Sermon: Pentecost Peace (May 28, 2023)

Pentecost Sunday
May 28, 2023
Acts 2:1-21; 1 Cor 12:3b-13; John 20:19-23

Pentecost, by Grace Rehbaum (7)

INTRODUCTION

Today, on Pentecost, we celebrate the Holy Spirit. I love all three persons of the Trinity, of course, but the Holy Spirit I find particularly intriguing, because there are so many facets and expressions of the Spirit, so there is always some aspect of the Spirit, or pneumatology, that can speak to us just exactly where we are. 

Our readings today reflect that variety. Our first reading from Acts is that dramatic first Pentecost, as Luke tells it. Jews from around the known world are staying in Jerusalem and celebrating the Jewish Festival of Weeks: a harvest festival where Jews also remember the giving of the law, the 10 commandments. And the Holy Spirit makes a raucous entrance, complete with wind, noise and fire. Very exciting! The Psalm shows us the creative nature of the Spirit, recalling how at creation, before God said anything, the Spirit hovered over the chaotic waters. 1 C
orinthians shifts gears and talks about the unifying nature of the Spirit – though there are varieties of gifts, Paul writes, we are all one in the Spirit, “for in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body.” And finally in the Gospel reading, we will hear a story we always hear the week after Easter, about Jesus appearing to the fearful disciples who are locked in the upper room. Jesus breathes his Spirit onto them and tells them not once, but twice, “Peace be with you.”

So… which expression of the Spirit do you need today? The disruptive and driving one of that first Pentecost, or the creative one of the Psalm? The unifying Spirit of 1 Corinthians, or the Spirit of peace breathed into a place of fear? As you listen, hear the promise that whatever you need this day, the Spirit is with you. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Pentecost, by Isaac Rehbaum (6)

If you’ve been around me a while, as a person and a preacher, you have figured out that I talk a lot about peace. It is how I sign off on my emails, it’s my go-to prayer for people when they are going through a tough time, and it comes up with regularity in my sermons. Peace is something I am constantly seeking for myself, as I try to balance the various demands of ministry, parenting, marriage, and being a daughter and a friend; it’s something that often feels elusive to me, and yet when I find it, I know that joy and life follow close behind. Yes, it would be fair to say that finding peace is a frequent goal of mine!

All this to say… I was very drawn this week to our reading from John. Normally on Pentecost, it is a no-brainer that I will preach on Acts, the Pentecost story. Such a great story, with its drama, wind, and fire, mass conversion, many languages, dynamic preaching. And I do love that story… but this year, I found I did not need any more drama and chaos in my life just now! What I crave, where I find solace, is in John, in Jesus’ distribution of a double portion of peace. 

This story takes us back to Easter evening once again, after the disciples have learned that Jesus has risen from the dead. But their response is not to celebrate and party, but to hide away in fear. In the wake of this great and exciting news, their response is to be afraid. Things have not turned out how they expected (people don’t generally come back alive!), and they are anxious and worried about what this will mean for them.

And into these circumstances, Jesus enters in, offers two greetings of peace, and breathes upon them his Holy Spirit. Into their fear, their anxiety, their uncertainty and worry – all those things that can disrupt our sense of peace – into this, he breathes the peace that passes understanding. 

This moment is usually referred to as John’s Pentecost story. And it could hardly be more different from Luke’s version in Acts! Where Acts is rushing, noisy, violent, and dramatic, John’s version is tender, loving, and calm. It is, frankly, the Pentecost story that I need in my life just now, as I crave finding that sort of peace! 

I learned something interesting this week about that word, “breathe.” This is in fact the only time that Greek word appears in the New Testament. It really is something special! But it gets even better. There is a document called the Septuagint, which is a Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, the Old Testament. And this word for “breathe” does appear there. Guess where? It is used to describe what God does to give life to the lump of clay called Adam. It says, “God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” 

So, that breath that gave life to the first human is the same breath that Jesus breathes upon his fearful, anxious disciples, as he gives them his peace.

It would seem, then, that life… and peace… have an awful lot to do with each other! Like, Christ’s peace is indeed what gives us life. Jesus dispels the disciples’ fear, that thing that works so hard to rob of us life and peace, by breathing the Holy Spirit upon them. And see what it says next? “Then the disciples rejoiced.” Their fear is replaced by joy. With their fear gone, they can rejoice in the new life given to them by Jesus.

Just think what is possible when we can live in that peace, rather than letting our fear, worry, and anxiety rob us of life! Jesus gives us an idea: “As the Father sent me,” he says, “so I send you.” Sometimes finding peace means being still, and simply relishing in God’s good gifts for us. But it is both gift, and commission: at some point, to be full of God’s peace, God’s Spirit, is to be sent out. 

