Sermon: Feeding each other (July 28, 2024)

 Note: I preached most of this without manuscript, but this is roughly what I said.

Pentecost 10B
July 28, 2024
John 6:1-21

INTRODUCTION

            The past six weeks we have been hearing from Mark’s Gospel. Today we will turn to John’s Gospel for a few weeks, as we “feast” upon the “bread of life” discourse. Today we’ll hear about two “signs” (that’s what John calls Jesus’ miracles) – the feeding of the 5000, and Jesus walking on water. And over the next few weeks we’ll get into the discourse that always follows a sign in John, which will explain why the sign matters. In both of the signs and in today’s other readings, we will see a few characteristics of God become apparent: God is in relationship with us, God is an abundant provider, and God is life.

One other thing to listen for that might not be obvious in this translation: another feature of John’s Gospel is that Jesus identifies himself throughout as I AM. Do you remember where else we have heard that name, “I AM”? Moses at the burning bush – when God tells Moses that God’s name is, “I AM who I AM.” In coming weeks, Jesus will identify himself as, “I am the bread of life.” But he also identifies himself as I AM today, when he approaches the disciples on the boat. The rendering in English is, “It is I,” but the word is the same: he is identifying himself as God. 

            In the following weeks, we will hear a lot of theological explanation, but today’s readings are more about experience. So, enter into that experience as best you can, considering how your different senses would encounter it. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Me with my two campers

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

I just had the pleasure of spending the last week with two of our confirmands, Noah and Nate, at Lake Chautauqua Lutheran Center (LCLC) for confirmation camp. It was a week full of traditional camp activities, but also worship, Bible study, prayer, and singing. If I may boast about them for a moment, the pastors who were there leading Bible study told me that both of our kids were really stars: eager to volunteer for things, to answer questions, and just to engage fully in what they were doing. (Made my pastor heart proud!) Both of them told me, halfway through the week, “I’m definitely coming back next year!” It made me really happy that this same week, we sent a check to LCLC out of the Keymel Estate gift, a part of our tithe, in the amount of $32,000. I got to see firsthand the impact that this gift will have, even on our own kids. 

Normally, I have attended confirmation camp as “faculty,” meaning, I have taught one of the daily morning Bible studies. But this year, for the first time, I went as one of the chaplains. That means that every day of the week, my co-chaplain and I planned and led a short morning prayer service and a full evening worship service. I also led the music for those services, with my trusty ukulele. That is 10 services in one week, my friends! Some were mostly planned or conceived before we got there, but not all of them. And I preached or offered reflections for five of the services. It sounds like a lot (and it was), but there is something about camp worship and camp preaching that is different from normal preaching. It is purer, somehow, and less heady: a dynamic Bible story, a personal story with a meaningful real-life application, perhaps a few corny jokes, and done. Short, sweet, relatable, and to the point. So, I thought that today, with these stories, two of the most dynamic in scripture, I would offer you a camp-style sermon. Hold on, let me get into camp mode… [leave pulpit]

One of the less-than-ideal things about the way most of us consume scripture is that we hear scripture in worship in a sort of piecemeal way, a story at a time, and don’t always get the overall picture of the Jesus story, and especially not the overarching story of salvation history, the way God has acted toward and worked among humanity over the course of existence. But if you take a step back, you will see that this one story about God feeding hungry people is not an anomaly. In fact, the Bible is full of feeding stories. The one we heard a moment ago from 2 Kings was one. The story of the Israelites in the wilderness being fed by manna, bread from heaven, is another one. The Passover, which John mentions in our Gospel today, is yet another one. Looking forward, the last supper, which happens on Passover, is another one. And there are more!

Point is: God is in the business of feeding people who are hungry – hungry in body, yes, but also hungry in spirit. Hungry for justice, or for love, or for connection, or for community. God feeds hungry people, again and again and again. 

But here is something I really appreciate about this feeding story in particular. In this story, God (Jesus) doesn’t act alone. He certainly could have. John tells us that Jesus already knew what he was going to do, and certainly the dude who goes on from here to casually walk across the lake in the middle of a storm to meet his friends on the boat is perfectly capable of feeding the whole crowd singlehandedly. But he doesn’t. Instead, he calls upon the community.

First, he asks the disciples. They have a few feeble ideas. One of them is to bring in a little boy, whose mother had no doubt lovingly packed him a lunch of loaves and fishes for the day. The boy’s generosity inspires others – rather than being greedy, people all join in sharing, passing the baskets all around, until everyone has what they need, and even more. In this remarkable story, not only does God feed the people, but God involves the all-ages community into the effort.

This sort of miracle is what we saw at camp all week. We saw campers take turns cleaning up the dining hall after meals. We saw them cheer each other on as they climbed the climbing wall, and competed in the LCLC Olympics. They offered gentle advice to each other, and comfort, and laughter. They cared for each other. The campers checked in on each other. That camp community that forms over the week is such a beautiful thing to watch.

One of my favorite parts of camp this year, was that we had a little visitor all week: 4-year-old Tony, who was the son of the sailing instructor. He tagged along with his mom all over camp. At the boat house, he shared his own wisdom about the boats he’d grown up around. At the fiesta tent, the central meeting point of camp, he could often be found playing Star Wars games with the boys cabin, felling them using the force or his imaginary light saber. Perhaps my favorite was that Tony would suggest programing for campers or faculty, and it happened! The faculty held an excellent campfire one night, at Tony’s suggestion. 

So throughout the week, we were learning from a 4-year-old, and from 60-something-year-old pastors, and from 12-year-old campers, and teenage counselors. My friends, we were feeding each other all week. We fed each other literally in some cases, but we also fed each other’s spirits, laughing together, crying together, hugging each other, singing together, playing Floor is Lava and Star Wars and Gaga Ball together, praying together. It was a truly beautiful community, one that embodied God’s vision for the Church on earth, one that Jesus brought about and demonstrated that day in a deserted place, when he drew upon the community to feed one another.

On the last day of camp, we heard the story of Jesus walking on water – not the version we heard a moment ago, but the version from Matthew, in which Peter actually gets out of the boat and, purely on faith, walks toward Jesus on the water. At our closing worship, we talked about how after this marvelous week of feeding each other in this cloistered community, we were all getting out of the boat, heading out into rougher waters where it isn’t always as easy to live into that community-of-care that we had developed at camp. But throughout the week, our theme verse was, “When you walk through the waters, God is with you.” And that is true also for us. It can be difficult to feed one another, especially when we encounter a lot of people who drive us bananas, or who don’t share our beliefs, or who hurt us. But God is about feeding people. And we are about being God’s people, a part of God’s mission. And God is with us as we strive to be Christ’s body, God’s people, here in this world that is hungry for the good news of God’s love.

Let us pray… Gracious God, we are hungry, for so many things. Feed us, we pray. And not just that, but help us to feed one another. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE.

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Full service can be viewed HERE.

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us pray… God of life, we look to the world to feed our hungry souls, and it so often fails to deliver. But you don’t. Guide us by your Word out of the way of sin, and into the light of your glory. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

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

Pentecost 7B

July 7, 2024

2 Corinthians 12:2-10

Mark 6:1-13

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

View the full sermon and service HERE. 

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

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

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

[READ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

View whole service HERE.