Christ Lutheran Church in Webster Groves, MO

Date: November 3, 2024. On this All Saints' Day, Pastor Meagan preaches on our gospel reading from John about Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life. We are reminded that Jesus wept, that grief is holy, and that death will never be the final word.Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44

Date: October 27, 2024. By the faith of Christ, we are saved. Today we celebrate that faith with Isaac, Luke, and Luther as they are confirmed, taking the next step in their journeys and inviting the Spirit to come among them with peace like a river, joy like a fountain, and love like the ocean.Readings: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36

October 20, 2024. In today's gospel reading, James and John ask to sit at the right hand and left hand of Jesus in the glory to come. Pastor Meagan preaches on this text, and on how in the kin-dom of God there are plenty of seats, and no need to fight for a place.Readings: Hebrews 5:1-10, Mark 10:32-45

October 13, 2024. Today we have guest preacher Rev. Derek Bastian from Webster-Rock Hill Ministries, who examines our gospel reading from Mark 10 about what we must do to inherit eternal life, and asks us to consider: if you've done everything you've been asked to do, is there anything left that you could do for God?Reading: Mark 10:17-31

October 6, 2024. Pastor Meagan preaches on our intimate, often messy connections with one another. In all of our readings today, we're reminded that we are responsible to care for all that God created.Readings: Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12, Mark 10:2-16

September 29, 2024. Today's sermon is about lines in the sand. Jesus' disciples tried to draw a line in the sand in our gospel reading. And today, humans are still drawing lines in the sand, leaving out those most vulnerable. But new things are emerging, here in our own lives, at Christ Lutheran, and in our synod. The Spirit of God moves in all of us. God is erasing the lines, and we are called to help with the work.Readings: Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29, James 5:13-20, Mark 9:38-50

March 24, 2024. Pastor Meagan preaches on Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and how he walked a path that he knew inevitably would lead to betrayal, loneliness, suffering, and ultimately death. The question is: why? Why would he make this choice?Readings: Philippians 2:5-11, Mark 11:1-11, John 3:16

June 2, 2024. Pastor Meagan preaches on the Sabbath, how it's not just another rule to follow but instead shows us that rest and play are essential to us, and all of creation.Readings: 2 Corinthians 4:5-12, Mark 2:23-3:6

April 7, 2024. Today, Rachel Helton's message is on Doubting Thomas, and how the resurrected Jesus meets him and us where we need him most.Readings: Acts 4:32-35, Psalm133, 1 John 1:1-2:2, John 20:19-31

April 14, 2024. We are all witnesses. This week we were witnesses to the eclipse. And just like Jesus' disciples, we're called to be witnesses of the risen Christ, in flesh and blood.Readings: 1 John 3:1-7, Luke 24:36b-48

September 22, 2024. Today we focus on those moments when the world as we know it seems to change, as it did for Jesus' disciples when he told them that he was going to have to suffer and die.Reading: Mark 9:30-37

March 10, 2024. Today, the proverbial rubber meets the road. Pastor Meagan urges us to know our own brokenness, like the Israelites being bitten by serpents in our reading from Numbers, and to face it head-on.Readings: Numbers 21:4-9, Ephesians 2:1-10, John 3:14-21

March 3, 2024. Today, Jesus is showing us that when it comes to the gospel, this is the place. This is the time. Jesus cries out, “Stop making my father's house a marketplace!” And taking up our cross means turning over tables today.Readings: 1 Corinthians 1:18-25, John 2:13-22

November 27, 2022. This Advent we reflect on expectations. The people of God were waiting for something that looked like swords to bring the justice they craved to the world, but Isaiah told them that God promised swords turned into plowshares. And today we expect, or at least wish, that God would come with practical, physical power and right the wrongs of the world. But even Jesus doesn't know the day or the hour when the kin-dom of God will come to pass, and we don't know what it might look like.Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5, Matthew 24:36-44

November 13, 2022. In falling-apart-times, we're afraid. And Jesus tells us that as much as we may want to, as hard as we may try, we can't understand it or change it. But in those times, when the stones are coming down, God is present. And God will guide us and enable us to embody the love and mercy of God, no matter what is happening around us.Readings: Malachi 4:1-2a, 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13, Luke 21:5-19

October 23, 2022. As we reflect on our gospel text from Luke today, and the varying practices of Confession we each grew up with, we are invited to think about what it means for us as Christians and why Martin Luther saw it as an inherent part of the Good News that he wanted to proclaim.Readings: Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22, Luke 18:9-14

October 30, 2022. Today is the perfect day to remember that Martin Luther composed “A Mighty Fortress” while he was in exile. We remember all the promises of God that show up throughout our scriptures. God is our refuge and strength, no matter what happens in our lives.Readings: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36

March 13, 2022. Today's sermon by Pastor Meagan is a reminder of how Jesus gave himself for us, for all people, for creation, so that one day the kinds of sacrifices we saw on 9/11, and see in the wildfires, the struggles for justice on the streets of our country, and the courageous stand of the Ukrainian people, will no longer be necessary.Readings: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:31-35

November 6, 2022. We who grieve on this All Saints' Day, who feel overwhelmed by the beasts and brokenness of this world, can rest in the promise of resurrection.Readings: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18, Ephesians 1:11-23

October 16, 2022. Our readings today address head-on a significant truth about what it's like to be human in a world that's both beautiful and broken. Sometimes, like Jacob, we wrestle with God. But we come out of that wrestling more sure of who we are, as a child of God, more certain of what we're called to do.Readings: Genesis 32:22-31, Luke 18:1-8

March 20, 2022. Why? The need to know is a very human thing. We humans have been asking for centuries why bad things happen to good people. The sermon today is about our reading from Luke on Jesus' response to the suffering of the Galileans, and the parable of the barren fig tree. Reading: Luke 13:1-9 *** Transcript *** Years ago, I was babysitting for my cousin's three kids, the youngest of whom was about two or three at the time. Ben's favorite word was “why.” “What's this?” “These are my glasses.” “Why?” “So I can see with them.” “Why?” “Because my eyes need help. You can try them, but you need to be very gentle.” “Why?” “Because they're breakable.” “They're breakable… why?” At this point, I couldn't help it anymore and I began to laugh. Then I promptly needed to apologize, and explain to an offended Ben that my glasses were breakable because they could break. It seems like most of us go through that phase of asking why about everything we encounter, in our quest to learn about the world that we live in. And for the most part we grow out of that, perhaps because we learn to search for answers to a lot of our questions ourselves. (Google is really helpful, isn't it?) Or perhaps because we begin to feel confident in our capacity to understand the world to our satisfaction, and even at times feel a certain level of control over our lives, illusory though that might be. The last few years have shattered that illusion of control in spades, hasn't it? Two years ago, we celebrated my installation with Bishop Candea joining us. And two years ago, we were all entering into a world that at the time we could never have imagined. The pandemic, along with everything else that has been occupying our newsfeed, is enough to have us all scrambling to find ways to manage the chaos. And enough to have us all asking why as much as Ben, although about far weightier subjects than eyeglasses. Why a pandemic?Why so much upheaval, with so much people in so much pain?Why so much heartless attack on the dignity and lives of vulnerable people, like trans people and their families and allies, who aren't hurting anyone?Why such a bloodthirsty lust for land and power that they, and we, don't need, that leads to inhumane treatment of people at our borders, or terrifying war in Ukraine, and so many other places in the world that we have honestly forgotten about most of them?This? Now? Really, God? Why? The desire — the need — to know is a very human thing. We humans have been asking why bad things happen to good people for so many centuries that books have been written in an attempt to answer that question. (And it is interesting that we don't necessarily ask why around good things — getting the new job, a clean bill of health, or a just resolution to conflict — but about things at their worst.) It's so much a part of human nature that when people tell Jesus about the death of the Galileans, they don't have to actually ask the question. Jesus hears the question in the telling... Why did these people all die? And beyond that, Jesus hears the speculations and the suspicions they carry. The same speculations held by those who looked at the man born blind and asked Jesus, “Who sinned, to cause his blindness?” The same that has us ask today when someone is the victim of a crime, “Why were they there? What were they doing? Do they have a criminal record?” There must be a reason. They must have caused it, somehow. The first thing Jesus does in our gospel today is acknowledge the why, and name the assumed answers that he knows people carry. “Do you think they died because they were worse sinners than anyone else? Do you think this is punishment for their wrongdoing?” And Jesus' answer is an emphatic, “No. This same thing could happen to you too,” taking away any safety they may have felt by thinking that the victims of these tragedies had done something to deserve what happened to them. As I felt the harshness of this, I realized how clearly this illustrates the truth that when we judge others, and try to figure out what they did wrong, in conscious or unconscious hope that we will not suffer the way that they did, we are inevitably judging ourselves, too. By judging others, we are in a sense guaranteeing that we will share their fate, that we too will find ourselves lost not only in the brokenness of this world, but in judgment — our own and others. Thankfully, Jesus doesn't stop there. At first, the story of the fig tree seems oddly out of place in the context of the conversation Jesus is having, but as he shares this short parable, Jesus actually tells us what to do when the “whys” of life elude us. We hear first the judgment. “See that fig tree? It's not good enough. Cut it down.” And then we hear the new way that Jesus is suggesting for us. “Let me nurture it, do the bit I can to give it a chance for life, and give it time. Let's see what happens.” There is no promise here of the outcome. We never hear what happens to the fig tree in the end. It is not the responsibility of the gardener to make the tree bear fruit, after all. They simply do what they can, what they are moved to do, to embody love and grace in the place they are, in the time they have. The same is true for us. Like the gardener, we cannot on our own solve the problems of the world, accomplish all the things, make all trees bear fruit — not even ourselves. Like the gardener, we are invited in each moment to do the thing we're moved to do, to embody love and grace in the place we are, in the time we have. To dig soil and add fertilizer, if you will, and entrust the rest to God's loving care. And through it all, in Christ we know that God is with us. The God who formed the world, shaped each of us and breathed life into us, has walked with us these last two years of ministry together in a pandemic, guiding and inspiring us as we creatively dug soil and added fertilizer to our community through parking lot food and school supply collections, Palm Sunday processions, park and churchyard cleanups wearing our masks, Saturday evening churchyard worship, and parking lot Advent children's program, trunk or treat, and so many other things. And God will be with us in the years to come, as we continue to follow the Spirit and discover how we are called in this place, and this time, to embody the love, justice, and grace of God in the world around us. Jesus ends the parable with an invitation to patience and trust, knowing that it takes time for fertilizer to work and fruit to grow. And so I end with the words from Archbishop Oscar Romero to encourage us on our journey. “It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificententerprise that is God's work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way ofsaying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.No statement says all that could be said.No prayer fully expresses our faith.No confession brings perfection.No pastoral visit brings wholeness.No program accomplishes the Church's mission.No set of goals and objectives includes everything.This is what we are about.We plant the seeds that one day will grow.We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.We lay foundations that will need further development.We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.This enables us to do something, and do it very well.It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, anopportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.We may never see the end results, but that's the difference between the master builder and the worker.We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.We are prophets of a future not our own.” So let us go and dig soil and add fertilizer, and wait to see what the Spirit will do. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Luke 13:1-9, COVID-19, coronavirus, Prophets of Future Not Our Own, Archbishop Oscar Romero

March 13, 2022. Today's sermon by Pastor Meagan is a reminder of how Jesus gave himself for us, for all people, for creation, so that one day the kinds of sacrifices we saw on 9/11, and see in the wildfires, the struggles for justice on the streets of our country, and the courageous stand of the Ukrainian people, will no longer be necessary. Readings: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:31-35 *** Transcript *** Some of you may know how much I love Harry Potter. (For those who don't, you are about to find out.) Harry Potter is a wizard whose parents died when he was just a year old. For those who don't know the story, he lives with his aunt and uncle, who are Muggles — not wizards — and they led Harry to believe his whole life that his parents, James and Lily, had died in a car accident. But the truth is that they were murdered by Lord Voldemort, an evil wizard. Eventually, Harry learns that when the evil wizard Lord Voldemort came after them, James told Lily to grab Harry and run while he tried to hold Voldemort off on his own. When Voldemort had killed James, Harry's father, he caught Harry and Lily, and he gave Lily a choice: stand aside, and you'll live. Harry's mother Lily stood in front of Harry, shielding him from Voldemort's curse in an effort to save his life. After killing Lily, Voldemort tries to kill Harry as well, but for the first time ever, he fails. Instead of killing Harry, Voldemort himself is hit by the curse, and Harry survives. No one seems to know why. Ultimately, Harry finds out that Voldemort's curse failed because Lily had given up her life to save him. The protection of her love is so strong that it shields Harry not just that one time, but for his entire childhood, until he becomes an adult at the age of 17. Harry is alive because of his mother's love. As we continue our Lenten journey in the wilderness of this beautiful and complicated world we live in, our gospel from Luke today tells us of Jesus grieving for Jerusalem. Jesus yearns, more than anything, to bring the beloved together — to gather them, not as a teacher gathers students or a general gathers soldiers or an employer gathers employees, but as a hen gathers her brood under her wing. This is not a conquering love, but a love that is vulnerable, unfailing, and embracing. It is a love that carries Jesus toward Jerusalem, a place that he says kills its prophets. Jesus doesn't shy away from evil, destruction, and death, but walks towards it, even knowing that he will die in the process, even knowing how often we humans turn away from this vulnerable love and seek guarantees where there are none. Jesus knows humanity has the capacity for incredible evil. Humans destroyed the Twin Towers and so many lives on 9/11. Humans wittingly and unwittingly lift up systemic evils like racism and economic oppression, act in disregard for creation. In the last few weeks, we have witnessed humans wreaking destruction and death on Ukraine, and pushing for laws that undermine the dignity and lives of trans people. And we humans have the capacity to follow the way of Christ. And at times we sacrifice our own safety, well-being, and even our lives to embody the love of God in profound ways. First responders ran into the burning towers on 9/11, many of them giving their lives that day and in the years since to save those trapped inside. Wildland firefighters in the West run toward the fires, to save people, animals, and the places they call home. President of Ukraine Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and others with him, are staying and advocating and fighting in an effort to stand for justice and protect the most vulnerable in their communities who cannot leave, or don't want to. We may never know how many lives are saved because of their love. Our human capacity for love like this is a reflection of the love of God revealed in Jesus: vulnerable, unfailing, embracing. It propels Jesus toward Jerusalem. And Jesus does not shy away from it but walks towards it, even knowing that he will die in the process. Jesus' love for us and creation reveals the love of God that will not, and cannot, fail. God's promise to us, echoed in the covenant made with Abram and Sarah, is life and abundance like the stars that can't be counted. The psalmist today sings of the safety and goodness of God's house, and Paul in his letter leans on that promise as he tells readers and us that we can stand firm in God. We, beloved, are alive because of the love of God that Jesus reveals. We witness the brokenness of the world around us, and we witness the love of God in Christ echoed in the world among us in the actions of those who move toward brokenness and stand in the face of death as Jesus did. And it may sound a little radical but we need to know, beloved, that this is not God's dream for us. This is not God's dream for us. Jesus goes to Jerusalem, people of Christ, not because God wanted Jesus to die, but because where there is brokenness, sin, violence, and death, God must be there. God is there. Jesus went to Jerusalem, toward the reality of death that awaited him, because there was no other way to embody the love of God for a people in pain. Lily stood in front of the evil Voldemort knowing she would die, so that Harry might live. Jesus goes to Jerusalem knowing he would die, to embody the vulnerable, unfailing, embracing love of God that gives us life. And because of the resurrection, we know that even when we must confront the evil and death of our day, God's promise of life is sure. Jesus gave himself for us, for all people, for creation, so that one day the kinds of sacrifices we saw on 9/11, and see in the wildfires, the struggles for justice on the streets of our country, and the courageous stand of the Ukrainian people, will no longer be necessary. Jesus gave himself for us, all the way to death, so that one day, the covenant God made with Abram, the promises of God claimed by the psalmist, and the assurance of Paul that God is faithful, will be fulfilled. Jesus gave himself for all of creation so that one day, all the brokenness of this world will be healed. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:31-35, Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling

March 6, 2022. On this first Sunday in Lent, Guest Pastor Tina Reyes preaches on the temptation of Jesus in the desert, and the real-life deserts in our lives that open up all those things that we try to push back: our vulnerability, our fears, and our anxieties. Reading: Luke 4:1-13 *** Transcript *** In the name of Jesus. Amen. In the last few years I've been drawn to deserts. And I think one of the very first things that I truly realized was that they are not the wastelands of nothingness that sometimes we attribute them to be. Deserts, as places apart, are full of mystery and abundance and life. My trips to New Mexico and Southern Arizona amaze me every time, at the diversity that can be found in these places, and if you allow yourself to be still long enough, the promise of life that exists. And so as we approach this text this morning from the fourth chapter of Luke, it's a familiar text. If you said, "But I heard it last year on the first Sunday of Lent," I would say, "Yes, and you will hear it again next year on the first Sunday of Lent. That's how it works." This year it feels a little different though. Jesus isn't cast into the desert as a punishment or a test insomuch as the Spirit drives him there — for a time apart, for discernment, for retreat, for guidance as to what's next. This time apart comes directly after Jesus is baptized, and God announces for all to hear that Jesus is indeed God's son, the Beloved. It should really make us all think about our own baptisms — and that it's not just the water sprinkling, that baptism really changes our lives. And in discernment and in hunger, at the end of this long time apart, Jesus is confronted with choices: to lean into an economy of scarcity, for which the world can satisfy for a short amount of time, or to lean into an economy of abundance, knowing that he has all that he needs right now as he begins to live out the good news — which, if you kept reading in Luke, is the very next story. See how it all works together there? So we have these options this morning: trusting in God's abundance, that God will always be there and that God will always give you what you need for that moment, or to become your own God and to provide for yourself. I've been thinking a lot about how we ourselves interact with deserts, real and metaphorical, this past week, those places that seem lifeless and empty and daunting. You know, you've had some of those desert places in your lives: struggling to find enough, or really what the world deems is enough for you — even though, let's be honest, our basic needs are being met. Are you racing through these deserts just to get things done? Or do we allow ourselves grace to explore and to delight what is in this odd, and amazing place? Even in our text, we tend to zip through the desert that Jesus is in to get to that crux of the matter. If Lent is a desert, I often feel that we try to get through it as fast as we can. It's a necessary thing to get to Easter; we don't necessarily like to do it. I mean, it's not really in the Bible, is it? All of that is true. And the hope for Lent though, is to take that time to explore, to see what is out there, to join others. Lent (or deserts) in our lives open up all those things that we try to push back: our vulnerability, our fears, our anxieties... which is why I believe we try to get through Lent really fast and not have to think about it so much so we don't have to get stuck on those things, the end. Not really. Beloved, the desert calls us to stand with others in their own wilderness experiences. And that is hard. The desert calls us into the promise of abundant love and to cast aside the temptations of the world that is set aside, that they live for power, wealth, and invulnerability. Beloved, the desert calls us to live in the tension of desolation and to possibility. And through it all, in the desert, God is with us. As a campus pastor, I witness and walk with students who find themselves in all sorts of real-life deserts. The whole experience of being away from home, of having to rely on their own for things like getting up on time, having clean clothes, and advocating for oneself, are all journeys through a wilderness. And some students do it better than others. For others, this time is a journey into who or to what they are called to be: the abundant, extravagant person God created — and that person quite often is different from the one they had envisioned. And so they're stuck in that tension of desolation and a possibility, and it's rough for them. There is grief for what was and hope for what will be. Some students will wrestle and ask questions, and try to push it back and shove it down. And others will seek solidarity. They will look for people like them to accompany them. Others will just try to tough it out, and find that they are surprised to find that they had a support system all along. This past Wednesday, my ecumenical partners and I went to SLU and to WashU to impose ashes on students, faculty, and staff. We just set ourselves outside in spaces with our little plastic containers of palm ash and oil, in our black cassocks — three female pastors, and a non-binary pastor standing in a row, looking a little bit out of place, but welcoming and inviting folks to receive that ash cross on their forehead and answering any and all questions that students asked us. And we were blessed to have a beautiful, 80 degree day on Wednesday to do this. Standing at the edge of Mudd Field at WashU it did feel like a bit being in a desert. Students were reveling in the sun at a school known for its academic excellence and its very secular stance. Yes, there were looks. Who are those people in black, with crosses on their heads? And yet folks from all ways of life had different reasons that they came up to us asking for ashes. And I want to share my favorite story. I think this kind of reminds me of the abundance in the desert. The young man's name is Sayish. He came up and he said, "Are you giving out ashes?" "Yes." "Can I get ashes?" "Yes." "I went to a Catholic School in Dallas, Texas, and I'm not religious or anything. But I really like to get ashes. Is it okay if I get ashes?" "Yes." And so we started talking and having this conversation. I've never seen, honestly, anybody with such a big smile walking up to a group of strange pastors asking for ashes. A lot of times it's, "Ooh it's Ash Wednesday, I need to get my ashes." It's like a thing that you do, because it's Ash Wednesday — especially if you grew up in the tradition. Sayish grew up adjacent to a Christian tradition, because the Catholic schools were the better schools. And he remembers having to put his hands to cross his arms on his chest to receive his ashes, signifying that he was not Catholic in that place. And he was excited that he just got to receive ashes. And so I asked him, "Why? Is it just because it's what you remember from 12 years of school?" And he says, "No, it helps to ground me in the rest of the world and with creation." What a gift. What a gift that was to us. You probably, if I'm speaking for myself, felt kind of good about being in my black cassock, standing on the edge of Mudd Field, giving out ashes at WashU. And here is this Spirit moment of being reminded of why we do it. Not only because of our mortality, but we're connected back to God and God's creation. So what, beloved, if this Lent, this Lent as we're learning once again what it means to be community with one another after a long period of desolation, what if we leaned into those places, as much as we're trying, as fast as we can, to get back to something that we used to know, but maybe that we're being called to still, slow down there, buddy. Dig in a little deeper. Find our people. Acknowledge that even in this space, God is with us, and that's enough. What if, beloved, instead of searching and striving for more — more money, more power, more stuff — we acknowledge that we have enough, and that a full life is not what the world of scarcity claims is good, but our life is full because God's promises spill over, and God hasn't broken a promise yet. What if, beloved, in our abundance we live out our calling, our baptismal callings, to strive for peace and justice by joining others in the places that are their deserts, places where there are literally food deserts (and we don't have to go very far in St. Louis to find those), education deserts, equality deserts? So what if we join others in those places and proclaim God's love in word and deed, because God loves all of God's creation? Beloved, with the help of the Holy Spirit and by God's amazing grace, I pray that you know abundance and hope in whatever desert you journey this Lent. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Tina Reyes, Luke 4:1-13

March 2, 2022. On this Ash Wednesday, Pastor Meagan preaches on our reading from the prophet Joel: “The day of the Lord is coming, it is near.” Many passages in scripture about the wilderness can feel discomforting or uninviting, and the wildernesses of our time can feel vast, overwhelming, and unconquerable. But God is no stranger to the wilderness, and so we begin our journey into the wilderness these next 40 days knowing that God will be with us every step. Readings: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17, Isaiah 43:19 *** Transcript *** We start with these words from tonight's reading from the prophet Joel: “The day of the Lord is coming, it is near.” What are the first images you think of? The first images that come to my mind are justice. Life. Abundance. Healing. Reconciliation. Tears being wiped from our eyes, all hunger being satisfied. All the promises of God being fulfilled in the blink of an eye. All promises we hear throughout the scriptures. But the prophet Joel tonight describes the day of the Lord a little differently: “A day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been seen from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come.” Gloom, clouds, an army coming that covers the mountains? Especially today. Really, God, how am I supposed to look forward to that? Many of the passages in scripture about the wilderness can feel just as discomforting or uninviting. Jesus being driven into the desert for 40 days. The Israelites, wandering for 40 years. Hagar and her infant Ishmael, in the wilderness and at the point of death before returning to Sarah, who abused Hagar while Abraham looked the other way. I'm dating myself here, but I was in college when the United States and other allied nations attacked Iraq in the early '90s. Iraq had invaded Kuwait and annexed part of their land, and the allied nations moved in to support and free the annexed territories. It was the first time in my awareness that we had been able to watch a war unfold on live television. Every channel covered it (there were only about five) and I felt completely consumed, overwhelmed, and lost in the horror that was taking place on the other side of the ocean. And I wondered at the time, if that's how I feel just watching it on television, what is it like for the people of Iraq and Kuwait, hearing the bombs go off, fearing for their own lives and the lives of their loved ones, with no safe refuge to turn to? As we worship tonight, some 30 years later, we humans still haven't figured things out, and are still lost in seemingly the same old wilderness. Once again, the world watches as one nation — this time Russia — attacks and annexes another — this time Ukraine — and allied nations one more time try to figure a way out. The wildernesses of our time and our lives can feel vast, overwhelming, and unconquerable, filled with Joel's gloom, as we face powers as imposing as Joel's armies. In our own lives, the wildernesses of addiction, loss and grief, physical and mental illnesses. The wilderness of struggles in employment, in relationships, and unexpected crossroads. In our world, the wilderness of a third year of COVID, climate change, poverty, political upheaval, and injustices. The wilderness of the horrific injustice being done to the Ukrainian people as we watch. The wilderness of knowing that in the midst of it all, we ourselves have failed to be the people God created us to be. That like all of God's people that have gone before us from the Israelites until now, we all have, as Luther said, sinned and fallen short, and we may at times feel as broken as the world around us. We're left wondering sometimes where God might be and what God might be up to, because we can't see it. And here we are, this Ash Wednesday evening, hearing Joel's description of the day of the Lord, and I think to myself how long, O God, will we be left in this wilderness that we are wandering in? When the Worship team met to reflect on where we felt God might be leading us this Lent, we were all feeling the vastness of the wilderness of this world that we're living in. Isaiah 43:19, which we'll hear in a few Sundays, began to resonate for each of us in profound ways. It also speaks to wilderness, but with a different perspective. “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” New thing. Springing forth. Rivers in the dryness of the desert. God making a way in the wilderness. We find in the scriptures that God is no stranger to the wilderness. Abraham and Sarah and Hagar and Ishmael followed God through the wilderness to an unknown land that God showed them. Moses and the Israelites spent 40 years in the wilderness of the desert, as God led them out of captivity and to the Promised Land. Isaiah speaks those words of invitation and promise to people who have been living in the wilderness of exile for almost 50 years and are finding their way finally into community once again. In the Gospel of Luke, John the Baptist calls himself “the voice of one crying out in the desert, preparing the way of the Lord.” And no sooner has John baptized Jesus than the Spirit leads Jesus himself into the wilderness of the desert for 40 days. God is no stranger to the wilderness. Lent is indeed a season of reflection on wilderness — the places of brokenness and sin, lostness in our lives and in our world, and the profound need for God's love and mercy. We mark ourselves with ashes tonight to remind ourselves of this. This Lent especially, it is also a time to remember that the God who formed and shaped us out of dust, and breathed life into us, never abandons us, no matter how lost and broken we may be. God is no stranger to the wilderness. And so together, we journey into the wilderness these 40 days, knowing that God is with us every step. We name the brokenness, and we perceive the new things that God is bringing to life, springing forth where it seemed that there was only death. We follow the rivers of the Spirit in the dry places in our lives, knowing that God is making a way in our wilderness, where we least expect it. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Joel 2:1-2, 12-17, Isaiah 43:19, COVID-19, pandemic, coronavirus

February 27, 2022. In today's gospel reading we witness Jesus being transfigured, and hear that Peter suggested trying to capture what had happened, so he could understand it, recreate it, and make sure it wouldn't be lost. We humans like the familiar, the predictable, the understandable. But the truth is that life is always changing, and we are always changing with it. Reading: Luke 9:28-43a *** Transcript *** I was in a workshop on anti-racism this week that was provided by the Synod, and one of the facilitators said something — not once, but several times — that really got me thinking. They said, “In this world that seems to be changing faster and faster, and calling on us to keep up with those changes, we can be comforted by the fact that God never changes. God was, and is, and ever shall be, the same.” God never changes. And then, on this final Sunday before Lent begins, in the gospel, we witness Jesus being transfigured — experiencing a complete change of form or appearance — in front of our eyes. I reflected on all the ways God reveals themselves throughout scriptures — a burning bush, parting waters, a nursing mother, a pillar of cloud, a voice from heaven, a whisper, just to name a few. And I wonder, if it is true that God never changes, what does that mean? And if God does change, how can we trust God, if we don't know how they will show up, if we can't even understand her? We humans like the familiar, the predictable, the understandable, don't we? I certainly do. I learned long ago that my favorite way to control things, to feel safe, to cope with things that felt beyond me, is to understand them, categorize them, put them safely in a box that I can analyze from a distance. I will admit to spending a fair amount of time doing this since we entered into a world of pandemic two years ago. Does anyone else relate to that? The disciples, after witnessing the amazing mountaintop scene, seem to want to do this too. As soon as it is over and Peter has recovered his speech Peter says, “It is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Let's try to capture what happened, so we can understand it, recreate it, and make sure it won't be lost. Theologian Debie Thomas writes in her blog Journey With Jesus this week: “The problem in the Transfiguration story is that as soon as Peter experiences a spiritual high, he tries to hoard it. What I hear in his plan to 'make dwellings' is an understandable but misguided attempt to contain, domesticate, protect, and process the sublime. To harness the holy. To make the fleeting permanent. To keep Jesus shiny, beautiful, and safe up on a mountain. After all, everything is so good up there. So clear. So bright. So unmistakably spiritual. Why not stay forever?” In our desire for the familiar, predictable, and understandable, we often do the same thing. When we have an experience of God in worship or on retreat that feels powerful or sublime, or hear an exquisite performance, or perform a piece of music perfectly, or create a work of art that somehow, miraculously comes out even better than we could have imagined, or go on a hike and find ourselves in a place that seems to be surely be where God lives... who doesn't want to stay there forever? The sacred truth of life is that it is always changing. The sacred truth is, we are always changing. How we see the world, how we see God, and how we understand ourselves changes over time. A young adult realizes their parents are human, after all. An addict admits after years of struggle that they need help. An LGBTQIA person embraces the beautifully unique person they were created to be, claiming gender or ways of loving and living for perhaps the first time. One comfortable in their understanding of God comes to realize that God is far bigger than they had ever thought. Transfiguration, beloveds, is not just for Jesus, but for all of us. Transfiguration means that the Spirit is never done transforming us, revealing us more fully. Change, beloveds, is not only unavoidable, but is part of God's creative work in our lives. In the end, the voice of God is enough for Peter to set aside capturing Jesus' moment of transformation. Having failed to encapsulate the mountaintop, the disciples tell no one what they have experienced. They come back down from the mountain, after all, to the world that is not always shiny, beautiful, and safe. They return to an occupied land on a road that in a few short weeks will lead from Transfiguration, to Jesus' death on the cross. In our time, we witness the gross injustice and horror of the attack and invasion of Ukraine by a dictator that has already brought death. A war is unfolding, the likes of which has not been seen since World War II. We as people of faith, with leaders around the world, are faced with the question of how we can contribute not just to an empty peace, an absence of war, but God's justice and mercy in this world, and especially for the people of Ukraine, whose autonomy, dignity, and very lives are being treated as pawns in a deadly game of corrupted power. At times like this, it may feel that when we leave the mountain, we leave God behind too. It may help in those times to remember that when the disciples left the mountain, Jesus walked with them, down the road into the broken world below. For us in our day, we can know that God is present in this world, even in the midst of violence and war. Jesus walked with them. Debie Thomas reflects on the return from the mountain: “God is just as present, active, engaged, and glorious down in the valley as God is in the visions of saints, clouds, and shadows that Peter experienced in the high places. In fact, what Peter eventually learns is that the compassionate heart of God is most powerfully revealed amidst the broken, the sinful, the suffering, and the despairing. The kingdom of God shines most brightly against the backdrop of the parent who grieves, the child who cries, the 'demons' who oppress, and the disciples who try but fail to manufacture and capture the holy. God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. God's beauty is best contained in broken vessels.” Today we celebrate, in the midst of all else that is going on, just a few of the leaders in our own community who have ministered among us as council members for the last year, and those who we have chosen to minister among us for the next year. Family of Christ Lutheran, we experience in many ways the moments of clarity, beauty, safety, and joy of the mountaintops, and we and our council walk together in those transfiguration moments. And, as Peter and the disciples discovered, we are called down from the mountaintops, with newly opened hearts and spirits, to follow Jesus, witness God present, active, engaged, and glorious, and embody love and mercy in the ordinary, sometimes broken world of sacred, everyday life in our neighborhoods and communities. We as people of faith are called to stand against evil and injustice wherever it manifests, whether in our own backyard or in Ukraine. We are called to continually seek the peace that can only come when God's justice prevails for all people. We are, council members, staff, every one of us followers of Christ, called to journey through the many transfigurations and transformations of our lives, as we live in a world that continually changes around us. It may not be true that God never changes. The good news of the transfiguration is this: in a world that just won't stop changing, as we ourselves change day by day, we can trust God not in spite of, but because God is moving and changing right along with it. Peter and the disciples witnessed it on the mountaintop, and we can see it in our own lives. In the midst of all the seeming chaos, what will never change is God's unfailing presence and unbounded love. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Luke 9:28-43a, Debie Thomas, Journey With Jesus

