Sermon Audio – Cross of Grace

Acts 16:6-15They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.' When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district* of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, ‘If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.' And she prevailed upon us. This weekend kicks off not only the start of summer for so many, but it also serves as the unofficial beginning of graduation season. In the office this week, I asked the question: what gift should you get a graduate? I told them about a friend's mom who would give monogrammed towels as her graduate gift. +Mark and Amanda informed me that I should not pick up that tradition. Money was the consensus, just get a card with some cash. I don't disagree, but I am warning you graduates now, I can almost guarantee that someone will give out a copy of the Dr. Suess classic, “Oh The Places You'll Go”. And it is a fitting tribute for the occasion:“ Congratulations! Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the person who'll decide where to go.”It is a remarkable feeling, no? To be on the precipice of what comes next and then to set off on the journey. It is so exciting, perhaps a little frightening, if not for you, then for your parents or grandparents and other loved ones. Timothy likely felt this same way when he began his journey with Paul and Silas. In our text, the “they” we hear is in reference to those three Paul, Silas, and Timothy, maybe more. Timothy just joined the group. In the passage immediately before this, Paul and Silas stop in Lystra, where they hear about this young disciple named Timothy. Among believers in Lystra, Timothy is well spoken of. So Paul asks Timothy to join him on this mission. Timothy probably thought “oh the place I'll go”. And go they did, from town to town, the churches were growing, everything was great!That is until they came to Phrygia. Paul and crew want to go to Asia. They think, “that's where God is calling us to proclaim the Gospel. So that must be the right place for us.” So they went to turn left and head to Asia, but the Holy Spirit forbade them to go. That's strange… why would the Holy Spirit not let me go? And what does that even mean? Did a giant wind push against them every time they tried to turn left? Did their compass only point them east? However it happened, they couldn't go into Asia. So the crew thinks well what do you do when you can't turn left… you go right! And so they try to turn right and go to Bithynia, but the Holy Spirit doesn't allow that either. With no other options left, they go to Troas.If you are Timothy, you've got to wonder what went wrong? Everything was so good? We were going to all these places, the church was growing, we had a great plan! But just when everything seemed great, suddenly it wasn't anymore. Graduates, this will undoubtedly happen to you. Surely everyone gathered has had a time like that: when everything seemed to be going great, you thought you were doing what God wanted you to do, but suddenly your plans changed (or they were changed for you), and the roads you wanted to take became blocked. Maybe the major you'd hope for didn't work out. Or you didn't get that job you thought you always wanted or were let go of the job you loved. Maybe that relationship you never thought would end came to a close. Or an unexpected trip to the doctor makes you put everything on hold. Despite your best efforts you ended up in a place you never wanted to be. We've all been there. As Dr Suess says: “I'm sorry to say so but, sadly, it's true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you. You can get all hung up, in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You'll be left in a Lurch. You'll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you'll be in a Slump. And when you're in a Slump, you're not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.Yet, it is at those places you never wanted to be, in the times you least expect, that something will happen or someone will come and help and get you unslumped. For Timothy and crew their unslumping came from a vision that Paul had while in Troas: a man saying “Come to Macedonia and help us.” The three of them got up and immediately headed to Macedonia, “convinced that God had called them to proclaim the good news there”.They set sail from Troas, landed in Samothrace, and then came ashore at Neapolis. Neapolis is this wonderful little seaside town, the kind of place you want to land in, and maybe put down some roots; enjoy the sandy beaches and nice weather. I could imagine Timothy saying to Paul and Silas, “we don't really need to follow that vision, that dream, that call, right?” But Paul and his companions don't stop and stay there. It's nice, but they know it's not where they are supposed to be. You'll have your own Neapolis too, places and opportunities that seem really nice, the city or job or relationship you could see yourself in. And the temptation to stay will be strong, yet you'll know it's not right. Heed the voice, the vision, the calling God has placed on you. There will be a reason you move on, even if it is not clear in the moment.Finally Paul, Timothy, and Silas land in Philippi, even though that was not the original goal. Remember Paul wanted to spread the Gospel and grow the church in Asia. But listen to how this part of Paul's mission ends. On the sabbath they all go to the river, hoping to find people praying. They join a group of women and among them is Lydia, likely a wealthy business woman with great influence. She listened eagerly to Paul, had herself and her whole family baptized, and then opened her home to Paul and Timothy and Silas. Lydia is from Thyatria, which is in Asia, the very place Paul hoped to spread the gospel in the first place. Through all the travels, the wrong turns, and the change of plans, Paul does in fact fulfill his mission of growing the church in Asia, just not where and how he expected too.Despite our best efforts, God's calling and leading come through mistaken directions and failed attempts, which can certainly be frustrating and make discernment difficult.We'd like to think “we are the one's who decide where to go”. As Dr/ Seuss puts it. But that's where he's wrong. As Paul, Timothy and Silas attest, it is an illusion to think it's all up to us. God is in charge of the journey you're on. At times, it won't look the way you want or lead to the places you'd hoped. But thankfully Jesus promises us an Advocate, the Holy Spirit, that helps us in discernment and guides us to where we need to go, what we need to do, and who we should meet along the way. For Paul and Timothy, the journey nor the destination were likely what the team imagined. The wandering, the rejection, the vision in a dream, and the people they met. They did not expect a woman, that wasnt what the vision showed. Yet, in the end God's will was done, not their own, which is what we all pray for.Graduates/young people, it's okay if your journey in life looks like this. Parents/grandparents, it's okay if your young person's journey looks like this. God is still at work in the mess of it all. The reality for not just graduates but for all of us is our own journeys will be less like us deciding the places we go, and more like the wanderings of Paul and the rest: ending up in places we didn't expect, receiving direction in ways we didn't anticipate, and meeting people we never predicted, but trusting that God is still leading.“Plans are made. Plans come apart.” Says Kate Bowler, “New delights or tragedies pop up in their place. And nothing human or divine will map out this life, this life that has been more painful than I could have imagined. More beautiful than I could have imagined.”Amen.

Revelation 21:1-6Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Do you teach them about the rapture? That's the question a woman asked me as I sat at Starbucks trying to write a sermon. On Thursdays before I preach, I usually head to a coffee shop or the library to write. It's not uncommon for someone to strike up a conversation—I guess it's not every day you see someone sitting in public with a Bible open.On this day, a woman and her husband sat at the same large table as me. I could feel her eyes on me. I knew what was coming. I made the mistake of looking up from my screen—and she got me.“So, are you a Bible student?” No, I'm a pastor here in New Pal.“Well, you're awfully young to be a pastor…” (Like I haven't heard that one before.) “What's your church?”When I said, “Cross of Grace Lutheran Church,” the back-and-forth stopped, and she proceeded to tell me how great her church and her pastor are. Then, either noticing my intentional body language—literally leaning away—or the way I kept glancing back at my half-written sermon, she ended the conversation with one last question:“Do you teach them about the rapture?”The rapture? I thought. I tried to come up with a kind response instead of simply saying, “Uh… no.”“Well, in my tradition, that's not something we focus on…” I said.And goodness, was she disappointed in that answer.“Well, you gotta teach them about the rapture. It's the most important thing.”The most important thing? There's so much I could have—should have—asked:What do you mean by rapture?Why is it the most important thing?What does your pastor say when preaching about it? Who do you think gets left behind—and why?But I had a sermon to finish, after all.I've never preached on “the rapture.” I don't think I've ever even preached on a passage from Revelation. So, wherever you are, lady, this one's for you. Because you're partially right—it is important for us to understand what the rapture is, the bad and harmful theology behind it, and what we might imagine in its place when we talk about life after death.Some of you know all about the rapture. Maybe you grew up in a more fundamentalist church or were terrified by the Left Behind series in the mid 90s. Others of you, good Lutherans that you are, may only have a vague idea of what it means. But all of us have been exposed to some version of this belief. Usually, when people talk about the rapture, it's part of a theology called dispensationalism. You may have never heard that word, but you've definitely seen signs of it—like every time you pass a billboard like this, now how'd that pan out? Or this… Or when you notice our culture's fascination with the apocalypse and end time predictions.Not to bore you too much, but the idea of the rapture was invented by a British preacher named John Nelson Darby in the 1830s. He took the traditional understanding of Jesus' return and split it into two parts. First comes the rapture: Jesus appears in the sky, snatches up born-again Christians, and whisks them off to heaven for seven years. During that time, God inflicts wrath on the earth and Christians watch safely from above. Then, after those seven years, comes the final return of Jesus to fight the battle of Armageddon (mentioned in Revelation) and establish an earthly kingdom.This whole timeline is a patchwork—stitched together from one verse in 1 Thessalonians, three from Daniel, and a single verse from Revelation. Behind all that is a bad theology and a harmful hermeneutic—a way of reading and understanding the Bible. First, this approach takes the Bible literally, as if Revelation were some sort of roadmap to the end times. But, as you've heard us say before, we mustn't read the Bible literally—we're called to read it literate-ly and seriously, taking into account the many voices and genres that make up Scripture. Revelation is apocalyptic literature, a kind of writing well known to the seven first-century churches it was written for. It's not a crystal ball—it's a prophetic vision full of metaphor and symbolic imagery, not a literal forecast of future events.Second, this theology takes a few out-of-context verses to offer false certainty about what's to come, rather than wrestling with the mystery of faith. The Bible gives us many different images of Jesus' return: a banquet in Luke, a wedding feast in Matthew, paradise, green pastures, even a return to Eden. But none of these say when this will happen. In fact, Jesus says clearly: “About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” (Matthew 24:36) Jesus doesn't want us trying to piece together a divine timeline. He wants us to live in hope and with trust.And perhaps the biggest thing the rapture gets wrong is this: the idea that we'll float off to heaven and away from all this; that our souls get to finally escape the pain of this world and just be with Jesus. But here's the thing: the Bible never says we're just souls that happen to have bodies. We are both—body and soul—and they will not be separated. Resurrection always includes the beautiful body God gave you.And what if—just hear me out—what if at the end of all things, we don't go to heaven… What if heaven comes to us?Which is exactly what Revelation says. God establishes a new heaven and a new earth here, in our midst, and God takes up residence with us. Doesn't that sound more like the God revealed to us in Jesus Christ? The God who entered into our suffering? The God who heals what is hurt? The God who accomplishes the divine plan through seemingly insignificant people, places, and things.It should be no surprise, then, that God would come down to this broken world—full of broken people—and heal it until there are no more tears, no more mourning or pain or death, and make a home here with us. That sounds like the God we know in Jesus.Lutheran theologian Barbara Rossing, an expert on the rapture and end-times thinking, says people are drawn to rapture theology because they want to see the Bible come to life. They want to connect Scripture with their own lives. They want to experience God—and think that can only happen if they leave this place.But the truth is: the Bible is coming to life and we do experience God—in this world, in our lives.The Bible comes to life everytime we feed someone who is hungry, give water to someone who is thirsty, wipe the tears trickling down one's cheek, visit the imprisoned and detained, relieve someone's pain, or welcome the immigrant. We are in the presence of God here on earth every time we come to the table, when we share meals with our friends and our enemies, or as Jesus says, when we love others as he loves us.Those acts—those holy, small, grace-filled acts—create little pockets of heaven on earth. They allow us to experience God right here and now, until that great day when God comes to live among us forever, making God's kingdom come and God's will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.So no—the rapture isn't the most important thing. But trusting that God will come down, give us new life, and dwell with us in a world made new, free of pain and suffering and death? Now that sounds more like it. Amen.

John 10:22-30At that time, the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and asked him, “How long will you keep us in the suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us, plainly.”Jesus answered them, “I have told you and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father's name testify to me, but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life and they will never perish. No one will snatch them from my hand. What the Father has given me is greater than all else and no one can snatch it from the Father's hand. The Father and I are one.” “You do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep.”“You do not believe because you do not belong.” What if that's the whole tweet, as they say? What if that's all we need to hear this morning? And what if you and I are supposed to be convicted by that – as followers of Jesus – rather than use it as some kind of judgement against those who consider themselves not to be followers of the Jesus we claim?“You do not believe because you do not belong.”Jesus is talking to the Jews who weren't on board yet with what he was up to. And, with a little pastoral imagination, I like to think his disciples were within earshot of this conversation; that they were following him around, as usual, and that Jesus knew he was being heard by both at the same time; that he was speaking to both crowds at once – those who belonged and those who didn't believe.There are plenty of people in the world who don't believe in Jesus – or God – or have a Christian faith for all sorts of rational, considered, thoughtful, theological reasons. Maybe they're deliberately, purposefully atheists. Maybe they're people of another faith – Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, pagans. I'm not talking about them, necessarily.Instead, I found myself wondering this week about those who don't believe, but who would, could, might believe, if only we – as followers of Jesus – would do better at finding ways for them to BELONG, first. (“You don't believe because you don't belong…”)I heard two stories just this week, in two very different, settings, from two very different sources, about two sets of parents who were struggling with the fact that their gay or lesbian children weren't people of faith; didn't go to church; didn't believe or worship or practice a faith that their parents wished that they would. In one case, the child had been raised in the Church, but had fallen away from an active, practicing life of faith. In the other case, the family wasn't one who had ever practiced a faith, but the father came to believe in mid-life, and wanted to bring his wife and grown children along with him for the journey. (For what it's worth, one of these stories came by way of a colleague, here in Indianapolis. The other was from a completely unrelated story I heard on “This American Life.”)Anyway, what these two sets of parents have in common, is their outspoken disapproval of their children's sexuality, which is evident to the adult children they want to love, by either the theology they adhere to (“Love the sinner. Hate the Sin.” sort of stuff.), their political persuasion (the politicians and policies they support that do harm to their gay children), or both.In other words, the children of these parents know that they don't – and will never – BELONG to their parents' faith communities or fit into their misguided view of the world, so how could they and why would they ever want to believe in the things their parents professed about a loving, gracious, merciful God?“…you don't believe because you don't belong.”In my opinion, so many people in so many walks of life are falling away from the faith or throwing it all out with the bath water, because they see Christianity connected with exclusion, judgment, hypocrisy, greed, violence, and more. People don't believe because they don't belong – or because they don't want to belong – to a body that embodies any of those things. And, as hard and as sad and as frustrating as that is, it makes perfect sense to me. And it's why we have so much work to do.And I think that work starts with belonging. They don't believe because they don't belong.People long to feel and to experience welcome, love, and affirmation. And when they do, they might begin to wonder about believing and embracing the God who promises it.If we want people to feel like part of God's family… If we want people to learn about the grace we proclaim… If we want people to believe in the wideness of God's mercy, in the amazing love of our creator, in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and in life everlasting…I'm convinced that they need to know, trust, and feel like they BELONG, first. And I think our call is to show and to shout and to share the good news of that belonging as loudly and as clearly, as often and in as many ways as we can manage.I heard another, beautiful story this week – perfect for Mother's Day – about a different family altogether who proved what belonging can do. Many years ago, this set of American parents adopted a 7 year-old boy from Romania, who had lived the first 7-and-a-half years of his life in an orphanage where he shared a crib with another boy his age that entire time. As they grew, they stayed in that crib, to the point that they had to sleep sitting up. They didn't go to school. They didn't go outside. They only left their crib to eat and to use the bathroom. Daniel, the boy who was adopted by the Americans in South Euclid, Ohio, never even knew the names of the adults who took care of him in that orphanage.The short of the long is that Daniel came to the states utterly unprepared for the life with which his adoptive parents hoped to give him – he simply wasn't ready socially, emotionally, or intellectually for a life with people who loved him. After 7 years in a crib, how could he be? And after a six-month honeymoon period with his new family in the states, things went downhill fast and furiously.Daniel developed an anger and rage over all that he couldn't process or understand about his experience in the orphanage, his having been put there in the first place by his birth parents, and his place in the world and with his new mom and dad. He threw tantrums they described as “tornadoes of rage … eight hour marathons where he would throw anything he could get his hands on.” There were thousands of holes in his bedroom walls from his violent outbursts.He abused social workers and specialists. He choked a puppy. He gave his mom, Heidi, a black eye, once. He held a knife to her neck, another time. It got so bad they hired the equivalent of a bodyguard to be in the house, so that Heidi was never alone with her new son.Finally – and I'm leaving out a lot of the story, mind you – they embarked on a fascinating, controversial treatment for Daniel's diagnosed Attachment Disorder where they pulled him out of school, Heidi quit her job, and they spent several months side-by-side, literally no farther than three feet apart. If one of them went to the bathroom, the other waited outside the door. They only time they were not next to each other, was when they were sleeping.They worked to establish the bond that's supposed to be created between mothers and infants, under normal circumstances, by being very deliberate about eye-contact, for instance, and proximity. Daniel wasn't allowed to ask for anything – he had to learn, from experience, that Heidi would provide basic needs for him, like food and drink. Daniel's punishment for not playing along, or for doing something wrong, was called a “Time In,” where he would be subjected to time on the couch, being hugged by his mother.Ultimately, it worked. After eight weeks of this and a year of “holding therapy” where the family of three cradled each other – holding 13 year-old Daniel like a newborn – for 20 minutes, every night for a year, Daniel began to transform, slowly, but surely, almost imperceptibly, into a boy who believed that he would be and could be and was LOVED by his parents. Another way to say this, if you ask me, is that Daniel came to believe in that love, because he was finally convinced that he belonged to his new family. He believed because he belonged.And I think this is our call as people of God in the world. People need to see and to know that they already belong to the good news and grace and eternal life we claim. And I think it's our job and it should be our joy – even when it's hard – to show that kind of love and belonging to them.I think they need to see us marching at PRIDE parades.I think they need to see us teaching about and practicing anti-racism.I think they need to see our kids walking against homelessness and they need to see us giving money to their cause.I think politicians need to receive our letters, our phone calls, and our votes – in the name of Jesus – that speak out on behalf of people who are hungry and homeless and criminalized for that. (Join us for that next Sunday, between services.)I think the women who are served by our Agape ministry to sex workers need to experience the proximity and generosity of that ministry.And the list goes on. But I've said enough. And, just because it couldn't be more timely, I'll close with something from the new Pope Leo that makes me think he'd agree with me. Apparently, he said this once:“We are often worried about teaching doctrine, but we risk forgetting that our first duty is to communicate the beauty and joy of knowing Jesus.”They don't believe, because they don't belong.I think those who don't believe what we claim to know about the grace of God need to experience it, first; they need to see us making room for them, for their doubts, and for their unbelief – whoever “they” may be. And that needs to happen, not because it's our job to convince them of God's love, but because we – and the world – will be blessed and better for having shared this love humbly, hopefully, and with a warm welcome of belonging, in Jesus' name.Amen[To hear the full story of Daniel and his family, listen to Episode 317 of This American Life, “Unconditional Love.”]

John 21:1-19After these things, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. This is how he showed himself to them. Gathered there were Simon Peter, Thomas who was also called the Twin, Nathaniel of Cana in Galilee, the Sons of Zebedee and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” And they went and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.Just after daybreak, Jesus came and stood on the shore, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. He said to them, “My children, you haven't any fish, have you?” They said to him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” So they cast it and they were not able to haul in the net because it was full of so many fish. The disciple whom Jesus loved said to Simon Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was Jesus, he put on some clothes for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. The others went in the boat, bringing with them the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land; only about a hundred yards off.When they had come ashore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring with you some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, one hundred fifty-three of them. But even though there were so many fish, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”Now, none of them dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they new that it was Jesus. He came and took the bread and gave it to them and he did the same thing with the fish. This was the third time he had appeared to them since he had been raised from the dead.After they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” A third time, Jesus said to him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter, upset that he had asked him a third time, “Do you love me?,” said to him, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. When you were a child, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you chose to go. But when you grow old you will stretch out your arms and others will fasten a belt around you and lead you to places that you may not choose to go.” (He said this in order to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) And when he has said this, he said to him, “Follow me.” Pastor Cogan said something, almost in passing last Sunday, in his sermon reflecting on Pope Francis. It was a one-liner that caught my attention in the moment and that came back to me when I read today's Gospel. He said that Pope Francis – faithful, humble servant that he was – “was a shepherd who smelled like his sheep.” “… a shepherd who smelled like his sheep.”Did anyone else catch that? Or remember that? Or wonder any more about that? I did, because I think it has a lot to say about where we find Jesus and his disciples – and especially, this famous conversation and command to Peter – on the beach at breakfast, not long after the resurrection.“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Feed my lambs.”“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Tend my sheep.”“Do you love me?” … “Yes.” … “Feed my sheep.”And you can't blame Jesus for asking again, and again, and again. It's no coincidence that Jesus asked him three times, after what had happened just days before, of course, when Peter, questioned just before the crucifixion, denied Jesus three times to strangers, just as Jesus warned him that he would. So, this “Q and A” between Jesus and Peter – this whole experience on the beach after Easter, really – is chock full of symbolism and meaning. But, to the sheep and the lambs…Too much of the time for us, “sheep” and especially “lambs” – so close to Easter Sunday, in the spring of the year – elicit a warm and fuzzy, soft and sweet, cute, cuddly, cozy kind of vibe – don't you think? They are the stuff of Springtime and Easter baskets, right. But the truth is, sheep are actually dirty and lambs are pretty dumb. (Here's that video I'm sure many of us have seen of a sheep being both – dirty and dumb.) And remember that even the “sheep” Jesus refers to so often, even before this brunch on the beach, are pitiable and lost and in need of redemption, too. Remember that the “sheep” in Jesus' teachings need to be separated from the goats, they need to be found because they've gone astray, they need to be saved from the clutches of the wolves that surround them, and they need to listen for the sound of their shepherd's voice to lead them. And besides, all of that, remember that the warm and fuzzy Lamb, in Jesus himself, gets sacrificed, after all. And remember that the Lamb of God, in Jesus Christ, showed up to do the dirty work of taking away the sin of the world.There's not much “warm and fuzzy” or “cute and cuddly” or “soft and sweet” about any of that, in the end. The Lord's work is dirty work, to say the least. So it's notable, for me, that Jesus uses “sheep” and “lambs” as a metaphor for Peter, the fisherman – again – this time around.So when he talks about feeding sheep and tending to lambs, it seems to me, that Jesus is talking about the hard and holy stuff of life and discipleship for believers, this morning. And he's implying that you really need to LOVE Jesus, in order to fully enter into the business of following him faithfully.So we're invited to wonder, what in the world that means for you and me? Where are the sheep and the lambs, the lost and the lonely, the scared, the sick, the suffering – and the stinky – in this world and in your life?He makes it really hard for us to avoid the question. When Jesus asks us if we love him, who and how and what is he really asking us to consider? How many of us – like Pope Francis – smell like the sheep we're called to love and serve?For starters, it seems random, but it's no mistake that the Gospel writer says there were 153 fish in the net that morning. It's not likely anyone actually counted those fish. It's a number that smarter people than me suggest is meant to symbolize the entirety of creation; or they say it symbolizes all the people and every nation of the world. So, it's just another reminder that, as followers of Jesus, we're meant to tend to, feed, care about, and love all people; from every nation; in every land; even when it's hard. Even when it stinks. Do you love Jesus, even if it leads to people and to places where you may not want to go? Do you love Jesus, even if it leads people to your doorstep who you wish wouldn't come?Of course, we answer this question in other ways, too.I hope, when we consider our financial commitments to the General Fund in the days ahead, we'll hear that question, again: “Do you love me?” And I pray our commitments and the offerings that follow will be one meaningful way that we respond – even if it's uncomfortable, unfamiliar, unconventional by the world's standards and expectations.I hope, as we're filling out our Time and Talent Sheets for the year ahead, too, that Jesus' question will ring in our ears, “Do you love me?” And that how we choose to serve the world through our little part of the kingdom at Cross of Grace will reveal our answer in a faithful way – and that we'll do it even when it's inconvenient sometimes; even if it's new; even if it's something we've done before or something we never thought we'd do at all. Even if it stinks from time to time, like helping to clean the church or to mow the lawn.I hope, that as we live our lives in this broken and hurting world, that we see around us – on the evening news, in the hallways at school, in the house down the street, on the faces of strangers, and in the mirror – I hope we see the sheep and lambs of Jesus – the children of God – who are starving for, who need and who deserve to be fed and tended to and loved with the same grace we long for, need, and try to share around here.I hope that when we wonder about what it looks like to love Jesus, that we aren't afraid to get our hands dirty, to stop pretending that life in this world – our own lives or the lives of our neighbors – are always neat and tidy, soft and sweet, cute, cuddly, and convenient. I hope our lives of faith in this world leave us smelling like sheep.Because the truth is we are all sheep. Each of us is a lamb. We all stink of the sin that covers us. And we're all unable to be free of it on our own.So Jesus shows up to inspire us and to encourage us and to love us, first – all so that we might follow him – like he invites Peter to do – into a new way of life. So that we'll follow him into a kingdom that is built on service and sacrifice, generosity and grace, mercy and good news; a kingdom built with very clear directions from the resurrected and living love of Jesus Christ our Lord – who so faithfully feeds, tend to, and loves us – and the world – so that we can't help but return the favor, in his name.Amen

John 20:19-31When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name. All across the country—and the world, for that matter—congregations are hearing sermons on Pope Francis, as they should. In fact, I am certain Lutherans will have not preached this much about a pope since the days of the Reformation! I am also certain today's sermons speak much kinder of the Pope than Luther, who called the pope of his day a sewer of wickedness and the antichrist. Today, there will be none of that. Pastors of all denominations are lifting up Pope Francis' advocacy on migration, environmentalism, and reform in the Catholic Church. Many will praise him for his efforts to empower women and his more open posture toward the LGBTQ faithful. Others will highlight the simple lifestyle Francis chose, long before he became pope. In Argentina, when he was known by his birth name, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, he eschewed the opulence of the bishop's palace, choosing instead to live in a modest apartment. He cooked his own meals, regularly visited the slums of Buenos Aires, and took public transportation. People regularly saw the archbishop on the bus. It wasn't just about frugality—it was about solidarity. He wanted to live close to the people he served. He was a shepherd who smelled like his sheep.This commitment continued when he became pope. In 2013, Francis declined the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, choosing instead a two-room suite in a guesthouse for clergy visiting the Vatican. Breaking a century-old tradition, Francis said, “I am not used to opulence. is good for me and prevents me from being isolated.”Even yesterday, at his funeral, Francis was placed in a simple wooden box, not the traditional triple casket. His final resting place at St. Mary Major has no grand tomb, no ornate inscription—just a plain headstone with the name "Francis." A quiet, fitting end to a life marked by humility, service, and downward mobility.How fitting it is, then, that Francis' death coincides with the story of Thomas, because both Francis and Thomas were deeply familiar with the wounds of Jesus. Usually when we hear this story from John, we focus on Thomas' doubt. We jump to his defense—saying we all want proof, all want what others have received. But today, what stands out to me is Thomas' courage and Jesus' graciousness. How gracious it is for Jesus to offer his wounds to Thomas, to provide exactly what his faith needs. It's as if Jesus says, “If it's my wounds Thomas needs to believe, then it's my wounds I will give.”It is a remarkable grace—to show someone your wounds, to put on display the very thing that inflicted pain, to reveal the reminders of rejection. Yet Jesus doesn't stop there. He invites Thomas to touch them. That is grace upon grace.And it works.Thomas doesn't simply see the wounds and say yes, Jesus has risen. Thomas goes further in both deed and word than all the other disciples. I imagine his fingers trembling as he touched the still-scabbing nail marks. His hand must have shook as he reached into the spear-sized hole in Jesus' side. And then, only after entering the wounds, Thomas says the deepest confession of faith yet uttered in the Gospel.: "My Lord and my God!"Not just master, not just teacher— my God.Jesus is revealed not through strength but through weakness. Not in greatness but in meekness. It's not a miracle of abundance, not a sign of divine power, but wounds that lead to worship. Seeing the wounds, the disciples recognize Jesus. Touching the wounds, Thomas' faith is born anew.Francis understood this. He knew that if he wanted to encounter the risen Christ, he needed to find and touch Christ's wounds just as Thomas did. In one homily, Francis said:"How can I find the wounds of Jesus today? I cannot see them as Thomas saw them. But I can find them in doing works of mercy and in giving to the bodies of our injured siblings in Christ, for they are hungry, thirsty, naked, humiliated, in prison, in hospitals. These are the wounds of Jesus in our day."This wasn't something Pope Francis merely preached about. He embodied this, too.Early in his papacy, he traveled to Lampedusa to mourn migrants lost at sea and decry the "globalization of indifference." In war-torn Bangui, he entered a besieged Muslim neighborhood to preach peace, declaring Christians and Muslims brothers and sisters. In Bangladesh, he met with Rohingya refugees, embraced their suffering, and called them "the presence of God today."But perhaps the most moving example is this: That is Pope Francis doing a video call through WhatsApp with the only catholic church in the Gaza strip. What's remarkable is that Francis has called that community every night at 7pm since the third day of the war. Anton, the spokesperson of the congregation, said “the pope would always ask how we were, what did we eat, did we have clean water, was anyone injured?" Was anyone injured? Even from a video call, Francis did his best to enter their wounds, to see suffering, to understand the pain they were enduring, that they continue to endure. And he did this every night, no matter how busy he was or where he was, telling them he was praying for them. I imagine the community on the other end of the call did in fact show the pope their wounds, like when bombs fell on the attached school, killing six Christians sheltering there. Or in these last eight weeks while no humanitarian aid has been allowed in and people have died from starvation and disease.Anton says the pope's final call came on Saturday, two days before he died. Francis told them he was praying for them and said he needed their prayers. "He told us not to worry as he would always be there for us," Anton said. "He was with us until his last breath."It is not our inclination to look at wounds, let alone touch them. We tend to look away from pain, suffering, and death. Yet the story of Jesus and Thomas, and the example of Francis, invite us to do just the opposite.And I get it—looking away is easy, even necessary sometimes. All the hurt and injustice can feel overwhelming, paralyzing even. But to have the option to look away is a privilege many do not have. The invitation Jesus gave Thomas is the same invitation given to us: reach out your hand. Touch the wounds.I know we aren't the pope. We can't just call someone in Gaza or travel to the war-torn places of the world. But are there not wounds here, among us? Like in our neighbors grieving losses we don't always see. In young people fighting battles with anxiety and loneliness. In the elderly who sit in nursing homes, too often forgotten. In the struggling families trying to make rent here in Central Indiana. The wounds of Jesus are in the growing homeless population in downtown Indianapolis. They are in the food pantries and shelters that are stretched thin, even in our own backyard. They are in the racial and economic divides that persist right here in central Indiana.Friends, the invitation Jesus gave to Thomas — "Reach out your hand and touch" — is the same invitation he gives to us. To draw near. To notice. To listen. To show up.So where, in your daily life, is Jesus inviting you to touch a wound? - In the coworker going through a divorce? - In the friend who's been quiet for too long? - In the neighbor who just lost a job?And for the wounds across the world: stay informed. Pray. Vote. Protest. Give generously. Stand against oppression that causes such suffering. Only when we are familiar with the wounds and what causes them can we do something about them.And Though your fingers may tremble and your hands may shake as you do it, you are reaching out to Jesus himself. And there—in the trembling, in the reaching—we find him.The risen and living Christ, our Lord and our God. Amen.

Luke 24:1-12But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb taking the spices they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the entrance of the tomb, but when they went inside they didn't find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them.The women were terrified and they bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day, rise again.” Then the women remembered what he had said and, returning from the tomb, they told all of this to the eleven and to all the rest.Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles, but their words seemed to them and idle tale, and they didn't believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb. Stooping and looking inside he saw the linen cloths by themselves, and he went home, amazed at what had happened. We've been telling stories around here throughout the season of Lent, leading up to this morning and Easter's great story of gospel good news. I'm so grateful for the brave, faithful Cross of Gracers who shared brief, true, very personal stories about their lives in this world – and about the many ways their lives and their faith came together at a variety of crossroads, for them. We heard stories about miraculous healings, surprising encounters with the divine; family, friendship, and falling in love. And more on top of that.On Good Friday, to wrap up that storytelling extravaganza, we heard one more story and then we listened to the story of Jesus' crucifixion, suffering, and death on the cross. And then we left in darkness and silence, with only the microphone we'd been using all season, left standing at the foot of the cross, all by its self. Alone. Off. Unplugged. Silent.I'm not sure who got the symbolism of that or knew how deliberate that was, but it made me think of this picture I remember seeing somewhere, some time, several ago. "Speechless" by Darrell Van Citters Mel Blanc, of course, was the voice actor for all of those distinct and memorable Loony Tunes characters: Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Sylvester and Tweety Bird, Foghorn Leghorn, Speedy Gonzales, Pepe LePew, and Daffy Duck. (Those were the days when cartoons were socially unaware and culturally insensitive in ways that kids like me probably shouldn't have been watching them for hours on end every Saturday morning. But we didn't know what we didn't know!)Anyway, these lonely microphones – the one in that picture and the one we left here on Friday – are a powerful symbol for me – and a connection and inflexion point – between Good Friday's silence and the invitation I hope compels us on the other side of Easter's empty tomb.The women show up to do their thing for the body of Jesus – to grieve his death, to anoint his body, maybe to confirm that what they had seen and heard really was true: that their friend, teacher, messiah … that their savior … really was dead and gone. And when they get there, the stone has moved – and so has Jesus – and they have this terrifying encounter with some sharp-dressed men, who remind them about what they woulda, coulda, shoulda remembered: that Jesus was alive and well, just as he said he would be.So the women leave with a new story of their own to tell: that Jesus was the real deal after all – just like he'd told them all along. The men, of course, aren't buying it. They don't believe it, because … women. So Peter hoofs it to the tomb to see for himself. And what do you know? The women – and Jesus, himself – were right after all. Men.But it's that question from ZZ Top (the Sharp Dressed Men) that gets me today. It's the question from the angels at the grave side that I can't ignore: “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” It seems like a rhetorical question, but it sticks with me because, I think, it's how and where each of us is invited to figure out what kind of story we're going to tell about all of this, in the end.“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”While it seems like the angels imply the women shouldn't be looking for Jesus at the tomb – again, had they been paying attention and believed what he'd been telling them all along. But, I'd actually like for us to “look for the living among the dead” not because we don't understand or believe what has happened here, but precisely because we do understand and believe it. I mean, I want us to “look for the living among the dead” because it's the invitation of Easter, it's the joy of faith, and it's the call of our discipleship, if we want to follow Jesus.I think we look for the living among the dead because Easter's good news is meant precisely for the dead and the dying; for the lost and forgotten; for the oppressed and the outcast. It's for the sick and the suffering; the poor and the marginalized. This good news is for those without a microphone and for those with stories to tell that no one seems to be listening to.Of course, Easter's story is about the forgiveness of sin, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Those we've lost around here lately – our friends, family, and Partners in Mission – Jerry, Carol, Joan, Bob, Steve, and Dick – and all those who've gone before, know about life in the face of death in ways we can only imagine on this side of heaven. The story of Easter's good news is certainly theirs.But Jesus' death and resurrection wasn't all or only about the other side of heaven. He died and was raised so that we might bring life and love; grace and mercy, peace and hope to bear upon the world as we know it, here and now. Jesus died – and was raised – to prove that what got him killed in the first place … God's ways of justice and equity, peace and inclusion, humility and generosity, sacrifice and suffering … that God's Way was and is THE WAY to life everlasting – not just then and there, but on earth as it is in heaven, too.So I say we go, not just looking for the living among the dead, but that we go looking to bring life to the dying – the suffering – the struggling – the oppressed – the outcast, the sinner, and all the rest. That's the call, the command, and the story of Easter. We are meant to leave the tomb with such good news to share that it changes everything for anyone and everyone who needs to hear it most.Easter's story calls us to stand up to violence and injustice – and the death, destruction and dehumanization they foster – at every turn.Easter's story is one meant to make us care for creation in ways that prevents it from dying faster than it can restore and repair itself.Easter's story is one that makes room for all people – and their stories – rather than removing them from the narrative.Easter's story is one that should give Christian people enough faith in the God we worship to trust that that God is big enough to love people who believe differently than we do – if they even believe at all.I think Easter's good news of resurrection was and is the cosmic mic-drop moment of our faith. And our call is to pick up the mic again – maybe even to take it from those who would do otherwise – and to tell a story more loudly and more clearly full of grace, mercy, love, and hope for all people.Why do we look for the living among the dead? Because the world needs people who have the faith, grace and courage to bring good news to the poor, now; release to the captive, now; recovery of sight to the blind, now; and to let the oppressed go free, now.If we're not doing any of that with Easter's good news, we might as well leave it in the tomb and unplug the mic.It seems too good to be true, but Google says that Mel Blanc's last words were “That's all folks!” Whether that's the case or not, I can't say for sure. It IS true that his family had his most famous one-liner etched into the headstone at his grave.Easter's good news is that death wasn't and isn't ever ALL there is, when God has a God's way with it. Easter means, not just that there is life after death, but that because of that, we have life to proclaim and to practice in the face of all the death, dying, and destruction we face and facilitate too much of the time in this world. “Why do we look for the living among the dead?” Because Easter gives us a better story of life and blessing and joy, of promise, good news, and hope to proclaim and practice in its place.Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

