Sermon: The Fifth Sunday in Easter 4.20.08

John 14:1-14

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. ²In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? ³And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. ⁴And you know the way to the place where I am going." ⁵Thomas said to him, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" ⁶Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him."
⁸Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." ⁹Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, 'Show us the Father'? ¹⁰Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. ¹¹Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. ¹²Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. ¹³I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. ¹⁴If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

Ego Ami

Today Jesus makes quite a bold claim for us in this Gospel reading from John:

"I am the way, the truth, and the life."

What a bold claim, the "ego ami," that phrase the John associates with Jesus so much, connecting Jesus to God at the burning bush in Exodus. "I am that I am" God says there. "Ego ami" Jesus says here.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life."

But do we approach it that way? Do we approach our faith, our religion, our quest to seek the "otherness" of God allowing God in Jesus to speak first, to make this claim of pathway, truth, and life first?

Author A.J. Jacobs wrote a memoir entitled, "My Year of Living Biblically" in which he attempts to follow all of the laws from the New and Old Testaments for an entire year. Now, Jacobs himself comes from a Jewish family, but he is a marginal participator in religion at best. High festival days receive some attention, but he never goes to temple and readily admits so.

But in his year of living Biblically, he begins to see his life transformed by the practices that he picks up. He prays three times a day and, although it's uncomfortable, and although he's not even sure what he's praying to, he finds that the practice itself is beneficial, regular, spiritual, in fact. And he even starts to have moments, glimpses, and times when he begins to believe in God, he begins to believe that there is more out there than just atoms that change over time, but an actual God who is changing them.

n this journey with faith, he has many advisors and spiritual helpers that he consults on a regular basis. One is his best friend's father, who just happens to be a retired Lutheran pastor.

One day they're sitting down to eat and he says to the pastor, "You know, this practice has been a really great experience. I feel healthier, I feel less cynical, I feel…faithful. Perhaps I should take up religion just because it's better for me and better for my children."

The pastor sips his coffee slowly, takes a swig, and puts it back down. And then he looks A.J. in the eye and says, "I don't think that's a very good reason to believe. Belief in God should come from somewhere more…organic."

Faith in God should come from somewhere more organic. You see, as much as I agree with A.J. that faith is good for our bodies as well as our souls, good for our minds as well as our hearts, belief cannot come when we place ourselves first in the equation. In the end I always agree with that pastor

Have you ever been talking with someone, telling them a story about what happened to you, a really pivotal, exciting story, and you end it and the first words out of their mouth, "Oh yeah? I've got a better one, guess what happened to me…"

Or you've had that relationship, that friend that always takes and takes and takes, and never gives. They suck the life out of you, every living breath to the point where the relationship breaks, you can't take it anymore.

You see, those conversations don't work, one party always goes away jaded. Those relationships don't work because one party always ends up having enough of it.

So why do we think it will work with our faith life? Why do we think that we can look up to God and say to God, "Ego Ami" I am the important party in this relationship. What are you going to give me? What are you going to do for me? What am I going to get out of following your way, your truth, your life?

Faith has to be more organic than that. It has to come from the roots of history, experience, of being. It has to come allowing God in Jesus to speak the word first. It has to come by allowing God to be God, allowing Jesus to be God. It has to come by hearing Jesus say, Ego Ami! And us not trying to refute it.

And we do refute it. Unfortunately we refute it too often, and we don't like to hear that. We don't like to be convicted of that, but it's true. I mean, look at today. Earth Day. We've had to set up an entire day of consciousness to remind us that we live on Earth and should take care of it.

And why did we do that? Because we've looked at the Earth, this habitat that God has given us, and have said "Ego Ami". I am the Lord of this Earth. I can rape, pillage, and plunder it like I want. I can deforest it until it's nothing but an arid wasteland. I don't have to let the fields lie fallow every seven years. I don't have kill animals ethically, "Ego Ami" I am the god of creation.

But we are not Lord's of the earth, su ei, you are the Lord of the Earth, I am just a steward.

And that is the humility with which I think we need to re-approach faith, religion, and our quest for the "otherness" of God. We come here each week first and foremost to worship God. Yes we receive blessing here. Yes we receive spiritual food here. But first and foremost God speaks to us here, Ego Ami, I am that I am. Jesus speaks to us here, Ego Ami, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

And as a church, that is our mission and our goal. You know, as you search around church websites, both Lutheran and non-Lutheran, I often see a button the home page that I just despise. The button is often entitled, "What we offer." And I know it means well, but, my God, if I click on it and it doesn't say "a relationship with God in Jesus Christ" it's off the mark.

