Sermon: Scripture's politics and ours (July 21, 2024)

Pentecost 9B
July 21, 2024
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

INTRODUCTION

Remember two weeks ago, when Jesus sent out the disciples to heal and share the good news about the kingdom of God? And then last week we had this gory interlude about the beheading of John the Baptist? Well today we come back to the story of the apostles, and now they are returning, but we must also not forget that gory beheading story (as much as we may like to!), because it shows us what bad leadership looks like, and Jesus will show us the opposite. Today’s gospel text is two transitional moments – you’ll notice there are some missing verses, which tell the stories of the feeding of the 5000 and the walking on water. What we will hear is on either side of those stories, and they reveal something about the day-to-day life of Jesus. The reading includes this wonderful line about Jesus seeing the needs of the crowd: “He had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.” Beautiful!

The other texts pick up that shepherd theme. Jeremiah describes the bad shepherds – a frequent metaphor used for kings in Israel and other Ancient Near East cultures, though perhaps also referring here to prophets and priests – and the way such political leaders don’t take care of the people. This is a contrast with who we have come to understand as our shepherd, Jesus. And naturally, we will hear the 23rd Psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd.” And then Ephesians reflects on how it can look when we are indeed all sheep of the same flock, with Christ as our shepherd. 

Hold that image of Christ as the care-taking, self-sacrificing shepherd of the sheep as you listen today. Consider how such a role makes you feel, as one of the sheep. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

I’m sure it has everything to do with the particularly volatile political climate we are living in, but every week it seems I find something in the texts that speaks to our political situation. That is one of the cool things about scripture – though these ancient texts were written in and for a particular time and place, we also believe that they are inspired by God, and so they have a timeless quality about them. That’s why we can return to scripture again and again, and hear God speaking to us anew each time.

So, what did I see this time that speaks to our time and place? First of all, in Jeremiah it is obvious that we are not the first nation to struggle with a crisis of leadership. The prophets frequently call out the ways power corrupts, and the ways the rulers, or “shepherds,” of that time did not care for their sheep. Instead, they oppressed and as Jeremiah said, “scattered” the sheep. The details in this passage are lacking, as far as the particular sins of the rulers, but we can gain more from looking at some nearby passages. In her commentary on this passage, biblical scholar Kathryn Schifferdecker writes that “the virtues of justice (mishpat) and righteousness (tzedakah) are recurring themes in these chapters of Jeremiah. They are the qualities of a good king. A ruler who practices mishpat (justice) will ensure that justice is done, that the rich will not oppress the poor and the powerful will be held accountable for their deeds… Rulers who practice tzedakah (righteousness) are upright and virtuous. They refrain from doing evil and they obey God’s commandments, including the commandment to care for the poor and vulnerable, the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner.”

Now, I know our country claims a separation of church and state, and this understanding of a good shepherd, a good ruler, comes out of a religious understanding, so it’s not a perfect parallel… but still, does that not sound like the sort of leader we would want also in a secular political position? One who does not oppress the poor, who is held accountable for their deeds, who is upright and virtuous, who refrains from evil and cares for the vulnerable? They’ve got my vote! 

The community to which Jeremiah is speaking does not have that sort of shepherd. And the result, he says, is that the sheep of Israel have been destroyed and scattered. They are a divided nation, with no one to gather them, to bring them together, to show them the right path. So, God says, these bad shepherds will be punished, and God will lift up a shepherd who will guide them along right pathways, who will be the good shepherd they need.

Now again, I know it isn’t a perfect parallel to our current American times. But it is similar enough that when I then read our Gospel reading, I felt in my bones the impact of this line: “Jesus had compassion on them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd.” Remember, right before this scene, Mark has reminded us that the current shepherd of Galilee, King Herod Antipas, has just beheaded John the Baptist after getting drunk at a party with his rich friends and making a promise to his step-daughter that he wasn’t prepared to keep, all because his wife didn’t like what John had to say and so wanted to have her rival killed. This is the sort of behavior they get from their shepherd. Honestly, I have been similarly disgusted with some of the behavior I have seen from our political leaders.

Right after this (in those missing verses), we will learn that those crowds that rushed to meet Jesus and his disciples in that deserted place were hungry. This, I also get – I am, by the grace of God, not physically hungry or poor, but I know what it is to be hungry for justice, hungry for righteousness, hungry for rest and care and guidance, hungry for relief from too much bad and exhausting news. And so I feel the impact all the more of that line about Jesus’ response: “He had compassion for them, for they were like sheep without a shepherd.” 

So where is our shepherd? Where do we get the justice and righteousness expected of a shepherd king? Where do we get compassion and the promise of being filled?

Well first, we should know where we will not get it: we will not get it from the Herods of the world, nor will we get it from the Trumps, or the Bidens, or whoever else may or may not end up in this race. Some earthly rulers do have a remarkable ability to unite, to bring hope and energy and direction to a country, and we can and should pray that our leaders can and will do this for the greater good, with mishpat and tzedakah. But no earthly ruler, however promising, can do this perfectly, and if we expect them to, we will be disappointed. 

Second, of course, we know the one and only shepherd ruler who can do this, and that is Jesus himself. He is the righteous Branch from David, named “the Lord is our righteousness.” He is the shepherd who leads us and guides us and prepares a table for us and restores our souls. He is our peace, who has the power to break down dividing walls and the hostility between peoples. Jesus is our shepherd king.

Problem is, Jesus isn’t on the ticket this November. So the question is, how do we both look to God as our shepherd and trust God in that role, even as we hope to bring about that godly vision, God’s kingdom, here on earth? 

Certainly, we need to raise up leaders who lead in the model of Jesus Christ – not only in politics, but in our schools, and our workplaces, and our community groups, and in our churches. I don’t mean they have to be Christians, though they can be. I believe that a separation of church and state is good for the functioning of our democracy. What I mean is that our leaders embrace those traits I mentioned from Jeremiah: leading with mishpat and tzedakah, justice and righteousness. Leaders who do not oppress the poor, who are held accountable for their deeds, who are upright and virtuous, who refrain from evil and who care for the vulnerable. Those are the leaders we want.

But perhaps even more importantly, is that we embrace those virtues ourselves. After all, now that Christ has ascended into heaven, we are the body of Christ here on earth. We are the ones who are called to serve the poor, feed the hungry, care for the vulnerable. We are the ones who are to live according to God’s law and God’s grace. We are the ones who live and work in our communities to break down dividing walls, to speak thoughtfully but also to listen thoughtfully, to strive toward understanding. We cannot do any of these things perfectly. But we must continue to try, and to confess and ask forgiveness when we fall short, and then to try again. By Christ, we have what we need to do this in and for our communities, working toward the kingdom of God, so that love and compassion will win the day. 

