches carefully until she finds it and then she calls her neighbors to celebrate with her.

And finally he tells the story we just heard, the one of the man with two sons.

But instead of asking who does each of the characters represent, what is the moral of the story or the solution to the puzzle, the second thing I want to invite you to do is to ask a different question. This time, let’s ask, “Where do you see yourself in this story?”

Because I would guess that we are never only one of the characters in this story.

When we meet the younger son, he isn’t merely wasteful and reckless. He basically tells his father “You’re dead to me.” And leaves, taking what he can. When he realizes the hole that he’s dug for himself, he comes up with a new plan and heads back to his father. Sometimes he’s described as repentant, but a skeptic might wonder how honest he was being. It’s possible he even deceived himself, thinking, “If only I can return, I’ll do better.”

In contrast, the older son models responsibility, but with each furrow he digs, the chip on his shoulder increases and his resentment both toward the brother who left and toward his father becomes more and more entrenched.

Both sons betrayed the love of their father. The younger with careless arrogance and the older with unresolved anger and bitterness. 

Jesus doesn’t tell this story so that we’ll take sides or champion one over the other; maybe he just wants us to see how we all have a little of both sons in us. 

So back to the question we’re asking,

“Where do you see yourself in this story?”

And I’ll add,

“When have you turned your back on your identity, on who you are?”

“When have you squandered the grace and love that’s offered to you?”

And then, of course, there is a third character, the father of the two sons.

The father who doesn’t shun the son who asks for his inheritance. The one who lets him go.

Who watches for his return, yearning and waiting.

And when the father sees the son returning, he runs out to meet him, to restore him and to rejoice at his homecoming. You can picture how brightly the father’s face beamed and how his eyes shone with thankfulness at finding the one who had been lost. You can hear his joy in his words.

While at the very same time, the older son is overcome with jealousy and resentment. But the father is steadfast. He tells his older son that he has always had all that belongs to the father, and that while he felt disregarded and disappointed, the father’s love was constant even when the older son doubted it.

I asked how we may be like the two sons, but have there been times in your life when you can see yourself as the father?

The one who responds with joy and love and refrains from judgment? The one who welcomes lavishly and without restraint?

This is the God who we worship and know in the person of Jesus Christ who gives us everything that is his and takes all that is ours that we may be restored to relationship with God.

This is the God who tells the criminal beside him at the crucifixion that he will be with him in heaven.

This is the God who loves Peter even after he denies him as Messiah and Lord three times.

We worship a God who loves lavishly and without restraint and Jesus invites us to love others the same way. God invites us to the banquet and the only question left to answer is,

if there’s a party being thrown, will you go to it? 

Because God is watching, yearning and waiting, for you to return and join in.

 

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for your Son Jesus,

for redeeming us and giving us new life.

Thank you for your lavish love and mercy, for your abundant grace, especially when we turn away from you or turn in on ourselves in sin.

May we always remember you are watching for us, yearning for us to return to you.

With the help of your Spirit, teach us love others as we are loved, rejoicing with you and making space at the table for all.

We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Second Sunday in Lent

 Luke 13:31-35

There’s a children’s fable by Aesop that tells the story of a fox who came upon a tree and saw a rooster in its branches.[i] Hoping for lunch, the fox who was cunning and sly approached the rooster with jubilation and said, “Oh, Mr. Rooster, Have you heard the wonderful news? Your family and mine and all of the other animals have agreed to forget our differences and live in peace together. Won’t you come down and celebrate with me?” The rooster answered, “I am truly delighted with this news” and he stretched and appeared to be on his tiptoes looking at something on the horizon. When the fox saw his gaze, he asked, “What is it that you see?” and the rooster told him, “I think I see a few dogs coming this way; they must have heard the good news too,…” but before he could finish his sentence, the fox had begun to run away. The rooster called after him, “Wait, where are you going? Why are you running? The dogs are friends of yours now too.” And the fox replied, “Yes, but they may not have heard the news yet, and besides I have an important errand I had almost forgotten.” And the rooster remained in his perch, satisfied he had outwitted his cunning enemy.

