Sermon: "Telling the Truth Twice" (Law and Gospel) (Oct. 8, 2017)

Pentecost 18A – Reformation Series

“Telling the Truth Twice” – Law and Gospel

October 8, 2017

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20; Psalm 19; Romans 7:7-13; Luke 4:14-21

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

            Like last week, I want to start out with a question, this time, association style: What comes to your mind when I say “law”? [wait for answers]

            This week the topic of laws seems to be pretty emotional, as we find ourselves in the aftermath of yet another horrific mass shooting in Las Vegas, with 59 dead and over 500 wounded. Naturally, the topic of “gun laws” has come up, and with it, a slew of emotions on both sides of the issue. Gun laws would keep people safer. Gun laws would infringe upon my rights. Gun laws don’t even work, so what’s the point? Gun laws do work, and this study proves it. In this case, the concept of “law” is for some a good thing that would improve safety, and for others, a bad thing that would take away rights. Oh, is it complicated!

            But we can come back to that. Right now, I want to talk to you about how Luther understood Law, specifically God’s Law, and its relationship to Gospel, because for Luther, Law and Gospel must go together. When we think of God’s

Law, we think of what? The 10 Commandments. Why did God give Moses the 10 Commandments? It was not to keep the Israelites under God’s thumb, or limit how much fun they could have. God gave them out of love – to show the Israelites what love of God and love of neighbor look like. So that’s what Luther says about the Law: the law shows us how to behave as loving, godly people.

            But, Luther goes on, the Law does not actually give us the power to do it. And so, the Law also convicts us, showing us our sin, showing us the many ways we fall short. This is why Luther, when he wrote his Small Catechism, put the 10 Commandments first: because he intended for them to be a tool for Christians to aid in their confession of sins, a practice Luther saw as central to the Christian life. Now, if you’re like me, you look at the 10 Commandments and think you do pretty okay at keeping them. I’m not a murderer, I’m not an adulterer, I don’t steal, etc. But confessing using Luther’s explanations? That gets me every time. Because Luther doesn’t leave it at, “You shall not take the physical life of another person.” In fact he doesn’t even mention that. He says, “We should neither endanger nor harm the lives of our neighbors… but instead, help and support them in all of life’s needs.” Oh, it is always in the “instead” part where I get caught! I mean, I try to be helpful, how many times have I said, “No, I can’t help you” when someone asks for money? How many decisions have I made – or not made – that may not harmed someone directly, but allowed for them to be harmed? How many times have I seen a situation in which I knew I could help, but have been apathetic? Too many to count. And so here, the law convicts me. It shows me how God wants me to behave, but does not give me the power to do it. And so it shows me my sin.

            But this is where the Gospel comes in. Law shows us our sin… and in so doing, drives us to the Gospel, which says, “My child, I love you, and you are forgiven.” And because we have been faced with our shortcomings and sins, the Gospel suddenly becomes more than just a thing we hear on Sunday. It becomes life giving. It becomes a way out of despair. It becomes a lifeline – for without it, we would be forever stuck in our sin. Without the Law, what is even the point of the Gospel? Without the Law, the Gospel is a very nice story, something to make us feel good, but it is not something on which our very lives depend. It’s not something that refreshes and restores us.

            If you come to church often and listen carefully to my sermons, or really to most Lutheran preacher’s sermons, you will likely hear this same Law to Gospel trajectory. The sermon may start out with a nice story or joke, but it is a lead in to talk about how broken we are, how in need of a savior the world is. Once we have realized our need for Jesus, then the sermon gives you Jesus: the promise of love, and grace, and forgiveness, and life everlasting. This is how they teach preaching in Lutheran seminaries, because this is how Luther always interpreted the Bible – first through the lens of Law, and then through the lens of Gospel – because the message of the Gospel means more to us if we first realize our need for it. Make sense?

