Sermon: Sword before peace (June 25, 2023)

Pentecost 4A
June 25, 2023
Matthew 10:24-39
Romans 6:1b-11

INTRODUCTION:

Last week’s texts were difficult; this week’s aren’t any easier! Jeremiah will start us off by lamenting the difficulty of his call as a prophet. He is laughed at, mocked, and reproached all day long, he says, and whenever he wants to give up, saying, “Forget it, God! You’re on your own!” it feels like a fire is in his bones. He must do the Lord’s work. But all the while, he knows, God is with him “like a dread warrior,” so he knows the enemy will not win.

In Romans, Paul will simultaneously convict us and lift us up, telling us that just because we have God’s grace does not mean we get to “let sin abound.” His phrase, “By no means!” is an emphatic one (I imagine an inflection of, “Come on, what are you thinking??”). But finally, he will assure us that, though we are “dead to sin,” we are alive in Christ. 

Our Gospel reading is the real doozie. It is the continuation of last week’s speech to those Jesus is sending out, his disciples, with continued warnings about the violence and division that may happen as a result of this mission. “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword,” he says. The text comes off as sort of piecemeal, like an unrelated collection of sayings of Jesus that he wants to be sure to get out there… which almost makes the warnings even more jarring to take in. It’s like one bombshell after another.

So no, today’s texts are not easy, but they do also offer plenty of hope. As you listen today, listen for that hope. Hear the difficulty that comes with a genuine life of faith, but listen to the ways that God provides in that journey. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There are a lot of difficult words in this Gospel text, but the ones that trouble me the most are these: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” They are troubling for many reasons, but one of the big ones is that this seems so contrary to what Jesus says and who he says he is elsewhere in the Bible! Didn’t we hear Isaiah call him the Prince of Peace back on Christmas Eve? And the angel choir in Luke sang, “Peace on earth, good will to all”? Just a few chapters before this in Matthew, Jesus preached from a mount, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” When Jesus is arrested in the garden before his crucifixion, one of his disciples draws a sword to defend him and Jesus says, “Put your sword away. For those who take the sword will die by the sword.” So, what gives, Jesus? Why change your tune here?

It’s quite likely that part of this has to do with context, that is, the context of Matthew’s audience. First of all, those first converts to Christianity may very well have faced severe religious persecution, often at the hands of family members (which accounts for all that stuff about families turning against each other). In 21st century America, in this land of religious freedom (at least on paper), Christians don’t face such extreme persecution, though other religions, such as Islam and Judaism, certainly face discrimination and violence. But for Matthew’s audience, Christian persecution was the norm, and his audience likely would have taken comfort in these words from Jesus, because he is letting them know they are not alone in feeling the way they do.

Second, I don’t take Jesus’ words about peace and the sword to be a forever statement. Rather, he is saying, “Peace won’t come right away. The way toward peace must first go through disruption and conflict.”

And this I find highly relevant today, because it is very consistent with my experience of finding peace in my relationships. How many of you have ever known that there is a difficult conversation you need to have – with a family member, a spouse, a co-worker, a child – and you are dreading it because it is so fraught, and you know they won’t take it well, so you just put it off as long as possible, perhaps never even getting to it? I’m talking about those big, “Something’s got to give, because I cannot take anymore the way things are going,” sorts of conversations. And when that happens, when you “keep the peace” by staying silent, do things get better? Not typically! They build and build until finally we are screaming hurtful things, or we take on self-medicating habits, or we develop physical ailments caused by the increased stress we are carrying… or sometimes, even worse. Soon enough, that “peace” we were hoping to maintain is exactly what is destroying our life – in some cases both our bodies and our souls.

