Learn & Act: Voting Integrity

This Thursday, April 28 at 6:30-7:30 pm, join Phoenix Fusion congregations to learn and act in regards to voting rights.  There has been a lot of news lately in Arizona about legislation that would change how people vote, potentially impacting who is able to cast a ballot. Some of this legislation has passed, while other bills are still in process. As Lutherans, many of us feel that voting is a sacred right and that we have a calling to be civically engaged in supporting the common good—but with so much happening on this front, it can be hard to keep up or know how to make your voice heard.

In this virtual gathering, we will provide:

• up-to-date information on Arizona voting legislation

• details for getting in contact with your legislators and finding out where they stand

• live demonstrations and opportunities to take immediate action to let our lawmakers know how their Lutheran constituents feel about voting integrity

This is a great opportunity to form connections with others who care about these issues. Whether you are a seasoned activist or taking your first steps into civic engagement, we hope you’ll join us for an informative and energizing evening of learning and action.

Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/81426122034?pwd=aXpYNTJJQWFxUWl0OGxZMmprWEZZQT09 

I-10 Closure

The I-10 will be closed in both directions from 10:00 pm Friday, April 22, to 4:00 am Monday, April 25, for utility relocation work.

Eastbound I-10 will be closed between SR 51 and SR 143. The eastbound I-10 on-ramps between Third and 40th streets; the southbound I-17 on-ramps at Seventh Avenue and Seventh Street; the westbound Loop 202 (Red Mountain Freeway) ramp to eastbound I-10; the southbound SR 51 on-ramp at McDowell Road and ramp from southbound SR 51 to eastbound I-10 will be closed.

Westbound I-10 will be closed between SR 143 and I-17. The westbound I-10 on-ramps between Elliot Road and 32nd Street, the westbound US 60 (Superstition Freeway) on-ramp at Mill Avenue and the westbound US 60 ramp to westbound I-10 will be closed.

For detour information please visit i10BroadwayCurve.com.

Easter Sermon

Day of the Church Year: Easter Sunday

Scripture Passage: Luke 24:1-12

On the first day of the week, the women travel to Jesus’ tomb.  They had watched where Jesus’ body had been laid on Friday, had rested on the sabbath, Saturday, and now, they return to the tomb with spices for his body.  Surprisingly, the stone is rolled away and Jesus’ body nowhere to be found.  Suddenly, two men in dazzling clothes appear and ask: “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here—but has risen.”  Because they are dressed in dazzling clothes, we assume the men are angels, messengers of God, sent to proclaim this most important news.  The women come to the tomb because that is where they had seen Jesus’ body laid.  The women come to the tomb because they assume that the dead stay dead.  The women come to the tomb because they wish to honor their friend and teacher.  At first, the women don’t remember what Jesus had shared—that he would be handed over to sinners and be crucified and on the third day rise from the dead.  So, of course, they come to the tomb looking for Jesus.  Of course, they come looking not for the living but for the dead.  Of course, this seems obvious, but it leads me to wonder: are we looking for the dead too or for the living?

This morning, Easter Sunday, anticipating perhaps a celebratory lunch after worship, a day of lilies and joy, a day of eggs hunted and candy eaten, are we looking for the dead or the living?  Are we looking for a savior of old, limited to the pages of the Bible, for all intents and purposes dead in the pages of history or are we looking for a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice in a world torn apart by hatred and indifference?  The men in dazzling clothes ask the women: why do you look for the living among the dead? Because they know: Jesus is risen.  Jesus is living.  And the women are not going to find the living Jesus in the tomb. 

This past week, in reflecting on the Easter story, a seminary professor shared about a time she traveled to the Holy Land, to Israel and Palestine, the land of Jesus, a pilgrimage many people of faith take to see what Jesus saw, to walk where Jesus walked, to understand more clearly the biblical context.  Her husband was talking with their eldest son about her trip, and her son asked: Why?  Why is mom going to the Holy Land?  Her husband was confused.  For a family rooted in the church, their son knew the obvious answer to that question.  “Well, you know, Jesus” her husband told their son.  And then her son made an equally obvious observation: “Tell her he’s not there.”  Tell her the risen Christ is not there anymore.

If we are seeking the risen Christ, where in this war-torn, natural disaster bearing, climate changing, violence-loving world will we find him?  Our lack of clear answers to life’s most difficult questions may lead us to assume that, actually, seeking a risen savior is fruitless, even today, even on Easter.  Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a religious tradition that grounds us in an ethical way of life.  Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a Sunday morning tradition that brings structure and order to our lives.  Instead of a risen savior, perhaps the best we can hope for is a tradition that helps give meaning to our days.  But dear friends, Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  And as valuable as an ethical way of life, a Sunday morning tradition, and meaning in this life are, we have reason to hope for more.  We have reason to hope for a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice, a force beyond any one of us.  We have reason to hope that what the women heard is true: Jesus is not here—but has risen. 

