Sermon: Not from this world (Nov. 22, 2015, Christ the King)

Christ the King B

November 22, 2015

John 18:33-38

Grace to you and peace from the one who is, and who was, and who is to come. Amen.

            I am not from Rochester. If I were from Rochester, then I would say “EL-ementary school”

instead of eleMENt’ry school, and I might actually like garbage plates. But as it is, I am not from here.

            I am from Northern California. So much of who am and what I’m interested in results in my being from a small town in Northern California: I’ve been recycling and turning off lights my whole life, shopping at local establishments was a given because for the most part, it was the only option, and almost everything I do, I consider how it will affect the environment, and look for the most natural, healthy, earth-safe route possible. Because I’m from Northern California, I will always be a little bit of a crunchy, earthy hippie.

            I don’t need to tell you: where you’re from plays a huge role in forming who you are, what you value, and how you behave in the world. And so it is significant when Pilate asks if Jesus is the King of the Jews, that Jesus responds, “My kingdom is not from this world.” In telling Pilate that he is from a place that is not this world, he is also telling Pilate that his behavior is going to be something other than that of this world. As Jesus says, if he was from this world, his followers would be fighting for him, and he likely would be putting up a violent fight as well. In case you didn’t catch it, this scene is a part of Jesus’ trial, right before he is to be put to death. If ever there was a time to use violence and put up a fight, this is it!

            And yet, Jesus and his kingdom are not from this world. And so he doesn’t put up a fight, and neither do his followers. All the way to the end, Jesus lives a life that is characteristic of the home from which he comes: he lives a life with peace as its final goal, and a life of obedience to the Father, and a life of self-sacrificial love.

            Jesus’ unwillingness to resort to the violence of this world is at once a gracious and a difficult word to hear, especially after yet another brutal terrorist attack on a country similar in culture to our own. When we see violence, it is hard not to want to respond with violence – and maybe, in some cases, this would be the most effective way to, finally, put an end to this sort of violence. (I wish I

knew!) And yet, if Jesus comes from a kingdom that does not fight, that instead embraces love and peace, then can violence, in fact, bring any sort of peace into this world? As a well-loved Martin Luther King, Jr. quote says, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

            Well, I’m not really equipped to say how we can defeat ISIS or eliminate any number of other horrific tragedies of our world. But I can speak a little bit, on this Christ the King Sunday, about how we can work toward that kingdom of love and peace over which Christ rules, in our more immediate context. Or rather, I can let you speak to it. As you may know, this past week, on November 20, we had the 5^th anniversary of signing the covenant that brought these two churches together. So I went back this week and read that document again. I was not yet here when it was created; calling me as your pastor was the first major action that Bethlehem and St. Martin took together as a covenanted congregation. In fact, I read that document as a part of the paperwork that was given to me as I discerned whether I’d like to serve as your pastor. I felt then and still feel today that this covenant is a beautiful description of the kingdom from which Jesus comes, the one he refers to in our Gospel reading today. It was clear to me as I read it the amount of self-awareness and humility that went into it, and how the end goal was not only to seek to be part of God’s peaceable kingdom in this small way, but also to become something bigger and better by being Christ’s body, Christ’s Church, Christ’s kingdom, together. So rather than me standing up here and trying to articulate what Christ’s kingdom might look like here on earth, I’m going to let you describe it, by reading the words that you signed onto five years ago. As I read this, consider whether you feel you have upheld this covenant, as an individual and as a congregation:

            “Believing that God has called our two churches together to common purpose and ministry to the people of the Webster-Penfield area and beyond, we, the congregations of Bethlehem Lutheran Church of Penfield and St. Martin Evangelical Lutheran Church, brothers and sisters to one another and of one Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, covenant and commit ourselves to work together, while honoring and retaining our unique identities and heritage:

            + to build a stronger, more vital community of faithful and joyful disciples of Jesus through our congregations;

            + to actively and publicly witness to God’s love in Jesus;

            + to serve with and for others in the wider community, seeking the common good, letting Christ’s light shine in and through us together, that others may see and join us in giving glory and praise to God.