We must have God in Jesus as first and foremost in our programming, in our worship offerings, in all that we do here, God must speak the first word! Ego Ami! And we must speak only secondarily, Su ei, you are God and because you are God we seek you, we desire you, we want our children and grandchildren to know you, to love you, to be healed by and in you.

Su ei.

Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. Given to us that we might believe, that we might be in relationship with God. But given to us first by God and for that, my friends, we give praise to God, we worship God, we adore God.

So come, Jesus is speaking a word, "Ego Ami" I Am. We follow that voice and not our own. Amen.

As Spring and Easter Converge...

"Long, long, long ago;
Way before this winter's snow
First fell upon these weathered fields;
I used to sit and watch and feel
And dream of how the spring would be,
When through the winter's stormy sea
She'd raise her green and growing head,
Her warmth would resurrect the dead.

Long before this winter's snow
I dreamt of this day's sunny glow
And thought somehow my pain would pass
With winter's pain, and peace like grass
Would simply grow. The pain's not gone
It's still as cold and hard and long
As lonely pain has ever been,
It cuts so deep and far within.

Long before this winter's snow
I ran from pain, looked high and low
For some fast way to get around
Its hurt and cold. I'd have found,
If I had looked at what was there,
That things don't follow fast or fair.
That life goes on, and times do change,
And grass does grow despite life's pains.

Long before this winter's snow
I though that this day's sunny glow,
The smiling children and growing things
And flowers bright were brought by spring
Now, I know the sun does shine,
That children smile, and from the dark, cold, grime
A flower comes. It groans, yet sings,
And through its pain, its peace begins.
-"Resurrection" by Mary Ann Bernard

Sermon: Great Easter Vigil at Sunrise

John 20:1-18

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ²So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." ³Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. ⁴The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰Then the disciples returned to their homes.
¹¹But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." ¹⁶Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). ¹⁷Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Live Boldly

“O what a beautiful morning, O what a beautiful day. I’ve got a beautiful feelin,’ everything’s going God’s way.”

They sang that song every morning on the trail when I was riding with the cattle through Eastern Ohio. Those ranch-hands always thought it was funny to wake us up in that way, even though we were miles away from Oklahoma, and while mildly annoying so early in the morning, I can’t imagine another morning where it would be more appropriate.

Easter morning! It’s an exciting time. It’s a time when we can really exclaim, really celebrate in fullness that God has kept the promise, that God has taken away death’s sting, that God has moved past death into a new life.

And it is exciting! Exciting enough to wake up before the sun, to show even the sun, even all of creation, that this day is worth getting up early for, worth celebrating even in the darkness before dawn.

Because that is, after all, when all of this began. John’s Gospel puts Mary coming very early in the morning to the tomb. She comes “in darkness,” as the text says, “to look at the tomb.” Now that word “look” is very deceiving in the English. In the Greek it’s much better.

You see, in the Greek it is clear that Mary isn’t coming just to “look” at the tomb, she’s coming to “study” the tomb, to contemplate it, to meditate on it, to dissect it mentally. In the early morning, in the darkness of the morning, even in the darkness of her faith (after all, her Rabbi has just been murdered), she comes to study what has happened.

She comes in the darkness to study her faith.

And why are you all here? Well, that’s kind of an unfair question, as we know the end of the story. But really, we should be here to study our faith, to dissect, to meditate, to contemplate the tomb. Because, it is in coming in that way that we are truly surprised again.

And Mary is surprised. So surprised, in fact, that she doesn’t have time to meditate and study the tomb. The whole place is in shambles! The stone is rolled away, the body is missing; its all gone. She has come in quiet to dissect, and the quiet morning turns into a whirlwind of activity.

And she runs to the other disciples, and they run to see the tomb as well. They also find things in shambles, but quickly make their exit. After all, they don’t want to be accused of stealing the body. They had to get out of there.

But not Mary. No. Mary stays. The Gospel of John has Mary staying by the tomb. She is going to study the tomb, like she first set out to do. And so she sits and she cries by the tomb. These are tears that probably would have come whether or not the tomb was empty, because she is doubly grieved now. Not only did they kill her Rabbi, they’ve now taken his body. And so she sits at this grave in the middle of a garden, and weeps as she studies.

