Sermon: On discerning wheat from weeds (July 20, 2014)

Pentecost 6A/Lectionary 16

July 20, 2014

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

            Last week I told you about my garden, about how I knew nothing about gardening, so I invited a friend to help me plant, and about how we prepared the soil before we were able to plant anything. Remember? Well today I’ll tell you another part of that story – and that is what a terrible state the garden was in before, due to my total lack of knowledge on the topic. My greatest weakness, garden-wise, is simply not knowing anything about plants. So, we moved into the house last July, and when springtime came around, all kinds of things started growing that I didn’t even know were there. Did someone plant those? Are they supposed to be there? Will that turn into a beautiful flower, or will it

My garden, before it was weeded, but after my husband
mowed down some weeds.

turn into something that will take over my garden and won’t be tamed? Because of my ignorance, I just didn’t touch anything, and so soon enough it was a lush, green, overgrown mess.

            Until I began studying this parable this week, I had counted my gardening ignorance as a fault, but now I’m starting to see my inability to discern weeds from flowers more as a boon (at least theologically, if not as a homeowner!). Let me explain by first asking you a question. When you first hear or read this parable about the wheat and the weeds, without thinking too much about it, what would you say it is about? [judgment, heaven/hell…] It is considered one of the judgment parables, isn’t it, and with good reason, I suppose. It seems pretty clear that Jesus is saying some people are good seeds (wheat), some are bad seeds

(weeds), and at the end of time, at what the parable calls the harvest, the good seeds will go to heaven and the bad seeds will burn in eternity. (It’s one of those happy, feel-good parables, you know.)

            But there is a danger in interpreting this parable this way. If some people are wheat and some are weeds, then the next logical step we humans want to take is to decide who is what. That’s what the workers wanted to do in the parable, after all. “Do you want us to go and gather [the weeds]?” they ask. Do you want us to go decide what is good and what is bad, and what belongs and what doesn’t, and take care to only leave what is good in the land? It’s a natural tendency, one that taps into a question that has consumed Christians for generations: who is going to heaven, and who is not? Are you? Am I? Should I feel sorry for you if you’re not? Should I be depressed if I am not? Should I act any differently to ensure I will go to heaven?

            But you see, while this is the step we humans want to take, I think the parable is saying the opposite – because you see the sower’s response about gathering the weeds? “No, don’t go and try to determine that for yourself, because it will do more harm than good. Just leave it be, and in the end, God will take care of sorting everything out. Meanwhile, you just live your life and do your job the best you can under the circumstances.”

            To me, this is great news. Because whatever assumptions I may want to make about certain kinds of people, or whatever feelings I may have about how someone has treated me, it is not my job to

judge. Furthermore, try though I might to make accurate judgments of people, in the end I cannot tell the difference between weed and wheat, any more than I can tell the difference between weeds and flowers in my own garden. None of us are equipped to judge other people, because none of us know the whole story.

Maybe you have seen the hit TV show, Breaking Bad. It is about a high school chemistry teacher named Walt who is, on the surface, a well-loved, upstanding, pretty decent guy. But in his secret life, circumstances drive him to become a murderer and a drug kingpin. No one, not even his own wife, has any idea that this quiet family man, this “wheat,” is capable of such heinous acts. On the other hand, his partner, Jesse, seems in every way to be a “weed”: a punk and a druggie who is up to no good and will never amount to anything. But while he does struggle and make poor choices, we also learn that he cared for his aunt as she died of cancer; that he has limitless compassion for those close to him, especially children; that he has integrity and is loyal and caring even to people who have hurt him. At the start of season one of Breaking Bad, it is easy to feel sympathy for Walt, who has just been

Jesse and Walt

diagnosed with cancer, and to hate Jesse. Wheat and weed, clearly. As their stories unfold, however, Jesse quickly becomes admirable and easy to love, while Walt becomes one of the most loathsome characters on television.

            Of course, Breaking Bad is dramatized, but is the basic character development really so far off? Everyone has a story, a struggle, that we don’t know anything about. Everybody has a reason for why they act or talk or look the way they do. Who are we to be the judge?