And so Jesus urges us not to hold it in. “Nothing is covered that will not be uncovered, and nothing is secret that will not become known.” Maybe we can keep things hidden for a while from the people around us (though those things we harbor do have a tendency to find their way out somehow, even if sideways), but nothing is hidden from God, who knows our hearts through and through. When we can have those difficult conversations, in loving and logical ways, rather than highly emotional and hurtful ways, it may feel very much like conflict in the moment, like a sword that further divides us from one another. (That is often our fear, anyway, right? That bringing it up will only make it worse?) But ultimately it will bring lightness, and peace – if not with the person in question, then at least with God. No one was ever helped or healed by holding onto their pain or grudge; indeed that can only serve as a barrier both in our relationships with each other and our relationship with God. And so Jesus urges us not to sit on it forever, but to bring it into the open, where healing and restoration can happen.

I think Jesus does speak to our personal and intimate relationships in this text, but I also think he is speaking to a broader pursuit of justice. Remember we read just before this that he is sending the apostles out to proclaim that the kingdom of heaven is near, that an age is near in which justice rules and everyone has what they need, and everyone is in right relationship with God. He is asking them to proclaim this into a cultural context in which that is decidedly not the case, in which death-dealing forces threaten God’s people every day. At the time, that force was primarily the Roman Empire; today I’d argue that we have an assortment of different forces and various “-isms” and unjust structures that keep us from living in the ways of God’s kingdom. And when those “powers that be” are threatened, when the status quo is disrupted, you’d better believe there will be push-back. There will be a sword before there is peace!

Jesus anticipates this, names it, and normalizes it. We often take that last line of today’s reading, about “taking up your cross” and following Jesus as a spiritual one, as if to say, “Bear your suffering, and keep the faith.” But the cross, remember, was an instrument of the Empire, a means of torture to keep people in line. Seen that way, Jesus’ statement is quite a political one as well! In this context is means more like, “Don’t be intimidated by this oppressive force that would try to keep things just the way they are, this way that does not allow for kingdom living. They can and may give us the cross, but they cannot stop God’s kingdom from coming, and they cannot stop us from proclaiming it. And yes, they may kill your body, but they cannot kill your soul, for that belongs to God. So follow me, and keep right on proclaiming God’s kingdom of love and justice, know that this God of love cares for you and every single hair on your head.”

And on this point, I find both comfort and conviction in our reading from Romans. “Shall we keep on living in sin, so we can keep receiving God’s grace?” Paul asks. “Heck no!” When we know better, we do better. We were baptized into Christ’s death, he says, but that also means we were baptized into his life. In other words, we have all lived in sinful ways: we have held grudges and withheld forgiveness, we have said cruel things, we have sought our own comfort and priorities, we have tolerated and upheld unjust structures because they either didn’t negatively affect us, or they even benefited us. Those sins lead to death – death of the body and of the soul. But because we were also baptized into Christ’s resurrection, that sinfulness and death are not the end. We have been brought into newness of life. That new life isn’t always easier – it may require us to have those difficult conversations, or stand up against injustice. We may put ourselves at risk, or upset people we love, by doing this kingdom work. It may even feel like a sword at times. Yet we can trust that because we died with Christ, we also live with him, and that newness of life will, ultimately, lead to peace.

Let us pray… God of justice, we long for your peace right now, but we also know that sometimes the way to peace is difficult. Give us courage to pursue it, in our personal relationships and as a society, so that we can proclaim the nearness of your kingdom. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: When Jesus sends us out (June 18, 2023)

Pentecost 3A
June 18, 2023
Matthew 9:35—10:23

INTRODUCTION

As I mentioned last week, we have entered now into the church season called “ordinary time.” During this season, the assigned lectionary texts instruct us regarding how to be the Church. From Christmas through the Easter season, we talk a lot about Jesus and his life. Then on Pentecost the Holy Spirit comes and enlivens the Church, and for the season of Pentecost, our focus turns to how that Spirit continues to enliven the church today. 

Last week we got to ease into this season with some nice healing stories. Today, though, hold onto your hats: we will hear a very difficult and even scary instruction from Jesus, about being “sent like sheep into the midst of wolves.” This story will strike fear in the heart of the careful listener, as we imagine the difficult task placed before the disciples, and so also us. Romans offers us some consolation, in one of Paul’s most well-known passages about how even in the midst of suffering, hope does not disappoint us. The first reading sets up the enduring devotion to God that has been the intention of God’s faithful people even since Moses on Mount Sinai.