What could that mean? Sent out for what? Well, what did that Spirit do for Adam when he first breathed into his nostrils? It brought life. And what did it do for the disciples? It healed their broken hearts, dispelling their fears. And so this, I believe, is what we do as well, when we are full of the Spirit: we bring life and healing to a broken, divided, and fearful world. In a word, we Spirit-filled people bring peace.

  So… where might the Spirit be sending you in this time and place, to bring healing and peace to a broken world? 

Perhaps the Spirit is sending you to learn about a marginalized community. Over the next months, the ELCA will be providing opportunities to learn the true history and current realities of Indigenous people as a part of the Truth and Healing Movement. In addition to learning, there will be actions that can be taken by individuals, small groups, or congregations, all in an effort to bring healing for both Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. Could the Spirit be sending you toward bringing about peace in that way? 

Another idea: next month is “Pride Month.” Why not take the opportunity to learn about the particular issues facing those in the LGBTQ+ community? Go to a Pride event, read a memoir by someone who is transgender, try to understand an experience that may be quite different from your own. The rights of trans people in particular have been under fire lately – learn about it, and see if there is a way you might bring healing and peace to that reality. 

How else might the Spirit be sending you to bring peace? Our Synod Assembly is this next weekend, and each year ELCA World Hunger does a big collection. This year we are collecting money for beehives and community gardens, both of which help both particular communities, and creation as a whole, to be more sustainable. Maybe the Spirit is sending you to give toward this cause – sustainability brings peace! 

Or maybe the Spirit is sending you to bring peace and healing closer to home, working on reconciliation in your family or between you and a friend, or engaging in those difficult conversations about our differences so that instead of letting the difference divide us, we can find a way that it will make us stronger. Take your inspiration from our reading from 1st Corinthians, in which Paul makes a compelling argument about how our many and various gifts (and yes, our differences!) allow for a stronger community overall. 

I can’t pretend to predict where the Spirit is sending me, let alone any of you! But I do believe that once we let the Spirit send us to these places, where we will inevitably encounter people who are different from us, who may even make us feel uncomfortable, that we will also be moved beyond our personal concerns, and become better equipped to see the world as a whole, to understand how to work for peace for the greater good, and not just for our individual needs. We will see ourselves as a part of the global community, with neighbors to love and serve all over the world. By the power of the Holy Spirit, this is our mission. This will bring life and peace.

Let us pray… Holy Spirit, you sometimes come as a whirlwind, but sometimes you come as gently as a breath. However you come among us, guide us by your presence into the way of peace. Make us bold to seek out ways toward life, healing, and reconciliation, so that all our neighbors may know your peace. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

Sermon: Jesus changes lives (May 21, 2023)

 Easter 7A
May 21, 2023
John 17:1-11
Acts 1:6-14

INTRODUCTION

On this 7th and final Sunday of the Easter season, we always have the option to celebrate either Easter 7 or Ascension Day. Jesus’ ascension happened 40 days after his resurrection, and 10 days before the Holy Spirit came on Pentecost, and so it always falls on a Thursday. This morning we are celebrating Easter 7, but we will still get to hear a part of the Ascension story in our Acts reading. (Luke’s Gospel also tells this story, so if you want to know more, check there!) The disciples have already lost Jesus once, on Good Friday, and now they watch as he leaves them again, rising up into the clouds before their very eyes. Acts tells us that after this, they devoted themselves to prayer.

And I can see why! I can imagine that the ascension left the disciples with a whole new sense of loss, anxiety, and confusion, left again without their teacher… and that makes our reading today from John all the more meaningful. The past two weeks we have heard from Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, words he shared with his disciples on the evening of his arrest. After he shares these words with them, Jesus offers an extensive prayer for them, known as the High Priestly Prayer, the first part of which we will hear today. It’s a remarkable moment where we get to overhear Jesus’ conversation with the Father, and we are truly drawn into a very sacred moment in the company of the divine. 

As you listen, enter into these important moments in Jesus’ life on earth – the Ascension, and Jesus’ prayer for us, and imagine how it would have been to be to be there in person. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

In the Christian faith, we talk a lot about eternal life. Those words, “eternal life” roll off our tongues, even though we don’t really know exactly what they mean or look like. We know that we are promised eternal life in our baptism, and that it means being with God forever, and perhaps we hope it means we’re going to some place called heaven someday, where perhaps we will see not only Jesus but also our loved ones who have died and maybe even our pets… but there are a lot of unknowns around this, right, because no one has experienced eternal life and come back to talk about it.  

Or have we?  Hmm…

Tucked right there in the beginning of Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer, Jesus gives us a clear, straightforward definition of eternal life – did you catch it? “And this is eternal life,” he says, “that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see any mention here of death, or heaven, or seeing Uncle Joe or Fido again on the golden streets. Eternal life is simply this: to know God. To know Jesus. 