As my closing prayer, I’d like to quote our hymn of the day today, from verses 3 and 4. Let us pray…

We are your body, risen Christ; our hearts, our hands we yield
that through our life and ministry your love may be revealed…
Come, make your church a servant church that walks your servant ways,
whose deeds of love rise up to you, a sacrifice of praise.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: When anger and hatred lead to death (July 14, 2024)

Pentecost 8B
July 14, 2024
Mark 6:14-29

INTRODUCTION

Fair warning: some readings today may not be appropriate for children or sensitive audiences. In particular, our Gospel reading. Today we will hear from Mark the gruesome story of the beheading of John the Baptist. It is the only assigned Gospel reading we get in the three-year cycle in which Jesus is not center-stage, is hardly even mentioned but for briefly at the beginning. The context is a tangled web; let me set the scene for you.

First of all, narratively, this is presented as a flashback, sandwiched between the story we heard last week, about Jesus sending out the 12 to spread the Gospel, and their return. Bread. The meat is, Mark tells us that King Herod has heard about how well disciples’ mission was going, and people start speculating about who Jesus might be – Elijah, a prophet, or maybe even John the Baptist resurrected, an idea that unnerves Herod because… and then we find out why.

Now a word about who is who, because they all have similar names. This Herod is not the same one (Herod the Great) from Jesus’ birth story. This is his son, Herod Antipas, who rules over Galilee and is allowed to keep his power just as long as he protects Roman interests. Herod Antipas’s wife is Herodias (see?), who had divorced Antipas’s half-brother Philip to marry Antipas – which was against the law according to Leviticus, and John has publicly called them out on this – so Herodias has it out for John. The daughter referenced (also called Herodias here, but Salome elsewhere, so we’ll go with Salome for clarity): Salome is Herodias’s daughter from a previous marriage. So you see, even the set-up is kind of a mess!

Now a word about Amos (our first reading). Amos was an 8th century BC prophet who prophesied the fall of Jerusalem, and often spoke of the sins of the rich, who “oppress the poor and crush the needy.” In today’s passage, God uses the image of a plumb line, a tool used in construction to measure and align things, to say, “God’s people are not measuring up; they are crooked. It’s too late – things are about to get bad.” Reading that alongside the Herod story, eight centuries later, and looking at our world today, it’s hard not to think, “Yeah, no kidding!”

It’s a tough set of readings. As you listen, let them serve as a mirror, or a way to reflect on the brokenness and sinfulness still in the world. Where is God asking and equipping us to shine God’s light in this darkness? Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

Whenever we Lutherans hear the Gospel read in worship, we respond, as we just did, with “Praise to you, O Christ!” Well, this week’s Gospel makes one wonder if that was quite the right response. No two ways about it: this story is awful, gruesome, disheartening, gory, and it really should have a parental advisory on it. It leaves us wondering: but where is the grace? What about this story is at all life-giving? 

Well, in this case I think the answer is simply: it’s not. This story by itself isn’t life-giving, and embodies no grace. Rather, it is a mirror that shows us the depth of human sinfulness. Such sinfulness is on absurd display, and like it or not, the sheer magnitude of their sin gives us an unsavory glimpse into our own.

For example, look at Herodias, the resentful wife. She has been harboring a smoldering grudge against John the Baptist ever since he exposed her and humiliated her in the public sphere, standing in her way toward power, becoming queen. Though Herod had put John in jail, that wasn’t enough for Herodias. Her hatred had festered so long and infected her heart beyond repair; her resentment had eaten away any decency she may have had, until she was finally given the opportunity to make her hateful, murderous thoughts a reality – and the public, extravagant way she went about it was icing on the cake, because she had endured public shame and now he would, too.

Now, I assume none of us have ever ordered an enemy’s beheading… but we know a thing or two about smoldering grudges, and resentment that eats away at our hearts, that chips away at our decency and make us into people we’d rather not be, and yet we can’t seem to let our grudges and resentments go. Herodias shows us the extent to which such anger and hatred can destroy us and the people around us. 

Or, look at Herod. He’s a bit more complex. Herod actually liked John’s preaching. He knew John was a righteous and holy man, and Mark tells us Herod was greatly perplexed by John’s teachings, and liked to listen to him. He had probably thrown John in jail to protect him from people like his wife. He had no desire to harm John. Yet, he also loved his power and his reputation, and he loved having what he wanted when he wanted it. His heart was divided: he knew what was the right thing to do, but he did not possess the strength of character to do it. We see this struggle in the moment Herodias makes her murderous request for John’s head. Mark tells us Herod is “deeply grieved.” He didn’t want to do it. He knew it was wrong. Yet his reputation was on the line. He had an unhinged wife who would no doubt turn her rage on him. And so, though he knew the right thing to do, he chose the wrong thing.

This also hits a bit close to home, huh? We also find ourselves occupied by questions like, “What will people think?” We try to justify our actions, even if we know they are wrong. “I know I shouldn’t have said that… but she 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 call my friend who is sick or grieving, but I wouldn’t know what to say, and it would be awkward, so I’ll just avoid the situation.” The human heart can always find reasons to avoid doing what is right.

There are plenty of other ways this story shows us that, as we prayed this morning, “we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” And like in life, if we stay in this dark place, wallowing in the devastation of this story, we will have a hard time finding our way out. So, let’s zoom out a bit now, and look at the broader context. As I said in my introduction, this story is the meat of a sandwich, in which the bread is Jesus sending the 12 out in pairs to proclaim the gospel, and their return. It shows us just how difficult, even risky, the life of discipleship can be, especially in a world in which earthly rulers do horrible stuff like what we just heard. The world is broken, that’s still a reality. It was broken in the 8th century BC when Amos was prophesying, it was broken when John the Baptist lived and worked and died, and it is still broken today, 2000 years later. Earthly rulers still prioritize power and reputation over doing what is right; they still hold grudges to the point of destroying their political enemies, they still choose themselves over the greater good, even if they know it is wrong. This sandwich Mark gives us in chapter 6 is a tough one to swallow, precisely because it rings so true to life.

So, let’s zoom out even a little more, to a different kind of meal. Directly after Mark places that second slice of bread on this sandwich of death, Jesus and the disciples find themselves in a remote place, where 5000 people have followed Jesus to hear him teach. And they are hungry. The disciples suggest Jesus send them away, because how could they possibly feed all these people? Instead, Jesus takes a measly five loaves of bread and two fish, and with that he feeds this 5000-person crowd, with 12 baskets of food left over. 

