Sermon for Sunday, March 7

Day of the Church Year: 3rd Sunday of Lent

Biblical Text: John 2:13-22

When Jesus makes a whip of cords, drives the sheep and cattle out of the temple in Jerusalem, pours out the coins of the moneychangers stationed within the temple court, and overturns their tables in the gospel of John, unlike a similar story in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus is not condemning revenue enhancement at a place of worship.  Jesus is not prohibiting bake sales and parking meters at church.  Jesus is not critiquing economic activity in a religious setting.  In the gospel of John, after Jesus’ driving out, pouring out, and overturning, Jewish leaders ask Jesus, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” or basically, what justifies your actions?  And Jesus responds, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”  Astonished, the Jewish leaders remind him that it took 46 years to build the temple and he would raise it up in three days?  Then, the moment of clarity.  Jesus is speaking of the temple of his body. 

The gospel writer John composed his gospel in around 100-110 of the common era, at least 70 years after Jesus’ death and resurrection, at least 30 years after the destruction of the temple in the Roman-Jewish war.  In this brief but devastating war, the temple was destroyed, the temple in which faithful Jews sacrificed to God and where they believed God lived.  At the time of the writing of the gospel of John, Christians of Jewish background were likely grieving the destruction of the temple.  These Christians likely told stories of the good old days just like we do, stories of a grand and beautiful temple, stories of sacrifices made properly and exquisitely, stories of yearning.  But according to Jesus on the day he drives out the sacrificial animals, pours out the coins of the moneychangers, and overturns their tables, the temple is no longer necessary for the temple is not the place where God lives nor is sacrifice relevant.  Instead, Jewish-Christians meet God in Jesus, not in the temple, and the way Jesus gives of himself in his life, death, and resurrection puts an end to all sacrifice.  Effectively, Jesus declares: there is no reason to yearn for the temple and with it, the ability to sacrifice, because that age has passed.

We also like to tell stories of the good old days.  We don’t tell stories of the temple, but we do tell stories of packed churches, Ladies Aid events, and Luther League youth activities.  The 1920s through the 1980s were the golden years of mainline Christianity in America, the years during which Grace founded 5 other Lutheran congregations, the years Grace split in half every time we reached a thousand members—or so the story goes.  This story is a grand story, worthy of telling and retelling.  But that age has passed.  The world in which we live today is a very different world, especially this pandemic world, and that’s okay.  While the Spirit of God powerfully moved among the people of Grace in those years, the Spirit of God has not failed us—even though the church looks very different than it did in 1950. 

The world around us has changed dramatically and continues to change at a pace humanity has never before known.  Though I’m not a historian, I would hazard a guess that the past two decades of human history have included more technological development than any age, period, and this technological development has had profound effects on our relationships, on our work, on our educational institutions, on our government, and yes, on our church life and our understanding of God.  Technology is not the only part of our life together that has changed, of course.  The pandemic, as the most obvious example, has radically shifted our lives.  Tomorrow mark a full year since we worshiped inside our buildings, gathered after worship to eat cookies and drink coffee, served the pancake breakfast, sat around a table for Bible study or a council meeting.  Do these changes mean that God is no longer accessible to us, that our faith is decimated, that the church is closed? 

No.  God has walked with us this whole way, and not just through the pandemic but through the large and small changes of all ages passed.  Our faith, our spiritual disciplines, our day to day experience of God are changed, yes, but not destroyed.  And, just as the early Christians struggled to understand, the church, the worship space of the faithful, the actual physical brick and mortar is but a useful space to gather, a practical tool in doing ministry.  The buildings here at 1124 N 3rd Street are sacred for many of us not because of their gothic architecture, the lovely organ, or even the truly beautiful stained glass windows.  Friends, the reason this space is sacred for us is that here, we have heard good news.  Here, we have sung our hope.  Here, we have been washed in the waters of baptism.  Here, we have given of ourselves and learned the joy of generosity.  Here, we have served our neighbor.  Here, we have made promises before God and the community to life-long partnership with our beloveds.  Here, we have mourned our dead.  Here, we have entered into the lives of others and built relationships.  Here, we have seen the face of God in others.  The buildings are a sacred space for us, but they are simply a venue for relationships, God’s word, sacraments, worship and music, and acts of service.  Two thousand years ago, Jesus enacted the irrelevance of the temple along with its sacrificial system and spoke of the temple of his body, meaning those who sought God would find God in him.  In him.  Not in the temple, not in a building, not in a ritual sacrifice.  Friends, today, we are the church, the body of Christ.  Loving God, people, and creation, serving others, doing justice.  We are the church.  Praying and studying, practicing generosity, forgiving others.  We are the church, the body of Christ.  We are the way God builds a loving, just, non-violent world. 