            So with all that mind, I want to look with you at our Gospel lesson today through the Lutheran lens of Law and Gospel. First, some context: this is Jesus’ first public appearance, his first sermon. It sets the tone for his ministry. And he preaches on Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And then, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” At first glance, this all seems like Gospel to me – this is great news, because we know that these are all the things Jesus came to do! Yay! But please resist jumping right to the Gospel. Dwell first in the Law, in the part that shows us how to live, but does not give us the power to do it, and so we fall short. Think of it the way Luther treats the 10 Commandments, as a tool to help you see your own sin. Or, the analogy I like to use for the Law: look at it as a mirror that helps you see the gunk you have in your teeth, so you can work on picking it out. Take a minute to look at the text yourself and try to see: where do you feel convicted by this text?

I’ll be honest: I feel very convicted by several parts of this text. But I’m going to focus on this line: “he has sent me to proclaim… recovery of sight to the blind.” The reason I’m drawn there is that this week, in the aftermath of this latest

shooting, blindness has been very much on my mind – not the literal sort, but the spiritual and emotional sort. Against my better judgment, I engaged in a thread on social media started by someone I know to be of a different mind from me in the gun debate. She was lamenting that the conversation had so quickly moved to gun control, when we should just be focused on grieving. I get that – a lot of folks feel that way. The comments she heard from gun control advocates, she said, were filled with hate that they couldn’t even see. In my comment, I suggested that those responding with a desire for gun control might, actually, be responding out of love, not hate, out of a desire that we do something, and soon, that would help prevent this from happening again. At least that was the case for the gun control advocates I know. Well, long story short… my point was not well taken, this person’s family and friends and I did not see eye-to-eye, and I got an earful about it.

            But as the conversation went on, I noticed how often someone said something like, “You can’t even see…” or, “How can you not see?” or, “Don’t you realize?” And that’s really the problem, right? With the gun debate and with so many other things. We can’t see. We can see our view, and all its merits, but it is very hard to really see and try to understand the other side. We don’t want to hear it, we don’t believe it, we think it is off-base and maybe even harmful… and our tunnel vision closes in and slowly but surely we find ourselves turned completely in on ourselves. Not surprisingly, this is Luther’s definition of sin: to be turned in on yourself. To be completely blind to the needs and views around you. To be self-focused, to the point that you miss the opportunity to genuinely connect with another human being, another child of God. And so, here I stand, convicted. I have many blind spots, and maybe I try to educate myself so I can assuage my guilt about that, but the reality is that sometimes I don’t know they are there, and sometimes I do know and I just don’t care.

            And this is when the Gospel comes in. The Law shows us our sin… and the Gospel forgives. The Law shows us how to behave but doesn’t give us the power to do it… and the Gospel says, “I love you anyway, and I forgive you, and I am drawing you into something better.” The Law shows us the gunk in our teeth, and the Gospel provides a toothpick. The Law says, “Johanna, you have some blind spots – points of view you don’t want to consider, people you don’t want to acknowledge, and a touch of self-righteousness,” and the Gospel says, “I was sent to proclaim recovery of sight for the blind, and that includes you.” The Gospel gives me the strength and the willingness to hear that message, to open my eyes and see things – some things I don’t want to see, and some things that will bring me life I could not otherwise have known. The Law convicts me, and the Gospel says, “Johanna, beloved child of God, I forgive you.” And that is a message I want and need to hear. Every day.

            What do the Law and the Gospel of God's Word say to you this day?

            Let us pray… Gracious God, your Word tells us the truth twice, first showing us our need for a savior, and then giving us that savior. Thank you for your Law, so that we can see our own sin, and thank you for your Gospel, so that we would never be stuck there. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

10 months of laughter

October 6, 2017

Dear Isaac Karl,

I cannot believe it has already been 10 months since you made your entrance into this world! When I look at you, it is hard to believe there was ever a time when I “wasn’t ready for another baby.” I cannot imagine life without you, my dear, sweet son.

You continue to be defined by your happy and easy-going nature. Your laugh is about my favorite sound in the world. Your smile makes my heart do a flip-flop. I’m so in love! I gaze at

you and am just filled with pride that you are my son. I think, “That beautiful boy! He is mine!”