When Jesus is back in the picture, you see, he offers them a different kind of feast – one characterized not by earthly desires and power-hungry leaders, not fueled by anger and hatred, but by selfless service and love. Herod serves up a head on a platter; Jesus serves up the bread of life. Herod and his ilk serve up greed and death; Jesus serves up abundance and salvation. 

Mark did not intend for us to read this horrible story about John’s beheading by itself. He includes it in part because it shows us what a world without Jesus in it looks like: It looks like wallowing in anger and hatred to the point of being destroyed from the inside out. It looks like devastating consequences resulting from our selfish justifications for our sin. It looks like the end of the road. But as soon as Jesus comes back on the scene, he first cares for his weary disciples, and he then provides a feast that feeds souls and bodies, with more than enough for all. 

That is what our life with Jesus looks like, my friends. It calls us away from our self-destructive ways, and toward a way of abundance. It confronts us with our sin, yes, but also shows us a different way, a better way. It provides nourishment, love, hope, and life.

Let us pray… God of life, we look to the world to feed our hungry souls, and it so often fails to deliver. But you don’t. 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.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: On power, political and Christian (July 7, 2024)

Pentecost 7B

July 7, 2024

2 Corinthians 12:2-10

Mark 6:1-13

INTRODUCTION

            The first five chapters of Mark have been a sort of, Discipleship: 101 course. We’ve learned what the kingdom of God looks like, we’ve seen the importance of having faith, not fear, we’ve watched Jesus heal people, and cross boundaries to get to them. It’s been a tough course, but a fulfilling one. Today’s part of the story delivers two more lessons: first, a lesson in rejection, as Jesus is rejected by those in his hometown. Second, the disciples are sent out, two-by-two, for a hands-on learning opportunity, an internship of sorts, and to risk rejection themselves. They will get a taste of what it feels like to be in a weaker position, and have to rely on God.

            Which makes our epistle a great pairing with this story: this wonderful text from 2 Corinthians about God’s power being made perfect in weakness. In this second letter to the Corinthians (which is probably actually multiple letters put together), Paul addresses his strained relationship with the Corinthian church, which has expressed some doubts about Paul’s sincerity and competence as an apostle. In the part of the letter we hear today, he addresses some specific criticisms, including a weak speaking voice (some have speculated that Paul had a severe stutter – this may be the “thorn in my flesh” that he refers to). In short, Paul says, his weaknesses are precisely what allow God’s power to shine through.

            Today’s texts are about humility, about doing hard things and sometimes failing at them, about rejection – and they speak to our constant efforts to avoid having to endure any of these things! As you listen, recall a time when you have stumbled or failed, when things haven’t gone as you hoped and worked for, when you have been rejected, criticized, or wounded, and hear what God’s Word has to say to us in these inevitable moments. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

I love the 4th of July – parades, burgers, fireworks, patriotic songs, stars and stripes everywhere. But I admit, this year’s 4th of July was tough. It seems no matter where you land on the political spectrum, everyone is concerned about the future of our country for some reason or another. Everyone I have talked to is concerned about the outcome of this November’s election, no matter the results, and there is a not-unfounded fear of violence regardless of the outcome. Furthermore, this week, for the first time in history, a former president of the United States of America will be sentenced, following conviction by a jury of his peers on 34 felony charges – a conviction that said former president is now hoping to have overturned after the US Supreme Court ruled last week that a sitting president is, in fact, above the law and immune from punishment for whatever he deems to be an “official” act as the president. Frankly, it’s all quite terrifying. 

There’s more, as you know, and I’m sure we’re worried about some same things, and some different things – our diversity around what is most important is what makes our country and all of our communities both dynamically beautiful and frustratingly difficult. In the end, as a small group of people are seeking more and more power, us regular folks are over here, are feeling more and more powerless. 

        So I have found myself wondering, studying this week’s texts in the midst of current events, about what a Christian perception of power should look and feel like. It is a natural animal inclination that when we feel threatened, we try to make ourselves look or feel more powerful. Some animals do this by making themselves appear bigger and more threatening than the enemy. Humans do this by talking or even shouting more loudly or twisting their opponent’s words, or accusing the opposing side, or touting our own accomplishments (all making us feel bigger), or even sometimes dressing in ways that make us feel powerful (high heels, a power suit, a bold necktie). We see all this on full display in the political sphere, and we see it in the workplace, and we see it on social media, and in our various communities. Everyone wants to feel powerful, because feeling powerful makes us feel safer in a situation that threatens us physically, emotionally, or ideologically. 

But the stories we hear today give us a completely different perspective on power. Most obviously, we see this in the epistle, 2nd Corinthians. As I mentioned before, this letter, or perhaps collection of letters that Paul wrote to the Christian church in Corinth, is largely in response to some concerns that the Corinthians had about Paul’s sincerity and competence as an apostle. Apparently after his first letter to them, their relationship had soured. Paul had written another, strongly worded letter that we unfortunately no longer have, and he regretted it and the remorse stuck with him. The Corinthians were put off by this letter from Paul, which they felt was heavy-handed. Furthermore, they were unimpressed with his skills as an orator. (Paul is suspected, as I mentioned, to have had a severe speech impediment, perhaps a stutter, from childhood – he was a much better writer than public speaker!) Early in this letter, Paul has outlined his many credentials, but now, in what we heard this morning, Paul changes course, to talking about and owning his weaknesses, saying that while he has every good reason to boast, he will only boast in his weaknesses. He goes on to describe a thorn in his flesh that keeps him from being “too elated” – perhaps, too full of himself and his own accomplishments and experiences. And though he has repeatedly asked God to remove this troublesome condition, whatever it is, God’s response has each time been, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect (or complete) in weakness.” 

Huh! How counter-cultural is that! How contrary to our human, animal instincts! Can you imagine seeing that principle played out on the political stage? If presidential candidates got up for a debate, and instead of rattling off their accomplishments, they rattled off their weaknesses, being honest with the public about where they know they fall short, where their handicaps are, and where they will call upon others who are more gifted in those areas to pick up that slack, so that we are not led to believe that one person and one person only holds the role of leader, but that it is always a team effort, in which we hold each other accountable, and listen and support and lift each other up? What if a willingness and ability to do that was what we saw and understood as power?

It would never work, of course, at least not at that level. We are too conditioned to see strength as power, to see confidence as power. For someone to say, at that level, that they are relying on the few gifts God gave them, and beyond that they rely completely on God’s grace – would be political suicide. We want someone competent, of course – but maybe even more, we want someone who comes off as strong and powerful, because again, power makes us feel safe and secure. 