Now, in one sense, that does still refer to when we die, because it is then that we will “know fully, even as [we] have been fully known,” as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians. But in another sense, eternal life doesn’t begin when we die. We are experiencing it in part right now. Because already, we know Jesus. Or as John would say, we are in relationship with Jesus; we abide with him. 

According to John’s Gospel, this has been Jesus’ purpose throughout his ministry: for us to know God by knowing Jesus. To be in such an abiding relationship with Jesus, that our lives are changed. Throughout John’s Gospel we read these incredible stories of Jesus building these life-changing relationships, and making God known, in various ways, and to various kinds of people. Just look at the stories we heard from John during Lent this year:

When Jesus meets a Samaritan woman at the well, he sees her innermost secrets, meets her in her tough questions, and calls her into relationship. Her life is changed, and she testifies to everyone in town: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

When Jesus meets a man born blind, he approaches the man with love, spreading mud over his eyes, and then the man not only sees the world for the first time, but he sees God face to face. When his neighbors then cast him out of the community, Jesus calls him in, like a shepherd calling his sheep. The man’s life is forever changed. 

When Jesus learns Lazarus has died, he goes to the grave, where he weeps with Mary and Martha. He feels their pain with them. Though Lazarus is so dead that there is already a stench, Jesus calls him out of the tomb. Lazarus is unbound, and the family is restored to new life. 

And finally on Easter, Mary Magdalene goes looking for the body of Jesus and, when he calls her by her name, she finds him risen. The trajectory of death and life is changed forever. 

Over and over, you see, Jesus comes to people, loves them, has compassion for them, and listens to them. He calls them into relationship. They know him, and are known by him, and by this relationship, their lives are changed. By this relationship, they know God, and they experience abundant and eternal life.

As I thought about this theme this week, that relationship with Jesus changes lives, I wondered, but how does this look today? It’s easy to see when it is a physical Jesus walking around, talking to and healing people. But we don’t have him in the flesh anymore. Furthermore, I have always had Jesus in my life, cradle Christian that I am. So, does my relationship with Jesus continue to change my life? After all, he’s always been there. Does your relationship with Jesus change yours? Are you experiencing, here and now, the eternal life that comes from that relationship with God, from knowing God? 

When I hear something “changes your life,” I imagine it like a Road to Damascus experience – a one-time deal with a bright light, the voice of Jesus, and something like scales falling from your eyes. I have not had such an experience, I suppose. But that does not mean, however, that my life isn’t continually changed by my relationship with Jesus. 

Jesus told his disciples as he ascended into heaven that they would be his witnesses, so, allow me to witness to you for a moment about how I have seen the knowledge of Jesus change lives. 

I grew up with Jesus in my life, it’s true, but I have had times when I have tried to reject him, times when I pushed away, thinking I might be better off without. My enduring memory of those times is of fear, and emptiness. It was a time without grounding. Begrudingly, in each case, I would come back saying, “I’m still mad at you, God. I’m still not sure. But I can’t take life without you. I’d rather be mad at you and in relationship, than without you.” And Jesus, I imagine, nodded knowingly, and received me back with grace. And my life was changed.

Another example: I spoke this week with someone who grew up in a very conservative Christian tradition. Boundaries and rules were made very clear, and there was little room for mistakes. The first time she came to a Lutheran church, and heard God’s grace preached, it was like a breath of fresh air. She said, “Now, I could say to God, ‘I’m mad,’ or, ‘I blew it,’ and instead of getting in trouble, I heard God say, ‘I know. Tell me all about it. I’m listening.’” That gracious relationship with God lifted her burden, made space for her various emotions, and drew her closer to Jesus. And her life was changed.

More than anything for me, when I think of how knowing Jesus changes my life, I think of the word “hope,” because my relationship with Jesus has shown me that an end is never the end, and death always leads to some sort of new life. In all of the endings and goodbyes we experience in our lives – some big, some mundane – I find great hope in knowing that, just as God used death on the cross to bring about new life for us all, God can bring new life out of any death or ending I face. By my relationship with Jesus, I can see that. And that changes my life, on a regular basis. It brings me a profound sense of peace, and grants me endurance, and on the really hard days, it is what carries me through to the other side.

This – all of this – is eternal life, here and now. It is the life that comes from knowing Jesus, from being in relationship with the God of life, who came that we may have life, and have it abundantly. 

And that is the eternal life to which Jesus calls us to be witnesses. “You will be my witnesses,” he says, before he ascends into heaven – not, “Will you be witnesses?” but, “You are witnesses,” witnesses to the life he brings. The incarnation is over – Jesus has ascended to the Father, but we are still in this world. So the work is ours now: to love one another, and call each other into community, to show compassion to one another, and to tell the stories of how our lives have changed by our knowing Jesus. To share the good news of eternal life, beginning right here, right now.