Our question of the day is: How have you personally or how have you seen others be the church during this time when we haven’t been able to go to church? To find the reflections of the community, go to the March 7 live stream worship Facebook feed.

We are the church, the body of Christ not by our own strength or wisdom but by the spirit of God alive in us.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

The GLOW Show: Mid-Week Lenten Worship 2

During Lent, we gather around the theme Mourning Into Dancing: Making Space for Grief and sing Holden Evening Prayer. Tonight, we hear the story of Naomi and Ruth from the book of Ruth, a story of grief and hope following the death of both of their husbands, a story of friendship. Listen and sing along!

Walking In Another's Shoes Discussion Group

On Thursday, March 11 at 6:30-8:00 pm, join Sarah Morris from Our Saviour's and Pastor Sarah for a discussion about how our social location shapes our experiences in a nation marred by racism, sexism, and classism. You are invited to read one of three books below prior to the discussion in order to enter into the world of someone different than you.

• Between the World and Me

• The Pact: Three Young Men Make a Promise and Fulfill a Dream

• I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness

We will meet via zoom at the following link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/85218687459?pwd=azJqWklFdWVMM0lmdXB3bUVEVFdaZz09

All are welcome! Please come and bring your questions, reflections, gentleness, and humility. This discussion group is open to all and organized by Phoenix Fusion.

The GLOW Show: Mid-Week Lenten Worship 1

During the season of Lent, we gather for mid-week Lenten worship on Wednesday evenings at 6:30 pm in our courtyard. This year, we gather around the theme Mourning Into Dancing: Making Space for Grief and sing Holden Evening Prayer. For these nights when we hear stories of grief and hope from both scripture and members of our community, we share this worship during The GLOW Show. Sing along!

Sermon for Ash Wednesday, February 17

Day in the Church Year: Ash Wednesday

Scripture Passage: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Perhaps we are distracted by multiple technological devices at the moment.  Perhaps we are distracted by pets or family members or noisy neighbors.  Perhaps we are distracted by thoughts going through our minds, griefs and losses, worries and uncertainties.  We are still in the midst of pandemic, an event that has altered our lives in ways we cannot yet fully measure.  But here we are, at Ash Wednesday, same as ever, a day of ashes, a day of confession, a day of confrontation. 

We confront our sin and brokenness.

We confront our mortality.

We confront our desire to be seen as good by others, a desire not always paired with a desire to actually do good, just be seen as good.

We confront our systemic sin and brokenness, systems that hurt people, systems that harm some more than others.

On Ash Wednesday, we confront ourselves.  Doing so is harder this year than most for we are not gathered together, our attention caught and held by having gotten in the car, driven to the church, and sat down in a pew next to, in front of, or behind other members of the Grace community—people who keep us accountable.  Because we generally dislike confronting ourselves and especially because we are likely to be distracted by worshiping at home under these circumstances, I invite you tonight to go to a mirror or maybe the camera on your phone, to look at yourself, to literally confront yourself.  Really.  Now.  Go to a mirror or open the camera on your phone, look at yourself, confront yourself.  What do you see there?  Who is this person staring back at you? 

We are not fond of confronting ourselves.  In fact, most of us are out of practice of confronting ourselves.

Doing so is tricky because confronting ourselves does not mean blaming ourselves.  It does not mean shaming ourselves.  It is not telling ourselves we’re not good enough.  No.  Blame, shame, accusation is not Ash Wednesday.  On Ash Wednesday, we confront ourselves, however we are.  Ash Wednesday is like standing in front of a mirror.  There’s no need for the mirror to speak, to blame, to shame, to accuse; simply by standing in front of it, we see ourselves.  Standing in front of the mirror, we cannot avoid ourselves.  

