The GLOW Show: Following Jesus with Pastor Kristin

During the season of Epiphany on The GLOW Show, pastors from Phoenix Fusion congregations are sharing about what it means to follow Jesus. This week, we welcome Pastor Kristin Rice from All Saints Lutheran Church in north Phoenix. Enjoy!

Sermon for Sunday, January 10

Mark 1:4-11

The Question of the Day is: How are you feeling about what happened in Washington, DC on January 6?  To read the community’s reflections, go to the Grace Facebook page live stream worship feed for Sunday, January 10.

I am weary, angered, and saddened by the events of this past Wednesday in Washington, DC, the forced entry into the US capitol by citizens of this country, the violence perpetrated, the response to an election so free and fair that numerous courts served by judges of both political parties have found no credible evidence of fraud, the disproportionately lax response by capitol police to this violence compared to last summer’s demonstrations.  I love our democracy, and I am inspired by our shared values of freedom, space for a diversity of opinions, and the method of debate and discussion over violence in solving problems.  Those who hurt and threatened others and dishonored boundaries in the US capitol do not in any way embody the shared values of this nation.  The physical assault and threat of physical assault of law enforcement, bystanders, and elected leaders is not the reasoned, peaceful articulation of a dissenting opinion. 

How do we make sense of this?  What is going on?  Quite obviously, the answers to these questions are wide and deep, and we will not be able to completely understand until we look back 50 years from now with a more critical and objective eye.  I assume these actions stem from a mixture of growing division, systemic racism, lack of trust in government, decay of community life, and our culture which allows violence (instead of ending it—because we can end violence), our culture that nurtures blame (instead of truth and accountability), and our culture that assumes punishment is the most effective strategy for making change (instead of practicing grace and solving problems together).  

In addition to these causes, I wonder also what need is being articulated.  I was struck by President Trump’s words to the people who entered the US capitol and perpetrated violence.  While he encouraged them to go home peacefully,  President Trump also said, and I quote, “We love you.  You’re very special.”  I wonder if we are a people yearning to hear these words—and that we will receive them with gratitude even from one who bullies and name calls and disrespects others.  I wonder if we are people desperate to be loved.  I wonder if the need articulated by those who perpetrated these acts is a need to be loved, recognized, acknowledged. 

While I am weary, angered, and saddened by what has taken place, I understand the need to be loved.  I need to be loved too.   Without simplifying the complexity of what has happened, I would like to know what I can do, what force I can exert, what light I can shine in a world broken by all the aforementioned acts and long-entrenched systems. 

Of course, we can write our legislators.  We can work for justice in situations of injustice.  We can learn and read and discuss what we do not understand.  We can build relationships with a variety of people and listen deeply to them.  But most of all, first of all, essentially, we can love.  Because the only way is love.  The only way is love. 

We can go twenty rounds about what is truly loving, but friends, we know.  We know love when we see it, feel it, hear it.  You, the people of Grace Lutheran Church, by the grace of God, you are pretty amazing at love.  During my sermon preparation, I started to list the ways I see love manifest among you, but my list got too long.  I realized that I would have to include every single one of you by name in order to capture the depth and width and breadth of the love we, by the grace of God, individually and collectively exercise.  In this moment when we could easily succumb to anger or fear or sadness, the good news of Jesus invites us to, instead, practice love.  For this moment in our nation requires us to love others more deeply, to love ourselves fully, to love God such that we trust this way of love.  Love does not mean we ignore lies and betrayals; it means we see ourselves and others as broken people who are trying to find their way.  We can hold ourselves and others accountable while still showing grace and compassion. 