One of the most perplexing tasks in my life is to explain to people I’ve just met why I love Grace Lutheran Church.  Especially to people who aren’t keen on religion.  Me either, I say!  Heavens, the church at large has not followed Jesus very well.  But to my new friends, I describe our small congregation, an always-shifting, never perfect, “isle of misfit toys,” to quote Brian Flatgard.  Individually, we are simply people, invested in our own agendas and purposes, struggling with our own challenges.  Individually, you all are lovely, but individually, we are not all that extraordinary.  Together, though, something happens, something I don’t quite understand.  I guess this is the point.  The risen Christ happens.  Somehow, in a way that eludes explanation, when we get together, something far more than any one of us can be or do happens.  And the more people who join us in this being and doing, the more that happens.  The risen Christ shows up as a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice that makes heat respite possible every summer and pancake breakfast possible every week.  The risen Christ shows up in relationships built across lines that would seem to divide.  The risen Christ shows up to make many ministries possible, to provide the funding for a building nearly a hundred years old that is forever breaking.  The risen Christ grow bonds between Grace and the other congregations that worship here and Trunk Space that lifts up the community through music and the Montessori preschool where children learn and grow.  The risen Christ gives us the courage to ask how we will respond to the changes in our neighborhood and how we will serve all those of downtown Phoenix.  The risen Christ shows up in the gathered community where we do God’s work with our hands.  We are the living, breathing creative force of love and justice, not individually but in community. 

Poet Marge Piercy reflects in her poem The Low Road on the loneliness and powerlessness of one person acting alone.  But two people, three, four, six are a delegation, a committee, a wedge.  She goes on:
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again and they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more. 

We are the risen Christ two thousand years after the resurrection, after the ascension, after the day of Pentecost, after the rise and fall of empires, after wars and pandemics.  We are the risen Christ, the people of God gathered to do God’s work with our hands.  Are we looking for the dead or for the living?  The resurrection of Christ calls us to join our hands and hearts with the hands and hearts of others—to be a living, breathing, creative force of love and justice.  Before his death and resurrection, before healing and forgiving sin, before feeding people and performing miracles, before preaching and teaching, Jesus gathered a community, the disciples.  He gathered the women and, according to the gospel of Luke, a group of 70 whom he sent out to work in his name.  Today, Christ gathers us to do God’s work with our hands that We might be the risen Christ.  Today, we look for the living, and indeed, Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Amen.

Good Friday Sermon

Day of the Church Year: Good Friday

Scripture Passage: John 19

Jesus dies an unjust death.  Throughout the gospel of John, the Judean people, especially the Judean leaders, seek Jesus’ death for Jesus does and says things that dispute their own authority, that raise questions about their religious answers, that tell a different story about the world.  Most significantly, Jesus announces his identity as Son of God, a capital offense in the Roman Empire.  Finally, when Jesus stands before Pilate who is empowered by the Roman Empire to free him or put him to death, Pilate succumbs to the crowds even though he finds Jesus innocent.  Perhaps we would have listened with an open heart to Jesus.  If we were Pilate, perhaps we would have followed our conscience and not given in to political pressure.  When others were shouting “Crucify him,” perhaps we would have protested.  Perhaps. 

But we yet live in an unjust world, an unjust world, sadly, of our own making.  A world where some more than others encounter roadblocks in employment and education, housing and healthcare, the criminal justice system perhaps more than any other system.  A world where some more than others are vulnerable to abuse and disrespect.  A world where some more than others experience hardship and violence.  On Good Friday, we remember that Jesus was one of those who did.  Who encountered roadblocks, who was vulnerable to abuse and disrespect, who experienced hardship and violence.  Jesus was one of the people who, like our neighbors or perhaps we ourselves today, is trapped by the sins of the world.  According to John’s gospel, Jesus did not have to die in order to forgive sin for he forgave sin during his life.  But Jesus’ death was caused by sin, by the short-sightedness of the Judean people, by the Roman empire’s abuse of power, by an ethic of violence and punishment. 

On this Good Friday, we mourn the death of Jesus.  And on this Good Friday, we mourn the death of all those who, like Jesus, are caught in unjust systems. 