February 20, 2022. The sermon today, on our reading from Genesis about Joseph and his brothers who sold him into slavery, is about forgiveness, of ourselves and others. Readings: Genesis 45:3-11, 15, Luke 6:27-38 *** Transcript *** Joseph's brothers did him wrong. There's no question about that. The choice they made out of jealousy, resentment, annoyance, vengeance, has no excuse. And no matter how arrogant and presumptuous Joseph was as a young man, no matter how unfair Jacob's favoritism of his younger son, there is no excuse for what Joseph's brothers did. And the damage they did was significant. For years, Joseph lived in slavery. He endured physical hardship and even abuse, false accusations by Potiphar's wife, ridicule for the gift of dream interpretation that God had given him. And Jacob, Joseph's father, lived all those years thinking that his beloved son was dead. Ultimately, Joseph's fortune turns around. Pharaoh comes to believe him, and not only releases him from prison, and sets him free from slavery, but puts him in charge of guiding the whole country through the famine that had come over the land. By the time Joseph's brothers come to him desperately seeking food they will need to survive the famine, Joseph has forgiven them for what they did — sort of, anyway. We aren't told how that happens for Joseph. Maybe it was the time that had passed since his brothers sold him. Maybe it was because the physical slavery and the hardship that had resulted from what his brothers did had ended. Maybe it was the great position of power and privilege that he found himself in. One way or another, Joseph has been set free not only from his physical prison, but from the emotional prison of resentment and anger. Truly, a miracle has happened. Forgiveness is not an easy thing. If it were, the Bible would not need to include so many stories about it, such as Joseph's story today, and Jesus would not have continually taught things like we hear in our gospel today: “Love your enemies, be good to those hate you.” If forgiveness was something we could just choose once and for all and be done, there would be no need to talk about it, right? But it is hard. And there's much to learn from what scriptures share about how to respond when we are wounded. But this time through these readings what caught my attention was not only Joseph and his ability to forgive, but his brothers who had done him so much harm. Because we've all been there, too. Some years ago, I did something that hurt someone else. It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last — I am human after all — but this particular time felt epic. I didn't intend to hurt the other person. I didn't even realize it at the time. But when it was over, harm had been done. The kind of harm that brings heat to the cheeks and a rock in the gut, and the desire to never show myself in public again — at least not if that person was involved. This is, perhaps, some of what Joseph's brothers were feeling, when they realized that the very person they stood before as they asked for food in the famine was the brother whom they had sold into slavery years before. Our translation says “dismayed” but the Hebrew is perhaps a little closer to the mark: disturbed, alarmed, anxious, terrified. For years, they had agreed amongst themselves to never tell anyone what they had done, and to that day even their father didn't know that Joseph, the favored son, was still alive. For years, they had been silent about the horrible harm. The shame they felt had bound them in fear and blame, separated them from each other, and from everyone else. To go back to Joseph for a moment, he didn't immediately leap to forgiveness. In the chapters right before today's story, Joseph actually seemed to delight in tormenting his tormentors for a time, although they didn't yet recognize him, accusing them of stealing and threatening them with imprisonment and starvation. It is only after seeing his eldest brother willingly sacrificing himself for the youngest that he relents. And Joseph wept, bitterly and loudly, before perhaps choking out the words, “I am Joseph. I'm your brother. Is my father still alive?” Forgiveness doesn't come easy but Joseph does it, with God's help. And now here his brothers were, asking the one they had betrayed to the point of death to save their lives. Disturbed, alarmed, anxious, terrified. And as we imagine ourselves in their shoes, perhaps we can see that it is hard to forgive, but it is also hard to be forgiven. They have over the years never told anyone what they did to Joseph, never went their father begging forgiveness, never went to seek the brother they had sold. But still, the transformation was happening. And when it came down to a choice between repeating the harm they had done or giving themselves up in slavery, the eldest brother offers himself up. He can't do this to another brother. He can't grieve his father a second time. The selfishness of the past has become courage and compassion. This seems almost miraculous, doesn't it? Joseph, sold into slavery and abused, imprisoned for years, face to face with the brothers who had betrayed him. Somehow, the brothers have been changed from what they were the day they took the gold. And somehow, Joseph, weeping, moves past his own resentment to forgiveness. It seems impossible, doesn't it? Fortunately, it is precisely where we fall short that God steps in. And as Joseph's brothers stare at him, speechless in the shame they still feel, Joseph tells them that it is God who has brought the healing they are experiencing. Let's be clear: God did not send Joseph into slavery to save people from famine — God does not work that way. Joseph's brothers did the selling, and as the scales of years of fear, blame, and disconnection from his family fall from his heart, Joseph can see with courage and compassion instead, and say to his brothers that God took that harm and transformed it for a good none of them could have imagined. And as the scales of years of fear, blame, and disconnection fall from the brothers' eyes, they understand fully the harm they have done, and recognize the courage and compassion that has transformed not only Joseph, but themselves as well. Forgiveness is not easy, and there are times when the harm done has been so great that boundaries and distance and even separation are necessary for healing and wholeness to take place. Forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same thing. But whether reconciliation is possible or not, miracles of courage, compassion, and connection happen every day, just as they did for Joseph and his brothers. It takes time and patience. But with God, it is possible. We are, in our humanity, people who mess up often, who hurt one another, who fail to live in the love of the God who made us for love. We can all be bound up in the shame we feel and feel that we will never be free. And we are, in our humanity, beloved children of God who continue to grow and experience the miracles of community, forgiveness, and healing that God has for us. Joseph's brothers did him wrong, no question. But when it comes to forgiveness, of ourselves and others, God never gives up — not on them, not on Joseph, and not on us. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Genesis 45:3-11, 15, Luke 6:27-38

February 13, 2022. Today we remember our own baptisms and name our connectedness, to one another by the water that fills and nourishes every cell of our bodies, and to our God whose love for us and for all creation is beyond our capacity to understand. Readings: Jeremiah 17:5-10, Psalm 1 *** Transcript *** I've always loved water. Maybe it goes back to the hours I spent with my family on a boat on Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota, or the beauty of the Mississippi River that connects my hometown of Minneapolis down to St. Louis where we are right now, the lakes around the Twin Cities and all the ponds that are up there, but water has always seemed to bring me to a place of calm and connectedness. One of my favorite places is Gooseberry Falls, in northern Minnesota on the North Shore. The splashing of the water against the rocks grows louder with every step you take toward the falls, and that's along with the sounds and voices and laughter on sunny days when there are lots of people. One of the best parts of Gooseberry is that it is really three waterfalls in one, with the water pouring down each rocky cliff, one after the other. The river is surrounded by rock — all colors, shapes, and sizes, some like sets of stairs to climb as you make your way to the Upper Falls, some smooth and flat and perfect for sitting on if you want to just watch the water, some rising out of the river itself like stepping stones allowing the courageous to cross from one side to the other and back in search of new paths. And framing the stone are thousands of trees, with paths running through them like so many veins, carrying light, air, animals, and people into the woods, and back again. And then, of course, there is the water itself. One year I sat by the edge of the Upper Falls, listening to the water colliding with the rocks and then rushing over and around them, when I noticed something that I hadn't noticed before. As Gooseberry River makes its way down the Upper Falls, it doesn't go down all in one rush, but divides and flows around the rocks in the cliff, forming hundreds of mini water falls as it goes. I became fascinated with how different they all were, in size, shape, direction, even speed, and I could have spent hours just watching them. I took pictures of course, but that doesn't capture the beauty experienced when you are sitting there, so close you have to raise your voice to be heard over the roar of the water, and can feel the mist off the rocks a few feet away. Jeremiah says today, and our psalmist echoes, “They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots to the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.” That describes something of the feeling I have when I am near water. Moments like this connect me to the presence of God in profound ways, because with stone, dirt, water, trees, sunlight, and air all around, I feel grounded in the Spirit of the one who created it all. That feeling of being parched, which Jeremiah and the psalmist also describe, are probably familiar to all of us — especially these days perhaps. We've all experienced feeling like chaff, withered, empty, at different times in our lives. We all need the water of the Spirit, to be connected to the God who is the source of all love, healing, hope, and life. Perhaps some of you, like me, experience God when you are close to the world God created, whether it be literal water, or mountains, the thick of a forest, or the unique beauty of the desert. But that is certainly not the only way or place to connect with our Source. Where and how do you experience the life that comes from being connected with God? You may feel the Spirit close when you create music, with voices or instruments. Some of you have shared that arranging flowers for our altar is a meditative experience that feeds your soul. The rhythm of breath and feet as you walk, or run, or ride your bike, may ground you as it connects body, spirit, and creation and the Creator together. The words of scripture, or the sacredness of silence, or the feeling of the holy in this building perhaps, can connect us to the Word, who existed long before anything else. Our readings today carry a message for those who know they need God. It is a promise for every one of us, whose very breath of life comes from the one who formed and shaped us in the womb. Where do you go to connect with the life and love of the Spirit of God? For today, we return to that water. As Luther put it, water plus the Word of God, the waters of baptism . . . . we know and celebrate the promises of God who is present in all things. We remember how much we need God who gives us life. We sing with the psalmist of the abundance of love and life that flow out from us to the world, a gift of the God who created it all. Today, we remember our own baptisms, and who we are as beloved children of the God of life. We celebrate Scarlet and Zachary, and proclaim in this community the overflowing love that God has for them, and has had since the beginning of time. We name our connectedness, to one another by the water that fills and nourishes every cell of our bodies, and to our God whose love for us and for all creation is beyond our capacity to understand. Today, we come again to the water of the Spirit, our source. There, we will find life. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Jeremiah 17:5-10, Psalm 1, Martin Luther, Scarlet McMullen, Zachary McMullen

January 30, 2022. For centuries we have believed in a “zero-sum game,” that there are limited resources available, and if we extend resources to those who have none, there will be less left for the rest. But today we hear that God promises to be with us all the way, and that there will always be enough. Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-10, 1 Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30 *** Transcript *** I remember when I was newly on a board for a conference planning committee, and I was chosen to be the committee co-chair. The chair, among other things, was responsible for facilitating the joint meetings of the board and the committee, a gathering of about 40 people, a responsibility that would be mine if they needed to be absent for any reason. My immediate reaction, as I thought about the possibility that I might need to step in to chair the meeting, or that I might be chosen as chair the following year, was panic. There is no way I can do this, I thought. I can't possibly facilitate a meeting like that. They've got the wrong person. In our first reading today, Jeremiah has a similar reaction when he hears God's call for him. Maybe some of you can relate as well, as Rachel was just talking about. “You say you've known me since the womb, but honestly, what are you thinking, appointing me to be a prophet to the nations? Just look at me! I'm too young! I can't speak your words to all these people. You're going to have to find someone else. I'm not worthy. I don't have what it takes.” And as we read on, we can hardly blame Jeremiah for trying to beg off what God is asking him to do. It's not as simple as it sounds at first, after all. God has appointed Jeremiah “over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.” In other words, God is calling Jeremiah to challenge the powers and empire of his day, and turn the world upside down. Jesus' ministry is no less disruptive. Mary sang in the Magnificat that God had scattered the proud, lifted the lowly, brought down the powerful, filled the hungry, sent the rich away empty. And as we heard last week, when Jesus preaches in the synagogue at Nazareth for the first time, he reads Isaiah's words claiming release for the captive, freedom for the oppressed, and good news for the poor — turning the world upside down. And in today's gospel, when Jesus tells his listeners that these words have been fulfilled in their hearing, and that they really mean what they say, his friends, neighbors, and family find it so radical and hard to accept that they try to push Jesus off a cliff. Interestingly, it seems as if one of the specific things about what Jesus said that his neighbors were angry with was that this message of good news was not just for them, who knew Jesus best. Jesus belongs to God, not Joseph, he says. In fact, the Spirit often carries the promises to the very last person you would expect, even going to them first of all. Jesus' neighbors rage, believing that if others benefit from the good news, there will be less left for them, perhaps even nothing. A group from Christ Lutheran is reading The Sum of Us, by Heather McGhee, and in it she fleshes out what she refers to as our nation's “zero-sum game.” For centuries, we have believed that there are limited resources available, and if we extend resources to those who have none there will be less left for the rest. Specifically, those who hold the most resources have lifted up the narrative that if money, time, and freedom are available to those on the margins, who they say do not actually deserve these resources — usually starting with people of color, and extending to immigrants, people living in poverty, people with disabilities — these people who they say do not deserve the resources. And those who don't deserve the resources in their estimation are the ones who will suffer the most from it. Jesus' neighbors may have bought into their own zero-sum game. When Jesus tells them that a prophet is not accepted in their hometown — that those who know a prophet best often reject the prophetic voice and therefore miss the working of the Spirit among them — they hear him saying that the Spirit is going to skip them entirely. And they lose it. The prophet is indeed, as Jesus predicted, rejected in their hometown. Clearly, the call we have to follow the Spirit who unleashes herself among us is harder than it seems. We are called not to comfort and ease, but to commitment to love in action. We're called to go out of our safe places right to the margins, to challenge the powers that oppress and impoverish and imprison, and speak words that, if we're honest, even we may not want to hear. That's what we're called to as people of faith. This is radical. Sometimes, like Jeremiah, we want to say we just can't do it. Find someone else. Sometimes, like the people of Nazareth, we want to take the bold hometown prophet who is calling us to transform in ways that make no sense to us, and throw him off the cliff, rather than listen to another word. Sometimes, like the Corinthians, we distract ourselves by clinging to old ways of thinking, ranking ourselves and earning our place, rather than following Christ into the kin-dom work of love in action. Today, we have our annual meeting, and we reflect on the ministry that our congregation has experienced in the last year. We recognize the council who has invested all they have in leading us through the incredibly challenging time that has been 2020 and 2021. We see the creativity, energy, time, and excellence of our staff as they have reinvented their roles more than once since COVID began. We celebrate how we as a congregation, in the midst of our weariness, fear, and frustration, have followed the Spirit's lead in so many ways. We hear the call of Jesus, the call of God that came to Jeremiah, all the prophets, and to us today. We recognize that, as Jeremiah learned and as Rachel pointed out, each of us has gifts that we are called to share for the good of the world. The Spirit has been unleashed among us, and we follow that Spirit's lead, to carry the message of God's promise out of our comfortable spaces, right to the margins. God doesn't promise it will be easy — in fact, it probably won't — but God does promise to be with us all the way, and that is enough. There will always be enough. May the Spirit fill us with love that guides all we do, and embolden us to share the good news as we welcome and serve within our walls and well beyond. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Jeremiah 1:4-10, 1 Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30, Rachel Helton, The Sum of Us, Heather McGhee, COVID-19, coronavirus, pandemic

February 6, 2022. As we claim in our baptisms, whether we believe we can do it or not, regardless of how much the very idea may terrify us, we too are called to be fishers of people. In her sermon today, Pastor Meagan talks about what that means for us. Readings: Isaiah 6:1-13, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 5:1-11 *** Transcript *** That day, on the sea, Simon Peter was doing what he always did on any ordinary day. He, along with his shipmates and partners, had been hard at work, trying to make a living and provide for their families, as many of us do. He had no reason to expect, when he got up and said goodbye to his wife and left home, that this day would be any different from any other day. He got into the boat, set out to sea, and cast the nets, hoping to catch enough fish to pay the taxes he would owe the tax collector, with enough left over to cover his family's needs. All night they fished, casting the nets again, and again, and again, and — nothing. And this was Peter's profession, something he had been doing for all of his adult life. They knew these waters. If anyone should be able to catch fish, it would be Peter and his crew. And still, as happens sometimes: nothing. Finally they gave up and came back to shore, and as they cleaned up so they could go home after a long, unproductive but quite ordinary night, the first unexpected thing happened. Jesus, looking for a way to preach to the large crowd that had gathered to hear him, came to Simon Peter and asked for a favor. So out they went, so that Jesus could speak from Peter's boat. And when he was done, Jesus told Simon Peter to head out to deep waters and let his nets out again. And in spite of his weariness, the worry of not bringing anything home to his family, and annoyance at the itinerant preacher who was telling this career fisherman how to do his job, something about Jesus had drawn Peter in. Or perhaps, he just wanted to prove Jesus wrong. “If you say so,” he said. And then the second unexpected thing of that otherwise ordinary day happened. Thank goodness Peter wasn't alone on the water that day. His partners had gone back out with them, and between the two boats they just barely managed to get back to shore, hauling the biggest load of fish they had ever seen. And like Isaiah of the unclean lips, and Paul who had persecuted followers of Jesus, like almost all of the prophets of God, and like so many of us, Simon Peter falls to his knees and says, “Wait a minute, what are you thinking? I can't do this! Go find someone else. You've got the wrong person.” Funny thing is, Simon Peter doesn't even know what Jesus is asking him to do yet. And just like that, Simon Peter's whole life changed. He went out that day to catch fish to provide for his family. He hit a wall, perhaps not for the first time, and they caught absolutely nothing. And just when they had given up for the day being “fishers of fish,” Jesus showed up, and Simon Peter became one of his followers, “fishers of people.” As we claim in our baptisms, whether we believe we can do it or not, regardless of how much the very idea may terrify us, we too are called to be fishers of people. What does that even mean? Because it certainly doesn't mean we go around throwing nets over everyone we meet, pulling them into our boat, and hauling them back to shore. For one thing, if we are to be fishers of people, we have to step out of our comfort zones. That's part of why this is such a scary thing. Isaiah answers God's call saying, “Here I am. Send me,” not knowing where God may send him. Paul, who was raised as a Pharisee and taught to be suspicious of anything that seemed to threaten what he knew, left his comfortable upbringing far behind as he went out to share the good news and promise of God in Jesus. For Peter, it meant giving this itinerant preacher a lift, and then listening to him when he suggested something that sounded a little crazy. Throwing the net down on the other side of the boat. And in a matter of a few hours, Simon Peter has put down the fishing nets he has used his whole life in order to follow Jesus. For us as for them, answering Jesus' call to be fishers of people challenges us to leave the solid ground of what is familiar to us, what we have always done, with its steadfastness and predictability and familiarity, and head out to the sometimes chaotic deep waters of trying something new. We, like all those before us, are invited to let go of what we think we know, and trust that God will lead us when we don't know the way. Being fishers of people opens our hearts to see people we may normally overlook, especially to those who may look, talk, think, and live differently from us, extending the “net” of God's grace and love in unexpected ways, right in our own neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces. We do this within, as we strive to welcome everyone who enters into this space in our sanctuary and our Zoom space, but also outside of this congregation. Jesus tells Simon Peter to set out for deeper waters, and Isaiah says, “Send me,” not knowing where he will end up after all. We learn, as we fish with Jesus, just how wide the net of God's grace is. It is wide enough to catch us when we feel the least prepared or capable. It is strong enough to carry us when we have tried everything we know, and are exhausted and have nothing left. It is deep enough to hold us when we are at our most broken. This is what Peter learns on the boat with Jesus that day. And this perhaps is why, even after catching so many fish they could barely haul them to shore, he was willing to leave his boat and all that he had known to follow this itinerant preacher who showed up, asked for a ride, and then told them to cast their net on the other side. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus tells Simon Peter. Like Simon Peter had his partners to help him with his unexpectedly large catch of fish, we have each other as we follow Jesus. This is something we do together, in community. Jesus does not promise that being a fisher of people will be easy. But Jesus does promise to be with us and guide us when we cast our nets on the other side, no matter what unexpected things may happen along the way. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 6:1-13, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 5:1-11

