Third Sunday in Lent (Year C) - March 24, 2019

Third Sunday in Lent
Year C
March 24, 2019
Luke 13:1-9

Often, in the wake of disaster, I often hear TV preachers and others claim that the disaster was God’s punishment for our sin. When I was in high school, the Westboro Baptist church came to my part of Pennsylvania. If I remember correctly, they had come to York, PA in order to picket the funeral of a member of the US armed forces, who had been killed in Iraq.. For them US casualties from the Iraq war were part of God’s punishment for the US’s growing acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community. As a granddaughter of a Korea vet, a and a cousin of an Iraq vet, I was and still am appalled by their stance. When I saw their signs that read “Thank God for dead soldiers,” I saw people that I knew and loved. The Westboro Baptist church has built an entire theological system around God hating people (Catholics, atheists, Muslims, Jews, Romani people), but in particular our LGBTQIA+ siblings - and that God punishes all of us for what they call the “sin of homosexuality” - to the point that “God hates” is part of their website URL. The last part of their URL is a slur for our Gay and Lesbian siblings that I cannot bring myself to say from the pulpit. Their view of God is not one of a God that I can praise and worship.

TV evangelists make similar claims. Pat Robertson, of the 700 club, is well known for placing the blame after tragedies on so called “sins” of the people. Famously after the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, he blamed the earthquake that killed thousands of people on Haitians making a quote “pact” with the devil as they rebelled against French colonial rule. Hurricane Katrina, AIDS, 9/11, shootings at our schools, (and the list could go on) are all blamed, by some, on the sins of American culture - and thus the disasters are God’s punishment for those sins. The idea is that our suffering is part of divine punishment. While we hopefully clearly see Westboro baptist as extreme, many of these other prominent personalities have a larger following and aren’t seen, at least by society at large, as extreme. Yet these views make my skin crawl. I can’t wrap my head around the God that they preach. I just can’t.

Yet, while hopefully, we can see these attitudes as extreme and harmful, these views trickle into our lives in one way or another. On some level, I think it is natural. We want to find answers to why bad things happen to us, to our loved ones, and to the world. We want to understand why others lose their lives and we keep ours, rationalizing acts of violence - and too often turn to victim blaming - somehow they must have deserved it (they’re a criminal, they shouldn’t have been running alone in the dark, etc.). And, yes, it is easier, sometimes, to pin the blame on God - and if God did it, there must be a reason. I would guess that we all, at some point, in the wake of national or personal tragedy, “why is this happening?” “What did I do to deserve this?” “Where is God in all of this?” We look for explanations that make some sort of sense of whatever had happened. Why is there suffering? And is that suffering connected to our behavior?

When I was going into 6th grade, my Uncle Bruce was nearly killed in a car accident. He was on his way to work. He was stopped on an off-ramp, the last in a line of cars waiting for the light to turn green. A car came up the ramp, and didn’t stop, slamming into the back of my uncle’s car. His car became sandwiched between two cars. They had to use the “jaws of life” tool to get him out. He was left in a coma for a number of months. Injuries included a broken pelvis and severe brain trauma. For several weeks, he teetered between life and death. We didn’t know whether he’d survive. His pain and trauma are still a part of his life over fifteen years later. I’ve been thinking a lot about my Uncle and his accident this week - as some of you who have friended me on Facebook already know, I nearly missed a very similar accident just this past Wednesday. As I was our Gospel reading for this morning, I remembered by own struggle with understanding why this would happen. My Uncle was a “good guy.” He had just taken my brother and I to Knoebles, an amusement park in North-Eastern PA. He didn’t (and doesn’t) deserve what happened to him. I remember asking myself, “why would God let this happen?” I remember coming to some conclusion like: well, God did this to bring our family together after my grandparents’ divorce (because all of a sudden, we were seeing a lot of each other). Today, I can’t find comfort in that view of God or of tragedy.

This morning, Jesus stands firmly against such assessments of tragedy. Jesus mentions two tragedies this morning. Both events are unknown outside of the Gospel of Luke. In the first event, Jesus mentions Galileans who had been killed at the hands of Pilate (while we don’t know of the specific event to which Jesus is referring, it would not be out of character for Pilate to do such a thing). While we don’t know why the Galileans suffered at the hands of Pilate, the question remains “Did they suffer because they were more sinful than their Galilean siblings?” To that Jesus says firmly, “No.” Similarly, a tower fell in Siloam (southwest Jerusalem), and the question remains, “Did they think that the eighteen who were killed were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem.” Again, Jesus answers his own question with a firm, “No.” Today, it is clear that Jesus says that suffering is not part of God’s punishment. God doesn’t cause calamity to rain down on our personal lives, on our nation, nor on our world. If those who experienced such tragedies are no more sinful than anyone else, divine punishment isn’t the cause. This is good news. Thank God that that isn’t how God works. As Luther reminds us, we are all sinners and we all fall short of God’s desire for us. Instead of giving us what we “deserve” for our sin, God gives us love, mercy, and righteousness through the work of Jesus. God doesn’t condemn us but God gives us new life.

Yet Jesus does not avoid the reality of sin and tragedy being connected. While, he rejects the idea of divine punishment, he says “unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” What to make of this? If tragedy isn’t God’s punishment for sin, how does repentance prevent us from perishing like they did?

I think if we look at the definition of sin, we might be able to shed some light on this. Sin is our “turned in on self” nature. Then, sins are not “doing bad things” instead sins are actions, beliefs, attitudes that result from our turned-in-on-self self that separate us from God and from neighbor. On one hand, we proclaim that, in Christ, we no longer have to worry about mending the relationship between God and ourselves. That has been mended once and for all. On the other hand, we acknowledge that still permeates our relationships with our neighbors. The extreme example, of course, is murder. Murder separates us from our neighbor by taking life and the possibility of relationship away. Yet, sin breaks relationships in other ways. Hatred and discrimination turn us away from our neighbor. The misuse of power and privilege keep those under the bonds of oppression. The poor stewardship of the earth is leading to its destruction. All of these systems lead to loss of life. If humanity keeps finding ways of dividing itself, we will continue turning to violence against one another. If humanity keeps treating the earth as disposable, the earth will continue to become unstable - and we’ll see the rise of natural disasters.