You may know that, whenever possible, usually on a monthly basis, we remember those who have died on the streets of Phoenix during a brief Community Memorial Service on Facebook live.  A few days ago, I received the list of names of community members who died during January, February, and March.  When I opened the excel documents, I realized new information had been added to the lists: the reason for death and the place of death for each person.  While some of our community members died of illness while in a hospital or someone else’s residence, the reasons for death hit me suddenly and with great force: Suicide.  Drug Overdose.  Homicide. Traffic accident.  And even more so, the places of death: Sidewalk.  Desert area.  Parking lot.  Canal.  Alley.  Dumpster.  Each person, caught in unjust systems, usually caught not just for a brief moment of their life but time and time again resulting in temporary or chronic homelessness.  Each person, abandoned by family, sometimes by friends, and certainly abandoned by society but not abandoned by God.  Each person a beloved child of God, each person a friend to someone, each person an artist or musician, skilled worker or volunteer, perhaps a member of the Grace community, and so we lift up each name and give thanks to God for the lives of the saints.  Each person, we ourselves, are not alone and not forgotten.   

Jesus dies an unjust death in an unjust world, and we know what that’s like.  And God knows what that’s like.  In the crucifixion of Jesus, we see a God unafraid of pain and suffering, unafraid of the fullness of the human experience.  For Jesus’ death proclaims good news with an edge: that God is willing to enter into the crucible of crucifixion, into pain and suffering, into the fullness of the human experience—to be with us in our humanity and then to transform the suffering and injustice of the world.  For Christ’s presence with us in suffering is what transforms the suffering of the world.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.        

Maundy Thursday Sermon

Day of the Church Year: Maundy Thursday

Scripture Passage: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

In a poem entitled Fear, poet Kahlil Gibran writes:

It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way.
The river can not go back.

Nobody can go back.
To go back is impossible in existence.

The river needs to take the risk
of entering the ocean
because only then will fear disappear,
because that’s where the river will know
it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,
but of becoming the ocean.

Tonight, we read the story of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples.  This act of foot washing, when it is below Jesus’ social rank to kneel at the feet of others, when the disciples’ feet really are dirty, strikes me as mundane, totally practical, even silly when performed by the son of God.  Perhaps more than any other day of the church year, though, Maundy Thursday encapsulates the call of a Jesus-follower: to love, to give over our lives to love.  Not prestige, not wealth, not comfort, not even excellence.  Love.  When Jesus lays down the towel, he gives the disciples a new commandment: to love one another as he loves them.  That this teaching follows on the heels of foot washing implies that, for Jesus, to wash feet is to love.   

Tonight, we wash one another’s feet, but we don’t really-wash one another’s feet.  For us, it is a ritual act, a symbol of love, but for Jesus and his disciples, washing feet is an everyday, household act.  For us, the equivalent might be a friend, partner, or neighbor buying our groceries when we are sick, throwing a load of laundry into the washer when we are too exhausted to do it ourselves, listening to us over the phone or coffee about a particularly bad day, or picking up our kids from school when we are stuck in meetings.  These are acts of love, nothing but mundane and practical love.  These are not beautiful acts or creative ones, not elaborate gifts or an extravagant party.  Love can involve beauty and creativity, elaborate gifts and extravagant parties, but tonight, Jesus teaches the disciples that, fundamentally, love is mundane and practical.  And the problem is, this just doesn’t feel like enough to give our lives over to mundane and practical tasks for the sake of loving our families, our neighbor, and the stranger.  For we risk losing ourselves.  We risk invisibility for these are not acts of heroes.  As Kahlil Gibran writes, the river trembles with fear for it believes it will disappear into the ocean. 

But when we give ourselves over to love, to mundane and practical, humble and tender acts, we don’t disappear.  Instead, we enter Love, capital L, the love of God bigger than any one of us.  We become part of the way God loves the world. 

And so, dear friends, those seemingly insignificant acts of making meals and watching children, of monetary gifts that aid refugees around the world, of church leadership and service, of daily work that serves the common good, of service to neighbors known and unknown in countless ways, these mundane and practical acts become the way God loves the world. 

Tonight, we remember how Jesus gave his life over to love.  He was one person who washed the feet of his twelve friends.  He was one person who fed people and healed them, one person who taught and preached, one person who befriended tax collectors and sinners and proclaimed forgiveness.  He lived and died and was raised two thousand years ago, and we never met him.  Yet we know intimately the love of Jesus for us, poured out in mundane and practical, humble and tender, even extravagant acts of love.  For the love of Jesus did not stop upon his death but continues through the disciples whom he taught, in word and certainly in deed, to love one another as he loved them.  A love that continues in Jesus-followers of every age.  We wash feet; we give our lives over to love.  We need not fear disappearing in acts of love; rather, we become part of the way God loves the world.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Community Building Goal

During 2022, our community building goals all focus on discerning God’s call for us in the midst of the enormous change in our neighborhood, in our culture, in the church at large.