And yet… Jesus also urges something different from that. In our Gospel reading, Jesus sends his disciples out to bring the gospel to surrounding areas. And does he tell them to wear their best power suit and make sure they have everything they could possibly need to accomplish this task set before them? Nope. Shoes, staff, a single tunic, and your partner. That’s it. No money, no change of clothes, no food, no bag. Beyond that, he sends them with the implied advice: “God’s grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” And sure enough, it works for them – they cast out demons, they heal the sick, they spread the gospel, and they let God’s perfect power carry them through it all. In the disciples’ experience, God’s power is indeed made perfect in their weakness. 

Weakness. That is what God calls us to. Not incompetence. But a willingness to not be powerful, to not tout all the wonderful things we have or do, all the ways we are better than others. Instead, to boast in our weakness, our vulnerabilities, our shortcomings, and let God’s light shine through those cracks. Let God’s power be made complete in our weakness.

Of course, God doesn’t call us to anything he wouldn’t do himself. For where do we see weakness more profoundly, than the ultimate moment of weakness: the moment of death on a cross. Everyone expected that the Messiah would come as a military hero, a king for the ages who defeats the oppressor with strength and might. And yet instead, the Messiah comes as a carpenter in a podunk town, who sends out his disciples to do his job, and who finally dies as a common criminal at the hands of that same oppressive government without even putting up a fight. Yet it is that moment of profound weakness, broken and bloody on a cross, that brings about salvation, that brings about life for us all. There, in the weakness of the cross, God’s power is made eternally complete.

I have so many more thoughts on this, even as I continue to grapple with the idea of there being power in weakness. In this political moment, it feels like weakness is the last thing we need – no, we need to stand up for what is right and voice that with strength and power! Yet even as that is my inclination, and speaking what is right and true with strength is indeed necessary, I am also striving to hold close God’s words to Paul – God’s grace is sufficient – in hopes that they will guide the way I engage with people (always seeking God’s gracious light in the cracks); that they will direct the places I seek hope; and that they will, finally, keep my heart, mind, and trust focused on God and God’s power, which flows through us and make possible the impossible, and which does not disappoint us. 

Let us pray… God of power, when we are scared, we often turn to our own ways, our own power. Humble us to rely not on our own gifts and inclinations alone, but to put our trust in your power, which is made complete in our weakness. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

View the full sermon and service HERE. 

Sermon: Truth and Holy Moments (June 30, 2024)

Pentecost 6B
June 30, 2024
Mark 5:21-43

INTRODUCTION

All of our texts today speak hope and joy into the grief and despair life sometimes gives us. The book of Lamentations, as you might guess from its name, is almost all lament, in particular over the fall of Jerusalem to the Babylonians and the subsequent exile of the Israelites. But this one chapter that we’ll hear in a moment is a light shining into that darkness. I’m always caught by the parenthetical statement halfway through: “There may yet be hope!” It is emblematic of all our readings today. 

I also love the Psalm that follows it, Psalm 30, and its insistence that wailing will turn to dancing, that weeping spends the night and joy comes in the morning. Personally speaking, these verses have gotten me through some tough times of life. 

The Gospel reading is a classic example of one of Mark’s narrative tactics: the Markan sandwich. He starts telling one story, interrupts it to tell another, then gets back to the first. The reader knows that these two stories are meant to interpret each other. There are lots of comparisons to make in these two stories – one of a 12-year-old girl on the brink of death, and the other a woman who has been bleeding for 12 years (see, there’s one of them – 12 years for both women!). Notice the similarities and differences. But also hear the stories from the balcony: they are both stories about how nothing – not ritual uncleanness, death, age, gender, wealth, nothing – will stop God from reaching out to us in relationship, healing and love. 

As you listen today, notice how that line in Lamentations plays out in today’s readings: “There may yet be hope!” Where do you need to hear that in your life? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Christ heals the bleeding woman, as depicted in the Catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter.
Photo: Wikimedia Comms/Public Domain

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

Both of these stories today in Mark are remarkable. A desperate father, begging Jesus for help for his dying daughter. A desperate woman, who has been bleeding for 12 long years and has paid doctor after doctor and been left only sicker and poorer until she has nothing left – no money, no health, no hope for a family, no future. A healing that no doctor could provide from the mere touch of Jesus’ hem. And a girl thought to be dead, resurrected by Jesus taking her hand. Both women restored to community.

It's good stuff. But, we could easily be so wowed by the impressive, miraculous bits, that we miss some of the quieter miracles. One sentence in particular comes to mind: “But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before [Jesus], and told him the whole truth.” 

In this sentence, several things jump out at me. One is how in tune the woman was with her body, that she immediately recognized what had happened. “She knew in her body that she was healed,” Mark says. Maybe first century people were more in tune with their bodies; today, I don’t think we are, by and large. We trust our heads more than our bodies, often trying to explain away things we are feeling. I frequently get muscle spasms in my shoulder, and I used to just say, “Oh, I must have slept on it wrong.” That makes sense. Only recently have I connected the dots that when my shoulder spasms, it almost always happens when I am stressed. And my body has finally decided to speak up about it. 

Not so with this woman. She knows things, not with her head, but with her body. She feels Jesus’ power leave him and enter her. She notices that she is healed by this encounter. Our Christian faith is built on a story about a God who cared so much about bodies that he became one, walked the earth, ate, drank, defecated, and finally died, and then rose again, in body, not just spirit. So, we might do well to follow this woman’s lead and listen to how God might be speaking to us through our bodies. Maybe we too might know healing, know God, in these incredible bodies that God created.

The next bit that captures my imagination is that she comes “in fear and trembling, falls before Jesus, and tells him the whole truth.” That phrase, “in fear and trembling,” is such an evocative one. It is often used in response to holiness. The fear is something like awe or respect, an awareness of something far greater than ourselves, even greater than our imagination, and yet here it is before us. And her physical response (again, to the point about bodies!) is to tremble. 

What sorts of things cause us to tremble? There are certainly some physiological or emotional things – low blood sugar, alcohol withdrawal, neurological diseases like Parkinson’s and MS, intense anger, stress, anxiety, cold. But here is another time I often tremble: when I am having a really important, vulnerable, and perhaps difficult conversation with someone. When I have put aside a layer of protection, the layer that tells me to keep my cards close and avoid things that might hurt my heart – when I put that aside, my body literally shakes. I enter these moments of vulnerable truth-telling and authenticity in literal fear and trembling. And I think the reason I do (again, speaking of listening to our bodies), is that my body understands that these vulnerable moments are holy moments. 