January 23, 2022. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” If someone were to come here and say that to you, what would you think? Pastor Meagan preaches in her sermon today that the Spirit of God is upon us, anointing us to bring good news to those who need it most, and that this scripture has indeed been fulfilled among us. Readings: Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10, Luke 4:14-21 *** Transcript *** When a president or a bishop is elected, or a CEO starts at a new company, or a professor is introducing a new class of students to the semester, their first words carry a lot of weight. It's a key opportunity to let everyone know what to expect, and what the vision is for the work they have been called to do together. While of course much more will be revealed over time, the power of that first speech or article — the inaugural address, if you will — cannot be underestimated. In today's gospel, Luke presents Jesus' first words to his neighbors — his inaugural address — to those gathered in the synagogue in Nazareth, his hometown. And as such, it is well worth spending some time with what Jesus chose to share in the synagogue that day. Much of what Jesus says he reads from the scroll. For Jesus, as a faithful Jewish man, the Hebrew scriptures were sacred, and of all the texts he knew and studied, he searched through the scroll he was handed from Isaiah and chose a certain passage starting with, “The Spirit has anointed me...” From the very beginning of his ministry, Jesus points to God, the Spirit who anoints and brings life to all of creation. The Spirit of God is embodied in Jesus as he stands in front of his neighbors, friends, and family, reading from those sacred scrolls. As the scripture continues, Jesus reads of the promises of the Spirit who anointed him: good news, release, recovery of sight, freedom... for those who are poor, blind, captive, and oppressed, those who need it most. And, even more significantly, Jesus tells them, “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Not next week, not next year, today. In our reading from Nehemiah, Ezra was speaking to people who had lived through exile and the destruction of all that they knew, and they had barely returned to the ruins of their former community when they gathered to hear the reading of the law, which was itself a gift of their time in exile. The priests and scribes had spent their time of exile compiling and editing ancient stories and scrolls that had been handed down among the Hebrew people, and it was a gift of their reunion just to be together hearing those sacred scrolls. And when he had finished the reading of the Torah, Ezra gave the Israelites the same message Jesus gave those in the synagogue: today is the day of the Lord. Today is the day to celebrate the fulfillment of the promises of our God. If someone were to come in this morning to this sanctuary, to our Zoom space, and say that, what would you think? Today, Sunday, January 23, 2022, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. This morning, at the beginning of our third year of pandemic life, as we sit in our sanctuary wearing masks, and in our living rooms on Zoom, or isolated due to exposure or infection, the scriptures have been fulfilled. Today, at about 10am Central Standard Time on this Sunday morning, with the sin of racism still painfully evident, homelessness a reality, and voting rights, affordable housing, and even clean water inaccessible to many, in our own neighborhood, community, country, and across the world, God's promises are at hand. Today, on this Third Sunday after Epiphany, almost a month after our celebration of Christ's coming into the world, with unusual storms brewing and weather patterns shifting and scientists warning that our earth has reached — or is reaching — a crisis point, today is the day to celebrate and claim God's presence in this world. Today, as we look forward to our community's annual meeting next week, where we will celebrate what God has done among us in the last year, and look forward with hope to a future that in so many ways is unknown, the Spirit of God is anointing us. Today, on this day of your life, with all of the joys and sorrows, illnesses and health, community and loneliness, healing and brokenness, as you may wonder, as Mr. Roger talked about, whether you are a head or heart or perhaps just the stomach, hungry, the Spirit is alive and God's promises are a reality. What are you thinking? How are you feeling, as those words are proclaimed? We have an idea how some of those listening to Jesus, and to Ezra many centuries before him, were feeling. Many of the Israelites, we are told, wept as the scrolls were read before the people, overcome by the grief of all that had been lost, and overwhelmed by sheer joy and relief of being together in community again, hearing the stories and the history and the promises of God read among them for everyone to hear. In next Sunday's gospel the story of Jesus' inaugural address continues, as some of Jesus' neighbors press him to the edge of a nearby cliff and try to push him over, they were so desperate to silence a message that seemed to make absolutely no sense. In the midst of all the reactions, protests, tears, joy, wondering, the promise of God persists, as it always does. Jesus, pushed to the edge of that cliff, simply walks through the crowd and on to continue sharing the good news. Nehemiah and Ezra assure the Israelites that among the rubble they see in front of them, with all of their grief and joy, today is indeed the day of God's favor. So what are you thinking? What are you feeling? There is room for all of it, and all of us, with all of the gifts we heads and hearts and stomachs have to share. And through it, the Spirit of God is upon us, anointing us to bring good news to those who need it most. This day is holy to our God, and God's joy is our strength. Today, this scripture has been fulfilled among you, in your hearing. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10, Luke 4:14-21

January 16, 2022. Today's sermon is about gifts. Just as everyone in the Madrigal family in the new Disney movie “Encanto” has a special gift to contribute to the community, so Paul writes in our scriptures for today that there are many gifts among the Corinthians, and all are important. Readings: 1 Corinthians 12:1-11, John 2:1-11 *** Transcript *** The new Disney movie “Encanto” — we just talked about just a little bit — is in one sense a fanciful tale about a magical family where everyone has a gift that makes them stand out from the others. In another sense, it's a story of a community's trauma, and survival, and resilience. The Columbian people have been through a lot, and the fact that they are alive at all is a miracle in itself. They survived because of the family Madrigal, led by Abuela, who brought them to a place of safety and created a beautiful house and community protected by magic. Everyone in the family Madrigal has a special gift to contribute to keep that community going, and when each child reaches a certain age, they are given a magical doorknob that opens the door to their own unique gift: strength, beauty, creativity, healing, transformation. All of the Madrigals have a gift — except, it seems, for Mirabel. When she tries to use her doorknob, the magic appears to fail for the very first time. Mirabel, everyone says, does not have a gift. And while Mirabel's parents support and encourage her, Abuela and some of her siblings continually remind her that she really doesn't have anything to share, and her best contribution to the family is to stay out of the way. In our second reading today, Paul is writing to the people of the way, followers of Jesus, who are trying to figure out who belongs, how to live together, and most of all, what it means to be a follower of Christ. They are, Paul sees, discussing these things among themselves, and as often happens in this new community, they have begun to argue about who is worthy to belong and who has the most value. In the process, some among them attempt to rank the gifts of those in community, lifting up those who have more valuable gifts. It's tempting to see the showier gifts as more important, and the Madrigals struggle with this too. In “Encanto” Mirabel's sister Isabela prides herself in her ability to make perfect flowers and spectacular beauty, and she seems to delight in holding herself above Mirabel in particular, and the Corinthians are no different. Like the Madrigals, the Corinthians have invested a lot of energy in determining whose gifts are the most important. As Paul watches the growing community in Corinth, he realizes that they have missed the point, and he seeks to help them understand who they are. In today's reading, Paul writes that there are many gifts among the Corinthians, and all are important. All of the gifts the Corinthians have, that we have, come from God. There are no right or wrong or better or worse gifts, Paul tells us, because they all have unique value. In “Encanto” no two Madrigals have the same gift, and everyone is overjoyed to watch as young Antonio Madrigal opens his door to discover that he can talk to animals! It's interesting to note that there are several lists of spiritual gifts in Paul's letters and other places in the scriptures, and each list is different. Paul also makes it clear that the gifts God has given are not intended for our own status and benefit, but for the good of creation. He writes, “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” Abuela reminds the Madrigals often that the gifts they have are essential for the community's very survival. Mirabel's sister Luisa has unbelievable strength, and Mirabel realizes that she is beginning to crack under the pressure of literally carrying the weight of the world (or at least a couple of pianos and a few donkeys) on her shoulders. This feeling that it all depends on you can cause a lot of pressure, and certainly the Corinthian leaders feel this as their community grows and faces challenges and oppression. That is why it's so important to remember that the gifts God gives us, unique as they are, are not meant to make us stand out, but to bring us into faithful, just, loving community. No one gift — no one of us — can stand on our own. And we aren't meant to. This week we remember Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the message of justice and community that he shared. He had profound gifts for preaching, encouraging, speaking truth to power, calling for God's justice in this world. And with him, behind him, before him, were so many others whose gifts were equally essential to the change that the Spirit was bringing through those days of the 1960s Civil Rights movement. And the Spirit continues to work through the gifts of those seeking God's mercy, justice, and healing in our still-broken world. We often think of Reverend Dr. King as a hero whose words inspired thousands across the country, and that is certainly true. But not everyone saw it that way at the time. He wrote some of his most profound words from a jail cell after being arrested, and called in those around him who wished that the truths he spoke about racism, classism, and economic injustices were not so hard to swallow. Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s gifts were actually seen as threats to those in power, to the point that he had an FBI file and was ultimately assassinated. Truth be told, we generally still prefer the easier truths, spoken in soft, gentle words and tones, to the clearer prophetic voices that reveal the broken places and pain we would rather not face. Paul in his letter makes it clear that all gifts, not just those that feel convenient or easy, are given by God for the good of the community. Like those challenged by Reverend Dr. King's truths, the Madrigals have their struggle with this too. Mirabel and her family notice that there are cracks in their house, the magic seems to be faltering, and it gets so bad they can't ignore it any longer — although Abuela certainly tries. As Mirabel figures out what is causing the problem and finds a solution, she uncovers secrets about her Uncle Bruno, discovering that he hid away after his gift for prophecy seemed to predict the very destruction they are now facing. Bruno's inconvenient gift, perceived as a threat, was locked away for years. Mirabel is not daunted, and convinces Bruno to delve into the truth instead of hiding from it. In so doing, she finds that she does have a gift after all. Mirabel has a capacity to face fear and doubt with courage, and call people together in ways that no one knew were possible. And in the end, not just the Madrigals, but all of those they had been protecting, join together in the process of rebuilding their community on a stronger foundation. In a new way, because of Mirabel, Abuela learns that everyone's gifts have value, and all of the Madrigals learn just how important community is. All gifts, not just those that feel convenient or easy, are given by God for the good of the community. Just because we don't recognize or understand a gift doesn't mean that it's not essential. And it is only in community that we can truly discover and live into the gifts God has given us. Paul says over and over that the gifts of the whole community are necessary for its well-being. And in our gospel today, when the wine runs out at the wedding of Cana, Mary helps Jesus see that his time has come after all, and as frivolous as it seems, all of the guests benefit as the celebration of joy and love continues with the best wine. Our community can help us see the gifts we have when we may not yet see them for ourselves. There are many gifts, but the same Spirit, given by God for the common good. And everyone has gifts to share, even Mirabel. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, 1 Corinthians 12:1-11, John 2:1-11

October 31, 2021. Today's sermon is about how we can be bound up, trapped in familiar ways of doing things, and convinced that the way we see things is the only perspective. We forget that it's not just about us, but about God, our fellow children of God, and the world God created that we are called to care for. Readings: Jeremiah 31:31-34, John 8:31-36 *** Transcript *** Just a few weeks ago, we heard again the story of creation from Genesis. We were reminded that we are created by God, like a potter who molds and shapes the clay with their hands to get just the right unique shape, like a painter who mixes color to get just the right unique shade, who then breathes Spirit into us, giving us life with their very breath. Creator God then invites us into her creative work, to name our fellow creatures, to care for the earth on which all of us are born and live and breathe and work and rest and are fed with food and beauty. We all know what happens next. We humans forgot we were God's beloved creation, tried to be something else, tried to be God. And God came to find us, reminded us of what we'd forgotten, and for the first time and not the last. With divine compassion, God gave us clothes to cover our shame. God sent us out with work to do, and a promise that the story was not over yet. God had not yet given up on us. In today's reading from Jeremiah, the relationship between us and the creator continues. The prophet Jeremiah tells us that the God who shapes us and breathes life into us and invites us into creation promises to write the law of love on our hearts. The greatest commandment to love the Lord our God with all our hearts, minds, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves, has been etched into the heart that pumps lifeblood to every cell of our body. God's promise of love for all of us, God's people, and our call to love God and our neighbor, has been coded in our very DNA. God has not yet given up on us. And we know what happened next. Again, God's people forgot who they were. They forgot that they were intimately connected with the God who created them. They forgot that they were intimately connected with their fellow humans, and the created world around them. They forgot their call to care for creation, to care for one another, especially the most vulnerable among them. And so it goes, for generations. Some 2000 years ago, we hear in our gospel from John today, Jesus tells his disciples that God has still not given up on us. We will know the truth, Jesus tells his disciples and us, and the truth will set us free. Jesus' disciples protest, claiming they are already free and always have been. Jesus' followers are confused, in that moment not realizing they aren't free yet. Jesus' reply to his disciples is for us, too: “Everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin.” On this Reformation Sunday, it is appropriate to remember that, as our founder Martin Luther taught, we are all both sinners and saints. All of us are God's beloved people, created by God. And at times we, like Adam and Eve and the Israelites, and the disciples, forget that we need God. We get comfortable, and forget what our true relationship with God is. We forget that God has written love, and grace, and trust on our hearts. We forget we're part of God's larger creation. We are all trapped, Jesus tells us, in our own sin and brokenness. Fish who have lived in a bowl or an aquarium, when set free in expansive waters, will often stay in a space the size of their former habitat, not realizing that they're free to swim further — perhaps afraid to go beyond the limits they have been accustomed to. At times, we do the same thing, don't we? Just like the fish, we often hold ourselves in captivity. We are free in one sense, but at a much deeper level, we are all slaves to our own brokenness. We can be bound up, trapped in familiar ways of doing things, convinced that the way we see things is the only perspective. We forget that it's not just about us, but about God, our fellow children of God, and the world God created that we are called to care for. We are trapped by the ways we trust ourselves and forget about God. Like the disciples, we may not even realize it. Jesus promised the disciples that the truth would set them free. God has not yet given up on us. And 1500 years later, some 500 years ago, Martin Luther spent many years of his life struggling to earn the love of God, prove himself worthy of being called a child of God. Luther found himself trapped, and he could never get there. He finally hit a point of exhaustion, and realized the truth that Jesus was trying to share with his disciples. He was already free, not by his own efforts, but by the grace of God who had formed him out of clay. The freedom Luther discovered led him to take a stand that had significant consequences, and led to earth-shaking changes in the church over the centuries since. Luther came to know the truth of who he was as a child of God, and sought to bring this freedom to the church he loved. Luther claimed the freedom of God and called the church to change in the 95 Theses he posted on the doors of the Wittenberg Church, over half a millennium ago. The message he brought was so radical that leaders of his day eventually excommunicated him from the church, and even sought to kill him. We are freed from the legalistic following of the rules for the sake of the rules — we will never be perfect. We are freed to be transformed — reformed — by the Spirit of God within us, the law of love that has been written on our hearts. We are freed not to run riot, or sin without consequence, but freed to serve God and neighbor. We are freed to stand on God's promises because we know we can trust God. 500 years later, we are still trapped in our own sin. And that isn't a surprise, really. Even Luther, as he would freely admit, was sinner as well as saint. Alongside the many wonderful things that Luther wrote and taught, we are challenged still today to counter the blatant and unapologetic anti-Semitism that still echoes. We are still trapped in our own sin. We like things we can depend on, things we can put our hands on, things we can count on, things that endure in a temporal sort of way that we can be comfortable with. We have lost so much of that in the last two years, haven't we? We easily forget the truth of who we are as children of God, and our connectedness and responsibility to God and the rest of creation. And 500 years later, we are still called to the freedom of God that Jesus proclaimed, and that Luther claimed in the 95 Theses. When we trust God, we can be freed to follow the Spirit to new places, and try new things, like our Holy Experiment with Saturday night Worship, the potential sale of the Mead Center and the renovation of our church building, the exploration of new community partnerships our Christian Service Committee is leading. We welcome old friends and new neighbors, in all the ways we can. We celebrate the Spirit at work through each one of us, as we follow the Spirit's call to welcome and to serve — and today we especially celebrate the Spirit at work in Jon Heerboth, who this summer completed the Parish Ministry Associate program. We still don't know where we're going in so many ways, which can be scary sometimes. But we know from our scriptures today that the God who molded, shaped, and breathed life into us is still with us today, writing the law of love on our hearts over and over. No matter how many times we mess up, God provide us with clothes, and food, frees us to be our better selves, and sends us out into creation with work to do and love to share. God still hasn't given up on us yet, and never will. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Jeremiah 31:31-34, John 8: 31-36