It’s a lot to carry, but also useful and timely, as many of us wonder as individuals and as a Church, “What is my or our role in all that is going on in the world? What is a Christian to do?” So as you listen, seek to find in this Word an answer to that question. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. 

A couple weeks ago we held our Upstate New York Synod Assembly, the annual business meeting for the synodical expression of the Lutheran Church. Each year the assembly has a theme, which informs our keynote address and workshop learning opportunities. This year’s theme was Restorative Justice. We learned a bit about what that is, and how it differs from the criminal justice system with which we are more familiar. We heard from our synod’s Racial Justice Task Force, and our Gender Justice Task Force, and the New York Council of Churches shared with us some of their advocacy efforts, and how we can participate in them. And we learned a lot about what it takes to seek justice in the issues that face our world and our neighbors today. 

I wonder how many of us would consider ourselves workers for justice. Many of us as individuals, and St. Paul’s as a congregation, are really great at being charitable – that is, we donate items and money to people in need. This is a necessary part of helping people in need, and this has been a part of who the Church is and what the Church does since the very beginning. It is fairly comfortable, and it feels good, and it is undoubtedly helpful and faithful. 

But charity is not the same as justice. Where charity is feeding someone, justice is working to change the systems that cause so many to be hungry. Where charity is pulling trash out of a river, justice is going upstream to figure out why there is so much trash in the river, and stopping it at its source. A truly just society (and one, I would argue, that resembles the kingdom Christ proclaims) has no need for charity, because in a just society, in God’s kingdom, everyone already has what they need – be in food, or health, or education, or safety. 

Seeking justice is hard work. It takes more effort to learn about the causes of people’s suffering – more work for our brains, and also for our hearts. But it is also hard because it takes a level of vulnerability just to get started in the work, and then to continue… much more vulnerability than it takes to write a check, which, again, is important, but it also allows us to maintain some distance from the problem. 

A few years ago, I was a part of conversation with some fellow white moms, in which we were discussing how we can do our part to confront racism. We started by breaking into small groups and answering the question, “What is the biggest challenge for you in confronting racism?” Answers varied, but I heard some common themes: discomfort with not knowing what to say or how, worrying about saying or doing it wrong, concern about our close relationships with people whose opinions differ, fatigue from just how much work is to be done, and feeling inadequate for the task due to any number of factors, including simply a lack of understanding of what it is like to live as a non-white person in this country. I’ll be honest: it felt comforting to hear other intelligent, thoughtful, accomplished women and mothers, the sorts of people I admire and look up to, name some of the very same fears I have myself, not only about the issue of racism, but of any number of justice issues! 

Most of the answers I heard, and felt myself, boiled down to some sense of fear: fear of doing it wrong, of hurting people, and of the sheer magnitude of the task and the time and energy it will take to accomplish. They are pretty common fears, really, in the face of hard work and potential conflict. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice echoes of those same fears in Jesus’ commission to his disciples in today’s Gospel reading. Today’s text is the only time Matthew uses not only the word “disciple,” one who follows, but also, “apostle,” one who is sent. These guys are sent out to do what Jesus knows will be a terrifying, even dangerous task. I suspect being tasked with something so big and important was a thrill for these guys! But excitement and fear are often two sides of the same coin, right? So even as they felt honored and excited to do this work, I suspect they were also a little (or even a lot) fearful… probably similar fears to what I mentioned before: of saying or doing the wrong thing, of offending someone, of putting ourselves or our loved ones in danger, of the fatigue that is inevitable with this sort of heart-work that requires confrontation with a lot of things we’d rather ignore, in ourselves and the world. 