April through June, we consider this change through the lens of our third biblical guiding principle.

Be in conversation about the change in the neighborhood through the lens of our third guiding principle: Share the good news of Christ.

Pastor Sarah on Vacation

Pastor Sarah will be on vacation April 18-21.  If you have a pastoral emergency during that time, please contact Pastor Stoney Bowen-Weiszmann at 602-616-5690.

April Birthdays

Sending warm wishes to those celebrating birthdays this month!

Tim G

Nicole G

Seth M

Sherwood G

Scott K

Carol S

Dennis M

Judy B

Sara R

Bonnie A

John D

Roger A

William G

Renee W

Sermon for Sunday, April 3

Day of the Church Year: 5th Sunday of Lent

Scripture Passage: John 12:1-8

Jesus will die.  Sooner rather than later.  The very next day after our gospel reading, Jesus will enter Jerusalem where crowds will hail him as king with palm branches.  But today, Jesus sits at the table with Mary, Martha, and their brother Lazarus whom Jesus raised from the dead.  Lazarus will one day die again, but for now, he is at the table reminding his dinner guest and the readers of John’s gospel that Jesus will die.  And because Jesus will die, Mary anoints his feet with pure nard, a costly oil, and wipes them with her hair.  At a time and place when bodies were left to decompose naturally, relatives and friends would commonly anoint the body of their loved one with perfume, oil, or spices at the time of burial.  A last ritual to honor the loved one.  A last act of love.  And especially here, an act of intimacy with a dear friend as Mary wipes Jesus’ feet with her hair.  

Judas Iscariot, the disciple who will eventually betray Jesus, questions Mary’s use of the nard for it is costly.  Wouldn’t it be better to sell this oil and give the money to the poor? He asks.  But the gospel writer John lets his readers in on a secret: that Judas keeps the common purse, steals from it, and does not care about the poor.  Perhaps Judas’ question makes sense to us.  Perhaps we think he raises a good point.  But Judas’ motive in asking the question is not pure.  And Jesus agrees with Mary, that her act is appropriate for he will die.  Sooner rather than later.  In the remaining time she has to honor him, she does so—with great love.

Three years ago, we gathered on Wednesdays in Lent to discuss death.  I don’t know if you remember, if you were here, but I recall hospital chaplain AmarAtma saying that death teaches us how to live.  In walking with countless families through many kinds of death—sudden and unexpected, gentle and accepted, chaotic and filled with questions—in walking with all these families, AmarAtma saw clearly that the greatest gift of death was clarity about life: about what and who matter, about how this precious little time should or could be spent.  To speak of death is almost anathema in our culture where we rarely acknowledge death even when to do so would be prudent.  When a relative, a friend, a neighbor, or we ourselves are diagnosed with cancer or another condition that compromises not only our quality of life but perhaps its quantity, we take comfort in focusing on the daily fight, the small wins and losses, the sweetness of ordinary moments.  Leaving the possibility of death unspoken seems gracious. Likewise, the suffering of the world and the death that accompanies it is so difficult to watch in Ukraine and Syria, in Afghanistan and Congo, on our own streets and in our own homes, senseless and horrific violence.  Perhaps it is understandable that we avoid death, that we turn away from the news. 

Yet death teaches us how to live—and Jesus’ death in particular.  Mary does not avoid death.  In anticipating Jesus’ death, she learns from it, learns what matters, and she honors Jesus, loves Jesus, provides the tiny bit of comfort she can to the One who knows everything that will happen. 

Sometimes, while playing a game or getting to know new people, we are asked questions like: If you knew you only had three months to live, what would you do?  Would you live differently than you are right now?  These questions clarify for us what matters, and so, most of us, in response to these questions, list things we are not currently doing but things we would do were we to know the time of our death: spending more time with people we love, forgiving someone who wronged us, discovering something new in the world, sharing words of appreciation or affection we currently hold back, working for justice or giving of ourselves in ways we’ve been scared to or just never thought we had the time for. 

Or as poet Mary Oliver writes in her poem The Summer Day:

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

I have often wondered how it is that the disciples left everything and followed Jesus.  I have wondered if they were foolish or naive.  I have wondered about the women who left their families, who defied social norms, who risked alienation to travel with Jesus and provide for him.  Who does that?  Who leaves home and family and employment to fish for people, to travel without particular destination, following a man who preaches and teaches, heals and feeds, befriends and forgives sin?  And it occurs to me this week that perhaps, in their particular historical moment, under Roman occupation, with lifespans short and life itself gritty and hard, perhaps they understood with greater clarity than we do in the relative security of our digital, scientific age the urgency of now.  For death was not a distant reality, relegated to hospitals or hospice homes, but a commonplace event in homes, in city streets, part of the general cultural milieu.  The disciples and Mary, they knew death as a constant companion, and so they knew, also, the urgency of now.

