Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 13:10-17

Whenever we get a story of a woman in Scripture, I get curious. There just aren’t that many. We know that women in the first century and certainly in the centuries before that were not powerful. Their stories don’t often get told. Even more rarely are their names shared. A woman’s value was defined by her childbearing ability or by the wealth of her husband, and while she may have been cherished as a treasured possession, she was not generally seen as a whole and beloved person in her own right.

It has taken millennia to improve the situation of women in society, and sadly, there are still places and circumstances where women find themselves dismissed, ignored or even erased.

So, whenever we get a story of a woman in Scripture, I get curious.

This week Luke tells us the story of a woman who appeared while Jesus was teaching. We never learn her name, but we know that she was crippled by a spirit and she had not been able to stand up straight for eighteen years.  And yet, she shows up at the synagogue.

And as little as we know about this woman, we know that when Jesus sees her, he immediately heals her. There are no questions or qualifying events; there are no bargains struck or hoops to jump through.

There is healing, and it is unconditional mercy, a free gift.

Luke tells us that the woman begins praising God and the crowd around Jesus rejoices at all he is doing.

But apparently, everyone isn’t joyful. Luke says the religious leader is indignant. Outraged. Annoyed. Vexed. As a colleague noted, there’s no way to make this word positive. The argument the synagogue leader makes is that Jesus has broken the sabbath, but his complaint isn’t really about the sabbath.

It’s about Jesus.

Jesus who is going to break tradition and cross boundaries in order to heal this woman. Jesus who is not going to defer justice. Jesus who is not going to wait until it is convenient to do what is right. And Jesus who is not going to worry about who he makes uncomfortable while he carries out God’s kingdom work.

When he encounters the woman, Jesus sees what no one else could; he sees how the glorious breaking in of God’s kingdom is going to bring grace, healing and freedom to someone who is hurting, 
and he resolves that he is not going to stand in its way.

It makes me wonder how do we respond when we see God’s kingdom breaking in? With praise and rejoicing? With indignation? Who are we in this Jesus story?

I want to believe that I would rejoice too. I want to believe that I would not have thought of this stranger as a disruption. I want to believe that I would have welcomed her unusual appearance and been sympathetic to her plight.

And yet, I know I might have been uncomfortable, and I might have had to swallow my impulse to insist on maintaining good order.

I might have had to remember to get out of God’s way. 

This week I have been reflecting on a prayer attributed to Julian of Norwich. 

If you aren’t familiar with her, Julian was an anchoress, or a religious recluse, who lived in the fourteenth century in England. Her writings are some of “the earliest surviving English-language works attributed to a woman.”[i] And while, ironically, Reformation leaders disparaged her and refused to publish her, today she is considered a significant Christian mystic and theologian.

Her prayer is one of the most well-known excerpts and it ends with these words:

Teach us to believe that by your grace all shall be well, and all shall be well, And all manner of things shall be well. Amen.

As a girl, Julian lived through the Black Plague, and in her thirties, she survived serious illness. Later, she lived through the Peasants’ Revolt.

Julian had plenty of reasons to fear the world and yet, she trusted that God’s grace would make all manner of things well.

I am struck by Julian’s prayer in part because it is not by her efforts or merits that all things shall be well. She credits God for that fully.  

And yet, she continues to write. She counsels visitors at Norwich. She responds to the world around with her in faith and with compassion.

Having found her place in God’s world, Julian trusted that God’s vision for the world would be more complete, more full and more whole than what she could imagine or see in the present time.

She didn’t disregard the suffering she witnessed, or diminish the loss and grief of others, but she was confident in her belief that God would reign and that the powers and principalities that were delivering death and pain would be conquered.

That God would see.

And all manner of things shall be well.

Amen.

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[i] Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julian_of_Norwich, accessed 8/23/2025

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

I first preached this sermon in Spanish; the English translation is below.

Lucas 10:25-37

Oremos… Que las palabras de mi boca y las meditaciones de nuestros corazónes sean gratas ante ti, oh Señor, nuestra fortaleza y nuestro redentor. Amén.

Jesús a menudo enseña contando historias que llamamos parábolas, y en el evangelio de hoy, Lucas incluye una parábola que Jesús comparte cuando un maestro de la ley le pregunta: "¿Qué debo hacer para heredar la vida eterna?" (10:25). Jesús responde con su propia pregunta y luego el maestro, experto en la Torá, responde, y luego hace una pregunta adicional.

Esta parábola, a menudo llamada la parábola del Buen Samaritano, solo se incluye en el evangelio de Lucas, un texto conocido por mostrar cómo seguir a Jesús implica cruzar fronteras.

Sabemos que los discípulos no siempre entendieron las parábolas, y al leer esta parábola, me pregunto qué nos está diciendo Jesús.

El pastor Brian Stoffregen señala que si Jesús solo intentaba enseñar a sus discípulos a ser misericordiosos con una persona necesitada, no habría razón para identificar a los personajes como sacerdote, un levita y un samaritano.

Él explica la animosidad entre Judea y Samaria, escribiendo:

Durante una antigua guerra israelíta, la mayoría de los judíos que vivían en el norte de Samaria fueron asesinados o llevados al exilio. Sin embargo, algunos judíos, tan insignificantes que nadie los quería, fueron dejados en Samaria.