When Jesus calls for repentance, Jesus calls us to turn away from the ways in which society lures us to dividing ourselves from our neighbor. When Jesus calls for repentance, Jesus calls us to see the ways that we act in and are complicit in the violence that is part of our world. When Jesus calls for repentance, not to fall into the trap of seeing any one person or group of people as something less than human.

In the Heidelberg Disputation, Luther says, “ A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls a thing what it actually is.” Today, when Jesus calls us to repentance we’re called to call a thing what it actually is. We’re called to see suffering and name it for what it is. We’re called to look at the roots of violence and call it what it is. Repentance calls us to, not only name it, but act to change it. When we see hatred and violence against our siblings of color - we are called to call a thing what it is, naming the evils of racism and white supremacy - and we are called to act against it. When we are told that our LGBTQIA+ siblings are to blame for the ills of the world - we are called to call a thing what it is, naming the evils of homophobia and transphobia - and we are called to stand with them. When we see the attitudes and patterns of our society that lead to violence and to death, we are called to reject them and be part of bringing about a new way of being human, grounded God’s compassion and mercy. There is still opportunity for us to change our patterns - patterns that will build us up instead of tear us apart.

A pastor and mentor of mine, Pastor Tim Seitz-Brown sums up today’s Gospel this way, “Was God behind the murderous massacre and mixing of Galilean blood with sacrifices by Pilate? NO WAY! Was God behind the tragic Siloam Tower collapse upon 18 people in Jerusalem? NO WAY! But...unless we are transformed and transfigured away from our current patterns of humanity, we will all die like they did. There is still an opportunity for a NEW WAY OF BEING HUMAN rooted in God’s compassion and mercy and forgiveness. May we see the fruit of Peace growing from these fertilized by God roots.”
Amen.

Second Sunday in Lent (Year C) - March 17, 2019

Second Sunday in Lent
Year C
March 17, 2019
Luke 13:31-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem… How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”

This is now the second time I have preached on this text. And this is the second time I have had to rework and rewrite a sermon because tragedy struck. The Revised Common Lectionary is a three year cycle of texts. Three years ago, I was a field ed student, working seven hours a week, a Zion Lutheran Church in Tinley Park, a southern suburb of Chicago. It was my one and only sermon during my time there. Not long before the Second Sunday in Lent in 2016, tragedy struck that community. There was a double-murder/ suicide that resulted in the deaths of three members of our congregation. There I was, a second-year seminarian. I barely knew them; I had just started there after being moved from my first field education site. I had a sermon written - I think I had focused on the feminine imagery that Jesus chooses to use for himself. Yet I couldn’t not talk about what was affecting us so deeply. 


Three years later, I had a sermon written - complete with a light-hearted reference to A Knight’s Tale. And Friday morning, tragedy struck again. I woke up to news that 49 of our Muslim siblings were murdered in a terrorist attack in their mosques in New Zealand, worshipping and praying in their congregations, as we do every Sunday. One incident so local and so personal, and the other so far away yet it still shakes me to the core because of my own friendships with our Muslim siblings. In the wake of both, I hear Jesus’ words to us today a bit differently. They hit me deeply. And I find myself again realizing that I cannot not say something about what has happened. Thankfully, today, Jesus doesn’t remain silent about the state of this world. 

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem… How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”

Today, I hear Jesus’ pain, frustration, even agony at the state of Jerusalem (and by extension - the world). Jesus lamenting over the Jerusalem – the city that was supposed to be the shining light of the world, the city that was supposed to show the rest of the world how to live and be with God. It was supposed to be the city upon the hill. But that’s not what it had become or what it had ever truly been. Jesus’ pain rings loud and clear. Jesus, like a mother hen, loves his children and wants to protect his children, pulling them close in an affectionate embrace. What a beautiful image! Think about it for a moment: the wings of the hen, wrapping around her chicks - drawing her chicks together under the safety of her wings… But Jerusalem is broken by sin. This world as it is leads the city away from that love that Jesus has for his people. The world as it is keeps Jerusalem - and the wider world - from accepting Jesus’ love and protection. 

Jesus laments that Jerusalem and its people are ensnared by the Fox - by Herod and the Roman Empire - by the ways of this world as it currently is - this world that seems entrapped by sin and death. When Jesus calls Herod a “fox.” It is in no way a “compliment.” In the ancient world, foxes are seen as cunning, distrustful, and yes, insignificant. This is not playful language. This is strong language against the not just Herod, but the Empire that Herod represents. Jesus is not intimidated by Herod. He insults him. The “fox”, Herod and his kingdom represent everything that is wrong with this world as it is. It is control through fear. Rome keeps peace through violence - peace at the end of the sword. Rome lifts up the powerful and the wealthy at the expense of the lowly. In short, The Roman empire is deceitful, distrustful, and, for Jesus, Rome and its empire are insignificant because Jesus brings with him a new Kingdom - the Kingdom of God. 

Jesus comes to bring about the light of the Kingdom of God, yet the people reject it - choosing the ways of this world instead of the ways of God’s Kingdom. Instead of being the beacon of light in the world, this city kills the prophets sent by God to save it. Instead, this city has gotten caught up in the Roman political system and in the need for power. Instead, this city and its people are caught up in the ways of this world - in the desires to define “us” vs “them,” in the temptation to demonize people not like themselves (such as the Samaritans), in the ways in the ways they resort to violence out of fear, in speaking for God, deciding who God loves (and doesn’t love). 

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem... how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.”