First haircut

At 10 months, you are gaining (or trying to gain) more control over your world, even as you are starting to find some frustration in it not always going the way you’d like. You are an excellent crawler, now on all fours instead of Army style. This makes you happy, but not as happy as being able to keep up with Grace on two feet would. (But you are pulling yourself up and cruising on furniture now, so walking isn’t far away!) With your mobility comes a dislike of being made to stay still. This is especially true during diaper changes, which, I have to be honest kid, are not fun with you. You do not like to be still on your back! You are always squirming and rolling and crawling away, and getting really mad at us when we pin you down. We used to be able to distract you with books or toys, but now you’ll have none of it. You want to explore the world!

You are eating us out of house and home. Generally, we all eat our dinners… and then we scrape whatever anyone else didn’t eat onto your plate and let you finish that, too. I love a kid with a healthy appetite! You won’t eat just anything – you have standards – but almost, and what you do eat, you eat a lot of it.

You are sleeping really well (with some exceptions!). Though you don’t sleep through every

night, you usually sleep at least 8 if not 10 or 12 hours straight, and when you wake up in the middle of the night to eat, you go right back to sleep. Thanks for this, son. We really, really appreciate it. More 12 hours nights would be even better!

You are saying things that sound like words – especially “mama,” which you say more than “dada”! Thanks for that! You love to play with your sister. We joke that your favorite toy is whatever Grace is playing with. Another favorite toy of yours is the recycling bin. You’re interested in books in theory, but not really interested in sitting still for them. That’s okay, it’s kind of a 10mo MO. You like singing and clapping and dancing, so I try to give you lots of chances for this to happen. You relish in them all.

As happy as you are, we have noticed you’re a bit more sensitive than your sister, who rolls with the punches and hardly bats an eye. You, when you discern an injustice of some sort, take it very personally. Your face and cries seem to say, “I’m such a good guy most of the time – so why would this happen to me now??” As soon as we pick you up, all is well with the world again. You just really love to know that we care about your feelings. That’s okay, buddy. We all like to have our feelings validated.

Grace taking Isaac to daycare

You are very careful. Again, I know we shouldn’t compare our kids, but I’m going to – Grace is the sort to fearlessly jump in with both feet and see what happens. But you are more calculating. You want to test the waters. When I taught Grace to go down the stairs, it took one lesson before she was sliding all the way down backwards on her belly. You have taken a few months to learn this skill, and even now, though

you can get back down the stairs, you do it carefully, reaching with your foot to find one step at a time. But when you’ve completed the task before you, man, are you proud of yourself! What a grin that elicits! I love the care that you put into everything you do. You are a careful, determined, focused little guy – and these are wonderful skills to have!

I love every moment of who you are right now (except diaper changes – seriously, kid!), but I can’t wait to see what a beautiful, sensitive, thoughtful, determined, inquisitive, loving, caring person you turn into in the coming years. I love you, my Isaac Karl!

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                Mama

Sermon: "Church is Messy and Holy" (Oct. 1, 2017)

Pentecost 17A – Reformation Series Week 1

“Church is Messy and Holy” (The Church and the Christian Life)

October 1, 2017

Exodus 17:1-7; 1 Corinthians 12:12-27; Matthew 20:20-28

             Let me ask you: how would you define holy?

            I think this is a really hard question. I’ve tried to define it, in various settings, but I’ve never been entirely satisfied with the result. So, when I was putting together this October series focusing on a different Reformation theme each week leading up to the 500^th anniversary of the Reformation, and I decided that today’s theme would be, “Church is Messy and Holy,” I really had to think about it. Does anyone want to take a stab at it? What makes something “holy”?