Luke 19:28-40After Jesus had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?' just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.' ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” Why do we do hard things? Why do we voluntarily endure pain, like summiting mount everest, writing a novel, or finishing all the New York Times games, including Sudoku! I don't understand for the life of me why people run marathons… 26.2 miles? Hours of running just to run? And people pay money for that?! Why do we choose things that will undoubtedly bring us pain? Most of us are wired to pursue pleasure and avoid pain. We tend to choose activities with low cost and high reward. Effort is hard; pain isn't fun—so we try to reduce both whenever possible. We say we want things to be easy. But strangely, we often value the things that cost us something—things that ask more of us than we thought we had. We want some place or thing to pour our effort into. But why?There are a few theories. One is called the Effort Paradox. Ian Hutchinson wrote about it in The Atlantic recently. While effort is typically something we shy away from, it can paradoxically draw us in and enhance the value of what we're doing. Hutchinson gives the example of the Comrades Marathon - a 55 miles race in South Africa. But here is the kicker, you have twelve hours to complete it. Right at the twelve hour mark, a group of people link arms and block the finish line! You're not even allowed to complete the hell you've put yourself through. And yet, those who don't finish often come back year after year—because the effort itself is satisfying.We see this paradox elsewhere, too. Kids at play make up extra rules or obstacles, just to make the game harder—and more fun.Now Hutchinson admits the appeal of hard work varies among people. Some are motivated by the joy and purpose derived from tackling difficult tasks. But the Effort Paradox doesn't explain which hard things we choose, or why. Yes, effort can make us feel good and imbue a sense of value. But is that enough to explain the hard things we really choose? Things like parenting. Marriage. Leading a team. Starting a business. Caring for a dying parent. The pain isn't part of the appeal—so why do we stay in it?This is where our friend David Brooks offers a deeper take. He asks: how do people endure the most severe challenges and overcome the most alluring temptations? It's generally not through heroic willpower and self-control. If those faculties were strong enough, diets would work, and New Year's resolutions would be kept. No, we tend to endure great pain only when we are possessed by something more gripping, namely love. When something or someone seizes us, we can't help but fall in love. And love demands devotion. It animates us — but it also conquers us. It calls for persistence, obedience, and sacrifice. This is not just why folks get married but how they stay married. It's why you make a third breakfast for your toddler after he fed the first one to the dog and threw the second one across the table. It's why after decades you continue in the same vocation, no matter how maddening it may be at times. It's this kind of love—not satisfaction from a completed task—that makes hard things meaningful. And paradoxically, Brooks argues, the more we embrace difficulties in this life, rather than avoid them, the more meaningful, passionate, and purposeful this life becomes.So all week I kept asking myself: what seized Jesus? What love compelled him? Because that's the only way to make sense of what he does. Why would Jesus willingly make his way into Jerusalem? Why does he choose the pain that lies ahead? He doesn't just allow it—he pursues it. Why is he determined to face death?All week as I read the text, it just made little to no sense to me. Why would anyone get on a young donkey that has never been ridden and ride it down the side of a mountain? Have you ever ridden a horse or a donkey downhill? I have. It's terrifying. And that was on a trained animal! Jesus zigzags an untrained donkey down a steep slope to the very city where he knows he'll be crucified, all while seemingly celebrating the ceremonial chants of his kingship? What kind of king chooses this? What kind of God volunteers for death? Why would anyone, Jesus included, go through such effort? And, is there any effort greater than bearing the sin of the whole world with open arms? Than defeating death once and for all? It can't just be about grit. This isn't the kind of effort that brings satisfaction just because it was difficult. No, it has to be something else. It has to be that for some reason Jesus is captivated by love, a deep irradiating love for you, me, and all the world. A love that is beyond our logic of pleasure and pain. A love that is so animating and self-denying that it demands devotion and obedience, obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. That's what Palm Sunday is all about. It's not just the triumphal entry, but the choice to love us all the way to suffering and death. It's a celebration of such all-consuming love.This Holy Week, allow yourself to be consumed by that love. Let this story, which is about to unfold over the next few days, grip you. Let it captivate you, whether you've heard it eighty times or it's your first. Brooks says, “The capacity to be seized is a great and underappreciated talent.”So be seized—by this God in flesh, riding on a donkey to his death in order to give you and me life. Don't turn from the pain thats coming. If anything lean into - ponder it, see it for what it is - effort! Effort on your behalf. As one psychologist wrote, “effort is one of the things that gives meaning to life. Effort means that you care about something”. And it is Jesus' effort that gives meaning to our life, to your life. All through Lent, we try our best to do hard things, painful things; not because we want the satisfaction of doing something difficult, but because the effort is a sign of devotion, an outpouring of love. This week, take your practice one step further. If it's fasting, add a day, if it's not eating something, remove something else. If it's prayer, add more time. If it's generosity, give even more. And if you didn't start a practice—don't worry. It's not too late.Come to the prayer vigil. Make Maundy Thursday a priority—hear again the Last Supper and Judas' betrayal. Witness the pain of Good Friday. Feel it. It will make Easter Sunday all the more joyful!We do all of this not so that we will be loved, but to see and experience just how much you are loved already. Maybe—just maybe—you'll begin to feel the devotion that led Jesus to his death. Yes, I'm asking you to voluntarily choose pain this week. But paradoxically I think it will make the week all the better. As C.S. Lewis said “When pain is over, it is over, and the natural sequel is joy.” The same is true for this week. There will be pain. There will be death. And there will be resurrection. But let's not skip over the first two.Why do we do hard things? Because love demands it. And this week, Love rides in on a donkey, walks through betrayal, bears a cross, and cracks open a tomb. Let this love seize you.Amen.

John 12:1-8Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served and Lazarus was seated at the table with Jesus. Mary brought a pound of costly perfume, made of pure nard, anointed Jesus feet and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.Now Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him) said, “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he used to keep the common purse and would steal from what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought to so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” If you've been around for any number of the many funerals we've had at Cross of Grace in the last few months (many of you know we've had too many funerals around Cross of Grace in the last few months), you know that Pastor Cogan does a very deliberate, careful job of inviting and encouraging those gathered to act on their grief. I mean, he goes out of his way to encourage those who are grieving and celebrating the life of someone we've lost to do something about that sadness – to send a card, a note, a text; to make a phone call or an appointment for lunch; to tell the stories, to share the memories, to let others who are grieving know that you're grieving, too.It is worthwhile, compassionate, pastoral instruction. It's how we grieve together, love one another, give thanks for and celebrate a life well, even after the big day of someone's funeral – a day that can't possibly contain or cover or resolve all of the grief we carry for those we've loved and lost.And I think that's something like what Mary is up to with Jesus this morning, only in a pre-emptive sort of way.As the story goes, Jesus returns to Bethany – where he had been before and where he had gotten into trouble for raising his friend Lazarus from the dead. And, when “raising the dead” was added to the list of things Jesus could do – people kept following him and believing in him and wanting to see more of him. And all of this worried the powers that be, so they made plans to kill Jesus because of it. They'd even given orders for anyone who knew where he was to hand him over. So, when Jesus returned to Bethany – the scene of his crime as it were – trouble was brewing.Which is what makes Mary's anointing so remarkable. It was like his days were numbered, and she knew it. Like, the end was near. Like his diagnosis was terminal. Like it was time to say and to do what needed to be said and done, before it was too late.I think, like Pastor Cogan's encouragement at a funeral service, Mary's anointing was a worthwhile, compassionate, pastoral example of how to love one another, to give thanks for, and to celebrate a life well – on this side of a loved one's grave.It's remarkable because there was plenty of other important work to be done. Maybe they should have been hiding Jesus away somehow, not calling attention to him by dousing him with perfume. Maybe they needed to devise a scheme to get him out of town or to plan his defense. They certainly didn't need to be wasting their time and money on nard and anointing – as far as Judas was concerned, at least.And isn't that always the case? Aren't we often too busy, too distracted, too much in denial about our own mortality – or about those that we love – to say the things we wish we had said? To do the things we pretend we can put off until tomorrow? To offer the forgiveness? To make the amends? To say the hard thing? To take the trip? To make the change? To take that leap of faith, convincing ourselves there will be time for that when … when we graduate; when the kids are older; when the nest is empty; when we're finally retired; when we have more, or make more, or when… when… when…But Mary and Jesus show us a different way. We may never know all that was running through Jesus' mind as he readied himself for Calvary and for his own crucifixion. Was he full of fear or faith? Was he anxious and exhilarated? Was he full of doubt or determination? Was he at peace, calm, having second thoughts, resigned … some combination of all of these things?Whatever it was, it makes me wonder about what he longed for most, in his most human heart of hearts, in those days before his dying. And I imagine he wanted the same things we would each long for if we were given enough advance notice of our demise: to be with the people we love and with the people who love us back; to say and hear and share all the things we hope we'll have the courage, the faith, the time, and the words to say.Which is why, I imagine, Jesus appreciated Mary's anointing, like he did. She wasn't trying to fix things or postpone the inevitable or make plans or busy herself with distractions. All she wanted to do was honor her teacher… to worship her Lord… to love her friend in a way that was deep and real and as true as could be.Mary shows us something like what each of us would, could – and maybe should – choose for ourselves – or for those we love the most – if we are fortunate enough to have the chance for a last hurrah, a final goodbye, or time to think and pray and plan for our final moments with them.So, what if we readied ourselves for the last days of Jesus's life – for his entry into Jerusalem, for his last meal, his last words, his last breath – all of which we will regard through worship – and by way of at least one more funeral for Jerry Mielke – in the days ahead … what if we readied ourselves with a little Lenten discipline that hits more close to home?What if, in honor of Mary's expression of love, devotion and gratitude to Jesus, we not wait to do something like it … something kind, loving, generous and full of grace for someone we love – even if they're not knocking on heaven's door? What if Mary's moment with Jesus is an invitation for us not to wait until we can't wait any longer? What if Mary's anointing is a call for each of us to do NOW, what Pastor Cogan will remind, invite, and encourage us to do at the next funeral, and the next, and the next, and the one after that, too, I hope.Let's let Mary's anointing be an invitation to say the thing now; to send the card, the note, the text; to make the phone call or the appointment for lunch; to tell the stories, to share the memories, to offer the gratitude before we can't do that any longer.Let's be more generous. Let's forgive like we mean it and let's be forgiven like we deserve it, in a way only God's grace can manage. Let's share moments of grace with no expectations and no strings attached and I'll bet you three hundred denarii it will lead to joy. I'll bet it will lead to peace and hope and all kinds of other good stuff, too. Because when we share that kind of love and devotion with another, Jesus comes to life among us, and our mortal selves put on immortality, in this life, on this side of eternity, and we stir up the power of God in our midst and we get a glimpse of the kingdom and of resurrection and of new life, on earth as it is in heaven.Amen

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable:“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So [the father] divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate. “Now [the father's] elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' Then [the elder son] became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.' ” Two Cross of Gracers, in two weeks' time, sent me two different social media posts about something that was entirely new to me – but that is apparently picking up steam and support in certain circles of Christianity. And since then – over just the last couple of weeks – various expressions of this same idea, this belief, this theological notion keep showing up in the world around me. Have you heard people talking lately about the proposition that “empathy is a sin?” Yeah. Empathy has been deemed a “sin” in some fundamentalist, “conservative Christian” circles of the faith. Empathy … which, according to most dictionaries means something like “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another person.” Empathy … the willingness to learn about and have compassion for the experiences of somebody else. Empathy … which sounds something like – oh, I don't know – loving your neighbor as yourself, perhaps?Again, in certain Christian circles, this thing called empathy is being warned about as an expression of sin.There are books. One is called The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and its Counterfeits and another is called Toxic Empathy: How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion. One podcaster proposed that the very word “empathy” should be struck from the Christian vocabulary, because it's just too dangerous. And, be careful, ladies. The same guy who suggested that said that “women are especially vulnerable to this” whole empathy thing.Another theological pundit posted this recently, which seems to come from the same cesspool of corrupt theology:“Jesus is not a bleeding heart liberal. He did not ultimately save you out of pity for you. He saved you for his own glory. And he saved you from the infinite wrath He had against you for insulting His glory. This is the masculine theology of the Bible. Learn to love it.” Now, the Seven Deadly Sins aren't any more “scriptural” in that they aren't laid out explicitly as such, like the Ten Commandments, for example. But it's worth considering why, in the name of Jesus, anyone would add “Empathy” to a list that includes things like Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Greed, Lust, and Envy. Does it seem like Empathy has anything in common with the evil and brokenness on that list?!From what I can tell, the logic/the rationale/ the theology behind all of this is a sort of self-serving, pop-psychology-inspired effort at “tough love.” It implies that being empathetic – having the capacity to share another person's feelings, experiences, or emotions – or taking the time and doing the work of trying to accomplish that to the degree that it inspires your ability to care about and love them … that all of that is an expression of brokenness in that it looks like weakness on your part and results in harm toward others because it may allow them to keep living in their own sinfulness.And this seems to be the case because, from what else I can tell, this way of thinking is being used very deliberately to dissuade Christian people from caring about or tending to the hurt and harm of those with whom they disagree; those they want to dislike; those that some factions of the faith are working really hard to disenfranchise. And it seems to me that, by calling Empathy a sin, they can do all of that dirty work in the name of Jesus.It's as if they're saying, “Close your eyes and stop your ears to the cries of the LGBTQ+ community because your empathy, your willingness to see them as people – as Children of God, created in God's image, just like you – only affirms, encourages, and perpetuates their capacity to sin.” It's as if they're saying, “Don't listen to the very real struggle, concerns, or need of that woman or girl who is considering an abortion, because you risk understanding her very real struggle, concern, or need, thereby facilitating her capacity to make a decision you should already disagree with.”It's like they're saying, “Don't listen to the stories and experiences of those sex workers. It might soften your heart and encourage their poor choices.”It's like they're saying, “Don't get to know the story behind those migrants who have crossed the border to save the lives of their children, as you might very well choose to do, if you were in their shoes; just keep pretending they're all gang members and drug dealers and psychopaths so that you can more easily despise, deport, and fear them with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.”It's like they're saying, “Don't dig too deeply into the stories of those people who are homeless or you might learn about the mental illness, addiction, loss of healthcare, neglect, abuse, bad luck and broken social networks that landed them on the streets and keeps them there.” This is a ruse. It's a lie. It's a trick. It is fake news that empathy is a sin.It's also a grand expression of cognitive dissonance for anyone who's ever heard today's parable. It's like their saying, don't pay any mind to what is probably the most popular, well-known story in all of Scripture that comes straight from the mouth of Jesus himself – this little ditty about the Prodigal Son – and, more importantly, the parables' prodigal dad… …this story where Dad had every right to offer some tough love to the punk ass kid who ran off with his inheritance, squandered it recklessly, and had the nerve to come back for more.…this story where a Dad – had he been worried about committing the so-called “sin of empathy” – would have sent his long-lost-son back to the wilderness of those pig pens to slop it up with the hogs until he learned his lesson, got his act together, groveled, apologized, and learned to live right.None of that is the story Jesus tells today, because it's not God's story. That is not God's way.Jesus tells the story where Dad – God, the Father – is overcome by empathy and compassion, lifts up his robes, runs to his child, embraces him because of his lostness – not in spite of it. Where he slaughters the fatted calf, throws a party, and then calls for some empathy from the other son who's too busy being mad and selfish and self-righteous to understand what it means to be really, truly lost in this world. That other son – the elder brother – the one who gets corrected, if not reprimanded – by the father, was like one of these 21st Century Theo-Bros who would have called his father's empathy a sad, sorry, sinful expression of something other than the faithfulness, mercy, and LOVE that it was.People, do not be fooled, deceived, or tricked into seeing empathy as a sin, or as a weakness, or as something God doesn't desire from each and every one of us. And please pay attention to and pray for the pastors, politicians, and people who proclaim otherwise.And if you need a touch point – a reminder – some encouragement about the Truth of the worldview Jesus' parable proclaims, please continue making your way to Calvary in the days to come.God, in Jesus, climbing onto the cross that we find there is the greatest sign, symbol, and source of empathy the world has ever known. It is The Way. It is God, in the person of Jesus, personifying the power and blessing of empathy by living, moving, breathing, and dying his way into the shoes of the world's people. It wasn't soft. It wasn't easy. And it wasn't a sin, for God's sake.It was faithfulness. It was virtue. It was grace. It was tough love turned inward so that the fullness of that cosmic mercy could be poured outward for the sake of all people … all people … all people. And, it was and remains to be THE calling and cause and claim upon any of us who want to faithfully follow Jesus, in this life, for the sake of the world.Amen

Luke 13:1-9At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'” Did they deserve it? That's the question Jesus poses to the people reporting a recent tragedy under Pilate's rule. Pilate was known for cruelty and contempt toward the Jewish people. In this case, some Galilean Jews were offering sacrifices when Pilate's soldiers slaughtered them, mixing their blood with that of the animals, desecrating the sacred rite. It was as if Pilate declared: these Jews are no more human than the animals they slaughter.The people came to Jesus to confirm what they already believed: “Did you hear about that horrible death? What did they do to deserve it?” They wanted an explanation. Surely, there had to be a reason. The common explanation was sin: divine punishment.That was the belief of the day: suffering was punishment for sin, your own or your parents'. But Jesus pushes back. It's not their sins that caused this, which feels like good news—until Jesus warns them not to think themselves better. To drive the point home, he tells them about a tower that collapsed and killed 18 Jerusalemites. Did they deserve it? Were they worse sinners than others? No, Jesus says, but unless you repent, you will perish just as they did. Is that a threat? A promise? A prophecy? Jesus doesn't explain, just like he doesn't explain suffering. Isn't that hard for us too? We long for explanations for suffering—ours and others'. We're often gentler on ourselves, but when it comes to others' pain, we're tempted to look for fault.When tragedy strikes—a plane crash, a tornado, a terrible car accident—we don't think those people had it coming. We think: tragedy, bad luck, not divine punishment.But what about poverty? What about homelessness? We see a tent compound, trash scattered around. We might not say they deserve it—but we think: if only they made better decisions, if they avoided addiction, if they took care of their health, maybe they wouldn't be in this situation.This year, we've been learning and talking a lot about homelessness, especially here in Indianapolis. Our high school students and I have spent this semester diving deep into the issue as part of their Sunday School curriculum. The advocacy workshop we hosted focused on two Indiana bills addressing homelessness. So I was eager to attend the Spring Faith and Action conference at Christian Theological Seminary, which focused on that very topic.The keynote speaker was an author and activist I hadn't heard of before: David Ambroz. He started by sharing a bit of his own story. Born into homelessness, he, his mother, and two siblings roamed the streets of New York City, living mainly in Grand Central station. He recounted one particularly cold night, Christmas Eve, when David was just five years old. It's frigid and they are wandering the streets for hours, ice forming on their faces, as his mom flees the people she believes are chasing them. It's only after David has peed himself and pleaded profusely that she relents and they go to a men's shelter, where they are given a single cot for all four of them. Laying on that cot, David remembers his mom, the caring mom now, asking him “do you want this”, gesturing to the lost souls in the shelter. “No!” he cried. “I don't want this. I don't want to sit here in my own urine, surrounded by nameless, homeless shadows.” But in the dark, Mom sparks something: hope. I'm five, but I know this—I want a roof, a bed, blankets. I want to protect my siblings. I want to protect Mom from mom. “Good,” Mom says softly. For a moment, she's the mom I dream of. We pile together on the cot, and I fall asleep, held by hope.The story was as powerful as the rest of his keynote. David talked about his time in foster care, he offered solutions, but he ended by asking, “Do you think I deserved to be homeless, to be grinded up in the foster care system? Do you think the people who live on your streets deserve such suffering? No! But until we change our thinking, until we don't believe these people and children in utter poverty deserve this, nothing will change. We have the capability to end childhood homelessness and poverty—we just don't have the willpower, because in our heart of hearts, we still believe they deserve this.”That's exactly what Jesus is getting at. People living in poverty, living on the streets, are not suffering because of divine judgment. Jesus may not explain why suffering happens, but he makes clear it is not a punishment from God for one's sins. That's not to say sin doesn't have consequences; surely it does. But I would ask: What sin is worse—the ones that contributed to being homeless, or having the means and resources to help but choosing not to? And I don't just mean individually, but as a community, as a society.In greater Indianapolis, we have spent over a billion dollars on sports stadiums and parks in the last 15 years, most of it coming from tax increases. Not even 4% of that has gone toward housing and homelessness. If anything, people are suffering more from our sin: from the slow, unjust systems we have created, from having the means as a society and as individuals to help, but choosing not to. From the self-righteous thought that they must be worse sinners than us, that they deserve this suffering.Yet, thankfully, the trying task of deciding which sins are worse, which deserve punishment and which don't, is an unnecessary and unfruitful task—one Jesus is uninterested in.What I hear Jesus saying is: the people you assume are worse sinners than you are not. And unless we repent, unless we change our thinking, unless we turn to help, we will suffer too. As Bonhoeffer said, “We are bound together by a chain of suffering which unites us with one another and with God.” Because God doesn't explain suffering; God shares it. To redeem all the suffering of the world, God did not command suffering to stop but rather became flesh in Jesus and suffered with us. It is by his suffering that we are redeemed and given the opportunity to lessen the suffering of others.We are the fig tree, given another year, another day, another moment to bear fruit, to lessen the suffering of others. In Jesus' eyes, we are not a waste of soil, of resources, opportunities, or time—and neither are those who live in tents, stay in cars, or sleep on sidewalks.What does bearing fruit look like in our time and place? It's simple, but not easy: It means doing what we can and acknowledging the humanity of those suffering around us. If you're wondering how to begin, here are some ways you can bear fruit in this community. Next Sunday after second service, I am taking our high school students to Horizon House, an organization dedicated to helping our neighbors experiencing homelessness get permanent, safe housing. We'll get a tour and make some sandwiches for their guests. You are welcome to come; just please let me know if you're interested.And if that doesn't work for you, consider reaching out to Lutheran Child and Family Services. They run the only long-term housing program for kids aging out of the foster system, many of whom are at the highest risk for homelessness. I learned just this week that their on-site pantry is running low and could use food donations. If you can help, reach out to me, and I'll connect you with the right person.Lastly, I leave you with the same charge David Ambroz gave at the conference: we may not be able to help every person we see on the streets, and he can't either. But he does acknowledge them. He looks them in the eye and says, “I'm sorry I can't help today, but good luck.” If nothing else, we can do that—acknowledge their humanity with kindness and respect. When that happened to David as a child, it let him know, if even for a moment that he mattered, that there was hope. Our neighbors certainly deserve that. And what about us, do we deserve all that God gives us? The second chances, the boundless love, the endless grace with no strings attached? No. But thank God we don't get what we deserve. Amen.

Luke 13:31-35At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.' Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.' ” We lie to our children. That is one thing I've learned in my brief two years of parenting. Most of them are innocent, harmless lies—if there is such a thing. “There are no more cookies, Clive! Mickey Mouse is going to sleep too. Oh sorry buddy, that toy is broken. Yes, that's chicken, it's chicken, just eat it!” Those are some of the more common ones in my household. I'm sure you have, or had, your own in your home. Or maybe you remember some that your parents told you. And if you are sitting here saying, "Well, I never lied to my kids," or “my parents never lied to me," I hate to break it to you, but you're lying right now and yes they did.This is not to shame any of us or to make you look at your own parents in a different light. Most of the time, the lies are told out of protection, care, and concern. We don't want our kids to bear the weight of whatever it is: Spot went to live on a farm or Mommy and Daddy were just talking. This is normal and well-intentioned, no doubt. However, according to the novelist Allison Grant, there are some lies we tell, however well-intentioned, that do more harm than good.This past week, Allison wrote an op-ed in the New York Times about one of those lies—one she says she'll never tell her children—and that is about pain. When something will hurt and how much. Now, I am sure you have a story about a time you told a white lie about how much something would hurt and everything turned out fine. Well, that wasn't the case for Allison.She was born with one leg shorter than the other, by about three inches. When she was 11, she underwent a complex corrective procedure. Over 13 hours, surgeons drilled holes through her bones and attached a metal frame from the outside of her hip to her toe. For the next two years, the frame helped stretch Allison's leg those three inches. Before the surgery, when she asked if it was going to hurt, she remembers being told, “Don't worry, we have ways to manage any unpleasantness.” Reassuring, yes, but it skirted around the truth. Those two years, Allison was in excruciating pain, so much so that morphine, valium, and muscle relaxants were all needed on a regular basis just to mask it a bit.Reflecting on that experience, Allison writes, “The difference between what I was told and what I experienced shattered my faith in doctors and left me questioning whether I could trust adults at all. Now, as a parent—and through my years working in health care—I've made the conscious decision never to lie to people about pain.” Even with something small, she says, she is realistic about the pain they likely will encounter.This is not a sermon about parenting or about not lying to kids. I certainly don't have all that figured out yet. Rather, I hope this lens of honesty on pain and danger helps us see how God, like a good parent, doesn't lie to us about the danger and pain we'll face—and how that truth sets us free.We all want to protect people we love from pain. But what if real love tells the truth, even about the pain? I'd like to think that's what God did for Jesus. God was honest with Jesus about his life, his ministry, and the suffering, too. God didn't protect him from Herods or sugarcoat the cross. And yet—Jesus walked ahead to Jerusalem.That is where we find Jesus in our story today. Teaching and healing from town to town on his way to the holy city when some guys come up and say, “You need to leave right now, Herod wants to kill you!” And Jesus responds with one of the best lines in all the Bible, “Tell that fox that I've got work to do, so just try to stop me.”Don't you wish you could respond like that? Such confidence, such disregard for danger. Make no mistake—Herod was a very real and present danger who could invoke great pain. By this point in the story, he's already thrown John the Baptist, Jesus' cousin, in jail and then beheaded him! But here in this scene, Jesus—the guy who always says, "Be not afraid"—shows all of us exactly what being not afraid looks like. “Sorry, Herod, I gotta keep going. I have work to accomplish, and you won't stop me.”Don't you want that? I mean, how is it that Jesus can face such danger, can be threatened with such pain, and not even flinch? I'd like to think, in part, it's because God the Father was honest with Jesus, his only Son. That in the many hours of prayer and discernment, God told Jesus everything about the life and work that was before him. How he would cure people and cast out demons. How he would go to Jerusalem, though foxes would try to stop him. How he would hang on a cross if he chose—but that wouldn't be the end because God promised resurrection.God didn't lie about the pain and the danger. And because Jesus knew what was coming, he could face it all head-on, unafraid, trusting in the promises God had made him. We might not ever be as fearless as Jesus, because well we aren't Jesus. But I do think God in Jesus is honest with us, too, about what we will face in our lives. And we hear that in this passage.There will always be foxes and Herods that are a real danger to us. We will face pain in this life. But here, Jesus makes another promise to us, one that can help us face the foxes. As a mother hen gathers her chicks under her wing, so does Jesus desire to gather and cover you.Notice I say cover you, not protect you. If you've spent any time around chickens, you know that a hen can't actually protect her chicks from a fox. Those wings don't do much of anything against razor sharp teeth and fast claws. And so you might think, “well what good is that then?!” If foxes and danger are inevitable, and a hen can't truly keep her chicks safe, then what good is thinking of God as a Hen? Of all the animals Jesus could have picked to describe himself, why choose a mother hen?Because a hen's love is stronger than any fear a fox instills. She will do all she can to cover her chicks, even gathering them with her wings while she gives up her own life to the fox. We all have foxes. The grief that lingers long after the funeral. The resentment or silence that frays marriages now barely hanging on by a thread. The words said or left unsaid that strain our friendships and families. The overwhelming pressure of raising children—how much screen time is too much, how to balance work and home, how to not fail them. The fear that no matter how hard we try, we are not enough. These foxes creep close, circling, threatening to undo us. But hear this promise: you are not left alone. You are gathered. You are covered. You are sheltered beneath the outstretched wings of Christ, alongside others just as weary as you. And in that love, we don't find protection from the foxes, but courage. Jesus lays down his life so that we can live—not in fear, but with trust and in the promise of resurrection. The foxes do not get the last word.We cannot lie our way out of life's pain, not to ourselves and not to our children. Allison ends that op-ed piece saying “We should tell our kids when it's going to hurt. In the long run, it will hurt them a whole lot less.” That's what God does with us, not to hurt us but to free us from fear and face the pain and danger in this world, trusting also that we do not face the pain alone. We have each other and we have the love that covers us, love that casts out fear. Amen.

All the stories in one place Check back each week to hear new stories and see the extras provided by our storytellers. Click here to share your own Story March 5, Ash Wednesday: +Cogan - “Code White in the ED” This is the Emergency Department at Capitol Hospital in Trenton, New Jersey, where +Cogan worked as a Hospital Chaplain. March 12: Bettina Puckett - “The Hard, Holy News of Bipolar Disorder” March 12: Steve Beebe - “O Holy Night” Steve singing “O Holy Night” at this past year's 11:00pm Christmas Eve service.

Luke 4:1-13Then Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was lead by the Spirit into the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.'”Then the devil led him up and showed up in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'”Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,' and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'”When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time. I read a story in the desert of Phoenix last week about the Buddha, which made me think differently about the story of Jesus's temptation in the wilderness – or desert, as some versions tell it. Their stories sound similar in some ways, actually, and I love it when the world's religions share some common ground.Before he became the enlightened teacher and Buddha, of Buddhism, he was Prince Siddhartha. He wanted to see more of the world, but had never stepped out of the protection and opulence of his own city's limits, because his father, the King, wanted to protect him from the world's suffering. One day, though, when he was about 30 years old, I believe – the prince asked his chariot driver to take him as far out and far away from the city gates as possible. And when he did, the story goes, he encountered – not so much temptation, like the story of Jesus goes, necessarily – but the prince encountered the four realities of life: old age, sickness, death, and renunciation.Ultimately, the prince came to see that an enlightened life is, in fact, a form of suffering, lived between the extremes of his former life of opulence and self-indulgence and the life of self-denial he experienced and practiced in his own wilderness wandering. Enlightenment lies somewhere between the extremes of indulgence and self-denial.Hold on to that story for a moment, if you could, I'll come back to it. Because I also came across a poem this week that was written by Michael Coffey, a Lutheran pastor, probably many years ago. I'm not sure exactly when I first read it. But I saved it in a file because it's all about the beginning of Lent – these wilderness days for us as Christian-flavored people in the world. It's called “Ash Thursday.”Ash ThursdayHe did the yearly, black, solemn ritualand got smeared and humbled, though hedidn't like it much, with the flecks falling downin his eyelashes and the soul's grief exposed, sohe got home and stared at his conundrummed facefor five minutes, give or take, in the bathroom mirror.It wrecked him to be so humiliated, so mortified,he washed away the ashen cross and dreamed of dying.He woke up Thursday and after peeing and scratchinglooked in the mirror and there it was, like a Mardi Gras drunken tattoo,his forehead graffitied, black, sooty,haunting him. He wore it all day like an unbandaged wound.At bedtime that night, he washed and slept like a storm-tossed boat,woke up to his sunrise reflection, his sleet eyes squinted again.It was back – his skin tagged with midnight streaks – and he walked the day,mortal through to his marrow.After that first Ash Thursday, and Ash Friday,and Ash Tomorrow, Ash Next Week,Ash March, Ash Autumn, Ash Solstices,never a day went by when he didn't see it, let it have its way.Never a day went by, thereafter, that he didn'trise to bless himself with Wednesday's words:remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,and every day then on he was his free earthy self until he died.“…every day then on he was his free earthly self until he died.”I think this is something like what Jesus was up to during his own wilderness wandering back in the day – and something like what the Buddha learned, too. And I think it's what we're called to, still, so many centuries later as we begin another season of Lent, making our way through these days of repentance and reflection, remembering Jesus' journey to and through the Cross at Calvary – and our invitation to something similar.And when I read this Gospel again this time around – with that story of the Buddha in my head – I was reminded about the fact that, unlike the Buddha's dad, the King, God the Father, by way of the Holy Spirit, was the one who moved Jesus into that wilderness. All of this wilderness wandering was God's idea – it was the very notion and inspiration of the divine, in the first place.Day after day, Jesus was tried and tested. Day after day, for a significant chunk of time, he fasted and he fought; he struggled, he suffered, he sacrificed. And it was the Holy Spirit – he was full of it, we're told, right from the start – and it was the Spirit of God that sent Jesus out of town. It was the Spirit of God that opened him up to this time of trial. It was the Spirit of God that pushed Jesus to embrace and to engage this dealing with the dark side of life in this world – to spend some time being tempted by opulence, glory, and power; living in the midst of that and his denial of it, too.But, so often, we're inclined to believe that any encounter with the “darkness,” whatever that might be for us, is to be avoided, to be escaped, to be run from, to be feared at all costs. But as we begin another Lenten journey, I can't help but see Jesus, led by God's Holy Spirit, into the wilderness of darkness and danger, and wonder why and where God might be leading you and me this time around, too.Now, I don't want to suggest we put ourselves in harm's way. None of us is the Messiah, after all, as far as I can tell. So I'm not suggesting that, if you're a recovering alcoholic you spend your weekends at the bar, just to see if you can resist. If you struggle against internet pornography, I'm not proposing you go buy a new computer. If the darkness of depression is a struggle for you, please follow your doctor's orders and keep taking your meds.But I am suggesting that, like Buddha, and Jesus, and the guy in that poem show us, we not be afraid to look our struggles and our sin, our greatest temptations and the world's suffering full in the face – and that we use these days before Easter to see all of that in the light of God's power, instead of continuing to see it only through the fog of our own brokenness and fear.See, I'm under the impression that Jesus engaged those 40 days in the wilderness so he could get about the business of who he was, following his baptism, and of what God called him to do and to be for the sake of the world because of that baptism. And I think that's just exactly what God means for our forgiveness and God's mercy to be for us every day that we live.The blessing of being baptized and claimed as children of God – as little Caden Keiffner will remind us soon enough – is that we don't have to fear our brokenness – or the broken darkness of this world. We don't have to hold fast to all the reasons we have to be sad or ashamed or embarrassed or full of regret about our sins. We don't have to be consumed or overcome by the world's grief and suffering – or our own. Instead, we can let it give us some perspective, we can see it all in light of something more, something better, something different – which God promises us just the same.Because, this wilderness and temptation business isn't about our ability to resist and to choose what's right at every turn. (Remember, again, none of us is Jesus, our even Buddha, as far as I can tell.) Instead, we are enlightened and liberated by the Truth and Good News that even when we don't resist the temptations; even when we do take the bait; even when our sinfulness wins; even when we choose the darkness; or when the darkness of this life chooses us more often than we'd like – the love, mercy and hope of God, in Jesus, continues to choose us, all the more.Amen

Luke 9:28-43aNow about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but as they awoke they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” not realizing what he was saying. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and put up with you? Bring your son here.” While he was being brought forward, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God. Now that was fun! I'm talking about last night's Mardi Gras party, of course. +Mark likes to say it's about as much fun as you can have in church. I have to agree—and I'll be honest, Cross of Grace, I had my doubts.When I first got the paperwork to begin the call process, the description of the congregation caught my eye: Cross of Grace is a lively, growing, and fun family of faith. Now, I grew up Lutheran, and I wouldn't call most of our congregations lively, so that seemed like a bold claim. Then growing—and I thought, That's too good to be true. It's 2022, we're just coming out of a pandemic, nobody is growing. And then the kicker: fun family of faith. I thought, They know they're supposed to be honest about this, right? How much fun can a Lutheran church in a town of less than 3,000 people be?Well, come to a Mardi Gras party, and you'll see! There's music, laughter, food, drink, games, and feasting—all while raising money for a good cause. We really do let the good times roll! Some might ask, A Mardi Gras party at church? A pancake breakfast is one thing, but Mardi Gras? To which I say: Of course! We should have fun! We should feast! And what better time than Mardi Gras?What many don't realize is that Mardi Gras has deep Christian roots. Like many of our traditions, it began as pagan celebrations of spring and fertility thousands of years ago. But when Christianity arrived in Rome, they adapted the traditions instead of abolishing them, thank goodness! By the 1600s, Mardi Gras—or carnival—had become what we know today. And it's not not just a day, but an entire season. It begins with Epiphany and ends on Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras in French). And this season was preparation for Lent: 40 days of feasting, filling up on meat, eggs, butter, and a little fun too… before the 40 days of fasting and self-sacrifice.That same spirit is still alive in New Orleans today. You might think Mardi Gras is all debauchery and drunkenness, but you'd be wrong. Nearly every part of it has rich Christian symbolism. The colors—purple, green, and gold—represent justice, faith, and the power of God. The food, from king cake to paczkis (poonch-keys), connects to traditions of feasting on the very things you soon fast during Lent. Even the bands and floats marching down the streets create more than just spectacle—they offer people a shared experience of joy and community before embarking on a time of penance and reflection.I asked our own Angi Johnson, whose family goes to Mardi Gras nearly every year, what she loves most about it. She told me that when you watch the bands marching by and the krewes strutting around in their colorful costumes and masks, handing out handmade, one-of-a-kind treasures, something remarkable happens—the strangers beside you quickly become friends. The energy, the generosity, the sheer joy of it all draws people together. It's communal. It's sacramental. It's a party you never want to end. Maybe it was Mardi Gras up on the mountaintop that Peter, James, and John had followed Jesus onto. It certainly sounds like one heck of a party: dazzling clothes, changes in appearance, bright lights, surprise VIP guests, who knows, maybe there was a jazz band up there too.And Peter was loving it. He didn't want the party to end. Who could blame him? Who wouldn't want to stay at that mountaintop Mardi Gras? Moses, Elijah, and Jesus—who else might show up? What else might happen? But Peter also remembered what Jesus had said just eight days ago: that he would suffer, be rejected, and be killed. If they stayed on the mountain, they could pretend Jesus never said that. If they stay on the mountain, they can continue to let the good times roll and he doesn't have to go back down the mountain; back to the dark, cold, struggling world from whence they came. So Peter says, let's not leave. Let's build tents and just stay on the mountaintop, far away from the valley below.But, every Mardi Gras comes to an end, including this one. As Peter is laying out his plans to stay, a mysterious crowd engulfs them. They hear God speak to them and when the voice is gone, so too are Elijah and Moses. The party's over. It's time to go back down the mountain and enter the valley. Or perhaps more accurately, Jesus chooses to go back down the mountain, where he's immediately met with another crowd and a father begging for his son to be healed. And you can almost hear Peter saying, that's why I wanted to stay on the mountain: away from all the disease, from all the demons, from all the people in need of Jesus. If they had just stayed on that mountain, Peter wouldn't have to go to this lowly place, filled with lowly people. Yet the first thing Jesus does upon entering the valley is heal the boy brought to him by the begging father. And everyone who saw it was astounded at the greatness of God.That's the good news in this story. Jesus chooses to go back down the mountain, into the valley, where there is a crowd clamoring for his teaching, his healing, his mere presence; where there is disease and demons waiting for him, where there is suffering, and rejection, and pain, waiting for him. And yet, he goes willingly, showing that the glory of God is not just revealed at Mountaintop Mardi Gras's but also through humble service in the sin-filled, disease ridden, valley. Thanks be to God.And what does all this mean for us today? It seems this country is having our own Mardi Gras atop the America First mountain, reveling not in God's glory and power, but it's own. On Wednesday, the State Department announced it would cut hundreds of USAID-funded programs—$60 billion in lifesaving aid to the world's poorest communities, gone. It's just 1% of government spending, but it has an outsized impact on global health. HIV treatment for 350,000 people in Southern Africa, including 20,000 children and pregnant women, gone. The only water source for 250,000 displaced people in war torn areas in the Democratic Republic of Congo, gone. Health clinics operating in the middle of Sudan's civil war, gone. And that's just a few examples! Hundreds more, just like them, gone! All to save a back, to stay on the mountaintop of America First. Meanwhile, children like the boy in the valley, will be mauled, not by demons, but by hunger, thirst, disease, and war. Does that sound like a Christian nation?Not to me it doesn't, because the Jesus I know can't help but go down the mountain. Our Jesus chose to go into the valley because the sick boy needed him, because I needed him, because you needed him, because the world needed him! And when the time was right, Jesus went up another hill, this time on a cross, but he didn't stay on that hill either.We certainly know how to have fun, Cross of Grace, and God knows.. with all the grief we are holding from the deaths of beloved Partners in Mission and with the long, difficult, days of Lent ahead, we needed it. But every mardi gras comes to an end and Ash Wednesday is right around the corner. So this Lent, let's follow Christ into the valley and help the most vulnerable through our Lenten disciplines. In your giving, support organizations that got their funding cut, like World Vision, International Justice Mission, Global Refuge, and Lutheran World Relief, all faith-based organizations, all had programs cut. In your fasting, think of and pray for the children in Gaza, Syria, and Nigeria suffering from severe malnutrition. In your praying, lift up our president and all elected officials, that they would leave the mountain of America first and follow Christ's example, helping and serving those in the valley. Lord have mercy. Amen.