            We all have people in our lives whom we would like to label as weeds, don’t we. We may label as “weeds” those people who live a lifestyle we don’t approve of, or, those people who won’t let personal lives be personal. They are those people who are holding back women’s ability to care for their own reproductive health, or, those people who are allowing abortions to occur. They are those people who think they can just sneak into America and take our valuable jobs, or, they are those people who would refuse help to vulnerable children in need of refuge from drugs, poverty and violence. They are those people who are a drain on our national budget by taking advantage of welfare programs, or, they are those people who hoard all the world’s wealth for themselves.

            This world – it is a garden full of weeds. No matter what you do or what you believe, you are a weed to someone. But thanks be to God, we are also a garden full of wheat. Each one of us, and every beloved child of God: we are all weeds to someone, but we are also, each one of us, claimed and loved by God. Christ died for every last one of us weeds, so that, like grains of wheat scattered on the hill that have come together to become one bread, we might all come together to serve God and feed the world. In the end, that is all we really can to do: love God with mind, heart, body, and soul, and our neighbors as ourselves. And the judgment piece? We will have to leave it up to God to sort that out.

            As a closing prayer today, I’d like to invite each of you to take a moment to think about who you might consider a weed. It could be a person or group of people I already mentioned, or someone else in your life whom you find it difficult not to judge because of their beliefs, their behavior, or the way they treat other people. All these weeds in our lives – we will pray for them, and we will pray for ourselves. I will leave some silence, during which you can offer your own silent prayer.

            Let us pray… Gracious and merciful God, we try to live the best lives we can, but sometimes it is hard for us not to judge others because they look, act, or believe differently from us. We sometimes think of these people as weeds that get in the way of the good work we try to do. We pray for these people today, Lord, and for their well-being…. We also pray for ourselves, that we might see all your beloved children not as weeds, but as wheat, and as your beloved children. Help us to have compassion for those who are different from us, remembering that they, too, have a story we know nothing about. Grant us the courage to hear their stories, and to love them as you have loved us…. This we pray in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Something new: benign!

The endocrinologist who did my biopsy called yesterday.

"I have some good news for you. It is benign. Everything is normal."

What a nice change of pace to hear these words instead of what I've grown accustomed to: either, "It is cancer," or, "It's benign, but still suspicious, so we'd like to do more tests."

Just plain benign. Music to my ears.

I do have to go back in a year to have another ultrasound and make sure the nodules are stable and not growing. I recently talked to a friend who has had several biopsies like this, and her doctor had told her not to bother coming in while she was pregnant or breastfeeding because hormones go so crazy and she might get a false positive. So I asked my doctor, if I'm pregnant at this time next year, if I should bother coming in. She said, "No, in that case, I would recommend waiting until the baby is born before coming in." She thought for a moment, then said, "So, the next time I see you, I hope it will be with baby pictures to show."

Did I mention how much I like her?

So that's that! At least for now. I feel good. I feel like I finally did catch that break. I feel light, happy, relaxed. Not to sound campy, but I feel like God is smiling compassionately on me (perhaps in the form of a beautiful, sunny morning this morning!), saying, "I know, child, you've had a rough go of it. I know you weren't too pleased with me, but I was with you then, and I am with you now. I love you." I know, God. I know.

Okay, so: let's get on with things, shall we?!

Thyroid Watch

Today, after waiting a month, I finally had a biopsy of my thyroid nodule. Here's why.

I have to say, I didn't much like it.

But first, the things I did like: Michael took the day off to be with me, which, though I'd like to fancy myself an independent woman who is able to handle such things on her own by now, turned out to be a really, really good thing. He was even able to be in the exam room with me, instead of waiting in the waiting room like usual. The doctor was very nice. She was a young woman, who, as it turns out, is the daughter of an imam. So one of my doctors is the daughter of a Methodist pastor, and one is the daughter of a Muslim "pastor." What are the odds? He teaches world religions at Nazareth College here in town and has a particular interest in interfaith stuff. Cool! Dr. Shafiq was very kind and compassionate, and explained things to us as we went along. I told her later how much I appreciated this, because it takes the scary mystery out of it. When she was about to start the ultrasound, she asked if I would like Michael to stand by the side of the table, so that he could hold my hand. With that question, she won both of our hearts. Michael took his place at the side of the table, and did his job well.