Just yesterday, I heard on the news that President Biden signed into law this past week legislation that names lynching a federal hate crime.  The legislation bears the name of Emmett Till who was tragically lynched in 1955.  Though, apparently, 46 states and the district of Columbia stipulate lynching as a hate crime in their state law, it is astonishing to me that it took this long to pass a federal law of this nature.  And I am reminded that the death of Emmett Till was not safely relegated to a hospital or hospice home.  Rather, he and the many who came before him and after him lived and still live in the urgency of now, in the knowledge that life is short and for some, shorter than others, due to hatred and bigotry.  In 1963, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King spoke of the fierce urgency of now, an urgency that led many to acts of civil disobedience, to active non-violence, to questioning the norms of culture.  In the wake of this action, Congress passed the 1964 and 1968 civil rights acts, and our whole culture began to shift.   

On the eve of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, after hearing Jesus talk about his own death in that city, Mary anoints Jesus’ feet with pure nard and wipes them with her hair.  Judas’ implied accusation of waste might seem relevant to us, but Jesus responds: You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.  Indeed.  Every day of Jesus’ life was filled with preaching and teaching, healing and feeding, befriending and forgiving the sins of the poor.  Every day.  “The poor” of whom Judas speaks are the very people who follow Jesus, who crowd around to be healed, who are vulnerable to acts of violence from the Roman Empire.  Jesus’ words do not release Judas and the disciples from service to and love for all those who are part of their community; rather, Jesus’ words confirm the necessity of their continued ministry—even beyond his death. 

Everything dies at last and too soon, including Jesus.  With Jesus’ one wild and precious life, he preached and taught, healed and cured, fed people and ate with them, forgave and befriended them.  And as for us, what is it we plan to do with our one wild and precious life?  Dr. King and many others embraced non-violence and advocated for change.  Archbishop Oscar Romero spoke of the disappearances and torture of his people and loved them.  The disciples left everything to fish for people.  Mary honored and loved Jesus by anointing his feet.  What will we do?  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, March 27

Day of the Church Year: 4th Sunday of Lent

Scripture Passage: Luke 151-3, 11b-32

I know it’s controversial, but I’ll say it anyway: The beloved so-called parable of the prodigal son is not about forgiveness.  The parable of the prodigal son is not about repentance.  The parable that could be more aptly named the parable of the prodigal father is about grace, radical grace.

To call someone prodigal means that person is wasteful, extravagant, or reckless.  Yes, the younger son of the parable recklessly spends his inheritance once he rudely asks for it from his living father.  Yes, the younger son comes to himself only when he has nothing to eat.  Yes, the younger son is in dire straits because there was a famine in the land, no one helped him, and he had isolated himself through his prodigal ways.  Yes, this is a prodigal, wasteful son, a reckless son who comes home because he is hungry, not because he is sorry, not because he has seen the error of his ways. 

Note that the father sees his younger son coming from far away; the father must have been waiting and watching for his son’s return.

Note that, before his younger son can say anything, the father runs to him, puts his arms around him, and kisses him.

Note that, when the son makes his speech about what a rotten son he is, the father never responds to it and instead calls for the fatted calf to be slaughtered in order to throw a party.

Note that, when the older son complains to his father, the father describes his years-long generosity to the older son.

And note that, despite the bitterness and jealousy of the older son, the father pleads with him to maintain relationship.

The prodigal father recklessly, wastefully, extravagantly loves his sons, both of them. 

We can probably all tell stories of times when we made mistakes or intentionally hurt others, like the prodigal son.  In some of those stories, the people impacted not only held us accountable but maybe hurt us right back.  In other stories, the people impacted held us accountable but also showed us grace by trying to understand our perspective or just straight up loving us.

When I was in seminary, in one of the classes I took, the majority of my classmates were black women.  As a white woman, I struggled then, and I struggle now to really understand my racial privilege.  I struggled then, and I struggle now to understand the limitations of my perspective.  I’ve entered the struggle because I think it’s vitally important as we live together in community to question our assumptions and cultural norms especially around race, but good intentions don’t always get the job done!  And one day in class, I made a comment in response to something one of my classmates said.  I honestly no longer remember the content; this is now 18 years ago.  But I do remember that I got it wrong.  Really, really wrong.  After I made this statement, an awkward hush descended on the room.  At the end of class, our professor pulled me aside and graciously helped me understand how I had likely hurt this particular classmate and how I had diminished most of my other classmates.  In hearing these difficult truths, I grieved and repented hard.  The next time I saw this classmate, I apologized for the mistake I had made.  In response, she told me that she went home that night and called her mom to discuss what I had said.  She told me she was hurt and angry and sad.  And then, she told me she discussed with her mom how she could see my perspective in my comment, that she could partially agree with what I had said, that she could understand why I had made the comment even though she was hurt and angry and sad.  What grace, what radical grace my classmate showed me!  