That is why we need to read this women’s response in relation to the next part of the sentence: “and she told him the whole truth.” Certainly, Jesus’ holiness and the miraculous healing she has just experienced is reason enough to tremble. But I also suspect that her telling the whole truth added to her tremors. Here is a woman who, due to her bleeding, has been considered ritually unclean and untouchable for 12 long years. She may have once had means, but no longer – now she lives in poverty, having spent everything she had on ineffective medical treatment. And now this renowned rabbi has taken a pause in his busy day (even while he’s on his way to heal the daughter of an important person!) to listen to her, to connect with her, to hear her whole story. How long has it been since someone truly cared enough about her to listen? He had already healed her body – but now, in listening to her whole truth, Jesus has healed her soul, her spirit. That moment of sharing and listening and seeing is truly a holy moment, and she trembles in it. 

This phrase, “holy moment,” came up this past week. Our council and a few other leaders met for the second time with Pastor Imani, our synod’s Director for Evangelical Mission. In preparation for making some decisions about how we will use the large Keymel bequest, we are doing some visioning work with her, discerning who we are, what are our core values, what mission drives us, etc. It is exciting work that takes a lot of heart and reflection, and I’m excited to see where it goes. At one point in our gathering Wednesday, a couple of people shared things that were very vulnerable and difficult about their personal experience coming to Pittsford, and to St. Paul’s. They spoke about how difficult it is to get connected in a community that is so close-knit, that has long established roots, how difficult it is to move from outsider to insider. Others connected with that experience, saying they had experienced or heard similar stories. Another person said their heart was pounding as they shared something similarly vulnerable. There was a definite weight and energy in the room. And Pastor Imani started to sing, “Every time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart I will pray…” She said, “These are holy moments – this sharing and listening and truth-telling. It is holy.” And I thought of the women who bled for 12 years: sharing her whole truth with Jesus, in the presence of a crowd, and doing so in fear and trembling – heart pounding, no doubt. 

This level of truth and honesty is hard, my friends, but it is holy. How remarkable that Jesus stood there, with all those demands pushing and pulling on him (a girl was literally dying while she waited for him!), and he listened to her tell the whole truth. Her whole story. How long did it take, I wonder? How long did they stand there, in fear and trembling, in that holy moment? Did she share about her physical suffering? About the friends and family she had lost? About her loneliness, being unclean for so long? About her poverty, and her frustration that no one could help her? About her grief that she had been unable to bear children because her womb was inhospitable to life? About her decision, finally, to take matters into her own hands, and find Jesus? How long did that moment last?

But then, amazingly, once she has shared her whole truth, in fear and trembling, Jesus makes a life-giving observation: “your faith has made you well,” or as some translations say, “your faith has made you whole.” I’ve often assumed Jesus is referring to the faith it took for her to come out and find him that has made her well, made her whole. It is clear that Jesus’ power healed her body. But now I wonder if what made her whole was her sharing her whole truth, her whole self, with Jesus, making that intimate connection with him, letting herself be truly heard and seen for the first time in 12 years – or maybe, all her life. 

These holy moments are terrifying. Keeping silent and allowing the status quo to continue is often easier than coming forward with the honest truth. Sometimes such whole-truth moments cause us to tremble, tremble, tremble. And yet this woman teaches us what healing can come from them. She teaches us that we can be healed, and also how we can become healers, who can make space for authentic truth to be shared, who stop and listen, who strive, in Martin Luther’s words, not only to see Christ in our neighbor, but to be a Christ to our neighbor. By this, I believe we can, with Jesus, heal the world.

Let us pray… Healing God, we need healing not only in body, but in spirit. Whatever healing we may need, please grant it, and help us to recognize these experiences as the holy moments that they are. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

View whole service HERE.

Sermon: Storms in the in-between (June 23, 2024)

Pentecost 5B
June 23, 2024
Mark 4:35-41

INTRODUCTION

Today’s readings, all three plus the Psalm, share some prominent themes: in particular, a lot of storm and water imagery, and a need to trust God in the midst of hardship. We begin with the classic story of overcoming suffering: Job. In case you aren’t familiar with Job’s story, Job is a righteous man who falls victim to a dirty trick by the devil, who tries to convince God that Job isn’t so righteous. Job endures many trials – death of his whole family and livestock, sores and boils, and more – and his friends try to comfort him by explaining the pain, but to no avail. Job gets frustrated, but remains faithful. Finally, God speaks – that’s what we will hear today – and God doesn’t try to explain anything. Instead, God gives Job reason to trust him. 

The Apostle Paul will likewise recount some of the sufferings the Corinthian community has endured, finally assuring them that God is always working for our salvation. 

And finally, the story of the stilling of the storm in Mark. In Mark’s Gospel we often see Jesus breaking down barriers and crossing thresholds, and today’s story is definitely an example. Jesus begins by saying, “Let’s go to the other side,” in this case, away from the relatively safe land of Israelite country, to the Gentile territory across the lake. And in that liminal space between, they encounter a storm – as we so often do in liminal spaces! Yet here, too, Jesus proves he can be trusted. 

And that’s really the big point of today’s texts: that God is trustworthy, whatever trials we may be facing. As you listen, think about what metaphorical storms you are facing right now, or what in-between spaces you are living in, and hear God’s Word reminding you to trust, and commanding your heart to have peace and be still. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

“Let’s go across to the other side.” Jesus utters these words at the beginning of today’s reading so nonchalantly, we may miss their weight in the narrative. But if we zoom out a bit, we can see what a big hairy deal they are.

Jesus has already made quite a splash (pardon the pun). He has performed many miraculous healings, including some on the sabbath. He has said and done plenty of things that have upset the authorities – in fact, they are already “conspiring to destroy him.” And he has begun teaching through parables about the kingdom of God, and about a life of faith. 

No sooner has he finished his most recent parable than he suggests, in the evening of all times, when the sea is the most prone to sudden storms, that they hop in a boat and leave this relatively safe country and head across the sea to the land of the Gerasenes, Gentile country. So we’ve got several red flags here: 1) on this shore, Jesus has dropped some bombshells on the current religious establishment, bombshells that call norms into question and disrupt their status quo; 2) this group of guys Jesus has only recently assembled to be his disciples will be going together in a boat across a sea known to whip of dangerous storms at night, and 3) they are heading to an unknown territory that is potentially inhospitable to Jews like them. 

You might call this a high anxiety situation. I mean, this is a super stressful story.