Jesus wants to draw us all - all of humanity - under his wings - his ways of non-violent, all encompassing, unconditional love. Yet we are surrounded by this world as it is. The fox still finds its way into our world and into our communities. And we still push away Jesus’ protection and love. We are living in a world ruled by fear - a fear causes us to divide the humanity - divide based on skin tone, based on religion, based on nationality and ethnicity, of country of origin. We are living in a world where fear and hatred still infect the hearts and minds of people and lead them to horrible acts that we just cannot comprehend. Today, while the Gospel - the good news that Christ proclaims - invites us into a way of seeing and being in the world that matches what God intended for it, we’re faced again with the reality that this world as it is falls so short of God’s intentions for the world.
The hate that we saw on Friday did not come out of a vacuum. It is hate that is sown by fear of the other, the stranger, those not like us, fueled by the myth that some of us are more worthy of God’s love than others. The hate is fueled by seemingly “innocent” jokes, by social media, by memes, by propaganda that spread negative and harmful stereotypes, grounded in fear rather than in our shared humanity. This is the very same hate that led to the murders of our African American siblings in Charleston in 2015. It is the very same hate that led to the murder of a woman in Charlottesville in 2017. And countless other events. It is very same hate that led to Jesus’ execution on a cross.

Today, We’re faced again with the reality that we need Jesus to keep bringing God’s kingdom into this world here and now. Just as I did three years ago as I mourned with Zion at the loss of their members, today, as I mourn with my Muslim friends, I hear Jesus saying these words again. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem... how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” In the wake of yet another tragedy, I hear Jesus’ pain as he sees the pain that humanity inflicts on each other. God not only hears our cries, but today, God in Jesus cries with us. God in Jesus mourns deeply with us and mourns deeply for us. 

The good news today is that, in the face of tragedy, as Jesus faces the realities of the state of Jerusalem and the world, Jesus doesn’t quit. Jesus does not back down. Jesus says, “Go and tell that

fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.’” Jesus goes into the heart of this world as it is, casting out the demons of fear and hate. Jesus goes into the heart of Jerusalem knowing that he will go to the cross. Jesus hunkers down with humanity - in tragedy, in evil, in death - to show God’s love and God’s solidarity with humanity. In Jesus, we have a God that is committed to us - and to all of humanity. Jesus will not turn his back on the world that God so loved, and will not stop until he finishes his work - until the world is transformed into what God intended it to be. And with the gift of God’s loving grace and mercy, we are empowered to see and counter the foxes of the world. We are empowered to be agents of Christ’s love and light in the world, meeting hate with love and mercy, building bridges and relationships where the world as it is tries to build walls that divide God’s people. With Jesus’ help and God’s vision, may we all be drawn together as one united humanity under Jesus’ loving wing.

Amen 

First Sunday in Lent (Year C) - March 10, 2019

First Sunday in Lent
Year C
March 10, 2019

Each year, the season of Lent begins with the Temptation of Christ. This year, we get the Temptation of Christ as remembered by the Gospel of Luke. What do you think of when you think about “temptation”? Usually, when I think of being tempted, I think of being pulled into doing something that is bad, wrong, or at very least “less than good” for me. I think of temptation as the push to do something I shouldn’t. When I think of temptations, I think of the tray of desserts brought out at the end of a nice Italian dinner in which I already feasted on a big plate of pasta. It is hard to pass up the NY style cheesecake with a raspberry sauce drizzled over it. When I think of temptation, I think of the lure of TV and Netflix curled up with the Ginger pup when I should be doing housework. When I think of temptation, I think of buying that cute dress that I really don’t “need” but catches my eye through an online ad. For those of you who practice giving something up for lent, maybe it’s that very thing that you gave up that tempts you. At least in the way presented in TV, Movies, advertisements, temptation often portrayed as sexual. There’s a reason that, for instance, advertisers tend to use women, dressed in bikinis, in advertisements for beer or other types of alcohol. Temptation, we’re told is sexy.

Jesus’ temptation today couldn’t be further from these images of temptation. Jesus has just spent 40 days in the wilderness, fasting from all food, and was “famished.” The devil hopes that he can capitalize on Jesus’ moment of vulnerability and woo him into the devil’s vision for the world, recruiting him for the work of the devil and away from the work of God. The devil pokes and prods to try to get Jesus to give in “If you are the Son of God...” show me by turning bread into stones, show me by throwing yourself from here. It is reminiscent of how the crowds will mock him on the cross, “if you are the Son of God, save yourself.”

We don’t talk much about the devil in current ELCA circles. Maybe we think the devil is outdated. Maybe we’re too concerned about sounding like fire and brimstone preachers. Maybe we’re too concerned about giving the Devil too much power. Luther talked about the devil - a lot- in his writings. He talked about the devil as the great tempter - the one pushing us to do the wrong thing. David Lose reframes that a bit - asking us to consider the devil not so much as the great tempter but the one who tries to sow mistrust among God’s people - and by encouraging God’s people to put their trust elsewhere. Today, it is as if the Devil says, “You’re hungry - you have no food. How do you know God is trustworthy?” “You’re on the path to death on a cross… I can give you power and authority without the pains of death.” “Your own people will reject you. Let’s sew up your fame right here and now.”

The odd thing about the Temptation of Christ is that everything that the devil pushes Jesus to do is - on its own - good - at least on the surface. Think about it: turning stones to bread could not only end his own hunger after 40 days of fasting in the wilderness, but turning stones to bread could end world hunger. Jesus gaining authority and power in this world would change the world as we know it. Jesus showing his power by throwing himself off a cliff and saving himself would get himself quite the following. At the surface, there’s nothing wrong with what the devil tempts Jesus to do. In short, that which the devil tempts Jesus with, are the very things that Jesus came in order to do. Jesus comes to lift up the lowly in part by ending hunger (as we heard a few weeks ago in the sermon on the plain). Jesus comes to bring God’s kingdom into this world and to usher in Jesus’ own reign in this world. Jesus comes to draw all into his embrace as the reign of God spreads throughout the world. Here it is. All placed in front of him.

The temptation for Jesus this morning, then, is this. Give into temptation, and at least on the surface, it seems Jesus can complete all that he came to complete. And it would be completed without being kicked out of his hometown (and nearly thrown off a cliff, as will happen at the end of this chapter), without the journey to Jerusalem, and without Jesus’ own death on a cross. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Yet as Jesus well knows, the problem is: by creating bread for himself, by turning to the devil for earthly authority, by “testing” God’s word by throwing himself off the pinnacle of the Temple, Jesus would put his trust in the wrong places. He would be putting his trust, not just in the devil, but in earthly conceptions of power, wrapped up in domination and control.