El describe cómo los matrimonios mixtos y la mezcla de creencias y culturas religiosas crearon una división entre los judíos del norte y del sur, y cómo los samaritanos entendían la Torá de manera diferente y adoraban a Dios en el Monte Gerizim, no en Jerusalén.

Stoffregen argumenta que, si Jesús estuviera criticando a los poderosos líderes religiosos, el tercer personaje habría sido un laico común, un “judío regular”.

Y, si la lección hubiera sido amar a nuestros enemigos, entonces el hombre tirado en el camino habría sido el samaritano, cuidado por un bondadoso israelita.

¿Qué opinas tu?

Al escuchar esta parábola, ¿te ves reflejado en la historia?

Al leer esta parábola, recuerdo que lo que nos salva y nos da vida eterna siempre es la acción de Dios por nosotros. Nunca es nuestro propio esfuerzo, méritos ni buenas obras.

Por muy tentador que sea vernos en el papel del bueno u obediente, y asumir que seríamos heroicos y bondadosos, creo que podríamos vernos más verdaderamente en aquel que fue dado por muerto en el camino a Jericó.

El que fue golpeado, asaltado y abandonado.

El que, inerte en el camino, impulsó al levita y luego al sacerdote a cruzar al otro lado para evitarlo. 

La mayoría de nosotros hemos vivido momentos en nuestras vidas y en nuestras historias en los que hemos recibido golpes devastadores, hemos sido abatidos por enemigos o atormentados por el dolor o la enfermedad. Momentos en los que nos hemos sentido invisibles o ignorados por las personas que razonablemente esperaríamos que nos cuidaran. Y podemos identificarnos con el aislamiento y la desesperación de este hombre.

Solo el samaritano se acercó lo suficiente para verlo, para notar si estaba consciente, llorando o gritando, para atender sus heridas, para cuidarlo con compasión y para llevarlo a un lugar seguro.

Solo el samaritano dio de su propia bolsa o bolsillo el dinero necesario para que el posadero cuidara al hombre herido hasta que pudiera regresar.

La enemistad entre enemigos y el orgullo y el desprecio de los israelitas por los samaritanos hacen de esta una historia improbable. Era inimaginable que un israelita aceptara el cuidado de un samaritano. Su división era demasiado profunda y amarga.

Pero la gracia de Dios es imparable.

No conoce nacionalidad ni credo. No se somete a las fronteras humanas.

Como escribe Pablo en Gálatas:

²⁶ …en Cristo Jesús todos son hijos de Dios por la fe. ²⁷ Todos los que han sido bautizados en Cristo, se han revestido de Cristo. ²⁸ Ya no hay judío ni griego; ya no hay esclavo ni libre; ya no hay varón ni mujer, porque todos son uno en Cristo Jesús.

La gracia de Dios va más allá de nuestro entendimiento.

Y, sin embargo, es evidente en el mundo en el que vivió Jesús y en nuestro mundo actual. En las maneras en que la compasión habla más fuerte que el odio o el prejuicio. Y en las maneras en que lo que nos une como un solo Cuerpo de Cristo es más grande que lo que nos separa.

Como en aquel camino a Jericó hace siglos, somos nosotros los que clamamos necesitados de la misericordia, el perdón, el cuidado y el amor de Dios.

Y nadie más que Dios nos dará el bálsamo sanador que nos restaura ala plenitud de vida que Dios nos promete como sus hijos amados. 

Amén.

Luke 10:25-37

Jesus often teaches by telling stories that we call parables, and in today’s gospel, Luke includes a parable that Jesus shares when a teacher of the law asks him, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (10:25) Jesus answers with his own question and then the teacher, an expert in the Torah, answers, and then asks a follow-up question.

This parable - often called the parable of the Good Samaritan - is only included in Luke’s gospel, a text known for the ways that it shows how following Jesus means crossing boundaries.

We know the disciples didn’t always understand the parables, and reading this parable, I wonder what Jesus is saying to us.

Pastor Brian Stoffregen notices that if Jesus were only trying to teach his disciples to be merciful to a person in need, there’d be no reason to label the characters as a priest, a Levite and a Samaritan.

He explains the animosity between Judea and Samaria, writing:

During an ancient Israeli war, most of the Jews living up north in Samaria were killed or taken into exile. However, a few Jews, who were so unimportant that nobody wanted them, were left in Samaria.

He describes how the intermarriage and mixing of religious beliefs and cultures created a schism between the northern and southern Jews, and how the Samaritans understood Torah differently and worshiped God at Mt. Gerizim, not Jerusalem.

Stoffregen argues that if Jesus were disparaging the powerful religious leaders, the third character would have been an ordinary lay person, a ‘regular’ Jew.

And, if the lesson was to love our enemies, then the man in the ditch would have been the Samaritan, cared for by a kind Israelite.

What do you think?

When you listen to this parable, do you see yourself in the story?

Reading this parable, I remember that what saves us and gives us eternal life is always God’s action for us. It is never our own effort, merits or good works.

As tempting as it is to see ourselves in the role of the one who is good, or obedient, and to assume we would be heroic and kind,

I think we might see ourselves more truly in the one who is left for dead on the road to Jericho.

The one who was beaten and robbed and abandoned.

The one whose limp form on the road prompted the Levite and then the priest to cross to the other side in order to avoid him.