Let us pray… Gracious God, you change people’s lives, all the time, by entering into relationship with us. Change our lives, we pray, and make us aware of the ways you are doing it. By your love, draw us into eternal life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Come alongside us (May 14, 2023)

Easter 6A
May 14, 2023
John 14:15-21

INTRODUCTION

In last week’s reading from Acts, the stoning of Stephen, there was a small detail you may have noticed: the angry crowd lays their coats at the foot of a young man named Saul. You may remember that Saul is later Paul, that is, St. Paul, at that time one of the greatest persecutors of the Church. Between that story and the one we will hear today, Saul has had a major conversion experience, and has gone from persecutor to promoter of the Church. He is traveling the known world, sharing the gospel and planting churches. Today we will find him before the Areopagus, which is both a place and the name of the group, the council, that meets there. They are Greek, so they do not share Paul’s Jewish background, so Paul is instead trying to use their own poets and wisdom to convince them that Jesus is Lord.

Our Gospel reading takes us to the same place we were last week, Maundy Thursday, Jesus’ last night with his disciples. The sense of grief is increasing, and Jesus, now in the role of pastor and friend, knows it. So he speaks these comforting words to them, that they will not be left alone, that in his absence another “advocate,” as he calls it, will be with them. He is promising them the Holy Spirit, which we will see come upon them dramatically in a couple weeks on Pentecost like a wild rushing wind and tongues of fire. But this moment is more tender than dramatic, as Jesus speaks to their fears with great care and compassion.

Paul proclaims that we are God’s offspring. The Psalmist promises that God hears our prayers. 1st Peter assures us of God’s presence even when we suffer, and Jesus promises us we will not be left alone. As you listen, on this day when we celebrate those who care for us, hear in these texts the promise of God, our loving parent’s, enduring care for you. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last week we had our last confirmation class of this school year. Something we have enjoyed doing all year is playing improv games each class, which help introduce the topic of the day. This class’s topic was “tough questions of faith,” and one of those questions was, “Why do bad things happen?” To help us talk about a Christian response when bad things happen to others, we played a game, which I called “Words of Discomfort”: I came up with three sort of silly but sad scenarios. For example, pretend you are a tree that has been marked to be cut down, or, you are a toy in the getting-rid-of pile. Another kid had to come up with “words of dis-comfort” that they could speak to this situation – words that look like comfort, but actually make things worse. So for the tree, “Well, at least now you can become a log cabin and learn something about Abraham Lincoln!” For the toy, “So what if this kid doesn’t love you anymore – at least now you can meet a new kid!” I pointed out how many of these uncomforting words began with the words “at least,” which had the effect of minimizing or dismissing the real grief that was there, as if to say, “It’s not as bad as it could be, so stop being so sad.”

Then in the next round, I challenged them to come up with truly comforting words. Everyone agreed that this was much, much more difficult. Everything they tried sounded pretty similar to the intentionally not-comforting ones! These normally very vocal and creative kids kept looking at me helplessly, saying, “I can’t think of anything to say.”

And isn’t that the way of it? Sometimes, we really don’t know what to say when someone is experiencing something really scary, painful or sad. We try all kinds of things – “It’ll be okay, don’t worry, don’t cry, you can get through this…” – but a lot of times, those words, though well-intentioned, don’t quite speak what our hearts need to hear, so much as they try to distract us and them from the feelings. 

Today our Gospel reading takes us again to Maundy Thursday, a day that was, for Jesus and his disciples, a highly anxious and sad one. Judas has just left to betray Jesus. Peter has been told he will deny Jesus three times. And the way Jesus is talking, it is pretty clear that something big is about to happen – at best, he is leaving them, at worst, something terrible is about to happen to him. As Jesus talks to them, the air grows thicker and thicker with grief and anxiety about their unknown future without Jesus.

That feeling of grief and anxiety over the unknown is one I’m sure we are all familiar with. Getting treatments that may or may not work for a scary medical condition, financial uncertainty, a loved one deployed overseas, an important relationship on shaky ground, a global pandemic, waiting to see if the fertility treatments worked this time – we are all too familiar with the anxiety of not knowing, where the outcome could literally be life or death, success or ruin. We’ve either gone through it ourselves, or someone we love has – and just like my confirmation students, when someone else is suffering, it is difficult to know what is the right thing to do or say to bring comfort to the situation. 

So here, in this part of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse, we get to hear what words of comfort Jesus offers to his anxious disciples as they go through something hard. He says, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever… I will not leave you orphaned.” He doesn’t say, “It won’t be too bad,” or, “Let me carry this for you,” or, “Don’t worry and don’t cry – you can do this!” (which are, by the way, all very nice things to say to someone who is struggling!). What I hear when I read these words from Jesus is, “You are not alone. You don’t have to do this alone. We’re not going to let you fall.” 