Grace is undeserved favor, and at a moment when my classmate could have remained angry or dismissed me or just written off the moment as the comment of a perspective-limited white woman, she explored in a conversation with her mother why I would have said something that hurt her.  While both she and my professor held me accountable for my statement, my classmate sought understanding and showed compassion.

This is what grace looks like.  And grace is God’s posture towards us. 

This week, I had a conversation with someone who, like all of us, has made some mistakes and endured loss in his life.  And he’s faced these mistakes and losses with courage and honesty and a desire to heal and grow.  Looking back at his life, he said to me, “I’ve never had this little money and yet had so much.”  Finally, all the pieces of his life have fallen into place, and he is filled with gratitude.  Acknowledging the truths of his life, he is astonished to find that God has now given him gifts of peace and joy, opportunities to give and serve, meaningful employment, people to rely on, and cats to adore.  Though he prayed for stability and health, God has given him more, much more than he ever asked for, more than he ever thought he deserved.  God’s posture in his life is one of grace, radical grace.

When we are honest with ourselves, we recognize that we are so very dependent on the grace of God and others.  Day in, day out, we make mistakes.  We don’t always do the right thing.  We don’t always know what the right thing is.  We are sometimes too tired to be kind.  We are sometimes too overwhelmed by life or the news to do what needs doing, and tasks are left unfinished.  Relationships are left untended.  None of us are perfect.  We depend on the grace of God and others.  And so does everyone else.  So be gentle, dear ones, be gentle with one another—as God is gentle with us.

The parable of the prodigal father is a story about a God who never tires in loving us, who keeps watch for our return, who celebrates us even when we’ve lost everything and can’t reasonably defend our actions.  Grace and accountability go hand in hand; remember: God’s law that leads us into right relationship with God and others is our accountability.  But our gentle God waits with open arms to welcome us when we are hungry and ready to come home.  Our gentle God meets us from far off, gathers us into a hug, and celebrates our return.  Later, there will be discussion and sorting out with openness and honesty.  Later, there will be accountability.  But today, now, God kills the fatted calf, and our community dances and sings.  For we who were dead have come to life; we who were lost have been found.  Thanks be to God!  Amen. 

Theology Pub: Sunday, April 3

In a time when nothing seems to make sense, all are invited to a monthly ecumenical gathering to connect and share a beverage over meaningful topics. This month’s topic is Women in Ministry. Theology Pub is back the first Sunday evening of each month, 6:00-7:30 pm, at Arizona Wilderness DTPHX, 201 E Roosevelt which means the next Theology Pub is this Sunday, April 3 at 6:00 pm. We will gather on the patio of Wilderness, and participants are welcome to eat and drink if they would like but are not pressured to do so.

Update from Our Missionary

Our missionary, Rev. David Brondos, serves in Mexico. Below is the link to his monthly update about preparing seminary students to serve as pastors across Central and South America!

Brondos_News_2022_03.pdf (mcusercontent.com)

Spring PhLY News

Casey, the PhLY youth director, shares the following for our high school youth:

You are invited to join us Saturday, April 9 from 3-5 pm as we walk through the prayer garden at Canaan in the Desert. The desert oasis is located just south of Shea on 40th Street. This is a Lutheran Convent with roots in Germany. To see more about Canaan in the Desert please visit https://www.canaaninthedesert.com. Please RSVP to this event by filling out this form: https://forms.gle/JsU1DXYyaUwAP4CMA.

On Saturday, May 14, from 6:00 am-9:00 am we are walking with UMOM New Day Centers in the annual fundraiser to end homelessness at the Phoenix Zoo. Registration is $15 and includes a T-shirt and admission to the Phoenix Zoo for the day (a day ticket for the Zoo is normally $30, so you save $15 and you are helping a great cause.) Please sign up by joining the PhLY Ministry team by clicking this link https://fundraise.umom.org/team/417628. Once the walk is over at 9:00 am, we will be enjoying the Zoo so come prepared to walk! Things to bring: sunscreen, water bottle, snacks, and money for lunch. We will plan on being done at noon. Founded in 1964, UMOM is located in Phoenix, Arizona and is an innovative provider of shelter, housing and services for people experiencing homelessness. Every night they provide safe shelter and supportive services for nearly 700 individuals experiencing homelessness – 155 families and 130 single women. They also offer over 550 units of affordable housing across the Valley.