            Okay, well then I’m going to put that part on hold for now, and focus instead of the first part of today’s theme: the Church is Messy. This is a reality of which we are all too familiar, even as we might try to deny it. I haven’t been a pastor for very long yet, but I’ll tell you, every time any conflict arises, or someone acts in a way someone else doesn’t like, I hear the same refrain: “Shouldn’t people who claim to be Christians act better than this?” It’s also a refrain I hear frequently from people outside the church, as a reason for them not to be involved: “Christians are hypocrites,” they say. “They claim to be all about love, but instead, they are mean and judgmental.”

People both in and out of the Church, it seems, have an expectation that when you are a part of the Church of Christ, you should have it together, be loving and kind, and never make a mistake.

It’s not a realistic expectation. God’s people were never perfect. Just look at today’s story from Exodus. This is a part of the 40 years in the wilderness narrative, which is characterized by God’s chosen people relentlessly grumbling and complaining, blaming Moses for their woes, and not appreciating the many ways that God provides. (I mean really, water out of a rock? That’s pretty cool!) But isn’t that just how people are, whether believers or not? We complain, we blame, we don’t examine our own hearts, we don’t take the time to be grateful, we miss God’s gracious love in our lives.

You could fast forward a few thousand years and see more of human nature in our Gospel reading: two men try to take a higher position than their cohorts, believing themselves to be better or more important. Don’t we always want to get ahead? My friends, all of this – the complaining, the blaming, the self-centeredness, the overlooking of God’s grace – all of it is human nature, and no church membership will take that away. And so, the Church, like all human institutions, is messy.

The Church is also messy because it is made up of people who are so different from each other. Often we lift up these differences as “gifts” – we all have different gifts to offer, and each of those gifts contributes to the body of Christ, like Paul writes in today’s lesson from Corinthians. It’s a lovely way to see it, and I believe it is true… but we also know that differences can be a real challenge. We have different life experiences, political persuasions, values, ages, incomes, needs – and all these differences can be the cause of any number of issues that arise between us. And yet, we still come here and join together as one Church. And sometimes, issues do indeed arise. And so, the Church is messy. In fact, sometimes, the Church – and the people in it – is more than messy. Sometimes, it is broken.

But this is where that second part comes back in: the Church is messy, but the Church is also holy. Or as Luther would say it, we are all sinners, but at the same time, we are also saints. So let me ask you again: having spent some time thinking about how messy the Church is, how would you define the Church also as holy?

Here’s an illustration: if you are on social media, you may have noticed that people don’t tend to post pictures of their worst moments, unless it is for comic effect. You would never publicly post about a fight you had with your spouse, or about your child’s bad day at school, or your financial problems. Instead, we post about the best moments, trying to give the world a sense not of our brokenness, but of our wholeness, right? Well, turns out, not always. There are some who push against this norm, and instead try to reframe the perceived imperfections of their lives. Like, posting a picture of their living room cluttered with toys and unfolded laundry, and the family sitting together and smiling on the couch with the caption, “Perfection.”

Perfection? I don’t know about that. That’s not typically how I describe my living room, anyway! But, I might call that holy. Because I think that holiness is when, into the brokenness of human life, there is also an in-breaking of love, and compassion, and bonding, and connection. It is when, even in places you might not think to look, God is present. And that is also something that happens – you guessed it – in the Church.

            You come to worship hopeless and dejected, but in the scripture that day you hear a word of hope. The sermon seems to have been written just for you, providing the salve you needed.

            Your friend is very sick, and feeling scared and losing hope that she will ever recover. You visit her, lift her spirits, and you hold hands and you pray together. As you finish the prayer, you see tears forming in your friend’s eyes, and you know that some level of healing has occurred.

            You watch the news in horror as you see places in this country devastated by hurricanes. You come together with fellow believers and put aside all your differences to work together to fill flood cleanup buckets and hygiene kits to help those in need.

            You limp forward to the altar – your bad hip is acting up again – and someone comes to hold your hand so you don’t fall. Side-by-side you receive the bread of life and the wine of salvation.

