July 13, 2014 - Pentecost + 5 - Sowing the Seeds of Love

Sowing the Seeds of Love

Pentecost + 5 - July 13, 2014

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

This is my family’s second summer living in our current home. Last summer, we had a baby and a 2 year old, so we were too busy to worry much about planting a garden, and come this summer, we still hadn't figured out where the best place for a garden would be, so we’re content to have a few tomato plants and some herbs planted in pots. But when the time comes next year, I think we've finally made up our minds. We’ll dig up the soil where there’s plenty of sun and good drainage. While we’re turning the dirt, we’ll set aside the rocks, and add in some of the compost we've been working on. We’ll probably put down some kind of weed barrier, and we’ll plan out our garden – what kinds of vegetables, where to put each one. We’re not gardening experts, so we’ll pay attention to the instructions on the back of the seed packet, making sure we plant the seeds at the right depth and the right distance apart and next to other kinds of plants that are compatible to them all growing well together, all to help make sure that we’ll have a good harvest at the end of summer.

My daughter doesn't get this whole process though. Norah is 3.5, and she doesn't get that there needs to be an order and a method to planting. Someone gave us some packets of seeds this spring, and all she wanted to do was dump the seeds out in her hand and go toss them on the dirt, in the lawn, in the rocks alongside the driveway, which I noticed this morning we need to weed again - soon. If it were up to her, she’d mix them all together, stick her hand down in the pile of seeds and just spread them to the four winds, letting them land wherever they land, not worrying about how many seeds would go to waste that way.

Norah is like the sower Jesus talks about in this parable we heard today. Usually when we read this parable in church, we focus on the four different kinds of soil that Jesus talks about: the path, where the evil one comes and snatches the word away; the rocky ground where the seed springs up quickly, but withers away just as fast when trouble comes; the thorny ground, where the word of the kingdom begins to grow, but then gets choked out of existence by the cares and seductiveness of the world around us; and then finally, the good soil, that produces this amazingly, unexpectedly bountiful harvest, way more than you would ever dream of getting. And we spend a lot of time wondering about what kind of soil we are or ought to be – and there’s some good thinking and reflecting and discussing to be had there.

But this time around, I was struck by what Jesus calls this teaching. When he is alone with the disciples, explaining what the parable means, he doesn't call it the parable of the four soils. He doesn't call it the parable of the seed. He calls it the parable of the sower. Though he spends most of his time talking about the kinds of soil, it seems to me that we should spend some time thinking about the sower in this story and looking at what the sower does.

And what the sower does is plant seeds like my preschooler would. He doesn't seem very wise. He doesn't act like he knows much about farming. He’s downright reckless with the seed he has. He’s wasteful. He just reaches his hand in that ol’ bag of seed slung over his shoulder, grabs a handful, and then tosses it every which way, in every conceivable direction. He doesn't look at the instructions on the back of the packet. He doesn't carefully drop one seed every few inches into neatly hoed rows that he measured out beforehand for optimal growing space. No, this sower just spreads the seed around everywhere. Generously. Plentifully. Lavishly. With an open hand, sowing seed with abandon.

It’s not what we would expect. It seems like such a risk to pay no attention to the kind of soil the seed will land on. It’s taking a big chance with the limited resources the sower has – because if the harvest fails, what will you do next year? If the harvest doesn't produce enough to eat and then some, how will you have any seeds to plant next year?

This fear of scarcity is only too familiar to us. We are a result-driven kind of people. We want to be able to predict and control the outcome of our hard work. We want to ensure a future where there is enough, and so we carefully plot out our gardens. We are timid with our seed spreading. We plant only where we think there will be an acceptable return on our investment of time and money and effort.

And just in case you've kind of gotten wrapped up in this gardening metaphor at a literal level, remember that the seed Jesus is talking about is the word of the kingdom. It’s the good news about what God is doing, about the ways that God is breaking into the world, shining light into dark places, replacing fear with faith, transforming anger into forgiveness, bringing hope instead of despair, raising life out of death. This is the seed of love that Jesus has been busy sowing since the beginning of his ministry – and he is holding nothing back. There are many people around Jesus, watching him at work, seeing him reach out to tax collectors and prostitutes and sinners, healing on the sabbath – and they think he’s wasting his time, that he shouldn't be sowing the seeds of God’s love into the lives of people they judge to be the hard path or the rocky soil or the thorny patch.

And we too, can be quick to judge others and the quality of the soil of their lives and think that it would be better not to waste our time reaching out, sharing this good news, sowing the word of the kingdom there, so instead we stand, tight-fisted, afraid of being too extravagant, doling out one seed at a time, instead of embracing the joy that comes with scattering the seeds of God’s love with wild abandon, trusting, like Isaiah says, that God’s word will not return empty, but will accomplish that which God purposes and succeed in the thing for which God sent it.

That’s the thing – the world around us – and within us – is made up of all of these kinds of soil; and sometimes we think we know best where God’s word should be shared. But this parable of the sower invites us to think differently. To live boldly. To grab a fistful of seeds and fling them widely, wildly, freely, trusting that God is at work in all of those soils, turning the compacted path, picking out the rocks, weeding out the thorns, carefully tending to the gardens of our hearts, preparing the soil with love, making us ready to receive God’s word and grow in ways and places that are beyond our imagination. Our job is to follow along Jesus as apprentice seed sowers, sharing the word of God’s kingdom without reserve, sowing the seeds of God’s love with all we meet. God will take care of the harvest – bringing forth an abundant crop that defies expectation, one that will feed the whole world. Let’s get to work!

Amen.

July 6, 2014 - Pentecost + 4 - The Rhythm of Rest

The Rhythm of Rest

Pentecost + 4 - July 6, 2014

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

This weekend being the Fourth of July, I've been thinking about freedom. We celebrate our independence as a nation, as individual people. We value that our country is the land of the free. We honor our forefathers and mothers who came to a new land and made a new life and had the wisdom to declare that all people are created equal, endowed with unalienable rights, including the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It's common to hear Americans trumpeting this right to freedom in many and various forums.

And yet, as I thought about this holiday and looked at our gospel reading for today, I got to wondering about how free we really are. Though we have political freedoms that many around the world long for, there is more to freedom than just the form of government we live under. And it seems to me that in some big ways, we are held captive.

Let me explain. A few months ago, I was listening to the radio, and caught part of an interview with author Brigid Schulte, who is a reporter for The Washington Post, and also of a book, entitled Overwhelmed: Work, Love and Play When No One Has the Time. Now, I’m a working mom, and I’ve witnessed the intensifying pace of life of people around me for years now, so I was intrigued. I checked the book out of the library – and ironically, had to return it before I had had time to read more than a few chapters. (!) But I did read an article in The New York Times based on the book. Ms. Schulte's struggles to balance her family and work responsibilities led her to research this time crunch that our culture seems to wrestle with so mightily in our pursuit of happiness. She described much of her experience as “contaminated” time – so whenever she was home trying to have family time, she'd be checking work email or text messages on her phone and trying to respond. When she was at work, she'd be making phone calls to her kids' teachers or trying to coordinate the car pool. Her mind was constantly racing, filled with the unfinished to-dos on her list, so that she never felt fully present in whatever she was doing at the moment. Her research led her to someone who studies the ways people spend their time. As he reviewed the time log she had kept, he found 27 hours of “leisure” time in a given week – almost none of which felt very leisurely to her. And so he asked her, “what does leisure look like to you?” Her response? “A sick day.”

It's not a very healthy way to live, nor is it an enjoyable one, and it doesn’t feel very free. We feel the pressure of expectations – from work, from family, from our friends, from the organizations we volunteer for (or would like to, if only we could find the time!), from ourselves. We want to capture the American dream – the family, the house, the cars, the meaningful work. We want to have it all. We believe we should be able to have it all – and if that means working crazy hours – both at work and trying to provide our loved ones with whatever TV and the internet suggest we should have, well, then so be it. So many of us are caught on the hamster wheel, so sucked into our society's glorification of busy that we hardly know that we're caught – or how to just get off and stop for a while. And even when we recognize how harmful these patterns can be, there's an undertone of pride in our busy-ness. It's an accomplishment to come home at the end of the day and look at the calendar and pat ourselves on the back - “Boy, look how busy we are – but we pulled it off!”

The people Jesus was talking to in this story from Matthew were no strangers to the demands and obligations of others. To be sure, they didn’t have a lot of the distractions and alleged conveniences that we have that often just clutter up our lives – no electricity meant going to bed when it got dark, no TV or computers or tablets to keep them up past their bedtimes, no work emails or texts to be answered well past the end of the working day, no elaborate themed birthday parties to plan and carry out and pay for. But they did have to balance the demands of work and family and survival. And this passage reminds us that they also faced the burden of religious expectations. They wanted to be good and faithful people and follow God’s law, and there were plenty of religious leaders around to explain the minutia of how to fulfill God’s word, and more than happy to point it out when the average person failed. They were beat up, worn down when they realized no matter how hard they tried, they’d never live up to God’s expectations, at least as defined by the Pharisees and the scribes and the elders.

And then along comes Jesus, who also knows what it is like to live under the demands and expectations of others. He knows it’s a no-win situation; he declares it at the beginning of this reading. “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Kind of darned if you do, and darned if you don’t – and both John the Baptizer and Jesus die because they refuse to conform to others’ expectations of how they should live.