Upcoming dates:

Saturday, April 9, 3:00 pm-5:00 pm Canaan in the Desert 

Saturday, May 14, 6:00 am-12:00 pm UMOM Walk to End Homelessness at the Phoenix Zoo. 

Quarterly Pizza & Ministry Night

Tuesday, April 19 is Quarterly Pizza & Ministry Night! The Ministry Teams (Worship & Music, Property, Hospitality, Faith Formation, Outreach, Stewardship, Collaborative, and Council) will take time to reflect on our changing neighborhood and discuss plans for 2022. All members of each team are invited. Come and find out what everyone is doing, and eat pizza! Arrive by 6:00 pm for social interaction and pizza, the meeting will begin at 6:30 pm and will also be available on Zoom. Please RSVP with Jasmine (officemanager@graceinthecity.com, 602-258-3787) by April 14, whether it be in person or on Zoom, so we know how much pizza is needed.

Here’s the zoom link for those who wish to participate via zoom:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89720341461?pwd=cWxOUFhPa252eEhWTnB0dm1yOWFMUT09

We're Training!

In the recent weeks, we’ve welcomed new staff members to Grace. In the spirit of being equipped, we will close the office on Tuesday, April 5 at 10:30 am for training. If you have any questions, please contact Jasmine (officemanager@graceinthecity.com, 602-258-3787) or Pastor Sarah (pastorsarah@graceinthecity.com, 602-318-6876.)

Holy Week Schedule

Please join in the following Holy Week festivities!

Maundy Thursday Worship at 6:30 pm in the Sanctuary (April 14)

With Foot Washing, Holy Communion, & Stripping of the Altar

Good Friday Worship at 6:30 pm in the Sanctuary (April 15)

Remembering Jesus’ Passion

Easter Sunday, April 17

Contemporary Worship at 8:30 am

Easter Brunch at 10:00 am in Hope Hall

Easter Egg Hunt at 10:00 am in the Courtyard

Traditional Worship at 11:00 am in the Sanctuary

Sermon for Sunday, March 20

Day of the Church Year: 3rd Sunday of Lent

Scripture Passage: Luke 13:1-9

Maybe we’ve been there.  We are driving down the freeway or perhaps a county highway somewhere far from Phoenix.  We are driving just a bit faster than the speed limit, within an acceptable range, we think.  In our rearview mirror, we see another vehicle barreling towards us, traveling faster even than we are.  Both cars are driving over the speed limit, but that guy is going way faster and should really slow down.  He could hurt someone.  The second vehicle passes us on the left and continues on to the horizon.  A few minutes later, again in our rearview mirror, we see a vehicle, traveling fast enough to overtake us, and pretty soon, we hear the siren.  The police pull us over, ask for our license and registration, ask if we know how fast we were driving.  Whether or not we say it to the officer, we are probably thinking: But look how fast the other guy was going!

Is it fair that the person who passed us going 80 miles per hour in a 65 mile an hour zone didn’t get pulled over—but we did while going 75 in a 65?  Maybe; we were still driving over the speed limit.  On the other hand, maybe not.  That both drivers were not stopped is unfair.  But life isn’t fair.  We cannot control what others do, cannot control systems, cannot control the laws of the universe.  We cannot control disasters, and we cannot control God.  Many of our life circumstances are shaped by people or forces for which we are not personally responsible—our family system into which we are simply born, the systems of our culture that privilege some and not others, geo-political events much larger than us, disasters caused by weather, misunderstandings of physics, shoddy work, or a complex combination of causes.  While it may be tempting to believe that God rewards or punishes us based on the rightness or wrongness of our choices, on our sin or righteousness, today, Jesus addresses the fairness and unfairness of life not through a lens of morality but through the lens of consequence.

Jesus tells short stories of unfair, horrible, violent deaths of Galileans and a parable about a fig tree to illustrate the control we do have: the power to repent—which means turning around or changing our minds—and the power to produce good fruit, to seek justice and righteousness, to act with grace and love.  In an unfair world, we do get to choose something, and that something is how we respond to what happens to us.   