But first, she started with a bit of history and the usual questions. She had been unable to load the pictures that were taken a month ago, so she had to do the ultrasound again, though she also said she probably would have anyway. Usually, she only biopsies nodules when they have particular risk factors. These include: one centimeter or more in two dimensions, abnormal shape, abnormal constitution, or medical history risk factors, either in the form of a family history of thyroid problems, or radiation (usually the radiated patients she sees are Hodgkin's survivors like myself). It seemed as if I only carried one of those risks (radiation), but when she looked at the nodules on the ultrasound from a different angle, she found one of the nodules is a bit bigger than they thought (still small, though, just one centimeter).

So she said I could have the biopsy to see conclusively what's up. Or I could wait six months and see if there was any change. I chose to have the biopsy.

A few other stats: 95% of the time, nodules like this are benign. Having a history of radiation is a risk factor, but doesn't increase my risk by any sort of significant margin. I had read that pregnancy makes nodules grow, but she said no, that wouldn't happen in my case. Though 5% is a nice, low possibility, I feel like I've had enough things go the less likely way that it no longer means anything to me. Not to mention I had a close friend who was given the same odds, and it ended up cancer. It always feels a little more possible when you know someone in the minority.

So, the biopsy. Doctor numbed the skin, but the needle once it was in, was still incredibly painful, despite that she said it would be easier than a breast biopsy. Michael held my hand, and I'm sure he could attest to the fact that my squeezing got harder and harder. I couldn't swallow, move my head, or breathe deeply while the needle was in, which made the pain worse since normally I'm able to breathe through pain and tolerate it pretty well. The skin didn't hurt, but she had to dig around a bit with the needle to get the cells... so imagine someone just poking you repeatedly in the throat and you'll get the idea. She tried three separate times to get enough tissue, but after all that, they didn't have enough cells. So she tried two more times.

Each time was worse than the last. I thought about saying, "Forget it, I'll come back in 6 months," but told myself I had made it most of the way, so I could power through. But the fifth needle, I lost my composure. Tears came to my eyes. I was mad at myself for crying ("Buck up, Johanna!" I thought), but I felt totally helpless. In retrospect, I think the tears were certainly caused mostly by pain, but also by the frustration that I was having to endure such pain again. I was mad at my body for doing this to me again. Why was I here??

Poor Dr. Shafiq. She felt terrible when she saw I was crying. She said she didn't normally make people cry, and felt bad that she'd told me it wouldn't be as bad as a breast biopsy (which never made me cry!). Of course I don't blame her. She was compassionate and kind, and laughed at my jokes. And she mispronounced "component" in a way that made all of us laugh a lot, mostly her at herself. After I sat up and cried it off a bit (the tears kept coming, out of my control), she got me some ice and just sat with us for a while, chatting about her dad's work and religious beliefs generally. It was as if she had nowhere else to be, which I find hard to believe since it took a month to even get in and see her. She said for good luck she would schedule an appointment for a year from now, with the assumption that I would fall into the 95% of benign nodules.

She said looking at the cells she got, nothing jumps out at her as suspicious, but she doesn't want to give me false information so she would leave it at that. She will call me by Friday morning, if not before, with the results.

As we left the hospital, I felt a little nauseated by the lingering pain, and exhausted by the whole experience. It feels a little like I was punched in the throat, so, not great. I have been home all afternoon, relying on a pillow to hold my head up so my neck doesn't have to, and trying to rest. And my husband has been waiting on me, and my dog loving on me, so I guess things could be worse.

Many thanks for all the prayers and check-ins. I have been so touched all day by those who have checked in on me. I am truly blessed by all of you. Thank you.

Biking to the top of the hill

This weekend I celebrated my 31st birthday! 31 seems like a sort of boring age to turn, but my 30th birthday got a bit overshadowed by getting married, buying a house, and beating cancer, so we decided to make up for it this year by having a whole birthday weekend to celebrate. It was a wonderful weekend, which included buying two new dresses (that Michael picked out), going out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, spending the day Saturday at Darien Lake and going on the roller coasters and playing in the water park, dinner at my aunt and uncle's house on the lake, and then today after church we went to the surprise 90th birthday party of a beloved parishioner, then met up with a good friend of Michael's and watched Germany win the World Cup. Truly a wonderful weekend, full of sweet surprises, big fun, and lots of time with my fabulous husband whom I love more every day.

It was all a good distraction from what comes this week: yet another biopsy. The appointment for this biopsy was set a month ago - too long ago, frankly - and the weeks have dragged on while I have waited for it to happen. As my friend said yesterday when she checked in on me for my birthday, it just needs to happen already! To which I responded, "That, or never even have to happen." We agreed that was better. I have managed to sort of forget about it, or at least to remove myself from it - to be able to talk about it without any emotional connection to it. Going to California last week helped with that, too. Made me feel more grounded.