But Jesus, he calls this whole system into question, and he reveals another way to us, we who think we are so intelligent and wise, who think we can figure out ways to manage everything, who fool ourselves into thinking we can have and do it all and somehow come out on the other side with no cost to ourselves or our relationships. Out of compassion and mercy for all who are burdened and weighed down, weary of the way we are living, Jesus calls us to come to him for rest. The Message version of the Bible puts it this way:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matt. 11:28-30)

This is an invitation to join our lives to Jesus’ life, to be yoked to him. I’ll admit I don’t know all that much about that part of agricultural life, except that the yoke is that long piece of wood that lies across your shoulders – and if we’re yoked to Jesus, that means we are harnessed in with him alongside us. That yoke lies across his shoulders too – and he is pulling those burdens along with us. Don't get me wrong - this passage is not about sitting around, twiddling our thumbs. There is work to be done: real work. Urgent work. Kingdom work. Jesus was never a slacker. He worked and he worked hard at what he was sent here to do. But he knew how to get away, to leave the crowds and their demands behind. He knew how to find that time to reconnect with God, to spend time with his closest followers and friends and be renewed. He knew how to have a good time (remember that wedding in Cana?).

Jesus is our model for a different way of life, a life that embraces the rhythm of rest. When we are yoked with Jesus, walking and working with him, we follow his lead. He guides our steps. He helps us learn to put first things first. He teaches us to make the hard decisions about what really matters to him and for us and for our lives together. We learn about doing work with purpose, work that is meaningful, work that makes a difference in our lives, and in the life of the world. And we learn how to rest, how to let go and trust that God has this, that the world will continue to spin without our effort. It’s a revolutionary idea, in our day and age, no? It's rest as resistance to the pressures of the world around us, a different kind of Independence Day, when we embrace the freedom Christ gives. So, breathe deep, if you’re weary this day. Come to Jesus, if you are burned out and worn down by life. Link your life to his. Let him show you how he does it. Experience the unforced rhythms of grace found in Jesus – and then go to share this grace with a hurting and tired world.

Amen.

June 22, 2014 - Pentecost + 2 - Finding True Life

Finding True Life

Pentecost + 2 - June 22, 2014

Matthew 10:24-39

These are kind of intimidating words we get from Jesus in Matthew’s gospel today. Not exactly the warm and fuzzy, hippie, buddy-Jesus we sometimes look for or expect here. Jesus is talking to the 12 apostles, which means “sent ones” – and that’s what Jesus is doing in this part of the story. He’s picked his 12 closest followers and he’s sending them on a mission, to announce and then demonstrate the good news that the kingdom of heaven has come near. Jesus gives them authority – to cast out unclean spirits and cure every disease and sickness, to cleanse the lepers and raise the dead. Exciting, heady stuff – I mean, imagine being entrusted with such work, to be about the business of showing what God’s kingdom looks like when it breaks into our world.

That’s where this whole story starts, if you go back to the beginning of chapter ten. But then comes a whole long set of warnings. “I am sending you out like sheep into a pack of wolves,” Jesus says. “Those closest to you will betray you, you’ll be persecuted by the authorities,” he tells them. The threat of death looms darkly over them. “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword, to set a man against his father and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.” This work that Jesus sends his disciples out to do will not come without a deep personal cost, requiring a deep personal commitment to the One who is sending them. But that’s only fitting, after all, because these are the things the world will do to Jesus, and disciples are not above their teacher. Slaves are not above their master. It only makes sense that the followers of Jesus, who go into the world to do the kinds of things that Jesus does, will be treated the way that Jesus was treated.

It’s a worrisome picture though, because none of us gets off the hook, not if we want to follow Jesus. Because we too are apostles. We are sent ones, sent to be about the light-giving work of our teacher and Lord Jesus. We too are intended to be going into the world around us, announcing the good news that the kingdom of heaven has come near, and then become living examples of God’s kingdom light breaking into dark places. We are called to welcome the stranger and offer healing to the sick, give food to the hungry and clothe the naked, to care for the orphan and the widow, in these and so many other ways to reach out to those living on the margins and draw them into the circle of God’s love and concern expressed and lived out in our lives.

Here at Ascension, just like the disciples, we are answering that call – as individuals and as a congregation, we are doing amazing things to live out the gospel. Go into West Hall and look on the far wall at the collection bins, where you all bring food and hygiene products, diapers and cleaning supplies, clothing and reading materials and so much more for places like the Waukesha Food Pantry and the Hope Center and our prison ministry. There’s a mission of healing to El Salvador coming this summer, currently gathering simple things like bandages and toothbrushes and arts & crafts supplies; things that seem so basic to us but that make such a difference for the people who will receive them. There’s a group of people who gather once a month to take and serve lunch at Cross Lutheran, one of our partner congregations in Milwaukee. We have a whole care ministries team that offers ways for people to experience health and wholeness, from our pastoral assistants who visit and pray with and bring communion to people in the hospital or who are homebound, to our meal ministry for people going through a death or a birth or chronic illness, to Yoga classes this past year and Zumba classes this summer, and health screenings this August. We have people like Jo (Buth) who work with the refugee settlement ministry.

It’s inspiring and encouraging to think of the many ways that so many are involved in changing and improving the lives of others. But none of this comes without a price. We really can’t begin to compare our experience with that of the early disciples. They really did put their lives on the line to carry out the work Jesus sent them to do; we know that most of these original 12 were martyred for their faith; and most of us will never face anything remotely like that, though there are places in the world where people do put their lives at risk by professing their faith in Jesus. But to follow the way of Jesus and become a servant of others does cost us something. It takes time and money and energy and emotional investment and resources to make a difference – and sometimes we’re not willing to make even that much of a sacrifice. We are a busy people living in a busy world and sometimes we feel we are just barely managing to keep our own heads above water, barely keeping our own lives on track.

But the call of Jesus in this gospel is to do just that. To move past that selfishness that lives in all of us (me too!); to stop living our lives simply looking out for ourselves and what we think will make us happy, what we think will satisfy us, and to begin living like Jesus, following his example – to give, to serve, to welcome, to look out for others before we look out for number one, to hold nothing back because we know we have been given everything. If we try to find our lives the world’s way, ultimately we’ll lose them – but if we’re willing to lose our life for Jesus’ sake, he promises us that that’s when we find real life, true life, the life that really matters. The sacrifice may be great, but the rewards are even greater. So go ahead and give it a try. Dive in to do something that will make a difference in our world. Jesus promises a life that is beyond your wildest dreams.

Amen.

June 15, 2014 - Holy Trinity Sunday - Gathered and Sent

Gathered and Sent

Holy Trinity Sunday - June 15, 2014

Matthew 28:16-20

I recently heard a story about a woman whose husband died, and while that was sad – they were both in their young 50s - what really caught my attention was hearing that the widow began receiving cold calls from a dating service, inviting her to sign up – only a month after he died! I was shocked. It's hard to imagine the chutzpah required to make that kind of phone call, what kind of person can be that pushy and insensitive and so totally lacking in empathy that they would invade her life, rather than letting her mourn in peace.

I got to thinking about that story as I thought about the gospel for today and how we hear Jesus' words in this passage. These are his final words to his 11 remaining disciples, as the author of Matthew records them anyway, and in them, we hear Jesus tell them that they are to go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything Jesus had commanded them. And we who consider ourselves disciples of Jesus know that these words are meant for us too. We know that if we are disciples, we should be reproducing that discipleship in the lives of others. And it's not news that most of us are not comfortable with that role. We can feel our heart rates getting faster, our blood pressure rising, our palms starting to sweat at the mere idea of sharing our faith with someone, let alone helping them walk along the path of discipleship!

There are lots of reasons for that, but one of them, I think, is that we are afraid we'll come across like that dating service salesmen, that people will find us intrusive, rude, insensitive, overbearing, or maybe just plain weird for trying to foist our faith on them.

But then I thought of another story, another way of viewing this scenario. Some of you may know that for years before I became a pastor, I lived and worked in Rhode Island. I moved there fresh out of college with my college roommate and her then fiance (now husband), and outside of Heather and Mike, I knew no one. And wouldn't you know it, in less than 2 years, they both up and moved back to Pennsylvania to be closer to their families, and there I stayed. But I'm not sure how long I would have stayed there if it hadn't been for Joan and Vaughn. Joan and Vaughn and I all worked at the same place. Joan actually was my boss for the first year or so that I was there. And knowing that I was mostly alone, Joan had started inviting me to come along to different things – concerts, pow-wows – and eventually Thanksgiving dinner with her large family (she was the youngest of 8 siblings!). I was kind of the adopted stray – it became tradition that every year I'd join them around the big table, filled with immediate family and in-laws and the kids, and Joan’s boyfriend, then fiancé, then (and still) husband Vaughn (I had a good 3rd wheel vibe going on back then!). Vaughn and I also became good friends, and he too, took me in, asking me to tag along on camping and hiking adventures, movies, cookouts. During the 8 years I lived there, we became like family to each other – in a completely organic, natural way. We weren't pressuring each other to be friends. No one was trying to sell anyone anything. We just liked each other and wanted to spend time together.