January 22, 2022. When was the last time you set out on a journey with only a single star for your guide? Today's sermon is about the journey of the magi and the truth revealed in Epiphany. Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6, Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14, Matthew 2:1-12 *** Transcript *** When was the last time you set out on a journey with only a single star for your guide? When I'm going somewhere I typically want to know where I'm going, how to get there, and what I should do and expect once I arrive. The idea of following a star sounds a little crazy, even terrifying. If the wise people had invited me to join them, they might have had a hard time getting me out the door. They, however, seem to have taken their mysterious journey in stride. They were likely astrologers, so it was probably not such a strange thing for them to follow the guidance of a star. When the star disappears, they stop to ask directions, and continue onward. The wise ones follow all of this, seemingly without question. Nothing else seemed to matter. From the start, logically, nothing about this journey makes any sense. A mysterious star that shines and disappears. A king with ego issues and ulterior motives. The words of scribes and chief priests who serve the king, not the greater good. The star again. And finally, a dream. No GPS, no map, and truth be told, when they set out the wise ones didn't even know where they were going. The wise ones were seeking the one who would be, as Isaiah describes, a light for all nations, a light that will guide exiles home. The psalmist tells us that this baby who will be king will bring justice for all who are poor. He will deliver those who are oppressed, have pity on the weak, redeem those caught in violence. Given this promise, nothing mattered but following the star, no matter where it led them. January 6, 2021, as I was preparing my Epiphany sermon for last year, I watched as many of you did with a mix of shock and horror as thousands of armed people climbed walls, broke windows, and entered and interrupted congressional session in what was by definition an coup. I was sickened as I heard the pain of colleagues and friends of color who know just how differently this would have turned out had the coup been led by black folks or other people of color. Epiphany tells us a story about three kings, following a star, traveling from far parts of the earth to see the radical truth of what God is up to. And once again, this year, on this first anniversary, I am hearing the story of Epiphany teaching us about truth, empire, and God's persistent and faithful guidance and work in this world. Epiphany literally means, in one definition, a sudden revelation or insight. An awareness of a truth that wasn't apparent before. I think about when I realized that I was not, and never would be, perfect — leaving me at once horrified and giddy with relief. Or when I saw my parents as actual human beings for the first time. (Yes kids, this might happen to you, too!) I think about those major national events of my lifetime that have changed forever how I see the world: the explosion of the Challenger, the attempted assassination of President Reagan, the attack on the World Trade Center, the two full years of pandemic life, and of course, the events of January 6, 2021. In her blog Journey With Jesus, Debie Thomas writes, “During this brief liturgical season between Christmas and Lent, we're invited to leave miraculous births and angel choirs behind, and seek the love, majesty, and power of God in seemingly mundane things. Rivers. Voices. Doves. Clouds. Holy hands covering ours, lowering us into the water of repentance and new life. In the gospel stories we read during this season, God parts the curtain for brief, shimmering moments, allowing us to look beneath the ordinary surfaces of our lives, and catch glimpses of the extraordinary.” Epiphany is about truth revealed, and that's not always comfortable or welcome. Because often God's truth challenges us to see things differently, to change our minds on things we thought we were certain of. And often, God's truth reveals threats to the empire, the powers and privileges that shape our world, and truth be told, make us feel safe. The three kings brought news to Herod of what they saw God doing in the world — bringing a new king — and that threatened everything Herod had. When the wise people, who Herod tried to make allies to his empire, failed to return to tell him where they could find Jesus, Herod sent his soldiers to kill all the babies to prevent this “new king” from taking power. And in our country, we have witnessed empire threatened, willing to use any means to hold onto power — even if it means, figuratively speaking, burning everything. The good news is, Herod, the empire of Jesus' time, didn't succeed in taking power. And neither, Christ Lutheran family, will the empire of today. The journey will not be easy, and we're a long ways from the end of it. But still, God is here, among us. The good news of God in Jesus Christ is that God's work in this world cannot be subverted, or prevented, or even delayed. Empire notwithstanding, God continues to guide us, sometimes in the most surprising of ways. Following the star is no simple task. For one thing, a star is not exactly a neon sign. It's so easy to get distracted from the journey. But if we take a moment to think about what the star means, we know, just as the wise ones did, that nothing else matters. We live in a broken world that is in desperate need of mercy, justice, and redemption. We need the God who came to us in Jesus, who will bring us home, and show us what's really important. We need the God who stands with those who are most impacted by poverty, oppression, and violence, and who calls us to make that a priority, above anything else. We need the God who reminds us that if one person suffers, we all suffer. Nothing else matters. We need to follow the star. God is with us on this journey, and gives us the courage and faith to take it. But God does not follow the star for us. That's our job. There's a time for waiting and watching and wondering, but this is not it. Epiphany is a time to focus, and to follow the star that leads us to Christ. Each time we take an action to bring truth and justice to our world, we're claiming the promise of the one who set that star in the sky to guide us. When we walk the road with someone who is in pain, we open our hearts to the God who promises healing and forgiveness. When we share the abundance of this world with a neighbor, we are following the star to Jesus, whose mercy will bring a day when no one will be without. When we stand against oppression, and are willing to change so that oppressive systems fall even if it's not convenient for us, we are proclaiming that there is room on the road for everyone. The wise people knew, and we know, that the star leads to hope not just for some, but for all. I still don't know for sure if I would have gone with the wise ones, if they had invited me to follow the star with them, but I hope I would have. Because the star, as hard as it may be for us as human beings to keep track of, and as scary as the unknown journey might be, reminds us that God has always been faithful, and always will be faithful, to God's promises. On our own, we would never find the way. We are not in charge of this journey. We're followers, ones who trust in God, who has never failed us. We know the mercy, justice, healing, and love of God, and we respond by taking a step in the direction the star is leading us, not knowing where we will end up. And today, some 2000 years later, the journey of the magi continues. We too follow that star. And at the end of worship today, we will ask God's blessings on the journey as this new year begins. Nothing else matters, as long as we follow the star. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2022, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 60:1-6, Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14, Matthew 2:1-12, Journey With Jesus, Debie Thomas

December 5, 2021. God seems to delight in seeking out the most unlikely of messengers to carry the unexpected message of hope. This Advent season, we continue the journey of transformative hope together, listening to God's messengers and watching for signs of the Spirit. Readings: Malachi 3:1-4, Luke 1:68-79, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6 *** Transcript *** I remember so well, when we had just bought a house and I was tending a yard of perennials, and that feeling that came when the snow first melted and revealed… death. Brown grass. Dry branches. Barren earth. The mucky, thick residue of the final onslaught of leaves that we didn't quite have time to pick up before the snow buried them in December. I was convinced that nothing had survived, that everything had died and would never come back. It seemed like a hopeless mess. But I was advised to wait, and watch to see what would happen, before digging everything up and starting over. There are many things that we wait for. We wait in line at the grocery store. We wait for COVID to be over. We wait for our friends or family to arrive. We wait for test results. We wait for the rain to stop. So many feelings can go along with the waiting. Fear. Joy. Anxiety. Curiosity. Impatience. Hope. This Advent season, as we await the coming of Christ, we reflect on the those who waited, 2,000 years ago, for Jesus to come. Each of them longed for the mysterious Spirit of God that would reveal itself in the world in a whole new way in Jesus' birth, life, death, and resurrection. Mary, Zechariah, Elizabeth, and Simeon and Anna prophetically proclaimed the coming of the creator of the universe in this tiny, vulnerable, little baby. They knew, and sang for all of creation, the promise that Christ's presence on earth would transform this world. In our gospel today, we are told of John the Baptist, one of the most well-known messengers of hope, who heralded Jesus' birth. Luke goes to a great deal of effort to set the scene for John the Baptist's arrival. Our evangelist names not just where John lives and who his father is, but no fewer than seven leaders who held significant power at the time, from the emperor to the high priests. The way Luke describes it, one can envision the Spirit moving among the people, traveling in and around palaces and temples, looking for the just right person to bear the great message of hope, and ultimately choosing not Tiberius, or Pontius Pilate, or Herod, or Phillip, or Lysanias, or Annas, or Caiaphas, in their seats of power, but John the Baptist, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness. The Spirit of God, we are told clearly in Luke, and throughout all of scriptures, does not seek empire and power, as humans often to do, but blows where she will, often finding her home in the margins. As God so often does, God seems to delight in seeking out the most unlikely of messengers to carry that message of hope. God chose David — the youngest and smallest of Jesse's sons — to be king. Moses, a murderer living in exile from his people who described himself as unable to speak, was called to speak to Pharoah and help the Israelites follow God's lead to freedom in a new land. The angel came to Mary, an unknown, unmarried, poor, teenage girl, to bring her news that she was to be the mother of Jesus, God's son. And when it was time for the word to be spread that God's promise was coming true right in the middle of all of this history, the Spirit chose John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, who was living in the wilderness, wearing skins, and eating locusts and honey, to be the messenger. God seems to delight in seeking out the most unlikely of messengers to carry a message of hope that is, in its own right, quite unexpected. Hope does not promise the power of empire, government, wealth, and fame, but the power of the Spirit that continually calls us to justice, freedom, and transformative love that reaches to every corner of creation. Malachi describes God's coming as a refiner's fire that prepares us to offer all that we are to the God of creation. Paul writes to the Philippians of his prayer that God will lead them to overflow with love in Christ. God will, Paul declares, finish the work in them that has only begun. John cries out in the desert a message not of quick and easy prosperity, but of the faithfulness of the God who calls us to repent, to turn, to grow ever closer to them. God seems to delight in seeking out the most unlikely of messengers to carry the unexpected message of hope. This Advent season, we continue the journey of transformative hope together, listening to God's messengers and watching for signs of the Spirit, as the Israelites and early followers of Christ and the generations of people of faith have done since the beginning of time. We followers of Christ are called not because we are perfect, powerful, strong, brilliant in speech, popular or famous, but because we are beloved children of the God who formed us in the womb and knows us better than we know ourselves. We are invited, as Malachi says, to enter as a people of hope into the refiner's fire; as John the Baptist says, to turn again and again to the God of all mercy and love; as Paul says, to let God's love overflow in us as God faithfully completes the work in us that has only just begun. Today, we claim this hope as we remember the promises of God revealed in our own baptisms, and celebrate today the love and promises of God who formed Hank Borden in the womb and gave him life. God is alive and at work among us, and today we baptize Hank to proclaim out loud in community that God's faithfulness endures and God's love is boundless. Our scriptures tell us that, just as new, green growth finally and faithfully emerges from cold earth every spring, even in my dead yard, God's Spirit will not fail to carry the promise even to the wilderness places in our lives. Today and every day, we are called to turn to God, overflow with love, and join the prophets of our history as messengers of hope in our world today. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Malachi 3:1-4, Luke 1:68-79, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6, COVID-19, coronavirus, Hank Borden, baptism

January 2, 2022. In today's sermon, written by Pastor Meagan and read by Mark Roock, we hear about how God knows every detail of our backstories, and delights in each one of us. Readings: Ephesians 1:3-14, John 1:1-18 *** Transcript *** This sermon was prepared by Pastor Meagan, so I want you to imagine that you're receiving it as a letter. So I would begin with: dear friends. Greetings to you from God our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. When I graduated from college and moved back home, it didn't take long before I joined the church choir at my childhood church. After all, I had always loved singing, and had been in one choir or another since I was in third grade. A fellow choir member, Barbara Lynch, had been part of that church since before I was born, and she began to tell me stories of things she remembered from when I was a kid, running around the halls of Our Lady of Grace Church and School. One of the stories she told me had been shared with her by my grade school music teacher, George Carthage. On his last day with us before retirement, Mr. Carthage asked what we wanted to sing, and we chose our favorite, The Holy City. Although I hadn't thought about it in years, I instantly remembered the day — and the song — she was talking about. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing, hosanna, in the highest, hosanna to your king!” Over, and over, and over we sang it, until we were tired of it — which I imagine probably took us much longer than it took Mr. Carthage. As I recalled it, I realized that that day was one among many that fed my love of singing over the years. A few years after Mrs. Lynch reminded me of that day with Mr. Carthage, one of my cousins had a child who was the first baby in the family in many years, and my Aunt Kate said to all of us, “You see how excited we all are about this baby, how everyone wants to hold and love and talk to him? I want you to know that we did that exact same thing with every one of you. We love you all that way!” I had taken it for granted, up until then, the profound gift of having people in your life who know your backstory. People who can remind you of events and experiences that you had forgotten, who in some ways know you better than you know yourself. How important it is to have, or have had, people who knew you and looked on you with love, even before you were born. Each Christmas, we tell the story of Emmanuel, God with us in the flesh, remembering that God came to us in Jesus into the middle of human history to reveal the radical unfailing love God has for us. And today, on this second Sunday of Christmas, in the Gospel of John, we hear those ethereal words that remind us that Jesus, the Word, was present and moving in the world long before that night in Bethlehem some 2,000 years ago. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . . . All things came into being through him.” We don't often think about it, but this is so profound, isn't it? Christ was there, in and with and through God, from the very beginning of time. There isn't a single thing that has happened since creation that Jesus was not intimately a part of. All life came into being through Christ, who then came to us in Jesus. He was formed in Mary's womb, and she labored and gave birth to him in a stable in the tiny little town of Bethlehem. In Jesus, we know that there is nothing that has ever happened in our world or our lives that God does not know and care passionately about. Mrs. Lynch, among others, was able to share a slice of my childhood with me, but God knows our entire back stories, and us, better than we or anyone else ever will. Jesus came to show us that, just as my parents, aunts, and uncles poured love over each and every one of us in turn, so God delights in each and every one of us. Think about that for a moment. God delights in you! The story of God coming in Jesus is a story of a love so abundant that it surrounds and fills all of creation. Remember the Ghost of Christmas Present from A Christmas Carol? He brings Mr. Scrooge to all corners of the earth: a ship deployed on the ocean, a remote lighthouse, suburban streets, a deep mine, and a hospital. If we were to follow the Spirit today, we might find ourselves with people fleeing violence, poverty, and death in a refugee camp on our southern border; visiting people sick with COVID in a remote African village or in India's Maharashtra; or with those who are unhoused on the streets of St. Louis. The Spirit would likely bring us to those in prison in our own city. When the ghost and Scrooge arrive at Bob Cratchit's home in a poor, forgotten neighborhood, Scrooge asks why they are there, and the ghost replies, “It's Christmas here too, you know!” God came in Jesus to an unmarried young woman in a stable in a tiny little town to show us that they are present everywhere, perhaps especially the most forgotten places. No one is invisible to Christ, who intimately knows and sees and loves all people, and all of creation. There is no one God does not see and delight in. This is the gift and the call of Christmas. God knows every detail of our backstories, and delights in each one of us, and every one of us. And we are created us to embody that love in the world the way Jesus did, to see and love the forgotten ones, wherever they may be. God delights in you! What greater gift could there be to share? Amen. So writes our pastor, Meagan McLaughlin, and we too say amen. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Mark Roock, Ephesians 1:3-14, John 1:1-18, A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, COVID-19, coronavirus

