Sermon: Quick to listen, slow to anger (Aug 29, 2021)

Full service is HERE. My congregation did several things to acknowledge and celebrate my 10th ordination anniversary, and made me cry a lot, so... they are pretty great. The end of the service they did a slideshow of pics from my ordination and my ministry with them. They included a hymn that my dad wrote (the text) for his own ordination and I used at mine, and I wept through the whole thing. Plus flowers and cards. So sweet. I'm blessed by them! Okay, here's the sermon.

 Pentecost 14B
Sept. 2, 2012
James 1:17-27
Mark 7:1–8, 14–15, 21–23

INTRODUCTION

Last week we finished the Bread of Life series in John, and this week we are back to our previously scheduled programing: working through the Gospel of Mark. Mark’s style is very different from John’s – straightforward, raw, less poetic and theological, and fast-paced. Today, Jesus doesn’t mince words in accusing the Pharisees of keeping all manner of purity laws, even as the real impurity lies in their hearts. All those laws – which are not bad in themselves – are no good if we forget the most important commandment of all: love God and your neighbor as yourself. 

Deuteronomy will celebrate the value of God’s law as a way to guide us in a godly life, keeping God’s covenant with us. And today we also begin 5 weeks in the epistle of James, and today James will give some sound advice about what love of neighbor might actually look like. Listen carefully – it feels awfully contemporary to me! 

Whether you love rules (as I do!) or bristle at them, hear in today’s readings that there is grace in God’s law, as it always directs us toward a fuller and more loving life. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

In the 1997 film As Good As it Gets, Jack Nicholson plays the role of Marvin, an obsessive-compulsive author of romance novels. He lives alone, but spends his days writing about love and romance, avoiding cracks on the sidewalk, and avoiding touching anyone. He also spends a fair amount of his time insulting everyone he comes in contact with – his gay neighbor, the Jewish patrons of his favorite restaurant, especially those who dare to sit at his favorite table. He also proves to be the world’s worst listener – unless a conversation is directly concerning him or his needs, he checks out. 

The other thing that occupies his time each day is completing his hand-washing ritual. His medicine chest is full of row upon row of bars of antiseptic soap, individually wrapped in cellophane, never before touched by human hands. During his daily hand washing ritual, he goes through several bars of soap. He swipes each bar only once across his palms before discarding it and unwrapping another, in between rinsing his hands in water so hot it nearly raises blisters.

Hateful words that wound others, but impeccably clean hands. It brings new meaning to Jesus’ words to the Pharisees this morning regarding their own hand-washing ritual: that it is “not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” I’ve been reflecting on this all week, and wondering how true it is. I mean, some things that go into a person’s mouth legitimately defile, right? Drugs? Too much alcohol? Too much fatty food? Surely we can place blame on those external things that enter our bodies. And while we’re at it, there are actually a lot of external things that affect us, that defile us and our behavior. Right?

And it’s not just physical things that we can point to. We humans, graced with 8 fingers and two opposable thumbs, are quite adept at using those fingers to point outward. I know that the first thing I want to do when I get angry is point my finger at the thing that made me angry. “He said that! She did this! My anger is justified, because that person did something to harm me! Surely, I am not the one at fault here. Surely the blame lies elsewhere!”

I hope by now you are squirming in your seat, realizing that there is something wrong with all this. Looking at our texts today, there are at least two things wrong with this. The first one comes from James. “You must understand this, my beloved,” he writes. “Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness.” When we are busy pointing our fingers elsewhere – blaming other people, our circumstances, or even our troubled childhood – it is difficult to listen. But James tells us to be quick to listen – let that be the first thing you do! Be slow to speak. Don’t say the first thing that comes into your head, even if you believe it to be true. And be slow to anger. And here’s the kicker: “for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.” When someone does something that angers us, we’re probably not prepared right away to say even something that is true in a way that produces God’s righteousness, because we have not yet taken the time to listen. And as Jesus points out, it is what comes out of our mouths that defiles us. 