Luke 6:27-38[Jesus said,] “… listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” Leo Correa/Hecht Museum staff via AP “Please let that not be my child.”That was the first thing that ran through the mind of Alex Geller, the father of three, who heard a loud crash while visiting the Hecht Museum, in Israel, with his family, this past summer. Much to his shock, surprise, shame, and embarrassment, his youngest son, a 4-year-old Ariel was, in fact, the culprit in the destruction of a 3,500 year-old, clay jar. The jar – from the Bronze Age – had been on display at the museum for 35 years, and was one of the only containers of its size, from that period, that was discovered, completely intact. The precious, rare artifact dated back to something like 2200 BCE, until POOF, on a summer day last August, it was gone.“Please let that not be my child.”The beautiful thing about this story is that, despite the destruction he wrought, the museum curators asked little Ariel and his family to come back to help repair what he'd broken. AND they think it's still important to keep these sorts of artifacts open and accessible to the public so that, even if it's risky and even though accidents happen, people can learn by getting up close, to touch, feel, and interact with the history that's on display in their museum.And they think all of this could be a teachable moment, for the boy, they said. And I thought it might be a teachable moment for all of us, too.I thought this story might be a funny, light-hearted, but meaningful way to wonder about the deeper, heavier invitations we hear from Jesus this morning…this stuff about forgiveness, about not condemning, about not judging. And this stuff about “Loving your enemies,” “Doing unto others,” and “Turning the other cheek,” too. All of this seem like pretty high standards of expectation – a high bar of discipleship and faithful living – to be honest. I mean, does anyone actually do this anymore – love their enemies? I'm not even sure who my enemies are at the moment. Maybe I'm lucky that my enemies seem like far away, hypothetical, existential kinds of foes. I don't contend with them daily, face-to-face, man-to-man, if you will, in ways that I'd actually have to make a choice, even, to fight them, let alone love them, as Jesus commands.And what does it mean to “bless those who curse you?” I'm no good at that. Can any of us say we blessed the last person who really ticked us off – and that we meant it? Ignored them, maybe… Walked away from them, perhaps… Cursed them in return or muttered something under our breath, more likely… but blessed them? I don't think so.As for the rest of Jesus' words today … I have driven past the beggar and looked the other way. I expect to get my stuff back when I loan it. I have withheld my coat and my shirt and more … my closets are packed and, frankly, I could use more hangers at the moment.And what about, “praying for those who abuse you?” How crazy is that? I've never been abused in the ways that come to mind when I hear that word – physical, sexual, domestic kinds of abuse, I mean. Did you hear about the trio of miscreants who were arrested, just last month in Greenfield, for a litany of the most awful offenses against children? The sorts of prayers I'd pray this morning, if I were the family of whoever those victims may be, wouldn't be kind or loving or full mercy and forgiveness, I can almost guarantee you that.And, honestly, I believe all of this is okay, to some extent – that God understands, I mean. God knows this about me, already. And maybe God knows this about some of you, too – how stiff-necked and broken, how selfish and sinful, how vengeful and vindictive we can be a lot of the time.What I'm saying is, I take these extreme statements from Jesus – this very high bar that he sets for his followers? – I take it all about as literally as I do some of the other things he says about plucking out our eyes if they cause us to sin, or chopping off our limbs if they cause us to stumble. That kind of stuff is holiness to the extreme – it sounds like crazy talk – it's virtually impossible, for many of us – it's really hard work when the rubber meets the road, to be sure.Love your enemy … Bless those who curse you … Turn the other cheek …But, as hard as it may be, that doesn't mean we ignore Jesus' words altogether – this invitation to forgiveness, to love, to turning, to blessing; it doesn't mean we don't strive to achieve those things – somehow … some way … in some measure of time … with God's help and by Gods' grace.What Jesus does today is call us toward a better way, however difficult that might be to achieve. I think Jesus is always inviting us to love, even when it seems impossible; to bless others, even when it's really hard. I think Jesus is always calling us to mercy and forgiveness even when it goes against our first instinct; or our natural, sinful, selfish inclinations; or even when it goes against what the world would have us do under the same circumstances; and even if we never get all the way there.I think that's what life in the kingdom is supposed to look like – something more like the way the museum curators treated Ariel and his family after that accident with the vase.It's risky to be alive in the world. Sometimes we're the ones who are broken and sometimes we're the ones who do the breaking. And no matter what, God doesn't have the luxury that Ariel's dad had – to hope, even for just a second, “Please don't let that be my child.”It's always God's children who are being broken. It's always God's children who are doing the breaking. And it's always God inviting us to live and to love in ways God's self – in the person of Jesus – was willing to live and to love – because God knows we'll be blessed – and because the world will be changed when we do.So, we can pray for bullies on the playground, in the classroom, and in the cafeteria. We can try to forgive that jerk at the office. We can work at loving those people in our lives who make it so hard sometimes. We can be slower to condemn those with whom we disagree. We can be generous, even if we don't think someone deserves it. We can practice humility when we want so badly to prove how right we are. We can muster a blessing and mean it.We can show and receive mercy. We can forgive and receive forgiveness. We can love and be loved, in spite of ourselves.Because in the end God is merciful, even when we can't be. God is loving, even when we're not. God's grace is more than we can give and always more than we deserve: a good measure, for sure, pressed down, shaken together, running over – for you, for me, and for the world, until we get it right.Amen

Luke 6:17-26[Jesus] went down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coasts of Tyre and Sidon. They came out to hear and to be healed of their diseases, and all those who were troubled by unclean spirits were cured. All in the crowd were trying to touch Jesus, because power came out of him and healed all of them.Then Jesus looked up to his disciples and said, “Blessed are you who are poor now, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you and exclude you and persecute you and defame you on account of the Son of Man, rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven. For that is what your ancestors did to the prophets.But woe to you who are rich now, for you have receive your consolation. And woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. And woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what your ancestors did to the false prophets. Pastor Cogan confirmed a rumor we've heard about that new construction going on at the southeast corner of U.S. 40 and Mt. Comfort Road these days. Apparently, it's going to be a WaWa – another convenience store/gas station out of Philadelphia. WaWa also has food, with enough of a menu that you can get breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as part of your gas station experience. But that's also true of the Speedway across the street and the Leo's just up the road on your way to Greenfield. (I was hoping for a restaurant NOT attached to a gas station and something without a drive-thru, but no one asked me.)But did you know there's some marketing and social science behind the decision to put a gas station across the street from another gas station? That there's a logic to the capitalistic tendency to put a Lowe's hardware store very near to a Home Depot; to build a CVS kitty corner from a Walgreen's; to put a Burger King next to a McDonald's, next to a Wendy's, next to a Taco Bell, next to a Chik-fil-A?The logic, as I understand it, is that it changes the questions that potential consumers ask themselves as they drive around town. When only one potential option presents itself, the question is simply, “Do I need gas, or something from the hardware store, or something to eat?” Those are simple, yes/no questions and easier, cut-and-dry decisions to make.But when there are similar options available to us, our minds are more inclined to engage the nuance of the potential decision before us. We no longer wonder so much about WHETHER we want or need a particular thing – a simple yes/no question. Instead, we wonder WHICH ONE of the available options is more appealing, and are more inclined to choose SOMETHING, accordingly, whether we need it or not. Sneaky, right? Clever, don't you think?It could very well be just me – and my struggle with the Beatitudes whenever they show up – but I feel like Jesus might be up to something similar with this portion of his “Sermon on the Plain,” today, and all of his talk about “Blessings” and “Woes.”Blessed are you who are poor, who are hungry, who are weeping …If Jesus ONLY gave us the blessings to wonder about, it would be easy for each of us to see ourselves as recipients of the healing, hope, comfort, joy, and favor, he promises. Who among us doesn't or hasn't wished for “more,” to the point that, without some perspective we might think we know what “poor” feels like? And who among us doesn't know what it is to weep, or to hunger for something other than food, or to be left out, excluded, and misunderstood where faith – or something else may be concerned?I'll take that blessing every time and I'll live in that hope whenever and wherever I can find it, thank you very much.But Jesus gives us more than one option to think about – more than one perspective to consider – this morning, doesn't he? To use my gas station example, Jesus sets up this little shop of BLESSINGS right next door to this little factory of WOES, does he not? He proposes this litany of BLESSINGS right across the proverbial street from that other list of WOES so that it's harder to just drive on by, encouraging us to think more deeply about how they show up in our lives – whether we may want to go there, or not. And, truth be told, I'm equally – if not more – convicted by the woes than the blessings in Jesus' beatitudes. I'm not wealthy by the standards of many, but I am rich in ways most of the world cannot fathom. (Woe to me.) I am filled to overflowing – literally and figuratively – and have never known the kind of hunger – literal and figurative – with which so many struggle. (Woe to me.) I find opportunities for joy and light and laughter in this world, even though there is so much to be dismayed about and despairing over, for sure. (Woe to me. And to most of you, too, from what I can tell.)So, again, if Jesus merely presented us with the WOES as he lays them out today, I could easily wallow in that shame, guilt and sadness, like a pig in slop. Woe, is me.But, again, Jesus builds this house of WOES, right next door to this little gift shop of BLESSINGS, and inspires me to do more than just drive on by, or to say “yes” or “no” to my first instinct or inclination about how they apply to my life and faith in this world.And it's important to notice that this is a conversation and that these are choices meant and made, very specifically, for Jesus' disciples. Yes, there were multitudes there from all over Judea, from the big city of Jerusalem, and from the coasts of Tyre and Sidon. But when Jesus looked up and started saying these things in particular, we're told he was speaking directly to his disciples – to those who wanted to follow in his footsteps, to do his bidding, to walk in his ways.And that's you and me on our best days, right?Our lives are a swirl of blessings and woes so extreme that they can be difficult to reconcile – and God knows that. And God knows, too, that we find ourselves on either end of the spectrum of these blessings and woes, depending on what day or minute or moment we decide to take a good, hard look, as Jesus invites us to do, today.How can we look at the world around us and not wonder who are the rich and privileged? (Global Refuge, which used to be Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services, had 97% of their funding frozen in the last week or two, leaving refugees stranded instead of saved, as planned. They've laid off ¼ of their staff and couldn't make payroll this week, either so it's not getting better anytime soon.)How can we see the poverty of food and the scarcity of resources that exist for so many and not wonder how we might pray and advocate for something better? (The recent halt to USAID funding will impact everything from AIDS testing and education to contraceptive healthcare to food and medical assistance for some of the most vulnerable people on the planet – including our friends in Haiti.)And how can we see the weeping and mourning of others and not do whatever we can to provide comfort, peace, and hope in its place? (This is why we plan things like advocacy training workshops around here so that we might make a difference on behalf of people without homes in our own neck of the woods.)See, I think Jesus lays out these two competing realities – these blessings and woes – side by side before us, as he does – so that we won't just go about our lives of faith asking simple “yes” and “no” questions, like blind, happy capitalists, on our way to the gas station, or the drive-thru, or the voting booth, or even to church on Sunday morning.I think Jesus knows and wants us to assume that most of us will have blessings and woes aplenty in this life. And he wants us to wonder about how our blessings impact the woes of others, and vice versa, so that we will see our wants and needs, our blessings and woes, in the context of and in connection with the multitudes of neighbors – all children of God – in the wide world around us.And I think Jesus wants us to ask better questions. Not merely IF or WHETHER we'll step up and step out in faith to love our one another, for God's sake, but WHEN and WHERE and HOW. And he wants to watch us do something to turn the tables – to create more blessings where there seem only to be woes – for us and for others, on this side of heaven, in his name.Amen

Luke 5:1-11Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.' Simon answered, ‘Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.' When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!' For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.' When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him. My dad was a car salesman when I was growing up. He worked an odd schedule: 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. one day and 2 p.m. to 8 p.m. the next. One summer when I was about seven, he bought a little jon boat with an old motor. On the days he didn't have to go in until the afternoon, my dad, my brother, and I would strap the boat in the bed of the truck and head to Shadyside Lake for the morning. It was always a competition to see who would catch the most fish. My dad usually came in last, though he'd tell you it was because I didn't like taking my fish off the hook. It didn't matter anyway because Chad always seemed to outcatch us. But our time fishing was never really about how many fish we caught.We fished for sport, of course—just time for a father and his sons to be together, like every father wants. But for Simon Peter and the others, fishing was their job, their livelihood, a central part of their identity. Their boat would have been one of, if not the most, important things they owned. So I wonder if Simon hesitated when Jesus asked him to put it out a little way from the shore so he could preach to the crowd pressing in on him. Whatever the case, Jesus went out on the lake, sat down, and preached. When it was over, I'm sure Simon was ready to shake Jesus' hand and say, “Great sermon today, Rabbi. Thank you very much. Let's get you back to shore.” But that's not what Jesus wanted. No, Jesus said, “Let's go back out. I want to fish. I know where you should go.”Do you think that's what Simon really wanted to do? He had been out all night away from his family. He still had to wash the nets, and to make matters worse, he had caught nothing. No fish meant no money. No money meant all sorts of questions—how would he feed his family or buy the necessary supplies to keep his business afloat? So Simon responded, “Master, we were at this all night and caught nothing.” In other words: Jesus, take it from me—there's nothing out there.I wonder how many times Simon rowed his boat ashore with empty nets. This likely wasn't the first time. And think for a moment how hard that must have been—how it would leave Simon feeling. This was the thing he was supposed to be an expert in, the thing he'd done all his life. Like me, he spent many days fishing with his dad. So I imagine each time he spent all night on that boat and caught nothing, his inner critic was loud: “You're not a good fisherman, which means you're not a good provider or husband. You don't really know what you're doing. You're incompetent. You fail at this just like you do everything else.”I have no doubt that voice left him feeling like he wasn't good enough, smart enough, or rich enough. What he felt was despair. And when you feel that way, the last thing you want to do is go back out and try again.Surely you know what that's like—not for your nets to be empty, but to fail at the very thing you're supposed to be good at. Or for your expertise to let you down. I have to believe you are no stranger to that inner critic telling you that you are not good enough, smart enough, or rich enough. If you are anything like me, you hear it nearly every night, saying you didn't do enough today. You should have done more or done it better—because if you had, maybe people would see your worth. Maybe God would too. Maybe your inner critic replays each encounter you had throughout the day, making you question what you said or did. Or perhaps it reminds you of all the mistakes you've made and why you aren't worthy of love or joy. How do we not fall into despair and self-doubt when we hear this?But then Simon changes his mind and says to Jesus, “Yet if you say so.” Those five words are what being a follower of Jesus is all about. I'm not sure about this, God, but I'll give it a go. I've got my doubts—about this and about myself—yet I trust you. I really don't want to do this, Jesus, yet if you say so.Simon says those five words and does as Jesus says. You know the story from there: the disciples catch a whole school of fish, and their nets begin to tear. So they call over their partners to bring another boat. Once help arrives, both boats are swimming in so many fish that they begin to sink. Now, it would be easy to get caught up in the fish, to think they are the most important, most miraculous part of this story. We could even twist this story to mean that if I am obedient to Jesus—if I just do what God says—then I too will get a miracle.You likely don't want a literal boatload of fish, yet you might hope for some miracle of abundance.But don't focus on the fish; that's not the point of the story. If we do, we miss the most miraculous part—namely, that the Savior of the world is on board with them. The fish simply point to what's most important: sitting beside them on their little boat is God in the flesh!Everyone who saw the catch was amazed, but it is Simon who realizes what it means. So he turns to Jesus and says, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” In other words: I am not worthy for you to be on my boat. I'm not worthy because I doubted you. I'm not worthy because I'm just a fisherman, and not a good one at that. If you only knew me and my sin, if you heard my inner critic, then you too, Jesus, would know I'm not worthy.But that's exactly why Jesus got into the boat. He didn't get on that boat because Simon had earned it. Clearly, it wasn't Simon's fantastic fishing skills that lured Jesus. If anything, it was the opposite. If anything, it was because the nets were empty. It was because Simon hadn't caught any fish. It was because of the self-doubt and despair this so-called fisherman must have been feeling. If Simon had hauled in a huge catch the night before, what need would he have had for Jesus? It's all grace that Jesus was on Simon's boat. It wasn't merit—because that's not how the kingdom of God works. Jesus was there because Simon was in need. The best news for all of us who hear that inner critic, who are familiar with despair and self-doubt, is that the same is true for us. God is in your boat—not because you are worthy, not because of your merit, not because what you think you are good at. It is because our nets are empty. It is because we have failed. It is because we are in need that Jesus gets on board. If we never doubted, if we never failed, what need would we have for such grace? It is grace that silences the inner critic, telling us that we are enough, we are worthy, because we are loved.“Do not be afraid, from now you will catch people”. That's our job, too. All around us people are falling into despair and self-doubt from the words of their inner critic, all of it amplified by the world we live in. We are tasked with catching them by offering the same grace we have received in Jesus Christ. It's getting on board with them when their nets are empty. It's helping them—not because they've earned it, but because they need it.Just as with my dad and brother, it's not about the fish. It's about recognizing that, as unworthy as we are, Jesus is on board with us, guiding us where we should go and what we should do. And even when we are unsure or unwilling to follow, may we have the strength and courage to respond: “But if you say so.”Amen.

Luke 4:21-30Then he began to say to them, "Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, "Is not this Joseph's son?" He said to them, "Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, 'Doctor, cure yourself!" And you will say, "Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum."And he said, "Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet's hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet, Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow in Zarephath of Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian."When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. If you heard last Sunday's sermon, it was full of good news, but I warned you that things were going to change. Back in Nazareth, Jesus' hometown – his friends, family, and neighbors had heard what he'd been up to – preaching and teaching his way around Galilee, and when he showed up in the synagogue, where we find him, still, today – he had that good news for them, which he has been anointed by God to share: “good news for the poor, release for the captives, recovery of sight for the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord's favor.”And they were all over it. Their home-town boy made good. A local hero. An anointed prophet, filled with spirit and good news and so many gracious words falling from his lips.And Jesus knows they'd like more than just to hear about these things. They'd like to see some of his best work, too, which is why he kind of teases them with that old proverb, “Doctor, cure yourself.” “Show us a trick.” “Give us a show.” “Let's see just how ‘anointed' you really are.”He knows what else they're thinking, too: “Jesus, do something for us – your family, friends, and neighbors – like we've heard you've been doing out there in the world. Release some captives, here. Heal some of us who are sick. Give some of the Lord's favor to those of us who know you best, now that you're home. If you're doing it for them, surely you can do it for us, too.”But Jesus reminds them – not so subtly – that this “Lord's favor” the prophets spoke of wasn't about playing favorites, or taking sides, or “us and them.”He reminds them about how – during a famine once, way back in the day – when all of Israel – the nation of God's chosen ones – could have used a little release and recovery and a dose of the Lord's favor, the prophet Elijah was sent outside the fold, to help some widow at Zarephath in Sidon. And he reminds them about how, during the good ol' days of the prophet Elisha, there were plenty of Hebrew lepers who could have used a cleansing, but that God sent the prophet to an outsider – some foreigner named Naaman, from Syria.And when they hear it, Jesus' newly minted fans lose their minds. They turn on a dime. They turn on Jesus. And they run him out of the synagogue, and straight out of town.“You mean this grace and favor and this recovery and release stuff isn't just for us?!” “You mean we aren't supposed to look out for number one?!?!” “You mean we don't take care of our own, first, and then pick and choose who we think might be worthy?!?!?” “You mean this ‘recovery' and ‘release' and ‘freedom' and ‘favor' is for them, just as much as it is for us?”And, to begin to grasp what was so upsetting and unsettling to Jesus' hometown crowd, we need to be reminded about the insignificance of these widows and these lepers and these foreigners about whom he was telling them. They were at the bottom of the barrel as far as social standing was concerned. They were outcasts. They were outsiders. They were unclean, unworthy, unloveable, and unwanted by the rest of the world. (They were probably undocumented, too, if you know what I mean.)Because, not only was Jesus talking about the outcast, the sinner, the shamed, and the shameful, he was talking about people outside of the Jewish circle. Jesus was saying that, just like the prophets Elijah and Elisha had shown … foreigners to Israel were welcome to the grace of God, too. Not only was God's grace for losers – like lepers and widows – but it was even for Gentile widows and Gentile lepers, too. Which seems to imply that there wasn't anyone beyond the reach of God's love, or beyond the reach of Jesus' own ministry, as a result.Could this be a more hard, holy, timely lesson for us, these days? If Jesus walked into the midst of his people this morning – Christian churches on Sunday morning, filled with those of us who call ourselves, friends and family and brothers and sisters and siblings in Christ – what would HE find, and what would WE do, if he reminded us about the likes of Naaman, the Syrian, or about that widow from Zarephath in Sidon – outsiders and outcasts and foreigners, too?It reminds me of how Bishop Mariann Budde, from the National Cathedral simply, humbly, faithfully, graciously, kindly asked our President to show mercy to immigrants who are afraid of what border policies and deportation practices could mean for them and their families – and about how at least one US Congressman proposed she be deported for it; the 21st Century, American version of being hurled off a cliff, you might say.It makes me think of the rabbit hole of reels and Tik Toks I found myself in, just this week, where Christian-flavored people spend a lot of time explaining why women can't be and shouldn't be allowed to be priests and pastors in the Church. These were men and women, young and old, red and yellow, black and white followers of Jesus – in the year of our Lord, 2025 – who are blind to the fact that, other than Jesus, the very first person EVER to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel, was Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning.It makes me think, too, of a conversation at the Wellness Center, right around the corner – and quite recently – where someone made note of how, as more people of color find their way there that “the quality of the clientele seems to be going downhill.” I couldn't help but wonder where she might be worshiping Jesus this morning.And did you know that just this past Monday, the Idaho House of Representatives passed a memorial suggesting the US Supreme Court reconsider – and undo – the legalization and protection of same-sex marriage in our country? Heather Scott, the Idaho state representative behind it all, blamed it on Jesus, suggesting that Christians across the nation are being targeted by having to welcome the idea of marriage equality.The sad truth is, too many Christians are still too busy looking for cliffs whenever the message of God's grace and love and mercy and favor gets too wide and too mighty and too scary and too uncomfortable and asks too much of us. And Naaman, the Syrian, and that widow at Zarephath, in Sidon – and those knuckleheads in Nazareth – are all just First Century examples of our 21st Century reality.So today, “this Scripture that is fulfilled in our hearing,” convicts us to ask, who are the 21st Century “widows” and “lepers” among us – because none of this is about widow and lepers anymore. Who are the unloved, the unloveable, the unworthy, or the unwanted as we sit here this morning? Even more, who do we pretend is outside the circle of God's grace as far as Christians in the Church and our community are concerned?We can try to limit God's grace or draw lines in the sand and keep it for ourselves. We can even vote for politicians and policies that do our bidding one way or another. And we can pretend that Jesus' preaching and teaching has nothing to do with those politicians or those policies.We could even try to silence the truth by running the messenger out of town or by hurling him off a cliff or by nailing him to a cross – but we have been there and we've done that and we know how that story ends.Or, rather, we know how that story begins, thanks be to God.Because it is the resurrection that reminds us that God's grace will be shared – no matter what. It will bring good news to the poor. It will release the captive. It will restore sight to the blind. It will let the oppressed go free. The Lord's favor will be proclaimed – whether you and I – Jesus' friends, family, and neighbors are on board or not.And what always gets me when I hear about Jesus' near-death experience that day in Nazareth, is the invitation to get with the program. What I hear is a call to the Church – our congregation at Cross of Grace and the larger Church as God's people in the world – to not be left standing on the cliff like the people of Nazareth, only to find that Jesus has passed through the midst of us – untouched.What I don't want any of us to find is that he's continued on his way sharing grace, doing justice, and offering God's blessings to a world so desperate for it, but that we were too busy or too angry, too self-absorbed or too blind, too partisan or too proud, too selfish or too scared, to join him in that work.Amen

Luke 4:14-21Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and reports about him spread throughout the surrounding country. He began to preach in their synagogues and he was praised by everyone. When he came to Nazareth, the town where he had been brought up, he entered the synagogue on the Sabbath, as was his custom. When he stood up to read, the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written, “The spirit of the Lord is upon me, for 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, and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.”Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then Jesus began to say to them, “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Spoiler alert: This morning's Gospel reading ends right where next week's Gospel reading will begin. Luke, Chapter 4, Verse 21, is the start of what we'll hear next Sunday: “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” And the spoiler is that what Jesus says next gets him kicked out of his own hometown. What's coming makes his old friends and neighbors want to hurl him over a cliff on the outskirts of Nazareth. And we'll get to that … next week.For now, I want to simply sit with what we've been given to wonder about this morning. Today's good trouble is enough for today, you might say.See, I'm excited for Jesus this morning. If you look back at what precedes this morning's Gospel, you'll see that Jesus is fresh from the waters of his baptism in the Jordan. Maybe you remember. He was washed in the river by John the Baptist, the heaven's opened, the Holy Spirit descended like a dove, and he was declared – by a voice from the clouds and before everybody there – to be God's beloved son.And then that same Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness where he spent some time duking it out with the Devil. For forty days he was tempted to turn stones to bread while he was starving; he was tempted to forsake God's authority for the Devil's kind of power; and he was tempted to see if God loved him enough to save him from a swan dive off the top of Jerusalem's temple. Of course, Jesus faithfully resisted each of these tests and temptations, to win the day.So, by the time we meet up with him this morning, he has celebrated that baptism and he has survived that time in the wilderness, and he has been preaching and teaching his way around Galilee to rave reviews and with great approval – he was being “praised by everyone,” so we're told. He is on a roll and riding high, living his best life.So, when he stands up to read in worship, back home in Nazareth … when he gets his hands on the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, he very deliberately finds the thing he wants to share with his people – all that stuff about good news for the poor; that bit about release for the captives; that promise of sight for the blind; a dose of freedom for the oppressed; and a gracious reminder of the Lord's good favor.And after he reads it, he just rolls up the scroll, hands it back to the usher, and takes a seat. There is no preaching. No teaching. No clever illustrations. No scriptural exegesis. He just sits down and they all stare at him. They probably make eyes at each other and whisper amongst themselves and, maybe, wonder what's coming next.And Jesus breaks what must have been a very awkward silence to make his point … to say what he came to say … to drop the mic, as it were. He says, simply: “Today, this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”“Today, this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”And that meant at least two things:First, it meant that Jesus was a prophet, something like the Old Testament prophet Isaiah, whom he was quoting – only better. He used Isaiah's words to say something about himself: that he had taken on the mantle of a prophet and declared that – like Isaiah – the Spirit of the Lord had come upon HIM; that HE, Jesus from Nazareth, had been anointed by God to do some pretty great things in and for the sake of the world. This, in and of itself, was very good news.Which points to the other thing that had been fulfilled, right there in their midst: That good news had been brought to the poor. That release had been proclaimed for the captives. That recovery of sight for the blind had been announced. That freedom for the oppressed was afoot. And that the Lord's favor was upon them.And I think Jesus knew that the people in his hometown needed some good news … some hope … some light in their darkness. And I believe God knows we need more of the same, still, today. So this morning, before we get to the hard stuff of next week – the stuff that may make you want to throw Jesus (or me) off the cliff on the outskirts of town – I'm trying to hear and believe and to trust that Jesus' words can be true for us, still – that today, we might see that this Scripture of very good news, has been fulfilled in our hearing.See, Jesus was always speaking good news to – or on behalf of – the poor. And our ministry is doing that, as we're able. We fed as many as 12 families a week ago Wednesday through our food pantry. And Pastor Cogan and I were able to pay rent and electric bills for some very needy neighbors just this past week with our discretionary fund. That's some good news for some poor folks who needed a little help in these hard times. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”And Jesus understood what it was to be held captive – literally and figuratively and personally, too. So, when he proclaimed release to the captive, he meant it. And while there are many more yet to come, I hope, God surely rejoices with every hostage that's been released in Israel and Palestine. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”And Jesus always proclaimed and promised the Lord's gracious favor, especially for those the world rejects or disregards or denies are worthy of it. So, even though our lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, trans and queer friends, family, and neighbors have very good reason to fear the loss of their freedom and full regard under the law, these days – very often in the name of Christianity – it's not nothing that we – as a family of faith and as followers of Jesus – are here to proclaim and to promise God's favor upon – and deep love for them. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”And we know Jesus came for the sake of those who were being oppressed – to cast the mighty down from their thrones, to life up the lowly, to scatter the proud – in his own hometown who were under the thumb of the Roman empire, and beyond. So his words of freedom that day in the synagogue were like a fist of defiance in the face of that oppression and a rallying cry for those who needed a champion. Our high school youth are learning how to fight the cycle of homelessness, our Racial Justice Team continues to wonder and learn together about systems that separate us, and our Outreach grant applications go live next week so that we can use our resources for ministries like Exodus Refugee International and others who feel like they're under the thumb of empire, these days. “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”I guess what I'm saying is that, while there's plenty to lament and fear and work for in this world, I'm grateful I can point to the mission and ministry we're up to in very tangible ways to show that – when we get it right – Scripture is being fulfilled in our midst. There is good news for the poor, there is freedom for the oppressed, captives are being released, and God's favor reigns – even when that's hard to see and no matter how much more work there is yet to do.And I'm grateful we are called to keep following Jesus here, the one who's life, ministry, death, and resurrection are all about delivering some measure of hope and joy, grace and peace, love and mercy, to those who need it most, in a world where those blessings can seem so hard to find.And in a world that does its best to stand in the way of it all, too much of the time. More on that next Sunday.Amen

John 2:1-11On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the person in charge of the banquet.” So they took it. When the person in charge tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), that person called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him. I empathize with the groom from our story today. Let me tell you why. We had less than a year to plan our wedding, which was less than ideal for Katelyn. And between other weddings and moving off to seminary, we really only had one date that worked: June 11th, which was a Sunday.But we had this great idea. We love breakfast, so we thought we would do a Sunday morning brunch for the reception, replete with mimosas, the Sunday paper, and the best brunch spread you'd ever seen. It was a great idea; the only problem was, we didn't have any money. Katelyn was in her senior year at Valpo, working two jobs as her schedule allowed. I was doing an internship at a church in Milwaukee where I got paid $500 a month. That was hardly enough to pay for the drinks, let alone the food. And food really is the centerpiece of the reception. So we had the impossible challenge of finding a caterer who was good and affordable on our measly budget. After searching and searching, I found her: Judy Baker of Chesterfield, IN. No website listed, just a landline phone number. When we met with her, Ms. Baker was well into her 80s and told us she had been catering weddings longer than Katelyn and I had been alive, combined. We told her what we were hoping for: brunch theme, eggs, potatoes, shrimp and grits, croissant sandwiches, French toast, and mimosas. Then we told her our situation: I was just a poor pastor-to-be, and we only had this much budgeted for the food. Without hesitation, Ms. Baker looked at me and said, “Corbin honey,” (that's what she called me the entire time we planned this wedding") “that'll be plenty. I'll have no problem getting all of that. It'll be a great Sunday brunch.” Katelyn and I were elated. We couldn't believe it—we had found the perfect person. We went about the rest of the planning, amazed that it was all coming together. Katelyn planned 90% of the details, but the one thing I put together was our newspaper. I wrote all these articles, and most important to everyone else was the menu: scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes, southern-style shrimp and grits, build-your-own croissant sandwiches, delectable donuts (instead of wedding cake), and to top it all off, Ms. Baker's famous French toast.On the day of the wedding, it was brutally hot, but Ms. Baker had a team working at full force to get our Sunday brunch ready. At the start of the reception, people made their way to get their food while Katelyn and I said some hellos. Finally, we walked outside, jumped ahead of the line to get our food, and what we saw shocked us. This supposedly great brunch was nearly gone! Half the guests still needed to go through the line, and certainly more than half the food was gone! I got no eggs, the croissant sandwiches were picked over, I don't recall any shrimp and grits, and worst of all, Ms. Baker's famous French toast was nothing more than French toast sticks, straight out of the box from Gordon's, accompanied by your own syrup cup like you'd get at Hardee's. I was embarrassed, humiliated. It was a tragedy.The food was supposed to be the centerpiece of this brunch. And now all of our friends, who were also planning weddings at the time, were gonna say, “Well, we don't want to be like the Blackmons!” And to be clear, this wasn't Ms. Baker's fault. There is only so much a woman can do with not even $2,000 for all the food and tableware. On the day I was supposed to be the host, to show hospitality, I was found lacking.The groom from our story today was also found lacking, not in food but, even worse, in wine. The very thing he needed most was gone all too early. Talk about a buzzkill. Now, this problem is much easier to preach about to Lutherans than, say, Baptists, who wouldn't see that as a problem at all. But in Jesus' time, for a Jewish wedding reception to run out of wine was one of the worst failures that could happen. The wine wasn't just for a good time, though, as the Psalmist tells us, it does gladden the heart. Wine was the centerpiece of hospitality; when there was plenty of wine, it was a sign of God's blessing. The prophets of old spoke of a time when the vats would overflow and the mountains would drip with sweet wine. In fact, the coming of the Messiah would be marked by an abundance of wine. Conversely, when the vineyards didn't bear fruit and there was no wine to drink, that meant God's blessing had been removed. And if there was ever an occasion to not run out of wine, it was a wedding, because not only would you be lacking in hospitality, but you'd be lacking God's blessing, too. And that's a tragedy.Somehow Mary, Jesus' mother, learns of the problem, and she takes it upon herself to find a solution. Why she felt the need, we are not told. But I like to think that Mary really felt for the couple because they were having the reception she and Joseph likely never had. And the last thing she wanted was for it to be ruined by the lack of wine, and for this newly wedded couple to experience any of the social scrutiny that she undoubtedly did.So Mary found Jesus, and why she thought he could, should, or would fix this problem we don't really know. But she talked Jesus into it. So Jesus had the servants fill the huge stone jars that had gone empty with water. And sometime in between doing that and filling a cup for the steward, the water became 150 gallons of the best wine imaginable.Which is absolutely ridiculous! Why would Jesus make an unfathomable amount of the best possible wine at a time when the guests were already shwammied! They had been partying for days by this point; they couldn't even appreciate such deliciousness. And did they really need that much? Couldn't Jesus have made just enough to last the rest of the reception? And then to top it all off, when the steward tasted the wine and thought the best had been saved for last, the groom got all the credit! Somehow from all of this, the disciples walk away having seen the glory of Jesus and believed in him.We all can empathize with the groom because, at some time or another, we've all been found lacking the very thing we need. As a parent, your jars of patience and attention run dry. In your marriage, your vats of love and forgiveness go empty. Or just as a person in a world with such pain, your cup of concern for your neighbor gets poured out. You will need something, someone besides yourself, to fill you back up because, like the groom and his party, when left to do it all by yourself, the relationship, or the marriage, or your faith, will come to an early end. It is only by the grace of God that comes to us in Jesus that our once-empty jars will be filled back up, and we are given not just what we need but an abundance of the fruit of the Spirit: patience, peace, love, joy, kindness, faithfulness.That's what I love about this story. It reminds us that sometimes in this life, the grace we receive isn't just enough to get us by. No, every once in a while, we experience the grace of God as an abundance of the best thing we've ever had, shared with the people we love most. And it's not just about getting by; it's about the overflow, the ridiculous generosity, and the joy of abundance—a glimpse of God's kingdom breaking into our lives.Where have you experienced God's abundance in your life? Where has God's overflowing grace surprised you, exceeded your expectations, or come just when you were sure you didn't have enough? And how might you share that abundance with someone else— your spouse, your kids, a friend, a stranger—who's jars have all but dried up? And how might we, as Cross of Grace, share our abundance of welcome and hospitality with a community, a world lacking in both?You'll be happy to know no one went hungry at our reception. And I'd like to think the abundance of love and joy more than made up for the food's quality. Months later I talked with one of my good friends about my wedding and told him how embarrassed I was about the food. He turned to me and said, “Are you kidding me? I loved it! French toast sticks are my favorite, and there were so many of them!”Thanks be to God for French toast, good wine, and an abundance of grace. Amen.