Today in the church we celebrate Holy Trinity Sunday – which I'm pretty sure is why this passage is assigned to this day, since Jesus says in it, “baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit...” I'll be honest, there are times that I felt it was a stretch to use this Great Commission story as a link to the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. But recently I began to realize what a great connection is really there – not that the Great Commission helps us understand the mystery of the Trinity – God as three-in-one – so much, but that in thinking about the Trinity, we begin to understand better this call Jesus gives to his disciples, then and now. Because we tend to think that this commissioning is for individual people to be sent out into the world on God's mission – and then we feel guilty as individuals when we don't live this out in our lives, or if our attempts don't bear much fruit. But even Jesus never went out solo to do God's work. From the very beginning of his ministry, we see the Trinity at work, together; as Jesus is baptized in the Jordan River, the skies are ripped open, and the Holy Spirit descends like a dove on Jesus, as God the Father declares from heaven, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased...” From the very beginning, Jesus is sent from a family to represent a family. Relationship is at the very core of who God is – and Jesus is sent to make that relationship known – and then to grow God's family. You all know Sprint's latest campaign – to get people to join the Framily Plan? Their commercials have this odd assortment of folks who seemingly have nothing in common – they run the gamut of ages and races and interests and even species (there's a talking hamster in that exercise ball)! But the point is that family isn't just who you are related to by blood or marriage – and we see that in Jesus' life too, as he goes out, gathering disciples to himself, an odd assortment of men and women, who leave behind their biological families to follow. They eat and travel and worship and pray together until they become part of Jesus' family. They gather to learn the family traditions, the stories shared around a meal, the memories shared and passed down through the generations – and now, today in this passage, we see Jesus sending them to invite the world to become part of God's family, to join them at Christ's table. And while we certainly have the amazing stories of the Billy Graham revival-style events where many become disciples in one fell swoop in the New Testament, we know that that is not the predominate way that the church spreads down through the ages. It happens instead as the disciples are sent into the world and make relationships with the people they meet, and those people invite them into their homes and lives – and as they invest their time and energy in each others’ lives, more and more find themselves drawn into God's family.

That's good news on this Holy Trinity Sunday – that the root of discipleship is found in relationship – God's relationship within the divine self, and that love over flowing into the world, into our lives, and through us to the people around us. And so we gather together in this place at God’s invitation. We tell the family stories, we share a meal, we relive our history together – and then we are sent, not to do the hard sell or try to close the deal, but to be open to others, sharing our time, our lives, our interests, opening the way for what God is already doing in the world to operate in us, so that others will hear and experience the invitation of God to come join the family at the table. It's open to everyone. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

May 18, 2014 - Easter 5 - Jesus Leads Us Home

Jesus Leads Us Home

Easter 5 - May 18, 2014

John 14:1-14

Years ago, I went on a camping trip with a big group of my work friends. There were maybe 15 or 20 of us, and we went up to the White Mountains of New Hampshire for a long weekend & a day hike up one of the easier 4000-footers. I had gone hiking in the mountains before, but on this particular outing, I was totally outclassed. Our group had a woman in training for a triathlon & a recent ex-Marine & people who were just generally in much better shape than I was. So it wasn't long after we got going up the mountain that my younger sister & I were left in the dust. But that was okay, because we knew where we were going – UP! Just follow the trail – the trees were blazed with marks to keep us on the right path, so we trudged along at our own pace. Everything was fine, til we got almost to the top of the mountain. We came out into a little clearing in the trees, and there we found that the trail split, off to the right & to the left. And there were signs on a tree there that said what each trail led to. But that's when we discovered we really didn't know where we were going after all. We could hear the rest of the group somewhere nearby, but sound is tricky up there in the woods on the mountain & we couldn't figure out which way to go. By this time, we were tired and hungry and frustrated, & we didn't want to go the wrong way, so we just sat down on a log to wait, too unsure of ourselves to cotinue.

I suspect that the disciples felt something like this as they listened to Jesus talk that night. This whole scene takes place the night when Jesus will be handed over. Jesus & his followers gathered together for a meal, & while they eat, Jesus has been telling them about what is to come. This is his farewell speech, his final words to the disciples before his last fateful night on earth begins to unfold. During dinner, Jesus predicts that one of them will betray him & before you know it off goes Judas. Then, Jesus tells Peter that far from being willing to lay down his life for Jesus, Peter will deny Jesus three times before the morning.

The disciples can't make sense of this. They don't understand what Jesus is telling them. They’re not sure exactly what Jesus means, but they don't like the sounds of it. On the heels of his disturbing comments, Jesus says to them: “But don't let your hearts be troubled. My dad's house has lots of rooms. If that weren't true, would I tell you I'm going to prepare a place for you? Don't worry; you know the way to the place where I'm going.”

Jesus talks to the group like it should be crystal clear, but their responses show that it's about as clear to mud to them. Thomas is bold enough to put it into words for everybody: “Uh, excuse me, Lord, but we don't even know where you're going – so how can we know the way??” And we know that in the next few days, the disciples will be pulled in a bunch of different directions. They thought they were following a well-marked trail, but now they find themselves standing where the trails intersect & wondering which way to go now.

Not knowing where to turn next is familiar territory for most of us. We've all come out from what we thought was a clear trail, headed straight to our destination, and discovered that the trail wasn't as uncomplicated as we thought. We come out of the trees to a crossroads & suddenly realize that we don't have a clue about which way to go now. Following Jesus sounded relatively easy, and then we realize that somehow we've fallen behind, or even worse, that we're not even on the trail anymore & don't have any idea where we are or how to get back. When unexpected events shake us up & spin us around til we don't know the way back home anymore, sometimes all we can do is sit down where the trails intersect and wait, hoping we'll catch our bearings while we catch our breath.

Which is where we last left me with my sister Jess, sitting in the clearing, feeling tired & defeated & disappointed, & a bit angry too. Because making it to the top & seeing the view – that was supposed to be my reward. And I wasn't gonna get there – because it turned out we really didn't know where we were headed. We needed someone to show us the way, and everyone had gone ahead without us.

But as we sat there, eating the lunches we had carried up the mountain, the group came back. They said hello & then most of them headed back down the hill. But Vaughn, our leader, stayed. And when we were ready, he led us out to the summit, where there were no trees, nothing to block the breathtaking view of the White Mountains laid out all around us. And you know what? It was worth the whole stinkin' miserable trip! We wouldn't have gotten there on our own... we would've taken the other trail. But Vaughn knew just where we were going, & he made sure that we got there.

That's just what Jesus promises to do in today's gospel! I think that Thomas & the others got so focused on where they were supposed to be headed that they missed that part. Jesus said to them, “If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” Because even though Jesus has to go on without them for a little while, that doesn't mean that he's gonna leave them there to figure out the way home by themselves. He promises that he will not leave them alone, but is coming back. He knows just where they are going, & he will make sure that they get there. He won't desert them on the trail, but will come to walk with them, to lead them and guide them each step of the way.

Because Jesus himself is the Way. And that old saying that it's not about the destination, but about the journey – it's true. Sometimes we worry so much about where we're gonna end up & how we can make sure that we get there, that we lose sight of the Way that will lead us there. Jesus reminds us that the journey through life to Life starts & ends with him. It's a relationship that is sealed in our baptism, when we are named & claimed & marked with Christ's cross forever . That relationship continues as we follow along behind Jesus on the trail, learning to trust where he leads. And it goes on beyond the grave, when finally we reach the summit & see the view that will make it all worthwhile. Because no matter what happens along the way, we know that Jesus has prepared a place for us & he will lead us home.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

May 4, 2014 - Easter 3 - Broken-hearted but Burning

Broken-hearted But Burning

Easter 3 - May 4, 2014

Luke 24:13-35

The disciples were broken-hearted that first Easter day. Luke tells us the story of these two disciples, Cleopas and one left unnamed, not part of the 12, yet close enough to the story to have seen it unfold before their very eyes. That Holy Week – Jesus entering into Jerusalem to cheers and shouts of gladness. Maundy Thursday – Jesus and his friends gathering for a final meal. The time praying (or sleeping) in the garden. The betrayal. The arrest. The trial. Good Friday – Jesus hanging on a cross. Friends fleeing. Peter’s denial. Holy Saturday – a time of waiting and wondering, crying and grieving. And finally, Easter Sunday – the women going to the tomb, finding it empty, angels appearing to share the news that Jesus had risen. But the women’s words seemed to the other disciples an idle tale – especially after some others went to the tomb and found it empty – but did not see Jesus.

And after all of this, we join Cleopas and his friend on the road home, returning to Emmaus, walking and talking, trying to make sense of it all. They are dejected, disappointed. Jesus has died, leaving in his wake all of their unfulfilled dreams for what might have been. While they go, Jesus himself comes near, Luke says – but their eyes are kept from recognizing him. “What are you discussing?” Jesus asks, and they stop dead in their tracks, sad, but in disbelief that there is anyone who doesn’t know what’s been going on. “The things about Jesus of Nazareth,” they explain; “But we had hoped that he was the one…”

“We had hoped…”

Such sad words, encompassing such longing, such a sense of loss over what might have been. So many times we are stumbling through life, awash in grief or regret or longing. We had hoped… that our marriage would last forever, and now here we are going through a messy divorce, with disputes over shared custody and attempting to remain civil for the sake of the kids and yet hurting each other nonetheless. We had hoped… that the doctor would be able to prescribe an antibiotic to take care of that lingering sinus infection, only to have them run some tests and before we can catch our breath, starting chemotherapy for the leukemia we didn’t even suspect we had. We had hoped… to spend our golden years, retired and traveling, exploring, and enjoying an unhurried life with our beloved spouse of many years, only to have their life cut short by a heart attack. We had hoped… that the years of sobriety from addiction meant that the years of struggle were behind us, only to have the urge to use come sweeping back in with overwhelming power. We had hoped. We had hoped. We had hoped.

This is where the disciples found themselves that first Easter day, hoping for things that might have been, and now will never be, and now just seeking a way forward, a way to put the past behind them and move on with life into an unknown future.