And that brings us to the second point: when we are finger-pointing at everyone and everything else, we miss the point that Jesus makes, that it is less about the external things, the things that go in, the things that affect us from the outside, and more about our own hearts. When we are slow to listen and quick to anger, we have not taken the time to take inventory of what is really going on in our hearts. James warns us that those who hear the word but do not do it “are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like.” And we’re certainly guilty of that sometimes, too, aren’t we! We know in our heads how important it is to check out what logs we might have in our own eyes before we point out other people’s specks. But when we look in the mirror, and we don’t like what we see, how tempting it is to just turn away, to ignore it, and to go back to finger-pointing. We look in that mirror and realize, “I was in the wrong about that,” or, “That is something in my heart that I need to deal with,” but then we think, “Oh that’s too hard, or too painful.” And admitting that vulnerability is perhaps the hardest thing of all.

So how do we do it? How do we be the Christians James challenges us to be, who not only hear the word but also do it, and who are willing to look in the mirror and not forget what we see? How do we be the Christians Jesus describes, whose hearts are pure and righteous enough that what comes out of our mouths does not defile, but rather builds up the body of Christ?

Well, it’s hard. And it takes some intention. And it takes a lot of prayer. It starts with, as James says, listening. Listen to the other side of the story. If your anger is with another person, try to put yourself in that person’s shoes, and really try to understand him or her. I don’t mean make guesses or assumptions, and certainly not accusations; I mean really try to imagine where they might be coming from, why they might be behaving the way they are. Try to feel what they are feeling. This can feel nearly impossible when the other party has hurt you deeply; it must be done with care and self-awareness. But once we can feel what the other person feels, and make that effort to understand them, it becomes easier to find a way to love and have compassion for them.

But don’t stop there. Do the same thing for yourself. We do that, as a part of our liturgy – we examine our hearts every Sunday as a part of our confession. But I mean spend more than 30 seconds on it. Ask yourself, why do I feel the way I do? What is going on in my heart, my defiled heart, that has made me say or want to say something unchristian, or to act in a way that does not produce God’s righteousness? What is the emotion beneath the first emotion I feel? Reflect also on what does our anger produce in the end. Does it defile? Not always – sometimes anger serves an important purpose, like protecting us from danger. But when it does defile, when it is left to fester in our hearts for too long, sitting like a rock on our hearts, and it comes out hurtfully sideways – whom or what does it defile? Ask God in prayer what alternative to anger would produce God’s righteousness in any particular situation.

This is not easy. And I know some anger is more complicated than others, and it’s not always so simple as all this, and sometimes you need, for your own safety, to listen first to yourself and your own needs before you can even begin to listen to someone else’s. But it is all worth the effort, and more often than not, that love and compassion can be found in some way or another, and we can truly find a way to forgive others, as God has promised to forgive us each and every time we fall short.

Here’s a challenge for you, that is at least one step down this path that Jesus sets us on: this week, let’s all look for healing words. Maybe a parent saying something loving to a child, or someone saying something unexpectedly kind about someone else. And while you’re at it, try to offer some healing words to the mix yourself. When someone starts gossiping about someone else, putting less than the most positive construction on your neighbor’s actions, find something positive to say about that person. When you want to say something mean to or about someone, say a quick prayer: “God, let my words be your words.” Or as the Psalmist writes, “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O God.” If we could all make a habit of doing this small thing in our daily interactions with people, training ourselves to live healingly rather than angrily, I believe that we will feel true compassion, true love. We will come closer to understanding the deep love that Christ has for us, that made him willing to come all the way to the cross to express that love. 

Let us pray… Dear God, keep us from accusing others and excusing ourselves; keep us from pointing out the faults of others while passing over our own; keep us from blaming others and ignoring our own deep need. And strengthen us to help, defend and love one another. For you love and came for all of us. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen

Sermon: The difficult life of the Christian (Aug. 22, 2021)

View full service HERE.  

Pentecost 13B
August 22, 2021
Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18; Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69

INTRODUCTION

Today’s texts all share a very prominent theme: that of faithfulness to the one true God, even in the midst of struggles and temptations. They are texts as convicting as they are encouraging. They fill me with hope in the power of faith, and with hopelessness at my inevitable failure always to keep that faith. In other words: they do exactly what the gospel, the living Word of God, sets out to do: comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.