            And to these ends, we covenant and commit ourselves

            + to pray for each other and our shared and unique ministries;

            + to learn together;

            + to worship together;

            + to play and build relationships with each other;

            + to listen to each other’s concerns, fears, hopes, and dreams;

            + to encourage, inspire, and help one another in discovering, using, and sharing our unique gifts for the ministry of both congregations;

            + to share ideas, ministries, and resources of people, time, facilities, and wealth for outreach with God’s love to the community and beyond;

            + to develop new shared ministries together;

            + to develop and support shared structures and staff to support this;

            + to be open to change;

            + to be flexible with ourselves and one another;

            + to be patient, kind, and gentle with ourselves and with each other;

            + to confess faults and to forgive;

            + to share burdens and disappointments;

            + to be willing to fail, as we try new things; and

            + to celebrate together successes and joys, both shared and individual.

That, my brothers and sisters in Christ, is what the kingdom of God looks like. That is what it looks like when Christ is indeed our king. It is what you describe, how you hope to treat one another here in this congregation and in our partner congregation. I believe that is also how you hope to treat one another in the world. And when we do that, I do believe that we bring a part of Christ’s kingdom here to earth.

In praise and thanksgiving for the work that has already been done toward becoming Christ’s kingdom, and in the hope of the work yet to be done, let us pray… Christ, our King, your kingdom is not of this world, but we do pray that your kingdom might become more apparent in this world, and that you would use us to make that happen. We give you thanks for our covenant with St. Martin/Bethlehem, that it gives us one way to live out your kingdom on a regular basis, and ask that you continue to strengthen that relationship and show us new and exciting ways that it might be used to serve you. All this we pray in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Beginning of the birth pangs (Nov. 15, 2015)

Pentecost 25B

November 15, 2015

Mark 13:1-8

            If you have been on social media or watched the news in the last week or so, then perhaps you are aware that the alleged “war on Christmas” has already begun, in the form of Starbucks coming out with plain red holiday cups instead of cups covered in snowflakes and reindeer. Spurred by one internet personality, a few people have latched onto this critique of Starbucks, and headlines have come out saying, “Some Christians believe Starbucks hates Jesus,” because their cups no longer have wintery, Christmasy pictures on them. Now, last I checked, snowflakes on coffee cups do not Christmas make, nor do reindeer or holly have anything to do with the coming Christ-child, and I think most people, Christian or not, recognize this. Still, it has been interesting to watch social media explode with strong, emotional reactions to this silliness.

This was my favorite response!

            What was so intriguing about the outrage was that, by and large, not very many people are actually worried about the cups themselves, but everyone seems to be interested in reacting to it, because, well, people love a good controversy. To achieve such a good controversy, things are often blown out of proportion – we see this every year when there is a “war” on Christmas. Suddenly, Starbucks’ well-intentioned attempt to offer a simple red canvas on which people can imagine whatever holiday spirit floats their boat becomes a huge ordeal in which the world as we know it is coming to an end.

            I have to wonder, as ridiculous things like this periodically take over news outlets, if the reason people fan the flames on contrived controversy is that it allows us to focus our attention and get out our emotions on something that doesn’t really matter, so that we don’t have to face what is truly troubling our hearts, whether it is deeply personal struggles, or large scale tragedies such as what happened in Paris this week, that make the world just seem so very chaotic. Claiming that Starbucks “hates Jesus” allows us to deny our fears that the Church is no longer a centerpiece of everyone’s life. Declaring a “war on Christmas” is less about coffee cups and more about feeling helpless in the face of legitimate world conflict. We do this even in the mundane ways of our daily lives – a wife may blow up at her husband about how he never puts his socks away, when her real concern is that she feels she’s lost control or her life, and this is one piece that can be tended to. Whether big ways or mundane, people naturally look for some outlet for their deepest emotions, because it is how we manage to make sense of the chaos around us.

            Apocalyptic literature is sort of like that, too. Apocalyptic literature is the category that our reading this morning from Mark falls into. We usually think of this biblical genre as being about how

Destruction of the Jerusalem Temple

the world will end, and generations of Christians have looked at passages like Mark 13 and tried to use them to predict when the world will end and how, but that isn’t really the intention of these writings. They are not some code to break. Really, apocalyptic writings are often an attempt to make sense of the current struggle, chaos, and emotion of our lives.