And then Jesus shows up. (I told you last week that he has a way of doing that, right?) He comes to them in their journey of grief, walking along with them, even though they don’t know it. Jesus comes and listens to them pouring out their sad story – and then he tells them a story of his own. He calls them back to God’s word, walking with them through those sacred stories of God’s history with God’s people, one by one, interpreting these things about himself in the scriptures.

Now, not all of us would be too willing to listen to someone tell us how the Bible has all the answers to our questions, especially in the middle of the worst days of our lives. But there’s something about this stranger and the way he explains things that make the disciples want to keep him around. At the end of this 7-mile walk, they are anxious to hear more of what this man has to say, and they invite him in to stay with them. It’s classic ancient world hospitality, to open your home to a stranger with no place to stay, to share a meal with them – and so they urge Jesus to stay, and give him the place of honor. The meal is prepared, and Jesus takes his place at the table, offering the blessing over their meal, as he has done so many times before. He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them – and just like that, their eyes are opened and they see this man for who he really is: Jesus – risen from the dead!

And just like that, their hearts go from broken to burning! Hindsight is 20/20, they say – and now, having realized who was walking and talking with them all that way, they realize their hearts were burning the whole time. Something special, something strange, was going on as they were on the way, but it’s only in retrospect that they are able to see it for what it is. But now that they know, there’s no way they can keep it to themselves. Up they get, racing the whole seven miles back to Jerusalem to see the other disciples – people they had left just as broken-hearted as themselves that morning – wanting them to know what they know, to see what they have seen, to experience what they experienced. Their hearts are burning with this great unexpected amazing good news that Jesus has been raised, and they need to share it with their friends.

I suspect that there are many of us who sit in this place this morning with broken hearts. We come into this place, dejected or despairing, just looking for a way to move on, no longer hoping for what might have been, but not sure of what will be. We may have no expectation to meet Jesus in this place, maybe we wouldn't recognize him if we passed him in the street, or even if he dropped in to walk alongside us for a while as we try to make sense of the events that have taken place.

But that doesn't mean he isn't here! Even if we can’t see him or feel his presence, that doesn't mean that he has abandoned us to walk this road alone. He walks with us through the love and support of friends and family, doctors and therapists and 12-step sponsors. He comes to us in this place, shining forth from the word of God. He makes himself known in the blessing and breaking and giving of the bread and in the pouring of the wine that we share in communion. And though it may not happen as quickly as with these two disciples, Jesus keeps walking with us, reaching out to us over and over again, until our broken hearts catch fire, burning with his promise and love and resurrection hope that life can begin again, and sending us running to share the good news with our broken-hearted brothers and sisters – telling the story of what happened on our road, and how Jesus has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.

Amen.

Easter 2 - April 27, 2014 - Jesus Keeps Showing Up

Jesus Keeps Showing Up

Easter 2 - April 27, 2014

John 20:19-31

Sometimes when we read these stories from the Bible, we forget that the people we are reading about were living these stories in real time. We've heard them so often (and this gospel story gets read every year on the Sunday after Easter) that we don’t always realize that Jesus’ followers didn't know how the story was going to turn out. They couldn't turn to the back of the book and read the final few pages; they couldn't go online to check out the synopsis of the film while they were watching so they wouldn't be too taken aback by what is yet to take place – not that I've ever done anything like that. No, these men and women just had to live the story moment by moment, unsure what was going to come next. And so even though Jesus had told them more than once that he had to die and then on the third day rise again, they really didn't know what was happening that first Good Friday and Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.

And so we join them on this first Easter evening, and though Mary Magdalene had come from the graveside and brought Peter and the disciple Jesus loved running to see the empty tomb, and though they had witnessed the limp grave clothes lying where a body once had been, but was no longer, and though Mary had come again rejoicing, announcing to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!”, there they were that night, locked behind closed doors that for fear of the Jewish leaders, worried and afraid of what the future held in store for them.

And suddenly, despite the locked doors, Jesus himself shows up, offering them his peace, showing them his scars, breathing the gift of the Holy Spirit on them, sending them into the world on a mission.

But poor Thomas, doomed to forever be known as a doubter – he wasn't there with the rest of them that night. When he comes back, the other disciples are a-flutter with the news, overflowing with excitement – “We have seen the Lord!” But Thomas doesn't believe them. He knows the old saying, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” He wants to see and experience it for himself. “Unless I see the mark of the nails and put my finger in the mark and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” Thomas declares.

Thomas and the other ten remaining disciples aren't the only ones who know what it is like to live locked away from the world, hiding in our fears and anxieties, drowning in our doubt, trying to make sense of the things that have happened to us, finding it impossible to believe the words of promise and hope and comfort that others try to speak to us in the midst of our personal tragedies and grief, and our dismay at the hurt of the world around us. The dreaded diagnosis. The ultrasound that reveals a life-threatening birth defect. The loss of a job. The heart-breaking break-up. The tragic car accident. The depth of depression. The abyss of addiction. Missing flights and missing children. Stories of abuse and violence. Children bullied or taken advantage of. No wonder we sometimes long to hide away and lock the world out, to hunker down with a few trusted, remaining friends or family and ride out the storm. And though some may try to tell us to trust in God, to hope in the promise of Jesus, it’s not always enough. We want to see him for ourselves. We need to experience the presence of the risen Christ in person. We need Jesus himself to show up!

But thanks be to God, that’s just what Jesus does! We see it here over and over again in John’s gospel: Jesus calling Mary’s name in the garden Easter morning, Jesus walking through the locked doors of the house on Easter night, coming back again a week later to the same place – with Thomas there that time – and Jesus reaches out to him with wounded hands – “Do not doubt, but believe.” Jesus shows up, sharing peace one more time, promising blessings yet to come on all those who have not seen and yet will come to believe. Next week, we’ll hear about Jesus showing up again to two followers on the road to Emmaus. In the middle of suffering and fear, Jesus shows up. In the face of grief and bewilderment, Jesus shows up. When people are lost and directionless, Jesus shows up. At the moment of deepest sorrow, when all hope seems lost, Jesus shows up. All throughout the gospels, Jesus keeps showing up – and he’s never stopped!

That’s the blessing of our gathering here this week, and every week, and every time and every place where we gather. Jesus keeps showing up. He’s present among those who have experienced the risen Christ, who echo the words of the disciples: “We have seen the Lord!” He’s here with those of us who have only heard tales from others and aren't sure if we can or should believe something that seems too good to be true. He shows up among us, faithful and doubting, locked behind closed doors in fear, or boldly going into the world wherever he sends us. No matter what we say or do or think, Jesus keeps showing up!

He comes to us in the stories from scripture, stories shared about ordinary, average women and men – the ones whose names we know – Mary Magdalene and Peter and Paul – and those who remain nameless – the woman at the well, the man born blind, the hemorrhaging woman, the man who pleads for an epileptic son.
Jesus shows up in the waters of baptism, cleansing us, claiming us, raising us up to new life and calling us his own. He shows up in this meal we share each week, proclaiming, “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood, shed for you.”

He shows up in our worship – in the songs that we sing and the sermons that we hear, in the peace that we share and the gifts that we offer. He shows up in the world around us – in the giving and receiving of forgiveness between family and friends, in the support and hope and love offered around a hospital bed or graveside. No matter where we are or where we've been, full of faith or full of doubt or somewhere in between, Jesus keeps showing up, and thanks be to God, he always will.

Amen.

April 13, 2014 - Palm Sunday - Who Is This?

Who Is This?

Palm Sunday - April 13, 2014

Matthew 21:1-11

We’ve come to that time of year again. It’s the season when the world around us sits up and takes notice of the story of God the Father and of Jesus. There's the Gospel of Jesus' Wife, the dating of which has recently been authenticated as coming from the late 700s, making waves just in time for Holy Week. Entertainment media offer various interpretations of who God is and what role Jesus might have to play in our lives too. Just since late February, we’ve had three movies come out in theaters around this topic of the divine: The Son of God, God’s Not Dead, and Noah, and Heaven is For Real comes out this week. Not be outdone, The History Channel is all set to re-air the series The Bible, which is what The Son of God is taken from, over Easter weekend.

Now you might have guessed from the movies I’ve talked about in previous sermons that I don’t get out to the movies much; I don’t even get to watch movies without interruption at home on Netflix or DVD very often, so you probably won’t be surprised when I tell you that I haven’t seen any of these movies yet. But I’m intrigued by their existence. It strikes me that there is in our culture, even as we have moved beyond Christendom, a deep curiosity out there about the things and person of God as Father and Son (the Holy Spirit often gets left out of the equation). There is some hunger, even and perhaps especially among those who call themselves Christian, to know more about God, to go deeper into the story, to understand who God is and what God does and how these events speak to us even today. We long to have answers to the question of who Jesus is.

It’s an age-old question, one we see asked boldly and directly in the gospel of Matthew this morning. The time has come for the Passover festival and Jesus is about to enter the city of Jerusalem for his final week. Over the course of his ministry, word has been spreading about Jesus and what he can do, and so as he comes to the city gates, crowds have gathered to welcome him, to cheer and rejoice, to cry out, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” They have high hopes for this Jesus, that he will be the one promised, the messiah who will save their people, overthrowing Roman rule and occupation and taking his rightful place as king of their nation. They make a ruckus, throwing clothes down on the path, cutting branches off of trees and laying them on the road, a kind of ancient day red carpet for Jesus to ride in on.