October 17, 2021. In today's sermon, Pastor Meagan invites us to continue to seek the will of God, not in security or honor as our egos so easily lean into, but in the ways we can uniquely serve, giving of ourselves to God, to others, and to the world. Reading: Mark 10:35-45 *** Transcript *** The Spirit continues to blow where she will, leading us onward in our journey from what has been to what will be. And I think we just got a little taste of maybe what will be. In this week's gospel, the disciples' journey with Jesus continues. We hear James and John ask Jesus to assign them to the best seats in the glory to come, and I imagine people edging their way into chairs at a table — perhaps, on this day when we're celebrating Luke, and Emmy, and Anna, the communion table — everyone pushing, perhaps politely, perhaps rudely, to get the best seat, closest to their favorite food, or maybe their favorite person at the table. But also, I can't help but go back to being the oldest sister with two younger brothers heading out to the car. Inevitably one of them would shout it out: “I call shotgun!” Has anyone else heard that phrase? I don't know if this way of claiming the front passenger seat was a Minnesota thing, or a '70s thing, or a McLaughlin family thing, but I can tell you that I rarely got the front seat unless my parents intervened. And if the whole family was in the car together, my spot as the oldest-but-shortest of the kids was in the middle of the back, where my feet rested on the “hump” and my brothers could take turns squishing me as we went around corners. Believe me, my position in the car was less about humbly taking the “last place” than it was about losing out on the best place. So as I read this story of James and John and right places and left places this time, however, I noticed something a little beyond the fight to get the best place. For weeks now, Jesus has been trying to help the disciples understand what is coming — and it is a far cry from the image of honor that James and John are holding onto. Jesus has told them several times now that struggle, persecution, rejection, and even death is in store for the followers of Jesus, but as so often happens in Mark's gospel, the disciples just don't get it. James and John are picturing glory and thrones and recognition, and thinking they may get to share in that at Jesus' right and left hand — when what is actually coming is the cross, with Jesus in the middle, one at his left and one at his right, hung not in glory, but in suffering and death. It's no wonder the disciples don't understand. They probably don't want to understand. I know I wouldn't! The disciples have spent three years following Jesus now, listening to him teach, having left behind their families, friends, source of livelihood, everything, and now Jesus is talking not about overthrowing Roman rule and righting the wrongs of occupation, but about being arrested, tortured, and murdered by the state. I imagine they are all wondering, in their own way, what really is next, and what things will look like when it's all over. After all, they can't keep wandering around following an itinerant preacher, depending on handouts and goodwill forever, can they? It's not surprising that James and John got a bit stuck in their ego, trying to envision a way that this could turn out well for them. Three years in, with things seemingly falling apart and not together, James and John just want to have some sense that they are on the right path, and haven't wasted their time, all these years. And yes, maybe they just want a little recognition for everything they've given up, to follow this man from Nazareth, who is now showing signs of being a bit lost. Where is that going to leave them if they can't establish their place? In his book Let Your Life Speak, author, teacher, and student Parker Palmer shares an experience that may be similar to what James and John were going through in today's gospel. He was teaching in Pendle Hill, and was offered the job of president at a community educational institution, and he was certain that he should take it. As a practicing Quaker, however, Palmer convened a clearness committee, a group of trusted companions with whom he could talk through the decision and discern what he was called to do. After a while of questioning and listening, one of the participants asked Palmer the question, “What would you most like about being president?” “The simplicity of the question,” Palmer says, “lowered me from my head to my heart. I remember pondering for at least a full minute before I could respond.” And when he does respond, he finds himself only able to name the things he wouldn't like — giving up teaching, the politics and gladhanding, no summer vacation — until his companion asks him the question again. Palmer writes, “ 'Well,' said I in the smallest voice I possess, ‘I guess what I'd like most would be getting my picture in the paper with the word president under it.' ” As he reflects on this moment he writes, “By then it was obvious, even to me, that my desire to be president had more to do with my ego than the ecology of my life, so obvious that when the clearness committee ended, I called the school and removed my name from consideration.” James and John certainly were caught up in ego, rather than being attentive to the ecology of their lives. It is such a human thing, isn't it? Jesus, one more time, reminds them: it's not about being first or last, or on the left or on the right, or in the front seat of the car or in the middle with your feet on the hump. At God's table, all the seats have the best food, the best people, the best view. At the Communion table, and in the kin-dom of heaven, there is room for everyone and no need to fight for a place to sit. As the Spirit moves on, today's readings invite us to continue to seek the will of God, not in security or honor as our egos so easily lean into, but in the ways we can uniquely serve, giving of ourselves to God, to others, and to the world. The call to Jesus is, as it always has been, about going where the Spirit leads, embodying the love of God in the world, and serving those around us, trusting that wherever we go we will not be alone. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Mark 10:35-45, Luke Bender, Emily Bender, Anna McIntyre, Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

October 3, 2021. All the creatures around us remind us that in the brokenness and sin of the world, the Spirit is still alive, and there is also unconditional love, healing, joy, and peace. Readings: Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12, Mark 10:2-16 *** Transcript *** In the Bible, our sacred text that has thousands of pages, it only takes until Chapter 2 of Genesis before some very significant things happen. Just before this passage, God has breathed Spirit into Adam — that's Hebrew for earth-person,or human — to life. God formed Adam out of the earth with her hands, like a potter working with clay, and breathed into them. Think about that for a moment. Our life came to be out of God's very breath. Right after that, still not out of Chapter 2, God knew the human she had created needed community. It is in fact why God created us, for community. And God invests creative energy — more Spirit unleashed — to bring about more life, all around the original human. And already, here in Chapter 2, God invites us into her creative work. Naming is a profound thing, isn't it? Think about your own names for a moment. My first name, Meagan, is unique in my family. My given middle name, Catherine, connects me to my mother's mother, an Irish Catholic doctor's wife with an epic sense of humor. And Anne, a name I chose at Confirmation, connects me to my father's mother, a tough-as-nails Croatian who grew up trading with her native neighbors at her father's store in the Iron Range in northern Minnesota, and her gift for making friends of strangers and feeding anything that moved was legendary. I carry their names, Catherine and Anne, given by their parents when they were born. Parents everywhere have the joy of choosing a name for their children, and those of us with animal companions listen closely for their perfect name. I had the privilege of being present for a dear friend's court hearing, where they chose a name that fit who they had come to understand themselves to be. And God invites Adam into this creative venture, giving Adam the responsibility for seeing, knowing, and naming the beings that are created around them. And then, God created a partner for Adam, giving them to one another so that neither would ever be alone. God gave us all to each other, in all of the ways that we humans can be together — friends, siblings, ministry partners, spouses, neighbors, parents and caregivers, colleagues in learning. God gave us to each other so that we would never have to be alone. And Adam exclaims, perhaps even singing or dancing with delight, that they and the one God created to be with them, are connected, from the flesh, right through to the very bone. All of our readings today talk about this intimate connection we have with one another, from Genesis, to our Psalm and Hebrews where we are reminded that we are responsible as people to care for all that God created. Love, care, responsibility, commitment, mutuality are held up as ideals in our relationships with God, one another, and the world around us. In Mark today, we are reminded that sometimes our human relationship fail. Sometimes human brokenness leads to abuse and other harms or dysfunctions that make it clear that remaining in contact is not healthy or even safe for ourselves or for our families. As in all things, we humans are not perfect, and the truth is there is brokenness in our relationships that may not be healed in this lifetime. And yet, the dream of God, the vision of the one who unleashed the Spirit and breathed life into us, prevails. In a culture that allowed men to wield divorce as a weapon over women, Jesus called his listeners back to the ideals of Genesis, where Adam claimed the companion God made for them not as a servant to be owned or controlled, but as “bone of my bone,” an equal partner with the same rights and responsibilities. Even when our relationships with individuals in the world end, God wants for us to experience the mutual love and intimacy they meant for us to have, with God, our fellow humans and with the creatures created in the world around us, from the very beginning. Today in this messy, complicated, broken, healing, renewing, creative world, we remember God's vision for creation. On the eve of the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, we especially celebrate how this vision is revealed in the relationships we have with our beloved animal companions, with all their fur, scales, feathers, and fins. Sometimes, it seems, these relationships can be so much easier and smoother than our relationships with other humans, right? St. Francis is thought to have said, "Ask the beasts and they will teach you the beauty of this earth." We often in jest think of creation of animals as failed attempts to find a partner for Adam, but it occurs to me that there may have been a beautiful wisdom in imagining God creating animal companions for Adam first, after all. As a cat-parent myself, I know the truth of another St. Francis quote: “A cat purring on your lap is more healing than any drug in the world, as the vibrations you are receiving are of pure love and contentment.” Our human relationships are messy, and we get frustrated with ourselves for not being perfect, for not showing up as God intended us to. But today, we are invited to celebrate all that we can be, all that God created us to be. All the creatures around us remind us that in the brokenness and sin of the world, the Spirit is still alive, and there is also unconditional love, healing, joy, and peace. We learn from our pets especially that God's vision for intimate connection is not only possible, but is embodied in the created world God gave us to live in and care for. We listen to the words of Genesis, and Hebrews, and even Mark, and know that this promise of God, like all others, will never fail. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12, Mark 10: 2-16

November 14, 2021. Christ reminds his disciples in their day and us in ours that whatever news may come, important truths about ourselves and the faithfulness of God are being unveiled, and there is always a better source. Readings: Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8 *** Transcript *** The news can be overwhelming sometimes, can't it? In our communities, and around the world, there is so much that is painful, violent, and destructive. All you have to do is look at the news each day to see it: political upheaval, hunger, challenges in employment (both for employers and workers), illness and death from COVID, the impact of climate change, the list goes on and on. Sometimes it feels like there's no reason for hope. And more than ever before, it seems, what we hear about the events of our world depends greatly on the source. Just think about the difference in how the Minnesota and Missouri news presented the results of the 1987 World Series when the Twins beat the Cardinals! And in the last few years, with so much misinformation and even intentional disinformation flooding our media, it has gotten more and more difficult to see things clearly, hasn't it? I would almost not be surprised to see stories, with pictures included, describing the beauty of the grass coming back in the spring in glorious shades of pink, with comments back and forth arguing “all sides of the issue.” And yet there is so much happening that is far more serious, and profound, than colored grass, clamoring for our attention, and as many perspectives on them as there are people in this world. This is a very human thing, and in our gospel today the disciples and Jesus are seeing the same thing with very different eyes, as theologian and author Debie Thomas points out in her 2018 reflection on this text in her blog Journey with Jesus. She writes: "Dazzled by the architectural majesty surrounding them, one of the disciples asks Jesus to notice something in return: 'Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!' . . . . But Jesus isn't dazzled. Instead, he responds to the disciple's remark with a question: 'Do you see these great buildings?' Why does Jesus ask the disciple if he can see what the disciple has just asked Jesus to see? Aren't the two of them seeing the same thing? Well, no. They're not. They are not seeing the same thing at all. "What the disciple sees is a large architectural marvel, yes, but it's also the biggest, boldest, and most unshakeable symbol of God's presence that he can imagine. . . . But what does Jesus see? He sees ruins. Rubble. Destruction. Fragility, not permanence. Loss, not glory. Change, not stasis. 'Not one stone will be left upon another,' Jesus tells the stunned disciple. 'All will be thrown down.' ” — Debie Thomas This gospel today, and our other readings as well, contain a lot of apocalyptic imagery. It feels depressing, full of destruction, hopelessness, even despair. And the same can be said of the events of our world sometimes, as what has been falls away, and we can't yet see what is coming. It's hard to find our way to hope when things that seemed as solid as stone walls are bound to come down. There are moments these days, sometimes more than moments if we're honest about it, when we feel we are living through an apocalypse of sorts. Thomas goes on to reflect on apocalypse, bringing a different perspective to this conversation, and our scripture. Debie Thomas writes: "But in fact, 'apocalypse' means something quite different. An apocalypse is an unveiling. [Or, to use American author and social activist Adrienne Maree Brown's words, an uncovering.] In 2016, in the midst of racial unrest, she wrote, 'Things are not getting worse, they are getting uncovered. We must hold each other tight and continue to pull back the veil.'   "In this sense, what Jesus offers his disciples is an apocalyptic vision. He invites them to look beyond the grandeur of the temple, and recognize that God will not suffer domestication. The temple is not the epicenter of his salvific work; God is not bound by mortar and stone. God exceeds every edifice, every institution, every mission statement, every strategic plan, and every symbol human beings create in God's name. Moreover, God is not enslaved to superlatives; we're the ones easily seduced by the newest, the biggest, the shiniest. 'Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!' " — Debie Thomas So how are we called to think and live, about the times we are in right now? The “fallings apart” and the “lettings go” that are part of this and every age are endings, and the grief is real. And, the life and the new thing that is being uncovered, the movement of the Spirit in our world right here and right now, is also very real. Hebrews was written in about 63 AD, just a few years before the temple in Jerusalem literally came down, stone off of stone, at the hands of the Roman occupiers who sought to quell the movement of the Spirit among the people. Perhaps even more interestingly, the Gospel of Mark in which Jesus tells his disciples that the buildings they are admiring will come down was written in about 70 AD, as the dust of that unthinkable destruction was settling. So Jesus' words today in the gospel about stone coming down from stone is not theoretical. The author of Hebrews and their readers were living in the days leading up to the greatest apocalypse they could imagine. Mark's audience was surrounded by the rubble. The good news is that nothing happening in our day comes as a surprise to God, and we have the inspired words of people of faith who came before us to guide us in our time. The author of Hebrews counsels the people to not neglect meeting with one another, encouraging one another. It has been hard to do this for the last two years, hasn't it? In many ways we have failed in the midst of the challenges of COVID, and in many ways we have done that fabulously. In these times that can still feel somewhat apocalyptic as we journey between what has been and what will be, we are invited to recommit ourselves to being the church to one another and the community in which we live in new ways. The news may tell us something of what is happening, but if we are looking for a Spirit-led perspective on our world and our call in it, our source for truth and hope of the events of our day, Jesus is always the better source. It is Christ who raises Lazarus from the tomb to show us that death is not the final word. It is the one who proclaims that no stone will be left on another who points us to the work of the Spirit that won't be contained by walls and buildings. If we take to heart the words of Christ and Hebrews, and seek the better source, we remember that Jesus promised that truth would set us free, not bind us. We will notice, amidst the illness and death and selfishness and fear of COVID, the Spirit alive in how we have cared for one another, witnessed people investing all that they have to develop treatments and preventions that didn't seem possible. The reality of climate change shows some of the worst that humans can do, and reveals humanity at its best choosing to live well in God's creation. The visibility of racism and other oppression demonstrates the ugliness of our human condition, and unveils the movement of the Spirit toward honesty, healing, and justice for all people. Apocalypse, we learn from our scriptures today, is about destruction and endings, but is much more so about the Spirit of God all around us that cannot be destroyed. Christ reminds his disciples in their day and us in ours that whatever news may come, important truths about ourselves and the faithfulness of God are being unveiled, and there is always a better source. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Daniel 12:1-3, Psalm 16, Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8, COVID-19, pandemic, coronavirus, Debie Thomas, Journey with Jesus