Most of us have experienced times in our lives and our stories when we have been punched in the gut, run down by enemies, or tormented by grief or illness. Times when we have felt invisible or ignored by the people we could reasonably expect would care for us. And we can relate to this man’s isolation and despair.

Only the Samaritan came close enough to see him, to notice whether he was conscious, weeping or crying out,

to tend to his injuries,

to care for him with compassion

and to carry him to safety.

Only the Samaritan gave from his own purse or pocket the money for the innkeeper to watch over the injured man until he could return.

The animosity between enemies, and the pride and disdain of Israelites for Samaritans make it an unlikely story. It was unimaginable that an Israelite would accept the care of a Samaritan. Their division was too deep and bitter.

But God’s grace is unstoppable. It doesn’t know nationality or creed. It doesn’t adhere to human boundaries.

As Paul writes in Galatians,

²⁶ …in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. ²⁷ As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. ²⁸ There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

God’s grace is beyond our understanding.

And yet, it is evident in the world Jesus lived in, and in our world today. In the ways that compassion speaks louder than hatred or prejudice. And in the ways that what connects us in one Body of Christ is greater than what separates us.

As on that road to Jericho all those centuries ago, we are the ones crying out in need of God’s mercy and forgiveness, care and love. And no one but God will provide us with the healing balm that restores us to the fullness of life that God promises to us as God’s beloved children.

Amen.

Lent 4C

Lucas 15:1-3, 11b-32

I first preached this sermon in Spanish; the English translation is below.

Oremos… Que las palabras de mi boca y las meditaciones de nuestros corazones sean gratas a tu vista, Señor, fortaleza y redentor nuestro. Amén. 

Hace unos años, un amigo le presentó a su hija menor la película de 1987 “La princesa prometida”. No recuerdo cuándo vi la película por primera vez, pero una de las frases memorables la dice el personaje de Inigo Montoya después de que Vizzini exclamó “¡Inconcebible!” demasiadas veces. Montoya le dice al otro hombre: “Sigues diciendo esa palabra. Creo que no significa lo que tu piensas que significa”.

Siempre recuerdo esa cita cuando leo el Evangelio de hoy, porque muchas traducciones de la Biblia llaman a este pasaje “El hijo pródigo”. Pero confieso que “pródigo” no significa lo que yo creía. No recuerdo la primera vez que escuché esta historia, pero sé que siempre escuché el énfasis puesto en el regreso del hijo descarriado y la forma en que el “regresa a si mismo.”.

o recupera la cordura y luego practica su disculpa mientras regresa a la casa de su padre. El problema cuando leemos esta historia de esa manera, como escribió Tom Long, profesor de la Escuela de Teología Candler: «El hijo pródigo se convierte en el "jugador de regreso del año". ⁱ

Pero no se le llama hijo pródigo porque regresa.

“Pródigo” significa “desperdiciador, extravagante, imprudente o excesivo”. Los editores que decidieron el título de las diferentes historias bíblicas lo llaman hijo pródigo porque desperdicia su herencia.

Creo que el verdadero pródigo en esta historia es el padre. Después de todo, él es quien, desafiando todas las normas culturales, le da al hijo menor su parte de la herencia cuando este se la pide. Él es quien no duda en darle la bienvenida a su hijo cuando regresa.

De hecho, el padre no solo se reconcilia con él, sino que es él quien les dice a los sirvientes que maten al becerro gordo, animando a toda la casa a celebrar su regreso. Amade manera excesiva. El padre otorga la misma gracia que recibimos de Dios, totalmente inmerecida o no ganada, dada con alegría y sin reservas.

Y no solo al hijo menor. Cuando el hermano mayor confronta a su padre, este le dice: “Hijo, siempre estás conmigo, y todo lo mío es tuyo” (v. 31). Siendo un seguidor de las reglas que demostró lealtad y responsabilidad, el hijo mayor no ha experimentado ninguna alegría al mantener una relación con su padre. Solo ha acumulado resentimiento que estalla al presenciar el amor del padre por el hijo menor. Escuchamos cómo su resentimiento ha distorsionado su visión del mundo cuando se queja con el padre de “este hijo tuyo”. Aunque ambos son hermanos, el resentimiento ha erosionado su vínculo común.

El maestro franciscano Padre Richard Rohr escribe en Respirando Bajo el Agua:

“La muerte de cualquier relación con alguien es tener un sentido de derecho. Cualquier ideade “me lo merezco”, “me lo deben”, “tengo derecho a” o “soy superior a ti” minimiza por completo cualquier noción de fe, esperanza o amor…”.

Es lo que Rohr llama una actitud “destructiva del alma”.ⁱⁱ

El padre le ruega a su hijo mayor que se una a la fiesta que se está celebrando para “este hermano tuyo”, pero Lucas nunca nos dice cómo termina la historia. ¿Se restablece la familia? ¿O continúa el hijo mayor con un comportamiento destructor del alma? ¿Y cómo responde el hijo menor a la gracia que ha recibido?

Esas preguntas quedan a la sagrada imaginación. 

Nuestra manera de escuchar  la historia bíblica siempre se ve afectada por nuestras propias experiencias de vida, por lo que el final que imaginamos  podría estar influenciado por si éramos hermanos menores o mayores, nuestras relaciones con padres y figuras paternas, y nuestras propias experiencias de perdón. 