But last night, while I was at dinner with my wonderful aunt and uncle, husband, and good friend, it hit me. I let myself imagine Tuesday, imagine having the biopsy, imagine getting the phone call later with... whatever news it brings. I felt an ickiness in my stomach. All those breast biopsies seemed like a cake walk, but this seems in comparison to be just too much. I exclaimed, "Why is this so much harder than any of the other five biopsies I have had??" I should be better at this by now! This is old news.

My wise companions in this journey had a quick answer: "Because we weren't ready for this one," Michael said. "You had steeled yourself for everything else," offered my friend. And my uncle added, "It's like biking to the top of a hill. You see what you have to accomplish, and you prepare yourself for it, you think, 'If I can just get to the top of this hill...'" and then you crest the top and you relax, until you realize that now there is already another hill to climb."

Suddenly, I was on top of that hill, relishing in that moment of flat ground, just getting used to it when I see another hill before me. I felt the devastation of that cyclist, having paced herself for the journey she thought she had before her, and now seeing another hill looming before her.

Oh, it makes me tired to imagine it, but I am also sort of relieved to have this image. I was beginning to think I had gone soft, that I'd lost something of my gumption and spirit. I braced myself so well for everything breast cancer. I was not prepared to so immediately have to deal with something possibly wrong with my thyroid. Still am not prepared, really.

And maybe I won't have to be. All shall be revealed... on Tuesday. After waiting an eternity to have this biopsy, it is now only two days away, and now I'm sort of liking my ignorant bliss. Well, can't stay here forever. Your continued prayers are more than welcome, for me, and for my family. May it be the "nothing" that the doctor says it likely it.

Sermon: Lessons in sowing (July 13, 2014)

Pentecost 5A/Lectionary 15

July 13, 2014

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

            Now that I am a homeowner, with a little patch of land to call my own, I really wanted a garden. Knowing next to nothing about gardening, I had a more knowledgeable friend come and help me. I was all ready to get my hands dirty and put some plants in the ground, but it turns out, this is only a small part of planting a garden. First, we had to take out the dead stuff that was no longer growing. Then, we had to prepare the soil. We raked all the leaves and debris, pulled out the weeds, cleaned up the edges. Then we put down soil, manure, and some other stuff that she said was supposed to add nutrients to the soil. We mixed it all in. Then, finally, we started digging some holes and planting stuff!

My completed garden!

Then we added fertilizer and watered it like crazy and stood back to admire our work.

            This is how planting works, apparently. First, you plow, or do whatever you need to prepare the soil so that you can be assured that the soil is good, that seeds will do well in it. Who would try to sow seeds on rock hard soil? Or among thorns? It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

            And yet, this is how the sower in today’s parable approaches the task of sowing. Totally reckless, no forethought, no preparation, just tossing seeds here, there and everywhere. And the result? Three quarters of the seeds don’t fall on fertile soil, and are scorched by the sun, or eaten by birds, or choked by thorns. Not much foresight there, Sower. Too bad he didn’t have a more knowledgeable friend helping him like I did!

            I mean we, today – we know how to prepare for things. Businesses do a demographic study of an area before they plant a store there. Church mission starts also study an area, knock on doors, explore needs, before deciding to start a church. You want to have a sense that you are filling a need, serving a purpose… not to mention be successful! This lack of preparation that the sower is guilty of… that wouldn’t fly in today’s world.

Van Gogh, Sower

            Not to mention the recklessness! Throwing seeds willy-nilly. It’s just not responsible. Since I was a kid, I have been so careful about not wasting things, and keeping things in case I might need them later. I remember for one birthday a friend gave me a package of clay with which I could make some pottery, specifically pottery based on Native American designs. It even came with some black paint so I could do designs on the side. Such a cool gift! I was delighted. But every time I looked at the package of clay in my closet, I thought, “No, not today. I might mess up, and then I will have wasted it. I should save it for a time when I am sure I will be able to make something beautiful with it. If I use it now, then I won’t have it anymore, and then I’ll be sad later that I was so reckless to use this before I was really ready to get everything out of it that I could.” See – I was careful, thoughtful, and I thought ahead. Not like this sower in the parable.