Thanks be to God that our God is the Source of all love!  In our gospel story today, people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem gather at the River Jordan to be baptized by John.  John offers a baptism of repentance, invites people to renounce their sin, to turn from their broken ways, to tell the truth about what they do, say, and think, no matter how ugly or beautiful it is.  The people gathered at the River Jordan are open, honest, vulnerable.  They know they have fallen short.  They come to the water not because they are perfect but because they know they need help.  Jesus, too, comes to the River Jordan and is baptized by John.  We who read this story two thousand years later probably wonder: why would Jesus come for a baptism of repentance?  Of what would he possibly need to repent?  And so I wonder if the reason Jesus treads down the banks of the Jordan and allows John to baptize him is that God needs to tell the truth too, to tell the truth about Jesus, to tell the truth about all humanity.  When Jesus comes up out of the water, he sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending on him like a dove.  A voice from heaven, possibly heard by all gathered, declares: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  The truth about Jesus is that he is God’s son, and he is beloved.  The truth about all humanity, even when our actions and words and thoughts are ugly and broken, the truth about all humanity is that we are God’s daughters and sons, and we are beloved.  On this festival of the Baptism of Christ, I am deeply glad and rejoice that God loves us not simply when we are right and good but that God loves us when our deepest wounds and very worst traits reveal themselves.  God comes to the banks of the Jordan!  The Spirit descends not in the temple, not in the holy place, not at a moment of human triumph but when people are literally on their knees. 

The love of God revealed on the day of Jesus’ baptism is a love we too receive from God.  We are beloved.  And so is everyone else.  Thanks be to God!  Amen. 

The GLOW Show: Following Jesus with Pastor Mary Louise

During worship in the church season of Epiphany, we tell stories of Jesus calling disciples and inviting people to follow him. What does it mean to follow Jesus? Each week, Lutheran pastors from Phoenix-area congregations will answer this question. This week, Pastor Mary Louise Frenchmen from Native American Urban Ministry shares what it means for her to follow Jesus. Enjoy!

Christmas Eve Sermon

Isaiah 9:2-7

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.  Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.

Thus begins our prophecy from Isaiah chapter 9.  This passage, its despair-busting, hope-producing, singable Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace stir within us all we wish for at Christmas.  Of course, this passage’s context is not the birth of a first-century messiah named Jesus even though we read it this night.  And the metaphors of light and darkness, if not then, certainly now are heavily weighed down by the problematic nature of equating darkness with evil and suffering, death and injustice.  Still, Isaiah’s words awaken in us the fervent hope that a baby can change everything, that a great light shines in the darkness, that joy is within our reach. 

Darkness, though, is not going to be vanquished.  Evil and suffering, death and injustice will continue.  We know.  We feel the burdens of these many months.  Illness.  Death.  Grief.  Job loss.  Business loss.  Isolation.  Rise in domestic violence.  Exhaustion—from zoom and for parents and teachers and healthcare workers.  Systemic racism.  Division.  Darkness is not going to be vanquished in one fell swoop, not even by the messiah.  We may feel betrayed by God to learn the promise of the messiah was not that the messiah would beat back the darkness.  Isaiah and, later, the gospel of John speak instead of the light to come.

Several years ago, youth from All Saints Lutheran Church joined the youth of Grace to put together the Christmas gift bags we usually shared with folks at the pancake breakfast on the Sunday closest to Christmas.  After eating pizza together and some rowdy name games, we gathered for a devotion.  It was the Friday evening closest to Christmas and thus dark outside, but inside Hope Hall, the safety lights still glowed.  Seeking a truly dark space, I directed all of us to the Sonshine Room, where we keep our heat respite water supply.  At this time, the city hadn’t yet fixed the lighting problem in the alley, so the Sonshine Room was pitch black.  Together in the dark, we probably 30 adults and kids, we remembered the things that were hard for us in those days.  We named them, one by one.  Then I lit a match.  Just a tiny flame.  But we could instantly see each other, nearly everyone in the room.  We collectively gasped.  Truly stuck in the dark, that tiny flame illuminated the space.  Each person held a candle, and we silently passed the light to each other until all the room was lit up.  It was still night.  We still hadn’t turned on the lights.  There were still shadows in the corners.  But the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.  Those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined.

The promise is not an end to the darkness.  The promise is a light in the darkness.