In the case of Mark 13, it is an answer to the particular struggles faced by the community for which Mark wrote. The Gospel of Mark is supposed to have been written shortly after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in the year 70. So Mark’s community is reeling after that siege and the devastation it left in its wake. Furthermore, they had expected, after the resurrection and ascension, that Jesus would return right away, and yet 40 years have passed since Jesus’ ascension and still nothing. They are losing hope. Their trusted leaders, like Peter and Paul, have, for the most part, died. Other teachers have come, claiming a greater truth and trying to draw these Christians away from Christ toward something they claimed was better, and in the midst of their confusion and lacking hope, it is hard not to be drawn toward them.

Their struggles are not unlike our own, in many ways. Their religious bedrock has been shaken – we, too, sometimes experience a crisis of faith. They expected Jesus to return immediately, but he hasn’t – they feel let down by hopes not fulfilled, something we have all experienced. They lack the guidance they need. They feel drawn toward things that can offer satisfaction, a fix, right now – they’d rather that than keep waiting around for something that doesn’t seem to be delivering in a timely manner. This community’s struggles are our struggles.

With all that in mind, Jesus’ words to the disciples in Mark 13 make perfect sense. They are not so much predictions as reflections on the current reality of the community for whom this Gospel was written. With this writing, that community can say, “Look, Jesus pointed to these things. As devastating as our situation seems right now, we can see that our struggles are a part of a bigger picture.” Now, was that a comfort to them? From our vantage point, it’s hard to say. Jesus’ words in this passage sound so doom and gloom, so hopeless, that it’s hard to imagine that they would hear much good news in them. Jesus even goes so far as to say that all the pain, fear, confusion and frustration that they feel is only the beginning: “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

            Ah, but see, I think that is where the good news lies: in relating these current struggles to

those of birth pangs. Maybe it’s because that metaphor suddenly has a very real meaning to me, but viewing the struggles of our lives as birth pangs is laden with good news and potential. Every biological mother has a special birth story to share – sometimes shared with joy, sometimes with pain. In my birth story, I had to wait a long time for it start, two weeks longer than planned. When the labor pains started, they were mostly a discomfort. They woke me from sleep. Of course they got progressively more than a discomfort, and became full on pain. Of course there were brief respites between contractions, at least at first. But as labor progressed, there were no respites. Contractions were rapid fire with hardly a break from the pain between. At the height of the pain, shortly before Grace came out, I finally yelled into my pillow, “I can’t do this!” Yes, that, too, is a part of labor pains, literally and metaphorically. The self-doubt. The readiness to give up. The terrifying realization that there is no way out of this except to first endure more pain. Is that how Jesus’ disciples felt? Is that what Jesus was saying to his disciples? “You think the pain is bad now? You think your struggles now are difficult? Just wait. This will get worse before it gets better.”

            But of course, what comes at the end of all that pain? New life. One of my pastor friends said to me on the day that Michael and I went to the hospital to induce labor that childbirth was one of the most profound experiences of death and resurrection she had ever had. “It is pain with a purpose,” she said. “And at the end, you have this new and abundant life.” I have not forgotten that, and that is why I view Jesus’ words here as good news. “This is but the beginning of the birth pains.” It will get worse before it gets better. The struggles you face now are real, and they are difficult, and there is no easy way out. This feels especially true as we grieve with the world community about attacks and injustices and poverty and too many other tragedies, just as it may feel especially true in your own life as you manage broken relationships, painful memories, and difficult emotional processing. But our faith shows us that these pains are, in the end, birth pangs, and at the other end, God will show you new and abundant life. What that new life looks like, we cannot know – I am sensitive to the fact that not all birth pangs lead to a live birth. Sometimes they lead to a stillbirth, or a miscarriage, and the pain only continues to get worse. But our faith still promises us that eventually, life will come, however that may look. That’s what was promised to us by Christ’s own pain, struggles, death, and ultimate resurrection: that God will always take the pain we face and someday, somehow, turn it into newness of life.

            Let us pray… God of endings and beginnings and everything in between, we sometimes face struggles in which there seems to no end in sight. Give us the courage to be steadfast, to keep our eye on you, and to trust that you will always bring life out of death. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Stewardship, or not? (Nov. 8, 2015)

Pentecost 24B

November 8, 2015

Mark 12:38-44

            One of the valuable things I did when I was in seminary was attend a couple readers workshops, short classes on how to read scripture effectively in worship. I remember the woman leading the workshop demonstrating three different ways to read the resurrection story from Mark. All three were carefully prepared and well done, but the style of her reading was completely different. With each new style, we experienced the story completely differently. It really showed me how the person who stands up here to read the lessons is not just filling a role; each choice that person makes about how to read the scripture serves as an interpretation of scripture. Since the Bible rarely includes descriptions of the tone with which people say things, how the reader decides to inflect dialogue is all we have to go on.