But this is not the first time there has been weeping in a garden. In the book of Genesis, we find God in the garden, weeping with Adam and Eve as they have first sinned. Weeping because creation can no longer be innocent. Weeping because the relationship between humanity and the creator had been torn asunder. But instead of a tomb stone, a flaming sword would close this tomb.

And even the night before there was weeping in the garden, as Jesus sat at Gethsemane, wondering what was going to happen next. Crying because all was about to fall apart. And as those soldiers approached with flaming torches, Jesus knew that his relationship with his disciples would be torn asunder, as they all fled and Peter denied him.

It seems that gardens and crying go together. So when we find Mary weeping in the garden, with her plans to meditate, to contemplate, to peacefully grieve over her Rabbi, her Master, her Jesus torn asunder, we should not be surprised.

But then enters the Gardner.

In John, Mary is sitting by the tomb, and Jesus comes up behind her. But Mary doesn’t know it’s him. She thinks it’s the Gardner. Mary mistakes Jesus for the Gardner and says to him, “Please sir, if you’ve taken the body, tell me where it is.” She actually asks him if he’s taken the body. Oh, how funny. How funny! Because you see, Jesus is the Gardner and he has taken the body! It is him.

But Mary doesn’t know it until.

But Mary doesn’t know it until he calls her name.

All Jesus says is “Mary.”

All he has to say is her name.

And in that calling, in mentioning Mary’s name, in calling Mary by her name, every relationship that was torn asunder is suddenly mended.

The fall in Eden, the betrayal in the Garden of Gethsemane, the death on the cross, the strained relationship of humanity as a whole, with us, with our own strained relationships are suddenly mended with the love of God. Because God knows our name, just as he knows Mary’s name, and calls to us past death into a new life.

And Mary, who had come to weep, who had come to meditate on death, is now raised to new life.

And imagine it, an actual raising. I can imagine Mary sitting, weeping, and turning. Jesus calls her by name and she can’t help it, can’t help but get up. Can’t help but rise from where she is to run and meet the God who knows her by name, who has called her from her tears of sadness into tears of joy.

She can’t help it! That’s God’s way!

And she can’t keep it to herself either, she must tell the other disciples. And she is bursting with the news. You can tell because, when she meets the other disciples the only words she can utter are, “I have seen the Lord!”

Bursting, just bursting with the news of God. In the resurrection of Christ, she too has risen to a new life. A life of proclamation, not of tears. A life of contemplating how God moved from death to life, not how everything died before her eyes.

And that is the way of God this morning. That is what we celebrate in such a grand fashion this morning. We celebrate the ultimate bursting of God, bursting from that tomb, the grace of God, which has overflowed in our lives to repair what is torn asunder.

And we are no stranger to weeping in gardens. We’ve wept in the gardens of life all too often. Over relationships torn asunder. Over dreams long buried. Over friends and loved ones.

But on this day. On this day we are reminded that Jesus Christ has beaten death, has repaired the irreparable, that God is working God’s way! On this day we are reminded that we are also raised with Jesus Christ, and with Mary, from that place and brought into a new understanding, a new meditation, a new garden of Eden where we are called by name and loved just the same.

And at hearing this, we cannot help, we cannot help but burst with the news. We cannot help but live! Truly live! Truly live as Christ truly lived on that fateful Sunday morning.

And what does it mean to truly live? I think Mary gives us a great example. It means that we run to share what we have seen and heard about God.

But how? There is another image I want to give you this morning as well.

There is a story about St. Francis. Later in his ministry with the poorest of poor, it is said he walked up to an almond tree in the dead of winter and spoke to it. He said to the tree, “Speak to me about God.”

And it is said that the tree immediately began to bloom.

In the dead of winter, it began to bloom.

Easter is here to remind us that to speak about God means to bloom, to burst, with the news of aliveness. Even in the deadest of winter, even in the gloomiest of tombs, Easter reminds us once again that God is blooming! And that we are blooming!

So, people of God, this morning know that everything is going God’s way. So live boldly! And go, bloom for the world, telling others, bursting with joy, that Jesus Christ is living again! Amen.

Sermon: Palm Sunday 3.16.08

Matthew 21:1–11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, ²saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. ³If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately." ⁴This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,
⁵"Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey."
⁶The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; ⁷they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. ⁸A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. ⁹The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
"Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!"
¹⁰When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" ¹¹The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

What Revolution?