Today, Jesus clearly rejects the devil’s temptation and, thus, he rejects the idea that Jesus’ work in the world is easy. Today, Jesus rejects that the ways of this world are the means for Christ’s work in the world. It is a strong and powerful “no” to the ways of the world and to the kind of power and authority of this world. It is a “no” to dominating power, “no” controlling power, “no” to power given by anyone but God. In short, it is a rejection of the theology of glory. It is a tempting path to go down. It sounds good. It promises power, riches, and might. The way of the theology of glory is a way paved with empty promises and self-serving ways of moving about the world. Yet, Jesus knows that these promises made by the devil are not the way that leads to God’s glory. Jesus trusts that God’s plan is one of faithful, humble, service not one of self-serving and self-preserving power.

The difficult thing today is how to bring today’s text into something that means something for us today. It is all too easy to turn this text into a moralistic sermon: “you ought to follow Jesus’ example and not fall into temptation.” But is that really the point? Is that the point of Jesus? Is Jesus just a really great guy that we are to mimic? We know that we cannot meet Jesus’ example today. Every Sunday (and hopefully more often throughout the week) we pray together, asking God to “lead us not into temptation.” As Luther tells us in the Small Catechism, when we pray this part of the prayer we acknowledge that “It is true that God tempts no one, but we ask in this prayer that God would preserve and keep us, so that the devil, the world, and our flesh may not deceive us or mislead us into false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice, and that, although we may be attacked by them, we may finally prevail and gain the victory.” This is well, good, and necessary. But if that’s all this text is pointing to, I’m left a bit frustrated, if I’m honest. Because I know that I cannot match Jesus, I’m confronted only by the law and only by my sin. While we all have trust in God, while we all have times when we’re wooed into God’s vision of the Kingdom, we all, at times, are wooed into the ways of the world, and I would guess that none of us fully trust God with everything as we should.

So where can we go from here? The good news today, beyond that the Devil’s attempts to foster mistrust fail today, is that Jesus isn’t satisfied with the easy answers or the easy path. How could we proclaim a God in Christ that is in solidarity with humanity if he chose to avoid the difficulties of human life? How could we proclaim a God in Christ that brings about a new Kingdom of God, if Jesus fell into the kinds of power and rule that marks this world as it is? Today, we see that, instead of separating himself, Jesus is committed to dwelling with us and walking among us. Today, we see that Jesus is called to take the hard road for the sake of humanity. Today, we see power marked, not by dominating over, but by resisting the temptations of this world as it is. Today, we see that Jesus will risk anything - even the journey to Jerusalem and to the cross - to show God’s love to humanity.

Thanks be to God for that.

Amen.

Transfiguration Sunday (Year C) - March 3, 2019

Transfiguration Sunday
Year C
March 3, 2019
Luke 9:28-36

Today marks a transition point in our year together. Today, we mark the turn from the time after Epiphany - the time where Jesus woos us into relationship and discipleship by showing us who he is and by envisioning what the Kingdom he brings looks like. And we’ve come full circle from the Baptism of our Lord Sunday, hearing again, words similar to those that God proclaimed at Jesus baptism - “This is my son, the chosen one. Listen to him!” Yet again, Jesus gives us a glimpse into who he is as he is transfigured before Peter, James and John. Yet today, we’re also turning, we’re shifting toward the season of Lent - which turns us more directly toward Jerusalem and toward the cross. What a fitting transition this Gospel text is is.

We meet these three disciples and Jesus in a literal mountain-top experience. They go to the mountain, according to this Gospel, in order to pray. As was customary, it is on the mountain that one expects to encounter the divine. As Jesus is praying, his face changes appearance and his clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear and begin speaking with him. Luke is the only Gospel to tell us what they were talking about - they were talking about what was coming up. Jesus, in his conversation with Moses and Elijah, were talking about what is about to happen as Jesus heads toward Jerusalem. This mountaintop encounter, coming immediately after Jesus’ first prediction of his impending death, turns Jesus himself directly toward the cross. Indeed, the rest of the Gospel (and our journey through Lent) will play out, directly facing Jerusalem and the cross. With Jesus being in dialogue with Moses and Elijah, we see what will come in Jerusalem and the cross through the lens of God’s liberative and salvific work. The God that liberated Israel from the bonds of slavery will liberate this world from that which binds it - evil, death - as the Kingdom of God breaks forth in this world here and now.

Although the disciples are sleepy, they were only able to witness this and to eavesdrop on their conversation because somehow they had found a way to stay awake. I can only imagine how seeing this scene would jolt one awake. They witness this epiphany in Jesus’ transfiguration before them. They witness this sneak peek into what Jesus’ body will look like as the Kingdom of God is finally manifested, finally completely made known. They get this sneak peek in this world as it is, in this world marked by brokenness, in this world that will kill Jesus, and this sneak peek gives them (and us) an assurance that God’s glory is coming to this world and that Jesus is God enfleshed among us. In Jesus, God’s kingdom has already broken in. Today, the Divine has pushed out of its own box. The presence of God that was once seemingly only found on the mountain top is really and truly present in Jesus. The disciples have access to God, to the divine in Jesus.

Quite understandably, the disciples with Jesus don’t quite “get” what this scene means for them. Based on Peter’s reaction, what we can say is that they knew that they were in the presence of the Divine and that they wanted to remain there and dwell there. Who wouldn’t want that to end? Who among us would want to come down from the mountain, and turn toward Jerusalem and the cross after such a powerful encounter with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Not only would we see Jesus in this altered, heavenly state, on the mountain with Jesus - we’d be safe. We could stay within our own bubble - secluded from the rest of the world - never needing to risk anything.  It is a break from the world as it is.

