Sermon: Tending to needs (July 19, 2015)

Pentecost 8B

July 19, 2015

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

            Do you remember back in Lent, when we learned about various aspects of simplicity? We talked about de-cluttering our homes, and finding space for rest and prayer, and eating cleaner, healthier food, and a whole assortment of practices, all with the effort of simplifying our lives and being able to focus more on our relationship with God.

           I don’t know about you, but the topics we talked about during that six-week series have stuck with me, as I have continued to make efforts to simplify my life. Though I have wandered in and out of various aspects of simplicity, a need I always have is simply to minimize the stuff all around me so that I can feel the sense of calm and peace that I crave. Because as long as I have stuff all around me, I find myself feeling anxious, inadequate, tired, busy, and cannot find the sense of sabbath and rest with God that I need.

            Today’s Gospel lesson has gotten me thinking about this all over again. I am always so taken by this encounter, each time it comes up in the lectionary: when Jesus tells – no, invites – his disciples to “come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.” To me, this invitation speaks to a deep need that I have, and a need that clearly the disciples have as well, and so what a

comfort to hear Jesus recognize it, and tend to it.

           But if I take a step back from that one, compelling line, I also see that this whole text is about Jesus tending to needs. He is a man who embodies compassion, and I think the way that compassion is made apparent to us here is in Jesus’ willingness and ability to see and understand the deepest needs around him, and to tend to those needs.

            That sort of compassion is something seriously lacking in our lives. And I think part of the reason for it is that we don’t very often take the time to notice the true needs around us, or even the deepest needs we have ourselves. We are good at seeing physical needs – this person is hungry, that person needs a coat, I need sleep – but we’re not so good at taking the time to understand someone’s deepest heart’s desire, or even recognizing and admitting our own deepest desire. In fact, one of our default ways to deal with some feeling of lack in our lives is not to pray or learn or reflect or have a conversation, but rather to throw money or stuff at it. I’m sad, so I will buy myself a new toy. I’m scared, so I will buy a new outfit that makes me feel confident. I’m hurting, so I will pour myself a drink and numb my pain. But facing our true needs requires facing our emotions, and emotions can be so very complicated and make us feel so vulnerable and even inadequate. It is easier just to cover up the need with something else that may help in the short term, but never really addresses the need we have, the need we might not even know we have because we haven’t taken the time to consider it before putting a band-aid on it, or just dismissing it as not all that important.

            But Jesus – Jesus sees the needs of those around him, and tends to them. Jesus is compassionate. Jesus shows the disciples and the crowds what compassion looks like. And if we read this account with hearts open, we, too, can see the true needs of those in the story being met by Jesus.

            Take the disciples. They have just returned from a journey – remember, just a couple weeks ago, Jesus had sent them out to heal and cast out demons and share the good news. Now they are back, and they have had an incredible experience. Their eyes are opened, and their lives changed, and they are eager to share. In this case, their deep need is to be heard, to have someone actively listen to

their experience. Oh, I encounter this need so often, both in my pastoral visits and in my personal life. So often when we listen to someone share their feelings or their situation, we try to fix it, to make it better. But sometimes all the person needs is to know that someone cares enough to listen to their story.

When Michael and I were first married, I would tell him some struggle I was having, and he would often try to fix it for me, and though I appreciated it, for some reason I found it unsatisfying. I realized it was because that’s not what I needed. I just needed him to listen. Now, I try to tell him if this is a problem I need to be fixed; otherwise, I say, “I just need to know you are listening. Nothing else needs to be done about it, I just need to be heard.” And he will sit and listen, and resist the temptation to “make it all better.” It is this compassionate listening that heals my heart. And this is the compassion Jesus provides to his disciples: he hears their stories, he strives to understand how they are feeling – indeed he feels the same way. So he joins them where they are (he is tired, too!), and invites them to come with him to a restful place.