Jesus anticipates and names aloud some of these fears that were probably racing through their hearts: You won’t know what to say (don’t worry, the Spirit’s got your back on this). You will upset people you love – that’s a part of the challenge of following the difficult life of faith he’s placing before us. No one promised following Jesus would mean taking the path of least resistance (in fact, it is often the opposite, just as it was for Jesus!). You will get attacked, verbally or even physically for standing up for the sort of peace that comes from justice. 

But to all of that, Jesus says, you mustn’t let it cling to your heart as you go along your way. Don’t let it discourage you from the work of proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom: a place where those on the margins, those in the slums, those in prison, those who are black, brown, indigenous, those who are queer – are provided all that they need, whether that is respect, safety, opportunity, and a sense of worth, or basic food, water, shelter, and healthcare. If you receive push-back, Jesus says, “shake the dust off your feet”; don’t carry that discouragement with you to the next place, but forge ahead doing the work you know you have been called and sent by Christ to do. Yes, you may suffer. But trust that your “suffering produces character, and character produces endurance, and endurance produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

I’m grateful that Jesus decides to address and confront these fears head on. Though seeing them all laid out like that instills some dread in my heart, there is also something so powerful about naming our fears. Sometimes naming fears is the first step in moving past them, because naming them takes away some of their power, and knowing to expect them allows us to prepare ourselves for them.

Naming is important, but even more important is the word of hope and comfort that Jesus offers them in the midst of it: “Have no fear,” he says, three times, in the same conversation but just a few verses after today’s reading ends. Jesus has lived through what he is asking them, and us, to face – the persecution, the rejection, even the violence eventually – and so he speaks from experience. “Have no fear,” he assures them. “Instead, have faith, because God is going to win in the end. Even the hairs on your head are counted. If God knows you and cares for you enough to know that, then you have no reason to fear!”

So have no fear, friends in Christ. Know that pain and conflict and failure will inevitably happen along the journey on which we are sent – whether that is working toward justice, or seeking forgiveness for yourself or another, or standing up for what you know is right. But that pain and trepidation is not the end. The end – and the beginning and all the way through – is God’s promise that no amount of brokenness can ever be stronger than the power of our Lord Jesus Christ to overcome fear and death with love and life.

Let us pray… Gracious and loving God, our fears threaten to keep us from the important mission on which you send us. Help us to trust that you are with us along the way, equipping us with all that we need for what is before us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Learn what this means (June 11, 2023)

 Pentecost 2A
June 11, 2023
Hosea 5:15-6:6
Matthew 9:9-13, 8-26

INTRODUCTION

We’ve now entered into the long “ordinary” season of Pentecost – ordinary, meaning, we have no big festivals until October. We will work through Matthew’s Gospel, encountering Jesus’ ministry and teaching. Today, we will first hear about the calling of Matthew, the tax collector, and then about a couple of miracles, healing stories of two female characters: an allegedly dead little girl, and a woman who has been bleeding for 12 years. 

But there is also, tucked in there, a bit of teaching, as the Pharisees challenge Jesus on his propensity to hang out with people like sinners and tax collectors. And Jesus directs them to “go and learn what it means” that God desires mercy, not sacrifice.

Turns out, Jesus is quoting today’s reading from Hosea. How many of you love Hosea?? … No one? Well, you may not find it embroidered on any throw pillows, but I do know multiple people who claim it as their favorite. Hosea was an 8th century BCE prophet, a contemporary of Micah, Amos, and Isaiah. By “prophet,” I don’t mean someone who is predicting the future, but rather, someone who is giving a direct word from God to God’s people – in this case, those in the northern kingdom of Israel. The book is set up with a marriage metaphor, in which the wife repeatedly breaks the husband’s heart with her unfaithfulness. The bit that we will hear today presents as a back-and-forth between God and Israel: first God says he’ll sit back and wait for Israel to see what they’ve done wrong, then we’ll get three verses from Israel, sure that God will take them back (but with no repentance to be seen), then God again, now lamenting how fickle Israel is. The bit that Jesus quotes is in the last verse: “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice.”