When Jesus calls Herod a fox, this was the image that came to mind for me. Hungry and manipulative. Sly and untrustworthy. Destructive and self-serving.

The Herod who’s named in our gospel today is Herod Antipas who was the son of Herod the Great whom we remember from Jesus’ birth narrative. This is the King Herod who murdered Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist, and reportedly now, he is seeking Jesus and desires to kill him too.

Since the transfiguration, Jesus has been moving away from Herod’s kingdom which included Galilee toward Jerusalem, but, in Luke’s gospel especially, that journey takes a long time – ten chapters of the gospel. In today’s text, we hear some Pharisees come to him and urge him to move even more quickly, to “get away from here.”

But Jesus digs in. He tells them what he’s there to do - to cast out demons and to perform cures – and he refuses to be rushed or run away. Just as he was with the devil in the wilderness, Jesus is clear in his identity as the Son of God and in his obedience to the Lord our God and no one else.

Another image I could not avoid as I read this text and prepared to preach this morning was that of the suffering in Ukraine. War is complex, and I don’t pretend to understand the dynamics of the world, military and economic factors in play. But I do see the similarities between the people who came to Jesus searching for deliverance and healing, for liberation and restoration, and the now more than two million people who have fled Ukraine and are seeking shelter as refugees.

I am grateful that last Sunday here at Grace we raised more than seventeen hundred dollars for Lutheran Disaster Response who is working with Lutheran World Federation member churches in eastern Europe to distribute hygiene supplies, food, medicine, bedding and psychosocial and pastoral care to refugees and internally displaced people, most of whom are women and children.

I believe our response to suffering must be rooted in our identity as God’s people, and our obedience to God must mirror the same strength and determination that Jesus demonstrated in our gospel today.

The third image for today comes from what Jesus says next as he laments over Jerusalem. Jesus cries out as he describes the ways that God’s people have been disobedient and the violence they have perpetrated, stoning and killing God’s messengers and prophets.

And as he names his grief, Jesus describes himself as a mother hen.

Now we could joke about mother hens who becomes obsessive about details of other people’s lives, nagging or fussing and interfering. But the image of a mother hen that Jesus is using here is one of a mothering God who wants to stretch out her wings and gather the fledglings, the newest and most vulnerable creations, within the safety or refuge, and protection of her reach. (Ruth 2:12)

Lutheran pastor Delmer Chilton tells a story of being with his grandmother who got fresh eggs from a neighbor.

One day they walked down the road to the neighbor’s house where the eggs were kept cool in a springhouse. And as they were coming out of the spring house, they heard a ruckus in the chicken yard. Chilton says there was “a sudden raising of dust, flurry of feathers and scattering of hens and chickens, much screeching and squawking; and then, just as suddenly, things calmed down and an old gray hen emerged from the bushes with a large black snake in her mouth.” [ii]

That mother hen wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her chicks or eggs.

This is the image for God that Jesus offers us today. Instead of a king who manipulates us and threatens us into obedience or one whose rule is iron-fisted, we are created and beloved by a mothering God whose love is sacrificial and boundless. God yearns to gather us in, to embrace us and to welcome us all into God’s safe keeping.

With his lament, Jesus leaves space for God’s people to respond to God’s promise of life. It’s not too late to choose God and choose life. It’s never too late. Because God acts first for us and offers us mercy and grace that is new every morning. When we reach Holy Week, Jesus will die in Jerusalem, at the hands of God’s own people, and he will be raised and resurrected to show that the forces of sin, death and the devil that defy God and rebel against God do not triumph.

Regardless of what we have done and the ways we have turned away from God and God’s word in the past, God yearns for us to find our home with God. In faith, we are freed for the sake of the world, and our obedience to God flows from our salvation.[iii] Our obedience then is our response to God’s good and generous grace that has been poured out upon us.