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts about John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water. One who is more powerful than I is coming. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”After all the people were baptized and after Jesus himself was baptized and praying, the heaven opened and the spirit descended upon him in bodily form, like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.” It's hard to wonder about “unquenchable fire” this morning without being mindful of what's been burning in California all week – the houses and habitats, the landscape and livelihood, the lives of so many people and so much of God's beautiful creation.And I've spent a fair amount of time the last few days watching those rescue workers and firefighting aircraft douse those relentless flames with gallon after gallon after gallon after gallon of water and fire retardant, as people pray for some relief and some reprieve from the destruction of those wildfires – all of which is pretty hard to fathom, here in the frozen, cold, snow and ice of our Midwestern winter.And I saw one story, in particular, about it all, that got my attention. A guy named Miro Freed, who used to work for the Forest Service as a Firefighter in California, but doesn't any more, was able to save his home somewhere up in the highlands, or mountains, of Sierra Madre, from burning to dust like so many of the homes and businesses of his friends, family, and neighbors along the California coast. And he told a reporter how he did it.Over the last five years, Freed has been doing what he called “fuel reduction” and creating what he called “defensible space,” around his home. From what I gathered, this means he got rid of certain kinds of plants and trees from around his house so that, should a fire come, they wouldn't serve as kindling and fuel that would help to burn the structures on his property. Hence what he called, “fuel reduction.”He also described literally raising up trees and bushes – the ones that remained a distance from his house – to a higher elevation from the land and plants beneath his on the mountain, so that, as a wildfire climbed up the hillside there would be less of a chance that it could reach – or that the flames would jump – to the plants and foliage and structures on his land. I imagine this “defensible space” amounts to a significantly vacant span of emptiness, for lack of a better description.Of course, they also showed him soaking down all of the above – the trees, bushes, and foliage around his house – with a garden hose to keep the flames at bay, too.And all of that guy's pro-active, pre-emptive, thoughtful preparation helped remind me to think differently about John the Baptist – and all of his words and warnings down by the river on the day of Jesus' baptism.See, John always sounds so angry, doesn't he? And he often gets portrayed that way, with all of his talk about winnowing forks and threshing floors; about burning chaff and unquenchable fires, I mean. (John, why are you mad … when you could be glad?)Well, maybe John isn't so mad, after all. Or angry, or as fire-and-brimstone as Christians have so often made him out to be. And, even more, maybe that's not the way we're supposed to imagine or receive the Jesus John was promising and pointing toward, either. Teachers of religion – Christianity and otherwise – are so good at painting pictures of God as a finger-pointing, fire-wielding, people-punishing, power monger who gathers up the good and disregards the bad with no more than the brush of a hand. And custodians of Christianity have taken it upon themselves to do the same, by deciding and declaring – on behalf of Jesus – whoever or whatever doesn't fit into what they believe to be Christian, or Christ-like, or whatever.You know what I mean … whether it's women being worthy of preaching the good news; LGBTQ folks being able to love who and how they were created to love; gate-keeping who can join a church, who's ready for baptism, who's allowed at the communion table, who's forgivable, loveable, acceptable, worthy.This is not how it's supposed to be and I don't believe this is what God wants us to hear when we read John's warning about the coming of Jesus today. I don't know what God's “threshing floor” is supposed to look like, exactly – but I don't believe that “chaff” has to be a metaphor for people. I believe “chaff” to God is the stuff in our lives that we might wish to be rid of, ourselves, if we could be honest and faithful about what hurts, harms, and keeps us from living our best lives as God's children.See, I wonder if John the Baptist was more like that guy in California – the former Firefighter – who's just offering some practical, holy advice about how to live a life of faith that's less likely to be consumed or disrupted or destroyed by the hard stuff that comes our way in this world?What if John is talking about “fuel reduction,” too – getting rid of those things in our midst, close to our hearts and close to our homes, that threaten to consume us or others? What if he's talking about creating “defensible spaces” between us and all of that which we know isn't good, or righteous, or healthy, or holy for anybody?And what if John is painting a picture of a God, in Jesus, who helps us, with great care and compassion, to remove the chaff from our lives that distracts us from God's love, that keeps us from living well – anything that tempts us not to give or serve or love ourselves and our neighbor, just the same?What if John is pointing to Jesus, the Messiah, as the one who invites and who helps people like you and me to leave behind the things that hold us captive, that keep us bound, that separate us from the fullness of life God intends for us all as God's beloved children, with whom God is well-pleased?And the variety of things that hold us captive are many – and as varied as the circumstances in the lives of those of us here. We are held captive by our fear of the unknown. We are held hostage by our grief. We are bound by the burden of the grudges we carry.We're captive, too, by systems of oppression that harm us all in the long run – but that do more damage to some than others. We are beholden to our greed, our jealousy, our hypocrisy, our intolerance, our privilege, our comfort, our self-interest, and our reluctance to repent and change, any number of those things enough of the time.Some of us are trapped by a long, painful history of bad theology that has convinced us that we – or others – are unworthy of the divine love and mercy all of us long for.Whatever the case, it's all chaff, chaff, and more chaff. It harms us. It hurts our neighbor. It destroys community. It blunts our faith. And God knows it. And it deserves to be set ablaze by God's Holy Spirit or doused and drowned by the waters of Holy Baptism.I think that's what John was offering, because I believe that's what Jesus showed up to do – and does, still … not out of anger or for the sake of fear, but out of love and for the sake of hope – for us and for the whole wide world.And that is the gift of baptism. It's the hope of baptism for those who've already received it and it's the promise of the sacrament, for those who are curious. It's an invitation to let the love of God burn away whatever keeps you afraid or feeling less than or unloved or unworthy of God's favor. It's the promise of a grace so big that it drowns out and washes away whatever sin and brokenness the world pretends can separate you from the God who calls and considers you “Beloved,” already and always.It is water and Word that means to bless your life on this side of heaven, just as much as whatever awaits you on the other side of life as we know it. And it's the good news of a grace that will change us and transform the world when we receive and share it, fully, as God intends.Amen.

John 1:1-18In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, ‘This was he of whom I said, “He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” ') From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known. Everything is in crisis now. Or at least that's how it feels. And I don't mean that flippantly. As we look back on 2024, there were and still are crises that touch nearly every aspect of life and corner of the world. There's the climate crisis, with 2024 being called the hottest year on record. All last year we heard about the crisis of democracy leading up to the election. There's the immigration crisis, the housing crisis, and humanitarian crises too many to count. Last month, we talked about the communication crisis—our inability to talk and see one another—which is connected to the social media crisis, the loneliness crisis, and the mental health crisis, especially among teens. Not to mention the crisis of the church, with a new report from Gallup just a few days ago saying that communal worship is at an all-time low. Undoubtedly, there are more that come to your mind. And when you think of all these crises, the world seems like a dark, dark place.It's easy to think that by calling something a crisis, everyone else will understand it as such. We assume they'll drop everything and urgently do all they can to address the problem. Nat Kendall-Taylor, a communications specialist, put it this way in a recent New York Times article, “There's this expectation that, ‘if only people knew how bad the problem was, they would trip over themselves, running to support my initiative.'” But is that how it works?All around us, people are yelling about another crisis and how terrible things are. Then there's a command: “Do this, or the world—or people—be damned.” And while they may be right, people don't like being told what to do. If anything, all the noise wears us out. As Kendall-Taylor put it, “We tire very quickly of being told that everything is on fire,” because it makes the world seem beyond repair and convinces us that nothing we do will make a difference. Naming crises without more leaves us feeling like, well, how the law makes us feel.“The law indeed was given through Moses,” writes John. The law is all the commands and rules given to not only the Israelites but to us too, so that we live as God's holy people—set apart from everyone else, yet a blessing to them at the same time. Think of the 10 commandments, or the command to love God and love your neighbor, or the commands for justice.For generations, the Israelites tried to keep the law and do all the commands, but they never did. It was always God forgiving, renewing, and upholding their relationship. We know what that's like. We try to do all those things and fail just the same. The law though was never meant to be the ladder by which people climbed out of their darkness to God. It was the thing that showed our need for God to come down into our darkness. If all we had was the law, we'd be left in despair, knowing we can't keep it, that we are helpless when left to ourselves. That's how I feel about all these crises, too! They point out how bad things are and give commands, but leave us feeling in despair; like the darkness is not only all around, but has made its way into our hearts too; because not only can we do nothing to stop the crisis, nothing and no one can help us either. Yet there is something that can help our fatalism, and the world's too. Rather than simply alerting everyone to a crisis, Kendall-Taylor suggests, “A far better strategy for instilling urgency and inspiring action toward a problem is to show people that real solutions lie at the ready.” Give a solution to the darkness. Share a story that inspires action! In other words, after the law, tell the good news. Nativity at Night by Geertgen tot Sint Jans And the good news for us and for all the world is that God couldn't leave us to a darkness of our own making. So God entered our darkness to give us light. “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” Grace always follows the law because grace is what saves us. So often, we think of grace as a thing, but it's not. Grace is a person. And grace comes to us as a baby in a manger, giving not just us but all of creation life and light. It is the light of Jesus that dispels all the darkness. Not even the darkness of death could stop it from shining.But in the manger, the light doesn't look all that bright. If you look at many of the masterpiece paintings of the nativity, like this one by Geertgen tot Sint Jans, you see small rays of light coming from the manger. Everything else around it is dark, illumined only by how close it is to the manger. That captures the truth of what God's coming into the world means for us and the darkness all around.We are not the light of the world. Our job is not to expel all the darkness in the world. We can't even get rid of the darkness in our hearts, let alone someone else's. No, our job is to get as close to the manger as we can. And by doing that, we reflect the light of Jesus Christ in the darkest of places.That's the story we have to share: one of light coming into our darkness, of abundant grace when it's least deserved, of a loving God who would not and will not leave us to face our crises alone. Our job is to reflect the light, to come close to the manger, to share the grace and truth we have seen and received through Jesus Christ. And I see that light reflected here, like in your generosity as you helped our grace quest kids hit their fundraising goal and in just one month you gave nearly $9,000 to help people quite literally living in darkness recover. I hear about the light shining through the service of our agape ministry, in the meals served and relationships formed. I witnessed it when our young families gathered together in Advent, growing in community and staving off loneliness. These small acts may not solve all the crises of the world, but they shine Christ's light in powerful ways.That's why at baptisms, we give just a small candle with a single wick. We don't give out spotlights saying, “so let your light shine before others.” No, the light of Christ is passed on by a single, small flame, reminding us that just a little light scatters so much darkness.As you look back on this year, where have you seen the light of Christ reflected in the world? For me, I can't help but think of Jimmy Carter, who became a beacon of light after his presidency. Through the Carter Center and Habitat for Humanity, he brought dignity to lives overshadowed by poverty and illuminated paths to peace and justice in some of the world's darkest corners. Even in the twilight of his life, you could find Jimmy Carter nearly every Sunday sitting under fluorescents in a sanctuary in Plains, Georgia, leading Bible study. He knew that he himself was not the light but lived as close to the light as he could, reflecting the grace and truth of Jesus in all that he did.As we enter 2025, we will face crises old and new, but we do not face them alone. The light that began in the manger still shines, calling us to draw near, reflect its grace, and share its truth. The darkness is undeniable, but it is not final. So as we step into this new year, let's keep reflecting the light — through our generosity, our service, and our care for one another and the world around us — believing that light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome. Amen

Luke 2:41-52Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day's journey.Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?” But they did not understand what he said to them.Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor. I love that – after all of that drama, excitement, fear, and anxiety – after the embarrassment and worry of having lost Jesus – after having traveled and searched and knocked on who knows how many doors – after calling his name in anger, frustration, fear and desperation, God knows how many times, before finally finding him calmly chilling, safe, sound, and smug, in the Temple – Mary “treasured all these things in her heart.” Isn't that just so sweet and motherly of her?And I kind of like that we don't hear a word about Joseph, because I get to use my imagination about his response. I bet Joseph was so pissed and so frustrated – about having to turn around, having to waste all of that time, losing all of those good travel days. He probably missed some work and lost some money because of this nonsense. I imagine him mumbling and groaning and kicking the dirt 20 paces ahead of Mary and Jesus, for three days, all the way back to Nazareth; like a First Century Clark Griswold, while Mary “treasured all of these things in her heart.”You can imagine it right?So stressed … so anxious … so afraid … so guilt-ridden over having lost the boy; or having not double-checked on the boy; or having trusted that the boy – the Son of God, for crying out loud – Emmanuel – which means “GOD WITH US” – would actually BE WITH THEM, like he was supposed to be. I imagine Joseph, muttering and mumbling, angrily under his breath, “Name him Jesus, because he's going to save his people from their sins.” He just LOST ME four days and a week's wages! How's HE gonna “save his people from anything?!?!” Gimme a break! I'll believe it when I see it.Maybe I'm projecting. Surely I digress.But seriously, I made a comment during our Blue Christmas worship service – that annual worship service for the weary, for the sadness and struggle that is also so much a part of the holidays for so many – I said something about how glad I was to see those who showed up, show up, that night. And about how I wish that that service had been as full as I knew it would be on Christmas Eve, which was filled to over-flowing as many of you know, three times over.I said that because I knew on Christmas Eve, we'd have a bumper crop of those folks who come every year “for the festival” – for the pomp and circumstance, for the familiar carols, for the nostalgia of “Silent Night” by candlelight, and for whatever grace and good feels we find in all of that. And it's not nothing. I'm always so glad that they and their families join us, and that we're able to welcome them like we do.But I always want them to know that we're about that kind of goodness and grace year-round in the Church. And I always wonder how long all of that goodness and grace – all of those good feels – last in the hearts and minds and lives of those who join us once a year, or even just every once in a while.Do they make it out of the parking lot – those good feels? Do they last through the night, past Christmas morning, and beyond the opening of all those gifts? Has Jesus gotten lost in the shuffle, left behind in the Temple, as it were; gone missing in the mix that is life in this busy, scary, anxious world we share? And of course, I wonder the same about myself and about all of us, too, who practice our faith more regularly and with such good intentions.Because the truth is, that we all have – or will have – those moments when Jesus seems to go missing … when he doesn't seem as near as he did on Christmas Eve … when we have taken his presence for granted, like even his parents were able to do … and when we have looked for his love, his peace, his hope, his gracious presence in all the wrong places, or not at all … when the circumstances of our lives so easily crowd him out or make him hard to find.And today makes me hope we'll remember that we can always find him here … in the temple, in the Church, in God's house of worship.Don't get me wrong. I'm certain that you can meet Jesus during a walk in the woods, or on the golf course, or sitting in your recliner, by the fire, with a candle and your favorite Bible.But Jesus reminds me today that this is holy ground; that God's house is where he'll always be – in Word, in the sacraments, and in the fellowship of believers who look for him here. And I take that as a great comfort and as a holy charge and calling, too. And I hope you do as well.I hope that we're doing our best – on Christmas Eve and every day – to be sure the love of God, in Jesus, is being made known in this place, always in thought, word, and deed. That through our ministry and mission it's clear Jesus is waiting for whoever comes searching for him; that we're proclaiming his grace with no strings attached; that we're listening for his guidance; that we're receiving and offering his kind of mercy and forgiveness; that we're working for his sort of justice, peace and equity in the world; that we're welcoming others the way we've been welcomed, ourselves. I heard a bit on NPR's “Morning Edition” yesterday, about the hymn “Amazing Grace.” Apparently, New Year's Day, 1773, was the first time that most familiar hymn was ever performed – 251 years ago.And I never wondered about the lyric “I once was lost, but now am found” before, in the context of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and this journey from Jerusalem, as we hear it, so soon after Christmas. “I once was lost, but now am found.”It could mean a million different things for any one of us – at any given time or season of our lives. I wonder what it might have meant for Jesus way back when. Did he feel as lost as his parents thought he was or as any pre-teen kid can feel at that time in their life? Is that why he made his way back to the Temple in the first place? To find some comfort … some company … some holy ground … some kind of peace and love and support he wasn't finding elsewhere in those days? And why wasn't God's house – the Temple – the first place Mary and Joseph thought to find him in?I hope this is always a safe place where you and I – and others – feel welcome to come for worship when it's filled to the brim, when it's just the regulars, or when we just need to be alone with our God.I hope this is sacred space where we can ask hard questions and long for answers, even if they don't come easily, as fast as we'd like, or at all.I hope this is a place where we can find our footing on a bit of holy ground when we need it, where we can search for good news and find the kind of grace that's hard to come by anywhere else in the world.I hope this is a place where we can always find the Jesus who shows up at Christmas, but whose presence lives and moves and breathes among us, always.And I hope this is a place where we let ourselves be found, too, by the abundant, amazing love and grace of God – in such a way that we are clothed with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience and that same love – so much so that others will find us here; that they'll come and see the difference it makes for us – and what a difference it can make in the world when we let it.Amen. Merry Christmas.

Luke 2:1-20In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah,* the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host,* praising God and saying,‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!'*When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.' So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. Christmas has a way of feeling extraordinary. All the gathering, feasting, and laughing — it's a day when memories are made and traditions are cherished. For many of us, it's the kind of day that feels just right, filled with a sense of joy and meaning that lingers long after the wrapping paper is cleared away. And nearly every year, as the lights glow and the laughter fades, I find myself asking the same question the late great theologian Elvis Presley asked: “Why can't every day be like Christmas?”And if not every day, what about most days, or even more days than not? Because in reality most of our days are not like Christmas. Most of them are quite ordinary, mundane even. Of course, there are valley and mountain-top moments, but the sum of those days pales in comparison to the days we would consider routine. Or at least that's how my life has felt lately; not in a bad way, but if my days were put into a novel, you wouldn't pick it up, or at least not twice. They aren't quite boring, because I'm not sure life with a “near two-year-old” can ever be called such. But when I reflect on the best moments of my life—the memories I cherish most or the life I aspire to live—it doesn't look like the majority of my days. Most days feel unimportant in comparison. Get up, help get everyone off to where they need to go, go to work, come home, make dinner, say I'll clean or read but do neither, go to bed, and do it all over again. Does this sound familiar?Yet, what if those ordinary days aren't unimportant at all? What if those moments, mundane as they seem, are exactly where God chooses to meet us?One of those nights while I was neither cleaning nor reading and the babe was asleep, this video stopped my scrolling. It made me question what I was seeing. Take a look: Thomas Deininger is an artist who lives on a farm in Rhode Island. In his early twenties, he went on a surfing trip to some remote islands in the Pacific. While there, he was shocked to see all the trash and plastic washed up on the beaches. At the time, he was a painter, but when he returned home, he couldn't get the image of all that garbage out of his head and wanted to do something about it. So he began scouring beaches, parks, and dumpsters, collecting trash, particularly pieces of nostalgia: toys, cassette tapes, old phones. And from this waste, he started creating beautiful, mind-altering sculptures of the creatures endangered from that same trash.These works start with an illusion. At first, you see a brilliant, yet familiar sight: a parrot in all its colorful splendor. Then as you step to the side, the illusion shatters and you see something you never expected; what you once thought was the head of a beautiful bird becomes bottle caps, action figures, plastic netting, and a floppy disk. Step closer and the scene turns bizarre. The whole thing is made up of material you never expected, put together in ways that make no sense. “I am fascinated with perspective and illusion,” Thomas said in an interview. “I value finding potential in the mundane and the overlooked.”Deininger's work shows us that beauty can come from what's overlooked, what's forgotten, what seems like trash. This is the lens of Christmas: God's ability to take what seems ordinary—even broken—and create something extraordinary.Consider the nativity. At first glance, it's serene and familiar: Mary cradles her sleeping, or at least content, baby, Joseph gazes with admiration. The shepherds gather to see what had been told them, and the animals crowd around too. It is a beautiful, picturesque scene.But step to the side, come closer, and see it differently. Mary, a young, unwed, lowly woman with no great characteristics or influence, travels with her not-yet-husband Joseph, a poor carpenter, to Bethlehem, a tiny, impoverished town in the hills of Judea, to give birth in a room where the animals stayed, and places her fragile, newborn baby in a feed trough, surrounded by animals and shady shepherds from the nearby fields. You see, when we step to the side just a bit, this pristine, beautiful image of the nativity transforms and we see Jesus' birth from a new perspective: God chose to come among us through ordinary, overlooked people in a forgotten, unimportant place.And then if we look closer still, the whole thing becomes bizarre, because that baby lying in the manger, swaddled and helpless, is none other than God. The almighty, ever-powerful, Creator of the heavens and the earth, chose to give it all up to live with us as a poor peasant from Palestine. God in the manger doesn't just show us humility; it shows us that no part of life is too small, no person too ordinary, for God to transform it into something sacred.God takes unimportant people, an overlooked place, and weaves them together in ways we never expect to create something remarkable—Jesus Christ the Savior of the World.The good news of Christmas is that God does the same with us. Like those sculptures made of discarded toys and plastic, God takes the scattered, seemingly insignificant pieces of our lives—our routines, our mistakes, even our struggles—and transforms them into something beautiful and life-giving. In the people we overlook, in the places we least expect, in the seemingly unimportant days after all the gatherings and festivities, the Christmas story tells us this is exactly where God chooses to come among us. In our rising and our resting, our labor and our leisure, there is more than what meets the eye. God is in the faces we love and the strangers we meet. There is hope in the children we care for, grace in the routines we endure, light even in the darkest places.The Christmas message comes to tell us that how we see this life of ours is all wrong. What we take to be unimportant or worthless is really beautiful and purposeful because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger. Beauty in routine, strength in weakness, meaning in the mundane.The gift I pray you receive this Christmas is a new perspective — to step to the side, to come closer and to find God's grace in the routines and messiness of your life. Because the good news is this: God is already there, waiting to transform it all into something beautiful. Amen

Luke 1:39-45In those days, Mary set out with haste and went to a Judean town in the hill-country where she entered the home of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard the sound of her greeting, the child leaped in her womb. Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord has come to me? For when I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy! And blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” When David Brooks talks about what it means to see others deeply and to let ourselves be more deeply seen, he leans pretty heavily into acknowledging the significance of a person's family tree, history, and culture, in order to do that. And he asks this really great question: How Do Your Ancestors Show Up in Your Life?He quotes the novelist and poet, Robert Penn Warren, who said, “You live through time, that little piece of time that is yours, but that piece of time is not only your own life, it is the summing-up of all the other lives that are simultaneous with yours. …What you are is an expression of history.”And we forget this, don't we? …about ourselves, about each other, and about the strangers we meet and see in the world? When someone upsets or angers us on any given day – by cutting us off in traffic, or acting selfish or unkind at the grocery store, by talking behind our back in the church parking lot, or by not pulling their weight on that group assignment at school – it's worth wondering what else might be going on in their life at the moment, don't you think?We've all seen that meme or heard the notion that “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about, so be kind. Always.” Well, I think David Brooks takes this to another, more meaningful level, when it comes to really seeing and knowing a person.We don't just land here, showing up out of nowhere – so unique, individual, special, and in control of our own respective destinies. Like it or not, we are beholden to or influenced – in some way – by those who came before us; by all of the culture, history, and baggage – good, bad, and ugly – that come along with us. All of the good stuff we'd like to claim about ourselves and be most proud of – isn't all or only of our own creation. And the hard stuff we work so hard or wish we could change about ourselves – isn't … always … either.And the same is true about our neighbor.Which is to say – what we've been trying to show throughout these Advent days – is that seeing others deeply and being deeply seen takes time, work, effort, energy, and faith. And as Christmas draws ever nearer, my hope is that we see this work as ours, because it is and was God's, in the coming of Jesus. God showed up to see us more fully, completely, deeply … And so that we might take the time and do the work to see Jesus – and each other, through him – more fully, completely, and deeply, too.What child is this? What child is this? What child is this, and this, and this, and this?And, perhaps the most human thing about Jesus, is that he had a family tree, ancestors, and a rich human history of his own. And the Gospel writers – heck the whole of the Scriptural narrative – reveals this for us.I was tempted, but decided to spare you the reading of Jesus' genealogy from the first chapter of Matthew's gospel to prove this point. But you know – or I suspect you've heard about – all of those old-school “begats” – Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob begat Judah and so on down the line – 77 times, until you get to Jesus. The point of that litany of names, speaks to the power of ancestry, the impact of a person's family tree, and the meaning behind all that comes before us and that is poured into our identity and personhood.Well, for generations, theologians and professors, pastors and preachers have used Matthew's genealogy of Jesus for nothing more and nothing less than proving Jesus to be the fulfillment of God's plan for salvation; to establish his credibility as the Messiah; to prove his promised, prophetic pedigree, if you will, as the offspring of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, King David, and so on.And that's not nothing. It may very well have been Matthew's point. And it serves its purpose. But there's more to it than that. It's subtle, surprising, beautiful and impossible to miss once you see it – and I think it comes to a head in this morning's meeting between Mary and Elizabeth, in Luke's Gospel.See, buried in Matthew's account of Jesus' genealogy … hidden almost among the names of all those men – the well-known patriarchs, the faithful fathers, and the powerful kings – are also listed the lesser-known names of five women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary, the mother of Jesus, herself.And because we know that women – generally – weren't held in high regard in first-century Palestinian culture, if they were regarded at all, it is profoundly noteworthy to understand, just briefly, who these particular women were; to know their own history as part of this mix, and to acknowledge why their participation in the lineage of Jesus matters.First, there's Tamar, who saved her own life and livelihood by surreptitiously sleeping with her Father-in-Law, Judah, becoming pregnant, and thus preserving the family line that led to Jesus. Rahab was likely an owner/operator of the best little brothel in Jericho, who used her wisdom, hospitality, faith, and bravery to save some Israelite spies once, insuring a victory for God's chosen ones in battle, and securing for herself a worthy branch on the family tree of Jesus.Ruth was a Moabite – an outsider of the highest order as far as God's people were concerned at the time – but, by way of her steadfast faithfulness to her mother-in-law and some sexual self-preservation of her own, she ingratiated and grafted herself into Jesus' genealogy, too.Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, was the – likely unwilling – sexual conquest of King David. Though it's rarely described as such, she survived a sexual assault by the most powerful man in the land people, who then had her husband killed to cover up the indiscretion, so that she could be kept, by the king, as his wife.And then there's Mary, who shows up to Elizabeth this morning with some insane news about a baby on the way.And Mary and Elizabeth, good, faithful, Hebrew women that they were – would have known every bit of this history, tradition, and genealogy. Which is why it's not hard to see or imagine how a.) Elizabeth could believe such a thing, and b.) why Mary breaks into song in the verses following what we just heard – that little ditty we call “The Magnificat.” And it's a song that sounds strikingly similar to a song Hannah, a different ancestral sister from way back in the day – was known to have sung, as well.And this song is one about a God who scatters the proud, remember; who brings down the powerful from their thrones, who lifts up the lowly, who fills the hungry with good things, who sends the rich away empty. This song, from a Hebrew woman, in the presence of another Hebrew woman, was an anthem of joy, rebellion, prophecy, and hope … that the world was about to turn, with the coming of this Jesus.And do you think that was the last time Mary ever sang those words, or expressed those desires, or proclaimed that kind of hope? I find that hard to believe. I like to think she sang that song as a lullaby to a nursing baby Jesus. I bet she taught him well about the source of those sentiments from her sisters in the faith. I imagine Mary whispered that good news to her little boy every chance she got … over breakfast, on their way home from synagogue, when he walked out the door to go play with the neighbors, and certainly on his birthday, don't you think?!And I think that's why Jesus knew how to see people more deeply. It's why I think Jesus knew how to look beneath the surface of another's suffering; to forgive the choices they made, when necessary; to love an enemy; to turn the other cheek; to treat others the way he would want to be treated; to love the God of his creation; and to love his neighbor, as himself, in every way.Jesus knew about the battles people were fighting, he had compassion for them because of it, and he came to fight those battles with love, mercy, and grace. When we learn to see him more clearly and understand the source of his compassion and love for the least and most lowly among us … we might get better at seeing them, and each other more clearly, too.And when we ask and wonder about “What Child this Is?” for whom we're waiting, we might find him, more often, already in our midst – and live differently because of it.Amen

John 20:24-28But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hands in his side, I will not believe.”A week later, the disciples were again in the house, and this time Thomas was with them. Jesus came, again, and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” And he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand put it in my side. Do not doubt, but believe.” Thomas said to him, “My Lord, and my God.” David Brooks, in his book, How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen, the inspiration behind our Advent journey this season, tells some beautiful and hard stories about grief and despair and suffering. He gives some sad statistics about how and why we are such a disconnected people these days – and about what it means to experience hardships ourselves, to learn to see them in others, and to walk with others – and each other – through the struggles of this life.If you've picked up the book, but haven't made your way into it, yet – and you're here tonight – maybe Part 2, Chapter 8, page 97, is a place you could begin reading. (If you don't have this book – or don't know or care about any of that – fear not; none of it is necessary. I plan to fill in all the gaps you might be missing.)But in discussing what it means to see one another in our struggles, David Brooks tells part of Frederick Buechner's story. Buechner was a Presbyterian minister, theologian and very prolific author – a few of who's books were required reading in my Pastoral Care and Counseling courses back in seminary. When Buechner was just ten years old – and his younger brother, only 8 – their dad peaked in them early one morning in their bedroom before they were set to go on a family outing about which the brothers were quite excited.It was too early that morning to get up so the boys stayed in bed, in their room, anticipating the fun day they had planned. As Brooks writes it, “A little while later, they heard a scream and the sounds of doors opening and closing. They looked out their window and saw their father lying in the gravel driveway, with their mother and grandmother, barefoot and still in their nightgowns, leaning over him. Each woman had one of his legs in her hands. They were lifting his legs up and down as if they were operating two handles of a pump. Nearby, the garage door was open and blue smoke was billowing out.“… their father had gassed himself to death. It took them a few days to find the suicide note, which their dad had scratched in pencil on the last page of Gone with the Wind. It was addressed to their mom, [and said]: ‘I adore you and love you, and am no good … Give Freddy my watch. Give Jamie my pearl pin. I give you all my love.'”Within just a couple of months, Buechner's mother moved them to Bermuda, where they started a new life, and little Freddy effectively avoided and denied whatever grief he would have/could have/should have probably wrestled with until he couldn't avoid it any longer – when he became a young adult. His work as a teacher and author helped with that, as did more life experiences and research into his dad's past and family history. Sadly, and surprisingly, it wasn't until he reached middle age that Frederick Buechner was able to cry real tears – to actually grieve – the loss of the father he loved very much.I picked this story to tell, because I agree with David Brooks: that the trajectory and experience of Frederick Buechner's grief is a familiar one for many people. See if this scenario sounds familiar:Some sadness, struggle, or even tragedy strikes. There is a period of shock and grief that feels too great to face or engage, so that grief – and all the emotions that come along with it – are packed away, avoided, denied, whatever. We suck it up and move on, because we think that will be easier. We brave the grief alone, or quietly, because that looks like “strength” to us – and that supposed “strength” is often affirmed as such by the world around us. At the very least, maybe we minimize whatever grief or struggle finds us because we are needed by others – children, parents, spouses – or because we don't want to appear weak, or to be a burden or a buzz-kill, or something of the like.(Again, not that anyone here would ever … but does any of this sound familiar?)Whatever the case, this can go on for quite some time … until it can't anymore. In Frederick Buechner's case, it took decades before it caught up with him and before he was finally able to find meaning and new life through the grief he learned to experience and engage over having lost his father so young and so tragically.Anderson Cooper tells a similar story. (I know I am a broken record about Anderson Cooper and his podcast “All There Is,” and I'm sorry – not sorry – that I bring it up every chance I get. If nothing else I have to say tonight resonates or sounds encouraging or helpful to you, make listening to that podcast part of your holy homework soon and very soon. I propose – I almost promise – it will either help you find some words and wisdom about whatever grief you've already experienced, or it will prepare you for the grief that will find you – as it does us all – at some point in our lives.)Anyway, the whole reason Anderson Cooper started this podcast a few years ago, where he interviews others all and only about their grief is because – at the age of 55 – he realized he had never been taught or encouraged to engage, let alone wrestle with or mend, the deep grief he endured by losing his father to heart-failure when he was just 10 years old (like Frederick Beuchner was); or the grief he suffered after losing his 23 year-old brother to suicide when he was just 21.Instead of grieving well, Anderson says as a young adult, he traveled the world, risking his life to report on wars and tragedies and disasters – literally on a global scale – so that, while simultaneously running from and avoiding his own grief, he could subconsciously measure that kind of horrific sadness against his own, and maybe see how other people survived in the face of it.Anderson Cooper embodies Frederick Buechner's suggestion that, even though we long more than anything to be known fully, grief – even though it is utterly universal – may be one of the things that is most difficult to embrace, admit, or share about ourselves.It's why what we're up to tonight is as practical as it is holy to me. It's why I'm so grateful you've showed up. It's why I wish this place was as full tonight as it will be on Christmas Eve.See, on a recent episode of that podcast, Anderson Cooper interviewed the actor Andrew Garfield, who talked about the loss of his mother. And Andrew Garfield said something so profound it's been making its way around the internet, lately. Maybe you've seen or heard it. “The wound is the only route to the gift.”I wonder if, when Jesus showed up for the disciples after his death – and then again to Thomas, who refused to believe it …I wonder if he was doing even more than proving his identity … if he was doing more, even, than just showing evidence of his resurrection … I wonder if, when Jesus showed off the wounds in his hands and on his sides… If, when he invited Thomas to put his fingers “here” and to see his hands, to reach out his own hands and to touch the wounded sides of Jesus…I wonder if Jesus was offering Thomas healing for the deep grief he surely felt, and if he was showing them all – and us, too – that “the wound is the only route to the gift” that even our grief can be for us, as people of faith.Not that we would ever choose the grief that comes our way …Not that we deserve the deep sadness and struggle that finds us, too often, on this side of heaven …But that, because God shows up in Jesus to walk the way of suffering before and beside us as we go, we can remind ourselves and each other that God does God's best work in the dark, sad, scary places of our lives.See, I believe God showed up, in Jesus, to remind us that the only way through the grief that finds us in this life – and toward the healing and hope we desire and deserve – is to trust that it won't last forever; that we don't need to fear or deny or avoid or pretend that it shouldn't exist; that we can come to and through the wounds of our sadness and struggle… We can touch and tend to what hurts us most… (“The wound is the only route to the gift.”)And we can share all of that with one another, without fear, shame, or hesitation. And we can let the light of God's grace – the light that shines in the darkness – shine in our direction, too. And we can let it heal what we cannot, on our own … and we can let it bless our lives with the love that is born for us all, even and especially in our darkest days … with thanks for this Jesus – who was, who is, and who is to come.Amen. Merry Christmas.