            You have behaved in a way of which you are not proud. You felt you were doing or saying the right thing at the time, but have come to realize your words and actions caused pain, not good. You come to worship and hear those words, “Your sins are forgiven in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” You are restored.

            All of these moments in the Church's life are holy. And each of them are what the Church is really about: it is about seeing and experiencing, in the midst of the inevitable messiness and brokenness of life, that God is indeed there, offering hope, forgiveness, healing, and life.

            Luther defines the Church as the place where the gospel is purely preached. The gospel is this: that you, in all your brokenness and messiness, are loved, forgiven, restored, and valued by a God who gave everything for your sake. I can certainly preach that message from the pulpit, and try to. But I think there is more to the Church than that. There is this wonderful quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi. He says, “Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” You see, preaching the gospel is not just something that happens in 10-12 minutes on a Sunday morning. The real preaching of the gospel happens in the movement of the Sprit in the believer’s heart, and the actions that spring out of that movement. The real preaching happens when we see what Jesus tells his disciples in today’s Gospel reading: “whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant,” he says, “and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” The real preaching happens when you fill those flood buckets this afternoon, or scrape paint off of a handicapped woman’s house, or when you pray with a friend in need, or when you put your own needs and well-being aside for the sake of someone less fortunate than you. That is the Church. That is the gospel being purely preached to the world. That is the oh-so-messy and broken, and yet still so holy, Church.

            Let us pray… Lord Christ, we give you thanks for the messiness of your Church, that it gives us a place to practice preaching and living out your gospel. And we give thanks for the holiness of your Church, that it is a place where we can come again and again to hear your life-giving word, receive the sacraments, and learn to live a life of servanthood. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: God's just (not fair) economy (Sept. 24, 2017)

Pentecost 16A

September 24, 2017

Matthew 20:1-16

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

            Someone once said, “Whenever Jesus told a parable, he lit a stick of dynamite and covered it with a story.” In other words, Jesus’ parables blow apart everything we think we understand about God and how the world works. That’s certainly true in the parable we just heard. Jesus even says as much in that last line he slips in there: “So the last will be first and the first will be last.” What Jesus has to say is going to turn everything you thought you knew completely on its head. So for example, this is a parable about economics, about a business owner and how he treats his workers. And by noticing how things get blown up and turned on their heads, we start to get a sense not of our own understanding of how the economy works, but of what God’s economics look like.

            There are several ways that this parable of the generous landowner blows our worldview to smithereens. The first is in the motive of the landowner. We in America are quite familiar and even comfortable with capitalism as our economic system. It makes sense, and for the most part, it works, because it motivates us to work hard and succeed. So if you are a business owner – or in this parable, a landowner – then you will strive to make shrewd business choices, because that benefits you. You will have only as many workers as you need in order to get the work done, and you will pay them what is hopefully a fair wage for the work they do so that they will be motivated to return to work day after day and be loyal to you. Capitalism is, in the end, centered around the needs of the business owners, the bosses, and in theory, when they benefit, so do the workers.

            But here’s the dynamite: this parable instead centers around the needs of the workers. Maybe you filled in the gaps in your mind as to why the landowner went out looking for more workers. I know I have always assumed it was because he needed more workers – why else would he go looking? But it doesn’t say that. It just says he went out and saw more people in need of work, and so offered them jobs. It says he asked them why they weren’t working, and when they said it was because no one had hired them, he gave them jobs. Several times during the day this happens – he keeps going out, not to satisfy his need for workers, but to satisfy the people’s need for work.

            So what does this show us about God’s economy? It shows us that faithful living is motivated by the needs of the less powerful. It shows us that in God’s economy, those who are powerful – the proverbial landowners – go out in search of those in need, listen to what those needs are, and satisfy them, even over and above their own needs. Of course, we understand in this parable that the landowner is an analogy for God – who we know will always seek us out and provide our needs. But this isn’t a bad thing to keep in mind when we find ourselves in the more powerful position as well.