But there are those in the city of Jerusalem who haven’t been paying attention to this peasant carpenter from Nazareth. Though Jesus is well known in the country and the outskirts, his fame hasn’t quite spread to Jerusalem yet. And so, as the people lead and follow Jesus in a triumphant parade, the crowds in the city are stymied. Confused. They are in a turmoil, Matthew says. “Who is this?’ they exclaim, wondering who this visiting dignitary might be who draws such attention and deserves such acclaim.

“Who is this?”

It’s the central question, isn’t it? This is the heart of the matter for us as followers of Jesus. It is the focus, not just of this Palm Sunday, but of the whole season of Lent that has gone before, and the Holiest of Weeks that lies ahead of us. We have spent Lent hearing the stories of Jesus, watching him encounter all sorts of people and beings, and all of them have this same question in the back of their mind. As they have seen how he speaks and interacts, as they have watched what he does, this is what they want to know. Who is this? From the devil in the wilderness who calls Jesus’ identity into question: “If you are the Son of God…” he says three times as he tries to tempt Jesus; to Nicodemus who comes to Jesus at night, saying, “Teacher, we know that no one can do these things you do apart from God”; to the Samaritan woman at the well, “Come, see a man who has told me everything I have ever done. He can’t be the Messiah, can he?’; to the man born blind, whose spiritual sight grows with every interrogation by the people around him – from “I do not know where he is,” to “He is a prophet,” to “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing,” to a final face to face encounter with Jesus, who asks him, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” to which he replies, “Lord, I believe,”; to Lazarus and Mary and Martha, who hear Jesus say, “I am the resurrection and the life…”; and finally, to this day, when some welcome Jesus as prophet and warrior king and others are shaken, saying “Who is this?” All of these meetings, everything has been leading up to this, and we may think that we know him, we may think we know what he is about. We may think we don’t need to hear the old, old story again, that we can’t afford the time to come to worship on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, that it will be enough to show up Easter morning to rejoice and celebrate in the year’s high point of festive worship.

But think again. Because the stories of this week to come are where Jesus reveals himself most fully. To miss the events of Holy Week and skip right to Easter is to miss the point. Here we will see Jesus as humble servant, kneeling at the feet of his friends, tenderly washing them, even Judas who will betray him, even Peter who will deny him. Here we will hear him give us our mission: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Here we will witness Jesus, betrayed and handed over to the authorities, deserted, tried, convicted and hung on a cross to die, willingly giving up his life so that we may see the depth of his love for us and for this whole world, that we may begin to know how far that love is willing to go to restore and redeem us. Here we see Jesus revealed, power arising out of weakness, love winning out over death and anger and fear, life emerging victorious from death.

Who is this? Come this week and see.

Amen.

March 23, 2014 - Lent 3 - Worshipers Who Witness

Worshippers Who Witness

Lent 3 - March 23, 2014

John 4:5-42

Watch & listen to this sermon here.

I imagine that many of you are familiar with the song, “If We Are the Body,” by Casting Crowns. But in case you’re not, or you need a refresher because your coffee hasn’t had a chance to kick in quite yet, the verses describe first a girl coming into worship, trying to avoid attention, trying to melt into the crowd, hearing the other girls laugh at her behind her back, and then a man, a traveler far from home who also seeks to be invisible, only to meet the judgmental stares of the people around him, letting him know he’s really not welcome, that he’d have been better just staying out on the road. And then the chorus asks these questions:

[But] if we are the body, why aren’t his arms reaching?
Why aren’t his hands healing?
Why aren’t his words teaching?
And if we are the body, why aren’t his feet going?
Why is his love not showing them there is a way?
There is a way…

Now, I don’t know how you hear these words, but whenever I hear them or sing them in worship, I take them as a call for me to stop judging people based only on what I can see on the surface, as a call for us as the church, as the Body of Christ, to be open and welcoming and seeking to live out the love of Jesus, that we would go past all of the boundaries we set up between us and others, reaching out for a hurting world. And obviously, that’s a worthwhile goal. It’s certainly something we should strive for.

But I was wondering this week about those times when we are on the flip side of this song, the times when we are the girl who tries to be invisible and feels mocked, the times when we feel like the man out on the road, not welcomed in, all of those times when we feel the burden of being an outsider looking in and longing to belong. I was thinking of the ways we sometimes feel like we need to hide or cover up who we really are, lest we suddenly find ourselves cast out by the court of public opinion. I was reflecting on the masks we wear in public, even and often especially in worship – masks that try to cover up the depression or anger that wells up within us, the addictions with drugs or alcohol we or someone we love fights against, the loneliness we experience or the grief over a lost loved one that we carry as a wound that lingers for years, the relationship teetering on the brink of the end – and yet we pretend to those we meet that everything is okay. We are masters of this, hiding our vulnerabilities, numbing our pain and anxiety and stress with food or TV or the Internet or constant busyness, never letting our guard drop, never letting anyone in, rarely letting anyone else have even the opportunity to be the hands and feet and heart of Christ to us.

But the woman at the well who we encounter this week in John’s gospel has no such mask. There is no way for her to pretend about her struggles. People in Sychar know all about her, know her life story: married 5 times and now living with a man who is not her husband. This doesn’t necessarily mean what we’ve often been taught to believe it means. We assume she’s promiscuous, living in sin, hopping from man to man; but remember for a moment how life was in Jesus’ time, how women were treated mostly as property, at the mercy of their fathers or husbands. It’s just as likely that this woman has been widowed one or more times, or cast aside by these men because she was barren, unable to give them children, and that her husbands have divorced her one after the other as it was their right to do for pretty much any reason – and that she is now living with another man simply out of necessity if she is to survive. Perhaps she is shunned by the other women in town because they fear her bad luck is contagious, or they just don’t know what to say to a woman who is so beaten down by life. But whatever the reason, this unnamed Samaritan woman comes to the well in the heat of the noon sun, when you normally wouldn’t meet anyone else there, coming once again to draw water for her household’s daily needs. And it is here that she comes face to face with Jesus. Jesus, who has the prophet’s gift of knowing things about her that he has no natural way of knowing. Jesus, who has his longest conversation with her out of anyone in John’s gospel. Jesus, who senses her thirst to know and be known, her inability to hide her hurts, and her hunger to be welcomed and accepted just as she is. Jesus, who offers her living water that she may never know thirst again, a spring of water gushing up to eternal life. Jesus, who then invites her, shunned Samaritan woman that she is, to worship the Father in spirit and in truth.

Did you hear that? Jesus calls her to worship in truth. To put aside any pretense about who she is, to set aside the masks that she may try in vain to wear as self-protective gear, to come before God just as she is: vulnerable, broken, human. “…for the Father seeks such as these to worship him” (v. 23).

This is the life of worship Jesus calls us into today too. To stop spending so much time and energy on hiding who we are and to be real. To stop wearing the mask of self-sufficiency and admit our need for help, for welcome, for acceptance. To acknowledge before God and each other our brokenness and sin and pain, trusting that God can handle it, daring to believe that God can heal us, despite ourselves, having faith in the One who offers us living water that will quench our thirst, a spring that gushes up to eternal life.

We see what happens when the woman at the well does this… when she sees that Jesus sees her for all that she is and all that she may be, she drops her water jar – symbol of her thirst and longing – and races back to town, the same town that has set her aside and dismissed her for so long. She runs back, the water of life overflowing from her heart. “Come, see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” she says. “He can’t be the Messiah, can he?” And something about her is so profoundly different, so radically transformed that the townsfolk come hurrying to meet Jesus. The woman becomes a worshiper who witnesses, daring to speak of this One who has found her and known her, not worrying that she’s not qualified or not good enough for anyone else to believe. In fact, I’d bet it’s the very fact that her brokenness was so well known in town that causes the people to come and see, curious about who this was that caused such a dramatic change in her.

Just so with us! We spend so much time worrying about appearances and looking like a “good Christian”, whatever that means, that we are afraid of sharing our story with others – but so often, it is when we reveal our failings and frailties and our experience that Jesus knows and loves us anyway, without judgment, without condemnation, but instead with compassion and love – that’s when we become worshipers with a witness.
That’s when we become part of the body of Christ, arms reaching, hands healing, words teaching. The people around us? They don’t need a perfect example, they need a living example, someone who has been where they have been, or at least has struggled too – and can testify, witness to the ways that Jesus knows, claims, heals, restores, invites, loves us all – so that they may come to see for themselves and come to believe that Jesus is truly the Savior of the world.

Go, be a worshiper who witnesses.

Amen.

March 16, 2014 - Lent 2 - Born of the Spirit

Born of the Spirit

Lent 2 - March 16, 2014

John 3:1-17

Watch & listen to this sermon here.

A story from the internet:

Once upon a time, twins were conceived in the same womb.
Weeks passed, and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy, "Isn't it great that we were conceived? Isn't it great to be alive?”
Together the twins explored their world. When they found their mother's cord that gave them life they sang for joy, "How great is our mother's love that she shares her own life with us."
As the weeks stretched into months the twins noticed how much each was changing. They began to feel gentle squeezes from the womb around them.

"What does this mean?" asked the one.
"It means that our stay in this world is drawing to an end," said the other one.
"But I don't want to go," said the first twin. "I want to stay here always."
"We have no choice," said the other, "but maybe there is life after birth!"
"But how can it be?" responded the one. "We will shed our life cord, and how is life possible without it? Besides, we have seen evidence that others were here before us and none of them has returned to tell us that there is life after birth."
And so the one fell into deep despair saying, "If conception ends with birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It's meaningless! Maybe there is no mother at all."
"But there has to be," protested the other. "How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?"
"Have you ever seen our mother?" said the one. "Maybe she lives in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good."