La buena noticia de este evangelio es que, in importar de dónde nos ubiquemos en la historia, cada uno de nosotros es amado de forma extravagante sin condición por Dios, incluso cuando sentimos que tenemos derecho a nuestro lugar en la familia de Dios; incluso cuando desperdiciamos la generosidad de Dios; incluso cuando abandonamos a Dios en los buenos momentos, solo para regresar cuando estamos desesperados y necesitamos ayuda.

Cada uno de nosotros es amado de forma extravagante y sin condición por Dios, incluso cuando hacemos y decimos todo lo correcto, pero mantenemos nuestros corazones cerrados a la alegría y a los demás frutos del Espíritu de Dios en nuestras vidas; incluso cuando permitimos que el resentimiento y el mal endurezcan nuestros corazones hacia nuestros hermanos y hermanas en Cristo; incluso cuando nos frustramos o nos sentimos insultados por la insensatez de la gracia prodiga de Dios.

Todos somos amados, y Dios esta esperando para darnos la bienvenida en casa como hijos de Dios. En unos minutos com-partiremos la paz de Cristo donde, como el padre abrazando a su hijo, nos reconciliamos con Dios y entre nosotros, y luego, en esta Mesa, en la Santa Comunión, celebraremos un anticipo de la fiesta venidera, disfrutando de la promesa del perdón de Dios por nuestros pecados y de las maneras en que su misericordia se renueva cada día.

Oremos… Dios misericordioso, te damos gracias por el amor redentor que nos das a través de tu hijo Jesús; perdonados y alimentados, envíanos al mundo a compartir tu gracia reconciliadora, para que todos conozcan tu amor. Amén.

[1] Tom Long. “Surprise Party” in Living by the Word, The Christian Century, 2001.

[1] Richard Rohr. Breathing Under Water. 61-62.

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

A few years ago, a friend introduced his youngest daughter to the 1987 movie “The Princess Bride.” I don’t remember when I first saw the film, but one of the memorable lines is delivered by the character Inigo Montoya after Vizzini exclaims, “Inconceivable” one too many times. Montoya tells the other man, “You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

I always remember that quote when I read today’s gospel, because many Bible translations name this passage “The Prodigal Son.” But I confess, “prodigal” doesn’t mean what I thought it meant. I don’t remember the first time I heard this story, but I know I always heard the emphasis placed on the return of the wayward son and the way that he “comes to himself” or returns to his senses and then practices his apology as he makes his way back to his father’s house. The problem when we read this story that way, as Candler Divinity School professor Tom Long wrote, “The prodigal son becomes the “comeback player of the year.”[i]

But he isn’t called the prodigal son because he comes back.

“Prodigal” means “wasteful, extravagant, reckless, or excessive.” The editors who decided what to title the different bible stories call him the prodigal son because he wastes his inheritance.

I believe the true prodigal in this story is the father. After all he is the one who, in defiance of all cultural norms, gives the younger son his share of the inheritance when he asks for it. He is the one who doesn’t hesitate to welcome the son back when he returns. In fact, not only does the father reconcile with him but he is the one who tells the servants to kill the fatted calf, encouraging the whole household to celebrate his return. He loves excessively. The father delivers the same grace we receive from God, wholly unmerited or unearned, given joyfully and without reservation.

And not only to the younger son. When the older brother confronts his father, the father says, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” (v. 31) A rule follower who demonstrated loyalty and responsibility, the older son hasn’t experienced any joy from remaining in a relationship with his father. He has accumulated only resentment that boils over when he witnesses the father’s love for the younger son. We hear how his resentment has warped his view of the world when he complains to the father about “this son of yours.” Although the two are brothers their common bond has been eaten away by resentment.

Franciscan teacher Father Richard Rohr writes in Breathing Under Water,

“The death of any relationship with anyone is to have a sense of entitlement. Any notion that “I deserve,” “I am owed,” “I have a right to,” or “I am higher than you” absolutely undermines any notion of faith, hope or love…”

It is what Rohr calls a “soul-destructive” attitude.[ii]

The father pleads with the older son to join the party being thrown for “this brother of yours” but Luke never tells us how the story ends. Is the family restored? Or does the older son continue to engage in soul-destructive behavior? And how does the younger son respond to the grace he has received?

Those questions are left to holy imagination. Our hearing of the biblical story always is affected by our own life experiences, so the ending we might picture could be influenced by whether we were younger siblings or older, our relationships with fathers and father-figures, and our own experiences of forgiveness.

The good news of this gospel is that, regardless of where we locate ourselves in the story,

each one of us is loved extravagantly and recklessly by God —

even when we feel entitled to our place in God’s family;

even when we squander God’s generosity;

even when we abandon God in good times, only to return when we are desperate and need help.

Each one of us is loved extravagantly and recklessly by God — even when we do and say all the right things but keep our hearts closed to joy and the other fruits of God’s Spirit in our lives;

even when we let resentment and evil harden our hearts to our brothers and sisters in Christ;

even when we get frustrated or insulted at the foolishness of our prodigal God’s grace.

We are all loved, and God is waiting to welcome us home as God’s children. In a few minutes we’ll share the peace of Christ where, like the father embracing his son, we are reconciled to God and with one another, and then, at this Table, in Holy Communion, we will celebrate a foretaste of the feast to come, enjoying the promise of God’s forgiveness for our sin and the ways God’s mercy is new every day.