You know, to many folks, even some sitting here today, what we just did is pretty unusual. Comical, even. And I have a feeling it would have been slightly comical to those people in Jerusalem who were standing by the side of that road, watching this event happen some two thousand years ago.

Here comes this great processional! Rider and steed, attendants and arms, marching through the city streets to pomp and fanfare. Only, the processional isn’t that great. It’s a rider and donkey. There are attendants, but they aren’t robed in shiny armor, they don’t carry huge blades, spears, and pilates like the Roman soldiers of Pilate.

No, they’re a pretty sad lot walking into Jerusalem that day. Simple robes. Simple donkey. Simple announcement. No trumpets. No fanfare. No show of military or political power. Just…simple.

But that’s precisely the point.

You know, there are some scholars out there who think that this whole parade, this procession of palms, was actually a purposeful political joke Jesus was playing on the Roman government. You see, when a Roman governor or senator, or anyone with power, entered a city, they would often make a spectacle of it.

They would ride in on a grand steed, often a white steed, robed in armor and full cape. They would have attendants and servants flanking them, and going before and after, shouting out their name and calling attention to them. “Look! Here comes the great Herod.” Or “Look! Here comes the great Pilate, prelate of his majesty Ceaser!” And people would flock to the road to watch the procession. It was free entertainment.

So imagine the shock, imagine the surprise, imagine, even, the comical scene of Jesus astride a donkey entering the city. Except, this time, Jesus doesn’t come in the name of a Roman official, he doesn’t come in the name of some taxing politician, Jesus comes in the name of the Lord! Jesus comes in the name of the God who called David, their ancestor, to kingship. That same God who now calls Jesus to kingship. Kingship in spite of the rule of Herod, in spite of the rule of Pilate, in spite of the rule of Ceaser himself!

And the people, at first coming to see this comical scene, this person who comes in the name of the Lord, this man who comes not on a steed, but a donkey, not with a procession, but with a ragtag group of blue-collar workers, now start to wonder if this is actually it. They see the signs. They start to wonder if this is the beginning the revolution, the beginning of the new Zion.

And it is. But not as they want it to be. But not as they expect it to be. Jesus will be not just a revolutionary political figure, not just a revolutionary religious leader. Jesus will be the revolutionary God that they sought to know.

But, it will all happen in the shadows. It will all happen in that hidden way that God works. It will all happen in the opposite of how you think it should be.

You know, God works in mystery. God works in opposites. Here, as Lutherans, we truly believe this. Explain how a man riding in to town on a donkey is king, when there are tons of actual kings with actual power riding in on actual steeds every other week. Explain how the death of a 160 lb Jewish guy on a cross is actually the pivotal hinge that will change the trajectory of the world. Explain how God would give up power to die in solidarity with humanity, just so we could move past death to true life.

It can only be explained in paradox and mystery. It can only be explained in stating the fact that God is at work, as a weaver at a loom, stitching the lives of the world thread by thread. And individually, the threads don’t look like much, but there is a wonderful tapestry of salvation being woven.

Today we celebrate a thread of that tapestry, Jesus’ triumphant, if mysterious, if even comical, ride into Jerusalem, showing without a doubt, that God is not about white horses and armor clad guards, but about humility and greenery, about Hosannas and mystery.

As we head into holy week, let us take a look at our own lives. Are we about the things of God? Are we about humility and greenery, Hosannas and Alleluias? Do we look for God in the paradoxes, the mysteries of life? Or are we banking on white steeds and feats of power?

The Good News is, God in Jesus works in mystery. And the man who humbly rides on a donkey, is the powerful God who is beginning a revolution: the revolution of our hearts, of our minds, of our being to be united in God’s love.

The revolution of creation being brought back into relationship with God once again.

And that, my friends, is a revolution worth getting behind. That, my friends, is a revolution that will draw you in, as God’s love is shown this week in paradox, in opposites, in mystery. That, my friends, is truly good news.

Amen.

Sermon: 2nd Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a

Romans 4:1-5,13-17

John 3:1-17

Re-Hearing the Promise

I had this sermon all worked out before I saw the flickering lights.

I had this sermon all worked out, all prepared. The background of each of the texts, the historical context laid out plain for you to hear. To appreciate. To use as a guide.

I had this sermon all worked out, all prepared, before I saw the flickering lights.

They were lights that flickered about 65 miles west of hear on Thursday night.

Valentines day.