            Today’s Gospel lesson is a perfect example of how the way you interpret Jesus’ inflection makes all the difference in how the listeners understand the story. Let me show you…

            [First read text with appreciation in Jesus’ tone]

‘A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. ⁴³Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than
all those who are contributing to the treasury. ⁴⁴For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”’

[Reflect on that with people, how we like this interpretation, and it is an especially helpful one for stewardship season.]

            Ok, now listen to it again with a different intonation... [Read the text with tone of condemnation that widow is caught in this abusive system.] What do you hear this time? How does Jesus sound this time? [wait for responses]

            So, which tone do you think Jesus really used? […] It’s hard to know just from looking at this one little snippet. From just these few sentences, I am inclined toward the first, because it is much nicer. Who doesn’t love Jesus’ affirmation of an inspiring model of faith?

But honestly, I’m having trouble getting on board with that interpretation. First of all, nowhere in this text does Jesus actually commend the woman – he merely points her out. Then, there’s the placement of the story: if we look at where this “inspiring” story appears in Mark, we see that Jesus has just been harshly criticizing the Temple. Directly before observing the widow, Jesus has denounced the scribes, pointing out their pretentious ways. In fact, in that condemnation, Jesus has talked about the scribes “devouring widows’ houses,” in other words, hungrily taking advantage of these vulnerable members of society by demanding they give what ends up being their whole livelihood. Mark is such a careful writer, always placing stories beside each other very intentionally to bring out a larger meaning, so it is safe to assume that here is no exception. Jesus talks about

Replica of the widow's copper coins

scribes taking advantage of widows, and then points to such a widow to prove his point.

Then, directly following this, Jesus foretells the complete destruction of the Temple – the building as well as the corrupt system. Even though the Temple is the place of worship, it is also the economic center of Jerusalem, where taxes are paid and currency exchanged, and Jesus is clearly unhappy with the way it is functioning, and the abuses people experience there. Essentially, the way it functioned, the rich and powerful ended up with more money, and this was on the backs of the poor. This led that same ruling class to see themselves as assets to society, and the poor – like the widow – as burdens on society. And so, the rich get richer and the poor get taken advantage of. It is indeed a corrupt system, and our dear, generous widow is a victim of it. Here she comes to give her very last penny, so that the scribes can wear their long robes and go to parties. The scribes do indeed “devour widow’s houses.”

            Okay, so… with apologies to the stewardship committee, maybe this story isn’t so much about a faithful steward. What are we to do, then, with a story about abuse of the poor and vulnerable? What does this mean for us? Well, first of all, we can recognize that this Jesus, this one who condemns poor treatment of the vulnerable, is actually truer to the Jesus we see elsewhere in the Bible, not to mention the witness we see throughout scripture. The Bible is replete with the command to care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the alien. Old and New Testament alike, this is a clear mandate of the life of faith.

But in this story about the self-sacrificing widow, the need to notice the poverty among us is brought even more to the forefront. As I said, it’s no accident that this beloved story appears directly following Jesus’ condemnation of the corruption of the Temple. First he points out how flauntingly the rich behave. Then he sits back, and he watches. He simply takes in the scene, watching some put in large sums, watching the long robes of the scribes. And then he sees the widow. Probably no one else noticed her – widows were not really the type to be noticed. After all, it was believed she had nothing to offer society, certainly nothing like the scribes had. But Jesus notices her. He watches her offer her two coins. And he points her out to the disciples. “Do you see her?” he asks. “Do you see

how she already has so little, and this corrupt system is taking even that? Do you see the poor and vulnerable right here in your midst? Did you even notice?”

As he points to the vulnerable in his midst, he invites us to take a look around, and notice the poor and vulnerable in our midst. It is convicting. When Jesus invites us to notice those around us in need, he calls us out of our comfort zone, out of our comfortable lives and into lives that are lived for others. He doesn’t do this to accuse us. He does it because he loves us, loves us enough to not want us to keep our blinders on, and instead to point us toward change. He doesn’t want us to continue participating in a system that does not care for the proverbial widow and other vulnerable members of society. When Jesus notices that widow and invites us to notice her, he calls us also to do something about it, perhaps, even, to change the system that causes her oppression.