This Christmas Eve, we tell the story of a young couple traveling, of a baby born, of shepherds visited by angels, by good news of great joy for all the people.  Still, Jesus’ birth does not end all suffering.  There are other parts of the story: a couple without social support because of the questionable circumstances of Mary’s pregnancy, the real life pain and blood of birth, the circumstances of the Roman Empire, occupation and corruption and violence.  But in a land of deep darkness, a light shines.

God entered the darkness of the world with a light to shine: God’s own presence in Jesus.  And God is with us now, here, at 1124 N 3rd Street, shining in us, in word and song, in bread and the fruit of the vine.  And Christ’s light shines not just here but in all and for all the world.  Where have you seen the light of Christ shine?   To read our community’s reflections, go to the live stream worship Facebook feed from December 24 at 7:30 pm.

My most recent glimpse of Christ’s light was not profound but mundane.  Yesterday, I picked up water at Costco for our outreach at the northwest gate since we were completely out.  I staggered out of Costco with my long cart loaded down with 9 large cases of water and maneuvered over to my car.  I opened my trunk and lugged the first case into it.  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, my cart crept into the line of traffic.  You can imagine how many people were at Costco on December 23, and I had unintentionally bottlenecked traffic in the Costco parking lot.  But the couple right next to me, loading boxes into their vehicle, almost immediately cried out: Whoa!, pulled the cart out of the line of traffic, and then asked me: Do you need help?  We then loaded my car with the water together.  In the moment I needed help, it was provided. 

Christ’s birth, God’s incarnation, God’s presence among us does not vanquish darkness, but it does shine a light.  We who walk in a land of deep darkness, on us light has shined.  Merry Christmas!  Merry Christmas!  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, December 20

Luke 1:26-38

The Question of the Day is: We inevitably forget or fail to see certain people or certain groups of people.  Share a time when your eyes were opened to really see a particular person or a particular group of people. 

For me, when I read the book Nickeled & Dimed about low-wage workers in the US, I began to see hotel workers.  On a more personal note, as I got older and learned more about history, I began to see my great grandmother who was born in 1899, emigrated to the US from Sweden, and witnessed all the massive change of the 20th century before she died at the age of 100. So often, we see our family members only through our deeply personal lens, who they are to us, but my great grandmother had seen so much of life, had lived through such change! To consider her this way helped me more fully see her. 

To find the community’s reflection, go to the Grace Facebook page live stream worship for Sunday, December 20.

We’ve probably all gone to children’s Christmas programs, dance recitals, soccer games, or the like.  Whether we are a parent or grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a friend or simply an onlooker, we have witnessed small children find their parent or grandparent, friend or teacher in the crowd and furiously, continuously wave.  Music or dance or athletics momentarily forgotten, the child sees the person who means the world to them and points themselves out to that one.  The child wants to be seen by the people they love.  Children want to be seen.

As an introvert and on the shy side, for many years, I tried to enter and exit groups of people as quietly as possible.  While on internship during seminary, I would enter my office and simply start working.  Twenty feet from my office, two administrative staff and sometimes the worship coordinator would be sitting in an adjacent office, but rarely did I greet them or in any way acknowledge their presence.  Each day, though, I watched my supervisor, the pastor, come in and, first thing, check in with everyone.  How are you doing?  What’s going on today?  How’s your family?  When I finally asked him about what was clearly an intentional practice, he told me: Everyone wants to be seen.

I too know the draw of wanting to be seen.  While preparing for an ecumenical worship service here at Grace a few years ago, I found myself playing host and orienting a leader equivalent to our bishop but from a different church body.  I had met him several times, and more than once before, we had helped lead the same ecumenical worship services.  During our brief discussion, I suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea who I was.  For he asked me: You’re a pastor? Where?  You’re a Lutheran?  Yes, I serve here at Grace.  I couldn’t help myself; I added: We’ve met before.  I too want to be seen.