At first glance, these tangled verses of Luke chapter 13 seem to make no sense, so I invite you to open your Bibles to Luke 13:1-9 to follow along.  Jesus uses two examples from current events of his day to make his point.  First, apparently, the Roman Empire killed Jews from Galilee and then mingled their blood with the animal blood used in ritual sacrifice in the temple—which would have dishonored the temple sacrifice in a most grievous way.  Second, in a different piece of news, eighteen people died when the tower of Siloam unexpectedly fell, an unforeseen error of construction or design.  In both circumstances, Jesus asks a rhetorical question: Were these people who died worse sinners than anyone else?   No.  God wasn’t punishing them because they sinned.  From what Jesus says about the circumstances, these deaths were entirely unrelated to the sin or righteousness of the victims.  And even more than that, God is not the one who caused their deaths.  But, Jesus says, unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.  How did they perish?  What were their deaths like?   Unexpectedly, suddenly, horrifically.  Also: shameful with the mingling of blood and dishonorable.  In other words, their deaths were unfair.

Jesus then pivots to a parable about a fruitless, defunct fig tree.  When the owner of the fig tree sees his fruitless tree, he tells the gardener to cut it down.  But the gardener advocates for the tree, asks for another year to fertilize it and dig around it.  Perhaps the tree got stuck in a sun-less spot.  Perhaps the gardener failed to sufficiently water it.  Perhaps the gardener forgot to prune it.  The owner agrees.  With intention and planning, if the tree still does not produce fruit a year later, then, the gardener will cut it down.  The death of the fig tree won’t be unexpected, sudden, or unfair.  After a year of opportunity to produce fruit, whatever happens is fair, gracious even.   

Though tangled with his use of mixed metaphors, Jesus offers a vision of a God who extends grace, who does not operate unexpectedly, suddenly, shamefully, or dishonorably.  God provides opportunity and space for growth, for fruit to emerge.  

Lent brings opportunity and space for growth, for good fruit to emerge—for Lent is a season of repentance.  That’s why we traditionally choose a practice during Lent, something to give up or something to add, that helps us grow and deepen our relationship with God, and by extension, our relationships with God’s people.  There is so much in this life we cannot control, so much that is unfair, but God has given us the capacity to repent and produce fruit, regardless of our circumstances. 

Remember our experience on the highway?  Our desire to justify driving over the speed limit, to contest a speeding ticket, simply because someone else was driving faster?  Jesus’ call to repentance means the unfair circumstances that complicate our lives don’t excuse our indifference and arrogance, greed and hard-heartedness, disregard for our neighbor and the earth.   

For sure, Jesus’ words today are among his hardest.  Genuine repentance is hard work.  Repentance not couched in defense of our behaviors.  Repentance despite wrongs done to us.  Yet our God-given capacity for repentance is gift.  If you want to know freedom, try repentance!  When defending ourselves, when trying to wiggle our way out of a ticket, when lashing out because we have endured injustice, we feel bound.  Bound by our pain, our ego, our pride.  By contrast, repentance leads to life, to good fruit—but is one of those things we must first try in order to appreciate. 

Years ago, I was called out by a member of the Grace community.  She told me something about myself that I stalwartly denied, not just once but several times, something that hurt her.  One day, she held my eye and told me again.  This time, instead of internally defending myself, instead of justifying my behavior to her, instead of making excuses, instead of denying what was plainly true, I said, “You’re right, and I don’t know why I do that.”  It was a hard minute followed by years of freedom, friends.  Today, I’m an apologist for repentance.  God has given us a capacity for repentance, not because God is cruel and unjust but because God is gracious and seeks abundant life for us. 

On a day of difficult scripture, I pray the gospel is heard: A way of freedom, life, and good fruit, repentance is God’s gift to us.  Perhaps with trepidation or reluctance, perhaps with joy and while laughing at ourselves, we can say: Thanks be to God!  Amen. 

Lent 2022

Join us for a mid-week Lenten meal at 5:30 pm in Hope Hall and worship at 6:30 pm in the Sanctuary each Wednesday.  We gather around the theme Change & Contemplation by singing Holden Evening Prayer, practicing contemplative prayer, and exploring how our ancestors in faith navigated change.

Wilbur

Wilbur is a glass pig you’ll see in our worship spaces who gratefully accepts noisy and quiet offerings that are then shared with some organizations dear to our hearts. October through December, these offerings will go to the Lutheran Disaster Response. This ministry shares God’s hope, healing and renewal with people whose lives have been disrupted by disasters in the United States and around the world. When the dust settles and the headlines change, they stay to provide ongoing assistance to those in need. Wilbur says THANK YOU!

PhLY!

Hey PhLYers! We will be having our first PhLY Lock-In on March 26-27 at Esperanza Lutheran. Esperanza is a short drive off of the I-10 and Ray Rd. We do ask that you please RSVP for this event so Esperanza can plan the food accordingly. Register early for extra credit points!

https://forms.gle/yKJ8bTWDktm9uvuq6

(PhLY stands for Phoenix area Lutheran Youth. PhLY is a collaborative high school ministry.)