            Well, I’d love to say my thoughtfulness, care and foresight served me in the end. But guess what happened to that clay, that lovely, interesting gift from my friend? I kept it – for years, until I was too old to really enjoy it anymore, and then a little longer in case my interest might return… until the clay dried up and became worthless to me. I ended up throwing it in the garbage one day many years later. I never got to enjoy it. *

            How much of life passes us by like that? How many opportunities do we miss because we are afraid of not doing it right, because we are waiting for the perfect opportunity, and want to make sure we are absolutely prepared? How many of us need to make sure the proverbial soil is perfectly tilled before we take any risks and try to make anything grow?

There are many ways to enter this parable. We can think of ourselves as the sower, being sent

Icon, "Jesus the Sower" by
Athanasios Clark

out to spread the good news to others. We can think of ourselves as the seed, that is being spread upon the world. But my favorite way to understand this well-known parable is to think of God as the Sower, and myself as the soil. And I confess to you: I’m not always the good soil. Just as I sometimes miss opportunities to share the good news with others, I have also missed opportunities to let myself hear the good news. My guess is I’m not alone in this. Sometimes it is hard to hear and receive God’s Word, because we have been hardened and burned too many times before, and we’re not in a place to receive good news. Or sometimes we hear it, but quickly let it be choked out by other things that seem more important in the moment. Or we hear it, but ignore it and let it be destroyed by the elements.

It’s a good thing, then, that the sower so recklessly spreads seed, even on the bad, unprepared soil – so that if I miss it the first time, I will still have another chance. This parable, you see – it is a parable of abundance. It is a story about a God who throws seed out to all different kinds of soil – not because God is a bad gardener who doesn’t understand about tilling and fertilizer, but because God knows that all of that seed will do some good. The seed that gets eaten up by birds – at least it is feeding the birds! The seed that gets thrown among thorns – it is fertilizing the soil for future harvest.

And the seed that lands on good soil – that is an abundance beyond our understanding! A good harvest is one that yields between seven and ten-fold. Jesus tells his disciples that the seed that fell on good soil yielded 30 times, 60 times, even 100 times! Surely the farmers in the audience were laughing at his absurdity – it is impossible! But what is impossible with humans is possible with God. Because our God is one of abundance – who throws seeds everywhere without counting the cost, who doesn’t worry that some of those seeds won’t do a bit of good, and some will do good that we didn’t expect; a God who knows that some of those seeds will yield a crop that is lavishly beyond human comprehension. With God, there is always enough.

That story I told about my clay… I think I got that for my 7^th birthday, and it has stuck with me for 24 years since, probably because in some ways I am still that cautious little girl who wants to be sure she has what she needs when she needs it. But I wonder: what if I received God’s abundant grace the same way I received that gift of clay? Admiring God’s grace in its package – bread and wine, water in a font, a baby in a manger, a man on a cross – and understanding what a great gift it is… but never willing to actually delve into it and experience the joy it brings. Unwilling to take it and touch it and use it, lest I use it up and then not have it when I need it. Concerned that I might mess it up if I get too invested in it, and so content to simply admire it from afar. What if that was how we viewed God’s grace?

Thanks be to God, that is not how grace works. Our God, the Sower, is a reckless God of abundance, lavishly spreading grace and love upon the world. Some will receive it with joy, and yield an absurd amount more. Some will not be ready to receive it – yet. But the seed keeps coming. The grace keeps coming. It never runs out, and it is never wasted. It may not make sense to us, but that is how our abundant God does things.

Let us pray… Reckless Sower, you never run out of grace for us, and you never run out of love. Make our hearts good soil, ready to receive your Word, and to share your lavish abundance with the world. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

* Worth noting is that I refer to this story a lot, but this is the first time I have used it in a sermon… and even as I decided to use it, I worried about whether this was really the best sermon to use it for. What if it fits better in a later sermon I’ve yet to conceive? Once I use it, I won’t be able to use it again! I guess in some ways, I’m that same little girl.

Two years later and still going

Two years ago today, on July 9, I had my first irregular mammogram. Calcifications in the left breast. A bunch of scans and biopsies later, we found breast cancer, not where the calcifications were, but in a different area of the same breast, and well, you know the rest of the story. Like so many things, that feels like yesterday, and like ages ago. How far we have come since then! An engagement, a dog, five surgeries, including two mastectomies, a house purchase, and two weddings later, here we are!