Let us pray…

Merciful God,

We give you thanks for the redemptive love that you give us through your son Jesus;

Forgiven and fed send us out in the world to share your reconciling grace, that everyone would know your love.

Amen.

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[i] Tom Long. “Surprise Party” in Living by the Word, The Christian Century, 2001.

[ii] Richard Rohr. Breathing Under Water. 61-62.

Epiphany 4B (El cuarto domingo después de Epifanía)

Marcos 1:21-28

I preached this sermon in the Spanish service; the English translation is below. 

Oremos…

Que las palabras de mi boca y las meditaciones de nuestro corazón sean aceptables ante tus ojos, oh Señor, fortaleza nuestra y redentor nuestro. Amén.

Me da gusto estar de regreso en la adoración con todos ustedes. Ha pasado un mes desde Navidad, pero debido a mi ausencia, me he perdido mucho de esta temporada de Epifania. Mientras me preparaba para la adoración de esta semana, me ayudó recordar que esta es una temporada de revelación, que nos muestra quién es Jesús.

Comenzamos con el bautismo de Jesús por su primo Juan cuando escuchamos por primera vez la voz del cielo proclamar: “Tú eres mi Hijo amado; En ti tengo complacencia”(Marcos 1:11)

Luego fuimos testigos de cómo Jesús llamó a los primeros discípulos y les mostró cómo usar sus dones para el Reino de Dios.

Pescar con red para la cena era importante, pero Jesús también les mostró dónde encontrar alimento espiritual.

Y hoy Marcos nos cuenta cómo enseñaba Jesús. Nunca supimos qué dijo, si estaba enseñando sobre el Torá o sobre los profetas o algo más. Pero lo que sí escuchamos es que enseñaba “como quien tiene autoridad” y que su forma de enseñar lo diferenciaba. Era “diferente de los escribas” que eran expertos en la ley. Si bien pudo haber sido su estilo de enseñanza, creo que la diferencia fue más sustancial que eso. La palabra autoridad también puede traducirse como poder. Otros lo han interpretado en el sentido de que Jesús era auténtico o enseñaba desde el corazón.

Cuando el hombre con un espíritu inmundo se encuentra con Jesús, grita:

“¿Qué tienes que ver con nosotros, Jesús de Nazaret? ¿Has venido a destruirnos? Sé quién eres, el Santo de Dios”. (Marcos 1:24-25)
En respuesta, Jesús reprende al espíritu y le ordena que calle y salga del hombre, y, con mucho revuelo, lo hace. Y la gente nuevamente queda asombrada y comenta la autoridad con la que Jesús enseña y actúa.

Lo primero que noto es que este hombre con el espíritu inmundo está en la sinagoga. A veces Jesús sana a personas marginadas de la sociedad o a quienes viven en las zonas fronterizas. Forasteros. Pero este hombre estaba en la sinagoga. No podemos saber qué era el espíritu inmundo; lo que sabemos es que estaba causando sufrimiento. Tal vez podría enmascarar su comportamiento para que nadie viera nada inusual. Tal vez había estado afligido durante tanto tiempo que nadie notó nada diferente.

Lo segundo que noto es que si bien las personas que escuchaban a Jesús podían ver que Jesús enseñaba con autoridad y que era diferente, no son ellos los que se arrodillan ante la presencia de Jesús.

El que identifica a Jesús como “el Santo de Dios” es el espíritu inmundo. Es el que está causando confusión o infligiendo dolor el que sabe que Jesús no permitirá que las cosas continúen como hasta ahora. En Jesús, todas las cosas están bajo la autoridad de Dios y los poderes y principados que desafían a Dios son derrotados.

Al reflexionar sobre este texto, Karoline Lewis, una de mis profesoras de predicación en el seminario, nos pide que nos preguntemos:

“¿Dónde está Dios en todo lo que me posee?”

El diablo, el pecado y esas fuerzas que desafían a Dios son los que me separan de Dios.

Son las cosas que se apoderan de mis pensamientos y acciones y me alejan de Dios, que me llevan a vivir de maneras que no son santas ni amables.

Cuando me encuentro “en los lugares y espacios donde parece que Dios nunca podría estar”, Marcos nos dice que ni siquiera esos lugares son rivales para Dios y el amor que nos muestra en Jesús. En Jesús, todas las cosas están bajo la autoridad de Dios y los poderes y principados que desafían a Dios son derrotados.

Sé que es difícil de creer. Recibo un correo electrónico semanal llamado “Noticias mundiales esta semana en oración” y nos incita a orar por muchos lugares diferentes en el mundo donde hay guerras, enfermedades u otros tipos de sufrimiento. Puede resultar abrumador darnos cuenta de lo destrozado que está el mundo y de la frecuencia con la que no logramos vivir el reino de Dios aquí en la tierra. Clamamos por justicia ahorita y queremos que la respuesta de Dios llegue cuando nosotros queremos.

Pero este evangelio es una de las razones por las que seguimos orando. Nuestra fe nos dice que Dios está presente y activo.

Dios está rompiendo barreras y límites y yendo a lugares donde nadie espera que Dios aparezca.

¿Has oído a los ingleses decir: “Allí, si no fuera por la gracia de Dios, iré”?