I can’t think of more comforting words than that! When I think of the hardest things I have had to do in my life, every one of them was worst when I felt like I was alone, and every one of them was made easier when I realized I wasn’t alone – the right friend called at the right time, the support group I needed suddenly came to my awareness, a homecooked meal showed up at my door. Or even, simply: someone truly heard me, and was able to reflect my feelings back to me in a way that showed me they really heard and cared about my pain, and didn’t try to dismiss it. The promise of presence – whether physical, emotional, or spiritual – is the most deeply comforting promise when we are feeling anxious, sad, or afraid. And Jesus promises it, in the form of the Advocate.

Let’s look more closely for a moment at that word translated here as “advocate.” In various translations of this verse, this word appears as: helper, advocate, counselor, comforter, or intercessor. The Greek word is “paracletos,” in English, Paraclete, and it literally means, “one who is called alongside.” Isn’t that a lovely image? One who comes alongside us – in our grief, in our joy, in our anxiety, in our contentment, in our pain: this spirit comes right alongside us, accompanying us along the way, so that we are never alone. This is the work of the Holy Spirit, the spirit of truth, the one who abides with us, who will be in us, no matter what fearful, uncertain thing we are facing.

There are many ways by which we might become aware of the Spirit coming alongside us – in prayer, in the study of the Word, and in the faithful community, certainly. But one particularly powerful way is when we come to the Table for holy communion. Yesterday I had the pleasure of teaching five young people about communion, and today they will receive the sacrament for the first time. There is one part of the communion liturgy called the epiclesis, another Greek word for you. It’s the part of the liturgy where we summon the Holy Spirit. The Spirit comes alongside, infusing the sacrament with the real presence of Christ in our meal. Then, when we partake of that bread and wine, we take God, that Spirit of truth, directly into ourselves, so that God is as physically close to us as possible. God literally comes alongside us in the sacrament, promising us that we will never be orphans, never be alone in our grief and anxiety, as long as we know and are in relationship with him. And as we walk from this table, out into the world, we leave surrounded by the communion of saints, a Spirit-full community, who continue to be the Spirit’s presence with us wherever we go!

If I have one hope for these young people today, as they begin this part of their faith journey – and it is a hope for all of us! – it is that every time they come to this table, they are reminded of Christ’s real presence in this sacrament and in our lives. I hope that they never, ever forget that they will never be alone, that God, our loving parent, will never leave us orphaned, that the Spirit of truth promises to come alongside us wherever we go and whatever we do, as our helper, our advocate, our counselor, and our comforter. 

Let us pray… Comforting Spirit of truth, when grief and anxiety make us feel so alone, come alongside us. When we don’t know what to say or where to go, come alongside us. When we struggle in any way, come alongside us, so that we will never forget that you abide with us, all the time. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

Sermon: Above the fray (May 7, 2023)

 Easter 5A
May 7, 2023
John 14:1-14
Acts 7:55-60

INTRODUCTION

On this 5th Sunday of Easter we will hear the story of someone being stoned to death! Happy Easter! 

No but really, our reading from Acts is the story of the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr. It’s pretty rough, but a good story to know, so I’m going to give you some more background on that one in my sermon. Stay tuned.

1st Peter will give us a much nicer image of stones, describing Christ as the cornerstone and foundation of our spiritual house.

In John, Jesus seems to refer to that spiritual house, a place he prepares for us with many dwelling places. It is a reading we often hear at funerals, and with good reason. This story takes us back to Maundy Thursday, Jesus’ last night with his disciples before his arrest. The air is thick with grief and anxiety – Judas has just left them, and Peter’s denial has been foretold, and it is clear that something is about to happen to Jesus. But Jesus tells them not to be troubled, for he goes before them to prepare the way. In fact, he says, he is the way, and the truth and the life, and because we know him, we also know the Father. These are certainly words that speak comfort to our aching hearts!

Last week, we heard about God’s presence in the dark valleys of life, and this week will show us what those dark valleys may look and feel like. As you listen, think of the ways God has shown up for you in your darkest places. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

St. Stephen, the first martyr

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I saw that the story from Acts today was the stoning of Stephen, I thought, “Ooo, I want to preach on that.” It’s such a horrible story – why would I feel such an urge? And yet, when the Spirit speaks, we listen!

So, let’s look at this compelling, if gruesome, story. Were you familiar with this one? It’s not one typically covered in Sunday School! Stephen’s claim to fame, other than his feast day being the setting for the Christmas carol, Good King Wenceslas, is that he is the first Christian martyr – the first witness to die for the sake of the faith. (The word “martyr” comes from the Greek word for “witness.”) Before we dig into the part of the story we heard today, let’s go back, and put this into its larger context.