Just like everyone else, I imagine Mary from our gospel story today wanted to be seen.  A girl from a Jewish family, living two thousand years ago in ancient Israel, a person without power or prestige.  We know little about her, save her own description of “lowly” later in Luke chapter one.  The angel Gabriel shows up and announces to Mary that she will give birth to a son who will be named Jesus, the Son of the Most High, a child given her by the Holy Spirit.  Mary questions the words of the angel Gabriel but then accepts them and enters into partnership with God.  Of course, upon first seeing the angel Gabriel, she is perplexed, and she ponders his opening words which are “Greetings, favored one!”  I can just imagine Mary wondering: Who am I that an angel calls me favored?    And probably all the readers of the gospel of Luke wonder too.  Mary is an obscure choice for the mother of the savior of the world, yet God favors her, chooses her, sees her.  Out of all the other possible women who could have carried the Incarnate One into the world, God chooses Mary.  Why would God do such a thing, to choose, to favor, to see a lowly girl?  Who is this God who chooses, favors, sees the lowliest of us? 

The God who comes to earth as a baby.  The God who lifts up the lowly and leads the captives out of bondage, the God who fills the hungry with good things and shows mercy from generation to generation.  This God chooses a lowly girl to bear Jesus...and not because God pities her and not because God is making a point about inequities in society and not because God is making Mary an example.  Rather, God sees Mary, a lowly girl without power or prestige but a young woman of faith and courage and hope who says, in response to the wildest of announcements: Here am I, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to your word.  God chooses Mary because God knows her, because God truly sees her and sees she will partner with God for this wildest, holiest of journeys. 

So too does God see each of us.  God sees you.  As you are.  Loves you.  Turns toward you with grace as God has done for generations of God’s people. 

And God sees each person.  Knows every name.  Does not proverbially “walk by on the other side” to avoid anyone.  God regards each person everywhere, in every nation, speaking every language, practicing every religion, each person in particular.  The particularity of God in seeing each person wakes me up to the particularity of each person who crosses my path.  Each member of the Grace community, each of my family members, each one of my Facebook friends, every stranger at the grocery store, every one of my co-workers and colleagues, each one of my neighbors.  God sees each person, in particular, knows them intimately, loves them.

There are no throw away people, no nameless, faceless bodies, no strangers, even.

There are only people seen, known, and loved by God. 

In this pandemic, a season of isolation, we may feel forgotten.  We may have forgotten others.  But God sees us all.

The announcement of Jesus’ imminent birth through Mary tells the story of a deeply particular God who sees each one of us, a God who sees you.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Blue Christmas

Christmas during a pandemic is likely, for many, a Blue Christmas. In today’s GLOW Show, we take a few minutes for a simple Blue Christmas service. We pray, sing, hear scripture, remember all those we love who have died, and remember the good news of great joy, the news of Christmas.

Sermon for Sunday, December 13

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Today, John the Baptist testifies to the One coming after him.  John prepares the way for the light.  John points not to himself but to the One whose sandal he is unworthy to untie.  John testifies to and prepares the way for and points to Jesus.  John gathers followers, not because John wants people to follow him but rather because he, by divine insight, knows who Jesus is, what Jesus will do, what Jesus’ life and death and resurrection will mean.  John is compelled to testify and prepare the way and point to Jesus because he knows the depth of the good news—and wants to share it.  John is the first and chief witness of Jesus.  He is the primordial godparent who brings their godchild to the baptismal font, the grandparent who takes their grandchild to church, the parent who teaches their child to pray, the neighbor who helps out in times of trouble, the church member who quietly goes about doing good. 

As the first and chief witness of Jesus, we are indebted to John’s testimony.  But there are many who have testified since then.  Our question of the day is: Who pointed you to Jesus, either in word or deed?  To find our community’s reflection, go to the live stream worship feed from Sunday, December 13.

In thinking about those who pointed me to Jesus, I think not of those who are particularly righteous or particularly religious.  Instead, I think of those who know their lives are not just about them, who know the world does not revolve around them, who see that they are part of something larger than just themselves and their family.  So, I give thanks to God for the ways my parents pointed me to Jesus, how we as a family prioritized first not our own pursuits but the pursuit of the common good.  I think of my confirmation mentor, Pam, who, despite having four of her own children, a husband, and a full time job, spent time with me reading scripture, discussing life, and co-teaching Sunday school with me.  I think of my high school principal, Mr. Moerke, also our National Honor Society mentor and a member of the local Roman Catholic parish, who fashioned our National Honor Society to be a community service organization, teenagers serving the larger community.   