Al parecer, el reformador del siglo dieciséis, John Bradford, dijo esas palabras mientras observaba cómo conducían a un grupo de prisioneros a la ejecución. Como muchos otros, recordaba esas palabras cada vez que presenciaba tragedias. Pero hace una docena de años estaba trabajando como voluntaria en un refugio de dia  para nuestros vecinos que no tienen casas, y entonces se me ocurrió, mientras escuchaba sus historias, que la gracia de Dios estaba con ellos.

Eso no fue lo que hizo que nuestras circunstancias fueran diferentes. Lo que marcó la diferencia fue que tenía abuelos que pagaron mi educación universitaria, y cuando tuve cáncer cuando era joven, ellos pagaron mis gastos médicos; tenía un trabajo con un seguro médico para poder recibir medicamentos para mi depresión crónica.

Dios está presente en el desorden de todas nuestras vidas, y tal vez sea la gracia de Dios la que nos ayuda a conectarnos con otros que escucharán nuestras historias y nos darán la bienvenida a la comunidad a pesar de nuestras faltas.

Esta Escritura de la temporada de Epifanía revela quién es Jesús y hoy recordamos que él es quien demuestra que todas las cosas están bajo la autoridad de Dios y no permitirá que nada nos separe de Dios.

Demos gracias a Dios.

Mark 1:21-28

Let us pray…        

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

It is good to be back in worship with you all. It’s been a month since Christmas but because of my absence, I’ve missed a lot of this Epiphany season. It helped me as I prepared for worship this week to remember that this is a season of revelation, showing us who Jesus is.

We began with Jesus’ own baptism by his cousin John when we first heard the voice from heaven proclaim, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)

Then we witnessed Jesus calling the first disciples, showing them how to use their gifts for the Kingdom of God. Netting fish for dinner was important, but Jesus showed them where to find spiritual nourishment too.

And today Mark tells us how Jesus taught. We never find out what he said, whether he was teaching from the Torah or about the prophets or something else. But what we do hear is that he taught “as one having authority” and that his way of teaching set him apart. He was “different from the scribes” who were the experts in the law. While it may have been his teaching style, I think the difference was more substantial than that. The word authority can also be translated as power. Others have interpreted it to mean that Jesus was authentic or taught from the heart.

When the man with an unclean spirit encounters Jesus, he cries out,

“What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” (Mk. 1:24-25)

In response, Jesus rebukes the spirit and orders him to be silent and come out of the man, and, with a lot of commotion, it does. And the people again are amazed and remark on the authority with which Jesus teaches and acts.

The first thing I notice is that this man with the unclean spirit is in the synagogue. Sometimes Jesus heals people on the margins of society or those who live in the borderlands. Outsiders. But this man was in the synagogue. We cannot know what the unclean spirit was; what we know is that it was causing suffering. Maybe he could mask his behavior so that nobody saw anything unusual. Maybe he had been afflicted for so long, nobody noticed anything different. 

The second thing I notice is that while the people listening to Jesus could see that Jesus taught with authority and that he was different, they aren’t the ones who are brought to their knees by Jesus’ presence. The one who identifies Jesus as “the Holy one of God” is the unclean spirit. It is the one who is causing turmoil or who is inflicting pain that knows Jesus isn’t going to let things continue as they have been. In Jesus, all things are under God’s authority and the powers and principalities that defy God are defeated.

Reflecting on this text, Karoline Lewis, one of my preaching professors from seminary asks us to wonder, “Where is God in all that possesses me?”[i]

The devil, sin and those forces that defy God are what separate me from God. They are the things that seize possession of my thoughts and actions and turn me away from God, that lead me to live in ways that are not holy and not lovable. When I find myself “in the places and spaces where it seems God could never be”, Mark tells us that even those places are no match for God and the love shown us in Jesus.[ii] In Jesus, all things are under God’s authority and the powers and principalities that defy God are defeated.

I know that is hard to believe. I receive a weekly email called “World News This Week in Prayer” and it prompts us to pray for many, different places in the world where there is war, illness or other kinds of suffering. It can be overwhelming to realize how broken the world is and how often we fail to live out God’s kingdom here on earth. We cry out for justice now and we want God’s response to be on our timeline. But this gospel is one reason we keep praying. Our faith tells us that God is present and active. God is breaking barriers and boundaries and going places where no one expects God to show up.

Have you heard the English saying, “There but for the grace of God go I”?

Apparently the sixteenth century reformer John Bradford said those words as he watched a group of prisoners being led to execution.[iii] Like many others, I recalled those words whenever I witnessed tragedies. But a dozen years ago I was volunteering at a day shelter for our neighbors who are unhoused, and it occurred to me then, as I listened to their stories, that God’s grace was with them. That wasn’t what made our circumstances different. What made the difference was I had grandparents who paid for my college education, and when I had cancer as a young woman, they paid my medical bills; I had a job with health insurance so I could get medication for my chronic depression. God is present in the messiness of all our lives, and perhaps it is God’s grace that helps us connect with others who will listen to our stories and welcome us into community despite our faults.

This Epiphany season Scripture reveals who Jesus is and today we remember that he is the one who demonstrates that all things are under God’s authority and will not let anything separate us from God.

Thanks be to God.