When we look in that mirror, we see what we do, not what we think or what we say, but what we do, actually do.  And that’s startling: to measure how or if we follow Jesus only by what we actually do—with no commentary, no explanations, no excuses.  When we see ourselves, we do not need to blame, shame, or accuse ourselves but just see plainly that we, all of us, me included, are not as ethical as we believe, not as consistent, not as good.  When we stand in front of that mirror, we may even find that we don’t follow Jesus, that we have no desire to follow Jesus, that we straight up avoid questions of large importance, such as questions of justice and questions of love.  Still, amazingly, just as Jesus fails to judge the Pharisees in Matthew chapter 6, he fails to judge us.  When Jesus sees us, he sees exactly how we are, and while we are a dishonest, inconsistent, self-centered people, Jesus somehow avoids blame, shame, and accusation.   

Jesus calls us to walk the walk, not simply talk the talk.  In fact, he recommends not talking—only doing.  Give.  Don’t talk about giving.  Pray.  Don’t talk about praying.  Fast.  Don’t talk about fasting.  No judgment.  He just shows us to ourselves.

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus uses the Pharisees as an object lesson because they, among all the people of Jesus’ world, hold the highest opinion and thus the most unrealistic opinion of themselves.  They happen to be the most religious of all the people in Jesus’ world, the most proper, the most legalistically pure.  Jesus does not condemn them.  He just describes what they do. 

By contrast, the disciples who follow Jesus, his friends with whom he breaks bread, the sick and demented crowds who flock to him, the women who stay with him at the cross, these people are not so religious, not so pure, not so proper.  They are broken too, just like the Pharisees.  But they know it.  They are able to look in the mirror and see themselves. 

That’s who Jesus teaches in Matthew chapter six, courageous people who take a good look in the mirror and hear the gospel and the law.  For the law warns: Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them.  But the gospel declares: I see you exactly as you are, and still, I love you.  That’s Ash Wednesday.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.  

Sermon for Sunday, February 14

Mark 9:2-9 / Transfiguration of Christ

I love the Bible.  Nothing has shaped my life more profoundly than the Bible.  I adore the challenge of preaching on difficult to understand or controversial biblical passages.  In our weekly pastors’ Bible study, called “text study,” when the assigned gospel passage for the upcoming Sunday is a hard one, as one of the pastors finishes reading it before we discuss it, there are groans all around.  But me, I’m like: Oh, I love this text!  It’s so great!  I love how hard it is.  Seriously.  But friends, I do not care about the transfiguration of Christ.  Straight up.  I have no qualms about the theology or the concepts in this story.  I have no concerns about its implications.  I also have no interest in this story.  The transfiguration of Christ may be the only story in all of scripture that really doesn’t interest me, so it’s unfortunate (for me) that it comes up every single year in the Revised Common Lectionary, of course, because it is a holiday of the church.  On all previous Transfiguration Sundays, I, quite honestly, have been playing it fast and loose in preaching for I have preached on themes other people find interesting or compelling. 

Other people find aspects of this story very compelling: the mystery of Jesus’ transfiguration, the desire of the disciples to remain on the mountaintop where all is well instead of leaving the mountain where they will have to deal with the complexities of real life, the presence of Moses and Elijah with Jesus and what this means about Jesus’ relationship with these Old Testament ancestors of faith, how Jesus’ transfiguration gives hope to the disciples since Jesus just told them he is going to suffer and die and on the third day rise from the dead.  These aspects of the story may resonate with you even though they don’t resonate with me. 

My indifference towards the transfiguration of Christ leads me to wonder and to ask as our question of the day: What story in the Bible, holiday in the church year, or part of our Christian theology makes no difference to you?  And what do we do with our indifference?  Must we eagerly read every story of the Bible, celebrate every holiday, and delve into every aspect of the Christian faith?  I commend the brave souls who shared their honest reflections on this question in the Facebook feed.  To see our community’s reflections, go to the Facebook feed from our live stream worship on Sunday, February 14, 2021.