We have many means by which to change such a system. One of them many of us exercised this past week, and that is to vote people into office who will care for the well-being even of the poor, who will see each and every person, regardless of socioeconomic status, race, gender… not as a burden, but as someone who has something to offer this world. Once people are elected, another way we can prevent corruption is to talk to those people we elected, tell them that poor people matter to us. Another way to avoid participation in a system like the one described in our Gospel today is to build relationships. Before making an assumption about a person, or applying a stereotype to them, have a conversation with them. Hear their story. Learn about their gifts and dreams. All of us are beloved children of God.

There’s no part of the gospel that says, “Earn your keep, then sit back and enjoy.” And so Jesus won’t let us stay there, comfortable as it may be. Immediately following this encounter with the poor widow, Jesus also gives all he has, his whole life, for the sake of the corrupt world. He goes to the cross so that we would have life. And now the question becomes, how do we use that life? Heh, it turns out this is a stewardship tale, after all. In gratitude for what Christ has done for us, how can we use this life to care for those around us, both friends and strangers alike? How will we be good stewards of the comfort God has graced us with?

Let us pray… God of the weak and vulnerable, you point us toward the poorest among us. Help us to see those around us who are in need. Help us to see them as unique and wonderful gifts, and as your children, that together we might grow closer to you. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Welcome Grace Victoria, Child of God

October 11 was my beautiful daughter's baptism day! And what a day full of joy it was. I love doing baptisms - it is definitely one of the best things about being a pastor - but this very special baptism I passed on to my dad to do. I was baptized by my grandpa (mom's dad) 32 years ago, and have always wanted my kids' grandpa to baptize them. And so it was. Dad preached and presided, mom sang a beautiful setting of William Blake's The Lamb, we had all the grandparents in town plus Grace's godparents, Will and Becca, and Michael's dear friend Stephen (who took tons of pictures for us!), and both of my congregations got a piece of the celebration pie, because the baptism was at Bethlehem and we had a lovely reception at St. Martin following it. It was a gorgeous day outside, and I truly couldn't have asked for more. I will include some pictures below.

Of course, even though I tried just to be Mom for this event, I couldn't help but see the event as an occasion for spiritual reflection. Below is something slightly adapted from my November newsletter article:

One question I as a pastor am often asked about baptism is, “Why do Lutherans baptize babies?” Wouldn’t it make more sense, some think, to wait until the child can decide for herself whether she wants to be baptized? Shouldn’t he have the opportunity to answer those important questions for himself?

All thoughtful and well-meaning questions – that is, if we consider baptism to be a work of ours. If baptism were something we do, well, then of course it should be our decision, and we should be equipped to declare our faith before we get the Holy Spirit descending upon us, the forgiveness of sins, and the promise of eternal life in response.

But it is not our work. It is wholly God’s gift, God’s work, not based one iota on our work or abilities. It is God’s gift of grace for us. My grandpa (the very same who baptized me) liked to answer the question about infant baptism by saying simply, "Who better to receive that gift than a child?" Adults? We overthink things. But a child - a child is only equipped to receive.

My grandpa's words came to mind as I watched my little girl receive this gift. Here was a small child who cannot feed herself, clean herself, dress herself, or even express her needs any more articulately than to cry. I joyfully care for her and provide for her needs in any way I can, not because of something she has done to deserve it, or even because she has asked for it, but because I love her with all my being. She receives that gift of love and care because she has no choice not to. 

On the day of her baptism, Grace Victoria showed me what it means to receive from God the gift of love and life with no pretense. Just as she receives all she needs as gifts given purely out of love, she received on that day the gift of the Holy Spirit, the forgiveness of sins, and life everlasting with an entirely open heart. Indeed, she had no choice not to. Would that we all receive God’s gifts so graciously!

Grace, her parents, and her grandparents

This gown was made for my Grandpa Dick (who baptized me) in 1917.
It was worn my my mom and all her siblings, my brother, me, and my niece.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."
(Grace was also wrapped in her daddy's baptismal blanket.)

Parents and godparents - Becca Ehrlich and Will Platnick

Singing to Grace to calm her down!

Joy!