And so the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear and finally the moment of birth arrived. When the twins had passed from their world, they opened their eyes and cried, for what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams.

Birth is an awesome, exciting, but sometimes frightening thing. For as much as we know about it in our day and age, as far as medical science and technology have come, the process of bringing a new life into being in this world is mysterious. Even though we can find out the gender months before a baby is born, so we can pick names and buy clothes and decorate the nursery; and even though we can schedule a day to induce labor when baby overstays their welcome; and even though we can plan a C-section birth when there is the concern over complications, there is still so much that we don’t know, so much that remains outside of our control. Babies don’t always come when we expect or plan for them; they don’t always cooperate with ultrasounds and medications and procedures designed to give us the illusion that we are in control here. And don’t even get me started on what happens with our carefully planned schedules and our misconceptions about how life will be after they are here…

But the story I just read of twins talking in the womb helps us imagine how much more out of control it feels for the one being born. They have no experience of the world that waits for them outside the womb. In their mother’s body, they are bathed in amniotic fluid, they constantly hear the rhythmic swooshing of their mother’s heartbeat, they are fed continually through the umbilical cord. And though this story describes the twins’ wonder at a world that exceeds their fondest dreams, we can also imagine that it is terrifying to suddenly burst into a world filled with light and sound and cold air on their skin. What a shock to their system! Well might they long to be back where they came from!

This morning, we hear a familiar story from the Gospel of John. Nicodemus, a prominent religious leader, comes to Jesus by night, seeking to learn more about him and what he is about, to see how God is at work in Jesus’ life, to get some answers to the burning questions that are keeping him awake. And Jesus answers these unspoken questions bluntly. He gets right to the point. “No one can see God’s kingdom unless they are born from above, born again, first."

Nicodemus is stymied, confused. He takes Jesus literally. “How can someone be born again? You can’t go back into your mother’s womb and re-enter the world!” Hard to imagine – but there’s something powerfully appealing about that, isn't there? Who wouldn't like the chance to start over, to begin again?

But “No,” Jesus says. He’s not talking about a physical birth. He’s talking about a spiritual rebirth. “No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.” And much like physical birth, there is so much beyond our control here. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it,” Jesus says, “but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (v. 8) Try as we may to manufacture it or harness it, the Spirit who bears us into new life is not something or someone we can command. And this kingdom of God, the place where God’s will rules – it’s a whole new world, unlike anything we've ever known. Much like the twins in the womb, it is a world beyond our imagination, and we have a hard time sometimes even believing that it could exist. We may prefer to stay in the world we know, rather than take a chance on the unknown. We hesitate to let go and let God, as the saying goes, to surrender to God bringing to birth a new thing in our lives, because giving up control can be terrifying. We see this in our individual lives; we see it in congregations. Some of us may be experiencing that now as we stand here on the cusp of Ascension Arise – hearing God call us to a huge task, one that will set Ascension free to multiply God’s mission and ministry in and through this place and you, this people – and we may wonder if it’s too much, too soon, if it wouldn't perhaps be better to wait and move forward another day.

And yet the Holy Spirit is at work, even now, laboring to bring new life to birth – in you, in me, in all of us. She is bringing the new life that comes from above, from the depth of God’s love for us – light bursting into our darkness, belief breaking through our unbelief. It is the sheltered but confined life of certainty in the womb suddenly shattered by the wide open spaces and possibilities of eternal life – which, let me remind you, isn't just about what happens when we die, but about who we are and how we live in the here and now! It’s about abundant life lived in hope and faith and trust centered in the One who gives us this life.

This is the quest – and the promise – of the Holy Spirit: to bring the things of God, the will of God, the love of God to birth in each of us and in the life of the church, that we may learn to see with the eyes of God, to hear with the ears of God, to work with the hands of God, to love with the heart of God, who loved the world so much that God sent Jesus, the only Son, to save the world – not to condemn it, but in order that the world might be saved through him and be born into this eternal life. It is a mystery that is beyond our control, but one that we are blessed to be part of. Thanks be to God.

Amen.

March 5, 2014 - Ash Wednesday - A Fast That Lasts

A Fast That Lasts

Isaiah 58:1-12

Ash Wednesday - March 5, 2014

What are you giving up for Lent?

Every year we have conversations like this, whether they happen at home with our families, or around the coffee pot at work, or across the miles with our Facebook friends as we enter into these 40 days, seeking to draw closer to God, to repent, to live lives that better reflect what we believe.

Fasting – giving something up – is one of the ways that we seek to do that. We hope that by giving up something - chocolate or alcohol or meat or Facebook or whatever it is - that we’ll somehow better understand and appreciate the sacrifice Christ made for us on the cross. We want to empty ourselves before God and so remember our dependence on the only One who can truly fill us. We yearn to give something up in recognition of the One who gives everything to us.

That’s fasting at its best, at its most pure, and yet, as I look back on fasts of my past, I wonder how successful I have ever been, how useful this Lenten discipline has been in accomplishing these things. Once in college, I gave up chocolate. Another year I stopped using the internet after a certain hour in the evening. I even did an actual fast from all food one Good Friday – but I have to admit that that was really a desire to get over a dieting plateau dressed up in fancy religious garb; it really had nothing to do with my sense of repentance or longing to be closer to God.

That’s the trouble with fasting. We want our hearts to be in the right place. We want to do the right thing. We want to please God – and yet it’s so easy to get it backwards. Easy for pride to sneak in on the heels of our humility. Easy for our self-interest and our hope for self-improvement to masquerade as repentance.

That’s what is going on in the second reading we hear from the book of Isaiah today. These are folks who have the outward forms down pat. They are religious and community leaders who have experienced what it means to be far from God, led away into captivity and exile in Babylon as a result of their communal sin, their failure to live up to God’s expectations. Now, at long last, they have returned to the Promised Land - their ancestral home - just as God had promised. But this new life is not what they expected. It’s not all sunshine and roses. It’s not been an easy transition. Instead, it’s been hard work, as they seek to rebuild the city of Jerusalem and God’s temple, as they try to restore their relationships with the people the Babylonian forces had left behind – the ones who were too poor and vulnerable to be seen as any kind of threat. They’re struggling, and so they turn again to God, calling for the people to fast, in hopes that this will get God’s attention, that God will turn to them and help them. But their solemn observances and religious rituals go unnoticed by God, and they cry out, "Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?" They are mystified about why God is not responding to them.

But God is not interested in empty ritual that does nothing to transform everyday lives. These people, God says, serve their own interest on their fast day. They oppress their workers, they quarrel and fight, all while they put on a show of humility and repentance. “Is this what you call fasting?” God says. Hear God’s word from the Message version of the Bible: “This is the kind of fast day I’m after: to break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation in the workplace, free the oppressed, cancel debts. What I’m interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families…”

In the words of an article I read this week: “Make your sacrifice meaningful, not miserable.” Choose a fast that will last. Fast in ways that will transform you – and the world around you! Fast from affluence and indifference and privilege, give up judgment and grudges and pride. Leave behind something that is getting in the way of your relationship with God and God’s kingdom coming in your life! Do this, not out of habit or cultural/religious pressure to conform or some misunderstanding that this is what God requires of you, but in order to make room for God to do something new in your life. Enter into the struggle against your own sinful self and find solidarity with the poor and marginalized. Wrestle with your apathy and complacency and find yourself on God’s road to restoration. Break a habit that blocks the way to wholeness and experience God’s healing.

That’s the invitation of Ash Wednesday, and the whole season of Lent – to be real with God about who we are and what we need, to admit that no matter how hard we try, we can’t do any of these things on our own – but then hear God’s promise to us – that our brokenness is where God shows up most powerfully, that when we cry for help, God answers, “Here I am!” And in our trying, imperfect and incomplete as it may be, God uses us – our lives begin to glow in the darkness around us, reflecting God’s own glory and light. Leaning on God, we experience the fullness of God’s life, even in parched, empty places. We become for others like a well-watered garden, a spring that never runs dry – a place of nourishment and refreshment. Then, God says, the rubble of the past will not get in the way of building anew, and we become a place, a people where God is at work to redeem and rebuild and restore. This is the kind of fast God longs for – one that draws us closer to God and opens our heart to our neighbors. This year, may God help us enter into a fast that lasts.

Amen.

February 16, 2014 - Epiphany + 6 - Relationship Above Rules

Relationship Above Rules

Matthew 5:21-37

Epiphany + 6 - February 16, 2014

Watch the sermon here.

Not too long ago, I had a picture come across my Facebook feed. Maybe some of you have seen it too. It’s a photo of a young boy, looks like he’s maybe 4 or 5 years old, and he’s stretched out, laying on his belly on the deck of his house on a beautiful sunny day. All of his body, that is, except his feet, which are still firmly inside the house. The caption on it said, “Future lawyer? He was told not to set foot outside the house.” It’s a classic case of someone who knows and understands the letter of the law but misses the spirit underneath it. Technically, this young boy is obeying what he was told, but of course, we all know that’s not really what his parents meant. He ignored the real intent of what they wanted him to do.