Christ has died, risen, and ascended, and the Holy Spirit has come on Pentecost, and the Christian movement is gaining momentum. The disciples are increasing in number. To support the growing needs of the community, the apostles appoint seven deacons, to tend to the work of feeding and service, while the apostles focus on preaching and evangelism. One of these seven is a man named Stephen. (As an aside, this ministry structure still exists in the church – in addition to ministers of word and sacrament, which I am, we also have the diaconate, deacons, who are ministers of word and service. This is its origin story. Cool, right?) 

This system works well, and the number of disciples continues to increase. Stephen is “full of grace and power,” and “did great wonders and signs among the people.” It is reported that his face was like that of an angel, it shone so; people could hardly look away from his brightness. So everything seems pretty great, right? But, of course, some in the synagogue are jealous of him and his wisdom, and they bring false charges of blasphemy against him, and Stephen is brought to stand trial before the council.

Now, you’d think that Stephen might defend himself, right, since he didn’t do anything wrong! But just like Jesus on trial before him, he does nothing to defend himself. What he does do, however, is give a dynamic speech, in which he recounts the story of the people of Israel, starting with Abraham, and all the way through Moses, the exile and the prophets. And he finishes with a flourish, pointing out how very like their ancestors his accusers are – who killed and persecuted the prophets, and who opposed the Holy Spirit, and who failed to follow the divinely given law. “You have become [the Righteous One’s] betrayers and murders,” he says. “You… have not kept [the law].”

Oof. You can imagine, they do not take this well. Luke tells us that “when they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen.” And this is where our reading today picks up. Just as his accusers are practically snorting with rage and pawing the ground like agitated bulls, Stephen gazes up to heaven and recounts a vision he is seeing, of the glory of God and Jesus standing at God’s right hand. With this, his opponents cover their ears, and with a loud shout, go running toward him, drag him out of the city, and begin to stone him. Stephen, ever peaceful, commits his spirit to Jesus, and with his last breath, asks God to forgive them for this sin. And the beautiful shining light in his angelic face goes out. Wow, what a story!

So how does this story speak to our modern, American context? First, and most obviously: being a follower of Christ is not always easy or comfortable. Today, we don’t typically face death for preaching or living a Christian life, at least not in this country, but, if we are always perfectly comfortable following Jesus, then well, we’re not doing it right. Don’t get me wrong – there is certainly comfort to be had in our faith, which gets us through our many trials. Jesus causes our hearts not to be troubled, and gives us hope for the future and promises us an eternal dwelling place with him. But faith isn’t only being comforted. Faith also calls us to speak truth to power, as Stephen does here and as so many prophets have done over the generations. It means rocking the boat sometimes by saying things in love that might make other people uncomfortable. It means resisting reacting to the violence around us with violence of our own. In short: faith means acting like Stephen! 

Yes, we can learn important lessons from Stephen, as a model of faith. But sometimes it is more fruitful, and certainly more convicting, to look at the other side of the story, the broken side, because that is where we might see not our hopeful future, but a reflection of our own current reality. Faith is also hard because it means that sometimes the word of God doesn’t applaud or comfort us, but convicts us. The detail in this story that convicts me is this bit about his opponents – how, when faced with God’s word, they “cover their ears” and “with a loud shout” go rushing at the person calling them out. That sounds all too familiar in our increasingly polarized society, doesn’t it? We are deeply entrenched in our beliefs, and even in the face of new information, we are often more likely to say, “Well, that doesn’t quite fit with my understanding of the world, so I’m going to ignore that. I’ll cover my ears and keep shouting my own opinion on the matter, and if it gets really bad, I might just have to pick up some stones are start throwing.” This is not just in political discourse. It happens with family, and friends, in our most intimate relationships, too. And no, it’s not just “the other side” that does this. All sides do this. I consider myself a pretty open-minded and well-informed person, but I definitely resist when even good, hard, reliable evidence starts to blow holes in something I had fervently believed. Yes, I have even been known to cast some verbal stones, intending to assuage my discomfort. I think we’d be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn’t. It is easier, after all, to attack than it is to self-reflect, and admit we’re wrong.

Yes, God’s Word can be very convicting. But it doesn’t let us stay there. First, we see where we are, and then we see where God is drawing us. The Word reveals that faith in Christ means putting aside our ego and letting God’s sometimes convicting Word penetrate into our hearts. It means recognizing that sometimes, we could be wrong. Sometimes, the more faithful act is not to shout, but to listen, and let the Spirit mold our hearts into something new, rather than go on the attack to defend something old.