I hope that helps orient you on this difficult text. Together, our texts remind us that faith in God is not about “doing the right thing” so much as it is about the state of our hearts – our love, compassion, and mercy for one another, and our love of God. Listen for how these difficult texts might speak to your heart this day. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I have, over the course of my ministry, referred many times to verse 12 in our Gospel reading: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” I’ve put it out there, admittedly, without really thinking too deeply about it. But this week, when I read it, I suddenly felt very convicted by it, like a smack in the face. If that’s true, if I really believe that, then one of two things must also be true:

Either, I am as good a person as I like to pretend I am, and thus I don’t need Jesus, or even, Jesus didn’t come for me, because I am already in good shape.

Or… I am sick with sin, and in need of a physician. 

Neither option feels great to me!

Truth is, of course, that I know Jesus did come for me… because I also know that I am just as sick with sin as every one of you is, and everyone out there is, too. And though in the end we are an Easter people, rejoicing in the resurrection, and not a Good Friday people, wallowing in our guilt, I think it is also okay, now and then, to really sit with this reality: that yes, God loves us dearly, and, we are a bunch of sinners, in need of a physician.

The Prophet Hosea, by Duccio di Buoninsegna,
in the Siena Cathedral (c. 1309–1311)

To be clear, the connection between sinfulness and sickness is not a cause-and-effect thing, as in: you sinned, so now you are sick. The state of sin-sickness is one that every person, every body, every heart, lives with. Sin does not discriminate based on one’s ability or make-up. Every last one of us is a sinner in need of grace, a patient in need of a physician. 

And so into this reality, Jesus gives us a dose of medicine, and it comes in the form of his reference to Hosea. He says, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” Now, it is my opinion that when Jesus says, “Go and learn this,” we ought to go and learn that! So, off we go, then, to Hosea… (You might want to have the text in front of you for this next part, since I’ll be referring to it and I’m guessing this is a less familiar passage for you!)

The first 5 chapters of Hosea have articulated all the ways Israel has been like an unfaithful, adulterous spouse – worshiping other gods, but also he mentions cursing, lying, killing, and stealing. And this behavior, he says, has resulted not only in hurting themselves and their relationship with the God of Israel, but hurting the community as a whole, and even the physical land and animals around them. “The land mourns,” Hosea writes in chapter 4, “and all who live in it languish; together with the wild animals and the birds of the air, even the fish of the sea are perishing.” In other words, the sinfulness pandemic from which Israel is suffering is destroying not only their own relationship with God, not only their relationships with each other, but the earth itself.

As an aside, this insight hit hard this week. After breathing in smoke from massive forest fires in Canada (something our friends in the west are all too familiar with), it is hard not to hear this and think of the ways our sinfulness today has affected the earth itself. We haven’t worshiped at the throne of the false god Ba-al, like the Israelites, but we have worshipped at the altar of convenience, and ease, and consumption – and add to that the practices of corporations keeping up with our demands (and creating new ones), and all of this impacts our planet in big ways. We normally don’t endure the impacts of this in such a direct way as we did this week. Effects like rising sea levels and severe weather tend to affect people on the coasts, and poor nations that can’t afford the infrastructure necessary to endure these changes in our climate that result in things like drought and fires. But this week, the very air we breathed reeked of the communal sin that has been harming our planet, and many of us experienced quite literal sickness as a result. 

Back to Hosea: after the prophet has laid out the sins and effects of the unfaithful and “adulterous” Israelites, he describes God sitting back and listening for Israel’s response, and that’s where today’s reading begins. “I will return again to my place,” God says, “until they acknowledge their guilt and seek my face. In their distress they will beg my favor.” And they do beg God’s favor – they always do, when they are desperate! They are just sure that God, who they know is eternally faithful, will not discard them. But conspicuously missing from their plea is what God hoped to hear: any acknowledgement of guilt, or any expressed desire to know, truly know God. They want the forgiveness and the relief from their ailments, without actually making an effort to change their hearts or their ways.