We get a similar picture from the gospel reading for today. Once again, we join Jesus and his listeners as he delivers what we’ve come to know as the Sermon on the Mount, and today we pick up right where we left off last week. Jesus has just finished saying “…unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” (Matt. 5:20) and then he goes into this teaching that makes it sound like he’s laying out the way to become more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees. “You have heard it said,” Jesus says, “But I say to you…” Over and over again, Jesus lays out the situations. He talks about what the religious law and commandments say – Don't murder, don't commit adultery, don't abandon your spouse (that's what divorce amounted to back then), don't swear falsely. These are what the rules are, Jesus says. Everybody knows them, and nobody knows them better than the scribes and Pharisees. “But,” Jesus says, “Don't be too sure of yourself.” Don't strain your arm patting yourself on the back because you haven't murdered anyone or because you've been physically faithful to your spouse and have followed through on whatever it is you “swore to God” you'd do. The scribes and the Pharisees – and lots of other people for that matter – manage to follow the letter of the law, but the whole time, they’re really lying on the deck, keeping just feet inside the sliding glass door.

On the surface, it doesn’t look too hard to follow these basic commandments, right? But then Jesus raises the bar. “You have heard it said… But I say to you…” Never murdered anyone? Okay, but I bet you've been angry with them. Never cheated on your spouse, but you've looked at someone with lust, haven't you or given the time & energy that should go to the person you’ve committed your life to to something else – your work, your hobbies, TV, your smart phone? Carried out the vows you made to the Lord, but why is it that your word alone isn't good enough for people to believe you'll do what you say you'll do?

I imagine that some of the people listening that day were shocked and dismayed at what they heard Jesus saying. His words worry us too – because if following the letter of the law isn’t enough, if what we think in our minds and feel in our hearts counts too, if our inner motivation - not just our outward behavior - makes a difference, then what hope do we have? How can we ever measure up? Because these examples Jesus gives us reveal to us in no uncertain terms that none of us is off the hook. None of us can perfectly monitor our actions, let alone our thoughts and emotions! If the scribes and Pharisees, the ones who studied God’s law and taught it to others, weren’t righteous enough to enter the kingdom of heaven, how can we ever expect to be?!

That's because we think that what Jesus says here is all about fulfilling the law. We think that Jesus is mainly concerned with us learning to follow the rules perfectly, inside and out, just for the sake of following the rules. Our main motivation for following the rules is so we can avoid punishment – the judgment or the council or the hell of fire that Jesus talks about – or because we think we can somehow live up to the rules and so earn our place in God's good graces, so we can deserve to enter the kingdom of heaven someday.

But we've got it all wrong. Because even though our main concern may be following the rules so that we can avoid judgment or earn rewards, what Jesus really cares about is our relationships. The rules aren't there simply to give us a moral checklist to follow. They’re not there to keep us trapped in the house instead of running around on the deck enjoying a sunny day. They're there to help us to learn how to live with God and with each other. When Jesus is asked elsewhere in Matthew about what commandment in the law is the greatest or most important (Mt. 22:36), this is what Jesus says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (Mt. 22:37-40). (That's in chapter 22, in case you want to look at it later.)

Love God. Love your neighbor as yourself. That's what all the commandments, all the laws boil down to. They're there to show us what it would mean if we really did love God and our neighbor.

But it isn't enough simply to follow the letter of the law. It’s not enough to keep our feet inside the sliding door while the rest of us is outside the house. Because we can technically obey the law, while while the whole time we are neglecting the spirit of what God desires. It's easy enough most of the time to keep the commandments, until we realize that God's law goes much deeper than our outward acts and down into our hearts too. God's will for us extends into the core of who we are. And it's not about the rules so much as it is about the relationships. Underneath these laws Jesus talks about there is a deep concern for community, for how people live with and treat one another.

And so Jesus lays out a vision here, one that reveals something about what it looks like when God's will reigns in our lives, when God's followers live out that prayer for God's will to be done on earth as it is in heaven... Because when God's love rules in our lives, we stop worrying so much about obeying the law to keep God happy or avoid making God mad. We start to see ourselves as the beloved, cherished children of God that we are. We start behaving as the salt and light Jesus tells us we are – and we look beyond wooden obedience and slavish rule following to see what God's heart desires for us: a community of people where everyone matters, where we learn to let go of anger and make the first move toward reconciliation, where we stop objectifying others and see them as human beings, where a person's word is good enough and there's no need to swear to God to convince anyone that you can be trusted. It's a community where we seek after health and wholeness and after those things that give life to each other. This is the kingdom Jesus ushers in. It's the kingdom he lives out. It's the kingdom he invites us to enter and live in even now. It's not about rules. It's about relationships. It's not about the law. It's about love – God's love for each of us, the love that then spills over from us to each other. Let's let that love rule.

Amen.

February 2, 2014 - Presentation of our Lord - Revealing Light

Revealing Light

Luke 2:22-40

Presentation of our Lord - February 2, 2014

Watch the sermon here.

On this Groundhog Day, I couldn't help but think of the movie by the same name. You remember that one, right? The one with Bill Murray as Phil Connors, the weatherman from Pittsburgh who is sent to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to cover the hoopla that is Groundhog Day, when everyone gathers and waits with bated breath to see if the long winter is nearly over or if we’ll have to wait 6 more weeks for spring? Phil goes resentfully, hating the assignment, hating the town, hating the whole thing, and just longing for it to be over so he can high tail it out of town, only to be stuck by a huge snowstorm that makes him spend another night there. And so he goes to bed, sets his alarm, and goes to sleep, looking forward to making his escape early the next morning.

Except that when he wakes up, it’s to the same song on the radio, and the same words from the same DJ. At first Phil thinks it’s just a bad case of déjà vu, but gradually it dawns on him that it is Groundhog Day again. Phil is stuck in a never-ending loop, going to bed and waking up every morning to find that he is condemned to live the same lousy day over and over again, with no hope of escape, no matter what he tries.

Sometimes our lives feel like Groundhog Day, don’t they? Sometimes our lives just feel like they’re stuck, that we are caught in a loop that has us reliving the same day over and over again. It could be the mind-numbing job with the irritating co-workers and the demanding boss. Maybe it’s the rounds of chemotherapy and all of the body-wracking side effects that go along with them while we wait to find out if they've killed off the cancer that threatens our lives. Perhaps it’s your battle against the depression that drains you dry and leaves you struggling just to get out of bed and get dressed in the morning. There are fights with parents or children or spouses that feel unresolvable, like we’ll never get to a place of agreement and peace and harmony. It’s the daily grind of caring for our little children or older loved ones who are no longer able to take care of themselves, and though we love them and are happy to do it, my goodness, wouldn't it be nice to get a break from the monotony of it all once in a while?! And we wonder along with Phil if these days will ever end, what we need to do to escape this place where we never really wanted or expected to be in the first place. And perhaps we wonder where God is and why God is taking so long to show up and rescue us!

I suspect that both Simeon and Anna had days like that too. Luke is the only gospel to tell us about them. And from what Luke tells us, we know that Simeon and Anna have been waiting for God’s salvation to show up for a long time. Simeon has probably outlived his wife, his siblings, his friends. He is a righteous and devout man, Luke says, looking forward to God’s coming consolation for his people and nation. He is waiting for God to act, for God to send God’s revealing light into the world, to give him a sign, because it has “been revealed to him that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah” (v 26). And so now, he’s just waiting for that to happen so he can die in peace.

Anna, too, is on in years – 84 years old, to be precise, and I don’t have to tell you that’s a LONG time to live in the ancient world. She’s pretty much taken up residence in the temple, worshiping there with fasting and prayer, night and day. And she is also looking for God’s coming redemption, not knowing when it will come, perhaps beginning to wonder if that redemption will appear in her lifetime, waiting in the darkness for God’s light to dawn.

And suddenly, there he is in the temple, nothing like what they were expecting. He comes carried in the arms of Mary and Joseph, a poor couple who travel to the temple to present their firstborn, to give his life into God’s hands, and to make the required sacrifices for Mary’s purification after childbirth. Jesus – 40 days old, just shy of 6 weeks. Can you imagine? Simeon is drawn to the temple, guided by the Holy Spirit, and seeing them, he knows. This is it. This is God’s salvation, and not just for Simeon longing for the release of death, but the salvation of God prepared in the presence of all peoples, God’s light sent to reveal God’s love and power and mercy, not even just to the people of Israel, but to all nations! And it’s not just Simeon who sees this – Anna, this wise woman of God who has devoted her life to worship, she sees Jesus and Mary and Joseph, and her heart overflows with praise to God who has brought this helpless baby into her presence. She sees Jesus, and she shares the good news with everyone there that Jesus is the one they have been waiting for; he is the one who will bring redemption to Jerusalem. Jesus is the one who will break them out of the cycle of destruction and loneliness and longing and sin that they have been caught in for so long. He is the one who will bring about God’s new day for all the world!

This is such good news to those of us who have been stuck in never-ending Groundhog Days of our own! God doesn't leave us alone to struggle and dig our way out of endless bad days and seasons of life. You know, in the movie, Phil is left to figure out his own means of escape, reliving Groundhog Day after Groundhog Day unable to break free until he learns to move past his own selfishness and impure motives and instead offer himself in service and love to those around him. And that’s a great moral lesson from the movie, but that’s not what God does. Instead, God breaks into our vicious circles, not abandoning us until we learn our lesson, but sending Jesus, suddenly, unexpectedly, to live and walk and work among us, offering us himself in love, revealing God’s new day in our every day. He comes to break us out of our self-destructive patterns, offering hope and love and abundance life. He is God’s revealing light, shining in our darkness, God’s plan of salvation prepared for all people. May God give us eyes to see this salvation breaking in all around us, and voices to sing God’s praises about this child who brings redemption.

Amen.

January 19, 2014 - Epiphany + 2 - Enriched in Every Way

Enriched in Every Way

1 Corinthians 1:1-9

Epiphany + 2 - January 19, 2014

Watch this sermon here.