Now, we know a thing or two about stress, about anxiety, and its effects, right? For example, we know that we are not usually our best selves when we are stressed or anxious. We often lose sight of things we normally value or know to be true because we go into survival mode, and surviving becomes our most important value. And, we do not typically interpret others’ actions very charitably, but instead tend to assume everyone is out to get us. Maybe we snap at our family members and blame them for our stress at work, even though they have nothing to do with it – because surely it is this pair of shoes they didn’t put away, that I just tripped on, that is the problem here! Don’t you care about my safety? Don’t you care about my sanity? (Anyone else? No? Just me?) 

Well, shoes or not, we see this behavior in the disciples. Into this already anxious situation, sure enough “a great windstorm arose, and waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped.” And where was Jesus, the guy who had the brilliant idea to go for a sail at night? Asleep on a cushion?! (I love that he is on a cushion, by the way – like, he’s not just sleeping, but he is comfortable while everyone else is fearing for their lives!) And we see the anxious and frazzled disciples leap into action: “What gives, dude? You’re sleeping? Don’t you even care that we are perishing?” Out comes the survival mode, the stress response, the blaming, the accusing, the assumptions about others’ intentions. “Don’t you even care that we are suffering here?” Even Jesus is not immune to the way that humans spiral into the worst versions of themselves in the midst of stress.

Oh, this scene reminds me so much of humans in relationship today. This is us at home, it is us at work, it is us as a country, and yes, it is even us in the Church. We see it a lot, because this is a stressful, anxious time we are living in. And so, on the national stage we see a country in which pretty much everyone feels like we’re in survival mode – albeit for different reasons – and in our high-stress context, all we can do is yell and disagree and blame and make assumptions. In our families, where we are supposed to experience unconditional love, we instead dump our stress on the people who we know are safe, who we hope won’t leave us, but consequently we strain or damage these most important relationships. And in the Church, we see the writing on the wall that the Church is not what it once was – congregations are dwindling in number, Church is no longer the priority it once was… in short, things are changing – and trying to make the changes necessary to keep the Church relevant in the changing world, and to survive, and hopefully even thrive, can be incredibly painful and can cause conflict to erupt, beloved members to leave, pastors to burn out, and so on. Whether at church, at home, at work, or online, “Don’t you even care?” becomes an easy way to release some of the anxiety. “Because if you really cared about me/ this country/ this family/ this church, you would see that we are suffering, and you would change, or you would do something about it! Don’t you even care?”

In the Gospel story, Jesus already is doing something about it: he is taking them to the other side, to a different shore, to try some things differently. But this story isn’t about the other side. It is about getting there, to the other side. It is about the in-between place: the place where we can still look longingly at a past, that formerly solid ground that used to be so good, before everything started to change. This story is about the in-between place where we can kind of see what is ahead but not clearly enough to fully visualize it, or for it to feel real to us. This story is about the place that is dark, and far too prone to storms whipping up without a moment’s notice, where we feel unsteady on our feet, where we long for something stable, where we worry for our safety. This is a story about a boat full of people trying to be faithful and to survive on the chaotic sea.

And where is Jesus in all this? Well, it was Jesus who led them right into this storm. He did not let them avoid the difficult conversations, the trying situation, the painful self-reflection and self-reckoning that makes the ground feel so unstable. The sea in between this shore and that is unstable and unpredictable, but it is also necessary for our faith to grow stronger, for us to learn what it is to trust. In response to their cries, Jesus awakens, and says to all that stress and anxiety plaguing their hearts, all those waves threatening their lives: “Peace! Be still!” They don’t abandon ship. They don’t turn around and go back. They keep going, toward the uncertain future, but now, now, they know a little more of what it is to trust God in the midst of the storm. 

When they thought God didn’t care, when they assumed a sleeping Jesus was an uncaring Jesus, the storm on the way in between shores seemed insurmountable. But in three words, Jesus shows them that God has been bringing order out of chaos since the beginning of time, and is still doing it for us today, as we travel in-between. When Jesus orders the chaos into stillness, the storm into peace, when our stress response is calmed, then we can hear the voice of the Lord, emerging from the whirlwind, calling us forward into a new life.

Let us pray… Caring God, we would rather stay in the safety of what is known, even if it isn’t what is best. Don’t give up on us – keep calling us into the storm, and when we are there, unstable on our feet, help us to trust that you are with us. Until we make it to shore, still the anxiety in our hearts, so we can better see what you are doing in us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Mystery, process, and the kingdom of God (June 16, 2024)

Pentecost 4B
June 16, 2024
Mark 4:26-34

INTRODUCTION

Pop quiz: what does Jesus talk about more than anything else in the Gospels? [kingdom of God] But describing something so vast and multilayered is impossible to do in a straightforward way. It’s like asking you to describe the color blue. “Well, it’s like the sky, but blue isn’t the sky. It’s like the ocean, but blue isn’t the ocean.” That is what we see Jesus doing today – describing the kingdom of God using little stories called parables that capture some aspect of the kingdom of God. A parable is more than a story with a lesson, more than an analogy or allegory. It’s a story or illustration that places side-by-side two unrelated things to challenge our expectations and make us think more deeply about things we thought we knew. So our first reading today from Ezekiel presents an image of God’s kingdom that makes sense to us – majestic cedar trees – but the parables Jesus tells liken the kingdom of God to an ordinary seed with an ordinary crop, which we would not expect. 

  I also want to say a little something about that phrase, “kingdom of God.” A kingdom sounds like a place, right? In fact, what place do you usually think of? [Heaven.] But the Greek word there is more dynamic. It refers to something active, more like a reign or rule, not a static location. So, the kingdom of God is not a place, but a reality, in which God is the ruler, rather than earthly powers. And so, when we act as God would have us do, and treat people with the love of God, we are living in God’s reign or rule. Lutherans like to talk about the kingdom of God as “already and not yet” – it hasn’t fully come to be (we know this because of how much pain still exists in the world), but already we can see glimpses of it, when we see people living according to God’s rule. As we will see in our parables, this reign is not something we can bring about nor prevent, but we can participate in it, live in that “already,” and in that participation, we just might make God’s reign more visible. Let’s see what we can learn.

[READ]

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

In the past couple years, I have become a voracious reader. At any given time, I might be reading or listening to 8 or 9 books, at least half of them fiction. Through reading, I have gained a richer sense of the power of stories to help us grow in understanding, empathy, and compassion, to open our minds to new ideas, and generally to inspire us to live better lives. 