            The second stick of dynamite hits in the motives of the workers. The first workers have a chance to bargain with the landowner, and to agree with him about what they will be paid: a denarius each, which is the going rate for a day’s labor. The next batch are told only that they will be paid “whatever is right.” Those hired toward the end of the day aren’t told how much they will be paid or even that they will be paid at all! The take the job simply on trust of the landowner, that they will be treated fairly.

            Would that trust be well-placed in today’s world, especially the agricultural world? Sometimes, sure. But by no means always. I was reading this week about the town of Immokalee, FL. Immokalee is where 1/3 of our tomatoes are grown (90% during the winter), where many of the tomatoes you would get on your sandwich at Subway or your burger at McDonald’s are grown. The town is almost entirely migrant workers. It is located in Collier County, which was one of the hardest hit areas in Irma’s path. You can imagine a town of migrant workers didn’t fare too well. I have been to

Tomato pickers in Immokalee, FL

Immokalee – Collier County is where I did my pastoral internship – so I was reading this week about how they are doing after the hurricane. And I was reminded about the horrific conditions under which those tomato pickers live. Twelve-hour days with no breaks for food or even drink. No tents for shade. And they get paid a whopping two pennies per pound of tomatoes picked (the same ones we pay $1-4 per pound for), and that pay hasn’t gone up in over 30 years. Would a worker in Immokalee blindly follow a landowner into the field, trusting that they will be paid fairly for their work? Doubtful. And this situation is unfortunately not unique to Immokalee. (Click here to learn what workers are doing about this!) 

            And yet in God’s economy, those in need can trust the landowner, because he is generous and just. We, the workers, can trust in God, the landowner, because we know that he will always provide us what we need, even when the rest of the world will not.

            The third stick of dynamite is for the economy of compensation, and this is the one that really gets our goat. The landowner pays in reverse order, first paying the workers who arrived last. To their surprise and delight, they are paid a full day’s wage, despite only working an hour! Surely the other workers seeing this are thinking, “Our lucky day! If those guys got paid a full day’s wage for only one hour, just think what we will be paid!” But then to their shock, they are paid exactly the same. And their gut reaction is the same as mine would be in that situation: “But that’s not fair! I worked hard all day, and in the scorching heat, by the way, so I should get paid more than that guy!” The landowner’s response, in essence is, “Who said I was in the business of fairness? I’m in the business of justice.” Didn’t he say as much with the second batch of workers, that he would pay them not what was fair, but what was right? And so he did – he paid them exactly what they needed: a full day’s wage.

            You see, God’s economy is not about being fair. Capitalism is fair: you work hard, and you get what you earn. And sure, it works… sometimes. It motivates hard work… sometimes. And then, sometimes the deck is stacked in such a way that the same hard work for one person only pays half or three quarters as much for another person. See, fairness gets murky really fast.

            But God’s justice goes beyond fairness. In God’s just economy, people get what they need, regardless of whether they have earned it. When God is the landowner, and we are the workers, God seeks us out to learn our needs. We, the workers can trust that God is good and just. And we can be certain that we will always get from God exactly what it is we need – whether that is just the right amount of bread in the wilderness, or a day’s wage for whatever we were able to work, or the forgiveness of our sins, whether big or small, or the knowledge of love and belonging that we receive at the font.

            God’s economy doesn’t work well as a business practice. This parable is not a model for a business owner to follow. It really isn’t a practical economic system for this world. Still, this parable allows us to see into a world, for a moment, that operates on generosity rather than greed, ambition and competition. It allows us to imagine and see a world in which all are valued for what they can contribute – even those who stand ignored or discarded by society. It shows us the generosity of a God who lifts up the dignity of each person, regardless of their circumstances, and who offers all of us, every day, exactly the grace that we need to live.

            Let us pray… Generous God, your justice doesn’t always make sense in a world driven by greed and competition. Help us to pursue it anyway, in the way we see and treat one another, especially those among us who feel their needs are ignored and discarded. Help us to see the dignity of all people, not through our earthly eyes, but through the eyes of your just economy. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.