We were listening intently to the radio as we drove to the restaurant. We listened intently to it after dinner as well.

On 780, on 91.5. And when we got home, on ABC, CBS, Fox. There it was. Those flickering lights.

You see, to dig at the heart of texts, you need to know the historical context. To hear a text as it was first heard, it is important to know that Genesis was written by at least five writers, most probably royal court scribes. It is important to know that Paul was writing to a church in the midst of a schism in Rome, the Jewish-Christians and the Gentile-Christians fighting amongst themselves.

And it is important to know that the Gospel of John was written somewhere around 96 AD, almost 66 years after Jesus died.

These are important things to know to get at the heart of a text, to hear the heart of a text.

But on Valentines Day, I think it is safe to say that our hearts were not into knowing about 66 AD, or the Yawhist redaction of Genesis, or the impetus to Paul's letter to Rome.

Our hearts were in DeKalb, 65 miles west of here. Our hearts still are, in many ways.

And so, I had to relook at these texts. I had to revision them, re-hear them with my heart in DeKalb. After all, the historical context of a work is all well and good, it helps my mind to know many things. But how am I to go out of here working with my hands and my heart if these scripture readings don't speak to OUR context. To OUR hearts, in DeKalb.

And they do speak to it.

Because, as I re-read these text from that vantage point, I heard something that I didn't hear before. I re-heard the promise.

The first two readings are reminders for us again that God is in the blessing business. Hearing both about Abram, and about Paul, you will be reminded that God is faithful to us, bringing about blessing not because we have done what we were supposed to do, but because God remains God! And God blesses. And even as I would like to give you more on these two readings, I can't this morning. I can't because we must move forward to the Gospel. In these times, the Gospel is paramount, the Gospel must be heard, the Gospel is what truly speaks in these times.

In today's Gospel you will hear these words:

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

You know those words. They've been written on our minds from the days of Catechism, from our earliest years. But they speak powerfully today.

They speak powerfully today because, as I heard Matt Lauer say on the "Today Show" Friday morning, "The massacre at NIU is a sign of the times." And I disagree.

That killing is not the sign of the times, but that cross is the sign of the times. Trucks and cars with that cross were the ones cleaning up the mess. Candles, flickering lights, shaped in that shape were standing vigil on Thursday night and Friday night, and even today.

That, people of God, is the sign that we must look to in these times because it is the sign of the times.

You know, those words of John 3:16 and 17 are spoken to us, yes. But in the book of John, they are spoken to a man named Nicodemus. Now, Nicodemus is a smart man. He's a Jewish leader, a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish High Counsel, but he is confused. We know he is confused because John says he "comes to Jesus in darkness." This darkness is not only a time of day. It is also an indicator into his spiritual sense. He's spiritually "in the dark."

And so what does Jesus do? Jesus tells him about the ways of God. You see, Nicodemus thinks he knows the ways of God. He sees Jesus healing people, doing miracles, all sorts of great things and immediately assumes that these are the ways that you can tell if someone is from God. But Jesus flips his ideas.

"To know the ways of God," Jesus says, "you must be born from above." Literally, that phrase "from above" in Greek is "anewthay" simply meaning "again." "To know the ways of God, you must be born again," he says. You must let go of the natural ways that you think you know the ways of God, and look at them from a different perspective- the perspective of someone who has simply heard the promise and received it. The perspective of someone who has been baptized, the promise that God loves us even though we have yet to do one thing.

Now, this is important for us to hear today. It's very easy for us to believe that God is blessing us when we can see good things happening. It's very easy for us to believe in God as miracle upon miracle comes our way.

But what about now? We come in darkness, like Nicodemus. We come confused. This is no blessing. 65 miles west of here on Valentines Day hearts were ripped from their homes. No blessing. There may be blessings in the aftermath, there may be blessings in the cleanup, in the inevitable coming together of the community. But that act was no blessing, and God was not in that act.

And, so what we need to hear again is that reminder that physical signs are not the ways of God. Despite what the physical reality may present us, God's promise still stands. God's blessing stands, even now because God has been to see death before, and God has come out the other side.

For God so loved the world that God stood with us in our darkest days of death, that God broke the chains that death has around our necks, that God rose from the grave even as God promises the blessing of a resurrection. God gives eternal life, even today. That is the gospel, and that is what we need to rehear again today.

Condemnation, destruction, these are not what God has in store for creation, despite what it might seem. And therefore they should not be what we as a people are about. Instead, God has in store for us new life. A new life found in the promise we hear in the waters at baptism.