Still, on this day, I finally feel inclined to tell another piece of the story that I have kept to myself for a few weeks. I wrote about a month ago about a bunch of scans and tests that I had to follow up other possible longterm side effects of my radiation treatments. When I wrote that, I already knew the results: the neck ultrasound showed that I have two small nodules on my thyroid.

When the doctor shared this news with me, he didn't sound at all worried, so I am trying not to be worried either. These happen all the time, he said, especially in young women, and they are usually benign. And while young women are at higher risk for thyroid cancer than the general population, and I'm at higher risk still because of my radiation history, the risk is overall relatively small. Still, given all this, he is sending me to an endocrinologist (thyroid specialist) for an ultrasound-guided needle aspiration biopsy (the same sort of which I had so many for my breast). The earliest this could be scheduled was July 15 - a month later! I guess that's good, as it shows the lack of urgent concern. Even if this is thyroid cancer, it is very treatable, simply by removing the thyroid (sound familiar?), which would mean taking thyroid replacement therapy for the rest of my life. While I don't love the idea of being dependent on a pill for the rest of my life, there are worse things.

One worse thing that I can think of is going through this while already pregnant. Having to make the decision to put my pregnancy at risk by having surgery, or putting myself at risk by waiting several months to remove a cancer. I guess there is a part of me, then, that hopes this is cancer so I can just have the thyroid out and be done with it and then have worry-free pregnancies. (What a crappy place to be, that this seems like the better option.) Of course a much larger part of me wants it to be nothing and remain nothing, but I haven't had much luck with that particular gamble.

As for how I am doing with all this... I'm annoyed. Not even angry, or scared, just annoyed. As so many people have responded to this news, "Can't you catch a break?" Apparently not. I'm also tired - tired of having to make such Big Decisions about my and my future family's health, when I would so rather be deciding things like what color to paint the nursery (that's not entirely true - picking out paint is the worst). I'm tired of being the cause of concern, of worrying people (which is why I have kept this to myself, lest I worry people unnecessarily). I'm tired of medical hurdles being put in the way of starting a family - and before we've even had a chance to try to start one! I'm tired of follow-ups. I'm tired of needles. I'm tired of surgeries. I'm tired of scars. I'm tired of keeping my chin up. I'm just annoyed by all of this. Compliant, but annoyed. And tired.

If there is any aspect of this that does terrify me, however, it is the proximity of the thyroid to the vocal cords. If something should happen and my voice were damaged... I would be devastated. To not be able to sing to my children. To not be able to sing in Concentus. To not be able to sing hymns. Not to mention - to not be able to preach! What would I do?? I know the risk of this is very, very small, so I try not to go down that road, but I am aware that the road is there.

I've hated not sharing this, so now I am. I process externally (duh), so it has been torture not to be able to blog about what's going on in my heart this past month. Being home on vacation last week helped me feel in a better place about everything, so now that the biopsy is only a week away (and I'm trying not to read into the fact that it is the same week as my first breast biopsy, not to mention my birthday week), I wanted to share, and to solicit your prayers - for me, sure, but mostly for my family. More than anything, I'm tired of putting them through this.

Thanks for reading/listening. I'll of course keep you posted.

Sermon: Freedom is hard, Christ's yoke is easy (July 6, 2014)

Pentecost 4A/Lectionary 14

July 6, 2014

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

            In last week’s sermon on Romans, I spoke about what we understand as American freedom and what Paul describes as Christian freedom, and how they relate to each other. When I wrote that sermon, I did not realize that the very next day the Supreme Court would announce their decision on a case that brings those two topics together in a monumental way: owners of for-profit corporations are now able to exercise their religious freedom by refusing to pay for medical care – specifically birth control – which violates their religious convictions. The reaction to this decision has been all over the map. Some Christians are delighted, other Christians are appalled, some atheists are using this as more demonstration that religion is destructive, some are waiting to see just how far-reaching this decision will be… Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg suggested in her dissent about the decision that this would have “startling breadth” as to how we understand the place of religious freedom outlined in our First Amendment, and I’d have to say, for better or for worse, I agree with her.

            Between my sermon last week, this decision on Monday, and of course the celebration of the Fourth of July on Friday, I have continued to think a lot about freedom in the past week. The main thrust of last week’s sermon was that while our American freedom allows us to do, say, and believe whatever we want (though with the understanding that some consequences apply), our Christian freedom compels us to use that ability to serve one another. Christ has taken away the burden of sin, and now we, no longer captive to this sin, are able to freely love and serve God and neighbor.