In the reading from Joshua, Joshua asks the Israelites which god they will serve: Yahweh, or the various false idols they have in their possession. The people give an unequivocal “yes!” to Yahweh. In Ephesians, Paul talks about the devil and the forces of evil that are among us, working their woe, and how we must prepare to defend against them by putting on the armor of God. And in John, you remember we have just come to the end of Jesus’ long Bread of Life discourse. Anyone remember the difficult teaching Jesus offered them last week? The one about how they must eat his flesh and drink his blood in order to abide in him and have eternal life? It’s a difficult teaching all right, one which, as we’ll see, causes many to turn their backs on this compelling teacher. Yet when faced with the decision as to whether to leave Jesus’ side, Peter utters the words now memorialized in our Gospel acclamation: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” 

Faithfulness and commitment. It is a gift and a challenge as old as time. Let us feast upon these stories of faith, as we reflect also on our own journeys that ha
ve taken us to the edge of doubt, and back again. Let’s listen.

[READ]

At my ordination, 10 years ago.

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

This coming Saturday, Aug. 28, will be my 10th ordination anniversary, an event which happens to correspond with my 38th baptismal anniversary. Two-for-one deal on the Spirit descending on me that day! I loved the symmetry of that at the time, and I still do, because I always considered my real call to ministry, and to a life of faith, to have come first of all in the waters of baptism. 

My dad preached at my ordination, and played upon that fact, that my baptism and my ordination are intertwined. The epistle for the day came from Romans, in which Paul bids us not to lose heart. Here is what my dad said: “’We do not lose heart.’” What’s that? Losing heart? Yes, I’m here to tell you that’s part of the challenge. Paul goes on to recite some of the realities of ministry—and really, the realities of the Christian life: affliction, perplexity, persecution. That’s what Johanna has signed up for, you know. She has signed up for a life that sometimes makes one lose heart.” (As he said this, I could feel a pit forming in my stomach, wondering what I was getting myself into! But then he went on.) “Yes, that’s what she signed up for—28 years ago when she was baptized! Those are the challenges that Paul outlines, those are the challenges of all who seek to be faithful.”

I haven’t forgotten that – when the life of faith or the life of ministry gets difficult, it has offered me some consolation to remember that a life of faith has not ever been easy, since the very beginning of faithfulness! Take Joshua, for example. Joshua asks the Israelites if they will give up their false gods, and everyone sounds like they are all in and everything will be fine, they even make a covenant that day that states their commitment to YHWH… but of course we know how that turned out. The rest of the Old Testament recounts a string of corrupt leaders, idolatry, disregard for God’s covenant, trampling on the poor and needy, bloodshed… with only a few bright spots along the way. Thing is, as enthusiastic as their initial promise is, the Israelites, like we, were human beings, captive to sin and unable to free themselves. Just like us, when something easier came along, they went for it. When pride and greed got the better of them, they embraced it. When following God’s commandments required of them to sacrifice something important to them – safety, comfort, reputation, power – they set aside that promise that they’d made, and sought instead the false idols that so many of us continue to seek.

Oh yes, the temptation to compromise our faith in and dedication to the Holy One of God is alive and well – as much now as it was then. We still are too willing to put aside our dedication to the life-giving command of God, to care for the least among us, to put our trust only in God, to love our enemies, to welcome the stranger – we put that aside in favor of the false idols of greed, pride, comfort, power, and safety. When the going gets tough, it is all too easy to lose heart, and seek the easy way out.

Why do we do it? 

Well, in our reading from Ephesians, the author puts the blame squarely on the forces of evil that are rampant in this world, the wiles of the devil himself trying to “work us woe.” And oh, are those forces powerful! And equally so, they are cunning. They sneak about, masquerading as good things – like logic and reason, and keeping our loved ones safe, and trying not to rock the boat, but rather, keep everyone happy. Sometimes the powers of evil are very clearly evil – rampant abuse comes to mind, or unjust war, or corrupt and oppressive systems of government, or murder of innocents. Sometimes evil comes in various shades of gray, where there is a possible bright side to the darkness. Or sometimes, evil looks like a downright good, when in fact, it is wielding all manner of hidden harm. The devil, my friends, is sneaky.

Jesus points out the same thing, in the verses that directly follow what we just heard. The reading we heard ends on a nice note, with Peter declaring Jesus the Holy One of God. But listen to Jesus’ response: ‘“Did I not choose you, the twelve?” Jesus says. “Yet one of you is a devil.” He was speaking of Judas… for he, though one of the twelve, was going to betray him.’ Youch, what a reality check. Right there among them, one of the 12 chosen disciples – a devil! And if it can happen to Judas, can’t it happen to us? Aren’t we all capable of falling into sin, of betraying our faith in Christ? Aren’t we all capable of breaking God’s covenant with us? Haven’t we all put aside what we know the Word of God calls us to, in favor of convenience, or money, or reputation, or self-serving, or fear? Haven’t we all trusted ourselves, and our own wisdom or that of the world, more than we trust our God? Surely we all have stories in which we have done exactly this. I know I do.

So what are we to do about it? How do we protect ourselves against the wiles of the devil, against so many temptations that draw us from God? 

The author of Ephesians suggests this powerful metaphor: that we put on the armor of God. That we surround ourselves with God’s living word, with prayer and supplication, with a community of faithful people, so that all these things might guide us into the way of peace, the way of God.

Absolutely – I’m all for it! Yet… sometimes that is easier said than done, isn’t it? As we’ve seen, there are devils right among us – sometimes you are even the devil! Sometimes I am! We are all prone to fall into sin. Reading the Bible is great, but it can be hard to understand. We pray, hard, and sometimes it seems we are left waiting and waiting for an answer, and anyway, how do we discern which voice is God’s and which is the devil’s? 

The armor of God gets heavier and more awkward to wear, as we keep searching to understand and live into Jesus’ tough teachings. And like those people listening to Jesus, we might be inclined simply to drop the armor, drop the whole thing, and turn away. Sometimes, leaving just seems like the easier and more reasonable option. I totally get those folks who turned away, who heard Jesus’ teaching and said, “Ah, this is too much. I can’t get on board with that.” I have been there. I have had moments where it seemed easier to give up and turn away, rather than keep trying to live into those baptismal promises I signed up for 38 years ago on Saturday. Jesus’ teaching is difficult, and Lord knows there are devils among us, cunningly trying to convince us that it is not worth it to live into God’s covenant with us.

In those moments, I like to turn to the wisdom of so many faithful people before me, who have experienced the very same thing. One of my favorite hymns is “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” The last verse especially, speaks to me and gives me hope in those moments where I might be inclined to turn away: “Oh to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be. Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart, oh, take and seal it. Seal it for thy courts above.” 

Yes, we are prone to wander… yet in the end, you see, Peter’s words are true: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Our hearts may be prone to wander, we may turn away. Yet we can be sure, like Peter, that there is nowhere else to go that will give us the same life, hope, love, grace and peace that is given by our God. And so we pray that God would bind our hearts, like a chain, to the promises not of the world, but to the promises of grace. And God does.

The teaching is difficult. Sin and devils crouch at our doorstep, ready to pounce. It can be hard to accept the demands of a life of faith, and harder still to live it: to care more about the poor, the immigrant, the lost and dejected, the broken, the weak, the Afghan or Haitian refugee, the morbidly obese and the sickly skinny, the drug-addicted, the imprisoned – to care more about all of them than we do about ourselves. To live a life that shares the love of Christ with everyone we meet, even people we don’t like, or who disagree with us, or who voted for the wrong person, or who did something to hurt us, or who are just really annoying. Living that life of faith is not easy.

But here’s the good news: this teaching is difficult, and the devil lurks and cheers for us to fail… but we’re not in this alone. Jesus promises us that, too. And we receive that promise every time we wake up in the morning, every time we splash water on our faces and remember we are baptized, we are loved, we are forgiven. We receive it every time we hear the words of eternal life. This life of faith is so much fuller of grace and life and love than it could ever be full of devils. So let us indeed put on that armor of God, complete with the belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness and the shoes that make us ready to proclaim God’s love and peace whenever the need arises. This teaching is difficult, yes, but friends, there is nowhere else to go. 

As Paul wisely advises, let us pray…Eternal God, you are the one and only thing that gives us life. Bind our wandering hearts to you, so that when we inevitably are tempted by the devils among us to stray toward false gods and false promises, we will be able to find our way back to your gracious and loving embrace. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Psalms and Stories (Aug 8, 2021)

 Full sermon HERE (including hearing my parents join me in singing the song I refer to in the ending story).

Pentecost 11B
August 8, 2021
Psalm 34

INTRODUCTION

This is week 3 of the bread of life series, so let’s just recall where we are in this narrative. For these few weeks we are working through John 6, which begins with Jesus feeding 5000 people with five loaves and two fish, and continues with explaining what this sign means. Today we get into more of the theology of it, as the crowd continues to be dubious about what Jesus means by calling himself the bread of life.

The Old Testament story paired with this portion of the discourse is about the prophet Elijah, who is also fed miraculously in the wilderness. Here’s the context: Elijah has just killed a bunch of false prophets, and Queen Jezebel has consequently vowed to have him killed. He is running for his life, and at the beginning of today’s reading, he has just collapsed in exhaustion. And here, God provides. The Psalm, which liturgically is always meant to be a reflection on the Old Testament reading, recalls how God meets us in our desolation and delivers us – just like with Elijah, just like with David who wrote this Psalm, and just like with us today.

As you listen to these readings, notice the words of life and sustenance spoken into feelings of despair. God does provide for us all that we need. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

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

Nine years ago this month, I was undergoing testing for what turned out to be breast cancer. I’d had test upon test, and each had led us to something else we needed to check out. In the midst of this mess, I decided I needed something that would bring me life and joy, so I suggested to my music director at the time that I could sing something in worship, in particular a beloved setting of today’s Psalm that I’d learned in seminary – I’ve sung it here, too. The refrain goes, “Taste and see, taste and see, the goodness of the Lord!” I was excited to be able to use music to help me escape for a moment what I was going through.

Well, it seemed like a good idea. But turned out, it wasn’t much of an escape. As we rehearsed it, the impact of these words suddenly hit me in a way they never had before. “I will bless the Lord at all times, his praise shall always be on my lips… I called the Lord who answered me… from all my troubles I was set free…” As I sang, visions of doctor’s offices and MRI machines came to mind, but so did visions of my family and friends surrounding me, and congregation members who had rallied around me, and memories of boob jokes my doctors and I had enjoyed sharing back and forth, and my steadfast then-boyfriend by my side all along, accompanying me to appointments, and doing all he could to support me through this. “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord!” I sang… 

And friends, I completely lost it. First the telltale voice wobble. Then the sound just stopped coming out. And then all the tears started. I stood there in the sanctuary openly weeping over the goodness of the Lord, and the already-and-not-yet of this Psalm in my life at that moment. The organist, herself a breast cancer survivor, and someone with whom I’d had a somewhat rocky relationship, stopped playing and came over to me, unsure what to do with this sobbing young pastor before her. And suddenly I was throwing my arms around her, and continuing to cry into her shoulder. In so many ways, this Psalm was “not-yet” for me. A couple weeks later, I would be officially diagnosed, and undergo surgery. And then another surgery. And then 6 months later, two days after my bridal shower, cancer would show up again and I would have three more surgeries before all was said and done. Plenty of other health and personal challenges would come up along the way as well. So how could I stand there and sing, “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord!”? How could I “bless the Lord at all times,” even in this trying time that threatened to take so much from me? How could I proclaim that the Lord had saved me from all my troubles, when really, my troubles were all just beginning?

And yet… I believed it. I checked in with my heart in the midst of all this, wondering if these tears were sadness, fear, or joy, and I’ve thought about it many times since, and I determined that the tears were, well, all three of those, but definitely mostly joy! Even in that dark moment in my story, I truly could taste and see that the Lord is good. 

As I read commentaries about this Psalm this week, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that not only is it connected to a narrative in my own life, but its original writing was also imbedded in a narrative. In particular, a part of David’s story. You may know that David wrote many of the Psalms. This particular one was written after he was running for his life from a wrathful monarch (not unlike our buddy Elijah!). The jealous King Saul wanted to kill him. Saul’s son and David’s dear friend Jonathan helped David escape Saul’s wrath, making Saul even madder. David had taken refuge among the Philistines, but, you may recall that after David had, as a child, slaughtered their hero, Goliath, he was not on great terms with the Philistines. So, David faked his own insanity, so that they wouldn’t recognize him or perceive him as a threat. It worked! And in gratitude for his safety, David wrote this Psalm. 

This week, with both my own experience, and this biblical backstory in my mind, I looked at this long-beloved Psalm with new eyes, and saw its power to guide our piety and devotion. I invite you to walk with me through it.

The Psalm begins with this bold declaration: “I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise shall always be on my lips.” This is not so hard to grasp when things are going well, when you’ve already been saved. But how do we do that when we are still in the pit? Well, here’s the thing about the Psalms: sometimes they are reflections back – for David, that was the case. But some are reminders that direct us forward toward a faithful life, even when the burdens of this life would threaten to drag us down. That’s how I experienced it in my own story: not as a memory, but as a desire and a prayer: “I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise will be on my lips. God, I know you can make it so! I know you can bring me to that place! Help me to see reasons to praise, even from this current darkness!” 

To be clear, this is not a directive toward what is sometimes called “toxic positivity” – an insistence to spin everything into a positive light, no matter what. I’m a firm believer in the importance of expressing all the emotions, even and especially the less nice ones, because if we don’t, they will eventually come out sideways. Identifying and expressing those feelings is the only way to process them and move past them. But, there is still a way to praise, even in the midst of those less nice emotions. The Psalmist does not say, “Praise God for everything.” Rather, there is something for which to praise God in everything. In my story, on the cusp of a cancer diagnosis, I could praise God that I had landed in Rochester for my first call, with its excellent medical care. I could praise God for a good-humored doctor who kept me giggling and laughed at my jokes. I could praise God for the immense grace my congregation extended as I sorted out my health just one year into my ministry with them. God’s praise could always on my lips and in my heart, even as I was facing a deadly disease.

Jumping ahead now to verse 4: “I sought the Lord, who answered me, and delivered me from all my terrors.” For David, this verse reads as a thanksgiving for a specific event from which he was saved. In my story, I had not yet been delivered from the particular terror I faced. But I had been before. So in my reading, my experience of this Psalm in my particular time and place, this verse served as an invitation to remember all the times that I had been delivered, all the times I had sought the Lord and he answered me. And friends, there are many! Many in my personal life, many in the lives of my close family and my ancestors, and many throughout the generations of faith, as far back as David and well beyond. This verse, in short, is a reminder that God is faithful. God answers when we call. God delivers us from troubles. That is God’s M.O., from the story of the Exodus, to Elijah being fed in the desert, to Jesus defeating death, to our own redemption from our troubles. Not always in the way or timing we imagine, but ultimately, every time. We seek the Lord, who answers us, and delivers us from our terrors.

And finally verse 8: “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” In Hebrew, that word “taste” means, “try it and experience it yourself.” And so this, too, is an invitation, urging us to imagine for a moment that this is all true, that God does deliver, that God is good… try it for yourself, and live into that reality. Truly believe it and believe in it. What freedom that faith and trust bring!

I have another poignant memory of this Psalm. It is from my grandfather’s funeral. My mom’s family has a wonderful store of German canons that they sing together, that they learned when they lived and worked in war-torn Germany in the 40s and 50s. They still love to sing them whenever they’re together. My favorite is based on this Psalm: “Ich will den Herrn loben alle zeit. Sein Lob soll immer darin meine Munde sein.” I will bless the Lord at all times, his praise shall always be in my mouth. We decided to sing that particular canon at the very end of Grandpa’s funeral, after the casket had been wheeled out but just before the postlude. We stood in the back and sang as a family, “I will bless the Lord always!” 

I admit that I thought at the time it was a weird choice. Yet, standing there, it was exactly right. We were praising the Lord, not for having lost my grandfather, but for the gift of his life, his long and fruitful years of ministry all over the world, and his love of the Lord. We were praising God for our certainty that Grandpa was now with his savior, basking in the light and life of Jesus like he had wanted all his life. And isn’t that exactly what a life of faith looks like? We do praise the Lord at all times, because we are assured that this joy is our ending: that pandemics, and cancers, and loss and grief, and all the troubles that we face – all of it will end with us basking in Jesus’ enduring light and peace, living in the eternal life we are promised. And so I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise shall always be on my lips.

Let us pray… God of all goodness, when we are lost, or sad, or in despair, you invite us to taste and see your goodness. Grant us the faith to bless you at all times, and to remember always your faithfulness. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Jesus satisfies our hungers (Aug 1, 2021)

 Full service can be viewed HERE.

Pentecost 10B
August 1, 2021
John 6:24-35

INTRODUCTION

This is week two of the 5-week Bread of Life series from John’s Gospel. After hearing last week the story of the feeding of the 5000, today we get into some of the explanation of it. (Each of Jesus’ signs in John is followed by a dialogue and lengthy discourse explaining it.) People were so impressed by the sign, that now they are seeking out Jesus and trying to figure out what is going on and who this is exactly, and Jesus tells them: “I am the bread of life.” (It’s one of Jesus’ famous I AM statements in John, linking him to the Great I AM of burning bush fame.) 

In this first part of the dialogue/discourse, the crowd will refer to the story of their ancestors being fed by manna in the wilderness – which conveniently is today’s Old Testament reading. A reminder of that context: the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt, and Moses finally led them out, through the Red Sea, and they are on their way to the Promised Land… but meanwhile they have to spend 40 years in the wilderness. This is toward the beginning of that time, and they are getting pretty hangry and complainy. (Complaining is a major feature of their time in the wilderness.) But God, being God, provides for them just what they need – just like God still does for us today.

These stories feature a lot of hungry people, people who, like us, often look to what does not satisfy instead of toward God. As you listen, consider what it is that you are hungry for, and what might satisfy that hunger. Let’s listen.

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

For what do you hunger?

This is the question that has been on my mind this week, as I have entered more deeply into this discourse on Jesus as the Bread of Life. For what do I hunger? For what do people in general hunger? What is it that we want to fill us from head to toe? What would make us feel… satisfied?

And then the logical next question: what food do we seek, so that we feel fed, and satisfied? Where or to what do we go to find satisfaction? 

These are the questions at the heart of this portion of the Bread of Life discourse. It is the day after Jesus’ miraculous feeding of 5000 people with only five loaves and two fish, and the crowd is hungry for more, and they seek him out. Jesus immediately sees what’s happening here: “Back for more, are you? I know what you’re up to. You’ve come not because you saw God in my actions, but because I fed you a free meal, and now your tummies are grumbling again, so you want another serving. Don’t you see that another serving of bread and fish, this food that perishes, will not, finally, fill you up? Work instead for the food that endures, that will nourish you all your life.”

I feel very convicted by this exchange. I feel convicted because I know that I often try to satisfy the hunger of my heart with things that don’t endure, that don’t actually feed my particular hunger. Part of that is that I, and I would say most people, don’t always really know what it is we hunger for, in the depth of our being. We only know we are hungry, so we walk into the figurative kitchen, open the snack cupboard, and just find whatever is in there to take the edge off until dinner, whatever will taste good, rather than think about what will really satisfy us. We grab the metaphorical M&Ms or the Cheez-its, instead of, say, the whole wheat bread with hummus. It does the trick for a moment… but it does not last.

Or the other problem we run into, the other way we seek food that perishes, is we think what we hunger for is something that is really an expectation of someone else (like, we hunger for people to be kinder, or less messy, or more forgiving). It may be a good thing, even a needed one, but it is not one we have any power to change ourselves. 

The challenge of each of those – lack of clarity about our own hunger, or mistaking our hunger for our expectations of others – is that we go about feeding that hunger in all the wrong ways. For example, I hunger for a cleaner house, I think, and so I make a chore chart, or just yell at my family to pick up their stuff, and that may help get it cleaner… but what I really hunger for is more internal, perhaps a hunger for rest or peace, and I have just convinced myself that it is the messy house is the thing getting in the way of that. So I go after the low-hanging fruit, even though I know that a clean house won’t bring me lasting peace (especially with two small people living there, the clean will only last about 15 minutes if I’m lucky – far from enduring!). It will certainly help – it just won’t last.

So what is it that will really, truly satisfy the hunger – such that we are still filled up and satisfied even when our external circumstances and the ways other people are acting are not as we would prefer? How can we still be satisfied? The crowd had the same question. “What must we do to perform the works of God?” What must we do to be a part of this hunger-satisfying, cup-filling, soul-restoring work God is doing? Tell us! And as is so often the case, Jesus’ answer is simple, but not always easy: “Believe in the one whom God has sent.” Believe in Jesus. Abide in Jesus. Have a relationship with Jesus. In John, those things all mean the same – in order to find the life we seek and satisfy our hunger, we must find ourselves in intimately close contact with Jesus. 

Now, the crowd is a bit skeptical. “Hm… What sign are you gonna give us to show us this is really going to work? Moses fed people in the wilderness with manna – what have you got?” (Like, duh, did they forget he just fed 5000 people with five loaves and two fish? Sheesh!) But if I’m honest, I can also be skeptical about this at times. Can Jesus really satisfy all my hungers? It’s one thing when he’s right there in the flesh, but now, today? Is Jesus going to clean my house for me? Is Jesus going to convince people to get vaccinated so we can have our lives back? Is Jesus going to help us communicate better with our spouses or our children? Is Jesus going to keep us safe in a world of increasing violent crime? Is Jesus going to heal our past traumas that wreak havoc on our efforts at living a healthy life? Can Jesus really satisfy all those hungers? If so… prove it. Give us a sign.

Jesus gently reminds them from whom all blessings flow: “That wasn’t Moses who gave you that bread in the wilderness,” he says. That was God. God provided for you in the wilderness. God is the one who gives you true bread from heaven. God is the one who gave, gives, and will give life to the world. God has given you everything. There’s your sign!

And something in his words does convince their hearts that this is the real deal. “Sir, give us this bread always.” In those few words, we hear a confession, a plea, a prayer. Their hearts are ready, their hands are open. They are ready to receive this bounty. They are ready to receive this grace. They are ready to be satisfied. And Jesus does not leave them wanting: “I am the bread of life. [I am that bread you seek.] Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Jesus will satisfy.

But do we, 21st century skeptics believe it? How does this come about for us, without Jesus walking about, multiplying loaves, walking on water, and kicking death to the curb? We can return to Jesus’ first response: “Believe in the one whom God sent.” Our first place to go is to Jesus himself, to pray and abide there. I know that even prayer can seem at times elusive – where do we begin? How will Jesus satisfy our hunger in prayer?

Well here’s where I would start: first, ask Jesus to help you figure out what it is you hunger for. And don’t stop with the surface things, those first things that come to mind. Go deeper – why do you want that? What emotions do you have about it? What is it that you are lacking that makes you feel that hunger? Why is that thing lacking? Did you ever have it before? If you did, what did it feel like? Let Jesus guide these questions, and take time to listen for a response. Journal about them or talk with a trusted friend of advisor – or even your pastor! – or just sit in quiet meditation on them. (Make sure to breathe deeply and a lot!)

Once you have discovered and named your true hunger, ask Jesus to satisfy it – if you can feel the fullness that Christ offers even just for that moment in prayer, that is valuable. If you can remember how it felt to be satisfied, you will be better equipped to recognize what will satisfy you when you experience it again, and to find that place of fullness and satisfaction even when what is going on around you tries to impose its emptiness on you. Like the muscle memory we gain from hours of practice (whether it’s typing, or playing an instrument or a sport, or even making a cup of coffee), our hearts become trained and ready to receive the bread of life that Jesus offers. 

And eventually, we find our hungers can be satisfied even when the world would try to take away that satisfaction. When we’ve trained our hearts in this way, through prayer and abiding with Christ, we can find peace, even in a messy house, and safety in a violent world. We can find wholeness and healing amidst the brokenness. We can find meaning, purpose, and connection. When so much around us is trying to make us conform and fit in, in Christ we can find true belonging and unconditional love. We can be fed in Christ.

Friends, Jesus wants to be more for us then a nice guy and a good teacher we can emulate. He wants to be our food. He is our food, our basic sustenance, a staple in our daily diet. Are we hungry for him? Will we let and even invite him to sustain us? The bread of life is ours – in abundance! – if we would but take a taste and see. 

May we absorb this bread, and share it. May we desire it above all things. And may the nourishment it provides permeate us through and through until we, like Jesus, become life-saving bread for the whole world. 

Let us pray… Jesus, you are our bread. You are our sustenance. Show us how to come to you when we are hungry, that you would show us where we hunger, and nourish us with the true bread from heaven. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.