            Another need we see in this passage is the need of the crowd. Mark tells us that Jesus saw they were “like sheep without a shepherd.” They were wandering, restless, confused. And so Jesus had compassion on them, and in this case what it looked like was imparting knowledge. They needed guidance, and so Jesus sat down and taught them “many things.”

Education is a pretty amazing thing. As I have been trying to learn how to cook, I find I get frustrated when I come across an ingredient I’m not familiar with, or a step I don’t know how to do. It’s amazing what a quick sit down with Google or Wiki How-to can accomplish – that little bit of education can ease my fears and calm my anxiety about the unknown. But you know what would be even better? If someone who has done this before could be there with me and show me how. I find myself wishing my mom were closer, so she could just be there with me, teaching me in her gentle way, giving me her time and her knowledge. She could fulfill my need for guidance, as well as my

need for companionship through an unknown place. And that is what Jesus does for the crowd: he sits down with them and teaches them, offering his time, his knowledge, and his companionship on their journey.

            These are just two of the many needs apparent in this passage, and the many needs apparent in our own lives. The value of texts like this, is that they can help us start to reflect honestly on what our own needs are. When was the last time you really reflected deeply on your needs? I know I don’t spend enough time doing it – who has time for that, when so many quick fixes are so much more efficient? But it is so important to know our own hearts well enough to know what need we have, and how it might be fulfilled. Or if that approach is too vague for you, think about this: what would abundant life look like to you, in your particular place in life, and what do you need to have or to give up in order to claim that abundant life? As you think about that, think about it in positive, not negative ways. So not, “I need this to stop,” or, “I need you to act differently,” but rather, “I need to feel safe. I need to find peace with this. I need to find forgiveness.”

Now, we don’t have Jesus walking around with us anymore to sit with us and perceive our needs, and though we do still have him in prayer, we also understand the Church to be Christ’s agent in the world, seeking to fulfill people’s needs, whatever they are. And so the follow-up question is: what can the Church do to help you in this effort, to help you get what your heart needs? If there is something the Church can be doing, or that I, as your pastor can be doing, please share that with me, so that we might be a community that is fulfilling and satisfying for those who are a part of it.

These are such important questions to ponder, and I don’t think we spend nearly enough time doing it. So use this text to help you do it. I urge you to take some time today, or this week, to contemplate what your deepest need is right now. Perhaps articulate it to a trusted friend or spouse, or even a journal. And ask yourself how Christ – or the church in his stead – can help you to address it. Let Christ be your good shepherd, who has and who will go to any length to show his compassion and his gift of eternal, abundant life.

Let us pray… Compassionate God, you know our needs even when we don’t. Help us to be vulnerable enough to try to understand our own needs, and then willing to let you tend to them, so that we will be cared for and nurtured enough to be able to serve your world with full and generous hearts. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: A mirror for sin (July 12, 2015)

Pentecost 7B

July 12, 2015

Mark 6:14-29

            Whoever said that the Bible is a guidebook for how to live a righteous life, and a go-to resource for living as God intends us to, has never read the 6^th chapter of Mark. Because today, we get a story so gruesome and grisly it practically requires an R rating. It is the story of the beheading of John the Baptist.

            It wasn’t all that long ago that we heard about the birth of John the Baptist – an occasion full of joy and hope and light. John has lived a life that yes, may have confused some people, but also enchanted them and drew them to him. He had many followers, and, our text today tells us, even

The head of John the Baptist (Ononio Marinari)

Herod, who would later command John’s death, “liked to listen to him,” even though he found John’s teachings greatly perplexing. And yet now we get this story, told as a flashback, of the sad and gory end to the life of this this prophet and forerunner of Jesus.

            No, I wouldn’t call this a text to live by. But it is still a text from which we can learn about God’s call to us about how to be in the world. In this case, Mark accomplishes this by telling us basically how not to live. In other words, this text shows us examples of what it looks like to be living, as we Lutherans often say during our confession, “in bondage to sin.”