Mark 8:27-30Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea-Philippi. Along the way he asked them, “Who do people say that I am?” They said to him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” Jesus said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” And Jesus sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him. I hope you remember we're focusing our time during these Advent days on a book by David Brooks called How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen, in which he talks about pragmatic, practical practices to achieve spiritual, holy ways of living in the world.And Brooks devotes a whole chapter to the idea of and the power behind questions. With the aim of growing into the kind of people who want to know others more deeply – to see them for who they really are and to care about that – Brooks proposes that we should be the kind of people who ask questions. And not just any questions, but good, curious, open-ended, thoughtful questions that invite others to respond comfortably … in ways that reveal something about who they are, how they see and experience the world, and how they want to be seen and received by others around them.Brooks goes so far as to say that he's, “come to think of questioning as a moral practice. When you are asking a good questions, you are adopting a posture of humility. You're confessing that you don't know and you want to learn. You're also honoring a person. We all like to think we are so clever that we can imagine what's going on in another's mind. But the evidence shows that this doesn't work. People are just too different from each other, too complicated, too idiosyncratic.”I learned a long time ago – either from my Psychology and Counseling classes or from watching Oprah – about the danger of certain kinds of questions. Questions like “Where do you work?” or “Where do you live?” or “If you went to college and where?” aren't the best things to ask when you're just being introduced to someone.Brooks says those questions imply that you're about to make a judgment about a person based on their responses. Someone pointed out to me once that, asking someone what they do for a living – which is probably a first inclination for many of us, right? – implies and perpetuates a false notion that what we do for work is the most important, valuable, interesting thing about us. (That may be true for some, but surely isn't true for most.)We all know, too, how superficial and worthless it is to ask most folks how they're doing when we greet them – the answer is almost always “fine,” or “okay,” or “good, how are you?” Which is to say, the answer is always incomplete, at its best, and it's often a lie, at its worst. We're rarely 100% “fine,” “okay,” or “good.” And there are plenty of days when we offer those answers when we are feeling everything but “fine,” “okay,” or “good.”If you've ever participated in our CrossRoads class for folks curious about the ministry here, you know that one of my favorite ice-breaker questions is, “Where did you live when you were in the 8th grade?” I always like the surprising geographical connections made between whoever is in the room. It's fun to see who has landed in Indiana from the farthest distance. We've had people realize they grew up in the same or neighboring towns in other states. We've had people who knew the same pastors or who went to the same church, way back in the day. But the connections and common ground are often deeper than that, because it's hard to talk about where you lived in 8th grade without also, perhaps, mentioning why; or how long ago that was for you; or what your life was like in those days.David Brooks offers up some really good questions in his book that I hope you'll consider asking folks at your next office Christmas party or family gathering in the days ahead: “What's working really well in your life at the moment?”“What are you most confident about?”“When was a time you adapted to change?”“What has become clearer to you as you've gotten older?”“What's a Christmas tradition your family keeps?Again, consider those questions in the days to come and be bold about asking them of others to see what comes of the answers you receive and share.Because, remember – and here comes the spiritual, holy part of it all – the point of this sermon series and of this Advent journey together, is to open ourselves to the birth of Jesus in ways I believe God intended from the very beginning. In a world where people are increasingly distant from one another and divided by so many things … In a world where we increasingly let technology do the talking and the working for us … In a world where it's easier to hide behind screens and so tempting to stick to our cultural, political, theological silos … I believe the Gospel of the incarnation – the good news of God showing up among us as a human being – is as holy, as challenging, and as relevant as it ever was.David Brooks closes his chapter on questions by saying, “Each person is a mystery. And when you are surrounded by mysteries … it's best to live life in the form of a question.”And I think that's something Jesus teaches us, too … to live life in the form of a question. People like to pretend that having faith and living a life of faith is about being certain and knowing answers and having black-and-white, yes-and-no, right-and-wrong views on life's most pressing questions.But more often than not, it seems to me, Jesus responds to the request for those things – certainty… answers… yes/no, black/white, right/wrong propositions – with more questions, or stories, at least, that leave a whole lot up to our interpretation and imagination.When his followers come to him asking that he interpret the signs in the sun, the moon and the stars… when they come hoping for a sign, telling them that the end is near … Jesus doesn't give a hard and fast answer. He says, “no one knows; neither the angels in heaven, nor the son, but only the Father,” so just keep your eyes peeled, be curious, and get ready.When that lawyer asked Jesus once, “Who is my neighbor?,” Jesus doesn't give him a list of addresses or a litany of names. He tells him a story about a particular Samaritan that contradicted everything they'd ever been taught to believe about any Samaritans – that they could be good, merciful, kind, loving neighbors – and better and more righteous, even, than a priest and a Levite.And this morning, while he's milling around the region of Caesarea-Philippi, he asks his disciples to let him know what the word on the street is about him. What are people saying? What have you heard? “Who do people say that I am?”And they tell him what they think he's after – the rumor, the gossip, the wrong answers and assumptions of the people on the street. And I imagine they take great joy in the foolish things people are saying. “Those idiots think you're John the Baptist!” “I heard some knucklehead say you were Elijah, come back to life!” “I think people are so dumb and desperate they've painted you as some prophet like back in the day.”But all of that just sets the stage for what Jesus is really after – for the question he really wants an answer to: “Who do YOU say that I am?”Because Jesus knows he'll be able to tell a whole lot about how … whoever … answers that question. And Peter does. And Peter gets it right. Which took some guts. It took some courage. It took some wisdom and understanding and a whole lot of faith. Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, without apology or hesitation, it seems. And it earned Peter a place of honor and respect in the eyes of Jesus. He became “the Rock” on which the Church would stand.And this question matters for us, still. Who is this Jesus we'll celebrate at Christmas? Who is this Jesus we're waiting on? Who do we say that he is, was, or will be? There may be as many answers to these questions as there are people listening to me now: He is a Comforter, a Redeemer, a Judge. He is a Savior, a Brother, a Healer. He is a Friend, a Stranger, a Mystery, and more.And what if we were as curious about the way our friends, family and neighbors might answer that question as Jesus seemed to be? What if we sincerely wondered who Jesus is – if anything – to the people in our lives and in this world? And how might their answers impact our relationship to them?So let's not go about asking any of these questions because we want to prove who's right and who's wrong. Let's ask more and better questions. And let's be genuinely curious – not at all judgmental – about the answers we might hear from each other and from our neighbors. And let's listen for the wants, needs, hopes, and longings of those around us – like Jesus would.And let's respond, through our very lives, with who and how Jesus calls us to be: utterly human; afraid sometimes; hopeful, when we can muster it; full of grace; offering mercy; praying for peace; extending forgiveness; doing justice; and shining light into the darkness of this world God loved enough to show up in it.Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Luke 10:30-37I suspect most of us have heard Jesus' response to the lawyer, once, who asked him, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus told him a story:“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” Yesterday Pastor Cogan and I ran into one of our Partners in Mission, Maggie Higgins, having lunch with her grandmother-in-law, Alice Christle. Maggie and her husband, Derrick, live around the corner from me. It's likely that I drive by their house several times a day; dozens of times a week; too many times a year to count. Yesterday, I complimented Maggie on the fact that they had painted their fence. It was cool, anyway – this new, horizontally-planked, wooden fence – when they installed it a few months ago. And it's cool now, since they had painted, more recently. I was impressed that I noticed and remembered to tell her. And glad to pay her the compliment.Maggie said thanks and asked if I'd noticed that they had also given their house a makeover. It had been yellow. Now it's a dark gray. I hadn't noticed. Then she asked if I'd noticed the house next door – which she and Derrick had helped makeover as well. It, too, had gone from an even brighter, bolder, brilliant yellow to a nautical kind of blue – almost exactly the color of my office here at church.I hadn't noticed … in spite of the fact that I drive by that house just as often … several times a day, easy; dozens of times a week, for sure; too many times a year to count. And, who knows how many times since this house, like the other, changed colors, right under my un-suspecting, under-appreciating nose. I was shocked.Houses aren't people, but David Brooks, in his book How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen – it's the book that is the inspiration for this Advent season at Cross of Grace, in case you haven't heard –might say we make our way around in this world, interacting and sharing space with one another like I apparently drive to and from work a lot of the time: on auto-pilot.(You've had that experience – right? – where you've gone somewhere, arrived safely at your destination, but can't remember a thing that happened along the way. “Did I drive the speed limit?” “Use my turn signal?” “Stop at the stop sign?”)Or, perhaps worse, even, than auto-pilot, Brooks might say that, in our interactions with one another we're too often more worried about our own agenda, more focused on our own needs, more concerned with how we're perceived or presenting ourselves, so that we aren't as open to, concerned with, or focused on what's going on in the hearts and minds and lives of the people around us.While his book isn't particularly, pointedly religious in nature, Brooks does reference the Bible a few times. And he mentions Jesus and the Good Samaritan to illustrate this point. That priest and that Levite, walking along, minding their own business – at best; or deliberately avoiding the business of their suffering neighbor – at worst; were like me, driving to and from, going about my business, paying no mind to the changing houses of my neighbors. (Again, houses aren't people – but you get my point.)So, Brooks proposes that we should set – as a goal in life – to learn to live as what he calls “illuminators.” An illuminator is someone like that Good Samaritan in Jesus' parable, who keeps an eye out for, who pays attention to, who looks for ways to listen to, love, care about, and serve our neighbors – and the strangers in the world around us, too. Illuminators are those people who make the hearts and lives of those around them better, just by being with them – even if those around them aren't outwardly struggling and suffering, lying by the side of the road.You all know an illuminator or two, right? If you were with us at dinner, I hope you see now that that's who we were trying to have you conjure in your mind's eye and converse about with one another: Those people who have a knack for caring about … and seeing … and bringing out the best in who you are. Those people who have a knack for asking great questions; really listening to answers – and to what lies behind those answers; remembering names, maybe; anticipating needs, perhaps; responding in genuinely meaningful, caring, loving, insightful ways. Don't we all want to be more like those people?When (my wife) Christa was in the throes of her cancer treatments … back when the rest of the world was also in the throes of the COVID-19 pandemic … back when we were still worshiping remotely and doing worship by way of prayer vigils, opening the church for hours at a time so people could come and sit, socially-distanced, in the sanctuary to pray and meditate – “together but separately,” as we liked to say – without singing or shaking hands or speaking face-to-face … do you remember those days?Well, one Sunday, during one of those prayer vigil/open house/socially-distanced worship services, I was sitting in the sound booth, messing with the music, wearing my mask and whatnot; kind of minding my own business. There were one or two other Cross of Gracers here, quietly doing their prayer and meditation thing, when someone I thought was Sara Ostermyer walked in and sat in the back … there … where Laurel is sitting now.A second later, I got a text message from one of my very best friends, Amy, who lives in Orlando, Florida. Along with her text message was a picture of this sanctuary, our altar, and whatever was currently being projected on that wall, from the perspective of someone who was sitting in the back … there … where Laurel is sitting now.I was Gob-smacked. (Amy hadn't seen me over in the sound booth. She thought I was at home or elsewhere in the building. So I took a picture of her from over there and texted it back, just to mess with her.)As we approached each other, we knew we were smiling beneath those damned masks, even though we couldn't prove it. And we ignored every social-distancing protocol there ever was, hugged and cried, laughed and wept, and just sat together, crying some more, without saying much of anything.We were too exhausted by our grief over COVID, our fear about Christa's cancer, our gratitude for our friendship, our frustration and anger that we hadn't been able to be together until that moment. All the things and all the feels were living and moving and breathing between us – because Amy knew it was time to show up.Now, I have to say, in case she's watching or hears this, that our friend Amy does like to talk about herself and she loves being the center of attention whenever possible. But she really can be a top-notch illuminator on her good days. She's curious and compassionate about other people. She asks good, thoughtful questions. And, the day she showed up here, unannounced – in the middle of one of the most anxious, sad, scary times in our lives – was one of her very good days and I won't forget it. Because after about half an hour here, she spent about twenty minutes standing in our kitchen talking with Christa and the boys – masked and from a distance of course, because of Christa's compromised immune system. Then she simply got back in her car to drive four hours back to her cabin in Ohio from whence she'd come; all because she knew we were feeling all of the things that had covered us in those days. It was beautiful and generous and kind and compassionate – and illuminating – as David Brooks might say.But the good, beautiful thing about being an illuminator, is that it doesn't require such grand gestures – and it shouldn't be reserved just for close friends and family. David Brooks says it means nothing more and nothing less than working to see what another person sees in a way that leads to the greatness of small acts … “the greatness of small acts” … stuff anyone can learn and work to do:…like genuinely welcoming a newcomer to your workplace, to your neighborhood, to your church; like noticing the anxiety or nerves in someone's voice and asking what might be wrong; like knowing how to host a party where everyone feels welcome and included; like knowing how to give a good gift.And Scripture is full of faithful illuminators – like the Good Samaritan –from whom we can learn these same lessons. I think Aaron was an illuminator for Moses – literally making his words his own and sharing them on his behalf. I think Ruth was an illuminator for Naomi – “wherever you go, I will go,” she promised her in her moment of great need, “wherever you stay, I will stay.” I think Jonathon was an illuminator for his friend David – loving him “like his own soul,” giving him gifts that affirmed his status and met his needs, even saving his life with some really timely advice.And, since we're headed to Christmas, I think Aunt Elizabeth was an illuminator for Mary, the mother of Jesus – welcoming her visit; calling her blessed in a world that would never; receiving her and her shocking news, unfazed and unafraid; affirming her faithful choice to carry that baby; loving her when others likely wouldn't. I think Joseph was an illuminator for the Pharaoh, Eli was for Samuel, Paul was for Timothy. The list goes on if you look hard enough. And Jesus, himself, was – and is – an illuminator for us all. And how God calls us to do and be the same for the sake of the world – which is why we're talking about seeing deeply and being deeply seen these days.David Brooks says that “seeing someone well is a powerfully creative act.” That “no one can fully appreciate their own beauty and strength unless those things are mirrored back to them in the mind of another. There is something in being seen that brings forth growth. If you beam the light of your attention on me – [if you serve as an illuminator in my life] – I blossom. If you see great potential in me, I will probably come to see great potential in myself. If you can understand my frailties and sympathize with me when life treats me harshly, then I am more likely to have the strength to weather the storms of life.”And Brooks says, “In how you see me, I will learn to see myself.”“In how you see me, I will learn to see myself.”So God shows up in Jesus – perhaps the most powerfully creative act of all time – traveling a great distance, like a good friend would, you might say; to see us well, in all of our fullness; in all of our beauty and strength; in all of our folly and frailty; as utter sinners and as absolute saints; so we would know we are seen and loved and held in the heart of the very child of God, himself. This is the good news of the incarnation, the birth of Emmanuel – God with us; the Gospel blessing of Christmas.And it happens so that, by his example, we will know that we can do the same – illuminate the world he came to see and to save – with the same grace he came to reveal and to share.Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

John 18:33-37Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Pilate asked him, “So you are a king, then?” 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. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.One of mine this week was to get some long overdue tires replaced on my car before the snow and ice and cold of winter arrives in force. Every day I decide whether I have the time or the discipline or both to get to the gym in the morning before work. I had a seminary professor who packed the same exact thing for lunch every single day of the week so that he had one less thing to think about and decide upon on a daily basis.Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.We've been stewing about some big ones as a country and as a congregation, lately, too. Obviously, the election was all about deciding who would be President – among other things. And at Cross of Grace, we've asked each other to make a decision about how we will support our Building and Outreach Fund. (I know some of you are still thinking about that. Remember, those commitments are set to begin in December. Hint. Hint. Hint.)Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.Part of being alive is to have decisions to make and the nature of a decision is that there's usually some kind of pressure to get it made. And if there's not, time is likely to make your decisions for you. I could have waited a bit longer to get my new tires, but the season's first snow and a road trip to Columbus helped me make that call – before an accident or a blowout made it for me.And far too often – barring some kind of emergency – the only way to be sure you've made the right decision is to make it and then to wait and see.And I can't read this morning's Gospel without wondering about Pilate's decision. Talk about a dilemma! In the moments leading up to Jesus' crucifixion, Pilate had a job to do – and a decision to make – and it's been the source of many questions and much curiosity for generations that always come to fore when this reading shows up on Christ the King Sunday. Pontius Pilate was getting pressure from the people on one side and orders from King Herod on the other. And his time and little chat with Jesus didn't make the decision any easier. “Are you the king of the Jews?” Pilate asks Jesus. “Why do you want to know?” Jesus asks Pilate.“What have you done?” Pilate wonders. “It's nothing you'd understand,” Jesus explains, “I'm not from this world.”“You are a king, though, right?” Pilate insists. “Whatever you say,” Jesus seems to tease him, “you'll know the truth soon enough.” “Do what you've gotta do.”Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.Sometimes the only way to know if you've made the right one is to make it… and to wait… and to see what comes of it. And I get the impression that that's what Pontius Pilate did. He chose – what the people wanted – and he handed Jesus over to be crucified. And, I wonder when hindsight kicked in for Pilate. I wonder when the moment came that he realized what he had been a part of. I wonder … when Pilate looked back on his decision to let Jesus take the fall … did he rationalize or repent or rejoice?What's the hardest decision you've had to make – or that you've made lately? Who to invite to the party? Or who to ask to the dance? To take the job or to quit one? To end a relationship or to begin a new one; to punish a child or to forgive a friend; to try something new or to hold onto something familiar; to confess a sin; to let go of a grudge?What's the hardest decision on your plate right now? …Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.We all have them and if we don't right now, we will soon enough. Some that will impact our life and some that will do nothing more than change our plans for the weekend. But no matter how big or small the decision, I think we could all use a little help – which is something of what Christ the King Sunday is about for me.It's the last Sunday of the Church year. It's our last chance for some holy perspective before we begin another season of Advent and waiting and getting ready for Christmas. It's an invitation to take a last look back before we start looking forward again.Christ the King Sunday – with this strange foray into the crucifixion of Jesus, just before we prepare for his birth, yet again – is about perspective. It's about hindsight. It's about clarity and purpose. And it's about decisions. Whether it's about new tires, exercise, elections, or financial commitments; whether it's about what you'll have for lunch or where you hang your hopes for the future, Christ the King and the promises of Jesus, are about deciding.See, we often look at Pilate as the one who had the decision to make. To crucify Jesus or to set him free. To make King Herod happy … to appease the people … to save his own behind. We can look at Pontius Pilate and be angry with him or feel sorry for him or wonder what would have happened had he decided differently. But really, Christ the King Sunday and the story of Jesus' crucifixion aren't just about Pilate, the governor of Judea; or King Herod the ruler for Rome; or the Jews, the chief priests, and the crowds in Jerusalem. Christ the King Sunday is about you and me. The decision Pilate had to make is as much mine as it is yours – and ours together.Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.It's not about getting into heaven, as too many pretend. It's not about making our time here easier than it might be otherwise, that would be easy, if it were possible. The decision we're called to make today – and every day – isn't about saving Jesus from the crucifixion, it's too late for that. And it's not about coming up with the right answers or earning our salvation – that's already been decided, too, thanks be to God.The decisions we're called to consider on Christ the King Sunday – and every day – are about the difference Jesus makes in our life and about the difference he – and we – can make in the world.Because today's reminder is that Jesus was a different kind of king – one not from or of the broken world where we live. Jesus was a king who decided for love instead of judgment. He was a different kind of king who decided for peace instead of war. He was a different kind of king who decided for hope instead of despair; rags instead of riches; generosity instead of greed; humility instead of pride; thorns instead of jewels. And he was a king who opted to hang on a cross rather than to sit on a throne.Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.Large or small, they're ours to make. Deadlines or not, their time will come. Right or wrong, we'll live with the results. No matter how many or how difficult or how varied the decisions may be that life puts before us, the cross of Christ the King blesses us with a perspective that makes them endurable, that gives them meaning, and that makes our choices different, we pray, by the influence of God's grace. Life with Jesus as our King means to put everything else into perspective. Christ the King reminds us that God chose grace. Christ the King reminds us that God chose forgiveness. Christ the King reminds us that God chose death and resurrection and new life and good news.And Christ the King reminds us that God has chosen each of us – you and me – and that our decisions get to be made with a holy kind of faith and boldness and freedom because of it. In a world that too often decides otherwise, we get to choose grace. We get to choose justice. We get to choose generosity and forgiveness and hope and love and Truth – because God has chosen them all for us first – for good – and forever – in the name of Jesus Christ, our King.Amen

Mark 13:1-8As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down.”When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him, privately, “Tell us, when will this be and what will be the sign that all of these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he,' and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” Hooray for a Gospel text about the impermanence and seeming unimportance of temples, stones, synagogues, and buildings on Commitment Sunday for the Building and Outreach Fund. All of this, will indeed, be thrown down and turned to dust someday.But I hope you agree with Jesus, of course.As focused and as fierce as we've been about building this place and paying off our mortgage and all that has gone into that, over the course of our congregation's short life together, we've always tried to be faithful about the truth that the Church is not a building; that our identity and purpose isn't always, ever, or only about having an address, or about merely what happens inside these walls. We were very much “the Church” before we called any of this home and we are very much “the Church” when we're not gathered here. We are very much “the Church” even when – especially when – we're doing our thing, living our lives out there in the world, for the sake of the world. And horray for a text that taps in to so much of the fear, angst and anxiety that so many are feeling about life in the world these days – wars and rumors of wars; nation rising up against nation; earthquakes, famine, natural disasters and more that make you think maybe the beginning of the end might actually be right around the corner.Because of all that, our call is to bring the Kingdom – to see and to celebrate what God has already begun, in Jesus – and work to make God's will and God's way come to life among us and through us and for the sake of the world … here on earth as it is in heaven; to make the Kingdom of this world look and be more like God's Kingdom, on the other side of heaven.Which is why our Building and Outreach Fund matters, as we wonder about and make commitments to support it this morning and in the days to come. Yes, some portion of it all is about the bricks, the mortar, the “stones” that will, one day, all be thrown down and turned to dust, as Jesus promises. But the rest of it is about bringing the kingdom, doing the work, sharing the life and grace and mercy of God wherever and however we are able.Last week, one of my favorite preachers invited us to do a few things in response to the state of things following our country's recent election, regardless of how we may be feeling about all of that. Pastor Cogan suggested that, if things didn't go our way, we should share our fear, our anxiety, and our sadness about that with those who did get what they wanted. And he suggested that, if we are the latter – if things went as we hoped they would – we should listen to the concerns and needs of our struggling neighbors who are feeling scared, unseen, and worried about the days to come.In other words, some of what I heard from Pastor Cogan last week was an invitation to listen to each other and get to work.And I've done that. I've received texts and e-mails. I've had sit-downs over lunch, spontaneous conversations in the library, seen tears in my office, felt the anger expressed – in passing – in the hallway and at the drug store, because there just aren't enough of the right words sometimes.Now, I haven't and I won't have all the answers for all of that at every turn. But I will risk playing both sides against the middle – or something like that, this morning – in order to find a middle-ground of grace and hope no matter where we find ourselves with regard to all of it.See, as I wondered about today – searching for some hope in light of all of our collective mixed emotions (happy/sad, relieved/anxious, victorious/lost, hopeful/despairing) – I came away grateful for this place, for our ministry, and for the work we do that responds with action in real time to the things that can and should concern all of us these days. In an otherwise divided, fractured country, the mission and ministry of this place calls us to some common ground and some holy work.For instance, if it was “the economy, stupid” that informed your vote last Tuesday … if the price of groceries and gas was enough to make you vote a certain way, I'm so glad we have a food pantry that is meeting that need for so many of our neighbors. (Don't forget, our Mission Sunday this month is to provide Thanksgiving dinners for people in our community. $50 bucks will help provide a meal with all the fixins for someone who might not otherwise be able to celebrate.) That is the Lord's work, regardless of your politics.Or if abortion care, abortion access, and the health of women and babies was an issue that inspired your vote – one way or the other – whether you got what you wanted, or not – I hope you noticed that we gave $5,000 to the Milk Bank with our Outreach Grants this year. This is money, and they are an organization, that supports the health and wellness of women and infants, in crisis, in powerful ways – no matter the politics that lead to their distress or need – and that will hopefully help to mitigate more of that distress or need, come what may.If you're concerned about the status of immigration in our country, please know that we gave $10,000 to Exodus Refugee Immigration this past year, thanks to our Outreach grants, too. (And some of us helped at their headquarters on “God's Work. Our Hands.” Sunday, in September.) Exodus protects the human rights and dignity of refugees fleeing persecution and war, and helps them get settled safely in central Indiana. This is faithful, Biblically-mandated, Christ-centered work. And our generosity helps make it happen.If you are concerned about the quality of public education and the equity with which it is offered in our state or in our nation – and some of my favorite teachers have told me that we should be – I hope you're encouraged to know we also gave $10,000 to Brightlane Learning's “School on Wheels” this year. They offer tutoring, academic support, and advocacy to kids and families – grades K through 12 – who are struggling with homelessness and housing insecurity, while trying to get a quality education.If you feel like the status and place of women in our culture has taken a hit again in recent days, I hope you're encouraged by our $10,000 grant to Talitha Koum's recovery house for women. That money and that ministry over in Greenfield helps women, specifically, recover from addiction and trauma, and get back on their feet to become healthy and whole again, for their own good, and for the good of our world.So, again, if our call is to bring the Kingdom of God to bear in and upon the kingdoms of this world, we are doing that in real time, for real people, in real, practical, tangible ways, that really matter.And there are beautiful, faithful, inspiring, intangible ways to facilitate and accomplish that through our life together, too.Witnessing the love between two people – in marriage, as we did this morning already at our first service – is a glimpse and a gift of that, for sure. It speaks to commitment and love and hope in ways that can't be measured, but practiced, nonetheless. Making our confession, receiving our forgiveness; sharing the sacraments in bread, wine, and water and all the good news they portend; passing the peace; loving our neighbor; forgiving our enemy. None of these things can be quantified like so much grant money, but they can be witnessed, felt, received; and they are our life blood, purpose, and inspiration for all the rest.All of this is to say, I see a lot of platitudes and clichés about how we're supposed to get along – as friends, as family members, as neighbors, and as people in the Church in the days ahead – in spite of the differences that threaten to divide us. That is so much easier said, than done – which is something else I hear and feel when I listen to my neighbor, and to many of you.But it's been said that the local church is the hope of the world – and I believe it. It is a tall order. It is a daunting task. It can feel like an impossible, exhausting expectation, for sure. But it is nonetheless why we do what we do – if not to redeem the lot of it, then to point to the hope of the only one who can, who does, and who will, one day – Jesus Christ, our Lord.Amen

Mark 12:38-44As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”Psalm 146 Praise the Lord!Praise the Lord, O my soul! I will praise the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God all my life long. Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day their plans perish. Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them;who keeps faith for ever; who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry.The Lord sets the prisoners free;the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous.The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.The Lord will reign for ever, your God, O Zion, for all generations.Praise the Lord! I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room… After months and months of ads, hateful rhetoric, campaign appeals, we have selected a new president. And from what I have heard from people in this community, from my family, from my social media feed, folks all over the spectrum as to how they feel about it. Some people are happy and defiant, others sad and even scared. Some are relieved while others are full of worry. Some are angry, surprised, indifferent, or any combination of it all. And my guess is that you find yourself harboring those feelings this morning too. What word, what message, do we all need to hear? and can it be the same one? Is there something that can calm the anxious and scared hearts while also speaking to those who are elated? Can anything speak to those who feel like they have won, those who have lost, and those somewhere in between?Some of you may know this, but Pastor Mark and I don't select the readings for Sunday mornings. They are selected for us by the lectionary, this 3 year cycle of readings. Sometimes the readings are not what we want nor what we would have picked. Other times, they line up and speak to the moment with divine timing and inspiration. Today is one of those days. Because if there was any psalm we needed this morning, one that we needed to lift up as a reminder and as a prayer today and in the weeks, months, and years to come, it's this one. It's the psalm we all needed to hear regardless of who won the election. It is the psalm for all of us, however you find yourself this morning. Usually, Psalms have some sort of context shared with us, a subtitle of sorts telling us who wrote it, when, and in response to what. However, this psalms has none of that and allows us to hear it in our own time and context, like after a major election. Psalm 146 is the beginning of what is known as the “Final Hallel”. It's the last five Psalms in the whole book, each one opening and closing with the words “hallelujah” — “praise the LORD,”. The Psalmist promises to praise the Lord as long as they live.Many of you did not awake today or the last few days saying hallelujah. Some of you did. Regardless of where you fall on that spectrum, it is what follows that everyone ought to hear this morning. The psalmist contrasts the praiseworthy God with a warning: “do not put your trust in princes, in mere people, in whom there is no help”. Princes, presidents, those in authority, the wealthy with power and status, cannot give you, not just help, but the Hebrew word is Teshua, which means salvation. In other words, do not put your trust in people, no matter how much influence and power they hold, because at the end of the day, they are still just a person, a sinful child of God thrown out of Eden like the rest of us. They cannot save you. And for us Christians, particularly Lutheran Christians, this should come as no surprise, because that's not the role of a president or of any government. According to Luther, God works in two distinct ways in the world. One way is through Government or secular authority, or as Luther called it, the left hand of God. Think of elected positions, courts, laws, schools, etc. These institutions are created by God to help protect each other, create peace, and prevent evil. That is what good government is supposed to do, so that everyone can thrive out in the world. The other way God works is through the right hand, and that is the spiritual kingdom or the kingdom of God. Think of churches, community of believers, the body of Christ, and that kingdom lives out the gospel, sharing the good news of God's grace through word and deed.The government's job, says Luther, is not to be your salvation, it can't be, because it can never make you believe in the Gospel. Matters of the heart belong to the right hand. The left hand is to protect people, to prevent chaos, to curb greed and anger and violence, making a society equal and equitable. Will it ever fully accomplish that? No, because it is made up of imperfect people who can't help but create imperfect systems. Like one where a widow can give her very last two cents, while good Jews walk right by to give their large tithes that cost them nothing. I don't think that by lifting up this example Jesus is simply saying give like the widow. He is also condemning the social conditions, the systems that pray on the weak and vulnerable, while the wealthy give from their surplus, seemingly unconcerned about their neighbors giving not just till it hurts, but until there is nothing left to give.When the left hand fails our neighbors, when it ceases to protect the most vulnerable, that's when Christians can't help but get involved, but never for our own benefit. The left hand of God, secular authority, is never meant to benefit us. As followers of Christ, we operate under the same rules, but with a different posture. We don't extract revenge, we seek forgiveness. We don't seek to be first, but rather last. We don't hold a grudge, but offer grace. Which is why you participate, obey, and serve in government, never for your own sake, but only for the sake of your neighbor. We cannot tolerate any injustice toward our neighbor, says Luther, and that is in accordance with the gospel. Good government then should look a whole lot like the work prescribed to God by the psalmist. It should execute justice for the oppressed, give food to the hungry, set the wrongfully imprisoned free, care for the sick, lift up the lowly, protect the stranger and the immigrant, and thwart the way of the wicked. If it doesn't do that, all of it, then we, empowered and informed by the right hand, challenge, speak out, and advocate until the left hand does.In Jesus, these two hands meet. He honored the governing authorities, gave to Caesar what was Caesar's, and yet at the same time challenged the Roman occupation for its oppressive ways. And how these two hands of Jesus were at work in the world was through sacrifice, leaving both of them scarred, showing all of us that the way we live in both kingdoms, the left and the right is by putting your neighbor before yourself. (your black neighbor, your queer neighbor, your muslim neighbor, your immigrant neighbor, your poor neighbor, your republican neighbor, your democrat neighbor).For forty days, we prayed together. Did the prayers work? I guess it's hard to say because we did not pray for a candidate or for a party to win. We prayed for peace and unity. For our leadership and for justice. We prayed for love of neighbor. The question of whether we will have all of that does not come down to who was elected, but how we will act regardless of who we elected. Because we are God's scarred hands at work in the world and if we want those prayers to come true, it's up to us.If you are thrilled with our president elect, know, listen, and hear your neighbors who feel scared, unseen, and worried about what another four years will bring under that administration. Then do all you can to make sure your government protects them, brings peace, and prevents evil.If you are sad, anxious, fearful about what is to come, your trust is not in some person, but in the Lord your God who promises justice. Tell your siblings in Christ when you are suffering, where there is injustice, and let them go to work on your behalf, because that's how we are supposed to work in this world.To everyone, regardless of how you voted, your help does not come from princes or presidents. For your help and your hope come from the one true God, whose kingdom shall come and who's will shall be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Hallelujah.

John 8:31-36Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, ‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.' They answered him, ‘We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, “You will be made free”?'Jesus answered them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there for ever. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. A little over 20 years ago, Rolling Stone magazine published its first list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. They did so because people were talking about the death of the album, probably in large part thanks to Napster and young teens downloading songs from limewire on the family computer and burning cd's with random songs. Rolling Stone has updated that list a few times since the original release, most recently just last December, 2023. According to them, Blue by Joahnie Mitchel came in at three, followed by the Beach Boy's Pet Sounds at number 2, and taking the top spot at number 1 was Marvin Gaye's “What's Going On”. I am not here to argue about what albums should have been on there or which one's they got wrong, though I feel I should mention not one Indigo Girls album made the list making one of your pastor's very sad. The list is quite arbitrary, mainly because it was simply ranked choice voting by a variety of artists, producers, and critics. I think many would argue that like beauty, good music lies in the ear of the listener. And while I agree, there are some things I think great music does to or for a person. Now I am just a pastor who played the Tuba for five years, so take this with a grain of salt, but for me Great music proclaims a truth that we experience in our lives. Through storytelling, the melody, or the art of its composition, It can tell us something that we need to know, a truth we might not have otherwise understood.On this Reformation Sunday we focus on music and the good it does in our lives and faith, because this year we celebrate the 500th anniversary of the first Lutheran Hymnal. In 1524, Luther took four hymns he had written and four from his friend Paul Speratus to make what was called Acht-lie-der-buch, or in english the “Eight Songs Book”. It was nothing crazy to produce a hymnal, but Luther and the reformation as a whole changed the way the church engaged with music forever. Luther wanted songs to be written with simple words, words that everyone would know, not just the highly educated. And he wanted the music to be familiar, something people might already know. So he often borrowed popular folk tunes of the day and set lyrics to them that people would understand, making it easy to sing along with. This was revolutionary, because at the time the catholic mass was done entirely in Latin, most church goers didn't know the music, and therefore no one but the priests sang in worship. Luther's approach to music changed all of that. He wanted everyone to sing since that's how people would not only understand the gospel message, but because the music was catchy and familiar, the good news of Jesus Christ would always be on one's lips, praising God morning, noon, and night.He wrote on multiple occasions that next to the Word of God itself, music is the greatest treasure in this world. When done right, it helps one's heart, quiets and cheers the soul because it teaches the gospel and praises God. That's why Luther loved music. You see Luther suffered from terrible anxiety throughout much of his life. In his early years of being a monk, he would fall into these dark episodes of despair. He felt like God didn't love him, like God couldn't love him. He wasn't good enough, he didn't keep all the commandments like he should, and didn't do all the things the Bible says Christians should do. He writes about this feeling in one of those hymns from that first hymn book 500 years ago, saying “life had become a living hell, so firmly sin possessed me. My own good works availed me naught, no merit they attaining; my will against God's judgment fought, no hope for me remaining.” My guess is at one time or another, or maybe even right now, you've felt hopeless because you aren't good enough: not smart enough, not fit enough, not successful enough in the eyes of the world, and certainly not good enough in the eyes of God. You try so hard to get it right, to pray more, get less angry, be more generous, or even care about all the suffering in this world. And you may for a time, but you can never quite rid yourself of whatever it is that makes you feel like God could not and should not love you.But then Luther read again what we heard this morning from Romans 3: “No one is justified by what they do. We are justified, we are made right with God only by God's grace as a gift, through the work of Jesus Christ”. Later in that same hymn, Luther shares this good news from Jesus' perspective, “Your ransom, I myself will be; for you I strive and wrestle. For I am yours, your friend divine, and evermore you shall be mine.” In other words, Luther remembered that it's not what he says or does or how much money he pays the church or how many prayers he lifts up, none of that takes away his sin or puts him in the right relationship with God. Only Jesus does that by his work on the cross, taking our sin in exchange for his grace. Only a God who loves me more than I can fathom would do such a thing. And that's something worth singing about. Now there are plenty of songs that proclaim that truth, from ancient hymns to albums on that top 500 list. Yet, recently I heard or more like we heard a new song that shares the heart of the gospel, +Mark and I, I mean.In August, we went to an Avett Brothers concert together at Gainbridge Fieldhouse. A few weeks before the show, I reached out to a stranger selling her tickets on Facebook only to then check the family calendar and realize we were booked. On the day of the concert, the woman reached back out and said I could have the tickets, no cost, completely free. We canceled our plans, but couldn't find a sitter so short notice, so Katelyn graciously agreed to stay behind with Clive if I could get someone to go. And I know of no one who likes concerts more than Pastor Mark Havel. So we went and about halfway through, Scott and Seth, took the stage with nothing but an acoustic guitar and their voices. And they sang a new song. Each verse juxtaposes the many ways we go through life, whether we speak up or are silent, if we are willing or we are done. If we're courageous or cowards. All the verses go through a series of these conditions, but each one ends with proclaiming the truth “we are loved”. And the chorus goes, “Every stitch and seam, every wish and dream, even in tragedy, there lies divinity. Even as hope seems lost, it may be found again. I have felt alone, but I have never been.” Their voices filled the fieldhouse and in that moment, I believed them. It was as if they were telling me again for the first time, the heart of the gospel, that no matter what you do in this life, it does not earn you grace. You are loved, and nothing in this life can take that away from you. As the song came to a close, I turned to Mark and said “don't even think about it, I'm using that in a sermon first!”On this reformation Sunday, I invite you to sing, not just today but everyday. To lift your voice, your instrument, and praise God through the gift of music. Find a song, whether it's 500 years old or brand new, whether it's on the top 500 albums or not, find a song that proclaims the truth of the gospel, that no matter what, we are loved. And then sing that song every day over and over again, thanking God for the gift of grace and music. Amen.