In the story of the first and chief witness of Jesus, notice that John the Baptist is asked to identify himself.  Those sent by the religious leaders ask him: Are you the messiah?  No.  Are you Elijah?  No.  Are you the prophet?  No.  Who are you?  What do you say about yourself?  Nothing.  Even after this hard-court press, John only identifies himself as the one meant to prepare the way of the Lord, one unworthy to untie the thong of Jesus’ sandals.  John’s testimony is only about Jesus, not about him, not about his greatness, not about his insight, not about his work.  Similarly, to witness to God and the work of God, for us, is not in any way about us. 

Notice also that we receive no detailed account of John’s success, no report on his number of converts, no list of his devoted followers.  There is no statistical analysis of the impact of John’s witness.  The gospel does not tell stories of lives changed by John’s foray into the wilderness, save one, Jesus’.  John just goes and does what he is called by God to do.  Similarly, to witness to God and the work of God is not to convince anyone else of any particular belief about God.  Rather, for us to witness to God and the work of God is to see what God is doing and join in.  We serve others.  We seek justice.  We work for peace.  We love each person God puts in our path.  We listen.  We help when and where we can.  We live with joy and hope.  We don’t follow Jesus perfectly, and we don’t flatter ourselves.  We are not God.  But by the grace of God, sometimes our hands and feet and voices do the work of God, and in the ways our hands and feet and voices do the work of God, we point to Jesus.  It’s not about us, but we get to participate.  And in participating, we witness.   

As Lutherans, we don’t talk much about that word “witness.”  In spiritual contexts, the word “witness” has often meant “talking about God,” and this is something we often don’t feel qualified to do.  I have heard people say: What do I know?  I’m not a pastor.  I myself have said: What do I know?  I am only a pastor.  But consider how, in a courtroom, witnesses tell a story about the situation at hand.  They remember what happened on a particular day, at a particular time.  Witnesses share who was where and when and why.  Because we value truth in a courtroom in a way unparalleled, witnesses are not only free to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  They are required to do so.  In the ideal world of our justice system, the witness does not weave a story to convince or manipulate the jury.  Instead, the witness simply tells the truth, and if it moves the jury, well and good. 

This is what it is to witness to God.  We tell the story of our lives, and as people of faith, that means we tell a story of God at work in our lives and the life of the world—in whatever words make the most sense to us.  We look around this world, and where we see suffering and injustice, we also see love and generosity and people who care.  And not only do we tell the story, we join the story.  We join in what God is doing.  We love and serve, work for justice and peace.  We hold onto hope and faith.  We tell the truth and live the truth we know in Christ. 

If the story of John the Baptist’s testimony feels short on gospel and long on law, if we feel pressured to be witnesses, the sweetest news of this story lies in its center: that we witness only because there is truly good news to share!

I remember being 16 years old and standing in my pew at the front of the sanctuary with the green hymnal in my hand singing the opening hymn in my home congregation in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota.  Surrounded my whole life by people who had pointed me to Jesus, I suddenly got it: what others had been saying and showing me all that time, all 16 years of my life.  I saw God working in my life and the life of the world.  I saw that my life wasn’t just about me but about something, someone larger than myself.  And I couldn’t believe that the 400 Lutherans standing behind me singing from the green hymnal that morning could just stand there and sing, not passionately enough for my teenage taste given the enormity of God’s good news.  What good news it is: the true light which enlightens everyone was coming into the world.  Jesus is coming.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Grieving our Losses

This Advent and Christmas, we are, as a nation, grieving the many losses of 2020. Christmas is typically difficult for those grieving the loss of a loved one, a job, or a home, and this Christmas may be particularly challenging. In this episode of The GLOW Show, we name the losses of this year and walk through the stages of grief common to all losses.