            First let’s look at Herodias, Herod’s illicit wife. She is really a piece of work, right? She was married to Herod’s brother Philip, but now is married to Herod, which is a big no-no by Jewish law. John the Baptist, being a righteous man, had done everything in his power to keep this marriage from happening, but to no avail. But Herodias never forgot John’s efforts to keep her from being queen. As Mark tells us, she held a smoldering grudge against him for meddling in her business, a grudge so deeply entrenched and causing in her such resentment that she wanted this righteous man dead. Herod, in turn, had throws John into jail, mostly to protect him, where he remained on this night of Herod’s birthday party. For Herodias, jail wasn’t good enough, and she continued to loathe the man. (Anyone else feel like this is a soap opera set up?)

            In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus describes holding grudges and thinking bad thoughts about your neighbor as akin to murder, and our understanding of that commandment in the Small Catechism says the same. So in this way, Herodias has already been murdering John by holding a deep grudge, refusing to forgive, and nursing her resentment. She is so bound by her hatred and

Herodias (Delaroche)

unwillingness to forgive this man for trying to uphold the law and not allowing her what she wanted, that she takes her murderous thoughts to the next level, having him killed. That, friends, is the power of resentment and hatred.

            Though the situations we find ourselves in may not be quite so dramatic as Herodias’, do we not face feelings like this all the time? A person who hates another will quickly take advantage of an opportunity to strike, and speak ill of them. Though our own unforgiveness, resentment, and grudges don’t generally lead to beheading (at least not in my experience!), we have our own tools for murder: malicious gossip, for example, or ignoring someone’s need, or simply being unfriendly. How, then, do we avoid murder? The Catechism offers a helpful antidote to this bondage to sin: Luther suggests that when we feel such vicious sin arising in our hearts, that we instead “defend [our neighbor], speak well of him, and explain his actions in the kindest way.” Oh, it is difficult to do that, when our hatred is so real, and when the fault of the other person is so deep. But letting our hatred toward another fester puts us in the same category as the murderous Herodias. So where do we find the strength to combat this sin?

            I have a friend who is in the process of quitting smoking. Every day he posts an update on Facebook about how many days it has been, and how he feels today. Brief as they are, each day’s post seems to glimmer with a little more hope that he can actually kick this habit, as well as some benefit that has already come from the effort. Could kicking the habit of letting our murderous inclinations dominate be similar, such that each time we feel inclined toward some nasty thought, we instead stop ourselves, and think of a kind one instead? It is a hard discipline, but perhaps “one day at a time” or “one thought at a time” could be a motto not only to help us break out of addiction, but also out of this, our bondage to sin.

            The second character to look to as an example of our bondage to sin is Herod himself. Herod is an interesting and complex guy. Where Herodias seems to be characterized by her hatred, Herod’s attitude is a bit more nuanced. Mark tells us that Herod was “greatly perplexed” by John’s teachings on sin and repentance – probably because though he knew on some level that John was right, Herod could not seem to break free of his sinful ways. He loved the power he had, he loved his reputation, he loved having what he wanted when he wanted it. And so, you see, his heart is divided – he knows what he should do, but does not possess the strength to do it.

            We see his struggle so clearly in this moment when Herodias, through her daughter, makes her murderous request for John’s head. Mark tells us that Herod was “deeply grieved” by the request.

King Herod

He didn’t want to do it. He knew it was the wrong thing to do. And yet, his reputation was on the line. He knew his wife to be a hateful woman, and he would likely have backlash from reneging on his offer to give whatever the daughter wanted. He knew killing John was wrong, but he did it anyway, because he was afraid to do otherwise.