I spent spring break my sophomore year of college at Taize - a monastery community in France. In fact, I was there seven years ago today, so I’ve been thinking a lot about that trip this week - with all highs and the lows that come with international travel - including a full-out sprint through the airport in Atlanta to make our connecting flight. I’m so incredibly thankful for that trip, for so many reasons. For instance, it was there that I grew close to my best friend, Perry - whom many of you have met either here or at my ordination. It was also a deeply and profoundly spiritual experience - and it is hard to put into words. At the end of the trip, I don’t think any of us wanted to leave. I have this fantastic picture of Perry hugging one of the ancient walls in the village of Taize; it is one of my favorite pictures of him (and I'm sharing it with permission). And I think it sums up how we felt about the trip. In many ways, our time there was a mountain top experience. We connected with God in ways that many of us haven’t before (and possibly since). We connected with God in prayer with one another and with new-found friends from around the world. We Connected with God in singing the beautiful, repetitive hymns of the community - to the point that those hymns themselves became our prayers. We were safe together in the bubble of the community. We could have stayed there for much longer than what we did. We wanted to hold on to those experiences, to pitch our own tents there, to take a break from our real lives - as “real life” as college gets, with the academic rigor of the University of Richmond.

As I do for each of my sermons, I spend quite a bit of time reading about these passages - reading other’s interpretations of the passage, filling in for myself the context of the passage, etc. Reading Luke Timothy Johnson’s commentary on Luke, he made me think differently of why Peter’s response is so off-base. He writes, “[Peter] wanted to capture and routinize - [make routine] - the presence of God’s glory.” In other words, Peter literally wanted to put God in a box, or in this case, a tent. When we try to put God in a box, when we only look for God in the places and the ways we’d expect, we miss what God in Jesus is doing all around us. Even more, by staying on the mountaintop, God’s mission in Jesus cannot be fulfilled. In Jesus, the Divine has to come down from the mountain. The Divine has to dwell and walk among humanity. The Divine has to journey toward the cross. Without the Divine being in complete solidarity with humanity - and all that humanity experiences - God’s salvific work is not completed. On the cross, we see a God so entwined with humanity and with human experience that nothing - not even death at our hands - can any longer threaten to separate us from God and God’s love.

When we try to put God in a box, we miss who Jesus come for and who Jesus chooses to love, to enfold into the Kingdom of God. We miss that God becomes enfleshed in Jesus, not just for us as individuals, or us as a particular community, but God becomes enfleshed in Jesus for the sake of the whole world - and especially for those that this world as it is wants to push aside. We miss that we’re called to do the work of building bridges and making God’s love (that we’ve been gifted) known to all around us.

As many of us already know, the United Methodist Church met this week in their general conference. As part of that conference, the UMC debated issues of human sexuality and gender identity. Unfortunately, they came to a decision that further excluded LGBTQIA+ folks from the life of the church in the UMC. Basically, it is an opposite decision to the decision that the ELCA made in 2009, which opened our church polity to LGBTQIA+ folks serving as rostered ministers. First of all, I need to say - to any of you here who are part of the LGBTQIA+ community or have loved ones that are: I’m so sorry that we keep putting your humanity up for debate.

It is all too easy to put God in a box. When we keep God in the box of what we understand and what we know, we miss that God’s reign extends to all. We miss that Jesus goes to the very people we exclude - and Jesus goes there first. We miss that God’s incarnation in Jesus is a yes to us in our humanity - and all that our humanity brings. When we come down from the mountain, out of our bubble, and turn toward the cross, we’re faced with the reality that God’s love extends beyond what I can understand, and God’s love extends to people whom I don’t fully understand and to people who are not like me. When we come down from the mountain and turn toward the cross, we’re faced with the reality that nothing we do nor anything we are can save us or put us in right relationship, but rather, it is totally and completely the work of God in Christ. Thanks be to God for that.

We all need time for faith building, for time to be safe in community for one another, for being in the presence of the divine (whether that’s here, in nature, or wherever else we may experience the divine) - Jesus too repeatedly throughout the Gospels goes off alone to pray to be in his own bubble or on his own mountain top. That is good and necessary. Yet we are called to come down from the mountain, to break out of our bubble, to turn toward Jerusalem and toward the cross. We are called to stand in solidarity with those whom Jesus loves. And we are called to witness to Jesus, the divine presence among us, and God’s reign that breaks in all around us.

Amen

7th Sunday after Epiphany (Year C) - Feb. 24, 2019

7th Sunday After Epiphany
Year C
February 24, 2019
Luke 6:27-38

This week, Jesus continues with his sermon on the plain. Like last week, Jesus preaches a tough
sermon that is hard to hear. It is counter-cultural. It is radical. And we all fall short of the ideals of the Kingdom that Jesus preaches in his sermon today.

Before I get too far in my own sermon (on Jesus’ sermon - really Revised Common Lectionary?), I need to talk about how this passage has been and continues to be misused. Often, Jesus’ words are turned into weapons against people who have experienced trauma. It goes something like this, “If you were a good Christian, you’d just forgive them, just turn the other cheek, and move on. That’s what Jesus calls you to do” It has been used to keep women in abusive relationships, it’s your job to not only forgive, but to turn the other cheek when he hits you. As a pastor and as a woman, that attitude is so far from the Christ I have come to know.

Even more, Jesus’ words are often used by people in positions of power to keep people in their “proper place.” Today, we’re commemorating black history month. During the period of slavery, white Christian ministers often turned to this passage to both justify slavery and to tell slaves to forgive the abuses of their masters. Still today, when we look at race relations in this country, too often, it is white folks who tell our siblings of color that it’s just their job to forgive when we mess up or when we continue (intentionally and unintentionally) the violence and harm that folks live with every day with our words and actions.