Well, God is not fooled by this. In verse 4, I can practically hear God sighing. “*sigh* What am I gonna do with you, O Ephraim, O Judah?” He goes on to lament how fleeting and vapid their devotion is. They love when it is convenient or easy, or when they will get something in return (like safety from the enemy), but just as quickly, “like the dew that goes away early,” their hearts have turned again to their own interests, to pursuit of other gods, to the same symptoms of their sinfulness that damaged their relationships, and their land, as before.

And here, finally, we get to the line that Jesus quoted, in reference to his coming not for the well, but for the sick: “I desire steadfast love, and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.”

You see, the people of Israel, when they “returned” to God, did so only with empty rituals. They went through the motions of proper worship (in this case, animal sacrifice and burnt offerings), but their hearts remained devoted elsewhere. They didn’t approach God with a desire to know God, but rather, to get what they needed from God and then go about their merry way. And what God desires instead, is steadfast love (or “mercy,” as Jesus says), and the knowledge of God – by which he means, faithfulness to God’s laws, to the covenant. In other words: God desires for them to live a life centered on love of God, and love of neighbor, plain and simple.

Now let’s bring it all back to Jesus, in Matthew’s Gospel. The Pharisees ask, why is Jesus eating with sinners and tax collectors? Because, a life of faith is one that is driven not be defining who is in and who is out, or which sinner is the worst kind of sinner, but of showing mercy to the outsider, of loving those deemed unlovable. Knowing and loving God means touching the untouchable, and lifting up those who are dead in sin and in need of new life. It means mercy above empty ritual, and seeking God rather than seeking personal gain. 

All this we do not in order to gain favor with God, or get something from God – but because God already did this and more for us. We who are in desperate need of a physician, we who too frequently fall into unfaithfulness, we who are often quick to judge and slow to show mercy, who love well in the ways that it is easy, but not so well in the ways that are a challenge. Jesus shows mercy to us, loves us, and invites us to eat with him at his table. We are the sick, in need of a physician. And by his mercy, we are healed.

And so let us get up from our tables, and follow him, showing that love and mercy to all who are in need of a physician. And by that mercy, God’s mercy shown forth through us, may we find healing for a sin-sick world.

Let us pray… Great Physician, we come to you acknowledging our need for healing, our need for you. Grant us your mercy and steadfast love, so that we might love you in return, and offer mercy to a world in need. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

Sermon: "In the beginning..." (June 4, 2023)

Trinity Sunday
June 4, 2023
Genesis 1:1-2:4a

INTRODUCTION

Trinity Sunday always presents a particular challenge for the preacher, because almost anything one tries to say toward explaining the Trinity comes out as a heresy. God is, after all, a mystery, and a mystery, by definition, defies explanation! 

And so instead of listening to today’s readings in search of some explanation about what the Trinity is or how it works, I encourage you as you listen simply to enter into that mystery. Genesis gives us a creation story, rhythmic and imaginative, as God brings order and beauty out of chaos. Don’t hear this as a step-by-step literal account, but as the poem that it is, which paints a picture from the perspective of our ever-creating, imagining, and loving God. The Psalm also offers another kind of poetry that celebrates God’ creativity.

1st Corinthians shows where we get the greeting we share each Sunday, which mentions all three persons of the Trinity. 

In our Gospel reading, we find ourselves at the tail end of Matthew’s Gospel. As Jesus gets ready to leave this world after the resurrection, he gives the disciples a task, to bring his message of life to “all nations.” A tough task, made possible only by this, Jesus’ last words in Matthew’s Gospel: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” At the beginning of Matthew, you remember, we learned that Jesus would be called “Emmanuel,” meaning “God with us,” and here his last words are the same. We may never understand God, but we can trust that this mysteriously loving being will never leave our side. 

Enter into the mystery, my friends, and hear God’s love for you. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I’m going to start this sermon a bit differently than usual, if you will just humor me for a moment. Today we’re going to start by entering our first reading, not with thinking, like a scientist, but with imagining, breathing, experiencing – enter it like an artist. 