            It’s another example of being in bondage to sin that hits very close to home! While, again, this is a rather dramatic example (we don’t usually make decisions about whether someone will live or die), we all face moral dilemmas all the time, situations in which we know, on some level, the right thing to do, but don’t possess the willpower or courage or humility to do it. We are too occupied with questions like, “What will people think?” We are too enamored with our ability to justify our actions, even if we know they are wrong. “I know I shouldn’t have said that about her, but she really deserved it.” “I shouldn’t laugh at that racist joke, but everyone else is, and I don’t want to look like a snob.” “I should go visit my friend who is sick, but I wouldn’t know what to say and it would be awkward, so I just won’t go, and avoid the situation.” The human heart can always find reasons to avoid doing what is right.

            I have a pretty strong memory from 5^th grade, when a group of my friends were in a car together, as well as one girl, we’ll call her Katelyn, who was not very popular. We were singing Disney songs in the car (as 10-year-olds are wont to do), and Katelyn mostly just listened. The next week, Katelyn wrote a note to one of the girls telling her what a nice voice she had. A kind gesture, to be sure, and a courageous one! But my friend came running over and showed us the note, giggling about how silly it was. We all laughed right along with her. I looked over and saw Katelyn watching us laugh at her kind note. I felt terrible. I knew I should stop the laughing, and tell Katelyn it was a nice note. But you know what stopped me? I was jealous. I wished it had been written to me. And so my bondage to sin took over, and I justified not doing the right thing.

            These sorts of moral dilemmas can hit us at any time (even at Herod’s own birthday party), and at any age (even 5^th grade). When they do, will we do what is right? Or will we do what is easy? The Apostle Paul talks about this, about knowing what to do, but not having the power to do it. It is easy to see in Herod’s story what he should have done, but in our own stories, it is so tempting to justify or overlook our unrighteous actions. How do we overcome this temptation?

            The Gospel lesson usually offers a word of hope and good news, but in this case, let’s look to the Psalm for that word of hope. The opening line says, “I will listen to what the Lord God is saying…” If we listen, really listen to God – in prayer, in Scripture study – God’s Word will drown out all those other competing voices and confusion. It isn’t always easy to hear, that’s for sure. Often our own sinful ways try to shout louder than God’s own still, small voice. But if we truly listen to what God would direct us toward doing, we will know what is right. And that is when we pray for the strength to do it.

            Stories like this, when they appear in the Bible, don’t offer us much in the way of inspirational quotes, but they do serve as an important mirror into our own lives. The Bible is an account of salvation history, and the deep need of a fallen humanity for Christ. May we be courageous enough to read stories like this, to reflect on them in light of our own lives, and to turn, in the end, toward Christ.

            Let us pray… Merciful God, you know our sinful ways better than we ourselves do. Guide us by your Word out of the way of sin, and into the light of your glory. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A peaceful grief, with delight

Someone said to me the other day, looking at my pregnant belly, "Boy, you must be looking forward to having her out of there!"

I know that's a thing to say, and especially toward the very end of pregnancy that will likely be true, but I would not say it is true for me. But the comment prompted me to think about why, exactly.

The first and most obvious reason is, she's not done yet! Although Grace is over 4 pounds now, and about 17 inches long (holy smokes!), she has some growing yet to do. So no, I do not want her out.

Another reason is that I rather enjoy being pregnant. I love feeling her flutter about and seeing my belly move. I love looking in the mirror and watching my dream come true, right before my eyes. I love that I feel beautiful and strong, and like my body is doing something right. Already when I think about not being pregnant anymore, I miss all of that.

I also love this time of preparation. Yes there are so many things to do, and it can be overwhelming. But as I get things ready around the house, it feels good, like I am preparing for a very special guest, who is not so much a guest as a gift. Everything I do, whether it is planting fresh herbs, or researching vacuums, or cleaning the washing machine, I do it with joy in my heart for Grace. And aside from the physical preparations, Michael and I have talked so much about our hopes for her, what we want to teach her, what we want to provide for her, what we want to do with her. This is truly a time of dreaming.