Therefore, people of God, as Moses raised the bronze serpent in the desert to provide healing for those dying of poison, look now upon the Son of Man risen on the cross, risen from the tomb, risen in our hearts and our hands as we reach out to those students and families in DeKalb.

The good news is that God stands with us in the face of death, and stands with us as we rise from our tombs.

And that promise, that promise that God continues to bless us, even as we see things fall around us. That promise that God has been here before, been at the footstep of death on this cross before us, and has promised a resurrection on the other side of that.

That promise, that blessing, that cross…that empty tomb. That is the sign of the times. Hear it again today.

Amen.

Sermon: Third Sunday after Epiphany

¹²Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. ¹³He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, ¹⁴so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled:
¹⁵"Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali,
on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles —
¹⁶the people who sat in darkness
have seen a great light,
and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death
light has dawned."
¹⁷From that time Jesus began to proclaim, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near."
¹⁸As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea — for they were fishermen. ¹⁹And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." ²⁰Immediately they left their nets and followed him. ²¹As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. ²²Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.
²³Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

Good News: God continues to call.

The Calling

“You have come down to the lakeshore seeking neither the wise nor the wealthy, but only asking for me to follow…”

(“We are called to act with Justice. We are called to love tenderly. We are called to serve one another. To walk humbly with God.”)

We’re going to sing those words in a minute; words that repaint the picture we have in today’s gospel and place us in the role of Peter and Andrew, James and John.

The calling, Jesus crying out for those fisherman to follow him on this journey he was to take.

They are unlikely candidates, by the way. I mean, think about it, why did Jesus call these folks? Why fisherman when he could have called orators, or politicians, or Jewish priests, or philosophers, or book keepers. Why did he choose, as his first disciples, to call fisherman?

I don’t think it was because of the great analogy between snagging fish with a hook and snagging God’s people with the gospel. After all, there’s no indication that any of these guys are any good at speaking. In fact, as we get to know Peter more and more, it turns out that he’s a rather brash guy who seems to annoy people more than attract them.

So why fisherman? Why them as the first; why them as the inner-circle?

I think I know. I think I know because, well, I spent a lot of time in a boat fishing when I was younger.

When I was a little boy living in Toledo, my father would wake me and my brothers up early on some summer mornings. We’re talking early early. For young boys, waking up at 4:30 is not something to be proud of or lauded over. But my father would wake us up and say, “Let’s go get the big one”

And we knew we were fishing. We’d don our old jeans and ratty sweatshirts. We’d grab our little reels from the garage, my younger brother had a reel with Snoopy on it, and we’d pile in the Chevette toward the lake.

My father would stop by the bait shack off the road and buy a bucket of dirt. My brothers and I would sit in the car and wipe sleep from our eyes. Then we’d all pile out, get into the tin row boat that was barely big enough for the four of us, and he’d paddle us out into the lake.

And we’d sit.

We’d sit with our lures in the water, secretly hoping we’d catch a big one. And we’d talk. Dad would tell us stories. We’d tell him about school, or karate, or what we wanted to do on vacation.

And we’d sit.

We’d sit until four in the afternoon, until our little bodies could no longer take the sun, until the crusts that we’d throw to the fish ran out, and we’d just sit. We never caught the big one. Sure, we caught little Sunny’s, blue-gills, occasional small mouth bass. But we never caught the big one.

But what we did catch was the stories. What we did catch was the time spent together. What we did catch was the experience of knowing, first hand, that our father loved us and wanted to spend time with us. What we caught was love.

But we would have missed it had we not stuck with the fishing. If we would have gotten frustrated with the time of day, frustrated that the fish weren’t biting, if we had grumbled about the stories, if we would have let our own agendas get in the way, we would have missed out on that time.

But people who fish know that we aren’t working in a normal time frame. It takes patience, it takes a hearty resolve, it takes conversation, and it takes a willing heart to do that work. And even though we didn’t catch the big one, we caught something much more precious. We caught love.

I think Jesus called these fishermen, the first people called, because he knew that it would take a fisherman’s attitude to walk that walk with him. It would take time, and at times it would seem pointless. It would take conversation, even though the stories wouldn’t always make sense right away. And it would take a willing heart, willing to stick with it, knowing that, at the end of the day, it would be worth it.

That is the call that Peter and Andrew, James and John answered. Jesus needed those who would stick through it to the end.