Whether in interpersonal relationships or larger societal relationships, too often it is the one causing the harm that demands forgiveness from those that they are harming - which then gives the space for harm to continue to be perpetrated. It lets me off the hook without requiring true repentance from me. I don’t want to be held accountable for my actions; I just want forgiveness so I (as the one who caused harm) can move on. We’re keen on forgiveness when it suits us. Think about it: how many of us have siblings? Whether I hurt my brother or the other way around, as kids, it often played out this way. One of us would hurt the other (with words or actions), then immediately realizing what we did, we’d ask for forgiveness. Not so much because we were “actually sorry,” but because we didn’t want the other to go tell Mom and Dad and we didn’t want to get into actual trouble. And this plays out in similar ways with more serious things than sibling spats. If I say something that is harmful to a person of color, and I immediately demand forgiveness, I’m not forced to look honestly at myself and how racism has been part of my life. I can just go on like it never happened, which leaves the door open for that to continue. If an abuser harms their partner, and demands immediate forgiveness (so they won’t lose them, or won’t be reported to police, etc.), they’re not actually forced to change and look at what fuels their abusive tendencies. Cycles of violence can continue.

When we look at the Gospel of Luke, and Jesus’ intention to bring good news to the poor and who comes to lift up the lowly, I have to ask “what kind of “good news” is that? I don’t want any part of a proclamation of the “good news” that allows and in fact encourages the cycles of violence to continue. I cannot believe that this is what Jesus intended with his words to us today. We’ve been talking about how, in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus announces the coming of a new kingdom in this world here and now. The Kingdom of God is a kingdom that turns this world upside down, bringing down the powerful and lifting up the lowly and releasing those held under the bonds of oppression. The Kingdom of God brings God’s ways into reality here and now. God’s ways break the cycles of human violence. God’s way is a way of life. Even more, God’s way is a way of resurrection - bringing life where we expect to find death.

Two things helped me as I was wrestling with this text this week. First, it was pointed out to me that by saying “love your enemies,” Jesus recognizes the reality of this world as it is - there are enemies in this world (as uncomfortable as it is to say that). There are real enemies: there are people that are opposed to us, to our interests, to our wellbeing. There are imagined enemies: those that we “think” or perceive to be against us - whether they actually are or not. Either way, our enemies are those whom we are expected to hate and to withhold love. Acknowledging that there are enemies gives us the space to be able to name behaviors as problematic and harmful. Loving our enemies challenges us to see the neighbor and the stranger (even those we see as enemies) as beloved children of God - and to see any harmful behavior as part of their own brokenness. Sometimes loving our enemies requires holding them accountable for behaviors that are against the Kingdom - so that they too can be invited into the vision of the Kingdom. Sometimes loving our enemies is walking away without judgment, without seeking revenge. Sometimes loving our enemies is about seeking greater understanding and deeper relationship. Whatever the action is, the goal is that, through love, our enemies (which are part of our current reality) don’t remain our enemies, but become our friends.

Secondly, the word for forgiveness used in this week’s text means “release.” Forgiveness is not about pretending that the harm never occurred. It is not about excusing behavior that causes harm. We have to acknowledge the harm before forgiveness can happen. However, it is about “releasing” anger, and “releasing” our desire for revenge as a response to the harm done for us. 

I’ll be honest with you. I’m far from perfect in this. We’ve been so conditioned to expect this for that. In our world as it is, there is an expectation of violence in return for violence, hate in return for hate, love only in return for love. We’ve been so conditioned to push away anyone that we think of as “enemy.” But here’s the problem: violence in return for violence usually only escalates violence. Hate in return for hate only spreads hate. When I’m harmed, all too often, my first reaction is to hurt back. Too often, I give with the expectation of something else in return. Too often, the ways of the world outweighs the ways of the Kingdom of God. I’ll be honest with you, there are relationships in my life that are so broken that, as long as things are as they are, the relationship will never be reconciled. Over time, I’ve forgiven - I’ve released my anger and desire to respond with hate and anger. But I’m not reconciled to them.

Jesus’ sermon today is addressed to his disciples. Jesus knows that, in this world as it is, Jesus’ proclamation about this Kingdom of God will lead to his own death. It isn’t a prescription for behavior but rather a description of the values of the Kingdom. Jesus knows that, in this world as it is, Jesus’ own disciples will go to their own deaths because they chose to follow Jesus and to be part of the breaking in of the Kingdom.

Today’s sermon from Jesus invites them to choose the ways of the Kingdom of God instead of the Kingdom of this world. These words help the disciples to imagine what is possible when we choose the ways of forgiveness over the ways of retaliation, the ways of love over the ways of hate, the ways of life over the ways of death. Karoline Lewis puts it this way: “I believe that these words of Jesus are but a vision for what is possible, for what should be were we to have Jesus’ sermon at Nazareth in mind.” Instead of allowing the cycles of violence to continue, it is a vision where reconciliation and resurrection are possible in this world as it is. It is a vision where humanity can finally be in right relationship with each other - not by excusing violence - but by breaking the cycles of violence and eliminating violence, oppression, poverty - and anything else that serves as barriers between us and are neighbor - once and for all.

Jesus describes the values of the Kingdom, knowing full-well that we will fall short of them. Yet by describing what this world could and should be like, we are wooed into that vision. I saw a meme on Facebook that, for me, summed up the Jesus’ vision today quite well, “if we could spread love as quickly as we spread hate and negativity, what an amazing world we would live in….” “If we could spread love as quickly as we spread hate and negativity, what an amazing world we would live in.” Who wouldn’t want to be part of that? When we can envision the Kingdom, we can better see the Kingdom whenever and wherever we see the values of forgiveness, love, and mercy all around us. When we are wooed into that vision of the Kingdom, our lives and our values begin to be shaped by that Kingdom - so that we too participate in the kingdom as we live out the kind of forgiveness, love, and mercy that we have received as a free gift from God as those already enfolded into the Kingdom of God.
Amen

6th Sunday after Epiphany (Year C) - Feb 17, 2019

6th Sunday After Epiphany
Year C
February 17, 2019
Luke 6:20-27

I have a feeling that most of us are more familiar with the Gospel of Matthew’s beatitudes as part of the Sermon on the Mount. At least for me, that’s the version that I learned in Sunday School. It’s also the version that tends to make its way into popular culture, in TV and movies. In Matthew, Jesus walks up the mountain, sits down, and begins his long Sermon on the Mount with the Beatitudes - with nine different blessings. Today, however, we get the four blessings and four woes of Luke’s sermon on the plain. Jesus comes down from the mountain (where he had been in prayer), stands on a level place - with a “great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon.”