Of course I can't wait to meet her, to see what she looks like and get to know her personality, to see if she will have dark curly hair right out of the womb like her mama, or be a long string bean like her daddy. I'm SO excited about all that.

But the other thing I have been thinking a lot about is that I am also grieving a little. Michael and I have been married a couple of years, and have loved the life we have built. It's comfortable, and pleasant. That will all change when Grace makes her grand appearance. In many ways, it will change for the better - I'm both excited and afraid to discover the ways my heart will crack open when I see her little face. (I just got a little choked up just imagining it!) We are both SO eager for parenthood. But we will never have this pleasant, comfortable life we have built again, and there is some sadness around that, too.

What I find with that realization, however, is also an added delight in the weeks we do have left of this life. Each activity we do together, I relish in it - going out to dinner followed by a quiet evening together, a simple walk, sleeping in on a Saturday morning, or tonight, going to the Rolling Stones concert! Big or small, these moments are precious. So even as I grieve, I am also very peaceful and delighted to be in this place, nearly 34 weeks pregnant, awaiting Grace's arrival.

What a blessed place to be.

Sermon: Boasting in weakness (even when you know you're right) (July 5, 1015)

Pentecost 6B
July 5, 2015

2 Corinthians 12:2-10

             Besides the 4^th of July, one of the exciting times to be an American, and especially if you are at all a political nerd, is when all the Supreme Court decisions start to come out. This has happened the last couple weeks, and this year there have been some doozies. Perhaps the biggest doozy of all is the Supreme Court’s decision on same-gender marriage, namely, that all 50 states are now required to acknowledge and allow marriages between two partners of the same gender.

            The response to this decision, especially among Christians, has been dramatic. Some are concerned that this goes against the Bible. Some aren’t on board with it religiously speaking, but constitutionally see no issue with the decision. Some are delighted by the outcome, believing this is an important step in our continuing effort to live into this country’s claim to have equality for all people. Whatever your particular stance on this issue, I want to tell you briefly what the ELCA’s stance is, as it was carefully studied recently and outlined in a document called, Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust (which you can download from the ELCA’s website). Basically, it says we agree to disagree. There are so many varied opinions among those in this church, and biblical mandate is not as clear as it may appear on the surface, but still we strive to be the church together. And so we commit to being in continued conversation with one another – on this and on any divisive issue that may come up – and speak respectfully and encouragingly with one another. To that end, if you would like to speak with me about it, or would like to start a discussion group on the topic, please do.

            Meanwhile, I have been applying the values that the social statement lays out beyond my engagement with my immediate congregation. A friend of mine recently posted very articulately her opinion on the matter on Facebook. What ensued was a very lengthy thread, which broke into even more threads, perpetuated by some of her more conservative friends on one side and her more liberal ones on the other. Now I consider myself to be sympathetic to both sides of the argument, so I thought getting involved sounded like fun, and a good way to exercise my theological muscles in a different way from usual, and with a different audience. So I read through the comments, picked up on some red flags, and commented on those. What followed was a long debate with a man whose

views could hardly be more different from my own, and the conversation turned into one more about biblical interpretation more generally than about this particular issue.  

It started off sort of fun, and mutually respectful. But as time went on, I sensed his tone start to change from one of thoughtful debate, to one of snark and arrogance. I was really turned off by his certainty that he knew exactly what the Bible said and what it meant, and what God intended. Even as he easily dismissed my thoughtfully formed approach to biblical study, he boasted about his own formation and perspective in a way that came off not as confidence in the truth and promise of the Word, but rather as arrogance, almost as if he knew as much as God. Where I suggested the value of approaching scripture with a question in your heart, ready to hear what the Spirit might be saying today, he said there is no question in scripture, because it is God’s Word. Where I expressed concern about claiming to understand everything about scripture because such a claim puts limits on God and assumes to know and understand something we by definition cannot understand, he insisted on the meaning of several individual passages. Where he said, “I stand 100% on the Bible,” I countered with, “I stand 100% on the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Each response he offered, it seemed, included a not-so-subtle dig at me or at the validity of my faith. Needless to say, I eventually excused myself from the conversation (as did he) saying his unwillingness to treat me and my faith with respect was no longer fun, and certainly not worth my time and energy.