The late pastor and author Eugene Peterson described obedience as “the strength to stand and the willingness to leap.”[iv]  As we go out into the world this week, as we continue to pray for peace in Ukraine and for the safety of the refugees may we share God’s mothering love with all whom we meet, and respond to the suffering we witness with courage, strength and willingness.

Amen.

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[i] Library of Congress. Aesop’s Fables for Children. https://read.gov/aesop/018.html, accessed 3/10/2022.

[ii] Chilton, Delmer. The Gospel According to Aunt Mildred: Stories of Family and Faith (p. 26). Brasstown Publishing. Kindle Edition. 

[iii] Luther, Freedom of a Christian, 405.

[iv] Paraphrased from Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience, p. 164-165

Ash Wednesday

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

I remember the first time I was invited to impose ashes during an Ash Wednesday service. A mother brought her infant forward and seeing the baby, I froze. I knew the words I was supposed to repeat:

“Remember, you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

I marked a cross on the mother’s forehead and said the words to her, but I was not prepared to place an ashen cross on that tiny forehead and say those words to one who had been born just weeks before.

But that mama knew what she was doing when she brought her child to the altar rail to receive ashes. She knew how precious and dear, and sometimes how fleeting, life is.

The ashes remind us both of what we already know and of what we sometimes forget – that in Christ, death does not get the last word. I haven’t hesitated since.

Ash Wednesday invites us to speak honestly about sin and death. We join in confession for our sin, and on behalf of those who are not here with us tonight, acknowledging our complicity in the brokenness of the world where we live.

A world that cannot live in peace;

A world that cannot see that every person is beloved and created in God’s image;

A world that cannot be vulnerable and authentic in its compassion and prayer for the stranger.

Our confession is our response to God’s Word and promises for us. As disciples of Jesus, we confess “with confidence that the judgment has been, is and will be lifted from us by the grace of God in Jesus Christ.” (The Rev. Fleming Rutledge)

And in its honesty, our confession becomes the turning point of our lives where we commit to actively “turn around” — to turn away from ourselves and return to God with all our heart.

Just as Pastor Mark said on Sunday that after the Transfiguration, Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem, in Lent, we turn our faces toward God, coming up from the ashes to learn to live as disciples of Jesus in new ways and to commit to the deeper work that leads to transformation.

Here at Grace, our midweek learning and worship will focus on deepening our practices of prayer, both communally and individually.

Often prayer is described as talking to God, but prayer practices also invite us to rest from all the other things we could be doing so that we can draw close to God and renew our strength. Spoken prayers let us name the concerns of our hearts, but because the best conversations aren’t one-sided, prayer also asks us to wait on the Lord to speak. Amid the noise and wordiness of our lives, silence invites us to listen for God.

One week we’ll explore a prayer labyrinth, where prayer is combined with movement, and another week we’ll experience different kinds of healing prayers. Other weeks we’ll practice morning and evening prayer as well as prayers around the cross and centering prayer.

Throughout the season, Jesus’ words in Matthew’s gospel will remain with us. There Jesus tells the disciples to “beware” or “pay attention” to where their hearts are in all they do, whether it’s giving or praying or fasting. Jesus urges us, in whatever we do, to act with honesty and authenticity. It’s too easy for our motives to get mixed up, for our hearts to harden, or for us to curve in on ourselves in sin. In a world that so often is transactional, rewarding merit and achievement, we are called to remember that discipleship isn’t about what we get or whom we impress but who we are, in relationship with God through Christ: forgiven and reconciled.

On Ash Wednesday, and throughout the Lenten season, we are invited to focus on how God’s grace-filled and loving response to us defines who we are and how we practice our faith day by day.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

We give thanks for your abundant grace and mercy and for your steadfast love.

Thank you for forgiving our sin and for inviting us to return to you again and again.

Reconcile us to you and to one another as we practice our faith and deepen our relationship with you.

We pray in the name of your Son Jesus Christ.

Amen.