Having shared our indifference about aspects of this faith we share, what do we do with it?  Do we skip church on those Sundays?  Ignore that biblical passage altogether?  Cover our ears every time someone starts talking about X? 

When I was in high school, my piano teacher assigned me pieces by Johann Sebastian Bach for a particular piano contest.  A church musician of early 18th century Germany, Bach was the master of counterpoint, a fairly complex style of musical composition.  He was also a Lutheran, a deeply religious man who wrote on every piece of music: Soli deo gloria—To God alone be the glory.  In the history of Western music, Bach is generally regarded as one of the greatest composers of all time.  In high school, I admitted his faith and his deserved fame were impressive.  But I recall complaining to my high school choir director, Mrs. Hovland, about the travesty of being required to play Bach.  So difficult.  So boring.  So baroque.  I didn’t hate him.  I didn’t love him.  I was indifferent to Bach.  And Mrs. Hovland responded: Remember that every composer of a past age was popular in their time.  If they had not been popular, we would not know about them three hundred years later.  Which was a kind way of saying to a grumpy teenager: The history of Western music does not care about your opinion of Bach.  It’s not about you.

I thought about Mrs. Hovland’s words as I struggled to put together my thoughts about the transfiguration of Christ.  The transfiguration is included in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  In all three gospels, the transfiguration acts as a pivot point.  Prior to the transfiguration, Jesus calls disciples, heals, and teaches.  After the transfiguration, Jesus empowers disciples to do his work, engages in conversation about the meaning of his life, and offers increasingly difficult teaching and preaching.  All three gospel writers locate the transfiguration in the middle of Jesus’ predictions of his suffering, death, and resurrection.  Regardless of my feelings about the transfiguration, regardless of my indifference, clearly, the early Christians who wrote the gospels considered the transfiguration an important moment in the life of Christ.  Three of the four gospels include this story, and every year, we lift up the transfiguration in our church calendar.  Though the exact year is lost in the mists of time, Christians have been celebrating the Feast of the Transfiguration since at least the ninth century.  For centuries, people of faith have stood in awe of Christ’s transfiguration, and preachers around the world have stood in pulpits to proclaim the good news of a God whose glory shines from Jesus on the mountaintop and declares: This is my Son, the beloved; listen to him! 

It doesn’t matter that I don’t resonate with the transfiguration of Christ.And whatever aspect of the Christian faith or whatever holiday or whatever biblical story about which you are indifferent, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s not about you, individually or me, individually, finding everything interesting, of everything resonating. Rather, the whole people of God have received the good news of Christ. On Pentecost and Maundy Thursday, my heart is full. On Christmas and Easter, yours might be full.When Jesus teaches all those gathered with him on the mount: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, I am ready with a great “Amen!” When Jesus teaches the parable of the Good Samaritan, perhaps you are ready with a “Preach it!” The church, its sacred story, its holidays, its theological tradition, is not about you or me. It’s about us, the whole people of God, throughout all time and space. And on this Sunday of Christ’s transfiguration, we give thanks to God for the hope we see in Jesus who shines with the light of God’s glory. Thanks be to God! Amen.

The GLOW Show: Following Jesus with Pastor Sarah

This week’s episode concludes our series Following Jesus where we consider what it means to follow Jesus. Pastor Sarah shares her own thoughts on this life of following Jesus. Enjoy!

Sermon for Sunday, February 7

Mark 1:29-39

A couple months ago, my dear sister tested positive for Covid-19.  She works in healthcare so is, of course, exposed to many people throughout each of her work days.  The good news is that her symptoms were very mild, and she never required medical attention.  What challenged her, what has challenged many people during this pandemic was the isolation she practiced for the sake of her family’s health.  Again, the good news is that she was able to isolate easily within her own home.  Yet sharing a home with her husband and two young children but not hugging them, speaking to them only on the phone, not participating in their daily family life saddened her more than the virus itself.  She told me that my sweet six year old niece would leave gifts at her door, knock, run away, and then peek around the corner to catch a glimpse of her mother’s face when my sister would open the door to retrieve the gift.  Isolation can be heart-breaking, a sad lesson we’ve learned well during this pandemic.     