            The reason I share this story with you is that, as I have been thinking about it and processing it, I have done so especially in light of our epistle reading today from Paul’s second letter to the

The Apostle Paul, writing from prison

Corinthians. This is one of those passages that at once frustrates and encourages me. Paul writes, “On my own behalf I will not boast, except in my weakness.” It frustrates me because of this idea of boasting in my weakness – what fun is that?! Sometimes in an argument or discussion, don’t you just want to whip our your credentials to put someone in their place? (I certainly wanted to, with Facebook guy!) Don’t you want to tell the person or people, “Listen, I have a lot more experience in this than you do, so give it a rest and just listen to me.” Surely, it’s the argument to end all arguments. And yet Paul is telling us no? To boast instead in our weakness? How do you win an argument with something like, “I don’t actually know anything about this”? And yet, boasting in weakness is exactly what Paul says, and in several different ways.

            That’s what frustrates me, but I said this passage also encourages me, and that is because, as Paul writes a few verses later, “I will boast all the more gladly in my weakness, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.” Ah, now here is something to consider. He offers this wisdom in light of the “thorn in his flesh.” Scholars have gone crazy over this autobiographical bit, trying to figure out what that proverbial thorn is – a physical ailment? A speech impediment? Or is it the power of sin? No one

Possibility for a thorn in flesh??

knows, and it’s the only time it is mentioned.  

But maybe it is better not to know, because when I hear it, because it is left undisclosed, I automatically insert my own “thorns” into its place. Oh, how many thorns I have prayed to God to take out of my own flesh – illnesses that leave me or my body in a state I dislike, realizations that there are some things I am just not very good at, people in my life who drive me nuts or outright hurt me with their words or actions, situations that persist in wearing me down. I’m sure you have your own thorns, some trivial, some big and persistent. Paul says it is his own thorn in his flesh that has helped him to realize that at the end of the day, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on if he were to rely to on his own gifts and skills and understanding. It is only by the power of Christ that he is able to do anything at all.

            And if we are so busy showing off our shiny armor or our colorful feathers or our sharp minds… then where is there space for Christ’s power to be revealed through us and to be made known to anyone else? It harkens to another wonderful writing of Paul’s, earlier in this same letter, in which he talks about us being clay pots, vulnerable to breaking and cracking, such that we must rely on the strength of Christ to hold the beautiful and life-giving truth of the gospel.

            If you’re like me, relying on the strength of Christ is easier said than done. You see, I know my gifts, and I know my limits, and if I just focus on doing things I’m good at, then I know I can be successful. But deep down I also know – I cannot be successful without Christ’s power. And the more we rely on our own strength and knowledge, the less room there is for the power, the love, the grace of God to come into us and transform us, to move us, to make us grow, to help us see God at work in the world.

            This humility Paul calls for, whether brought on by some thorn in our flesh or just by deep, thoughtful prayer – it is a hard word to hear. But it is an important one, especially as we as a country continue to have some tough conversations – about race, about sexuality, about health care, about

institutions we have embraced a certain way for many years, about peace, justice, and equality. This humility is important to remember as we engage with one another, lovingly and respectfully. Just as Christ’s ultimate power was made known to us in his weakness on the cross, it is in our weakness that we are able truly to display the ultimate power of Christ, in us and through us. And it is by his strength alone that we will, eventually, find peace.

            Let us pray… Gracious God, we are often so tempted to boast in ourselves, in our knowledge, in our gifts – even as we know that it is all, in the end, your power of which we boast, not our own. Help us to leave space in our hearts for your love and power to shine, to see our struggles as opportunities to better hear you, and in all things to boast more of your strength than of our own. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.