John 11:32-44 When Mary came to Jesus and saw him she said to him, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the other Jews with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said to them, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not the one who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” Then Jesus came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone lying against it. Jesus said to them, “Take away the stone.” But Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I've said this for the sake of those standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Death and dying have been hanging heavy on my mind lately – and I know that's true for many of you, too. We had Steve Ellenberger's celebration of life last Saturday. I had another funeral last Sunday afternoon, for the father of a college friend, down in Southport. We're getting ready to do the same for Dick Bowen this weekend. On Monday night, our Stephen Ministers did some “continuing education” about what it means to pre-plan your funeral – a session we scheduled months ago. And Wednesday, a group of us wrapped up a seven-week conversation about what it means to die well – to approach, and even embrace, the gravity of getting old … and the nearness and certainty of our own demise.All of these things, each in their own way, were pointing me toward what we're up to on this high, holy, festival we call “All Saints Sunday” in the Church. We've already read our names and tolled our bells toward that end. We've been reminded about the power of baptism and we will receive the power and blessing of Holy Communion, in light of it all, too – as we should.But the catch to all of this, of course… the thing that sometimes gets lost in the mix, or glossed over, or denied by the rose-colored glasses of Sunday morning worship; by the bright lights and the white paraments; by the pretty flowers and the rousing music of it all… is that in order to be the kind of saint we're commemorating and celebrating… in order to become the kind of saints we're remembering and honoring this morning… a person first has to be dead.And Jesus reminds us this morning, with the help of Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus, that death and mortality are sad, scary, messy, and mystifying parts of life in this world. But part of life, nonetheless.Even Jesus weeps in this bit of John's Gospel as he makes his way to his friend's tomb, and when we find him there this morning, he's still “greatly disturbed,” even though, presumably, he knew what he was going to try to do for Lazarus. And Martha and her sister Mary are so distraught over their brother's dying, that they have the nerve to blame Jesus for not coming to the rescue sooner.But Jesus does come. And he's not afraid of what awaits him there: the mourning of the sisters; the sadness of the crowds; his own deep grief; the improbability of the task before him; the grave clothes; the large stone; the stench of a four-day-old corpse in the Judean heat.So, I feel like I'm being invited, again this morning – in the light of recent events and on this All Saints Sunday – to get up close and personal with death and mortality – mine, yours, ours – in another new, holy kind of way. And I think we honor those who've gone before us – whose deaths we commemorate, whose lives we celebrate, and whose love we remember – when we open ourselves to connecting the dots between their living and dying and our own more deliberately. That seven-week class that just ended – the one about the grace and gravity of getting old – was based on a book by Parker Palmer, called On the Brink of Everything. (Some in our group thought that the title was the best thing about the book, so take my recommendation with a grain of salt!)But, “On the Brink of Everything?” I am captivated and encouraged and inspired by that hopeful perspective about dying and by what it means to inch closer and closer to death and to whatever waits for us on the other side of this life – and to do it deliberately, intentionally, and with your heart and mind and life wide open to God's possibilities.And what Jesus does this morning, in a way I thought about differently this time because of it, is he shows us how thin the veil is between this life and the next when he's part of the mix – and I don't just mean the “veil” of that stinky cloth that was wrapped around Lazarus head when we stepped out of his tomb.No, what speaks now to me about all of this is what it means to live with one foot firmly and faithfully planted in life as we know it, on this side of Heaven, and another foot poised and ready to land safely, securely, and fearlessly on the other side of Heaven, whenever that time comes.And Jesus' little stunt with Lazarus gives me hope to remember that there are saints on both sides of it all. And it challenges me to remember that I'm called to be one of them – here and now, whenever and wherever and however I can muster it – just as surely as I hope to join saints like Steve Ellenberger and Dick Bowen and all the rest, on the other side of God's eternity, too.For some reason, I've found myself recounting for a couple of people lately, something my dad's heart surgeon told me, my brother, and my mom, while my dad was still in the ICU following his second open-heart surgery, more than 20 years ago. After recounting all of the ways my dad was going to have to continue changing or maintaining his lifestyle as a heart patient – eating this, not eating that, exercising, monitoring his stress, and so on – the doctor said, “BUT, it's also important to remember that the point of living is not NOT to die.”“The point of living is not NOT to die.”And that's great, practical advice when it comes to having a steak or a drink or a cigar every once in a blue moon. But it's also great, practical, solid spiritual advice, too, if you ask me. “The point of living is not NOT to die.”I believe when we live our lives pretending or denying or keeping our distance from death – as we are so often inclined to do – it is that much harder to face, or digest, or journey through it in healthy, faithful ways when death comes – for us, for someone we love, or when it shows up in the world around us.And I believe keeping our distance from death keeps us from living as fully and as faithfully as we should, could, would, or want to be living, if we truly considered what it means to be “on the brink of everything” – on the verge of God's heavenly, holy ground, more often.So, I wonder, what if we saw ourselves and others – more readily – as saints already, on this side of heaven, not just the next?What if we saw all that we experience in this life – the beautiful and the bland, the joy and the sadness, the hopeful and the despairing – as holy stepping stones on a pathway to the brink of God's great eternity?What if we lived more acutely aware and accepting of the notion that a sacred, holy communion of saints surrounds us – right where we live, as we make our way through life in this world?What if we stopped pretending that death was this untouchable thing to be avoided at all costs – that we could or should live forever and always, even though we know that's not possible and was never the plan?What if we lived like God's Kingdom was closer, nearby, within and around – not only in the communion of saints who've gone on to glory – but close, nearby, within and around those of us who are called to be saints here and now, just the same?I think it would impact how we give, how we serve, how we forgive, how we live, and how we die, too.Because Jesus shows up – if we're paying attention, and reminds us – like he proved to Lazarus, and like he reminded Martha – that if we believe … if we keep our eyes open … if we invite the presence of God's grace to live among us – we will see the glory of God in this life, in ways that fill us with hope – now, and for whatever's yet to come.Amen

Mark 10:35-45James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to Jesus and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Jesus said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink and to be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?” They answered him, “We are able.” He said to them, “You will drink the cup that I drink and be baptized with the baptism with which I have been baptized. But to sit at my right hand or my left is not mine to decide. It is for those for whom it has been prepared.”When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they regard as their rulers lord it over them; and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you. For whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant. And whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve; and to give his life a ransom for many.” Their nerve is laughable. To ask Jesus, so boldly … with so little shame … to get the best seats in the Kingdom? I'm as embarrassed for these jokers, James and John, as the other 10 disciples were angry at them for it.But you might say it's as endearing as it is surprising to know they would be so bold. Endearing – maybe – because they're doing that “faith like a child” thing Jesus mentions in some other Gospel stories we've heard, lately. You know, “whoever doesn't receive the Kingdom of God like a little child, will never enter it.” James and John sound to me like those little kids in school who ask to be first in line; who beg to get the best snack; who shoot their hand in the air and bounce around in their seat, hoping the teacher will call on them to do – or to get – whatever the next best things might be.And we can't know for sure, but I imagine Jesus might have been both endeared and exasperated by it, too, like any good teacher. “What is it you want me to do for you?” he asks them back. And when they request the best seats in the kingdom – when they tell him they want to be front and center on the other side of God's heaven – Jesus tells them they don't understand what it is they're talking about; that they really have no idea what they're asking for.Because, when Jesus says they will “drink the cup” that he drinks, he's not talking only about the cup of wine they'll share at the next wedding in Cana, or at the table of the Last Supper, even. The cup he's really talking about is the one he prays about in the Garden of Gethsemane just before his arrest and crucifixion. (“Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass from me.”) It was a cup full of suffering and struggle Jesus wasn't sure even he could drink, in all its fullness.And the baptism he's talking about isn't just that holy moment in the river with John the Baptist, when he came up from the water, when the dove descended, and when the voice from heaven declared him to be God's beloved Son. All of that was and would be part of it. But James and John didn't know, they couldn't imagine – or they had forgotten about – the temptation in the wilderness that followed the beauty of that moment in the river and, of course, the promised suffering and death that were to come along with that baptism, too. Just like James and John, none of this is what we always want to hear. None of this is how the world operates. All of this is summed up in the promise we've heard so many times before – and in the way Jesus wraps it all up for the disciples this morning: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant. And whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. …the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve; and to give his life a ransom for many.”A front row seat in God's kingdom means becoming a servant. Glory is achieved by becoming a slave. It means heading to the end of the line. It means giving more than you take; it means sharing more than you ask for yourself; it means not being served, but serving. And it's not about making a reservation on the other side of heaven. It's all about sharing and experiencing the Kingdom of God on earth, as it is in heaven, first.I've been fascinated and captivated and heartbroken to follow the story of Hersh Goldberg-Polin over the course of the last year. He was one of the Israeli-Americans captured and held hostage by Hamas over in Israel, a year ago, October 7th. He was at that Nova musical festival when the attack started and he took cover, with a group of others, packed into one of the cement bomb shelters that are surprisingly common-place in Israel; they sit like park benches or bus stops along the side of the road. Anyway, Hersh's parents have been some of the more outspoken advocates for their son and the other hostages in Gaza. Maybe you've seen them. I think his mom, aptly named Rachel, is the one who started the trend of wearing a piece of tape on her shirt to mark the number of days since the attack and to count the number of days that her son and others were being held captive. (Rachel, in the Biblical narrative, remember, is the matriarch who wept for her children taken captive by the Babylonians.) Dmitry Solovyov / NBC News Well, this Rachel's 23-year-old son Hersh is a hero by all accounts because, just before his capture on October 7, 2023, he was trapped in one of those bomb shelters with a handful of others and, as the attackers lobbed as many as 11 grenades into the shelter's open door, one after another, Hersh risked his life over and over and over by grabbing and throwing the grenades back until one exploded and blew his arm off below the elbow. He was ultimately captured and hauled away to Gaza.And it was heart-wrenching over the course of the last year to see his parents interviewed and marching, giving speeches and making appeals to governments and politicians, each day marked by the climbing numbers scrawled onto the masking tape that they wore so faithfully in his honor. Hersh was found dead on day 330 – about a month shy of one full year in captivity. We want to be first, but we think that means being the fastest. We want to know peace and comfort, but we think that means having more power and money and stuff. We want to walk more closely with Jesus but we're not always willing to follow where he leads. We want to be successful, but we use all the wrong measuring sticks to determine what that means.What Jesus shows us, and what people like Hersh Goldberg-Polin lived, is what it looks like to serve rather than to be served; to choose others over and above ourselves; to give instead of take; to become a suffering servant like we heard about from the prophet Isaiah a minute ago.What Jesus shows us, and what Hersh-Goldberg-Polin lived in ways I can't fathom, is that to sit at the right hand of God isn't just a position to which we will be promoted someday. To sit at the right hand of God is a position to which each and every one of us is called to experience, somehow, right where we live, on this side of heaven, not just the next. This is where we are called to drink the cup. Here is where we're invited to live out the calling of our baptism.And as hard as that is sometimes. As much courage and faith and generosity and sacrifice as that may invite us to, we are blessed with this God – in Jesus – who never calls us to something God hasn't already done, first, for our sake: to give generously … to sacrifice … to suffer … to die, even.(I'm in no way suggesting that God ordained or orchestrated the suffering and death of Hersh Goldberg-Polin or any of those captured or killed in the October 7th attacks in Israel, or since. I am saying that Hersh responded like a saint … like a selfless servant … in that bomb shelter, likely inspired by the Jewish faith he shared with the likes of James and John and Jesus.)And that's Jesus' invitation to James and John – and to each of us, just the same – as we live in the strange pull of God's Kingdom … on this side of heaven and the next. And there are a million ways we can practice drinking this cup and answering the call of our baptism that don't look anything like the struggle and suffering of a hostage in the war-torn middle east, thanks be to God!I think it means giving away our money. I think it means helping refugees. I think it means building homes in Haiti, helping the SonRise Bible Study, serving as a Stephen Minister, working in the food pantry, spending time with the Agape ministry's sex workers downtown.I think it means cleaning the bathrooms at church, mowing the lawn at church, doing yard work around the church. I think it means working in the nursery and teaching Sunday School at church, too.I think it means saying “I'm sorry,” and proving it. I think it means saying “I forgive you,” and meaning it.I think it means sitting with the lonely kid in the cafeteria or picking the last kid, first, on the playground some of the time, too.Because we are called to be servants. We are called not to ask “what can I get?”, but “what can I give?”, instead, and “how much?” and, “who needs it most?” … like Jesus did when he climbed onto a cross and out of a tomb and into our hearts, minds, and lives so that we would share the grace of God in as many ways as we can manage – and so that, through sharing it – humbly, selflessly, generously, bravely, even, without hope for recognition or reward – we will experience God's kind of glory most fully ourselves – and for the benefit and blessing of somebody else, in Jesus' name.Amen

Mark 10:2-16Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” He answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.” But Jesus said to them, “Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.' ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no one separate.”Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.”People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” And he took them up in his arms, laid hands on them, and blessed them. First off, like last week, there are several sermons to be preached from this batch of verses from Mark's Gospel. Also like last week, we don't have time for all of them on one Sunday morning. So my little prelude and disclaimer about what's to come is that these verses seem to speak to a traditional version of marriage – the one between a man and a woman – that I don't believe precludes or dismisses or needs to deny the notion that other versions of faithful marriage exist, as we know, in our day and age.And notice I said “traditional” view of marriage, not “Biblical” view of marriage, because Jesus doesn't say boo here about the plural marriage, or the concubines, or the surrogate slave birth mothers that are described without apology throughout Holy Scripture.And, preaching from the assigned lectionary means I have to play with the cards I'm dealt sometimes. So my hope is we can see that, whatever your experience with marriage may be – if any – there's a lesson and inspiration here for us all. Now, for some Ted Lasso.There isn't enough Ted Lasso in the world, in my opinion. If you haven't seen the show, I couldn't recommend it more highly. It's a series about an American football coach who (accidentally I think?) signs up to be the coach of a European soccer team. Rebecca, the woman in this clip, is the owner of that soccer team who, if I remember correctly, acquired the team as part of her divorce settlement. In the short scene I'll show you, she's about to confess all the terrible things she has done to make the team fail – all and only as revenge against her ex-husband, from whom she has endured a very bitter divorce.[Video Clip]Again, if you haven't seen it, do. Next time there's a deal on Apple TV, subscribe just long enough to binge Ted Lasso and then cancel your subscription. You won't regret it.But, all of this is to say, I think Jesus is at least as sympathetic, gracious, and forgiving as Ted Lasso when it comes to whatever leads to divorce between married people, and toward whatever might come as a result of it. Divorce is hard, plain and simple – even when it goes well. And God knows it.So this morning – as usual – we're allowed to see more in this Gospel than just a conversation about men and women; or marriage and divorce; and certainly more than fear, condemnation, or apocalyptic judgment about any of that. Like we find – more often than not – when we're willing to open our hearts and minds to all that Jesus is up to, he has more to say today about love and grace and mercy than we might notice at first glance … and more than too many people have offered up on his behalf and in his name over the years, where things like divorce are concerned.Right away we know the Pharisees are up to something. Right away we're told they're interested in testing or tricking Jesus. Because they knew questions about the Law, like the legality of divorce, were tricky ones to answer. They knew Jesus' answer – whether he defended the practice of divorce or denounced it – would get him into trouble with one side or the other. They knew that if Jesus spoke about what was legally right or wrong; about what was legally acceptable or not; about what was legally good or bad – according to the black and white letter of the Law according to Moses – Jesus was between a rock and hard place.He asks about Moses. He lets them know he sees where they're coming from. And he either sympathizes with them or chastises them when he explains how the Law of Moses addressed their hardness of heart. The Law of Moses spoke to their stubbornness. Like so much else, when it came to divorce, the Law of Moses addressed the hard reality that people – children of God, like you and me – just can't seem to get it right enough of the time. The Law of Moses addressed the sad truth that the brokenness of marriage would come because of the brokenness of those who would be married in the first place.And, Jesus knew better then to be pulled into their little game of tug-of-war. Jesus knew better then to fall for their transparent little tricks. And, Jesus knew he could use their lame little "Q and A" to share grace instead of judgment; to offer hope instead of fear; and to teach about God's promises rather throw stones about God's condemnation.Last week, I mentioned that we are allowed and encouraged to read the Bible LITERATELY, rather than LITERALLY, and I'm grateful for that. (It's why we don't lop off our hands or pluck out our eyes if they cause us to sin, remember.) Well, I'm going to add to that this morning something I've been convicted about and convinced of over the years. I think we're also called to read the Bible, not just LITERATELY, but LOVINGLY, too … searching for and finding, without apology, the kind of grace we know, believe in, and hope for in Jesus.And that's what I find when Mark's Gospel includes this moment with Jesus and the kids, just after what sound like harsh, hard-to-swallow words about marriage, divorce, and adultery.See, when he's confronted by the Pharisees, Jesus steers the conversation away from the issue of divorce and moves it toward the promise of marriage. Jesus moves the conversation away from who God may or may not punish when they get it wrong, to what God hopes and dreams for us in the first place. Jesus moves the conversation away from what breaks the Law of Moses to what breaks the heart of God. And, what breaks the heart of God – like any loving parent – is whatever breaks the hearts of God's children.Which is why that moment with the children is so instructive, and loving, and full of hope, when we consider it just after this difficult conversation about divorce and adultery and the Law and all the rest.“Let the little children come to me,” he says. “Do not stop them; for it is to such as these – these naïve, squirrelly, sinful little rug rats – that the kingdom of God belongs.”“And he took them up in his arms, laid hands on them, and blessed them.”This is a sign of hope and show of love and invitation to grace for all of God's children – that there is room for us all in the lap of God's mercy, no matter what.“It is to such as these – divorced, adulterous, selfish, vindictive, vengeful so-and-sos – that the kingdom of God belongs.”“It is to such as these – abused, traumatized, afraid, ashamed, exhausted, alone, uncertain souls – that the kingdom of God belongs.”“It is to such as these – regretful, remorseful, broken-hearted ones – that the kingdom of God belongs.”And he took them up in his arms even though the disciples tried to chase them away. He laid hands on them, with love, even though his followers thought they weren't worthy. And he blessed them, even though some believed he shouldn't or wouldn't or couldn't. Divorce is hard. God knows it. So did Jesus.God intends for us to live together and to love together and to choose grace and joy and forgiveness for each another. God intends for lovers to find each other and to learn to share a love that lasts. God hopes for relationships that strengthen and uplift and inspire and fulfill – and God's heart breaks when we can't seem to make that happen at every turn, even as much as we wish we could.So, just like Jesus does, the grace of God gathers broken, hurting children – like you and me – up into waiting, loving, merciful arms. Just like Jesus, the grace of God lays hands on heavy hearts. And just like Jesus, the grace of God blesses lives with forgiveness, hope, joy, and second chances.I like to wonder about what immediate effect Jesus' teaching and preaching – and the loving and blessing of all those kids – had on those who witnessed all of this that day. Maybe one of those Pharisees went home and put the pieces of his own broken marriage back together. Maybe a mother who was there went home and hugged her kids differently at the end of the day. Maybe a disciple or two apologized to those kids or to someone they'd shamed with their misunderstanding and misinterpretation of Scripture. Maybe each of us will hear something of love – not judgment – in this gift we call the Gospel; and maybe tomorrow, your world and my world and God's world will be different when we do.Amen

Mark 9:38-50John said to Jesus, “Teacher, we saw someone baptizing in your name and we tried to stop him because he wasn't following us.” Jesus said, “Do not stop him, for whoever does a deed of power in my name will not soon after be able speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us, is for us. For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.“If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believes in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. It would be better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and be thrown into hell with the unquenchable fire. Or if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off. It would be better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out. It would be better for you to enter the Kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into hell, where their worm never dies and their fire is never quenched.“For all will be salted with fire. And salt is good. But if salt has lost its flavor how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.” This Gospel text has a handful of sermons in it to be honest, but we don't have time for all of that. So, I'm gonna keep it short and sweet and pick on the stuff in the middle. It's the stuff that actually gets a lot of attention, but that I'm not sure I've ever preached about all that much, except to dismiss the shock-value and fear-factor of it all.The shock and fear, I mean, of all that stuff about cutting off hands, lopping off feet, and tearing out eyes. This is an excellent example of why we talk about reading the Bible LITERATELY around here instead of reading the Bible LITERALLY, as too many pretend is possible.I hope we know Jesus well enough to trust that he would never seriously suggest we go about amputating body parts. He's just using hyperbole, familiar to the people of his day and age, to get their attention. I'm fairly certain, even his most faithful, wannabe followers, didn't go looking for an axe or a handsaw after this conversation with Jesus that day.Like Gandhi said once, referring to another bit of Scripture, “an eye for an eye would make the whole world blind,” we'd all be limping around unable to see or to tie our shoes if we obeyed Jesus' instructions, today, to remove our hands, our feet, and our eyes, like he does.So he must be up to something else. And I wonder if Jesus is inviting us to a spiritual kind of surgery, instead; something of a Marie Kondo kind of purge. Some of you remember Marie Kondo, right? She's that Japanese queen of organizing who had her 15 minutes of fame during the pandemic, I think. She's written books and hosted a Netflix series, teaching a method and a mentality for organizing your home based on whether the things and the stuff you own bring you joy – or are useful, or necessary, or not. She encourages the purging of anything that doesn't meet those criteria.Channeling Jesus, Marie Kondo might say, “if those books on the shelf – that you'll never read again – are just collecting dust, bury them in the backyard.” “If you have old clothes you haven't worn for more than a year, set them on fire.” “All those craft supplies, baseball cards, that pile of old records – toss them into the sea.”So what if Jesus did mean that we remove things from our lives that get in the way of our best intentions and our most faithful efforts – and of God's most loving desire for us in this world?Again, not body parts, of course, but other things maybe we could or should – and wish we would, more often – do without. … a vice perhaps, like drink, or drug, or food, or porn. Never mind our hands or feet, let's nip the excess of some of that kind of stuff in the bud.Or false Gods, perhaps – let's get rid of those. …the money we think we can't do without, and that consumes our time and energy and pretends to bring so much more value and security to our lives than is possible. Or how about our pride and our ego, maybe – what if we left that behind for a change. …whatever it is that convinces us to forget what we heard from Jesus just last week: that the first among us must be last of all and servant of all; that the last will be first and the first will be last; or that we – and our needs or our agenda or our opinion – are not – always or ever – the only way to experience the world around us. What if we could amputate the fear that keeps us from so much in this world? Fear of asking for help when we need it. Fear of admitting our faults and failures. Fear of saying what needs to be said. Fear of being who God created us to be. And fear of dying before any of the above can happen.And what about those people that suck more life and goodness from you than anybody should – cut them loose, too; tie a great millstone around their neck and toss those knuckleheads into the sea! I'm kidding, of course. Just delete them from your social media feed, and maybe your social circle, too.Because, see, the thing about getting rid of that stuff – of purging our lives of things like greed and pride, of ego and idols, of fear and the like – is that it makes room for the opposite. It makes room for the stuff of life and faith, of grace and peace, for us, for others, and for the world.And I hear loud and clear from Jesus today that none of us, as his followers, should ever be the reason another person stumbles and falls on their way to following him. So let's find ways to show the love of God separate from the fear that some might use by taking Jesus so literally all of the time. Let's encourage others to this life of faith, not by force or with fear, but by fascination in how it matters for us.What do people see in your daily life that looks like love and grace and mercy?How and where do you experience a peace that's worth sharing?What does grace – with no strings attached – look like at your house? In your neighborhood? Your school? Where you work? At this altar?Because it's all of this – the grace, mercy, love, and peace we know – that are the salt of our lives and that season the world around us in ways that grow the Kingdom, as God desires.Amen

Mark 9:30-37They went on from there and passed through Galilee. And Jesus didn't want anyone to know about it, for he had been teaching the disciples, saying, “The Son of Man must be betrayed into human hands and be killed, and three days after they have killed him, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and they were afraid to ask him.Then they came to Capernaum. When he had entered the house he said to them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” They were silent because on the way, they had argued about who was greatest. He sat down, called the twelve and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first among you must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a child and put it in the midst of them; and taking it in his arms he said, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes, not me but the one who sent me.” I have Haiti on the brain these days. Yes, some of it has to do with the terrible, horrible, dangerously racist things being said about the Haitians of Springfield, Ohio. But a lot of it also has to do with the work I do – and that Cross of Grace supports so generously – building houses in Fondwa, Haiti, through Project Rouj.The work of Project Rouj continues, I need you to know, virtually unhindered by the political instability and gang violence that has done so much damage to the people of Haiti, and brought so much destruction to the city of Port-au-Prince.Part of the reason Project Rouj is able to continue building houses, as we have for the last six years, is because Fondwa, where we do our work, is a couple hours' drive from Port-au-Prince – up in the mountains of rural Haiti, and far enough away from the unrest in the capital city. Another reason Project Rouj is able to continue building houses, in spite of the fact that we haven't been able to travel to the country since 2020, is that it's our Haitian friends who do the work. Our organization just provides the funds and resources – not the people or the brain-power – for the work we do.By the end of this year, we will have built 100 homes, since 2018. With anywhere from 4 to 6 to 8 to 10 to 12 people living in a house, we have literally given safe shelter and a bit of generational wealth and stability to hundreds – if not a thousand, or more – Haitian people. (If you want to keep Haitians out of Springfield, Ohio, help us build houses in Fondwa, Haiti. That's where they'd rather be, anyway.)And, the money we share – by way of our Building and Outreach Fund – isn't just about bricks and mortar for buildings, or our own sense of pride and accomplishment, as the white, Christian do-gooders in the world. The money we share is about providing the stable jobs, steady careers, financial security, and very real dignity and joy that lives and grows behind the scenes of every beautiful, red-roofed house that our friends build for their neighbors and live in, themselves.Now, I'm making no bones about the fact that all of that was basically just a commercial for Project Rouj, to inform or remind you about – and thank you for – and celebrate – the shared investment we make in this meaningful, life-changing, Gospel-centered work. But because I have Haiti on the brain, Jesus' stunt with the child in this morning's Gospel struck a chord and got me thinking differently about this story. I wondered if that child was anything like the kids I know in Haiti, particularly the ones in and around Fondwa, and at the orphanage where we spend a lot of our time when we're there.There's one child for example … a young girl with significant intellectual deficits that will likely never be named or get diagnosed – let alone treated or mitigated in any way – due to the lack of public education, social services, healthcare, and all the rest. (There are no Individual Learning Plans, special classrooms, or teacher's aides at the school down the hill.) Her family lives between where we stay when we're there and alongside one of the paths we take to the orphanage. Because of her disabilities – and because of the danger she might be to herself and to others – her parents often tie her to a post or a tree, with a rope around her ankle, in the front yard, to keep her safe while they work.“Whoever wants to be first among you must be last of all and servant of all.”There's another little girl who we've watched grow up in the orphanage over the years … she also has some physical and intellectual challenges. She didn't walk or learn to use the bathroom until she was much older than the average kid. She still doesn't speak well, as far as I know. After 5 or 6 years of visits, Lindsey Stamper, an Educator and Occupational Therapist, you might remember, joined our team on a trip to Fondwa, and realized that little Nerlie also had a cleft pallet. This explained why, whenever she ate soup or oatmeal or drank anything, equal amounts of it all seemed to stream from her nose as well as whatever made it into her stomach. It's amazing she never drowned, as a result!“Whoever welcomes a child such as this in my name, welcomes me…”And then there's the orphanage, in general. It can seem like Lord of the Flies down there at times, with kids taking care of kids, and with whatever adults are there to help being far outnumbered by the children. And, in spite of the good care they receive, it's impossible to keep everything at bay – the ringworm, for example, lice, and respiratory viruses that spread like respiratory viruses do in cramped, hot, humid quarters.“…and whoever welcomes me welcomes, not me, but the one who sent me.”See, the reason I wonder about the child Jesus used as an object lesson in this morning's Gospel – and if that child might have been anything like some of these kids in Haiti – is because I have reason to believe that life among the poor people in Fondwa is a lot more like life was for Jesus and among the peasants in Galilee, than anything we're used to or familiar with at Cross of Grace, here in New Palestine.I mean, in Haiti, when the kids aren't in school – if they can even afford to go to school – they're just around. They're doing chores or running or playing or roaming around, up and down the mountainside, in gaggles, with their friends of all ages. They're parented – without hesitation – by whoever the nearest adult may be. They seem to stay with aunts, uncles, grandparents, or neighbors as life's circumstances dictate. The people who love them – or their neighbors – are always within earshot, but they're not hovered over, or micro-managed, or fretted about, the way so many of us have been convinced to parent, it seems, these days.It's why it doesn't surprise me that there happened to be a child around when Jesus needed one that day in Galilee. And when he puts that child in front of the twelve … and when he gathers that child into his lap … I don't imagine this child was dressed in his or her Sunday best. I wonder if that girl had just freed herself from the rope around her ankle, from that tree up the hill. I wonder if it was a wordless Nerlie with a dirty cloth diaper and oatmeal running from her nose. I wonder if it was a listless little boy with sores on his legs, watery eyes, and a nasty, raspy, cough that sounded like marbles in a blender.Because these kids and their stories break your heart wide open in surprising, beautiful, humbling, life-giving ways. And I wonder – I believe – that's exactly how Jesus means for us to receive and to share HIM, and the good news of God's grace he came to embody.Because I've surprised myself over the years by letting the little girl, who I'd only ever seen tied to a post and wailing, run at me in the woods and grab me around the arms and legs. I've used the very shirt I was wearing at the time to wipe snot and soup from the face of little Nerlie, too. And I never balk when the kids at the orphanage – and whatever might come along with them – swarm around, sit on my lap, climb on my back, or play with the hair on my arms, legs, and head. (They are fascinated by hairy white people!)It's why the welcome we extend matters. “Whoever welcomes one such as these, in my name, welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me, welcomes not me, but the one who sent me.” It can be impractical and awkward. It can be messy. It can be scary. It can be terribly risky and inconvenient, this gracious, Gospel-centered, Christ-like kind of welcome. But it is God's command to us. It is Jesus' example for us. It is life-giving and life-changing in every direction, and you don't have to fly to Haiti to accomplish it.We can start if we stop arguing about who is the greatest, for a minute – the greatest candidate, the greatest party, the greatest nation, the greatest whatever. And if we notice, instead, that none of them – and not enough of us – are competing to be last of all and servant of all. So let's wonder about who or what would be so impractical, so awkward, so messy, scary, risky … so terribly inconvenient for us to welcome. And if we're not up to that task – of extending such a welcome or of letting such a thing or such a person climb up into your arms, so to speak – let's say our prayers this morning, let's sing a song today, let's keep showing up here……so we're reminded that all are welcome to this table. All are welcome to this water. All are loved by this God we know in Jesus – just like you and me – even, and especially when, we can't return the favor.Amen

Mark 8:27-38Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?' And they answered him, ‘John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.' He asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?' Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.'* And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.Then Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.'He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel,* will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.' Recently, I read an article about the potential joys and troubles of traveling with others. One of the stories was about a man named Stephen Garrido, who took a trip with his girlfriend of a year, a trip of a lifetime to Disneyland. He had high hopes for the journey. But apparently, even Disney isn't always the happiest place on earth. Instead, it was a living nightmare Stephen said. He learned his girlfriend was much too messy for a small hotel room and worse, extremely rude to staff at the hotel and restaurants. She found out that Stephen snored like a blender full of marbles. The trip ended with her cursing at him profusely and the two split two weeks later. Getting an invitation or extending an invitation to travel with someone is a big deal. Mainly because I think traveling with someone is the best way to get to know them. The new experiences, stressors, and challenges reveal a new or different side of you and you see a new side revealed of someone else. So you are likely cautious when extending and accepting an invitation to travel.Jesus and his disciples traveled together a lot, especially in this part of the gospel of Mark. Just in the last two chapters, Jesus had been in the desert, then to Bethsaida, Over to gennesaret, On to Tyre, then Decapolis, Down to Dalmanutha, and finally back to Bethsaida. I'd say from all of that, the disciples and Jesus likely learned a thing or two about another from all this travel. You'd think they knew each other pretty well at this point, but maybe not…In today's story, Jesus and the disciples are again traveling, this time from Bethsaida to Caesarea Philippi. And as they were walking, Jesus threw out a question, “who do people say that I am”. It doesn't seem to have much context, but if we look back a few verses, Jesus was just berating the disciples for not knowing who he was: “do you still not understand? He said. Are your hearts hardened, do you have eyes and ears and yet you don't get it? Do you not remember all that I have done? Maybe he was concerned others were just as confused as his disciples.They responded to the question with logical answers, but none were the answer Jesus had hoped for. “Who do you all say that I am” asking the disciples, thinking maybe after all the traveling and that stern talking to, they had figured it out. And Peter, acting as the spokesperson for all the disciples, says “you are the Messiah.”! Ah there it is! The right answer. The disciples or at least Peters has it figured out, he knows who Jesus is. The Messiah, the Christ, the anointed one. This is the first time in the entire gospel, more than two thirds of the way through, that someone calls Jesus the Messiah, that someone seemingly understands who he is. And it's that the best feeling, to be understood, for others to truly know who you are…But immediately there was a problem. The messiah Peter had envisioned was not the same Messiah that Jesus would be. Peter had created this image, this idea, or ideal, of what the messiah would be and do, act and look like. And that wasn't something only Peter had done… Many Jews expected and longed for a Messiah to return and restore Israel to all its glory. How that would happen or the kind of messiah the people hoped for, varied. So when Jesus started revealing the kind of Messiah he would be and what would happen to him, well Peter just couldn't take it. That's not what he expected the messiah to be. To be fair, we don't know exactly what Peter hoped for, but we do know it wasn't a Messiah who would suffer, get rejected by the religious leaders, and then be killed. That much we know because Peter pulled Jesus to the side and let him know just how wrong he was. But Peter's expectations, whatever they were, were wrong or misguided or incomplete. And apparently not in a small way, since Jesus felt the need to call Peter satan, the tempter, and ordered him to turn around and get behind Jesus, because clearly Peter didn't know what he was talking about.We do the same thing, no? We, too, create an ideal image of our Messiah, an idea of who Jesus should be and how he should act. We want Jesus to be a judge who condemns all those we think are wrong and who models only what we think is right. We want Jesus to be our grant maker, who will give us the health and wealth we've wished for if we just lift up the right prayers. We want Jesus to be a republican or a democrat, that way we can say “my preferred politician is more Christ like” when really we mean they are more like the Christ we have created for ourselves.Yet, Jesus is rarely what we want him to be. And like Peter, we get disappointed, upset, and ultimately let down by this. The truth is our partner, our friends, siblings, parents, kids and coworkers, even our Messiah will never live up to or fulfill the image of who we want them to be. If we hold them to some version we've made up for them, they will inevitably leave us angry, wishing they were more like this or that, and the relationship will suffer if not cease. A deeper, more fruitful relationship can only occur when one sees the other person for who they really are and not who they wished them to be, Jesus included. Because Jesus isn't always the messiah we want, but he is always the messiah we need. We need a messiah who meets us in our suffering. A messiah who knows what it's like to face rejection and heartache and despair and share in that with us. A messiah who comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable. A messiah who willingly lays down his life in order to give you a new one, full of grace and forgiveness and love. I find great comfort in knowing that Peter didn't fully understand Jesus. This man who had traveled all over Judea, who had seen the miracles, who used the right words, but in many ways still got it wrong. What I find even more comforting is that he still got the invitation to follow Jesus.We don't have to have it all right, we don't have to understand everything about God or Jesus or the faith we claim. We can have doubts and questions and even wrong ideas about all of it. The good news is that the invitation still stands! Jesus extends the invitation to follow him, to travel with him regardless of what we have wrong, or if we feel our faith isn't deep enough or strong enough or sincere enough. He doesn't say you need to have this understanding, or you have to know this, or even believe these things about him. In fact, it is because Peter, the disciples, and the crowd don't have it all figured out that Jesus invites them in the first place. Unlike you and me, Jesus isn't cautious about who he invites because Jesus knows that if you really want to get to know him, you have to travel with him. I hope we model this well here at Cross of Grace, especially on days like today, when we welcome new Partners in Mission. Hopefully, we have been clear, you don't have to have it all figured out, or believe in every single thing we do, or know all the answers. We don't! Because becoming a Partner in Mission isn't about any of that.Being a Partner in Mission is about accepting the invitation to travel with us. Today you are saying I am willing to take this journey of faith alongside you. And in return we get to say, Thanks be to God. We're so glad you're here because we are in for the trip of a lifetime.We will undoubtedly learn new things about one another, we won't get it all figured out, but we'll ask questions and support each other along the way. And we'll help each other aside the idea of the messiah we want and together we'll follow the messiah we need. Amen