It is no surprise to me that Jesus preferred to teach about the kingdom of God through stories rather than facts. I have a good friend who is a committed atheist. She often posts anti-religious things on Facebook, and I like to engage her and challenge her. Pretty consistently I find that she pushes against religion’s lack of factual support, and the idea that if God is by definition a mystery we cannot understand, that must just mean humans are “too ignorant” to be effective. She cannot get on board with a way of life that lacks the certainty of facts and the scientific method. On the one hand, I get that – facts and science feel really safe and good to our post-enlightenment hearts and minds. For the most part, we can count on them, even as we can continuously strive to keep testing and learning and knowing. 

But Jesus doesn’t use facts to describe the kingdom of God, the most central concept and purpose of the faith. Instead, he uses stories, just as the people of Israel had been doing for generations before him. Facts can be refuted and disproved – it used to be a fact that the earth was flat, and that the earth was the center of the universe. But stories – stories can continually be turned around and interpreted and seen anew with each passing generation, and because they never claimed to be facts, they can’t be refuted. New truths and understanding can emerge depending on who is reading it, and when, and why, and to whom. Stories are a much more dynamic lens through which to see the world – and a much better suited tool for seeking understanding about the dynamic kingdom of God.

Take our first parable today, about the seed that is planted and grows while the gardener sleeps. At first glance, it is fairly boring and benign. A gardener plants a seed, and it grows, and it is harvested. (Anyone want to jump on the movie rights for that epic tale?) But as is often the case with parables and stories, once we sit with them and in them for a bit, new understanding starts to emerge. Here is what happened when I sat in this parable this week.

First, it invited me into mystery. That’s a word pastors love to throw around – whenever I asked my pastor dad a question about faith to which he didn’t know the answer, he would respond, “It’s a mystery!” 

But we like to know things, right?! And this day and age, we should be able to know things, to explain things, to understand them. God as mystery is a difficult pill to swallow sometimes. And yet Jesus says it plainly here: “the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.” At first, I skipped right over this line, because today, we do know how a seed grows – the words may seem no longer relevant. Presumably in the first century, those in Jesus’ first audience knew how to make seeds grow – plant them where they will get sun, cover them with dirt, water them, and other observable things – but not why that worked. They didn’t know the science of what went on underground that caused the seed to burst out of its shell, push up through the dirt, and day by day grow a head of grain. It just sort of… happened. Planting a seed was (and really, still is!) an act of trust, and the fruit it yielded was (and is!) a gift of grace. 

Just because we now understand the science behind that particular process, does not make Jesus’ point any less relevant. It still invites us into the mysterious ways of God, and humbles us before them. There are still so many things in the world that we cannot understand, and never will. We can choose to be frustrated by that, or, we can carry on with learning what we can, but trusting that God is in charge, and give thanks for the many gifts of grace that come from God, in God’s own sweet time. This parable invites us to dwell in the mystery of God’s ways. We can (and often should!) participate in them, but in the end, it is God who makes things happen, not us. And there is freedom in accepting that!

The second place this parable took my heart this week was in the next line: “The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain of the head.” Our first impression of this might be, “Uh, duh, we know, we have seen plants grow.” Again, it seems dismissible. But on further reflection, I actually found this line quite a comfort. It showed me, there is a process to things. We are a people of instant gratification and quick results and efficiency. I was watching The Sound of Music with my kids the other day and in the scene where Rolf first delivers a telegram to Captain von Trapp, I realized, “My kids have no idea what a telegram is,” that less than 100 years ago this used to be the most efficient way to get a message to someone quickly. Now, we can send a text across the world in less than a second, and this way of life seems to suit us. 

But this parable says, “Faster isn’t always better. Efficiency is not always the best way. Getting quickly to the end should not always be the goal.” Rather, there is a process to things: “first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain of the head.” Boy, I think we are guilty of this all too often – skipping to the end result we want without giving enough time and energy to the process to get there. There is so much growth that happens in that process (first the stalk, then the head…), and skipping to the end also skips that holy growth.

A couple weeks ago at Synod Assembly, we were introduced to the synod’s ministry focus for the year: adaptive leadership. Often when we are faced with a problem, we want to skip straight to the solution – and sometimes that works. The pastor’s mic isn’t working; get fresh batteries. It’s a technical challenge with a technical fix. Done. But some challenges are more complicated than that, and require more than a one- or two-step solution. And so, when we apply a one- or two-step solution, hoping for that quick fix, we see no lasting improvement. These challenges require an adaptive approach, a look at it from the balcony to get the bigger picture. We need to slow down and ask questions like, “Why is this happening? Who are the stake-holders? What outcome are we hoping for and why? What will be gained, but also what will be lost if we achieve that outcome, and to whom will that matter? What difficult conversations do we need to have to get there?” First the stalk, then the head, then the full grain of the head, and finally the harvest: it is a process, and that middle period of growth cannot be skipped, not if we want to see life and nourishment at the other end. Not if we want to see the fruits of God’s kingdom come about.

And that is, of course, the point of all this: to find life and nourishment, to see the fruits of God’s kingdom come about, to grow in love and faith, to serve the world. That is the kingdom Jesus came to proclaim, came to bring about. That is the kingdom we can already see and participate in, and also for which we long and work. It is a kingdom that is at once mysterious, and also deeply known, a kingdom that requires us to slow down and engage in a process, where we will see the holiness of God emerge. It is a kingdom, a reign, a rule, of which we are already intimately a part. Thy kingdom come, O God, and compel us to participate in it.

Let us pray… Reigning God, your kingdom is all around us, already here and not yet to its fullness. Help us to dwell in mystery, to slow down and engage in the holy process, so that we would see, experience, and participate in the growth of your kingdom on earth. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Sabbath as freedom (June 2, 2024)

Pentecost 2B/Lectionary 9
June 2, 2024
Deut. 5:12-15, Mark 2:23-3:6

INTRODUCTION

Today we enter what is known as the Ordinary Season, marked with the use of green paraments. It is the long season, about 5 months, between big festivals, and during these weeks, we hear stories about Jesus’ ministry and we learn about what a Christian life looks like.

This first Sunday of ordinary time, we focus not on the getting-your-hands-dirty sort of ministry, but rather, about the importance of sabbath in a life of faith. Of all the ten commandments, this is the one mentioned most throughout the Bible, and perhaps that is because it is also one that is very difficult for us! 

Before we hear these readings about Sabbath, I wanted to offer a bit of a definition. I think we often hear “sabbath” and think, “going to church.” And yes, that might be a part of it, but there is more to it than that. In Exodus, God tells Moses that Israel is to remember the sabbath, to keep it holy, because God rested on the seventh day, and so should God’s people. So there, it is about rest. But the other time the sabbath law is given is in Deuteronomy, in the passage we will hear today, and here, God ties it instead to the Exodus story – a story of liberation. In other words, the sabbath is observed so that we would remember our God-given freedom. 