The people Jesus heals in today’s gospel story are also isolated.  Isolated by illness, demon possession, shame.  The communities Jesus visits enforce this isolation through the assumptions and expectations of their culture.  First century Mediterranean people believed that illness came as a resulted of sin, either the sin of that particular person or sin passed down through the generations.  First century Mediterranean people also believed that demon possession reflected the nature of the person possessed, and therefore, families and communities entirely abandoned those possessed by demons.  Most importantly in a culture valuing above all else kinship, family, and honor, first century Mediterranean people feared bringing shame on their families—through illness and demon possession but also through indiscretions and mistakes.  The people Jesus heals in today’s gospel story are isolated.  They cannot be touched at risk of making others unclean.  Their relationships are severed with family and community.  Some cannot show their face at the community well or the local synagogue. 

The first chapter of Mark is filled with stories of healing.  Jesus hops from one ailing person to another, from home to home, city to city, proclaiming the good news, healing, and casting out demons.  When Jesus heals these beloved ones on the margins of Jewish community, he breaks religious law as well as cultural mores.  He takes Simon’s mother-in-law by the hand, a woman he shouldn’t be touching in any circumstances but especially these for her illness makes him unclean.  He interfaces with those possessed by demons.  Jesus does not keep himself unstained by the chaos of illness and need and evil.  Entering into the real life of those marginalized by illness, demon possession, and shame, he restores relationships.  No longer will illness isolate people from their families; no longer will illness stop them from hugging their loved ones and sharing daily life.  No longer will demon possession stigmatize beloved ones who had fled villages to the isolation of the wilderness.  No longer will shame rule for Jesus has broken it open by entering into it with people.  If you’re a Brene Brown groupie as I am, you know that shame thrives on secrecy and silence.  Once shame is acknowledged, spoken of, and doused with empathy, its power is broken.  And that’s what Jesus does when he cures people in plain site of whole cities gathered to witness his power. 

The healing stories of Jesus can comfort us because we hear in them God’s power to heal us.  The healing stories of Jesus can also disturb us because they lead us to question: why isn’t God healing me?  The healing stories of Jesus can bring us down because we know we can’t heal the way Jesus did.  Today, I hope the healing stories of Jesus empower us, encourage us, fill us with hope.  Yes, the gospel writer Mark tells us Jesus cured many who were sick with various diseases and cast out many demons, and while we can contribute to healing in many and various ways, we cannot heal with the immediacy and divine power of Jesus.  But the healing of Jesus is not just about curing illness and casting out demons but about restoring relationship.  We who know well the devastating effects of isolation and shame also know that, with God’s help and by the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, we can free ourselves and others from isolation and shame.  Even being in this space, sharing community  by the grace of technology, the Holy Spirit has gathered us and freed us from isolation.  We are here with one another, and our connection need not stop here.  We are all familiar with the tools by which we may connect with one another, even in a pandemic.  Phone calls and emails, text messages and even love sent through the mail, small gifts left on doorsteps and cups of coffee outside and distanced.  We need not live in isolation, weighed down by the things we do not say. 

The good news of Jesus’ healing ministry is not just about curing ailments and casting out demons.  It’s about his presence with each person isolated and ashamed.  It’s about restoring relationships between people who feel lost.  No wonder the Holy Spirit gathered the disciples together on the day of Pentecost to form the church to continue Jesus’ ministry of healing, of presence, of relationship. 

The question of the day is: When church is over today, to whom will you reach out?  With whom will you connect?  To see the community’s reflection, go to the Facebook live stream feed for Sunday, February 7.

We get to be part of Jesus’ healing ministry, and in doing so, we also end our own isolation.  That’s a win-win, church!  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, January 31

By definition, authority is “the power or right to give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience.”  In a democracy like the US, we both respect and hold in suspicion those “in authority.”  We are fond of our independence and are inclined to argue, perhaps behind closed doors, with those who give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience.  At the same time, we value expert opinions and respect leaders who lead with integrity.  But authority does not necessarily stem from expertise or integrity, just the legitimacy of a particular office.  The people of Capernaum, a small town in Israel, circa 30 of the common era were not so different from us in this regard.   