I’ll admit; as much as I love the Gospel of Luke, this remembrance of Jesus’ sermon is much harder to preach on. Matthew’s remembrance of the sermon leaves room for a more spiritual interpretation - “blessed are those who are poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” instead of Luke’s “blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God.” It is easier to place ourselves in the “blessed” category in Matthew’s telling of the text - who hasn’t found themselves poor in spirit or found themselves hungering for righteousness?

Luke’s remembrance of this sermon is much more physical - it deals with real hunger and real poverty. While poverty and hunger are real (and things people in our communities face), even though money may get tight periodically, those of us who have food in our fridges, a roof over our heads, and several changes of clothes are richer than 75% of the world’s population. It is harder to see myself - a woman, with a good job, a masters degree, an apartment with plenty of food for me and my dog - in the “blessed” category of Luke’s gospel. I don’t know what hunger - true hunger - is like. Maybe you do, but I’ve never experienced it myself. Thus, if I look honestly at myself, I hear the “woes” much more prominently - “woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.” It sounds ominous.


As I struggled with this text this week, I began to think about the word “blessed.” We tend to throw that word around a bit. “I’m blessed to have a good job.” “I’m blessed to have a loving family.” “I’m blessed to have been cured from my illnesses.” “It is a gorgeous sunny day. #blessed.” The so called “prosperity gospel” preachers claim that if you believe the right things and pray the right way, God will bless you with material wealth and with good health - and anything else you may desire.

I don’t think that’s how Jesus is talking about being blessed today. Being blessed, for Jesus - at least in the Gospel of Luke - is about being enfolded into the Kingdom of God. Jesus came for those on the margins - those whom society marginalizes, despises, or forgets about. It doesn’t mean an absence of struggle or opposition. But the Kingdom of God has broken into the world to lift up the marginalized, the despised, the forgotten  and to put them back to their rightful place in the world and in the community. In other words, the blessings point us to where the Kingdom of God is headed. The blessings point us to the real world-turning effects of the Kingdom of God - which has real consequences for people - especially for those on the margins. These are powerful, radical words that go against everything that the world as it is stands for. Jesus’ blessings this morning are not about a future “things will be made right in heaven” but rather about the real world effects of the Kingdom of God that breaks into this world here and now. The Kingdom brings down the those that society tends to value more than others, and the Kingdom lifts up those that society actively harms or wants to forget about.

The Gospel of Luke is filled with these role reversals. And it isn’t comfortable. It disrupts us from our comfort. One preaching professor often told us that the biblical text (and thus sermons coming from the texts) often afflict the comfortable while comforting the afflicted. And I think that’s what Jesus is doing in his sermon today. Today, those of us who are relatively comfortable - are confronted with the “law.” The ways in which we fall short of what God desires from us. Or, in this case, the ways in which our comfort keeps us trapped within the status quo and keeps us from seeing and participating in the Kingdom as it breaks in all around us. Even more, the systems that benefit me are often the same systems that keep my neighbor under the bonds of oppression. That privilege that I enjoy makes it harder to participate in the Kingdom - because I have to actively work to put my self-interest aside. The “woes” for today are a difficult reminder that Kingdom of God is not about me (as an individual) but about the community and the wholeness of the entire body of Christ. In other words, it pushes me out of being concerned primarily about me and pushes me to look toward my neighbor - especially those who are vulnerable. To them is where the Kingdom of God is pointing.

On Wednesday, in our Service of the Word, we struggled and wrestled with the effects of racism. (If you weren’t able to join us - my reflection is available on my blog). I painfully admitted that, while I was searching my bookshelves for a reflection written by a person of color in order to lift up and amplify their voices, I realized just how few resources I had that were written by a person of color. I have well over two hundred books on my shelves, and less than ten were written by people of color. The people already with power have their voices heard and their work recognized. To change that, I sometimes need to actively put aside my own self interest in order to create space and lift up voices of those who have less power (in our society and our world) than I do. In other words, the call to participate in the Kingdom of God, sometimes calls me to give up some of my power and my place to those who have traditionally had less power in (our society and our world) than I do. And that’s hard. It goes against everything society tells us we should do. We should grab power as we work our way to the top. And it is complicated - because there are spaces in which I have less power and privilege as a woman (and as a woman in a male dominated field) and I need people (usually men) to give up their power for me to be on the same level.

The good news is that, because of the work of Jesus, we are already justified to God and we are
already enfolded into the Kingdom. We know from the rest of the Gospel that people from all walks of life are enfolded into the Kingdom. So the woes can’t be about eternal condemnation. If the blessings point us to the vision of the Kingdom of God - a vision that lifts up those that society harms, disregards, forgets), the woes, then, serve not as a condemnation but as an invitation. The woes shake us out of our comfort and serve as an invitation to see the vision of the Kingdom of God (and to whom the Kingdom of God points us) and to participate in it. The woes become invitation to follow God’s call to bring about the Kingdom of God in this world. It is a call to set aside our power and our privilege (or to use that power and privilege for the sake of the neighbor and the stranger), to set aside the values of this world, and to lift up those whom society would rather forget - so that we all are on the same level place. One of my colleagues, Pastor Jess Harren, in a Facebook post puts it this way, this text calls us to see that "people we've harmed need good news, and we're being invited to know their pain, to give up some of our earthy wealth, to cry with them, and to make it better."

Whether today, you, like me, hear the woes louder than the blessings or whether you hear the blessings louder than the woes, we are invited envision what the Kingdom of God could be like. We are invited into participating in the Gospel that turns this world upside down. The question then becomes: Are we living our lives as if we have been enfolded into that kingdom?

Service of the Word - Feb 13, 2019

Service of the Word
Feb 13, 2019
Isaiah 58:6-12

Photo by Doug Kerr from Albany, NY, United States
[CC BY-SA 2.0] via Wikimedia Commons

This month is Black history month. For most of my childhood years, it was just a month to remember the great leaders of the civil rights era - in particular Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks - or to remember abolition of slavery and the heroes of the underground railroad. At least that’s how it typically was framed at school. While I enjoyed learning about history and these historical figures - that’s where it stayed - as history. These things were things of the past; racism was over. I didn’t think much about it. I didn’t even notice til far too late in my education that I didn’t have a single classmate who was a person of color. But, as a pastor in one of the most homogenous (or least diverse) denominations in the country, I need to think about it and wrestle with it more.

It wasn’t until high school that I started to see what was in front of me from the beginning of my school years. Mr. Vasellas, our high school AP US history teacher, began to openly talk about issues of race, particular our small town of Red Lion, PA. He was driving with one of his colleagues from York College. She was an African American professor there. As they drove through Red Lion, she locked the doors and rolled up her window. He asked us why she would do that. We couldn’t understand it. Sure, we do that driving through inner city York - that’s a “dangerous place”, but little ol’ Red Lion? Why? Then he proceeded to tell us about the dark history of the KKK and its place in Red Lion. We were shocked. In all of our years in Red Lion, we had never heard the stories or seen the relatively recent pictures. We assumed that, because we were in the North, any of that kind of stuff would have been well in the past. Then, he continued, “by the way, that KKK is still active here. The grand dragon lives down the street. And their meeting place is just two blocks from here.” Just two blocks from my high school. I had no idea. As far as I’m aware, that’s still true. Just this past summer, there were KKK recruitment flyers left all over York County, including in little ol’ Red Lion.

It’s easy to say - “well, that’s the KKK, they’re the extreme.” Not long after this, I was in my church. The church that I had grown up in - where I came to find not only my faith, but my call. I had been part of a partnership with a diocese in Tanzania, and as part of that, I used to spend time with the Tanzanian students at Gettysburg Seminary. And we’d bring them to church. I overheard, one day, “Why do the Witts keep bringing those n-words to church?” These were my friends. I was crushed to hear them being spoken of in that way.

Then, it’s easy to say, they’re stuck in their ways. That’s just how they were raised. But them, for this reflection, I had initially intended to read a reflection by an African american theologian to amplify their own voices. I didn’t have a particular reading in mind, so I scoured my bookshelves. In all of the books I own (well over 200), I have less than ten written by a person of color. That realization horrified me and pointed to how racism has creeped into my life. I have already come to see my own racism in a number of ways - how, while riding the CTA in Chicago, I felt less comfortable being alone in a train car with a man of color than with a white man (though statistics tell me that I’m far more likely to be harmed by the latter). We have to see our racism to work to challenge it, to grow, and to work to change our world.

Yet looking at my bookshelf, I’m reminded yet again that I still struggle with the racism that I have learned - by watching TV and movies, and from being in a society that is still steeped in racist attitudes. It reminds me that, even in academia, the ones already with power too often get to tell the story, to get their voices heard, and to have their work recognized. It reminds me that I too have privileged some voices over others. Racism isn’t just found in the obvious words and actions grounded in hatred, but racism has affected our society in more subtle ways - ways that reflect the systemic nature of racism - in where we put interstates, in which schools get funding (or funding cuts), in whose books end up on my bookshelf and whose voices are valued.

What does all of this have to do with Isaiah? Isaiah powerfully connects the wholeness and the health of Israel to the wholeness and health of its members. As long as the people suffer under the bonds of injustice and oppression, as long as the poor remain poor, and as long as the hungry remain hungry, Israel cannot be whole.

Isaiah uses a word that is notoriously hard to translate into English. He says “if you offer your nephesh to the hungry, and you satisfy the nephesh of the afflicted...” Nephesh is a word that originally/ literally meant something like throat. But it comes to have a more metaphoric meaning. The throat is where air travels through the body to the lungs, it is where food and water travels to the stomach. Through these processes - eating, drinking, breathing -, people find life. Thus, nephesh gets a meaning like “that which gives life.” So Isaiah says something like “if you offer that which gives you life to the hungry, and you satisfy that which gives life to the afflicted” then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom will be like the noonday.

When I was in Tanzania, my African friends taught me another word for this idea - ubuntu - which loosely means something like “I am because we are.” While this is a common idea in African nations, it was popularized by South Africans who opposed apartheid. I cannot be whole unless my neighbor is whole. My community cannot find wholeness unless every member of it is whole.

Isaiah helps us imagine what the world looks like when all find healing and wholeness. “Your light shall rise in the darkness, and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your needs in parched places and make your bones strong. And you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.” He invites us to vision with him that world; who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

Racism - and all other isms and phobias that divide the body of Christ - keeps our neighbors from wholeness. Racism harms people of color, keeping them under the bonds of oppression. The body of Christ, to use Pauline imagery, is not whole unless our neighbors are whole.

As Lutherans, we believe that Jesus frees us from any need to justify ourselves to God. That’s a free gift - not even our sin - even the sin of our own racism - separates us from God. To be clear, God doesn’t excuse the sin or say that it is okay but rather God in Christ frees us from it so we can grow into the people Christ calls us to be, so we can see Christ in all whom we meet, especially those who are most vulnerable, in this case, those struggling under the weight of racism. That free gift frees us to do our own internal work of facing and struggling with our racism. That free gift from frees us for the work of restoring that which gives life to our neighbors. It frees us for breaking down prejudices (within ourselves and our communities), stereotypes, systems, and other barriers that divide the body of Christ so that we all may find wholeness in this world here and now. In other words, we are freed for the work of loosing the bonds of injustice, undoing the thongs of the yoke, and letting the oppressed go free.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m working on this too. But I trust that God’s vision for the world is one where all find wholeness. And as we continue through black history month, I trust that God is inviting us to vision with Godself - to see the world that God created as it God intended it to be. A vision that draws us in so we can say - “who wouldn’t want to be part of that?” And I trust that God invites and equips us to work to bring that into reality, through confession and absolution, through the sacraments, through the hard conversations, and through the people that God puts in our lives.