December 26, 2021. Today is the Feast of Saint Stephen, and guest preacher Jon Heerboth's sermon is about following Stephen's example and being about the Father's business in feeding the poor, treating the sick, and supporting the marginalized. Readings: Colossians 3:12-17, Luke 2:41-52 *** Transcript *** In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. "Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about deep and crisp and even." Well, that legend was that the king braved bad weather to take alms to a poor man on the second day of Christmas, the festival of Stephen, deacon and martyr. More on Saint Stephen in a bit. But I want to recognize this day on which we remember the first known martyr of the Christian church. In the Gospel of Luke that we heard today, it's been 12 years or so since Mary sang the Magnificat, her song of praise at the time of her impending motherhood. We at Christ Lutheran Church sang it the last four Wednesday nights — and said it responsively as the psalm last Sunday — so we've heard it a lot. Mary sang about God, who had scattered the proud, brought down the powerful from thrones, lifted the lowly, fed the hungry, and sent away the rich. All of this was to fulfill God's covenant with the ancestors. In this story, the reality of parenthood turned out to be different from the joy of the Magnificat. After several days of parental anxiety and panic, the twelve-year-old Jesus was unmoved when they found him. "Don't you know," he asked them — or "Wist ye not," the King James version asked — "that I must be about my Father's business?" That I have to be in my Father's house? That I am involved with my father's stuff? Don't you know that it is necessary for me to do this? The text says they did not understand what he was talking about. We don't always understand either. We confess that Jesus was truly God and truly human. Here we see what our confession actually looked like in the person and divinity of Jesus at age 12. After Passover, the great Jewish celebration of liberation, Jesus separated from his earthly family to tend to his real Father's business. Jesus sat in the temple, asked questions, learned from scholars, who were experts in the Jewish scriptures. All who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers, according to the text. So the temple scholars were amazed, and Mary and Joseph were astonished, as Jesus let them know that he knew who his real Father was and what God's business was with God's creation. Imagine what it would have been like for his parents to have to raise the Savior of the world. Imagine how they felt when they lost him. God didn't choose a wealthy or powerful family to raise God's son. Jesus was a small town boy from a relatively poor family. I'm sure Mary and Joseph were astonished. What in their lives, or in ours either for that matter, would have been preparation for Jesus? After this, an obedient Jesus went back to Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom, and the favor of God was upon him, according to Luke. It's fascinating to hear how Jesus, who was fully God, could also be fully human, ask questions, learn from others, and develop wisdom. "Why were you searching for me? Don't, you know..." These were Jesus' first words in the Gospel of Luke. Perhaps Jesus was reminding his mother of the outline of Jesus' mission that she had sung so long before in the Magnificat. At any rate, this is all Luke shares about Jesus' childhood. We don't hear from Jesus again, really, until his first sermon in Nazareth in chapter 4. In that story, Jesus went to his hometown synagogue on the Sabbath and read from Isaiah. Listen to what he said. "The spirit of the Lord is upon me because He has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed upon him. And then he said to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." That's what we're doing. The people were amazed again. By the time he finished his entire sermon, the people were so enraged that they tried to kill him by hurling him off a cliff. But he escaped. Jesus is no manger baby anymore. His goals of helping the poor and marginalized, of overthrowing the wealthy and powerful, and offering eternal life to all, eventually led to his death — and then to the resurrection. Mary and Joseph managed to lose Jesus and found him again at his Father's house, doing God's business. We find ourselves here in God's house too, confessing our sins, accepting forgiveness and absolution, receiving Word and Sacrament, and praying for God to use us as tools to accomplish God's will for all creation. Every year, we hear how we lose Jesus in the hubbub of Christmas. But here we are back in God's house on the day after Christmas, worshipping under the open arms of Jesus. We find Jesus when we serve his mission to work for the oppressed and marginalized, and to work for the peace of Christ in our lives, in our congregation, and in our society as a whole. We know that our mission will not be popular among the rich and powerful. We go into the world with a set of values that are in opposition to prevailing views. In Colossians' reading today, Paul tells us how to dress for our job. "Above all," he said, "clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." Today's reading tells us how to live. "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful." That is our mission. We usually think of the word "peace" as a noun. The peace of Christ is really a verb. It's something that we must commit to live and demonstrate and practice every day, the goal toward which we work as people of faith. How are we doing? Several weeks ago in the Sunday Forum, the Horns demonstrated that the countries in which Christianity were doing well were those in which people saw benefits from the work of the church. In other countries in which people look to governments for their social safety nets and care, the church was becoming irrelevant as the years passed. Are we relevant in our own country? Are the poor being fed? Are the sick treated? The marginalized supported? How about God's creation as a whole? When we reach out, we take risks. In our society, many want to believe that anyone can get ahead if they work hard. Are people suffering? "They should clean up their act." Poor? "Get a job, or a better job." Need childcare? "Quit having babies." "I don't want my tax dollars supporting someone who ought to be working as hard as I had to work." Those are all comments I copied out of the Post Dispatch in the past week, on a variety of social issues. And I think those are prevailing views among some people. A lot of people. Not here. "Don't you know?" we might respond. "We must be about our heavenly Father's business." Are we making a difference? Saint Stephen found out the hard way what can happen when Christians make a difference and upset the status quo. When Stephen's work and his wisdom upset the powerful, they trumped up some charges of blasphemy against him, dragged him out of the city, and stoned him to death in front of Saul — or St. Paul, as we call him now. St. Paul, the writer of the book of Colossians, who said that we should clothe ourselves in love. That St. Paul. In Acts 8:1 Luke wrote, "And Saul approved of their killing him." This is the day we think about Jesus, both fully divine and fully human, about Mary, who had to raise this child, about our Father's business that turns the status quo upside down, about the potential dangers we may face when we attempt to become relevant to all of our brothers and sisters in Christ. We pray together that Christ Lutheran Church, through our worship in Word and Sacrament and through our outreach to community and Creation, may always be part of doing our Father's business. Let's pray the prayer appointed for today. We give you thanks, O Lord of glory, for the example of Stephen, the first martyr, who looked to heaven and prayed for his persecutors. Grant that we also may pray for our enemies and seek forgiveness for those who hurt us. Through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen. Amen. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Jon Heerboth,  Colossians 3:12-17,  Luke 2:41-52

December 24, 2021. On this Christmas Eve, Pastor Meagan's message is on how Jesus in all his humanity comes to us, so that we might begin to let God love us when loving ourselves feels impossible. Readings: Luke 2:1-20 *** Transcript *** All Advent, we have been waiting and watching for Christmas to come. We've been listening to the messages of hope that have come to us through so many voices this season, letting us know of God's promises to all people and all creation. And now, Christmas Eve has finally arrived, and we celebrate one more time the coming of God into the world in Jesus. Throughout all of humanity's story, our story, as revealed in our scriptures, we hear over and over how we've been in relationship with God. God has come to us and spoken with us, made promises to us, and we've made promises to God. And over and over, humanity has fallen short. We have not loved and trusted the God who formed and loves us so well, we've not shown each other God's love the way God created us to do. And we humans haven't always lived up to God's call for us, and we've revealed ourselves to be, as Luther says, not fully saint, not perfect, but both saint and sinner. There are those moments in scripture — like Noah and the ark, and the Israelites in the desert, and Lot and his family — where it seems God has given up on us. And at the last minute, always, something or someone changes God's mind, convinces God to give us another chance. Often, we might think of Jesus's coming as God's final, last-ditch effort to save humanity, redeeming that which sometimes seems irredeemable... somehow emphasizing the brokenness of our humanity as compared with the divinity of God. This evening, as we come together to celebrate the coming of God in Christ, recognize the dawn of hope into our world in Jesus, there is another message that we can see in this most important story of our faith, and humanity's place among God's beloved creation. There are so many ways God could have come to us. Look at all the ways God showed up before this. A voice in a burning bush. A whisper in wind. Angels, over and over. A pillar of fire, and cloud. In the psalms, God moves mountains and shakes the earth. I could go on. And certainly the God who has come to us in so many ways could have come to us like this again, showing up in a way that illustrates a distinction between God and humans. But God didn't do that when they came in Jesus. Of all the ways that God could have chosen to come into our world and reveal the love they have for us, in Jesus they chose to become one of us. A human being, flesh and blood. God embodied all of the love, mercy, and joy they have for creation and for us in this tiny little human baby. The most amazing thing about Christ's coming is that it shows us that God has not given up on us, after all. The promises of God are not beyond us. In Christ, God has shown us that human beings, along with the earth and sky and trees and water and the fellow creatures with whom we live on this planet, are God's beloved creation so much so that God chose to become human to reveal God's self to us. God has not given up on us. God came to us in Jesus, and because of that, we know God's love for us endures no matter how much we might stumble. We know that, in all of our struggles, joys, pains, hopes, grief, and love, we have never been alone, and never will be. In Christ, God understands our human experience, claims us as part of God's beloved creation, and walks alongside us every step we take. Human and divine are not so separate as we might think. God is intimately connected to all of creation, and because Jesus came to us, we know that includes us humans, too. And just in case we might think that God came for some and not for all, look at our gospel today tells a different story. As so often happens, when it came time to let people know that Jesus was born, the angels first brought the joyous news to the shepherds, not the emperor. It was those caring for their sheep in the fields, unseen by most, uncounted by the emperor's census, who were among the first to hear the incredible news of just how much God loves us. Jesus came to embody God's love for all of us human creatures. And in the birth, life, and death and resurrection of Christ, we know that we are called to do the same. We can't love and serve perfectly on our own — we are saint and sinner after all — but we followers of Christ are called to be transformed by the Spirit, to let God love others through us when we can't do it ourselves. Jesus, in all his humanity, comes to us in this moment, so that we might begin to let God love us when loving ourselves feels impossible. Fellow beloved human children of God, this is the promise of Jesus. Just when we feel the most alone, the most unworthy, the most irredeemable, just when the world around us seems to have crossed over that tipping point and is as hopeless as the world before the flood, God breaks in. Right into the beauty and the brokenness, God shows up in Jesus to make sure we know the truth, and everything changes as we enter into this promise. Hope dawns. God's love persists. God hasn't given up with us yet, and never will. And that is truly good news. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Luke 2:1-20

November 7, 2021. On this All Saints Day, in this sacred space, grief and hope intertwine as we acknowledge death and new life together in this community. Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44 *** Transcript *** Death and grief is something that we often don't want to talk about. At times, in fact, we will go to lengths to avoid talking about it. But on All Saint's Day, we come together intentionally to remember those who have gone before us. We name the losses we have experienced, especially remembering those who have died whose lives have impacted our own. Today is a day for remembering those we have lost, and celebrating again the promises of our baptisms — the radical love of God who formed us in the womb, forgives our sins, and gives us life that endures beyond death. And so, we opened worship today by blessing water with the word of God — the waters of baptism with which we celebrate and recognize these promises. Our readings today tell us that we don't need to be afraid to acknowledge the realities of death that are an integral part of our human existence. Isaiah tells the people who are facing the grief and pain of exile and death that, in the midst of the very real tears, God is present, and God will wipe away the tears and remove the shrouds. Revelation speaks of the new heaven and earth that are promised — on the other side of death. And in our gospel from John, Jesus has the courage to face the harsh realities of death. He arrives at the house of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus to find that Lazarus has been dead for four days. Jesus goes to the place where Lazarus was buried, in a cave sealed with a stone. John tells us that Jesus was greatly disturbed and moved, and Jesus weeps, sharing the grief that is felt by Lazarus' sisters and the rest who loved him. And then, he asks to have the stone rolled away from the tomb. The others protest, saying that the body will smell horribly, now that he has been dead for four days. But Jesus is not afraid to face even the most unpleasant and final details of death. Even the stench of death does not deter him, John tells us. Today, we face the mortality of our human existence. We remember those we love who have died. We acknowledge our grief and our loss. We celebrate the love and joy of the time we shared with those we loved who have died. And we claim once again the promises of God that were celebrated on the days of their baptisms, and trust that Isaiah, and Revelation, and the Gospel of John in their claims are true: death will never be the final word. We remember the enduring promises of God for each and every one of those who have died, especially those we will name today. And then we will turn, as all the prophets and Jesus did, to new life. We will wait on God, who wipes away tears and removes shrouds. We wait on God, who will make all things new. We stand at the tomb with Jesus as Lazarus wakes from death and comes out, alive once more. We join with the community around Lazarus, as Jesus invites us to remove the shrouds binding his arms and legs. We experience with all of our senses the truth that death will never be the final word. Our life on this earth is finite and our bodies will pass away, but in Christ this is not the end of the story. God does not abandon God's people. Though death will come, God's promises of life will always prevail. Life will always prevail, and new life is coming. It is so appropriate that on this All Saint's Day, we celebrate again the promises of God with the baptism of Jack Jordan. One more time, the water and the Word of God come together as we witness the grace of God's love and forgiveness for each and every one of us, and especially today for Jack. This morning, in this sacred space, grief and hope intertwine, as we acknowledge death and new life together in this community. God is present, and always has been, from the beginning of time, from the first breath of our lives to the last, to the end of time when all will be transformed and made new. The promises of our baptisms hold true, even to death. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 24, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44, Jackson Jordan, baptism

November 21, 2021. As Thanksgiving is upon us, guest preacher Rachel Helton asks us to be thankful for all the blessings in our lives, and open to receiving the things that we need, and generous with our possessions, our bread, our time, our commitment to justice, our willingness to extend mercy and compassion, and our desire to be Christ in the world to one another, in order to experience the fullness of the reign of God. Reading: John 18:33-37 *** Transcript *** Won't you pray with me? Holy God, may the words that I speak and the ponderings of our hearts be full of grace and be pleasing to you. Amen. Some of you may know that I'm currently interning as a chaplain at Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital. And this week is Heritage Week for all of the SSM hospitals and ministries, where we are encouraged to remember and reflect upon the legacy and mission of the Sisters of St. Mary. A group of five German nuns, led by Sister Odilia, arrived in St. Louis in 1872 with the mission of revealing the healing presence of God through service to the physical, spiritual, and emotional needs of others. So Thursday morning as I entered the hospital I was greeted with a loaf of bread. And I thought that's interesting, but I'll take it. And it was accompanied with this card, which I will read to you: The Legend of the Loaf of Bread: One day a man came to the convent door asking for food. The sister in charge of the kitchen went to Mother Odilia for help. So picture this, back in the 1870s, this man is coming, asking for help. There was but one loaf of bread in the house. Was she to refuse the appeal of the man, or deprive the sisters? Without hesitation, Mother Odilia said, “Give the man what he asks, sister. The Lord will provide for us.” Only half-convinced, the sister obeyed and gave away the loaf of bread. Some hours later, a child was sent by her mother to deliver a pan of freshly baked rolls to the sisters. When the child arrived at the convent she was greeted with, “The Lord has come. You are the Lord today, little one!” Greatly surprised, the child was told the meaning of the spontaneous exclamation. And so is the legend of the loaf of bread. This Sunday we come to the close of our church year and we find ourselves at a crux between the season after Pentecost and the season of Advent. In that space between the seasons of celebrating the work of the Spirit in the world and the season of expectation for Emanuel, God with us, and we find ourselves at Christ the King Sunday, pondering what it means to call Jesus “king” and what it means to participate in the kingdom or the reign of God. Our gospel reading for today takes us not to Jesus transfigured and shining in glory or Jesus ascending into the clouds, but to Jesus on trial before Pilate. On Christ the King Sunday, we take a good hard look at what it means to have a king who is on trial, a king who will be mocked and crucified. And those around him are mocked too, for putting their hope in something beyond the Roman Empire. When Pilate asks Jesus the first time, “Are you the king of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world.” It's almost as if Jesus is saying, “We're not even talking about the same thing here.” Last week, we heard about the disciples and Jesus who were both looking at the temple, but seeing different things. And the destruction of the temple was the revealing, or the uncovering, of the truth about God's presence and God's love. So too, the kingdom of God is completely unrecognizable to Pilate's understanding of kingship as power and privilege. It's the dismantling of earthly kingdoms and hierarchies that uncovers the full experience of the kingdom of God. Jesus, who cannot be defined and confined by time and space, represents a kingdom that cannot be defined by these measures either. When Jesus says, “My kingdom is not from this world,” he is not saying that he doesn't belong here or that his kingdom is somewhere off in the clouds or out in the future. Rather, he is completely redefining the whole idea of kingship. This kingdom, which is both now and not yet, is witnessed in the sharing of a loaf of bread now, and in the not yet reality that there are still those who are hungry. Jesus is saying that unlike earthly kingdoms which find their security in the power they are able to hold over others, the kingdom of God is grounded in the promise of hope and peace and justice and belonging, promises that are rooted in relationship with a God who was, and is, and is to come, the alpha and omega, the all-encompassing, the ever-present. And we are invited into that relationship, we are invited to participate in the work of the kingdom right now, not out of obligation or subjugation, not because we are forced to by a dictator king, but because it is through reliance on one another, and ultimately reliance on God, that we experience God's reign and have hope for the full restoration of creation. When Jesus is asked a second time by Pilate, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” Earlier in the Gospel of John, chapter 14, Jesus says, “I am the way, the life, and the truth.” And in John 8, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Being in relationship with Christ brings us into relationship with the truth; we belong to the truth — the truth that we are beloved and set free to do justice, to love kindness, to share our bread, knowing that God has already provided enough for all, if only we are willing to share it. Jesus in his full humanity invites us to embrace our full humanity as we bear witness to the truth of the kingdom where all are fed, where all get what they need rather than what they deserve, where all are welcome, where peace and justice are established, and where love is always the final word. In closing, I want to share with you the words of a hymn from the new “All Creation Sings” hymnal. It's hymn 1062 and the tune is a French carol that you might recognize from “Now the Green Blade Riseth.” I won't sing but I'll hum it at least so you can think of how this would sound. People are nodding. They're recognizing that tune. So the words really speak to me about the vision of God's kingdom. 1. Build a longer table, not a higher wall,feeding those who hunger, making room for all.Feasting together, stranger turns to friend,Christ breaks walls to pieces; false divisions end. 2. Build a safer refuge, not a larger jail;where the weak find shelter, mercy will not fail.For any place where justice is denied,Christ will breach the jail wall, freeing all inside. 3. Build a broader doorway, not a longer fence.Love protects all people, sparing no expense.When we embrace compassion more than fear,Christ tears down our fences: all are welcome here. 4. When we lived as exiles, refugees abroad,Christ became our doorway to the reign of God.So must our tables welcome those who roam.None can be excluded; all must find a home. As Thanksgiving is upon us, I hope that we can be thankful for all the blessings in our lives, and open to receiving the things that we need, and generous with our possessions, our bread, our time, our commitment to justice, our willingness to extend mercy and compassion, and our desire to be Christ in the world to one another, in order to experience the fullness of the reign of God. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Rachel Helton, John 18:33-37, Build a Longer Table, David Bjorlin, ACS supplement