            Today’s text from Romans, which follows what we heard last week, shows us that, while hopeful, this freedom business is also incredibly difficult – because even as we know what God desires from us, it isn’t so easy to follow through. Paul has spent the first six chapters of Romans outlining the law and how good it is and how much he loves it, but now, in chapter seven, he offers this startling confession: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

            That is the difficulty with freedom, you see. As well-intentioned as we may be, and even as certain as we may be at any given time about the rightness of our decisions, it seems too often that we end up doing the wrong thing. Take an encounter I had this week, for example. My mom and I were talking to a friend, and were sharing some old stories with her, and we mentioned someone we both knew. My mom shared a story about something nasty this person had done to her some years ago. Our friend said, “I shouldn’t gossip but… I had a similar experience! She is really a piece of work!” Oh, how often I say something like that: “I shouldn’t say this… but I’m going to anyway,” because, as Paul says, sin is constantly lurking at the door, just waiting for us in all our freedom to slip up a little bit so that sin can creep in there and take over our better judgment. “I know I shouldn’t, but…” is a constant refrain in our lives.

“I do not understand my own actions,” Paul writes. “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” The first time I heard, really heard these words, I felt an immediate kinship with Paul. He suddenly became a real person to me, not just some writer and scholar from long ago. I realized: he struggled, too. This important man, who wrote so much of what we call the Holy Scriptures – even he struggled with sin, struggled to avoid doing things he knew were the wrong things to do. Turns out, we are all together in this human condition, where we mean well, but end up doing the very thing we know we shouldn’t.

Even as misery enjoys company, though, we cannot stay there – and Paul doesn’t. Just when we start to feel that there is no hope, that our Christian freedom will only get us into trouble because as willing as our hearts may be, our flesh is too darn weak to uphold God’s law… Paul looks outward. “Wretched man that I am!” he exclaims. “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” We are not left on our own. We have the great gift of knowing that Jesus has our backs in this.

I’ve been reading this week a book by Anne Lamott called Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. In one chapter, she reflects on the growth and wisdom she has experienced in her life. She goes on for some pages about everything she has learned and gained through the various trials and stages of her life. She also comments, however, that she is not thrilled with what age and gravity have done to her body. In her wry, raw way, she writes, “Left to my own devices, would I trade all [that I have gained] for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I am not left to my own devices.” Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

            And this brings us to Jesus’ wonderful words of comfort in our Gospel lesson, which are an assurance that we will never be left to our own devices, left to fend for ourselves, left to always do the right thing with the freedom we have been given, even as sin is lurking close at hand. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you…” I used to think that taking Jesus’ yoke upon me was something like taking up Jesus’ cross – that is, taking on a burden, perhaps the burden of seeking justice in the world, with us pulling the load and Christ as the

driver. But the thing about a yoke is that it is not for one animal. It is for two, two animals who are bound together to walk side-by-side and be a more powerful team than one can be alone. So when Christ bids us take his yoke upon us, he means that we should come and be yoked with him, bound together side-by-side – so that suddenly our personal burden no longer feels quite so heavy, because it is being borne with Christ. Our freedom, which so often leads us to sin, is no longer our downfall, because we make decisions with Christ by our side, bearing some of the weight.

It is not only our personal burdens that are carried in this way. Under Christ’s yoke, we are prepared to bear the burdens of the world. With our God-given freedom for service, and with the strength of Christ and his yoke on our team, we do the hard work that we are called to do: standing up to the oppressor, seeking justice for the needy, showing mercy and compassion to those who are suffering. The very things that last week St. Paul told us Christian freedom compels us to do, now we are given the promise that we need not bear the burden of those tasks alone.

            Freedom is a wonderful, beautiful thing, a gift that has come to us by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. It can also be a burden, as we don’t always use it wisely, for the building up of others, but rather, we use it for our own self-promotion or self-preservation. Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord that we are not left to our own devices in this world, but rather are given the gift of Jesus’ own yoke, and the knowledge of God’s strength in carrying the burden of this world.

            Let us pray… We give you thanks, O Lord, for our freedom. But even more we give you thanks that even in that freedom, we are not left to our own devices, but are always accompanied by the gentle, humble yoke of your Son. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.