Jesus needed to call people who would last through thick and thin, who would survive the storm of the raging waters of Galilee. Who would survive being touched by lepers, who wouldn’t feel shame in hanging around with prostitutes and tax collectors, people that others thought were shameful and dirty. God needed those first disciples to be people who could stand in the shadow of the cross, see their rabbi, their mentor, their God crucified, and still come back to grace the door of the empty tomb.

God needed disciples who would stick with it and people who fish stick with it.

That is why we have to hear this call again today, this story in today’s gospel to wake us up in the early hours of this Sunday morning to come and sit here with each other. To come here to experience the love of God again because we know that when we get out of this pew here today, when we step back on shore from this boat right here that we’re in, the story continues, the call hasn’t stopped.

Are you fishers? No, let me rephrase that. You, Edgebrook Lutheran Church, ARE fishers. How do I know? Because you’ve been called. You’ve been called at your baptism. You’ve been called here today in this gospel lesson. You’ve been called through that nagging movement in your guts that tells you that poverty, homelessness, that violence, and war, that loneliness and despair are not the way that God wants us to be in this world!

And here you experience the opposite of those things! Here you experience a place where people greet each other. Here you experience a world where everyone has enough food at this table, where we sing songs instead of fight wars, where no one is alone because we’re all in this boat together. That is, by the way, why we celebrate the cycles of the church year. You know, starting with Advent and the birth, moving straight through Epiphany to Lent with the death, and then to glorious Easter with the rising. And then we spend a long six months in Pentecost, that time where the disciples told others about the birth, the death, and the rising.

Here you hear the call, and here you catch a glimpse of that story that God has in store for all of us. And that’s the good news about being fishers: God is calling you, wanting you, talking to you. You have a relationship with a God who loves you and wants you to be that person to share that love, in actions and words, with others.

But we must stick with it. We must be the fisher disciples, who despite the ups and downs of life, despite the ups and downs of even church life, can stay through the storm to tell others of the cross and the empty tomb, those symbols of hope that tell us that God has another way for us to be and live for each other. Those things that show us how God loves us, even past death into new life.

Today we have the congregational meeting, an important meeting where we decide, once again this year, to sit with Jesus in the boat, listening to this story of love, knowing that we must go and share that story, sit in other boats and tell the story to others.

Dear people, God is calling to you again today. Follow Jesus to the cross, to the tomb, and back again, both as a people and as a church. God has called you to show others that there is a different way of living with one another, a salvation that, as Jesus reminds us, is close at hand!

Oh, and don’t worry if you “don’t catch the big one.” If you don’t eradicate poverty in one swift stroke, if you don’t get a million people to come to church to hear God’s story. We’re not on a time crunch here; we’re fishing. Stick with it and, if nothing else, you’ll be caught in God’s love.

But I look out there and think: If God in Jesus has called us, if we are fishers as God has named us, God’s going to do a lot more through us. More than we can ever imagine.

So come, God’s calling out, the Good News must be spread. Let’s go fishing.

Amen.

Sermon-First Sunday of Christmas

Edgebrook Lutheran Church

First Sunday of Christmas

Matthew 2:13-23

¹³Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him." ¹⁴Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, ¹⁵and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, "Out of Egypt I have called my son."
¹⁶When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. ¹⁷Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
¹⁸"A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more."
¹⁹When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ²⁰Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child's life are dead. ²¹Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. ²²But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. ²³There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, "He will be called a Nazorean."

Be Not Afraid

The midnight flight to Egypt.

Matthew does a superb job at crafting a story that will require telling. In the first two chapters of his Gospel message there are angels, an illegitimate birth, visions, and now violence.

Joseph, having been warned in a dream, takes flight to Egypt with Mary and his newborn son.

Herod, having been told by the Magi about the birth of what he believes to be a rival king, makes a violent raid on Bethlehem, killing any male two years or younger in the attempts at preventing this king prodigy from ever growing to take his place.

And what is Joseph’s motivation for his saving act? Trust. Trust in the God that desires to save.

And what is Herod’s motivation for his bloody act? Fear. Fear that someone will take his political status. Fear that someone will unseat him. Fear that he will lose power.

Joseph trusts; Herod fears.

And Herod’s fear has bloody consequences. This text is known as the “slaughter of the innocents.” It is the text that clearly shows what happens when fear and power collide. It is the text that shows what happens when those in power make decisions out of fear, instead of trust.