If it is comfortable for you, I invite you to close your eyes, or perhaps just focus on something on the back of the pew in front of you to block out the things going on around you, and take some deep breaths. Now I’m going to read again the start of our Genesis reading, and I want you to (keep breathing deeply, and) really picture it. Imagine what it looks like, feels like…

“In the beginning… when God created the heavens and the earth… the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep… while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters….” How does it feel to look into the face of the deep?... How does that sweeping wind from God look and feel?...

“Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” What does that light look like? Is it a flicker? Or an explosion? Does it have a shape? Is it warm? …Is it good?

…

When you’re ready, open your eyes.

In the beginning. Three simple words that we might be tempted just to skip on by, but truly, they are remarkable. No one was there to see what this moment in time looked and felt like, but it is interesting to imagine it, because while we cannot know what the beginning of the universe was like, we certainly know about beginnings. Think of the beginnings you have faced in your life. What words come to mind? [Exciting? Scary?] Perhaps they felt a bit like a formless void, full of more questions than answers?

Now think of this: in the beginning, the beginning of all beginnings, what God the Almighty chose to do was… to create. God took that formless void, that space of unknowing and darkness, and turned that chaos into order, into something beautiful and patterned, something that makes sense and produces life. In the beginning…. God created.

June is a season of “in the beginnings,” isn’t it. Our mailboxes and social media get filled up with graduation announcements, pictures of preschoolers in tiny caps and gowns, and news of new jobs. People prepare to head off to their summer places, their camping adventures, their travels. June is a time of great transition, where big things end, and new big things begin. 

I heard this time referred to this week as a time of “soon-to-be.” Soon-to-be graduate, soon-to-be empty-nester… but also for some, soon-to-be retired, or soon-to-be married, or soon-to-be parent, or even, soon-to-be something you don’t even know about yet! It is an exciting time, but like any time of change, any beginning, it is a time that can feel a bit unsettling, as we anticipate a future we cannot yet fully picture, for which we don’t yet know the rhythms, in which we may not yet know what will ground us going forward. 

I love that at the start of this season of so many beginnings, the lectionary gives us this beautiful poem from Genesis, with its rhythmic and repetitive language. I hope that you felt that rhythm, the way we read it today, with the congregation saying the refrain, “And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.” It’s rhythmic and English and also Hebrew, and that’s by design – as God looks upon the chaos, and brings order out of it, we can hold onto that rhythmic, repetitive refrain, the refrain of creation.

We can hold it, and also trust that God creates within our endings that lead to beginnings as well. One of the hardest things about the soon-to-be is that it can be difficult to find our new rhythm, our new beat, to be able to walk without stumbling, to feel grounded and secure when everything around us is new. For the times when we feel like that, this passage is a gift, for all those endings, death, uncertain steps and darkness are replaced by another refrain: let there be, let there be, let there be.

Such possibility in those words! Let there be… When we are groping around in the dark, let there be light. When we cannot find our footing, let there be solid ground on which to step forward. When our thoughts are scattered every which way, let there be order, thoughts gathered together to make sense. When we hunger for justice, or thirst for righteousness, let there be nourishment for the journey. When the pit of loneliness feels so deep, let there be a companion, a helpmate. And let it all be good.

And it is so. And indeed, everything God brought and brings into being in the beginning, in all our beginnings, in all our soon-to-bes, is very good. Our creative God is always bringing order out of chaos, goodness out of formless darkness, life out of lifelessness. God did it at creation. Jesus did it in the tomb. The Holy Spirit did it on Pentecost. And God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit does it now for us, today, in all our soon-to-bes, and will continue to be with us always, bringing about life, to the end of the age.

Let us pray… Great and merciful God, Source and Ground of all goodness and life, as you created in the beginning of time, create in us today. Draw us into your creative dance. In all that we do, let there be life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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