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[i] Karoline Lewis. “Exorcisms for our Day.” workingpreacher.org

[ii] ibid

[iii] Wiktionary.  https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/there_but_for_the_grace_of_God_go_I#:~:text=It%20has%20also%20been%20attributed,prisoners%20being%20led%20to%20execution , accessed 1/26/24.

Lectionary 33A

Matthew 25:14-30

Remembering that God is always the actor in Scripture, we read Matthew’s text and ask, “What does this parable tell us about God?”

I don’t think it works as allegory. It falls apart if the Master is God because the one slave describes this Master as “a harsh man, reaping where he does not sow and gathering where he does not scatter seed.” (v. 24). Maybe that could be dismissed as the slave’s perception or misperception, but, upon his return, this Master rebukes the slave and orders him “thrown into the outer darkness.” (v. 30)

The first problem we have with identifying the Master of the parable as God is that everything in creation, and everything we reap, belongs to our Creator God.

And the second problem is that just a few chapters later, Jesus promises his disciples, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (28:20) And later still, we have Paul, too, who teaches that “[nothing] in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39)

So, if it’s not allegory, I wonder, why does Jesus tell this story?

I wonder if Jesus tells this parable because he knows how often we look at what we have been given through a lens of scarcity and fear, instead of abundance. And he wants to remind us of the vision God has for God’s kingdom.

The first two slaves take what is given to them and they find ways to increase the extravagant abundance. But the third slave buries what he was given, refusing to do anything with it. He is filled with fear.

This month, I have been spending time with Psalm 5 and particularly with a paraphrase written by Nan Merrill in her volume titled Psalms for Praying. Her words came back to me as I read the parable. She writes,

Lead me, O my Beloved,

in your mercy lighten my fears;

make my way straight before me that I may follow.

For there is no truth in fear; it leads to downfall;

it opens the door to loneliness; it speaks not with integrity,

but out of ignorance.

“There is no truth in fear.”

Merrill says fear speaks out of ignorance and not out of integrity. I’d add that fear squelches imagination, compassion and ultimately, mercy.

If you haven’t been at the Wednesday night Oasis this past two weeks, you’ve missed Pastor Jonathan’s introduction to Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his writings.

You can listen to the podcast episodes on Ground Up Faith, but to summarize, Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran theologian and teacher in the 1930s, as Hitler was rising in power. He criticized Hitler, which as you can probably guess, isn’t the way to gain a dictator’s favor. In 1930 Bonhoeffer came to the United States, but he returned to Germany in 1931 and continued his opposition to Hitler and Nazi power. He became a professor in the underground seminary, training pastors for the confessing church. And in 1938 he traveled again to the United States and relative safety, but almost immediately, he returned to Germany.

Returning to Nazi Germany, Bonhoeffer said,

 

I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people…

I wanted to retell that piece of Bonhoeffer’s story because today's gospel is a parable that invites our response.

Both Pastor Jonathan and I have spoken often of faith as something we live out in community. It is never a solitary, private thing that’s only about me, my Bible and Jesus. 

When we are living out our faith, and we respond in fear, we take the gifts that God has given us, we take the ways God has equipped us to bear God’s love to our neighbors and we bury them.

Surely, we think, it is safer to do nothing, to hold onto what we have and wait. Nothing will be gained, but nothing will be lost either.

Except it will. Our complacency – our failure to imagine a different future and our failure to act with compassion – exacts a cost from everyone who needs mercy right now.

For the beloved people who need to know the extravagant love of our generous and life-giving God, it costs them hope. It costs them love. It costs them faith. 

I’m not saying that God can’t still act. Surely, God can and does.

And I’m not saying that faith comes from us. It is in Christ alone.

But God uses us, the Church, to show the world who God is. God uses our hands and feet and hearts to bear witness to God’s love.

And when we allow fear to paralyze us and choose safety and security over compassion and mercy, we reject the gifts God has entrusted to us for the sake of the world. We reject the invitation to participate in God’s kingdom and make that kingdom a reality here on earth.

Our fear curves us in on ourselves – turning away from the opportunities to show others how God so loves the world – and it’s that curving in on ourselves that Luther calls sin,
sin that separates us from God.

And what’s astonishing to me is that when we sin,

God doesn’t call us worthless and throw us into the outer darkness.

Do you know what God does?

In that same paraphrase of Psalm 5, Merrill writes, “tears from your Heart fall on those separated from You by fear.”

When God sees what we have done, God weeps.

The God who sees his Son Jesus crucified weeps for us and continues to call us beloved children of God and entrust kingdom work to us, calling us to respond faithfully with compassion and mercy.

Let us pray…

Good and gracious God,

Thank you for showing us how much you so love the world.

You wept for your crucified Son,

and you weep for us when we turn away from you.

Draw us to You, confident in your love.

Help us live out our faith in words and actions that reflect the extravagant grace you give each one of us.

Empower us by your Holy Spirit to share your compassion and mercy with the whole world.

We pray in Jesus’ name.

Amen.

Holy Spaces - "Gathering & Gospelling" Week 2

Exodus 3:1-6

Our reading today takes place in Midian, which was to the east of the Sinai peninsula, in modern-day Saudi Arabia.

And more particularly, it takes place at Mt. Horeb, a place whose name means “parched place” or “wasteland”.