Innocent people die. In this case, in many cases around the world, those innocents are children.

I’m thinking of Uganda, where children are kidnapped at night and drafted into the guerrilla army because the guerrilla’s fear that they will not be able to continue fighting if they don’t have a young, ready crop of children who know how to shoot a gun.

I’m thinking of those haunting scenes in the movie Schindler’s List, where the children are hiding in pianos, under mattresses, and in outhouses to keep from being sent to the work camps.

I’m thinking of the children in this country who die of hunger. Yes, in America, children die of hunger. 1 in 28 people in America don’t have enough food for the day. And why? Because our politicians are on the stumps trying to scare up our votes by mentioning 9/11, Islamic extremism, and other bogeymen instead of addressing hunger and poverty.

Yes, when people are trying to get into power, when people are afraid of losing power, they act out of fear and often times there are bloody consequences, and we have a similar reaction to Rachel in today’s reading: we cry over those lost.

You know, this section on Rachel is an interesting one, and often overlooked. Look back at it with me now. It says:

"A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more."

This text is from Jeremiah 31. It was originally written in Jeremiah as a response to the people of Israel being destroyed by Babylon, and many Israelites were taken from their homes, including many children, and made to work as slaves in Babylon. Because of this, Jeremiah says that Rachel weeps for her children because they were destroyed by Babylon, who feared that Israel would align itself with other nations and destroy Babylon.

The Jewish tradition has an interesting take on this verse. The Jewish tradition has stories known as the Midrash. The Midrash are really stories about stories. In this instance, God allows Babylon to take over Israel because Israel was led by kings who didn’t do God’s work. But God is none-the-less sad about it. So God goes to Abraham and says, “Come weep with me over the loss of Israel.” But Abraham refuses, saying that he’s already done what God has asked of him, and so God should have mercy on Israel for Abraham’s sake. So God asks Isaac to come and weep with him, but Isaac refuses, saying that God should have compassion on God’s people for his sake because he was almost killed for God. So God turns to Moses, and says, “Moses, will you weep with me for Israel?” But Moses also refuses, reminding God of how faithful he had been in leading people through the desert. And so he encourages God to be merciful to Israel for all the good that Moses has done.

But God is silent in responding to all of them. So finally, God goes to Rachel. Rachel, who had to give her husband to her sister. Rachel, who has not held a grudge against her sister because she trusted God’s plan. Rachel, who had to live her life as second best for what seemed to be God’s plan, will come and weep with God, but asks God to love God’s people as he promised, giving up his pride as Rachel gave up her pride. You see, Rachel will come and weep with God because Rachel knows that God is not going to let Israel alone. Even when it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen, God is still working to save humanity because God does not work out of fear, God does not work out of pride.

And so Rachel, in this Midrash, reminds God of who God is. God is trustworthy. God is a savior. God is greater than those tears and so, yes, Rachel and God cry over Israel as Babylon takes over, but those tears are muffled by another crying. It is the crying that was heard that Christmas morning as the Christ, God’s response to Rachel, is heard in the night.

You see, there are those in this world who combine power with fear and expect us to do the same. There are those in this world who would want to control us, our children, the poor, the marginalized with fear because they are afraid, like Herod was afraid. And so they use power and intimidation to do awful things that result in children suffering in Uganda, people dying in the Holocaust, or children dying of malnutrition and treatable disease in our own country because our dollars are going to fight fears instead of fight hunger and poverty.

But then there are those like Rachel, those like Joseph. Those who know that God is working behind the scenes, and therefore is working to bring about God’s saving work in this world. You see, the good news of God this Christmas is that Rachel’s tears and Herod’s fears are not the end of the story. The Christ-child is. The child who fought power by being powerless. The child that fought fear by being the God who does not fear. The child that would save us from Sin and death so that we can bring life to those in Uganda, on our streets, or anywhere in this world because we know that God does not operate out of fear, but out of love and trust.

If you want to see contrasting examples of kingship, just look at the Christ child and Herod. Herod looks powerful, but is powerless to his own fear. He acts out of it and blood is the result. The Christ child looks powerless, but is powerful in love. He acts out of that love, and our salvation is the result.

In this New Year, people of God, there may be times when we cry like Rachel because of the Herod’s of this world. But God is working, and so we trust like Rachel, we trust like Joseph, and we spread the good news that God is not working in fear, but is working in love to bring salvation again this New Year.