A long, long time ago (I won't tell you how long!), way back when I was in junior high and high school, I was in the marching band. I started band when I was in 7th grade. (I went to a little school that was a joint junior/senior high, with grades 7-12 all in one building.) And what I remember is that I went in wanting to play the trumpet – a nice loud, familiar, flashy instrument. But they had enough of those at the time, so instead, I got assigned to the baritone horn. How many of you have even heard of that instrument? Yeah. It's not the most well-known or recognizable. It's not even that unique – it looks like a mini-tuba, and it sounds pretty similar to a trombone, so you could almost make the argument that you don't even need the baritone horn really. Color me disappointed at what I was assigned.

You could say that the church in Corinth that Paul is writing to in our (2nd) reading for today was kind of like that marching band. As Paul starts off this letter to a congregation he had founded, he is filled with thanksgiving to God. He reminds the Corinthian Christians of their calling as saints, people set apart to do God's work in the world, and then goes on to thank God for the grace they had been given, the ways God had enriched them in every way, the spiritual gifts that had been lavishly bestowed on them, so they were lacking nothing. And yet, if you were to go and read more of this letter, you'd see Paul was just laying the groundwork for what is to come. See, the church in Corinth is kind of a hot mess. Though God has given them so much, this is a church filled with divisions and competition and arguments. Corinth was an up and coming city, very cosmopolitan, with people from all over – slaves and people who had been freed, the rich and the poor living side by side, and the church reflected the same mix. But all of these differences as well as the different spiritual gifts and roles people had became a source of contention rather than celebration. They threw out their allegiances to different spiritual leaders – “I belong to Paul,” “I belong to Apollos,” “I belong to Peter...” They got drunk around the communion table and gobbled up all the food before some of the members could get there. They argued over which spiritual gift was the most important – speaking in tongues or the gift of interpretation, wisdom versus knowledge, the ability to heal or work miracles and on and on and on, and I imagine that there were some who were jealous of the gifts they hadn't received, who wanted the loud, recognizable, flashy gifts, instead of the ones no one had ever heard of. And not only do these divisions damage their relationships, they distract the Corinthians from carrying out the mission God had given them – to be witnesses to Jesus and reveal his love, grace, and mercy to the world.

Any of this sound familiar? I'm not suggesting that Ascension is a church ripped apart by conflict, or that it has the same exact issues, because I haven't seen that or experienced that here. But that doesn't mean that there aren't things that divide us from one another and distract us from fulfilling God's vision for us as a congregation. Really, hang around any church long enough and you're bound to see some of the tension that naturally happens when people get together. Strong personalities rub each other the wrong way and make it hard to work together. Miscommunication and misunderstandings happen and don't necessarily get worked out right away, so resentment festers, sometimes for months and years! People who have been working hard in a particular ministry for years feel unappreciated or undervalued – or finally move on only to get mad that that person who follows in that role doesn't do things the exact same way they always did. Newer folks look for ways to plug in and use their gifts and feel stymied at every turn, not knowing how to become part of a group that's been together a long time. We've got our annual meeting next week, and there we'll talk about the budget for 2014 and constitutional amendments and the vision and hopes and dreams for the coming years, and if you come (and I hope you will), I'm willing to bet that there will be something that doesn't quite fit with your understanding of how things should be. Again, I'm not saying that Ascension has these issues on a wide scale, but it's just how churches, any groups of people really, tend to be. If you've been a part of this church or any church for a while, you've seen it happen, and you know how much it distracts us. It takes our energy and focus away from the things of God. It damages our witness to those around us.

So maybe my time in band was useful to my participation in a church – because what I learned over the years in that place is that we needed all of the talents and abilities of everyone involved. For the music to be complete, we needed all of the different instruments, from the squeak of the clarinets and saxophones to the blare of the trumpets to the beating of the bass drum. And not only that, we needed the non-musicians – the majorettes and the color guard and the pom-pom squad, the band parents who helped us raise money for trips and walked along the parade route with us to hold the water bottles as we marched in wool uniforms in ridiculous heat, and the fans who stood on the sidelines at halftime at the football games to cheer us on instead of going to get a snack at the concession stand. For us to do what we were supposed to do, we needed all of those people sharing all of their gifts and time and energy and passion in whatever way suited them best. And perhaps most surprising of all to me was the way our band director was able to gather all of these random teenagers and their supporters and help them use their gifts together as one. He didn't have us doing the moonwalk like The Ohio State Marching Band did this past season, but we did alright.

That's the good news for us this morning. That's our encouragement for all of the times when we let our petty differences get in the way of being the people and church God has called us to be. God has already enriched us in every way – not as individuals, but as a community of faith. Together God has given us all that we need to do God's work with our hands. Somehow, when we listen and follow God's direction, God is able to gather us up, differences and all, and use us to do great things together, things we could never dream of accomplishing on our own. God has and is and will continue strengthening us for all God calls us to do. God has called us into fellowship – partnership – with Jesus, and God is faithful to help us in all we do.

Thanks be to God.
Amen.

January 5, 2014 - Christmas 2 - Mystery Made Known

Mystery Made Known

Ephesians 1:3-14

Christmas 2 - January 5, 2014

Watch the sermon at YouTube here

Morning Prayer
Dear Lord,
So far I've done all right.
I haven't gossiped,
haven't lost my temper,
haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent.
I'm really glad about that.

But in a few minutes, God,
I'm going to get out of bed.
And from then on,
I'm going to need a lot more help. Amen.
~Source Unknown

So, here we are. By the church calendar, it's the 12th day of Christmas, but by the calendar the rest of the world lives by, it's the 5th of January. This is the season of new starts, of resolutions made, intended to be kept. This is the chance to start fresh, to make something better of ourselves this year.

And as we gather here on this morning with our bright hopes and promises to ourselves, I suspect that some, if not most of us, really relate to the prayer I just read. So far, so good. We're five days in, and we're doing pretty well. We haven't lost our tempers, or been greedy or grumpy or selfish yet. We haven't overindulged, at least since just after midnight on New Year's Eve, but not since we woke up on New Year's Day. Things are off to a good start. But...

But we know that we're just getting started. Metaphorically, we haven't gotten out of bed yet. But when we do, we know we're gonna need a lot more help. We won't necessarily be able to keep to whatever resolutions we made – to exercise more or eat healthier, to quit smoking, to be more generous with our money or our time, to be more patient with the kids or our spouse – especially as we hurry on the way out the door to church! And some of us, even though we just got started – well, we've already fallen down on the job. Tempers have flared. We've complained about the cold, or our families, or the boss, or our teachers. We've told the dog off for getting under our feet. We've started to worry about how we'll pay off the bills that are starting to come in from our Christmas celebrations. In many and various ways, this fresh start just serves as a reminder of how broken we are, of how flawed we are – that we are not the kind of parents or children or spouses or friends or workers or just plain people that we would like to be. Our misdeeds, as The Message calls them, are all too evident to us, as we realize that we fail to measure up, even to our own standards.

And so, perhaps it is a mystery, as we gather this morning, to hear these words first written to the church in Ephesus. I have to tell you that whenever I prepare to preach, I look for both the law and the gospel in whatever the passage is. And sometimes it's easy to find both, but probably more often than not, it's really easy to find the law, the trouble, the ways people are held to account by God or struggle in their relationships with each other – and it's not always so easy to talk about what the gospel, the grace, the good news about what God is doing is. But this passage from Ephesians, it's the complete opposite of that. It's filled from start to finish with praise for God and excitement and joy over what God has done and is doing. The author just can't contain himself. Listen again to just a snippet, as shared in The Message version of the Bible:

“Long before he laid down earth’s foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love. Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son.”

Long ago, before the foundation of the world, God was thinking of us. Long ago, God decided to adopt us as children, as heirs, through Jesus. Not counting our misdeeds against us, God chooses us and sets us free in Jesus. Abundantly free! Despite the fact that none of us measure up, even by our own standards, God has been working out God's divine plan for each of us and for all creation from the beginning, to save us, to reconcile us, to shape and mold and transform us to be the people we were first created to be, way back in the beginning.

Now I know that most of us have already moved past Christmas in our minds and hearts and lives. But since it is the 12th day of Christmas, let me remind you that what we get from this Ephesians reading (and the gospel of John too) is that Christmas isn't just about Jesus being born as a baby 2000+ years ago. No, what this book reminds us is that Christmas is not just about Jesus' birth, but about who we are, and who God claims us to be. In Jesus, we are born into new life. We are adopted into God's family. “It's in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for.” In Jesus, God takes the mystery of all of this and how it could possibly be true, for me, for you, for creation – God takes this mystery and makes it known to us. God sends Jesus to take on human flesh and blood to make it clear once and for all how deeply we are loved, how much God cherishes us, how utterly God longs to be in relationship with us. So no matter how harshly we judge each other or ourselves, no matter how much we may think we're not worth it, we hear God saying to us in Jesus: “You are my beloved child. You are mine. You are here for a reason. You have a purpose. You are signed, sealed, and delivered by the Holy Spirit.” Or, to use more traditional, formal language, “You were marked by the seal of the promised Holy Spirit.” And this is just the first step, the down payment of all that God has in mind for us.

So go from this place this morning, knowing that you are cherished. You are beloved. You are set free. And if you see someone else wrestling with the mystery, someone who isn't sure what they're here for or if it could possibly be true that God loves them - remind them of God's ancient plan to make them whole and holy. Invite them to the lavish celebration of our adoption through Jesus. Go – Make the mystery known!

Amen.