Moses is there tending his father-in-law’s flock. There’s a strip of land closer to the Red Sea that is fertile but as you move east, it becomes hotter and more arid, and I’d guess that in that mountain pasture you could hear the ground crunch beneath your feet.

What you don’t hear in today’s reading is how Moses wound up at Mt. Horeb.

Moses, a Hebrew, had been raised by Pharaoh's daughter in Egypt but when he had grown up, he saw an Egyptian man abusing another man and he killed the Egyptian. And then he fled Egypt and went to Midian, and there he met and married Zipporah, one of the daughters of Jethro, the priest of Midian. (Exodus 2)

So now we’re caught up.

In today’s reading we hear how God speaks to the exiled son-in-law, a murderer, while he is hanging out in a wasteland.

That’s probably not how you heard Moses described in Sunday School, but it’s really important

to understand that Moses didn’t do anything to earn God’s favor or promises; and

to recognize that God knew exactly who God was speaking to, and God chose Moses anyway.

Imagine how Moses felt wandering that mountain pasture. This was his everyday routine; he probably knew every tree or bush in that pasture, every hill and valley. So, of course, at first, he is curious when he sees the flaming bush and the bush is not consumed. But then he hears God speaking to him, and the writer tells us Moses was afraid.

Well, of course he was afraid! He knew the wrongs he had done. And he probably imagined that the fire was going to be his destruction.

But instead, God visibly speaks to Moses, calls the ground on which he is standing holy and goes on, in the verses that follow ours, to tell Moses that he will deliver Israel from slavery into freedom. (Exodus 3:10)

God invites Moses into an in-between time or a liminal space. Moses is in this in-between space of knowing both what happened in the past and that God has said God will be with him in whatever comes next.

Liminal spaces or in-between times often occur in the midst of major transitions or times. Catholic author and teacher Richard Rohr writes, “It is a graced time, but often does not feel “graced” in any way. In such space, we are not certain or in control.”[i] He continues:

The very vulnerability and openness of liminal space allows room for something genuinely new to happen. We are empty and receptive—erased tablets waiting for new words. Liminal space is where we are most teachable, often because we are most humbled.[ii]

I have two powerful memories of God’s presence in in-between times. 

In 2006, I left my nonprofit job in Washington, DC to be the Blue Ridge Parkway Foundation’s first director of development, but before I started my new job, I went to Biloxi, Mississippi with a team from my congregation in Winston-Salem. It was a little more than one year after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita had swept through the Gulf Coast. We visited a church that opened a crisis center the day after Katrina hit. That was the first time I encountered shower trailers as a ministry opportunity; the congregation had transformed its sanctuary and kitchen and was providing temporary shelter, laundry, showers and sack lunches to their community. And we spent a lot of the week working at Miz Ola’s house. It had been almost entirely gutted and one day, we bleached the bones of the house to get rid of any mold that was still in it. Another day we rebuilt doorways and prepared studs to hold sheetrock. We met some of her family including her sister and mother, celebrated her mother’s birthday over lunch at a local place and went to a high school football game together. In that liminal space, we knew the destruction that had come to the Gulf Coast but we could see God’s fingerprints everywhere.

Six years later, in 2012, a few weeks after I stopped working in Christ School’s advancement office but before I began my pastoral internship at St. Mark’s in Asheville, I returned to the Gulf Coast. This time, I was there as one of the adult leaders who took our youth from our congregation in Asheville to the Youth Gathering that was held, for the second time, in New Orleans. More than thirty thousand youth and leaders descended on the city’s neighborhoods, replanting wetlands, wielding paint brushes to brighten up school hallways and cleaning the grounds and equipment at children’s playgrounds. We worshiped in the coliseum and toured the city where we heard more stories about the destruction wrought by the storms. In that liminal space, we witnessed the slow pace of rebuilding but we also saw God working through the Gathering to build relationships, deepen our faith, and challenge us to serve our neighbors when we returned home.

In these liminal places, we see God speaking, just as Moses saw God speaking in the burning bush.

Mt. Horeb was a wasteland, but God makes it holy by God’s presence and design. God used Moses to bring freedom to Israel, and the mountain where God found Moses will become Mt. Sinai, where Moses receives the gift of the Torah from God during the exodus journey.

The storm battered Gulf Coast had its share of places that were ruined but God used the people who lived there, who had known destruction and loss, to create new ministries and new relationships.

At the beginning of worship, you were invited to pick up a rock and place a silent prayer into it, as a way of marking this as a holy place and time. You may think it’s easy to know we are in a holy space here in the sanctuary because here we can see the pews and altar and we are surrounded by stained glass windows. But the Exodus text reminds us that God is the One who makes places holy.

This sanctuary, as beautiful as it is, is just a building, unless we enter into the activity God calls us to. Unless we embody God’s promises in the world. So I invite you to recognize the holy ground where we gather and hear God speak, and then listen for what God is inviting you to do next.

Let us pray…

Holy God,

Thank you for choosing us as your children and speaking to us. Thank you for your abundant mercy that you do not give us what we deserve but instead grace us with your mercy and forgiveness. By your Spirit show us the holy places in our world, make us humble and give us courage to share your love with our neighbors.

Amen.

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[i] “Between Two Worlds.” Center for Contemplation and Action. April 26, 2020. https://cac.org/between-two-worlds-2020-04-26/, accessed 7/17/2021.

[ii] ibid