In our Gospel reading, which takes place on the sabbath day, we will see yet another perspective on the sabbath: that it is about compassion, healing and restoration, and that it was made for humankind, not vice versa. In other words, the sabbath should not be a burden, a duty, but rather it is a gift, given by God to humans.

Lots to unpack about the sabbath. As you listen, consider from what you need a rest, a break, even liberation, and trust that God wants to give you that freedom. Let’s listen.

[READ]

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

“Remember the sabbath, to keep it holy.” I remember learning about that one in confirmation class, I remember talking about what is meant by sabbath – that it is about more than just going to church, but rather, about spending time with God… But I admit that, even a seminary education later, I still don’t always understand it. 

I think I’m in good company, though – where other commandments are pretty clearcut (put God first, don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t covet), the sabbath commandment remains one of the least understood and, if we’re honest, perhaps also the least followed commandment. The problem is, ours is a culture that so often places value and worth on being productive. We’re lucky if we find a job that places real value on taking time off. Even in school – we were in Canada last week to visit my brother and his family, and learned that our nieces in grades 1 and 4 get three recess breaks a day, where our kids only get one recess, and are even expected to work through their morning snack break! Even when we do rest, it’s not always restful. We have a phone close at hand so we can scroll through social media or the news or whatever, and we use our day “off” to do all the chores and errands (folding laundry is hardly a rest!). I cringe to think how often, at the end of the day when my family shares highs and lows together, I say, “My high is that it was a really productive day. I got a lot done!” 

So yeah, I am not sure we do so well at following the sabbath commandment. But in our defense, the meaning or purpose of the sabbath law is also not always clear. Exodus gives different rationale than Deuteronomy, Israel struggled with it, and we can see in the Gospel reading that it was a source of controversy in Jesus’ time as well. 

So, let’s break this down and see if we can’t make some sense out of this important but misunderstood commandment.

First, I’m really interested in what Jesus says to the Pharisees, “The sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath.” In other words, the sabbath law, like any law I suppose, can all too easily become one more thing on our list of shoulds, and from there, it becomes a burden – something to which we are beholden, even that causes suffering. In the first part of today’s Gospel reading, Jesus’ disciples are hungry and so they pick some food to eat, but this is technically harvesting (work), and is breaking the sabbath law. The expectation seems to be that they should just go hungry, rather than dare work on the sabbath.

But this isn’t right, says Jesus. It may follow the letter of the law, but it is not in the spirit of the law. The sabbath, and all the commandments, were given as a gift. The commandments in general are there as a guide to show God’s people what it looks like to love God and neighbor. The sabbath law in particular is a real gift of grace. Check out the reading from Deuteronomy, in which God says, “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the sabbath day.” This law was always meant, you see, as a release from our burdens and that which would oppress us, an opportunity to live in freedom! “The sabbath was made for humankind,” Jesus says, “not to be one more thing that makes living difficult.” The sabbath is about life, freedom, flourishing, restoration, and rest from all that would keep us from those things, all that would keep us from God. 

It’s no wonder we struggle to live into this commandment. I mean, it sounds great, all this talk of freedom, rest, and restoration! Who wouldn’t want that? And yet the prevailing messages in our minds and in the world around us make that gift so hard to receive. Everywhere we go, it seems, we hear messages like: Your worth is based on your productivity. You should be able to do it all, and in order to do that, there is no time for rest. You are valuable when you accomplish or contribute something. You have not earned a break. Above all that noise, it is difficult to hear that loving voice of Jesus, whispering, “You are worth more than what you can produce. To God, you are already worth everything.”

As I’ve been thinking about this, I keep returning to our reading from Deuteronomy. “Remember that you were slaves in the land of Egypt…” That rationale might seem completely irrelevant to us today – after all, none of us here have been slaves in Egypt, or even slaves at all. But… that doesn’t mean that we are completely free. There are plenty of lands of Egypt in our lives, plenty of things that hold us captive, that keep us from living into the fullness of the life God envisions for us, that keep us from being restored, and from finding joy in God’s presence. Off the top of my head, here are some: we are captive to our to-do lists, and the hope of productivity; we are captive to our negative self-talk, whether that’s about our body image, or our abilities, or people’s perception of us; we are captive to our regrets or guilt about the past; we are captive to our resentment around unmet expectations about how things ought to be; we are captive to sin, and cannot free ourselves… Anyone here find yourself a slave in any of those lands of Egypt? 

If we are to follow the sabbath commandment, we need to take a good hard look at these things that are keeping us captive, and consider, perhaps in prayer: what would a sabbath from that slavery, that work, that burden look like? I’m under no illusion that they can go away forever, at least not this side of heaven, but even the sabbath commandment doesn’t expect that. One day, it says, one day you shall rest, remember that our God is a God of freedom, and wants you to experience that freedom as a matter of ritual and routine. So, what would sabbath rest look like, for your particular land of Egypt?

Perhaps it is as simple as a decision: today, I will not feel resentment about this pile that my spouse still hasn’t dealt with. I’m just not gonna let it bother me today! Or maybe a small act: today, when I see myself in the mirror, instead of thinking I look old and fat, I will say to myself, “Your body is amazing, and it does amazing things every day – pumping blood, carrying nourishment, healing itself.” Or maybe it is putting on your to-do list for your day a chunk of time that you commit to doing something fulfilling, something that restores your soul – sitting in quiet prayer, coloring, reading a good book, making music, having coffee with a friend. I can tell you what gives me a sense of freedom from my burdens, but you and God have to decide that yourselves. 

The point is: the purpose of the sabbath is not deprivation. It is not withholding compassion from those in need. It is not about laziness. The purpose of the sabbath is to be reminded on a regular basis that in God’s eyes, your worth or value is not dependent on your productivity. It is to remember that God wants life for you, and wants to give you freedom from that which holds you captive. When we observe the sabbath, we are saying to all those things that would try to keep us from the full and holy lives God wants for us, “You do not define me,” and we are instead stepping into the space that God through Christ made for us: to be a holy people, free from the captivity of sin, sent out to love and serve the world. 

Let us pray… Liberating God, there are so many demands on us – things we love doing, and things we know we must do. But your desire for us is freedom. Help us to stop, to reflect, and to be released from those forces, expectations, and needs that hold us captive, so that we would come to know the freedom you envision for us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

View the full service HERE.