October 10, 2021. We may be tempted to see grace as a free pass to mess up forever, but it is so much more than that. The eyes of grace see and love us exactly as we are, and as we can be. The eyes of grace see us with love first, and know and understand our humanity. Readings: Hebrews 4:12-16, Mark 10:17-31 *** Transcript *** Imagine that you're talking to two friends about a new movie. “The trailers are really great!” one of them says. “It's funny, it's set in New Zealand, and Nicole Kidman is in it.” The other one replies, “Well, I saw it yesterday, and it is funny, Nicole is awesome as usual, and the videography really captures New Zealand. There are some scenes that get really intense, though. It might not a good movie for kids. And be ready for a serious cry and have some Kleenex handy!” Which is most helpful, as you decide if this movie might be for you, or who you might want to see it with? It is much easier to trust someone who has actually seen the movie. They have actually experienced what you are about to experience, and you know that they know what you'll be getting into. Our passage from Hebrews today has one of my favorite scripture verses in it: “We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one [Jesus] who in every respect has been tested as we have, yet without sin.” Like someone who has actually seen the movie, and cried the tears, and gripped the arm on the movie theater seat (or their companion's hand), Jesus isn't just guessing what our human life is like from a teaser. Jesus has been here, lived life as a human being on this earth, and because of that he knows exactly what being human is all about. This, I think, is one of the most profound things for me about knowing God in Jesus. No matter what happens to us in this life, no matter what griefs, or joys, or surprises, or frustrations, or betrayals, or redemptions we face, Jesus hasn't simply read or heard about it. He has been through it. As a foundation for trust, you really can't beat that. As if that isn't enough, there is another line in our Hebrews text that might easily slip past, but is no less profound: “Let us approach the throne of grace with boldness...“ For anyone who grew up hearing about God's seat on the throne being the vantage point from which he judges who is worthy and who isn't, who's getting to heaven and who isn't, this is a completely different image, isn't it? We approach the throne of grace. We approach Jesus, who knows what our human life is like because he has experienced it for himself. Not only that, but the God who the author of Hebrews tells us knows us, not just on the surface, but right to the very marrow of our bones. In our time of need, in our greatest woundedness and vulnerability, God is waiting to offer us mercy, not judgment. And when we are genuinely seeking to follow God's call for us, and are stumbling on selfishness or fear or the illusion that there isn't enough to share, Jesus looks on us just like he did that rich young man. He looks on us first with eyes of love. He understands that we get stuck sometimes, and still calls us to be our better selves. He calls us to give all that we are in spite of the fear. I think sometimes we see grace as a magic eraser, a free pass to mess up forever. But grace is so much more than that. The eyes of grace see and love us exactly as we are, with all the stumbles and mistakes and resistance, and all the fears and selfishness and confusion. The eyes of grace see us exactly as we are, and as we can be. The eyes of grace see us with love first, know and understand our humanity — and because of and not in spite of that, never give up on us. On an occasion when I showed up badly at work, my boss rightfully called me out for the attitude I had brought with me. I made my amends and I did what I could to show up better, but I still was absolutely mortified and I felt that I had broken trust in a way that was going to take a long time to repair. I don't remember today what I did, but I will never forget what my boss said to me when we talked about it later. She said that far from breaking trust, the fact that we had faced the difficulty head on and worked through it together actually built trust between us. In that moment, I felt the grace of God embodied, knowing that I was seen and accepted as I was, and trusted to be more fully the person that I could be. It was still not easy. And the disciples, hearing Jesus talk about how hard it will be to be vulnerable, how hard it will be to give everything like Jesus asked the rich young man to do, to welcome God's kin-dom where the first are last and the last are first, they wonder how anyone can possibly measure up to this standard. The rich young man certainly felt that. Jesus tells the disciples that it will be easier for that camel to go through the eye of the needle than it will be for a rich person to get into the kin-dom of heaven. Jesus in fact tells the disciples that for us on our own, it is impossible. These are not easy words, in this world that presents so many complicated situations, so many conflicting opinions and options for how to respond to the brokenness around us and live out God's call. Jesus' directive to “sell all you have and give it to the poor” was too much for that young man, and at least for that moment, he left, sad. The consistent call to welcome the stranger, and Jesus telling his disciples that “the last will be first and the first will be last,” has very different implications for us when you place it squarely in the context of hundreds of people coming to our border and getting in line, fleeing violence, starvation, and death. The last shall be first, and first shall be last. Following Jesus is about letting go of excuses, taking God's call to love seriously, and embracing the complexities of this world that we live in, even when it is impossible for us. Seeing that young man — and the disciples, and us today — with eyes of grace, Jesus reminds us all that we are not on our own. Jesus is not talking to just one of the disciples, but to all of them — and all of us — together, telling them that for us living out God's call is impossible, but for and with God and one another, it is possible. Grace reveals itself best in relationship, between us and God, and between us and our companions on this journey. We human beings don't always embody that kind of grace — in fact, I feel it something of a miracle when we do. But God shares our human experience without sin, without the limitations and the barriers that we as humans face. In Christ, we have a God who knows exactly what it means to be human, and always sees us with eyes of grace. It is with eyes of grace that Jesus calls us to repent from our sin, and to grow and better embody the love of God in the world. In Christ we know that with God, anything is possible. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Hebrews 4:12-16, Mark 10:17-31

September 12, 2021. Where are you called to use your hands to participate in God's creativity and love? How can you find the courage to speak the gospel's radical truth in the face of resistance, and hold your tongue when needed so other prophetic voices can be heard? Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a, James 3:1-12, Mark 8:27-38 *** Transcript *** After five weeks of Jesus' bread of life discourse, about God giving God's self to us in very profound, real, and sometimes mystical ways, we are now on our second week of Mark showing us Jesus in all his humanity. Last week Jesus tries (unsuccessfully) to hide from the demands of the ministry he is embodying, and in the process he shows us how not to respond, and how to respond, to someone different from us. Today, as Jesus is trying to explain to his disciples just how hard the road ahead of them all is, Peter tells Jesus (in not-so-polite language) to be quiet. And Jesus in turn tells Peter (in not-so-polite language) to be quiet. In all fairness, I can sympathize with Peter, who doesn't want to hear about what will happen to Jesus in Jerusalem, and what will happen to Jesus' followers later. And I can sympathize with Jesus, who just wants one of his closest companions to get it, so he doesn't have to carry this load alone. Anyone who has had hard truths to share can probably understand how Jesus was feeling, and just how disheartening it would have been to have Peter discount what he was saying to them. After all, Jesus didn't want the cross to become a reality, any more than any of us would, or do. And yet, he knew the truth of it, and Peter trying to shut down that truth was just too much. All through our scriptures today, we see this reality: trust in God does not make things easy. In fact, sometimes the radical, unapologetic, unlimited love of God, fully embraced, can make us a target for the evil in this world, whose only mission is to close into a box that which will not be contained. Isaiah tells the Israelites that as people of faith they are called to proclaim the good news of God right into the midst of their enemies. We often read this passage in which Isaiah speaks of giving the back to those who beat it, and the face to those who pluck the beard, as being about Jesus. The hard truth here is that Isaiah is actually speaking to the Israelites living in exile among foreigners, and to all followers of God, to us, who are called to claim God's promise exactly where it is needed the most. To call out radical love and justice for those most vulnerable, even when others are trying their hardest to shut it down. This is no small thing. Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated in an attempt to shut down his leadership in the movements for racial and economic justice and peace, not so long ago. Water Protectors standing for the protection of sacred lands, environmental justice, and clean water have faced violent resistance and even death in our own country in the last few years. Many seeking racial justice have found themselves targeted by private citizens, right-wing militia, and even government — and Heather Heyer, who was murdered by a white supremacist during the Unite the Right Rally in Charlottesville in 2017, is not the only one to have lost her life. This week, the ELCA officially welcomes Bishop Megan Rohrer (they/he), newly installed to the Sierra Pacific Synod, the first openly transgender bishop in the ELCA. Since they have served as an openly trans pastor, boldly proclaiming radical love and inclusion for all regardless of gender identity, Bishop Rohrer has received messages of hate and even death threats. This is not easy truth, family of faith. It would be so much easier, wouldn't it, if we could just skip the cross, skip the challenge, skip the suffering, and go straight to resurrection. But Jesus tells Peter, in no uncertain terms, in not-so-polite language, that it doesn't work that way. God has always come to bring the gospel of healing, hope, justice, and love to the broken places, and God has always sent God's people to do the same, because that is who God is. And that is not an easy road. No wonder some of the disciples chose to leave, as we heard in our gospel a few weeks back. Our readings today carry this even further. James makes it clear that sometimes the evil trying to shut down or limit God's love is nothing more or less than the very tongue in our own mouths. What we say can be very powerful, as Isaiah and James both make clear in today's readings. Words can do harm and tear down, or words can build up those around us. And likewise, silence can do incredible harm, allowing untruth and evil to go unchecked, or silence can create space for truth that others need to share to be heard and honored. Silence is as powerful, or more, than words. “The Good Place” is a light-hearted comedy about an unlikely community of people who end up in the show's version of heaven after they die, some of whom probably got there by mistake. One of them, Jason, is in the Good Place because he was mistaken for Jianyu Li, a Taiwanese monk. He jumps at the offer to “continue his vow of silence” to keep the secret. And everyone thinks he really is a monk until... you guessed it: he opens his mouth and speaks. Jason's tongue, the second it is unbridled, makes it clear just who he is, for good or for ill. And in all of our passages today, and in Mark especially, Jesus is sharing words that make it very clear who he is, and what it will mean to follow him. Not the glory of the Messiah lifted up and honored, but the reality that following Jesus, trusting in God, means embodying the truth of God's promises at the very center of the greatest suffering. Just as Isaiah tells the people that God is calling them to be faithful, bold, and do that in the face of their enemies. As we remember the 20th anniversary of the death and destruction of the September 11th attack on the Trade Center and Pentagon, we know there is evil in this world. We also recall those who faced the evil to bring rescue and healing wherever it was possible. Many of them died for their efforts. And we know that there is a great capacity for good. The news shows us both the evil and the good every day. And God is still present, bringing the good news of the gospel right where the suffering is greatest, and calling us, God's people, to do the same. This weekend is also “God's Work Our Hands” Sunday in the ELCA, highlighting our call to enter the brokenness of the world and proclaim God's love for all, even when our enemies, or our own tongue, try to shut it down. Jesus followed this path, all the way to death. This is, at its heart, the meaning of cross. This is not easy, family of faith. And it is no wonder that some of Jesus's disciples turned around when they understood it, and no wonder Peter tried, in not-so-polite language, to keep Jesus from telling this truth. We can take courage knowing that even Peter and Jesus wrestled with it, and we do this not alone, but together. As we mark “God's Work Our Hands” Sunday, where will you bring God's message of healing and justice? Where are you called to use your hands to participate in God's creativity and love? How can you find the courage to speak the gospel's radical truth in the face of resistance, and hold your tongue when needed so other prophetic voices can be heard? All the way back to Isaiah, the call is clear. And all the way to today, God walks the road with us. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 116:1-9, James 3:1-12, Mark 8:27-38

September 19, 2021. How can we use our imagination, caring curiosity, abundant generosity, and vulnerability to welcome more intentionally? Readings: James 3: 13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9: 30-37 *** Transcript *** The hard conversations continue again this week. Jesus reminds his disciples that there are difficult times ahead — rejection and even death, and not glory, are in store for the one who they hope will free them from oppressive Roman rule. And the disciples still don't get it. Perhaps they don't really want to understand. And who can blame them? This time, rather than arguing with Jesus about this as we heard last week, the disciples get into a conversation of their own, trying to work out among them who will have the biggest share of the glory that they are sure still is going to come, when Jesus seizes power. They are embarrassed to tell Jesus that this is what they'd been talking about. But Jesus knows anyway, and he calls them to focus on what is more important: welcoming those who are commonly overlooked and rejected to the table. Making sure that those usually left behind get the seats closest to Jesus. He shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And this got me thinking about welcome, what it means and how we live it out, and one of the places where I have experienced profound welcome. When we arrived in Tanzania, on one hand everything felt different. Mostly dirt roads, food that was unfamiliar to me, unknown language, and most of all, the monkeys that were playing in the trees where we were used to seeing squirrels. It didn't take long, however, before we knew that we were thoroughly welcomed there. Our hosts met us, with face-splitting smiles and bear hugs, even though, we found out later, one of them had malaria when we arrived. They walked us to the hotel, where our rooms were ready for us. Everywhere we went, there was food and drink offered. Even those who seemed to have nothing had what they could give to us, and they gave it freely — whether that be peanuts, or little cakes or tea. And there was always the opportunity to wash our hands… echoing the tradition in Jesus's time of washing the dust and dirt of long travel off the feet of every visitor who entered your house. We went to worship, and every word of Swahili was translated for us by one of our hosts, who intently wrote a couple of sentences at a time on small sheets of paper that she sent down our row so we could all read what was being said. And behind, around, and through it all, our first and most frequent Swahili words, as I mentioned earlier: Karibu sana! Not simply welcome, but close. And not just close, but very close. “All are welcome” is something that we say a lot, isn't it? And yet, it's so easy to get caught in our own “stuff” and fail to welcome well. Sometimes we're stuck in the feeling that there isn't enough to share with someone else. Like the disciples, we may find ourselves arguing over where we sit, rather than looking to make sure everyone has a place. We may be stuck in “old ways” of doing things, thinking that the way we have always done things is the only way. As James points out today, the desires or cravings in our hearts can distract us, and get us lost in what's in it for us. Soon we are arguing, as the disciples did, over who gets recognition, the best seat, the most power, and we have completely forgotten the God of abundance who has made sure there is enough for everyone. Jesus understands where the disciples have gotten lost, and shifts the conversation to radical welcome. And as so often happens, Jesus lifts up those who are overlooked as he describes how to live out the call of God in our lives. This time, it's not a Samaritan, or a woman, but a child. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Whoever welcomes the forgotten one, the last one, welcomes God. Debie Thomas, in her blog “Journey With Jesus,” turns this around a little bit, and reflects not on how children are welcomed, but on how children can show us how to welcome. Children use their imaginations, Thomas points out. The disciples struggled to break out of their hierarchical thinking, but children have a great capacity to see things from different angles. Anyone who has spent time with children knows that unlike the disciples who were afraid to ask Jesus about what they didn't understand, children are not afraid to ask the hard questions, sometimes to our great embarrassment, as when my younger brother chose the quietest moment of worship to loudly ask, “Why that man ain't got no hair?!” The disciples, and many of us adults, don't easily trust in abundance, but children often tend by nature to trust that there is enough, that they are enough, and that they will have what they need. Children often have to be taught to fear not having enough. And from children we can learn that, contrary to what we might expect, God shows up best in vulnerability. Jesus shows us this truth over and over throughout his ministry, all the way to the cross. Thomas writes, “Do we want to see God? Do we really want to see God? Then look to the child abandoned in the alleyway. Look to the child detained at our border. Look to the child who has been abused. Look to the child who is fleeing from war. Look to the least of these, and see the face of God.” Imagination, honest curiosity, abundant generosity, vulnerability. This is the welcome we are called to. Last Sunday, you all gave approval for the Council to receive a bid on the Mead Center, and to move forward with conversation about renovation plans for our church building. Welcome and accessibility are clear, core values that have been named in the process of renovation, and this came up again in our conversations over the last couple of months. When Sunday School space was discussed recently, Superintendent Mr. Jesse said that if we wait until someone comes who needs an elevator, it is already too late to make that person welcome. It's already too late. We are invited, in reflecting on this, to welcome not just those who are already here, but to use our imaginations so that we can be prepared to welcome those who will come in the future. And in the not too far future, we know that Afghani people fleeing their homes as refugees will be coming to St. Louis, and with the coordination and guidance of the International Institute of St. Louis, St Louis is already preparing to welcome them. The Afghani people will come bringing their culture, bringing their faith, their families, their losses and their griefs, their hopes and their dreams. It will take all of us St. Louisans to open the door and make way for them to have their homes among us. And we, as Christ Lutheran Church, have already been involved in helping to prepare for those who will be coming to join our communities. So I ask all of us, myself included… how do people know that they are welcome here, in our community of faith? How do people know that they are welcome in our schools and our workplaces, in our homes, and in our lives? How can we use our imagination, caring curiosity, abundant generosity, and vulnerability to welcome more intentionally? And how can we open our hearts to the Spirit and unleash our capacity to welcome and serve, not just today, but for many years to come? Come, Holy Spirit, and guide us into the future. Thanks be to God. *** Keywords *** 2021, Christ Lutheran Church, Webster Groves, sermon, podcast, transcript, YouTube, video, Pastor Meagan McLaughlin, James 3: 13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9: 30-37, Debie Thomas