While Jesus teaches in the synagogue in Capernaum, a man with an unclean spirit cries out to him, the unclean spirit speaking: Have you come to destroy us?  When Jesus commands the unclean spirit to leave the man, it does, and the people gathered in the synagogue are amazed at Jesus’ authority to cast out unclean spirits.  Jesus’ authority stands in sharp contrast with the authority of the scribes.  Mark tells us: “For Jesus taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” 

The Jewish religious institution of the first century grants authority to the scribes.  In a largely illiterate world, the scribes are learned men, literate men, faithful men who read and interpret Jewish scripture.  In the local synagogue in Capernaum, they exercise authority, teaching the law, preserving the religious traditions, and guiding their community in following the rigorous purity and food customs. 

From the perspective of the scribes and all those gathered in Capernaum’s synagogue, Jesus at first glance holds no authority.  He is like everyone else, a faithful Jewish man but unremarkable.   When he begins to teach and then ousts the unclean spirit, all are amazed by his authority.  All in the synagogue recognize Jesus’ authority even though they cannot pinpoint its source.  Two thousand years later, we know that Jesus teaches and heals with the authority of the almighty God.  While the scribes use their authority to enforce obedience to Jewish law and Jewish tradition, Jesus uses his authority to free a man from an unclean spirit, to liberate him from a power destroying his life, to restore relationships between this man, his family, and his community. 

The authority Jesus harnesses, the very authority of God, has nothing to do with laws, traditions, or customs.  He does not spend the short time he has on Earth occupied with maintaining the status quo and keeping people in line.  Now, throughout his ministry, Jesus quotes Old Testament law—and not to quarrel with it.  He teaches the people to love God and their neighbor as themselves—which is a law found in Deuteronomy.  He invites the masses who follow him to live the law, not just the letter of the law but the spirit of the law.  So that justice is done.  So that relationships are restored.  So that forgiveness becomes the norm.  While Jesus certainly loves God, neighbor, and self, he does not spend his time making sure everyone else follows the law.  Instead, he uses his authority to free people from illness, from sin, from unclean spirits, from despair, from hunger.  Jesus uses his authority to free people from all that binds them, from all that would destroy their lives. 

We who follow Jesus may believe that religion means rules like: no dancing, no drinking, no swearing.  We may have been taught that to be religious is to follow biblical law.  We may see our walk with God as morals to live by.  My friends in Christ, the One whom we follow had every respect for religious law but spent his time freeing people from all that bound them.  Jesus exercises authority in our lives not through demands or orders but by freeing us.  From what has Christ freed you?  When Jesus releases the man of the unclean spirit, we learn Jesus’ authority to free not only this man but us.  We are free, free from the opinions of others, free from values that don’t resonate with us, free from all that destroys our lives, whether substances or materialism or shame.  We are not bound even by the law of our gracious God.  But let us use our freedom to love and serve God and our neighbor.  Now that sin has no power over us, now that we’ve left behind our “should”s and “ought”s, let us use our freedom to love and serve God and our neighbor.  We don’t have to follow the law of love; we get to follow the law of love.  

A dear friend of mine recently received her first Covid-19 vaccine shot.  Her young son has a chronic disease, so she has been incredibly careful to shield him from exposure to Covid, including quitting her job and getting a new one that allows her to work from home.  She wrote me: “I don’t even know what I will do with myself once I am fully vaccinated.  It’s great to have options again.”  My friend is probably not alone in feeling bound by this time of pandemic—and likely not alone in wondering how she will use her freedom once she is vaccinated.  The restrictions of the pandemic have given us an opportunity to consider freedom anew.  For us in the US, freedom so deeply shapes our lives, we may not even realize how much freedom we enjoy.  And now that our freedom has come into relief—both mundane freedoms related to travel and social interaction as well as spiritual freedom from guilt, shame, sin, despair, and the like—now that our freedom has come into relief, how will we use our freedom? 

In his letter to the Galatians, the Apostle Paul writes of the freedom we see Jesus gift the man with an unclean spirit.  Paul writes: For freedom Christ has set us free.  Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.