How do we do this? Look back at how Stephen responds to the reactivity of the crowd. As he is dragged out of the city and attacked, merely for speaking truth to power and proclaiming God’s word, he does not back-pedal or defend himself. He stays above the fray. Literally, his gaze rests on something above the fearful, reactive mess of attack and vitriol around him: his gaze is on the vision of Jesus standing at the right hand of God in glory. We might think he was being a bit of a doormat – after all, what kind of person wouldn’t fight back in this situation? But his steadfast gaze on God is a brave, strong, and even defiant and prophetic act. He refuses to be sucked into the reactivity of his transgressors; if he had focused on their reactivity, perhaps he would sink to that level, sink into fear, rage, or sadness. But no, he will not give the power of centerstage to the angry mob; he gives the power where it rightly belongs: to the redemptive work of God.

And how do we know that? Because first, he gives himself fully to God (“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit”), and then with his dying breath, he doesn’t fit in one last insult, or condemn his attackers for their fear-filled acts; rather, he forgives them. “Lord, do not hold this sin against them,” he says. He bears witness to Jesus’ redeeming love. By staying focused not on the angry mob, but on the loving Giver of Life, he finds himself free from the need to blame, self-defend or explain. He does not need to “win” this argument, because he has already won eternal life.

He sets his gaze on Jesus, not his transgressors. He looks toward life, and not toward death. And this orients him to the life of redemptive love to which we are all called. Even in his death, Stephen is a witness to us, showing us the courage it takes to live into the life of faith that exists above the fray, outside of the world’s reactivity, and in a place of redeeming love. 

Let us pray… Faithful God, the path you lay out for us is as challenging as it is full of love and grace. Guide us to be faithful disciples, slow to cast stones and quick to listen, love and forgive. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Abundant life today, in the 23rd Psalm (April 30, 2023)

Easter 4A
April 30, 2023
John 10:1-10, Psalm 23

INTRODUCTION

This 4th Sunday of Easter is always “Good Shepherd Sunday” – and I think that theme will be quite clear in some of our readings! For instance, we always hear on this Sunday Psalm 23 – this year we will hear the choir sing a gorgeous arrangement by Bobby McFerrin that might surprise you a bit! We often hear this beloved Psalm at funerals, but in the context of the Easter season, we hear it as a Psalm of new and abundant life – which I will elaborate upon in my sermon.

We also always hear on this Sunday from the 10th chapter of John – the chapter in which Jesus calls himself the “good shepherd.” Yet in this year, the part of the text we hear doesn’t actually include that statement! Instead, we will hear Jesus call himself “the gate,” by whom the sheep (presumably you and I) come and go freely out to pasture. Though this gate image has been used to exclude, I hear this as a very welcoming one – a gate is a permeable boundary, one that can open to allow others in.

Something else to know about the Gospel reading. In John’s Gospel, the pattern is that Jesus performs a sign (or miracle), and then follows it with a discourse explaining the meaning of the sign. This is from one such discourse, and the sign it follows is one we read back in Lent, in which Jesus heals a man born blind. Remember, the crowd was asking whether this man or his parents sinned, that he was born blind, and then when he is healed, the community throws him out, because the whole ordeal doesn’t fit with their understanding of how things work. And now along comes Jesus, calling himself the gate by which one is not thrown out, but rather is able to enter into abundant life. 

As you listen, dwell in these beautiful images. Receive them, knowing that whether Jesus is shepherd or gate, he is for us, in order that we might, as he says, “have life, and have it abundantly.” Let’s listen.

[READ]

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our risen Lord and savior, Jesus Christ. Amen. 

There are so many rich and feel-good parts of our scripture readings today, on Good Shepherd Sunday. And why wouldn’t there be? When we think of a shepherd, especially in church, we imagine protection, care, safety, belonging – all very comforting things! But of all that these texts have to offer, the image that keeps rising to the top for me is the last line from our Gospel reading: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

What does that mean, “abundant life”? What would that look like for you? Perhaps abundant life is accomplished by having means, being able to acquire whatever you need when you need it. A nice house, a reliable car, fulfilling work, a full fridge, and clean clothes to wear. Our image of abundant life likely also includes good friends and family to cheer our way. Yes, all of these things make life feel very abundant indeed!

Of course, I think Jesus is talking about something more than all of that. And this week, I wondered if we might learn more about what abundant life through Christ looks like, by reading this beloved and well-known Psalm, Psalm 23 – and reading it through the lens of abundant life.

Because this is a Psalm we often hear at funerals, we may normally associate it with death and grief, or maybe with eternal life in heaven. Yet hearing it today, in the middle of the Easter season, we can better see how it is very much a Psalm about life here on earth, today. Let’s take a look.

The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. The second part of this sounds a lot like what I just described, doesn’t it? Abundance is having all you need, not wanting for anything. And yet we do want, don’t we? It isn’t often that we feel completely satisfied, both materially and emotionally, like everything is in its place, and we have no needs. At our council retreat last week, we were discussing what makes us feel that “our joy is complete,” as Jesus says later in John. Someone suggested they feel joy “when everything is done,” and I asked in desperation, “Is that a thing?! Please, tell me your secret!” Perhaps fleetingly we can feel like all is done, but there is always something more to worry about, isn’t there, at least there is for me! Always something more we need. But whether or not we have all our physical or emotional needs and comforts met – abundant life, I think, means that we are able to set them aside simply to dwell in the truth that with God as our shepherd, who cares for us and protects us, even if just for a moment, we can feel and experience the abundance Jesus promises.