Mark 7:31-37Then [Jesus] returned from the region of Tyre, and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hands on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and he put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is “Be opened.” And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. They were astounded beyond measure, saying, “He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.” I spent some time, a week ago Friday, wandering around the art museum at Newfield's, here in Indianapolis.Among so many other things, there is an exhibit there called “The Message is The Medium.” It was closed, for some reason, but there was at least one piece of that exhibit outside of its confines and closed doors. This piece of contemporary art is called “Who's Your Tree?,” and it was created by a Korean artist named Nan June Paik. It consists of 34 old TVs, that flash seemingly random images of things that are quintessentially Indiana … images of the Indiana State House, the Indy 500, other pieces from Hoosier artists and, of course basketballs.I can't say I was all that moved or impressed by that one, so I kept looking and found some other artwork that seemed to fit the “Message is the Medium” bill. Like this one, called “Outside the Coal Mine” by a Black artist from Alabama, named Thornton Dial. It's a mess of artificial flowers, cloth, metal, wire, canvas scraps, found wood, paint can lids, industrial sealing compound, and enamel … on canvas. A quotation by the artist, about the piece, said, “I only want materials that have been used by people, the works of the United States, that have did people some good.”It's not pretty. It looks like a mess, on purpose. “Outside the Coal Mine.” The message is the medium.But my favorite was a photograph of a work in progress … a piece of performance art, actually … called “Borrando la Frontera,” by a Mexican artist named Ana Teresa Fernandez. In 2011, Fernandez set up shop along the border wall that separates Tijuana from San Diego, and she started painting the border wall with a pale blue color matching the sky behind it, which had the effect of making the wall seem to actually disappear. The artist means to encourage people to ask better questions about the geographic and political boundaries that separate us.“The Message is the Medium.”All if this made me wonder about today's Gospel … and what in the world might Jesus be up to, if we pay close attention to, or focus particularly on, the “media” he chose that day: the laying on of hands, I mean; the fingers and the ears; the spit and the tongue, even; the sigh of deep breathing, and the sound of his words.All of it's incarnational, right? It is something much more than performance art, for sure. And it's bodily. Physical. Tactile. And a little messy and gross and unsettling and beautiful. And I'll come back to this in a minute, if you don't mind.Because there's something else going on in this morning's Gospel. And that's the curiosity about why Jesus tells people, as he does often in the Gospels, not to tell others about what they've seen him do or what they've heard him say. It's a long-disputed, curious quandary theologians have mused about for ages, called the “Messianic Secret.” Why does Jesus, over and over again, order his followers – like he does this morning – not to tell others about the miracles they've witnessed? Some think Jesus didn't want the attention, “because his hour had not yet come;” that the timing wasn't right. Some suggest “his hour hadn't come,” because he wasn't ready to face the cross and his own crucifixion, just yet. And who could blame a guy for that?I decided a couple of years ago that Jesus didn't want people crowing about his miraculous healings, at every turn, because he knew not everyone gets the miraculous healing they long for, and bragging about your own can come off as prideful, selfish, and insensitive, in the wrong circles.And this week I wondered about yet another reason Jesus may have told the people who watched this healing happen to keep their mouths shut, to keep his “Messianic Secret,” to themselves. I wonder if the reason for that … if the message, today … is in the medium. I wonder if that message is in the hands, the fingers, the ears, the spit, the tongue, the breath of his deep sigh of what he's up to.What if Jesus told his followers not to tell anyone about what they'd just seen, because he wanted them to go and do something about it, instead?And maybe he meant spit and tongues and fingers and ears. I don't know. (I kind of hope not, to be honest.)But maybe the message in his medium was, somehow: “Get your hands dirty, people.” Maybe he meant get close, come near, be open, and not so afraid ... or so shy … or so timid. Maybe he meant don't leave this all – or only – up to Jesus. Maybe he was calling for more than “thoughts and prayers” and more than all of our best intentions, too. Maybe he was calling for some of our blood, some of our sweat, some of our tears, some of our sacrifice, more often than we're inclined to offer them up for the good of the cause … for the sake of the Gospel … on behalf of our neighbor.Maybe the message we send about the faith we claim is in the medium of our lives – in what we're willing to give up and give away, perhaps. (Is it generous and sacrificial, like Jesus asks us to be?)Maybe the message we send about the faith we claim is in the medium of our lives – in if or how we're willing to love and serve our neighbor. (Does our definition of “neighbor” include the least, the last, the lost – and not just those who live next door? And how do they know that we love them?)Maybe the message we send about the faith we claim is in the medium of our lives – in how and why we cast our votes. (Do we do that with our own interests in mind or do we consider the needs and interests of others, too?)All of this seems to be what James calls us to, just the same, when he suggests that a faith without works is dead. It's something St. Augustine was after when he proposed we “Preach the Gospel at all times.” And that we “use words if necessary.”The message of our faith is, indeed, in the medium of our lives. It's in the physical, tangible, tactile, visible, measurable ways we love, serve, give, comfort, care for, and elevate the lives of those who need it most.It's in the money we share. It's in the sacrifices we make. It's in the time we offer. It's in the love we prioritize and proclaim – not merely with thoughts and prayers or even in worship on Sunday morning. It's in the loving actions those thoughts, prayers, and this worship bring to life … to others… and for the sake of the world, in Jesus' name.Amen

John 6:56-69[Jesus said,] “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, “Does this offend you? Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But among you there are some who do not believe.” For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father.”Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” I think it was Monday, this week, when I told Pastor Cogan, with great frustration, that we really need to pay attention and be on the lookout for the next time this Bread from Heaven series shows up in the lectionary. If you've been counting, you know it's been five weeks of variations on this same theme. It started in July with the feeding of the 5,000 and it's been nothing but bread, bread, bread, and more bread ever since.It's not that I'm actually surprised about it. It happens every three years, thanks to the lectionary. And every three years I've had my fill of bread from John's gospel, by the time we get to this bit we hear today – sometimes even sooner. Anyway, I suggested to Pastor Cogan that it would be a good time to do a series of our own of some sort, to avoid having to come up with five more weeks' worth of bread stories … again.But on Tuesday, Pastor Cogan and I were rustling up a devotion we could use for our Council meeting that evening and, by accident or coincidence, I don't know; by the power of the Holy Spirit, perhaps; certainly by the grace of God for this preacher with a couple of sermons to prepare this week – and yet one more about BREAD – the Council devotion we found included a poem by Mary Oliver that tasted a bit like a generous helping of bread from heaven.It's called Don't Hesitate and I'll lay some copies out in the entry if you want to read the whole thing and take it with you later. (It's worth wondering about in more ways than I'll do here.) But the poem starts and ends with an invitation and command … to joy. At the beginning, Mary Oliver says, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it.” And the poem ends with these words, “…whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”“Don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”So this week I've been wrestling with and resting in the good news of the Gospel according to Mary Oliver … “Joy is not made to be a crumb.” And I decided that maybe that's been part of the point of these past five weeks and the point of all Jesus' talk about bread, bread, bread, bread, bread. He's been wearing us down and filling us up with this relentless teaching about the abundance of God's bread – and all the love and grace and mercy and forgiveness and joy that bread is meant to be for us and for the world.But this teaching is difficult for some, it seems – and for me apparently, at times, too. We are surrounded by and bombarded with as many reasons to resist or deny or ignore or just plain miss the joy that tries to make its way into our lives in this world. I know you know what I mean.The bodies of six Isreali hostages were recovered in Gaza and returned for burial in Israel last week, as that region still reels from the war that's been raging since early October.And in Gaza, 70% of the water supply and sanitation facilities have been destroyed, so that children drink from puddles and wade through pools of sewage.A terrorist killed three people with a knife at a festival celebrating diversity in a small town in Germany on Friday.Iran is apparently trying to hack their way into disrupting and interfering with our presidential elections, which already promise to be as tense and ugly and divisive and full of lies and ignorance as we've come to expect, without that kind of outside help.So, this bread from heaven stuff? … this idea of God's abundance? … these “words of eternal life”? … can seem offensive in light of that kind of news … this teaching can be difficult to say the least … and hard to accept at best … just like those first followers of Jesus felt and declared way back when.I'm not sure if you caught it, but I mentioned a moment ago that I had two sermons to write this week. On Friday, I also had the privilege to preach and preside at an impromptu wedding for a couple I had never met … until Friday morning, about 30 minutes before the small ceremony they hosted in their back yard.They are friends of some friends who live in Noblesville. They've been a couple for a decade or so – she's 50, he's 64 – and a week-and-a-half ago this retired, outdoorsy, triathlete was diagnosed with a glioblastoma … a malignant tumor that's already the size of a golf ball, growing in his brain. Barring a miracle, he likely has less than two years to live. The happy couple could use some bread from heaven right about now – and more than just a crumb.I reminded them – or they reminded me, to be fair – of something I need to hear more often and what I want to share with you all just the same:…that God does God's best work with what is sad and hurting and broken and even dying in this world. That God showed up, in Jesus, precisely BECAUSE the world is a sad, hurting, broken, insufferable kind of place too much of the time. And none of us is ever promised otherwise.And like that couple whose hard, harrowing news moved them to finally get married after ten years together – to let the good news of their love speak a defiant word of joy into the darkness of that cancer diagnosis – we are allowed, invited, called to do the same:To hear the words of eternal life that come down from heaven in Jesus. To eat this bread from heaven and be nourished by its goodness, in spite of the hard, hurtful ways of the world around us. To give in to and receive the relentless abundance of God's love for us, in spite of our struggles and suffering, remembering that that's the reason for this bread in the first place.So, (close your eyes for a moment and wonder/remember/acknowledge if you can, in your heart of hearts) in the face of what's so hard in your life and in this world, where have you found some joy lately … even if it was just a crumb? Where has the bread from heaven made its way into your world? Where might you find it in the days ahead?May we give in to this joy, this love, this promise of eternal life that begins for us, even now, right where we live. May we not be afraid of its plenty. May even the crumbs of this bread from heaven feel like an abundance. May we baptize babies. May we eat bread and drink wine. May we love and be loved by our neighbor. And may the source of it all find us and fill us, always, until we find ways to fill the world with some measure of its joy, in return.AmenDon't Hesitateby Mary OliverIf you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,don't hesitate. Give in to it.There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be.We are not wise, and not very often kind.And much can never be redeemed.Still, life has some possibility left.Perhaps this is its way of fighting back,that sometimes something happensbetter than all the riches or power in the world.It could be anything, but very likely younotice it in the instant when love begins.Anyway, that's often the case.Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid ofits plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

John 6:51-58I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” Richard was 33, lonely, and living on his own for the first time in his life. A former monk, he had just left a catholic monastery because he could no longer square his sexuality with his religious vocation. So he moved to New York city and after a few weeks, he met a southern gentleman named Peter, an avid activist and community maker. As Richard tells this story, they fell for one another fast. They couldn't get married back then, but they lived together and the foundation of their relationship was hospitality. Every week, they hosted a communal meal and the center of that meal was bread; fresh, home baked, gluten morgan, baby. Richard was a bountiful bread baker. And he describes how at these meals, all sorts of people would show up, family, friends of all kinds. And just as quickly as their relationship developed, a community dedicated to caring for another formed around this bread, this meal they had every week.About five years into their relationship, Pete got sick. It started with pneumonia, then neuropathy in his legs, and then even the loss of some of his vision. They both knew what was happening. Peter tested positive for the HIV/AIDS virus. He lived with this for a long time, but after many years, Pete's mental health began deteriorating, and he spiraled into these deep depressions. In 2012, Pete was the sickest he'd ever been and he jumped off the George Washington Bridge. Richard says, “When Pete took his life, a big chunk of me died with him. I stopped working. I didn't want to see family or friends. I became a hermit in my own apartment. I was just this hollow, solitary, shell of a person.” It's as if the grief, the shock, the hurt, had pulled the life right out of Richard, leaving him empty.Maybe you know what's thats like, feeling like the life has been pulled right out of you. For some of you, like Richard, it was losing the love of your life. But it could be so many things: a divorce, a diagnosis, debt, depression. We all go through experiences and events that make us feel like a hollow shell of ourselves. We pull back from community. We isolate ourselves from family and friends. We stop doing the things we once enjoyed. We feel empty and wonder what, if anything, can give me life again…Jesus seems to have a simple answer to our question. You want life? Then eat me… eat my flesh and drink my blood and you will have life, for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. When reading this passage, I couldn't help but think of the question someone asked in our CrossRoads class last week. +Mark and I mentioned that not everything in the Bible ought to be taken literally. To which someone responded, “how do you know which parts to take literally and which ones to not?” A thoughtful, faithful question, perfect for today's reading…Does Jesus actually mean what he says? Or as the crowd around Jesus asked, “how can this man give us his flesh to eat?” The questions are warranted, especially from those of us who cannot indulge in an entree al la Jesus. Yet no matter how hard I've looked in this gospel or the other three, Jesus doesn't flesh out an answer for us (pun intended). But I think the rest of Richard's story might help us understand what Jesus is talking about. Five months after Peter died, Richard found himself alone and hungry in his apartment. So he did something he hadn't done at all in those months: he baked bread. A lot of bread, eight baguettes to be exact. He was never going to eat all of that. So that next morning, he forced himself out of bed and down to the Browery Mission, bread in hand. As soon as he walked through the door, a guy said “sorry, department of health rules, we cannot accept food donations from anybody”. So Richard turned, walked out, and went to the park across the street. Some guys followed him, wanting some of that fresh, home baked gluten morgan. After they devoured the seven baguettes, the men asked Richard if he would come back next week…So that next Sunday, Richard made eight sourdough loaves for the guys and brought them to the park. This time, they talked a little more, shared some things about themselves, and even began connecting over their bread memories. One told the group how he missed his grandmothers cornbread she made in a skillet. Richard said, “well I make cornbread, I'll make that for you next week.” Another man, a Jewish man, reminisced about running home before sundown on the sabbath so he could rip off a piece of hallel to eat. So Richard made hallel for next week, too. “In the ensuing weeks” Richard recounts, “there were an awful lot more bread requests. Over the next five months we started talking and laughing and sharing more than bread. And I started to heal. I became lighter.” In other words, he didn't feel so empty. It is as if the bread filled Richard with life once again. And that story helps me appreciate what Jesus is offering to us here in John. Because it wasn't really the bread that gave Richard life again… It was all that came with the bread, the sharing, the talking, the offering of one's self to someone else, in ways as simple as breaking baguettes together in the park. In much the same way, I don't think Jesus is really saying “eat me”. Rather, he is telling the crowd and us, that he will sacrifice his flesh and blood for us and for the whole world, so that you might believe and have life now and forevermore. Flesh and blood was a Hebrew idiom meaning one's whole self. Which is exactly what Jesus offers up on the cross and here at this table too. We might only get a small piece of bread, or a little sip of wine, but through it we receive all of Christ; everything he has to offer us: forgiveness, grace, love, all that we need to fill the emptiness we feel and give us life here and now. So if you feel like life has been pulled right out of you, come to the table. If there is an emptiness you can't fill, come to the table. Come to the table where Jesus offers us his whole self in, with, and under the bread and wine. Come to the table where we are united not only with Jesus, but with one another, too.“The real miracle” Richard said, “was that we had created this wondrous sharing, and giving, and life affirming community”. And that is the same miracle that this bread does right here in this place. Jesus is at work in this meal, forming us, shaping so that we too can be a wondrous sharing, giving, and life affirming community. That's what this world needs, what this country and county needs, and what your neighbor needs! A people willing to offer up themselves, sharing and giving who they are and what they have so that others may have life. In that way, we are a Christ to our neighbor, just as Jesus offered himself to me and to you.Now, that doesn't necessarily mean you die on a cross for someone. No, we can offer ourselves to one another in smaller, still meaningful ways; like breaking bread together, talking and laughing together, connecting over stories and memories. And in doing so, we will be sharing more than just bread. Amen

John 6:35, 41-51Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven'?”Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.' Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” Some of you have heard me mention one of my new, favorite theologians, writers, and poets, Pádraig Ó Tuama. A few years ago, maybe in response to the Covid Quarantine craze of sourdough-bread-starters, I'm not really sure why, but he shared a favorite bread recipe online. And because he's a poet and a theologian, his recipe for bread hits a bit differently than most cook books I've seen.First of all, he calls it “Irish Wheaten Bread (aka: Gluten Morgen Baby),” and he acknowledges that it came to him by way of a friend who got it from someone else who learned it from the TV chef, Delia Smith, and that the details of it all might have changed along the way. After listing the ingredients, which I will share with anyone who actually wants to give this a go (I'm looking at you Joyce Ammerman/Sue Weisenbarger/Linda Michealis), Ó Tuama, offers up the following instructions, among others:First, he suggests that every bread-baking session should begin with a reading of “All Bread” by Margaret Atwood. “It's the rule,” he says. Then he says to “mix the whole meal and plain flour together with the bicarbonate of soda – and sieve them. It helps the bread rise while it's cooking. Then add in the pinhead oatmeal, wheat germ, salt and buttermilk. Mix it up.He says, “I throw in some nice sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds, too. Whatever feels good. Apart from fish-sauce. Don't put fish sauce in there, even if it feels good.“At this stage,” he says, “you can put in the egg. Or, if you're feeling very adventurous, you can separate the yolk from the white, and add in the yolk. Whisk the egg white and then fold that in. If you do that, you need to do some dancing to prove what a badass you are. “Grease the tin.“If you want, you can put poppy and sesame seeds on the bottom and side of the tin as this will make the crust be ‘seed-infused-crust' and there's no home-made-organic-authentically-handcrafted-bread like ‘seed-infused-crust-home-made-organic-authentically-handcrafted bread.' If you do this, you'll need to read Jericho Brown's “Psalm 150” aloud, with joy, for the sheer brilliance of its language, as well as all its other glories.At this point, he says, “The whole mix should look like a thick porridge. Pour it into the greased tin. Often I put fresh oats on the top too. And, please don't forget to say a blessing for the bread. Without it the bread won't do its work. Choose a blessing of your choice, or make it up. That's where they all come from anyway.“Normally,” he says, “I put tinfoil over the greased tins, so that the oats don't burn, but also to make sure the tins generate a lot of heat. That might be because I've got a temperamental oven though. “Put it all into the oven, and read Margaret Atwood's poem again. It'll convince the bread that its purpose is to feed the body and soul.”And of course there are instructions for bake time and temperature and whatnot. … I like Pádraig's recipe because I don't consider myself a cook, or a chef, or a baker by any stretch. And I've always been under the impression – especially when it comes to baking bread – that there's a right and wrong way to do it; that bread can be finicky; that if you don't get it all measured or mixed or leavened or greased or timed just right, it won't turn out. That it will be flat or doughy or ugly or taste terribly – or all of the above. And some of this may, indeed, be true.But Pádraig O' Tuama's recipe reminds me of Jesus and this morning's Gospel story. Yet another bit in this series of Gospels about his identity as – and his affinity for – God's “bread from heaven.” Now, it's worth knowing –if you didn't catch it – that Jesus is mad today … that we're listening in on a hard conversation – an argument, even, some might say – between Jesus and the crowds who have been following him, and challenging him, and questioning him for quite awhile now. Someone smarter than me, has even suggested that when Jesus says, “do not complain among yourselves,” that what he really means is “zip it,” “shut up,” “pipe down,” “quit your whining.”And that side of Jesus matters to me – the human, frustrate-able side of Jesus, I mean, who must have gotten mad more often than we hear about. Mad, here, because he's trying to “bring the kingdom” to the people around him and they just don't see it or get it or want it or know what that means. Mad because he's been having this same conversation for like, 6 chapters and 51 verses, if the Gospel text is any kind of measuring stick for that sort of thing. And after all this time, they're still just bickering over the details and not believing or receiving what they've seen or experienced or heard about Jesus.My point is, I kind of think Jesus is just trying to get the people in this morning's Gospel to quit fussing and fretting over the recipe. And I imagine he was so frustrated and angry, and sad, too, that they still didn't get it, or want it, or understand him, just yet.Because what matters in all of this back and forth between Jesus and those people so hungry for faith is that it took place very near to the festival of the Passover, the great national and religious holiday for the Jewish people. The Passover was where they celebrated their release from slavery, their Exodus from Egypt, their journey toward the Promised Land. Just before this morning's reading (or last week if you were here) we heard about how the people complained to Jesus for not giving them signs like the ones their ancestors received in the wilderness back in the days of Moses – after some grumbling of their own. They complained that their ancestors got that miraculous manna in the wilderness – actual bread from heaven – and they thought they deserved something like that kind of a miraculous sign, too; to feed them, to fill them, to fix them, to SAVE them.And now, along comes Jesus, claiming to be that bread from heaven. He's claiming, not just that he was there to bake or deliver this bread from heaven they were looking for, but that somehow he was … that he would be … that he is, this bread – this miracle – that would do more than just fill their bellies, but that would give life and hope and salvation to the world.And since most of us know the rest of the story, we know how this ends: with Jesus crucified and raised to new life. And we can read this little bit of it all as a preview of sorts. Jesus was really hinting, if not declaring outright for those who could read between the lines – that he was the new Passover Lamb, with that national holiday just around the corner – come to take away the sin of the world.Jesus … from Nazareth … this son of a carpenter, this boy born of a peasant girl – this neighbor kid whose parents they knew – was claiming to have come down from heaven with this monumental, holy task of giving up his life, in the flesh, for the sake of the world.Which means, Jesus was messing with their tradition. Jesus was undoing what they expected. Jesus was replacing the old with something new. He was changing the rules and messing with the recipe, if you will, of everything their faith had always told them. And he was inviting them to live and believe something altogether different because of it. He was replacing their bread and that lamb with his very own body and blood.Jesus was inviting people to see and to receive – God is calling us, still – to open ourselves to the new ways of God's kingdom among us: things like grace and forgiveness; things like humility and generosity; things like peace and love for the “other” and love of our enemies, too. But we're just not always so great at that, if we're honest. Our necks are stiff and our hearts are hard and we are stuck in our ways – we get tied to the recipe and to our own rules too much of the time. Just like the Jews of Jesus' day, Christian people are notorious for “complaining against each other” about too many rules, and too many recipes, and more.So we get this bread from heaven, in Jesus Christ, who offers us forgiveness, who fills our hearts and minds and lives with the same kind of mercy, love and promise we're meant to share with the world. We get this bread from heaven, in Jesus, broken and shared with such abundance that our hands and our hearts can't hold it all.We get this bread from heaven, in Jesus, and we're called to share the goodness of it all like Pádraig Ó Tuama, and any good friend would share their favorite recipe, with no strings attached – generously, like poetry and so many seeds … with psalms and blessings included … by example … and with invitation and room to be fed and nourished by a grace that comes through the very life and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, breaking every rule along the way, and wherever necessary.It is something altogether new and better and different. It can be difficult to believe, this bread from heaven. For some, this kind of grace is hard to swallow, for sure. But this Jesus, this bread come down from heaven, this forgiveness, grace, and mercy, is for us and for all people. It feeds and fills every body. It saves and redeems all things – and all of us – by God's grace, for the sake of the world.Gluten Morgen, Baby.AmenPádraig Ó Tuama's Bread Recipe

John 6:24-35When the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus. When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.”Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.'” Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. There's no such thing as a free lunch, at least that's what we're told. But at a cafe just north of downtown Milwaukee, that's not quite true. In Sherman Park, a predominantly black neighborhood that struggles severely with poverty and obesity, sits one of the best lunch spots in all of Cream City. Sandwiched between an adult novelty shop and an abandoned storefront, Christie Melby-Gibbons was rather intentional when she chose to open up Tricklebee Cafe back in 2015. She wanted to be in a community where access to fresh, healthy, and delicious meals was desperately needed. When you walk in, the daily rotating menu is displayed on a hymn board. Then you order at the pulpit turned checkout counter. Next you grab a seat at one of the long pews and tables that fill the small space. Most of the ingredients are grown out back or rescued from local grocers. And the food, all of which is vegan, really is delicious! It was the best tikka masala soup I've ever had. But what really sets Tricklebee Cafe apart is that lunch really is free, if you need it to be. It is a pay-what-you-can cafe.They have a sign up front that explains the policy: “If your pockets are full, please give a bit more. If your pockets are light, pay what you can. And if your pockets are empty please eat and enjoy a delicious, healthy meal in exchange for 15-30 minutes of volunteer time. Thank you!” Christie, the founder and a pastor in the moravian tradition, says on average there are two people who come in for a free meal each day. And then they will volunteer in all sorts of ways: do dishes, pick up and take out the trash, or even chop vegetables for tomorrow's menu. Most of the meals are prepared not by chefs, but by volunteers, who don the title passionate cook.Mike Betette tells the story of how he found Tricklebee Cafe. He and his family left Los Angeles in 2016 for a new start in Milwaukee. But he didn't have a job and had a hard time finding one. Walking his new neighborhood, the smell and noise of Trickleebee Cafe lured him in. It was an oasis of joy, according to Mike, because the place was full of genuine smiles, good deeds, and authentic, messy community. He loved the food, but money was tight. So he started washing food, serving, bussing tables, and meeting people. The cafe, both the food and the community, made Mike feel so much better. He attributes Tricklebee for helping get him and his family in a better place. Now, many years later, he returns to the cafe, pays more than his fair share, not because he has to but because he's had a taste of the food that doesn't perish and wants others to have a taste, too.By providing great food to anyone, regardless of their ability to pay, Tricklebee is doing a lot more than just feeding people. And that's what Jesus was doing too when he fed that crowd of 5,000 people last week, but that truth was missed.You see that same crowd that had their bellies full from a free lunch of fish and bread, woke up the next day feeling the familiar pains of hunger all over again. They began searching for Jesus and headed across the Sea of Galilee to Capernaum in hopes of finding him. When they did, the crowd asked Jesus, “when did you come here?” In other words, “we didn't see you leave Jesus, are you avoiding us?”.Jesus is skeptical of the crowd and their reasons for following him. Not answering their question, he says: “your reasons for searching and finding me are all wrong. You've done the right thing for the wrong reason. You're hungry and you want another free lunch”. Can you blame the crowd? Who doesn't love a free lunch? More than that, this crowd knew Jesus had healed people who were sick; meaning he can cure and feed. What more would they need in life? And does it matter why the crowd was following Jesus, or just that they were following him? Apparently, motive matters for Jesus. So he tells the crowd, “don't work for food that will leave you hungry. Work for the food that will satisfy you forever.” Now that has piqued the crowd's interest, it sounds almost too good to be true. Food that always last, that always satisfies? It's like a free lunch everyday, better, even! Tell us, Jesus, what must we do to get this bread. Tell us what to do Jesus and we will do it, whatever it is. And then Jesus says “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent”. The work is to have faith. And that's about the last thing the crowd (or you and I) want to hear. Because it would be much easier, much more certain if Jesus just told the crowd what to do to earn faith. Or how much faith was going to cost. Everything has a price, no lunch is free right? So just tell us what to do Jesus and we'll do it, that's what the crowd says. But Jesus doesn't, because that's not how faith works. It's not something you can earn. You cannot make yourself have faith, as much as we would like. Luther puts it this way “I cannot by my own reason or strength believe, have faith in Jesus Christ, my Lord”. Look at the crowd. Just yesterday, they were fed from a few loaves and two fish. And even after that, they demanded Jesus perform another miracle, give out more free lunches, because maybe then they'd have faith.But faith isn't a work you do or a miracle you see. Faith is trust; trusting that Jesus is who he says he is (the bread of life) and does what he says he does (satisfies our deepest hunger and gives life to the world). Faith holds on to those promises as if your life depends on it, because it does. Which is why God doesn't leave it up to us. Faith comes to us, is given to us by the Holy Spirit as a gift. Completely free. Much like a meal at Tricklebee Cafe. Someone else did all the work and you are handed a delicious meal that nourishes more than your body. But you might say, “well people are encouraged to at least volunteer, they have to give something for that meal!” So too it must be with faith, we have to do something for the grace we receive. We have to love God and love our neighbor right? Well how's that going for you…? And if not that, then we have to pray the right prayer. But I think that's all backwards. We love God, we love our neighbors, we pray, we come to worship because of the faith that's been given us. Not the other way around.It's like the meal that someone gets at Tricklebee is so good, so delicious, so transformative that they want to give of their time and money. In fact, just like Mike, they want to do all they can (serve, do dishes, clean floors, pay extra) so that others experience the life changing meal they had. That, to me, is how faith works.These promises, these experiences of love and grace are so wonderful, so life changing, that we do all we can to share them with others, giving thanks to God who makes it all happen. And if you feel like you need more of that in your life, more faith I mean. If you have came here this morning with a hunger for hope that you can't seem to find in the world; If you are famished for forgiveness, if you are starved of spiritual sustenance, then do we have the meal for you right here at this table. The bread of life, broken and blessed, for you and for the sake of the world.So come and eat. Lunch is free. Amen

John 6:1-14After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming towards him, Jesus said to Philip, ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?' He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, ‘Six months' wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.' One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, said to him, ‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?' Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.' Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.' So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.' As many of you know, Pastor Cogan and I, along with Angi Johnson, spent the week before last, in New Orleans, at the ELCA National Youth Gathering … with a bunch of losers. And I'm not just talking about John Reece and Jacob Kleine, who affectionately become known as “the Freshmen” over the course of our time together. Or Jack Anderson who we called “Water Boy,” for some reason. Or Max Havel, who garnered a new name that isn't exactly appropriate for Sunday morning worship.But I mean we all spent the week with a bunch of losers, because you should have seen and heard the people who were chosen to speak to the over 16,000 young people that showed up for the The Gathering, over the course of those five days. I won't tell you about all of them, but… One was Drew Tucker, the proverbial fat kid growing up, who lived in the shadow of his athletic brother as a boy and throughout high school and into young adulthood – never measuring up, he believed, so that he struggled with eating disorders and his body image and all the low self-esteem and struggle that comes along with that. He felt like a loser. But Drew became a Pastor at, among other places, Capital University, my alma mater, and now he's the head of camps and outdoor ministries in the great state of Ohio. We heard from young man named Johnson, too, who graduated from high school this year after immigrating to the US from El Salvador when he was just 10 years old. He was a loser, too. Didn't speak English. Didn't have friends or finances. Was moved around in surprising ways even after landing at his first home – so much so and so quickly that he didn't have time to say goodbye to the one friend or two he had made along the way. But Johnson put a face and a story and some humility, courage, and hope to “issue” of immigration that isn't shared often enough by the politicians, pundits, and our 24 hour news cycle. He reminded me that God's children are never “illegal” or “aliens” in the eyes of their creator, no matter where they live. And that maybe we shouldn't consider them that way, either. Another was Rebekah, a young girl who used to be a boy. At a really young age Rebekah realized the male gender assigned to her at birth wasn't quite what she was feeling like on the inside. When she revealed all of this on the second or third day of the Gathering, after she'd already emceed the other mass gatherings we'd shared with joy and grace and abilities beyond her years, the adult leader sitting next to our group got up and left in protest, it seemed – because Rebekah was such a loser, I suppose. But she has become an outspoken, prolific advocate for kids of all kinds, writing books, speaking before legislatures, sharing herself and her experiences with churches (her dad is a Lutheran pastor, the poor thing), and living her best, beautiful life, at 17, with the loving support of her family, friends, congregation – and about 16,000 new friends from New Orleans, too. Another woman, Jacqueline Bussie, was a loser, too. She literally lost everything, on a trip to Iceland with her new husband, the love of her life. He died suddenly on a hike and she was left there, alone in every way, in a foreign land, as a suspect even in her husband's death, with nothing but his ashes to keep her company when they finally released her to fly home. The shock, grief, and despair she suffered afterward was debilitating. She was utterly lost. But, Jacqueline learned to dance and love and speak and write and teach and live again, anyways.And there were others, too – losers, I mean … Lori Fuller, a deaf woman became the pastor of her own congregation, ministering deliberately to children of God who can't hear. And she reminded us that her deafness didn't make her a mistake, and that none of us are mistakes, either. Pastor Sally Azar, became the first female Palestinian to be ordained in the Holy Land. And she reminded us that our identity as God's children is greater than our identity as Americans, Israelis, or Palestinians, too.But the overall, abiding message I took from all of these would-be-losers, was that all of this is exactly how the power of God works in and through, in spite of and for the sake of the world. In spite of what makes us losers in the eyes and opinions of others, God creates us to be free of that, and authentic ourselves because of it, and brave in spite of that, and to disrupt the world around us, in response to it, too.What I experienced and celebrated over and over and over again in New Orleans – and what I read in a strange, new kind of way in this Gospel story from John about the feeding of the 5,000, because of it – is not how coincidental or surprising it is that God takes brokenness and uses it for good … broken bread, fish, or whatever the world might presume about broken people, either.What I noticed, this time around, is that God is always about using the brokenness of God's people to bring about wholeness and healing and hope to life. Whether it's a loaf of bread, or the cynical sinful disciples who distribute it – or whether it's the death of Jesus himself – God is always using what the world deems “broken” or “lost” in our lives, to teach us about redemption and wholeness and the power of resurrection and new life.Just like the disciples did that day on the hillside when they doubted that the bread would be enough, or that their wages would be enough, or – I suspect – that their faith would be enough to do the trick, every one of those who shared their stories in New Orleans had plenty of reason to doubt that they were enough to do what God was clearly calling them to do.By the world's estimation, they were too sinful, or too imperfect, or too unfaithful, or too different, or too whatever to be instruments of anything good or holy or worthwhile or righteous. But their lives – by the grace and mercy, forgiveness and love of God – tell an entirely different story.Like so many loaves of bread, they – and we – are broken and scattered for the sake of the world. Like so many loaves of bread, it's our own broken “lostness” that resonates with this lost and broken world for the sake of mercy and love and justice for others. Like so many loaves of bread, it is our brokenness that feeds the hungry, comforts the sick, loves the lonely, welcomes the stranger, includes the outsider, forgives the sinner.So one thing I learned in New Orleans – and that Jesus shows us today – is that maybe we should start looking not just at what we're good at when we wonder about how God might be looking to use us. Maybe we need to start looking at – and letting God take hold of even the crumbs – what's imperfect or hurting or broken in our lives ... all the stuff that makes us “losers” in the eyes of the world.Because everyone of us is “less-than” or sinful or lost or different in our own beautiful ways. And if we're willing and able to humble ourselves – to let ourselves be broken and blessed by the grace of God's love – Jesus shows us, today, and through his life, death and resurrection from the dead, that there will be more than enough of God's love and grace and mercy to go around, for us and through us, and for the sake of the world, in his name.Amen

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed. Grace, mercy, and peace from our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.Maybe it's because Jesus didn't see himself as “the boss,” but I think he might have been the very best boss ever. Look at this lovely opening to the Gospel reading. The disciples have come back after a few weeks ago in our reading being sent two by two into villages and towns all around the region to heal the sick, cast out demons, and share about Jesus. They come back together to tell their stories and it sounds like they've done so much they haven't even had time to eat!Productivity is up! Opinion about what we're doing is strong! These workers get it – promote them, have them do more, strike while the iron is hot! That's what we'd say in our culture that feeds on productivity, but what does Jesus do? He listens. He tells them to rest.I wonder what their stories sounded like? We went to this city and people listened to us and asked us great questions, we healed a sick child, and cured someone who had been possessed by a demon. They were so kind and welcoming and wanted us to stay forever, but we said we had to go on our way. So we went to the next village and they were a bunch of rotten apples. They yelled and spit at us, they cursed us and tried to kill us. So we shook off the dust on our sandals like you told us to, Jesus, and we left to the next place.And I imagine as Jesus listens to these disciples tell their stories that he looks at them with compassion and grace. He laughs with them as they talk about a cat that just wouldn't leave Peter alone and weeps with them as James talks about how hard the journey was for him.I wonder what stories we tell to Jesus. I wonder if we really believe that Jesus can hear us. We think about the billions of people on Earth, and struggle to imagine how Jesus could keep all those voices and stories straight. We maybe fall into the trap of thinking that Jesus is too busy to hear us. It's not that big of a deal. Does Jesus really need to know that I was moved by a particularly beautiful sunrise or a good conversation with a friend? Does Jesus really need to hear me tell him that it's hard to be a parent and a spouse sometimes? Does Jesus really need to hear me?And the answer to that is a resounding “yes!” Jesus loves us. And though we cannot fathom how a billion thoughts coming together can be sifted through by the Creator of the World, we trust that somehow it happens. Jesus hears our stories. Jesus loves us in the midst of all that we hold and all that we carry.And, Jesus then invites the disciples to rest. Not forever. Not as a form of laziness.Not to say they were done with the work they needed to do. But as a reminder that, yep, there is so much to be done. Spreading the Good News and the justice of God to the ends of the earth is a job that will never be completed. Healing the sick, visiting the prisoner, supporting the outcasts and ignored of society, loving the widows, being present with those in fear – yes, those will always be on the “to do” list. And being a present mom or dad, being a loving child, being a good friend – yes, those will always be things that are needed too.But you and me, we are not machines. We are not called upon to push ourselves to the brink or beyond of exhaustion. We are not meant to be the Savior of the world. We are called and created to be beloved children of God. And as a beloved child, we sit at the footsteps of Jesus. We rest in the arms of our God. We listen for the movement of the Spirit inviting us to the next thing, which often times is to simply be.Because there is a whole 20 verses that we skip over today. And those verses are the well-known story of the feeding of the 5000. Where people gather to hear from Jesus and he sees that they are hungry and tells the disciples to get them something to eat. And miraculously from a few loaves and fish the multitude is able to be fed.I am certain that the disciples could not have done that if they had not followed Jesus' invitation to rest. If they had kept pressing on, then the task ahead which already seemed impossibly overwhelming, would have simply been impossible.I'm certain that's true for us, too. If we do not rest. If we do not take daily and weekly times of Sabbath, we will look at the world and say, “It's impossible. Why should I even try?”But you and me – we have a God who tells us to rest.You and me – we worship a God who gives us abundantly more than we need.You and me – we serve a God who is with us in all circumstances of life.You and me – we gather around a Table where God feeds us with good things for our life, grace, and salvation.You and me – we are beloved. We are loved not for what we do. We are loved not for how productive we are. We are loved not only when we follow the command to rest.No, we are loved because we are children of God. And it is only through that love that we can share these great things with the rest of the world that so desperately is looking for a better way to escape the rat race of productivity and life.So, friends, may we tell our stories to Jesus. For he really wants to hear them. He wants to laugh with you and weep with you and be present with you and let you know that you've got a lot on your plate, and you do not hold that alone.Jesus also wants to tell you to rest. And Jesus wants you to know that from that place of rest, you might be sent to feed 5000 with just a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish, or you might be sent to share Good News and grace with people who have been ignored their whole lives, or you might be sent into the world to give your kids or your spouse or your friend a hug and love in the midst of their hard times.May we be the people of God that we were created to be. And may we know that God loves us. That God hears us. That God rests with us. And that God is always with us. Thanks be to God.Amen.

Mark 6:1-13Jesus left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him.Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their own hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, expect that he laid hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.Then he went about among the villages, teaching. And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and he gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money for their belt; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. There is a great, strange, quiet little show on MAX called “Somebody Somewhere.” It's got a serious Schitt's Creek vibe to it in my opinion, but not many people know about it, from what I can tell. It came to mind as I fumbled around with this week's Gospel, because “Somebody Somewhere” tells the story of a woman named Sam who returns to her hometown, somewhere in the cornfields of Kansas, to take care of her dying sister. Her family – broken and struggling in so many ordinary ways with sibling rivalry and addiction and aging parents and broken marriages – needs her help, too – whether any of them know it or not.The short of the long is that Sam connects with an old classmate she doesn't even remember, but should have known in high school, and the show is the story of their friendship and the underlying buzz of what it means for Sam to be back – as an outsider in her own family and as a stranger in her own hometown.And, while it's not at all the main focus of the show, the notion of what a truly inclusive, welcoming, loving Church is, can, or should look like is a noteworthy undercurrent, if you pay attention to that sort of thing. Anyway, four stars. Highly recommend. You're welcome.And, it made me wonder, in a very simple way, if the writers and producers of “Somebody Somewhere,” knew something about Jesus and the Gospel of Mark. Because after being out and about in the world, beginning a ministry of healing all kinds of people of all sorts of illnesses, after casting out demons, after calming storms, and after teaching with all manner of new insight and wisdom, Jesus comes home to Capernaum, like somebody, somewhere.And, instead of a warm welcome and a happy homecoming, Jesus is greeted with questions and contempt. “Where did this guy get all of this?,” they asked. “Isn't this one of Mary's kids – the carpenter?” “Who does he think he is, anyway?”So, we have to wonder what was it that made it so hard for Jesus to go back home? Why was it that no one wanted to believe what he was teaching? Why did they take such offense at all he was preaching and teaching and saying and doing? Maybe Jesus wasn't old enough. Maybe he was teaching them too much too fast. Maybe he was trying to pour too much new wine into too many old wineskins. Your guess is as good as mine.Whatever the case, I'm sure they knew that Jesus was onto something because they had most definitely heard about his ministry: how he'd healed the paralyzed man, stilled the storm, raised Jairus' daughter, and cured the woman who had been hemorrhaging for years. All of this had to make them wonder – and maybe even hope, in spite of their suspicions – that Jesus knew what he was talking about. And I imagine it was nice to suspect that Jesus was onto something … from a distance. I imagine they were proud to know that this hometown prophet, this local hero, was theirs. I imagine they liked to say that they knew him when, or maybe that they had worked with him, or that he'd lived around the corner or just up the road, at one time. I imagine it might have been fun to cheer him on from the sidelines.But then he came home…back to Capernaum…then he started preaching and teaching and healing right there in front of them. Then they couldn't help but realize that his message was for and about them too.And forgiveness sounds great until you have to offer it yourself, and mean it.And faith sounds easy until your own is challenged.And loving your neighbor sounds nice until you know more about who's living next door, or until you realize that “neighbor” has nothing to do with proximity - or your address - a lot of the time.So no wonder it was hard for Jesus to be back home again. What if that's why he hasn't tried it since? What if that's why Capernaum – and the world for that matter – hasn't seen the whites of his eyes since he left so long ago?Are we ready for what he would teach or preach or perform for us, now? Just like the family and friends from his hometown, it can be easy for us to claim Jesus as ours … from a distance. Just like his family and friends in Capernaum, it can be comforting to proclaim that he's one of us and that we're one of his. Just like his family and friends and neighbors, it's easy to cheer Jesus on from the sidelines.But what if he came home today? Would he find us forgiving as much as we ask to be forgiven? Would he find our faith solid and steadfast and sure? Would he find us loving our neighbor – no matter who they are or what they do or where they live?…Have you ever had the opportunity to “go home again” like Sam in “Somebody Somewhere” or like Jesus in Mark's Gospel? Have you ever taken a trip to your old hometown? Have you ever gone back to an old school or to a former Church or to a house where you once lived? I've done it many times – and it's never the same.Not that it's always bad. Not that I've been driven out by angry friends and family. Not even that I wouldn't go back and visit again sometime. But it's never exactly the way I remember it. Rooms always seem smaller, familiar faces are gone or simply not so familiar anymore. And what used to be doesn't always match up with what has become – of the people or of the places or of me.I imagine that's kind of what Jesus found when he returned to Capernaum: rooms – and hearts and minds – that were too small to hold the grace he was trying to share; faces that were once familiar but that had been changed by their doubt and fear, suspicion and sin, maybe; and I wonder if he found that the world from which he had come was nowhere near, or any longer, the place that God had in store for him.So what does this mean for you and me? What kind of welcome would Jesus find if he showed up on your doorstep, or in your office; at your next staff meeting, doctor's appointment, or family dinner? Would he see our faith or would he be amazed by our unbelief? Could he tell we were following? Would he find a warm welcome? Or would he shake the dust from his sandals and move on?Because whether it's Capernaum or Kansas, we are the hometown that waits for Jesus' return. So what does all of this mean for us?I think it means that we make room – in our churches and in our hearts and minds – for whatever and whoever shows up at the door. It means that we allow our faith to be challenged by the breadth and depth – by the size and scope – of God's grace. It means that we work hard to make this world more like what God had in mind in the first place.It means that we go out into the world, too, practice forgiveness… that we preach and promise a new word about love and hope and peace so that when Jesus does come home again, he'll be amazed by something other than our unbelief. He'll be astonished, for a change, at what we've learned and at what we've shared and at what we've become … so that somebody somewhere – and everybody everywhere – will be welcome to the grace that we share, in his name.Amen

Mark 5:21-43When [Jesus] had crossed again to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him and he was by the sea. Then a man named Jairus, a leader of the synagogue, came and fell before him and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her so that she may be made well and live.” So he went with him. And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him.Now, there was a woman who had suffered from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians and was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped and she felt, in her body, that she had been healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus said to the crowd, “Who touched my clothes?” His disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you. How can you say, ‘Who touched me?'” But Jesus looked around to see who had done it. And the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came to him with fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. Jesus said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.”While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader's house and said to him, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” Overhearing them, Jesus said to him, “Do not fear, only believe.” And he allowed only Peter, James, and John, the brother of James, to follow him. As he approached the leader's house, he saw a great commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he entered the house, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead, only sleeping?” And they laughed at him. He put them all out of the house and took the child's mother and father, and those who had come with him, into the place where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means “little girl, get up,” and the girl got up and began to walk about. (She was twelve years of age.) At this, they were filled with amazement and Jesus ordered them sternly that no one should know about this. Then he told them to give her something to eat. I heard an interview the other day with Ray Kurzweil. He's a computer scientist, author, entrepreneur, inventor, and “futurist.” He was described as Google's “main AI guy,” too, who lives and works and writes about a world that is relatively foreign to me, except for the fact that it impacts more aspects of my daily life – and yours – than I am often aware of. As a computer scientist, for example, he is involved with stuff like text-to-speech synthesis and speech recognition technology. Again, things I don't understand and can't comprehend the science behind, but that are part of my daily life in millions of ways. (For instance, I'm not there yet, but my wife Christa, has begun texting exclusively by simply speaking into her phone, rather than typing with her fingers and her phone's tiny keypad.)Anyway, according to Wikipedia, Ray Kurzweil writes books about health and technology, artificial intelligence, and transhumanism. From what I can tell, “transhumanism” has something to do with the notion – and likelihood – according to people like him, that in just the next twenty years, we will become something of a hybrid species, where our bodies and our brains will “merge,” as he puts it, with Artificial Intelligence and with the Cloud to the point that, not only will we have more direct access to a vast and growing amount of information, but we will get to a place where we simply have to think about some of the things we currently do – like sending a text message, I suppose – and those things will just happen for us.This sounds crazy to me. And some of what he's predicted about it all is downright scary, to be honest. But he's apparently been studying and making predictions about such technological advances since the late 1990's. And he's been right. For instance, he predicted way back then – before the iPhone, before social media, and before Google, even, as we know it – that, by 2029, AI would achieve human level intelligence. And, think about it, with five years still to go before that deadline … with the fact that you can this morning ask AI anything at all about philosophy, psychology, physics, and even theology, and get solid answers … and with the Cloud doubling its capacity for information every two years … it seems he might be right again, that human level intelligence in something other than human beings is likely – and coming soon.And what in the world, you might be asking, does this have to do with Jesus – walking and boating and healing his way around Galilee – in First Century Palestine?Well, I've been stewing, for quite some time now, about how surprisingly relevant and meaningful I find the Gospel to be, in general, in light of the way this kind of technology is advancing in the world and in our lives. All of this “Artificial Intelligence” is one piece of it, for sure. I also think about the way “virtual reality” and “remote working” and “distance learning” and “online worship” have become such necessary, meaningful, ordinary parts of our lives of late.(How many of you – like me – have done any of those things in the last month or so – worshiped online, worked remotely, took a class or attended a meeting via Zoom or something like it? How many of us were doing that as frequently, if at all, just five years ago?)Well today's Gospel – and Ray Kurzweil's predictions – had me thinking about all of this more deeply from a faith perspective.Again, Jesus is doing his thing… preaching, teaching, healing … being followed around by disciples and throngs of curious, if not devoted, followers … being put upon by strangers to do their bidding … like the man whose daughter is dying and like the woman whose been sick and hemorrhaging for 12 years.And what if those First Century followers represent a microcosm of the wants, needs, desires, and demands of humanity on the God of our creation. What if Jesus was like a walking, talking, living, moving, breathing manifestation of the hub for healing and hope and answers that God means to be for the world?Never mind the hypothetical nature of that … Jesus shows today that he WAS and IS the walking, talking, living, moving, breathing manifestation of the healing and hope and answers and salvation God means to be for the world. It's the theology of the incarnation, after all. Emmanuel … God with us… God among us… On earth as it is in heaven…if you will.And Jesus does his thing – not from a distance, not remotely, not “virtually” in any way. That bleeding woman knew it. She just needed to get close enough to touch the hem of his robe. And she felt, in her body, that something had changed because of it. And Jairus knew it, too. He approached Jesus, asked him to lay hands on his little girl, and brought him to his home. And Jesus didn't phone it in. He found the girl, took her by the hand, spoke to her, and told the onlookers to give her something eat, in the end. All of this was as up close and as personal as God's love always was, is, and promises to be.Now, at the risk of sounding like a “get off my lawn,” anti-technology, grumpy old man, I find great hope and challenge and call in this, for those of us who want to follow Jesus. For me, it's why the Gospel is as relevant and as radical and as counter-cultural, for our day and age, as it always has been.It's why what we do here together in worship matters – choosing to gather as the body of Christ in a world that is fractured and divided in so many ways, I mean. In spite of our differences, we sing songs, we pray prayers, we make our confession and hear very real words of forgiveness, and we touch the common waters of the baptism that binds us together in the same name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. There's nothing “virtual” about what takes place for and among us here.It's why eating bread and drinking wine as part of this worship matters, too. We are fed and nourished in physical, tangible, bodily ways that fill and change us by grace, from the inside out. There's nothing artificial about the way God's love comes to us through the sharing of Holy Communion.It's why our Stephen Ministry program is such a faithful, powerful expression of care and compassion for those who engage it. It's one-on-one, face-to-face, in-person sharing, listening, loving companionship for people who need it. You can't Google that.It's why building actual houses that provide real shelter for families in Haiti… It's why providing actual food that feeds hungry people through our Groceries of Grace food pantry… It's why crying real tears at a funeral… laughing with real joy at a wedding… offering a hand and a smile when we share the peace… sharing a “Mom Hug” at the PRIDE parade… all of that matters for real.I'm not saying there isn't value and promise to be found in all the technological advances coming our way. I'm just saying our faith – and the human love and connection we know in Jesus still matters – and matters more than all of that, in the end. Even Ray Kurzweil, the futurist with all the predictions I mentioned before, acknowledges that AI will never be able to create art, for instance, the way a master artist would do. I would add, that nothing artificial, inhuman, or disembodied – no matter how full of information it may be – will ever be able to replace the forgiveness, love, mercy, and grace offered by the God we know in Jesus, which means to inspire and compel more of the same from each us …… you and I, who are called to let ourselves be touched, like that woman who touched Jesus, by the very real needs of our neighbors.… you and I, who are called to hear the good news of our own salvation – and find ways to share it, out loud and by our actions, with others who need to hear it, too.…you and I, who are called to be fed and to feed the needs of those around us with very real food and drink, very real love and forgiveness, very real grace and mercy … by our very real presence … living and moving and breathing … as nothing less than the body of Christ … in and for the sake of the world.Amen

Mark 4:35-41On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, ‘Let us go across to the other side. And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great gale arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, ‘Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?' He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!' Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, ‘Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?' And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?' We all have a storm story. Here's mine. Several years ago, Katelyn and I went camping in upstate New York. We were most excited about renting a boat and fishing on this small lake. And here's us in our boat, just as we began fishing. Now it wasn't big, just a simple row boat. Which means I rowed and Katelyn fished. And Katelyn is a really good fisherman but not so good at taking the fish off. So by the time I got us to a good spot, she would have already caught multiple fish, which I had to remove. I rarely had a chance to toss out my own line before moving to another spot. Finally we got to a spot on the far side of the lake where we had our anchor down, bait on the hooks, lines out, and ready to reel 'em in. Then, the wind kicks up and dark clouds start moving in. We hear thunder and its pretty close. So we both agree we should make our way back across the lake to the docks. We reeled in our lines and I started rowing. I rowed for maybe 15 minutes, but I wasn't getting very far. The wind is really picking up now and those clouds were nearly on top of us. So I rowed harder and harder, but with each stroke forward, I felt like the wind picked up just a little bit faster, pushing us backward. At this point we are only half way across the lake and the heavens could rip open at any moment. Both of us are scared, I'm tired from rowing as fast as I can, and rain is starting to collect in our boat. I started rowing like a mad man against the wind, cursing at the paddles and this boat for not going faster, when Katelyn said to me “just take a break for a second and catch you breath. So, I said to her “okay, put the anchor down so we don't drift backward”... and then it dawned on us: the anchor was down the whole time. I had drug this cement filled coffee can clear across this whole lake. When I pulled it up, 10 pounds of seaweed covered the can. I was outraged at the situation: the rain, the boat, the anchor! Katelyn, though, was beside herself in laughter, nearly in tears at how funny it all was. I rowed us to the dock and we made it to the car just as the hail began. Katelyn has always been good humored, able to laugh at herself and situations outside her control. I get frustrated, impatient with the wind and waves that arise in life. Our literal storm experience mirrored our lived experience. There's nothing like a storm to teach you about the people who are in your boat, yourself included. At first, Jesus doesn't seem to be the person you want in your boat when the storm hits. He's been preaching and teaching all day, using the same boat as a pulpit. So I'm not surprised at all that he's sleeping on a cushion at the front of the boat.When the wind kicks up and the waves start crashing, the disciples seem more than a little frustrated that Jesus isn't acting like a concerned friend, let alone a messiah. But I don't blame them for being scared and perhaps angry. It must have been a pretty bad storm if at least four, maybe more, professional fishermen who had spent a lifetime fishing and sailing on that lake were scared to death. They knew the dangers of the sea of galilee, especially at night. I imagine they warned Jesus of such things before they left the shore. No wonder they yelled at Jesus, do you not care that we are perishing?Do you not care that we are perishing? Is there anyone who hasn't yelled that question at Jesus? If there was ever a shared sentiment between us and the disciples, it's that question. It's a sense of abandonment. It's feeling like you are drowning and God is nowhere to be found, panicking that your boat of life is taking on water and Jesus is asleep at the stern and for whatever reason you can't rouse him no matter how hard you cry or pray. You are not alone in feeling that way. We all have a storm story: the doctor giving a diagnosis you never wanted to hear, the day after a beloved's funeral, your child telling you her marriage is over, the accident you never saw coming. Like the fishermen, we know the damage they can do. So don't feel bad for yelling at Jesus. So much in the Hebrew Bible is the Psalmist or a prophet lamenting over the same thing. As Nadia Bolz Weber puts it, it's no sin to hold God's feet to the fire and ask, “Why have you abandoned me?”To the disciple's great relief, Jesus wakes from his nap and, with three words, he makes the wind stop and a great calm come over the waters. He turns to the disciples and has the audacity to ask, “why are you afraid?” As if taking on water in a shambly first century boat wasn't reason enough. But then Jesus asks a harder question, “Have you still no faith…” In other words, don't you trust me yet? I think the fear Jesus can get over. It's human, innate to fear. But to show no measure of trust, that's what Jesus seems disappointed at. Because by this time in Mark's story, the disciples have spent some good time with Jesus. They have witnessed him doing some pretty miraculous things: casting out unclean spirits, restoring a withered hand, healing a leper, and mending the health of one of their own mothers. They've heard his teaching; heard others call him the Son of God, yet how quickly they seem to forget all of that. In the Psalms, the psalmist writes about how God commands the sea to storm and to cease. The disciples, or at least the first hearers of Mark's gospel, would have known that only God has power over the waters. In controlling the winds and the waves, Jesus shows them once again who he is, he is the Son of God, the savior, fully divine living among them.It took a storm for them to see again who Jesus was. And really the disciples still don't see it or really get it. All throughout Mark, they constantly get it wrong about who Jesus is and what he's there to do. But could we not say the same thing about ourselves? Have we not been witnesses to some pretty miraculous things? Have we not been in a boat taking on water and yet somehow arrived safely to the other side?Faith is having trust in the savior who is right there, in the boat with you. We will be fearful of the storms that come up in life, but faith is choosing to trust Jesus in the moment in spite of the storm. Notice that disciples didn't have glass waters to sail across. Even though Jesus was in the boat with them, the storm still came. Bad, hard, even terrible things happen in this life. And people will try to say that if you just prayed enough, or had enough faith, or had the right kind of faith, then these things wouldn't happen. That, friends, is a lie. Having faith is no guarantee or promise that storms won't arise. The promise is that Jesus is in there with you. And look I get that there are still all sorts of questions: why doesn't Jesus stop the storms from happening in the first place? Why are some storms just so bad? And if God controls the waters, who's responsible for the storm? We could try to answer all these, and many have, but that gives no comfort or relief to someone who feels like they're perishing. Instead, sit beside them when the wind kicks up and the waves crash and let Jesus show you who he is once again. Because there's nothing like a storm to teach you about the people who are in your boat, Jesus included. Amen.

Mark 4:26-34[Jesus] also said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.” He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples. Instead of passing out mustard seeds to everyone, like I've done before – in classes and worship where this parable is concerned – I thought I'd do a little searching online for pictures and images of mustard plants to remind us more of what Jesus is talking about in this morning's Gospel.But I will start with a picture of a mustard seed. They're small, just like Jesus says they are. Not the smallest seed you and I might ever see, but maybe they were the smallest seeds known to Jesus, and his people, and to the region where he was living back in the day. And I found some pictures of the plants these seeds turn into, too, since that's much of the point of Jesus' parables this morning.And what I found may or may not be as interesting or as surprising to some of you farming, gardening, green-thumbing types as it was to me.When Jesus talks about this mustard seed becoming something worthy of a nest, I was expecting something more like a tree. But mostly what I found were pictures like this: … and this: … and this: This is why it's funny that Jesus ever even talked about the mustard seed at all. See, we're used to hearing agricultural illustrations and farming metaphors in the Bible and from Jesus, but when we hear about trees, we're used to hearing about something much more substantial. And so were the people listening to Jesus way back when. Like in the book of Daniel, there's talk of a tree, “great and strong” whose “top reached to heaven and was visible to the end of the whole earth.” This tree was used to describe a kingdom that ruled all the peoples of the world. In Ezekiel, which we heard this morning, too, and in the Psalms, there's talk of the “mighty cedar of Lebanon” that symbolized the power of the kingdom of Assyria. And there is talk about “oaks of righteousness,” too. And, of course, there are those images of the “Tree of Life” and the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil” from way back in Genesis and the Garden of Eden.So in all of this, I picture trees – big, strong, tall, hefty kinds of trees. Something like this, maybe: a sizeable sequoia. …or like this: a giant redwood you could drive a car through. or even just this: a big old oak tree, strong enough to hold your favorite porch swing. But no. Jesus talks about mustard – the smallest of all seeds that grows up to become something great. But not really the greatest of trees, though. I don't think he's talking about a sequoia, or a redwood; a high and lofty cedar or a giant oak of righteousness, either.In the Gospels of Matthew of Luke, Jesus talks of a tree when he tells the parable of the mustard seed. But this morning – in Mark's Gospel – he doesn't go that far. This was a bush (SLIDE 8). A sizeable shrub. A flowering hedge of a thing. And so, just like so much else in God's way of being in the world, Jesus shows us the kingdom in a way that's surprising and unexpected and not at all the way the rest of the world might think it should be.And I think that's his point when he compares the kingdom of God – and our part in it – with a mustard seed and the bush that it becomes.We sleep and rise, night and day and the seeds we've planted will grow – like they did for the guy in this morning's first parable – by the grace of God, nothing more and nothing less. We don't have as much to do with it as we'd like to pretend a lot of the time. And this is good, gracious, liberating news, if you ask me.We're just people – lowly, broken, sinful, sizeable shrubs of a people – planting our seeds in the world wherever we live and watching God do with them what God will do, and being amazed more often than not at what God can grow and produce and harvest with whatever worship, learning, and service; whatever forgiveness, grace and joy we've been able to scatter around us as we go – measly little bushes though we may be.And there's evidence of this everywhere:Last weekend, in Louisville, the Indiana-Kentucky Synod of the ELCA, elected our first Black Bishop, Pastor Tim Graham, who told us that the very next day following his election, he'd be celebrating something like 24 years of sobriety. The serendipity of that makes me wonder about – and marvel at – all of the seeds of grace he has planted – and that were planted in him – up until to that moment, over the course of those 24 years. And all of the seeds yet to be scattered and bushes and branches yet to grow and bloom because of it.I hope you saw or heard about Cross of Grace's presence at our first ever PRIDE parade and celebration downtown last weekend, too. Amanda and Angi did a lot to organize and plan for the day, but simply showing up, simply being there, simply representing a congregation of Christians for the sake of the LGBTQ+ community that has more reason to fear than to welcome us, was the Kingdom of God alive and well in the world. Simply passing out stickers and suckers and “Mom Hugs,” was nothing more and nothing less than the scattering of seeds for those who received them – and in at least one case, I heard – were brought to tears because of it all. And from those seeds, I have to believe that some kind of shelter continues to grow.And our annual SonRise Vacation Bible School did it again, too, last week … planted more seeds and grew more grace for me and those who joined the fun, I mean. We simply eat and sing and tell stories and share communion and try to come up with – sometimes silly – ways to tell of God's love. And our friends – with different, limited physical and intellectual abilities – receive it with such faith – to the degree that one of them asked to be baptized at the end of it all. It's a lot of work for the likes of Sharon and the other leaders, but from those simple seeds of story, song, and silliness, the Kingdom lives and moves and blooms in beautiful ways. That's why it's so amazing that God uses us – shrubs and bushes like you and me – when there seem to be so many bigger, better trees out there in the world. You know what I mean? And, unfortunately, too many of us Christians do know what I mean.See, I've come to know that what keeps too many of us from living out our faith most fully as followers of Jesus, is a lack of esteem and understanding about how qualified or capable or gifted we are to do whatever it is God hopes for us to accomplish.We tell ourselves and pretend that we don't know enough… that we aren't talented enough… that we aren't sure enough… We aren't sober enough… We don't have enough time… We aren't wealthy enough… We aren't leaders enough to lead… Or teachers enough to show someone else the way… We have too many questions of our own to even try to offer answers for somebody else… To ourselves, we're just “seeds” or “bushes” or “shrubs” too much of the time and we keep ourselves so small in our own eyes that we forget just how worthy we are in the eyes of God.We keep waiting to become “trees” – mighty enough, strong enough, smart enough, faithful enough, wealthy enough, whatever enough – to do something more, to be something more, to offer something more – we forget that God used a “tree” to accomplish the greatest grace of all time, for the sake of the whole wide world. If God can turn a mustard seed into a shrub… If God would dare turn a tree into a cross… If God can turn suffering and death into resurrection and new life… What can't God do with the welcome and hospitality; with the love and forgiveness; with the good news and grace each of us has to scatter, to plant, and to grow in the world wherever we live?Amen

Mark 3:20-35…and the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.“Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”Then his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside, they sent to him and called him. A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” Grace, mercy, and peace be yours today from God: Father, +Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.With the two fine preachers we have here at Cross of Grace, I didn't think I would have another chance to be at this pulpit, but I am grateful for it as they are off tending to the business of the larger church. And we pray for them in that work.This Gospel text is a sort of mishmash is it not? It jumps around from Jesus and the crowds to Jesus and the temple scribes and to Jesus and his family. And what is central to it all is that Jesus is caught in the middle—in the middle of the crowds;in the middle of a dispute with the scribes;and in the middle of a family squabble. But, reading the Gospels, that's where we often find Jesus—Caught in the Middle.At the beginning of the text, we find Jesus going home. He had just picked his twelve disciples and no doubt had been on the dusty roads for a time and wanted peace and quiet and a home cooked meal.But the crowds followed him home and were so big and persistent that Jesus and his new friends could not even eat their meal. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus was always drawing crowds —he was famous for his healing miracles…for changing water into wine…and for his teaching. Sometimes he had to flee from them. Once he even had to escape on a boat. These pressing crowds remind me of the Caitlin Clark effect. She can't go anywhere these days. Kids and adults hound her for an autograph and hand slaps as she comes and goes on the court her presence is filling arena across the country. I'm guessing she can't even go to a restaurant without crowds bothering her.Jesus' own family went out to rescue him as the crowds were saying he was crazy. Jesus was caught in the middle of it all.And then came the confrontation with the scribes—those annoying holy men who professed to have all the truths about God and saying how Jesus should be acting/behaving if he was truly God's son.They tried to trap him by equating him with Satan and deeming him a blasphemous, false messiah. In refuting his baptism by the Holy Spirit; claiming that he associated with all the wrong people; by not behaving as a righteous person should behave, they were trying to make the case against him. In so doing they themselves were blaspheming against the Holy Spirit and this is when Jesus has enough and utters his word about that sin being the only unforgivable one. Jesus caught in the middle of disputes between the Scribes and Pharisees—the religious establishment of the day would ultimately lead to his arrest and death.And then the text closes with Jesus back with the crowds and his family outside the home. This is where it gets a bit sticky. The crowd tells Jesus that his mother and siblings are asking for him, and it seems as though Jesus denies his immediate family, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And then motioning with his hands and arms to those gathered, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother. Again, we see Jesus caught in the middle of his family and the crowds. How do you think his mother and siblings took that? I'm thinking probably not too well. Did they think he was denying them their place in his life? What's up with that? It seems very harsh.I think we can all admit that families can be messy at times. There are misunderstandings. There can be harsh words. There can be addictions, diseases, and divorces that hurt and divide. There can be some family members who disavow faith and worship. There can be family members who are incarcerated. There are congregations (a wonderful expression of a family, right?) who are more interested in judging and condemning than embracing. There can be unloving actions that exclude LGBT+ family members—I've been a witness to that. I heard of a church sign this week that said, “God wants our humility, not pride.” Surely that is a direct hit aimed at Pride month. How will LGBT+ folks take that sign? Think they will feel welcome in that mainline church? And I read that the Southern Baptist Convention is scheduled to vote soon to expel any congregation that calls a woman pastor.Yes, our families of origin and our church families can be messy.As the 21st century disciples of Jesus we had better find ourselves in the middle. In the middle of religious disputes with words of forgiveness, truth, justice, and hope.We had better be in the middle of secular disputes around corruption, racial injustice, voting rights and equal rights for all. That's where we will find Jesus, and he expects us to be at his side in the middle of it all.All Jesus was doing that day as he looked at those sitting around him and saying, “Here is my family” was enlarging his family, not downsizing it. He didn't deny his own biological one. And we know that as he was dying on the cross for you and me, and for the sake of the world, he looked down at one of the disciples and said, “You take care of my mother.” He loved his immediate family even if they couldn't understand his life's mission. And he loves us even as we struggle to find the courage, patience, and grace to be caught in the middle with Jesus—right where he wants and expects us to be.Amen.

Mark 2:23-3:6One sabbath he was going through the grainfields; and as they made their way his disciples began to pluck heads of grain. The Pharisees said to him, “Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?” And he said to them, “Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need of food? He entered the house of God, when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and he gave some to his companions.” Then he said to them, “The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath; so the Son of Man is lord even of the sabbath.”Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man who had the withered hand, “Come forward.” Then he said to them, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” But they were silent. He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him. The hardest assignment I ever had in seminary was to put down the duckie. To explain what that means, I'll need a little help from Ernie and Hoots the Owl. In seminary I took a class called Soil and Sabbath with Nate Stucky, professor of Old Testament and director of the Farminary, this magical place that combined small scale agriculture and theological education. At the first class, Nate had us pick up a duck and as I remember it, the duck, much like Ernie and his duck, represented the thing we clung to so tightly. And for a bunch of young people at seminary, we held fervently to our identities as students, achievers, who wrote impressive papers, read lots of books, and would become great pastors and professors because of all that. The assignment that was so hard was this: put down your duck for at least six consecutive hours each week and during these six hours write down, tell someone, or otherwise recall a story of God's saving action or provision. And while six hours may not sound like much, it was surprisingly difficult. After a few hours I would get antsy knowing there were always more pages to read, a study group to attend, or papers to work on. And it didn't just affect me. This practice of sabbath, of putting down the duck, was Katelyn's favorite assignment. She loved the rhythm it enforced in our newly minted marriage and the fact that for six hours she didn't have to hear about some boring book or theologian. I didn't always keep my Sabbath. At midterms and finals, I carried my duck 24/7. And after the class, our sabbath [my sabbath] was never as intentional as it was that first semester. This assignment, more than any other, showed me how my worth, how good of a pastor I would be, how I saw and understood myself, was wrapped up in what I produced, by how busy I was, and how well I did in my classes.Stopping, even for six hours, disrupted all of that. But that's exactly what sabbath is supposed to do.The commandment to observe the sabbath is listed in two places in the Bible. In Exodus, God spoke to Moses and said “Remember the sabbath, keep it holy” and gave this explanation as to why: “for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them, but rested the 7th day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it”. In short, do as God did. God rested from work so you should rest from work. Deuteronomy, however, is a bit different. It's the same commandment, but a different explanation. “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.” Here, the Israelites are invited to rest not to imitate God but to see what God has done for them and see who they truly are. For 400 years, the Israelites were enslaved, forced to make bricks each and every day with no rest. Their life was consumed by their work, their worth was only found in how much they produced. Then after leaving Egypt, God says one day you won't work or make anything. It was a radical reorientation reminding Israel that they are no longer slaves, their worth did not come from how many bricks they made, and their identity did not come from their work. God had made them free and would provide for them, even when they didn't work because they were God's people, chosen and loved. Rest made them see this. And look how inclusive, how far reaching the sabbath invitation was: animals, servants, immigrants among them, all were extended the same rest, because no one and no thing should be forced to work their life away. Rest is a gift for all of creation.Maybe like the Israelites, your identity is wrapped up in work, feeling like your worth comes from what you produce, how much money you make, or the title you carry. Maybe you're wrapped up in being the perfect parent or spouse, or weighing the right number on a scale. Who are you when the children move out, or you get divorced, or you retire, or your body can no longer do what it once could? What's the duckie you can't put down? Sabbath is a rhythm to help you see and grasp the identity you have as a beloved child of God made in the image of God.This one day of rest shows us our value as a person is not found in what we do or how busy we are but in whose we are. It is a form of grace; and like all grace, it disrupts our lives and causes us to change how we see ourselves. And not only are we changed by sabbath but so too are our days, our families, even our communities. It is a hard grace for us to receive, but there are practical ways to help establish a sabbath. Dorothy Bass advises avoiding three things: work, commerce, and worry. Working nonstop makes us our own God, thinking all we have is by what we've done. And how prideful to think the world rotates because of our work. Stopping, just for one day, gives space for us to reflect on all that God has done and all the ways God provides for us. And we'll find that when we have balance with work, we'll encourage others to have that too. As for commerce, buying and spending are wrapped up in work. As Bass notes, “commerce creates the conditions for work and often more work. When we pause buying and spending, we pause work for others also.”And likely the hardest thing to not do is worry. If you aren't working, then you are worrying about work, or what needs done around the house, or the family problem that needs to be addressed, or the upcoming election and latest headlines. While it is undoubtedly hard to cast away our worries completely, we can refrain from things that induce worry, radical things like having your phone by your side, reading the news, checking Facebook or your email, or pausing the house project.This may sound restricting, oppressive even. But the intent is the opposite. Sabbath is a day made for you, as Jesus tells us, a day to be life giving and rejuvenating. A day where you are free to rest, celebrate, and feast. Walk, play, and pray. Love and be loved. Serve, study, and sing. And most importantly, free to worship and give thanks for the grace of God that is ours through Jesus. Every sabbath is a little easter celebrating that we need not work ourselves to death in order to save ourselves. Christ has done that for you. No matter how well you keep the sabbath, it does not get you to heaven. And neither does any amount of work you do or money you make. So put down the duckie and remember the sabbath. If a whole day seems too much at first, try it for six hours. You might be surprised at how hard this is and how it changes not only your day, but your family's day too. Which is why sabbath isn't meant to be done alone. Sabbath is done best in a community, a group of people willing to go against the culture of ceaseless consumption and production.Sabbath is the grace of rest, helping us see that who we are cannot be reduced to the work we can or cannot do, and tells us that we are loved, you are loved simply because you are a child of God. Sabbath truly is grace with no strings attached. Thanks be to God. Amen.