He makes me lie down in green pastures, and leads me beside still waters. It seems, then, that abundant life has something to do with rest. That’s the word that comes to my mind when I read this verse. Our shepherd makes us lie down in green pastures. We might not otherwise do it on our own! As I said, we can always think of something else we need to do, something that is Very Important, and rest will have to wait. And yet, God makes us lie down, and shows us what stillness looks and sounds like… because left to our own devices, we might just work ourselves to the bone all the way to the grave. 

I attended a clergy workshop last fall with the topic of finding rest, healing, and rejuvenation, led by author and coach Rozella Haydee White. She asked the group what we were holding that day that was affecting our ability to be fully present, and I mentioned my ever-lengthening to-do list. She looked at me straight on and said, “Is anything on the list urgent?” I gaped at her for a moment, considering, and she added, “By urgent I mean, will anyone die if you don’t do it?” No, I admitted. She smiled and said, “Good, then it can wait until later.” Boom, reality check! It felt like the tightness of resistance in my chest… even as it felt like immense grace – if I could just do it! “He makes me lie down in green pastures.” Abundant life requires rest. Such rest is so important to God, that he included a whole commandment about it! (Remember the sabbath!)

To clarify what I mean by rest, I don’t just mean sleep (though certainly that!), and I don’t mean mindless scrolling on social media or playing Wordle or Woodoku (though there is also a place for that). I mean the sort of rest that “restores our souls.” Maybe it is a walk by still waters, or lying down in green pastures. Maybe it is meditation, or prayer, or coloring, or journaling. Maybe it is sitting and catching up with a friend, or reading a good book. Rest can look a lot of ways, but however it looks, the point is that it leaves you (and your soul) feeling restored.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Two things I want to point out about this verse. First, things suddenly got very intimate. Where the first three verses were talking about God, now we are talking directly to God. YOU are with me. YOU comfort me. And so, a part of abundant life is not only talking about God, but having an intimate relationship with God, one in which you can divulge even your deepest fears – be they dark valleys, or the table full of enemies referred to in the next verse. Abundant life is knowing we can trust God even and especially in these moments – knowing we can do it, and then actually doing it. 

The second thing I want to highlight in both this and the next verse is that abundant life does not mean life without dark valleys or foes. Such a nice phrase as “abundant life” might fool us into thinking all must be well to achieve it, but it is not so. Abundant life is not the absence of struggle, pain, death, darkness, grief, or even enemies… but rather, it is the presence of God in the midst of them. It is the promise that we are not alone when we face them.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. A word here about enemies: it’s a strong word, right? While I certainly have people in my life who bug me, or even who have actively tried (and succeeded) to hurt me, I wouldn’t call them enemies. I suspect you are similar. So don’t think of enemies as people in our lives. Think of enemies instead as forces – those forces that would draw you in the wrong direction, that would try to get you to turn away from the God of love and life. This verse, then, because one that assures us that even when so many forces try to draw us away from God, our Good Shepherd continues to offer us a feast of love that is so abundant, it is overflowing. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long. If you memorized this at some point, you may have said, “I’ll dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” but I like it this way: “my whole life long.” It reminds us that all of this is, indeed, about life here and now. This verse also makes very clear to us that even when we might be tempted to turn away from the promise of abundant life, the promise isn’t going anywhere. The word “follow” is not a strong one in English, but in the original Hebrew it is! The word implies a persistent pursuit, as in, “goodness and mercy will pursue me every day, never giving up on me, never resting, never leaving me alone.” We will never be without God’s goodness and mercy right there, ready to catch us, console us, comfort us, and yes, draw us back into the relationship that will provide us with abundant life. 

This Psalm has quite a lot to tell us about abundant life, doesn’t it! In abundant life, there is satisfaction, contentment, safety and security. There is gracious space for restorative rest, even when the world would tell us our value is based on how much work we do. There is both assurance and trust that while we are not immune to dark valleys, God will nevertheless be present in them. And there is the relentless promise of God’s goodness and mercy, the wind at our back in all our endeavors. 

Jesus came that we may have this life, this abundant life. And he, “the Gate,” opens wide the door for us to enter freely into it. 

Let us pray… Good Shepherd, Gracious Gate, call us persistently into the abundant life you offer, and give us ears to hear your voice. Grant us contentment, restorative rest, trust and assurance, even in dark valleys, and most of all the awareness of your goodness and mercy in all our endeavors. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE.