Nachfolge

Creativity and the Priesthood of All Believers

2009-11-09T14:02:00.007-06:00

We're going to try something new at Sunday morning worship in a few weeks. We're going to have a potluck sermon.

Lutherans are famous for potluck dinners, where each participant brings something and the community eats, well, communally. It's the subject of many jokes, of course, most notably in The Lutheran Handbook, where the authors offer practical advice such as "What To Bring To A Church Potluck (By Region)," breaking it down into the three staples (salad, casserole, dessert) and insisting that in lieu of any of the above, any gelatin mixed with fruit, miniature marshmallows and/or shredded carrots is a perfectly acceptable substitute. But I digress.

The point of the potluck is, of course, that all may be fed without one person being responsible for the feast. Everyone has their favorites, and in long-established communities some people are depended upon for certain dishes. My mother's Butterfinger Dessert is always a hit, but I'm making a bit of a name for myself with my Potatoes and Peppers. My favorite thing about potlucks is the sheer variety you can get. A plate filled with little helpings of many different dishes is just heavenly, in my opinion, and I usually go back to hit the stuff for which I didn't have room on my plate the first time through.

That's kind of the point of the potluck sermon as well. Unfortunately, for all that the church encourages people to bring their own gifts to meals, we don't have a very good track record at encouraging people to bring their own gifts into worship, especially the younger members of our communities. It's not intentional - most every church I know wishes that more folks would be active participants in worship. And I'm not sure what the reason behind the problem may be, either. But the end result is this: our campus ministry worship could very easily become dominated by the same small group of folks, with myself at the center of it all, and that's just not healthy for any faith community.

So here's what we're going to do. The readings for the first Sunday in Advent will be posted online and at University Lutheran Center over the next few weeks, and people will be encouraged to use their gifts to preach on the first Sunday in Advent. It's going to be open media: paint, write a poem, sing a song, write a reflection, dance - the format can be whatever you want it to be. What matters is that people understand that we all have something to offer when it comes to interpreting God's word in the world in which we live. True, not everyone has the same gifts for proclamation - but heck, people who bring KFC to potlucks are still feeding their neighbors, aren't they? So if it's a U2 video you want to share, have at it - just bring it and offer it to the group, and see what God might have to say.

I have no idea how effective this is going to be. It could flop - it might be me and one other brave soul offering something to the community. But there's a need for all of us to understand that worship isn't solely the province of the professionals. We pastors are called to equip the saints for ministry, not to do it for them, just as a potluck dinner isn't a potluck dinner if just one person is doing the cooking. Here's hoping everyone gets a taste of the same delight I feel when I wolf down a plate of yummy potluck food - and that everyone gets fed well, too.

Grace & peace,
Scott

ps: I just found out that the Rev. Dr. Herbert Brokering died over the weekend. His hymn "Earth and All Stars" is a perfectly appropriate hymn for this kind of thing: the idea of classrooms, labs and loud-boiling test tubes singing a song to God is not the sort of thing we tend to expect, but it's true nonetheless. Here's singer/songwriter Jonathan Rundman leading a congregation in singing "Earth and All Stars"

pps: I forgot to add that this idea was generated by this post at A Church for Starving Artists. You really should read that blog if you're at all interested in ministry that encompasses both the 'traditional' Protestant folks and those who are interested in doing and trying new ways to embody the faith.

Nebraska 10, Oklahoma 3

2009-11-08T01:17:00.002-06:00

Some postgame thoughts after a HUGE Nebraska win.

1. When did Bob Newhart become an NCAA referee? And could he be fired soon? Larry and Daryl and the other Daryl should go, too. That was some pretty incompetent officiating out there. Thankfully it seemed to be balanced incompetence that didn't favor either team.

2. Given the choice between watching Nebraska's offense and removing my own appendix with a spoon, I might just ask for a fifth of Jack Daniels and start digging.

3. Ndamukong Suh is a baaaaaaaaaaaad man.

4. One of the most promising developments from 2007 to today is this: Nebraska knows how to make open field tackles. Frankly, in 27 years of watching as much Cornhusker football as I can, I've never seen the Blackshirts tackle like they do today. It's a thing of beauty.

5. I think we can all agree that Matt O'Hanlon has now officially worked off that one blown coverage against Virginia Tech, can't we?

6. Philip Dillard isn't just out of Pelini's doghouse: he's burned it to the ground, kicked over its ashes, and urinated all over the thing. It's a good thing it's a metaphorical doghouse.

7. Considering how last Saturday night/Sunday morning went for the unfortunate cars that got in Mr. Suh's way, I'm thinking everyone parks in the driveway in Lincoln tonight. Or maybe on the lawn.

8. One nice thing about being forced to catch up to the game on DVR - blowing right through whatever crap the announcers are unloading during the fade-in after commercials. And avoiding halftime commentary entirely.

9. Nebraska won, Notre Dame lost. Doesn't get much better than that, does it?

10. Oh, wait, yes it does - God has finally abandoned the Hawkeyes, leaving them no avenue of escape from a loss they so richly deserve. Now, if God and I could just get on the same page about how nobody ever covers the spread anymore...

On Seasons, Sleep and Trust

2009-11-04T15:52:00.004-06:00

Sent this, more or less, to our students today:

"In peace, I will lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me rest secure." Psalm 4.8

It's the time of year when I tend to get a little anxious about things at our house. No, this isn't our house pictured here, no matter how much I might wish it were. Our little ranch here in Ames is nowhere near as stately, but at this time of year, every house and property needs a good bit of "putting away" at the end of autumn. There are leaves to be raked and mulched, windows to clean and caulk, and in my case, a long, long list of projects I'd hoped to do over the summer that time and other demands simply wouldn't allow me to complete. The shed I hoped to move into the corner? Still occupying a good portion of the yard. The garden I'd hoped to start? Still a dream. The gate I hoped to replace? Might get done if I can convince our daughters to stop getting sick long enough that I can actually take a day off to, well, have a day off and put the thing in the ground. True, I did rebuild our fence to keep the dog in the yard, and just this week I got the first coat of fresh paint on the front door. But there's a LOT that I never got to because life just gets in the way sometimes.

Like it or not, in a few short weeks any possibility to complete these projects will be gone, buried under frost, freezing temperatures and, hopefully, a nice blanket of snow. The hostas will snooze over the winter, the yard will lie dormant, and the only work I'll be doing outside will be lights in December and shoveling all winter long. The earth in this part of the country will sleep, as it does every winter, whether our grand plans have come to fruition or not.

Perhaps you're feeling that frantic, "but I didn't get it all done!" feeling, too. Or maybe, like my daughters, you're fighting the need for rest with everything you've got because there's just so much to see and do yet. My daughters come by this honestly - I'm a notorious night-owl and early riser all at once, and have remarked more than once to my wife, "Life would be just grand if we didn't have to sleep." But sleep, and die, we must - there is a time for all things to be awake and alive and a time for all things to rest, to end, to lie dormant and wait for the resurrecting hand of their Creator.

I love winter, too, but in a few months I'll be outside peering at the ground, waiting for those first blades of green to emerge from our flower beds and in our lawn. And I'll be amazed at the wonder of God's life-giving hand bringing our part of the world out of death into life all over again. Because, as Psalm 121 says, "the keeper of Israel does not slumber or sleep," and we can trust that the one who brings all things to rest will awaken them when the time to rise has come.

As you move toward these things, rest secure in this knowledge: the God who watches over you knows you need rest at times, and you may trust absolutely in the care and keeping of this One who has created you. This world turns at God's bidding, and the same God who draws the autumn to its close and brings springtime out of winter will watch over you as you work AND as you rest. While it is time, friends, do your work to the utmost of your ability; and when the time for rest has come, rest in the unfathomable peace of the living, never-slumbering God.

Grace and peace,

Scott

Mourning, Reading, Watching, Listening

2009-11-03T13:14:00.002-06:00

Renowned composer and organist Paul Manz died last week of cancer. He was a wonderful gift to the church and a man of great dignity and grace. In 1999, I had the distinct pleasure of singing his best known work, "E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come" under Manz' own baton for a service of lessons and carols for Advent with the choir of Gloria Dei Lutheran Church in St. Paul, Minnesota, where his son, John, was on the pastoral staff. What I remember of the experience was the absolute clarity, focus and musicianship he brought to the ensemble. And, of course, he blessed us by sitting down to the organ for a hymn or two. His death is a great loss to music as a whole, and Lutheran music in particular. Here's the best version of "E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come" I could find via YouTube. I think I may have posted this before, but it's worth another listen if you've got the time:

Let's see - other stuff.

Having finished Trinity by Leon Uris, I'm now well into the sequel, Redemption. Calling it a sequel is a bit much to this point: in a rather bizarre fashion, Uris used Redemption to flesh out some of the story from Trinity, telling stories we've already heard from other characters' perspectives and so on. It's still good writing, but the constant "haven't I read this before?" gets a bit dreary. Thankfully, we're drawing near to the end of the retelling, and there's a lot of book to go, so I'm expecting the remainder to pick up quite a bit.

I'm really excited for tonight's premiere of the new "V" on ABC. Even cooler, SciFi (no, I will NOT use their new version - it's not spelled "Scyence Fyction," you morons) has been rebroadcasting the original miniseries and episodes. Since Alanna is home with a fever today, we spent a few hours watching the original miniseries this morning. Ah, childhood memories. And the show itself is surprisingly good. Decent effects for TV at that time, and not nearly as clunky as I expected it to be. And what other miniseries had Freddy Kruger as a bumbling alien?

After using his song "Holy Now" for my sermon on Sunday, I've been listening to a lot of Peter Mayer this week. This would be the Peter Mayer who does NOT play lead guitar with Jimmy Buffett, although that Peter Mayer is cool, too (and Lutheran! The Jimmy Buffett one, that is.). So, here's another Peter Mayer tune, "Molly O'Malley's" Enjoy.

Grace & peace,
Scott

It Could Have Been Much, Much Worse

2009-11-01T18:35:00.003-06:00

It could have been like this:

On Thursday, we took the girls to a local middle school to be vaccinated against H1N1.

JUST.

LIKE.

EVERYONE.

ELSE.

IN.

OUR.

COUNTY.

It was not a pleasant way to spend my day off. For one thing, it was raining. All day. Two kids plus one dog trapped inside all day = two cranky kids, one wound up dog, and two exhausted parents. By 10:00 A.M. I was so fed up I took Jack for a walk in the rain just to get him out of the house and out from underfoot. Everyone was happier for at least a little while after that.

Eventually we journeyed off to the flu clinic. And I mean everyone but the cats. "Oh, let's get Jack out of the house - it won't be THAT long, will it?" Not the last thing I was wrong about Thursday, either.

We were in line for almost two hours. At one point I heard the line wrapped around the entire interior of the building and out the door. It was pretty close to that when we arrived; I don't know how early folks started showing up to get in front. As it was, the girls were really wonderful: some fussiness, but not nearly what we had feared. We did have one absolute heart-stopper when Ainsley got away from us and we lost her for the longest five minutes of my life, but a county sheriff found her and then found us (cue huge sigh of relief and ten minutes of blushing, since we'd just lost our child in front of every parent in Story County, Iowa).

Another "it could have been worse" moment was the poor dad a few families in front of us. He had two boys with him - I'd put them at approximately 8 and 4 years old. The 4 year old was Matthew. I know this because of the Litany: "Matthew, stay here with me. Matthew, please don't lick the glass. Matthew, don't go into the girls' bathroom. Matthew, let me tie your shoe." Ad nauseum. The poor, poor man.

Finally, we got into Hell. I mean, the room where they do the vaccinations. I said Hell at first because if I ever go there, I expect the first thing I'll hear is a lot of screaming children, if whoever runs Hell knows what they're doing - the reaction was unpleasant in the extreme. Thanking heaven that we could both our day off together, we filled out the paperwork as fast as possible, leapfrogging Matthew's poor dad in the process. Matthew, at this point, had been reduced to a puddle of crying boy, punctuated by moments where he tried to get away like a feral cat cornered by a vicious dog. The poor, poor man.

The girls took their medicine well. Alanna got a shot, since she's already gotten her regular flu shot. Ainsley got the nasal spray. Two minutes of tears, then out into the rain for the drive home. Jack the dog, bless his heart, hadn't chewed on a thing in the van, and was so pathetically glad to see us I think I might have forgiven him if I had. By the time we got home, everyone was happy and singing.

Being a huge Stephen King fan, the opening chapters of The Stand popped into my head several times during the afternoon. For those who don't know the plot, here's the basics: the government develops a shifting-antigen flu, which basically means that every time our bodies fight off the flu, it morphs into a different strain until our immune systems can't keep up. Of course the flu escapes its sterile environment, and eventually the pandemic wipes out some 90% of the population of the world. I realized as we were standing in line that when King wrote those chapters about the flu, he pretty much hit it right on the head. First people hear rumors of a pandemic virus, then the first few cases show up, and pretty soon it's ravaging the local population.

Of course, the first few times I read the book (somewhere around 13 or 14 years old, I think), I told myself, "I would go out into the mountains with a shotgun and a month of food before I'd fall victim to a virus like that." Thankfully, H1N1 isn't nearly as deadly for most of us, but it's really easy to find yourself amazed at what sheep we are sometimes. If I remember right, King describes a flu clinic EXACTLY like what we went through last week, with a false vaccine, just to keep the population from rioting. And here we were, obediently standing in line to be vaccinated, just like in the book. So much for the mountains and a shotgun, huh?

I am, however, grateful for the public health folks who are working so hard to help keep the virus under control. My paranoid mind-wanderings aside, we were treated with kindness and efficiency; they got a LOT of people through the line in a very quick hurry, and those of us with small kids were grateful for the extra protection against what sounds like a pretty nasty bug. It makes me realize, again, how fortunate we are to live here in this time - and how important it is to continue working on behalf of those who do not yet have access to the healthcare we so often take for granted.

Grace & peace,

Scott

The picture is a quarantine clinic during the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918.

Sermon for All Saints Day - "On Sainthood"

2009-11-01T07:52:00.004-06:00

Preaching Texts

What is a saint?

Would you consider Lazarus a saint? He’s listed among the commemorations our church observes, according to the list in Evangelical Lutheran Worship. On July 29^th, we remember Lazarus and his sisters Mary and Martha, all three of whom figure large in the gospel of John. So the ‘official’ word from the church is that, yes, Lazarus is a saint, as are Mary and Martha. But what do we know of Lazarus that would suggest he is a saint? The Roman Catholic church believes Lazarus, Mary and Martha wound up in Provence, France, and that Lazarus was the first Bishop of Marseille. The Eastern Orthodox church believes Lazarus lived in Cyprus and became the first Bishop of a city called Larnaka. But folks, there are a LOT of bishops in the church, and a great many of them accomplished deeds worthy of commemorations, but the ‘official’ commemorations don’t list very many of them. So if Lazarus is a saint, it isn’t because of the quality of his ministry, whether it was in Cyprus, France or anywhere else.

Now, of course, the traditional answer would be that Lazarus is a saint because he has gone in to the rest of death and waits, like all the beloved dead, for the day when God will fulfill God’s promises about heaven and earth. But here’s the thing: even though Lazarus occupies a special place in the history of the church, that place has not been given to him because of his great works of faith. There are plenty of people who also rest in the sleep of death whose accomplishments have far outstripped Lazarus – wouldn’t we want to consider them saints as well?

No, it seems that Lazarus is not a saint because of who he was or what he did. And he’s not a saint for being dead. So, then, why would we consider Lazarus a saint? The only answer that remains is this: Lazarus was raised from the dead and set free by Jesus. No work of his own to celebrate, no death in which to hide any longer: Lazarus, brother of Mary and Martha, unremarkable resident of Bethany, is a saint for this one reason: Jesus called him out of death and set him free into life. And if that’s the definition of sainthood, then it isn’t just Lazarus who’s dealing with a new world: you and I will find things changed as well.

A saint is someone who has been raised and set free into new life in Jesus Christ. Period. Don’t believe me? The New Testament is filled to overflowing with words about the ordinary saints God has called into being:

· Second Peter 2.9-10: “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people,^* in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. ¹⁰Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

· Acts 9.32-35: ³²Now as Peter went here and there among all the believers, he came down also to the saints living in Lydda. ³³There he found a man named Aeneas, who had been bedridden for eight years, for he was paralyzed. ³⁴Peter said to him, “Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you; get up and make your bed!” And immediately he got up. ³⁵And all the residents of Lydda and Sharon saw him and turned to the Lord.

· Ephesians 2.19: ¹⁹So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, ²⁰built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. ²¹In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; ²²in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

· Paul’s letters to the Romans, Corinthians, Ephesians, Philippians, and Colossians all begin with some variation of this phrase: Paul, an apostle, to those called to be saints: Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ.

What if sainthood isn’t something you earn, and it isn’t what you become after death? What is being a saint is a matter of right here, right now? Peter and Paul and the other writers of the New Testament are unified in this belief: we are saints now, in this life, because in his own resurrection Jesus has broken heaven into our world and started, already, the remaking of all creation into the glorious reign of God. And if this is true, then everything changes for us, doesn’t it? The whole world is different as a result. Everything matters a whole lot more.

C.S. Lewis wrote a book called The Great Divorce, in which he described a picture of life after death. Everyone lives in a grey city, where everything seems washed out and used up, lifeless and drab. But for some reason, there’s a bus that takes people to a place filled with vibrant, terrible life, with huge beasts that cavort and romp around them, where everything is so solid and real that the grass cuts the feet of those who are newly arrived. Some of the folks are terrified in this new place and clamber back onto the bus, going back to the drab world because they can’t stand the reality of the new world. But others come to see that it is themselves who must be changed, and as that happens the new world becomes a place of wonder and delight. I’ve loved this story for years, but I wonder: why would Lewis write it as though it were only after death that it happens? I think that sainthood, in this world, is much the same: terrifying at the start for the vibrancy and depth with which we begin to see the world, but in time, wondrous and beautiful, deeper and wider and more achingly real than we could ever imagine.

I started writing this sermon Friday morning at Café Diem, where I was also waiting to see my daughters come trick-or-treating with their day care groups. It was the first trick-or-treat for Alanna, and the first time Ainsley picked out her own costume, and I wanted to see it happen. There in the coffee house, writing my sermon and waiting for what was to come, it occurred to me that this is really what the life of sainthood is all about. We live in this world, where there is much work to do, work that matters a great deal. Yet we also live with an eye toward the future, knowing that at some point, God will reveal the full creation as it is meant to be, and we will rejoice with gladness as a result. Understanding sainthood doesn’t make this world less important: as God’s saints, we are given new eyes with which to see the world, eyes that recognize the wonder and beauty in the simplest, most ordinary things.

We celebrate the saints today, living and dead. In a few minutes we’ll remember those who have gone before us into death, not necessarily because of their great deeds, but because of the great love with which they lived in our lives. Conversation over a cup of coffee; hugs and kisses at bedtime; shared meals and laughter and tears and prayers: these are the signs of sainthood as much as any miracle, if not more so. And having lived among the saints, we begin to realize that every moment is holy, that life itself is God’s first great gift to the saints. Here in this place, as we remember the baptism that brought us into the community of the saints, as we share the meal where Christ is present for all the saints, the curtain between heaven and earth is pulled back and we see that to be a saint is to know, in this moment, that heaven is breaking into this world. Hear now, in this moment, that you are God’s saints, raised out of death and set free in the holy creation of God, now and forever. Amen.

Holy Now

When I was a boy, each week
On Sunday, we would go to church
And pay attention to the priest
He would read the holy word
And consecrate the holy bread
And everyone would kneel and bow
Today the only difference is
Everything is holy now
Everything, everything
Everything is holy now

When I was in Sunday school
We would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two
Jesus made the water wine
And I remember feeling sad
That miracles don’t happen still
But now I can’t keep track
‘Cause everything’s a miracle
Everything, Everything
Everything’s a miracle

Wine from water is not so small
But an even better magic trick
Is that anything is here at all
So the challenging thing becomes
Not to look for miracles
But finding where there isn’t one

When holy water was rare at best
It barely wet my fingertips
But now I have to hold my breath
Like I’m swimming in a sea of it
It used to be a world half there
Heaven’s second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
‘Cause everything is holy now
Everything, everything
Everything is holy now

Read a questioning child’s face
And say it’s not a testament
That’d be very hard to say
See another new morning come
And say it’s not a sacrament
I tell you that it can’t be done

This morning, outside I stood
And saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
Everything is holy now
It used to be a world half-there
Heaven’s second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
‘Cause everything is holy now

Big Red Not Backing Down

2009-10-26T11:27:00.003-05:00

Saturday afternoon I watched the ugliest 45 minutes of football I think I've ever seen.

Granted, there have been games with far more ineptitude on both sides of the ball. I'm calling this one "ugly" because on the one side, the Iowa State Cyclones (remember, I'm a campus pastor at Iowa State University) were playing without their starting quarterback Austen Arnaud and conference-leading tailback Alexander Robinson, and on the other side, my beloved Nebraska Cornhuskers scored seven points and had eight turnovers.

That's right. The final score was Iowa State 9, Nebraska Turnovers 8, Nebraska 7.

It was surreal at the end. The Nebraska defense, led by all-world and soon-to-be-1st-pick-in-the-NFL-draft Ndamukong Suh (pictured here making Todd Reesing make wee-wee in his pants a little - I mean, seriously, who wouldn't make wee-wee when that bad man comes running full speed at you?), would stop the Cyclones, getting Nebraska the ball for what would surely be the game-winning touchdown. Sooner or later, SOMEONE was going to hang on to the ball, weren't they? But, no, it was not to be. Four turnovers inside the five yard line. Two in the damn end zone, for Christian Peter's sake. One from a wide receiver who simply lost the ball while trying to stay in bounds for what would have likely been the touchdown that wrapped up the game. If this game were a painting, it would be The Persistence of Turnovers by Salvador Dali, with the Nebraska offense melting all over the place.

But in the aftermath, I'm not nearly as bothered by this loss as I was by blowout losses to Texas A&M, Oklahoma State and Kansas in 2007. Why? Because for all the bad luck and simple stupidity that's happened in the Nebraska program this year, our boys have been and continue to be a group of fighters, with more resiliency in their pinkies than they showed under the former coaching staff.

Let's be honest: massive recruiting de-commits and the usual exodus of players that comes with any regime change have left this team with scant margin for error, even though it's year two of the Bo Pelini era in Lincoln. Graduation took a heavy toll on this year's program. For all his many injuries, Lydon Murtha is an NFL-caliber tackle, and Matt Slauson is good enough to hang on at that level, too. Joe Ganz, Nate Swift and Todd Petersen would be hard to replace by any means, much less a struggling Zac Lee and a revolving door of inconsistent receivers. Jaivorio Burkes was penciled in as a starter before health problems kept him off the playing roster. Roy Helu, Jr. is a gamer, but something's just not right at the moment, and losing Quentin Castille hurts a lot more than we all thought it would.

Taking all of this into account, Nebraska is still just a few plays away from being 6-1. Think about it for a little bit. Finish out the game against Virginia Tech, and find someone, ANYONE who can hold on to the ball against Iowa State, and in this year of inconsistent performances by teams and individual stars, Nebraska is at the very least a top 15 team, if not top 10.

What gives me the most hope is the players themselves. You get the sense they are hanging in there together, even in these incredibly frustrating times. There isn't any public finger-pointing, and the word from Lincoln is "we are in this as a team." I'll take that and the fight in these boys six days a week and twice on Sunday, thank you very much.

It was a great win for Iowa State on Saturday. They've struggled hard and come up short in some very winnable games this year, most notably against Kansas State and Kansas. I don't feel an ounce of conflict about congratulating Paul Rhoads and his team for playing well and getting the win - after all, the Cyclones are not Colorado or anything. As Coach Pelini said in a remarkably composed post-game presser, they made the plays and got the job done, and suggesting that Nebraska gave them the game takes away the credit they deserve for closing the deal. All the same, even with the good feeling I have about our boys in Scarlet and Cream, I'm sure ready for people to stop talking about what great losers Nebraska fans can be. We like being the classiest fans in college football - we'd just like to go back to the poster that used to hang in downtown bars in Lincoln. It had a picture of Tom Osborne in Memorial Stadium, with the words, "Welcome to Lincoln: You'll Never Lose In A Nicer Place."

Grace & peace,

Scott

Sermon for Reformation Sunday - "On Freedom"

2009-10-24T19:15:00.001-05:00

What is freedom? What does it mean to be truly free? Is it something like this scene from this week’s episode of the show “Heroes?”

Is that freedom? To be welcomed on the one hand, and coerced on the other? To receive promises of unconditional love while also hearing that conditions do indeed apply? Jesus says “you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Well, our friend Sylar here has seen the truth about himself, and he is most certainly not free. Sylar, knowing the truth, might find himself more of a slave than ever before.

Freedom is a word that gets thrown around a lot these days. And, of course, today we celebrate “Reformation Sunday.” The commonly-held belief is that today we celebrate the Protestant Church throwing off the shackles of their Roman Catholic oppressors. Well, in this Reformation week, there has been a lot of hullabaloo this week between the Roman Catholic Church and the Church of England, one of those “churches of the Reformation.” Here’s a commentary from Time Magazine:

‘At first glance, the surprising news on Tuesday that Pope Benedict XVI has created a new structure to welcome some disenchanted Anglicans into the Roman Catholic fold … might look like a happy reunion. But the Vatican's establishment of new "Personal Ordinariates," in which Anglicans, including married priests, can practice Catholicism while maintaining much of their own identity and liturgy, reveals more about the growing internal rifts within each of the two churches than any sign of real hope for reuniting the fractured Christian communion.

For Anglican leaders, the Vatican announcement is the latest minefield to manage in their ongoing effort to avoid a full-fledged schism within their 80-million-strong church, which includes 2.2 million American Episcopalians. Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams is juggling the gripes of Anglicans of all philosophical stripes and ecclesiastical sensibilities, most notably as battles over women and gay clergy have undermined that prized "communion" within Anglicanism for more than two decades.

In the centuries since King Henry VIII pronounced the Church of England independent from papal authority, certain Anglican conservatives have always drifted back to Rome, "swimming the Tiber," as reverting to Catholicism was called. But in the past two decades, more and more seem to be doing so. Benedict's latest ruling confirms and expands earlier ad-hoc decisions by Pope John Paul II to allow several married Anglican priests to convert and remain in the clergy.

Under the new structure, groups of Anglicans can move into a local Catholic Church that will be headed by former Anglican clergy, who can ease them into Catholicism without their having to kiss goodbye their own pastor or the rites they were raised on. Married Anglican priests who convert, like married priests in the Eastern Rite of Catholicism, will not be eligible to become bishops.

The Vatican's doctrinal chief, Cardinal William Levada, told reporters on Tuesday that Catholic leaders were simply responding to requests by certain Anglicans to find a comfortable home in Catholicism. "We have been trying to meet the requests for full communion that have come to us from Anglicans in different parts of the world in recent years in a uniform and equitable way," said Levada, who would not specify how many Anglicans he expected to convert. "With this proposal, the church wants to respond to the legitimate aspirations of these Anglican groups for full and visible unity with the Bishop of Rome." In a joint written statement, Williams, who as Archbishop of Canterbury is the worldwide spiritual head of the Anglican Church, issued a joint statement with the Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, saying the decision "brings an end to a period of uncertainty" for those Anglicans who have sought to convert.

But while seeming to douse one flame, the opening of an officially recognized channel for reverting to Roman Catholicism could spark other conflagrations within Anglicanism, both from conservatives and progressives who are suspicious that Rome is poaching their faithful. Indeed, Cardinal Walter Kasper, the Vatican's outgoing chief of ecumenical affairs, used a press conference last week to try to curb such fears, insisting that Rome was "not fishing in the Anglican lake."

The incoming converts, however, may offer a false comfort to Catholics that Rome is winning the battle for Christian hearts and souls in the West. Indeed, in the bosom of Europe, where traditional Catholicism became an immense political force, the church is very much on the defensive. The Pope's eagerness to find a home for the core of conservative-minded Anglicans follows the his outreach earlier this year to the traditionalist breakaway movement founded by French Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, which opposes the modern-minded reforms of the Second Vatican Council.

Even Tuesday's news of the forthcoming arrival of like-minded Anglicans to reinforce the traditionalist ranks carries a built-in risk for the Catholic hierarchy. Church liberals will point to the married priests leading Catholic masses as living proof that it's finally time to toss out the celibacy requirement for the clergy.’[1]

It is interesting and painful to watch these kinds of things happen in the church. Interesting because we Lutherans believe that we share the fullness of the gospel with both the Roman Catholic Church and the Anglican Church. Painful because that sharing the gospel of Christ means we cannot stand alone, ever. Their wounds are our wounds. Their blessings are our blessings. When they rejoice, we rejoice. When they suffer, we suffer.

Perhaps you disagree. Then let me ask you this: how do you think the Vatican and the Church of England reacted to the news that the ELCA is now preparing to bless same-gender relationships and to install pastors in those relationships in congregations willing to call them? Regardless of what we as individuals might think about that change, it has fractured the unity of our church and placed our relationships with other churches on fragile ground. And I can guarantee you that many of our fellow Christians who are watching our church navigate these stormy waters are hurt to see us mistrust, misrepresent and mistreat each other as we sort out our way into the future and who can join us on that road in good conscience.

I love my church. But I also know who we are in my church. Pastor Robert Farrar Capon may have put it best when he wrote the following:

If we are ever to enter fully into the glorious liberty of the [children] of God, we are going to have to spend more time thinking about freedom than we do. The church, by and large, has had a poor record of encouraging freedom. She has spent so much time inculcating in us the fear of making mistakes that she had made us like ill-taught piano students; we play our songs, but we never really hear them, because our main concern is not to make music, but to avoid some flub that will get us in dutch. She has been so afraid we will loose sight of the laws of our nature, that she made us care more about how we look than about who we are; made us act more like the subjects of a police state than fellow citizens of the saints.[2]

Here is the point, friends: we are slaves, you and I. We are not free. We are enslaved, every last one of us, to the point of sin and death. Some of us, like Sylar in the video from “Heroes,” are slaves to our past mistakes. Some of us are slaves to the fears of what might happen if we don’t protect ourselves from every threat, real or imagined. Some of us are slaves to sex, slaves to drugs, slaves to our appearance or our possessions. All of us are slaves to ourselves in one way or another: we are enslaved by the seductive whispers we hear: “you could be better, much happier, if you’d only ________.” And all of us, even and especially the most faithful of us, are slaves to those churches we call our spiritual home. Yes, even our churches can enslave us, in this way: whenever the church becomes more important than the One in whose name it is gathered, the church becomes a tyrant and an enslaver.

But there is good news to be heard this day, here in this church. Right here, in the midst of all our disagreements and fears, in the midst of our uncertainties and our misplaced certainties, in this church which can sometimes enslave us, Jesus Christ, the living Gospel, comes to us and sets us free from our sins. It is a done deal, by the word of Jesus himself.

This is why we celebrate Reformation. And by Reformation, I don’t mean we celebrate a mythological rebellion started 500 years ago by a German monk with authority issues. That was never, ever the point. What we celebrate this day is this one simple truth: Jesus Christ has freed us from sin and made us all members of the family of God, forever. Every last, living one of us, no matter what emblem you might find on our hymnals and outside our doors, has been set free by Jesus from everything that enslaves us. Freedom, without a single condition or contingency, is yours for the taking, right now.

Throughout the checkered history of the church, we have often lost sight of the gospel. In Luther’s time it was indulgences and ignorance that led people away from the saving truth of the gospel. But we have done little better. We have placed our faith in denominations, in individual pastors, in understanding the Bible in a certain way, in one style of worship, in one particular verse from scripture – you name it, we’ve been enslaved to it. But none of those things can save you, friends. Denominations cannot save you. Congregations cannot save you. Your campus pastor cannot save you. Contemporary worship cannot save you. Organ music cannot save you. Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson cannot save you, the Archbishop of Canterbury cannot save you, and the Pope cannot save you. And, last but certainly not least, The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther cannot save you. Only Jesus Christ can save you. Only Jesus can free you from your sins. Only Jesus can make you a member of the household of God forever – and in your baptism, Jesus has done exactly that.

This is the freedom we celebrate when we celebrate Reformation: we celebrate that God makes us free in Jesus. We celebrate the Spirit’s work turning the church back to her savior, freeing us from our idolatry to live for Jesus alone. We celebrate the freedom to be loved without condition, to be adopted without qualification, to be made whole where all we have known is brokenness, failure and regret.

All of us – Anglican, Lutheran, Roman Catholic, and Christians of every stripe and color – are swept up into Reformation. Whenever the gospel of Jesus gets loose and raises another sinner out of death into life, Reformation happens. Whenever lives are changed, whenever wounds are healed, whenever our bondage to anything other than Jesus is broken, we are swept up into Reformation. Thanks be to God: the Reformation of the church continues, until that great and glorious day when our bonds are broken forever in God’s reign, free to worship and serve the Creator in whose image we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

[1] http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1931193,00.html

[2] Robert Farrar Capon, Between Noon and Three. Cited by Brian Stoffregen at http://www.crossmarks.com/brian/john8x31.htm

Brews and Views

2009-10-19T21:51:00.004-05:00

Interfaith discussion success!

23ish students and members of the Iowa State University community gathered at Cafe Milo tonight for an interfaith conversation about dating. Groups sponsoring the event and represented in attendance were (in no particular order): Lutheran Campus Ministry (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America), Collegiate Presbyterian Church (Presbyterian Church-USA), Lutheran Student Fellowship (Lutheran Church -Missouri Synod), the ISU Atheist and Agnostic Society, Catholic Student Community (Roman Catholic), Campus Crusade for Christ and Wesley Foundation (United Methodist Church).

Have I mentioned lately that I love my job? No?

LOVE.

MY.

JOB.

Grace & peace,

Scott

Living Together In Disagreement

2009-10-19T10:16:00.003-05:00

We are now nearly two months removed from the 2009 ELCA Churchwide Assembly. Life together continues, even amidst disagreement. But it's interesting how the ELCA's decision to move forward on allowing monogamously partnered gay and lesbian people to serve in rostered ministry pops up in the most interesting places. Saturday night, at the Iowa State -Baylor football game, I was working in the Lutheran Campus Ministry concessions booth when an obviously intoxicated student found out we were the ELCA campus ministry. He was a member of Beta Sigma Psi, the Lutheran fraternity, and amidst the slurred descriptions of how happy he was to find us, he blurted out, "We're not hating on gays here, are we?" After assuring him that the concession stand wasn't the place to "hate on gays," and that, in fact, our campus ministry is an open and affirming ministry, he heaved a sigh of relief and staggered off to find his friends. Or throw up on something. I'm not sure which. *grin*

It just shows how you never, ever know who's watching or what people are thinking about the church. Tonight we'll join the Presbyterian, United Methodist and Roman Catholic campus ministries and the Atheist & Agnostic Association for a conversation about dating at a local coffee shop. You wonder - who might be watching, and what might they think about the church if they overhear us in conversation, disagreeing but not hating on each other? On the one hand, the church doesn't engage in these types of conversations as an evangelism tool, but I can't help but hope someone might be impressed enough to come see what else is happening in a place where we can live in disagreement respectfully.

This morning, the ELCA News Service shared a story of two pastors trying to figure out how to live in our church together. It's worth the read. And have a great day, everyone.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Photo credits: AP Photo/Dawn VIllella

Blog? I Think I Used To Do That...

2009-10-15T21:53:00.003-05:00

Apparently natural selection has eliminated blogging as the weak link in my life for the past few weeks. Who knew?

The semester is ON. Work continues apace. Preaching has been a struggle at times. We're looking at another 18 months of terrible twos at the very least, with more fun to come as the girls' ability to argue and fight expands with age. Money is tight - very, very tight. So I feel as though I've been treading water for the past month. Thankfully, thus far I've been able to keep my head above the waves.

So, life is good, but uncertain, unsure, unsettled at best. Beloved is working her tail off, too, and it leaves us with very little time to just be a family together. Last weekend we traveled to Nebraska for my brother's wedding, which was a wonderful, beautiful weekend with many family and friends. The only problem? It was over FAR too soon.

I keep hoping that I'll grow more efficient with my time, and to a point I think I've done that, but I keep wondering - is efficiency really the issue? Am I just trying to do too much? Life has so much to offer that I want to do it all (well, most of it - I could do without the sea slug smoothie the folks on Survivor had to chug down in tonight's episode).

I want to be a better blogger, but I've been choosing the far more important job of being a better husband, father and pastor (in that order, mind you), and I think I've made the right choice. Then again, this post only took a few minutes - really, how hard can it be? *Sigh* I guess I'll never learn...

Grace & peace,

Scott

Sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost - "Broken and Whole"

2009-10-04T09:53:00.004-05:00

The preaching texts are from Genesis 2, Psalm 8, Hebrews 1-2 and Mark 10.

“Dear Marriage Care friends,

Sorry to have to bring this news to all of you, especially as Dave and I have been Marriage Care all-stars in the past, but it now looks almost certain we’ll divorce.

I don’t know what to tell you; I’m not entirely sure how it happened myself. A little more than six weeks ago, he first announced his intention to leave, and after a couple attempts at reconciliation, he moved out, announced he wasn’t willing to put in any more effort at reconciling, and sent me a divorce petition through a lawyer. We still correspond, and while he still seems to care for me, there’s a lot in his decision that I’m not privy to, it seems he’s been planning it for a while, and he’s been more invested in splitting up than trying to reconcile.

In any case, I just wanted to send this letter because I thought you should know, and wanted to ask for your prayers at this time. It has been a whirlwind of emotions for me (as I’m sure it’s been for Dave), but God has provided much comfort in this trial.

Again, sorry to get back in touch only to give such bad news. If you want, you can consider it our effort to help the odds for the rest of the couples in a place where half of all marriages end in divorce (one has to try to keep her sense of humor in times like this.)

Thanks. Michelle.”

I got that email a few years back from a friend who spent two years in a Marriage Care group at Luther Seminary while I was a student there. I knew her well, because I was in the same Marriage Care group. Unfortunately, I also knew what she was feeling very well: I sent a very similar email to the same friends. Out of the five couples in that Marriage Care group, two of them are now divorced.

So, let’s begin this time together with the facts: I stand before you under a sentence of condemnation from this morning’s gospel passage. At one time, a pastor in the midst of a divorce was expected to remove himself or herself from the ministry, as a pastor is supposed to be a person of high moral standing and an example to the community to which he or she is called. That is no longer the case, but divorce remains a serious wound in the church and in the world at large. But Jesus presents another way of looking at our failings, and I hope you’ll hear it, as I do, as good news for sinners.

The first thing to do is acknowledge that Jesus isn’t kidding in our gospel reading this morning. In fact, he takes a question that was asked as a legal trap and elevates the answer by changing the debate completely. In the law given to Moses from God in the Old Testament was a provision where a man who found something objectionable with his wife could present her with a certificate of divorce, put her out of his house, and that was that – he had divorced her. (Keep in mind that women had no equal rights under that law – a woman couldn’t divorce her husband) But rather than getting trapped in legalities, Jesus began to address the intent God has had for creation from the beginning. Jesus claimed that even the legal concept of divorce is recognition of how far humanity has wandered from what God intends for creation.

“From the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’” Our Old Testament reading says that Adam was created first, and that Eve came after, as a helper to Adam. But the Hebrew is not so simple, and the story is more than it seems In the Hebrew language, all nouns have a gender – they are either masculine or feminine. But in this case there is an exception. The word for “man” is a-dam. Literally, it means, “One from the earth.” It refers to God forming humanity out of the soil. AND a-dam has no gender. Literally, you should read these first few verses in our Old Testament reading with “The Human” wherever “Adam” appears. A-dam does not become ha ish, “the man,” until God creates ha ishah, “the woman.” Some traditions use this passage to justify a higher order for men; an honest reading of the text tells us that man only becomes man when woman is created; our genders can only be defined by their relation to one another. Notice that in the Genesis passage it is the man who leaves his family to be joined to his wife, while in Jesus’ time women were given as property to their husbands. The Pharisees, like many in that time, saw women as possessions, while Jesus insisted that God has meant for all humanity to live in creative partnership together, and Jesus used the testimony of Genesis as proof of what God means for us to be.

But why would God allow divorce, if God has a different intent for human relationships? Jesus said it loud and clear: God allows divorce due to the hardness of the human heart. This is where God’s intent for creation meets our brokenness head-on, and rather than condemning broken vows or life-destroying marriages, God has created a means by which the worst of human sinfulness might be redeemed and reconciled with God’s creative intent. Genesis is clear that God does not mean for us to be alone: that is the reason God creates a second human to partner with the first. But notice how God creates the partner; the a-dam must give something of itself before the partner is suitable. It is not good for us to be alone, but we are not suitable partners for one another without some measure of self-sacrifice; this is who God means us to be. Where that sacrifice is no longer present, the relationship is troubled – this is true in marriages, in friendships, in every relationship that we can imagine here on earth. Sometimes there can be a rebirth to the relationship. There are marriages and friendships that suffer through rocky periods and emerge stronger for having been tested in the fire. But sometimes relationships die, or are killed by sins committed one against the other, and all that happens in the rocky times is an insult and defacing of what was once a healthy, vibrant relationship. Sometimes relationships can poison us to the point where we either choose divorce, the end of the relationship, or we commit ourselves to a living death, where something God has created in us dies slowly and in great anguish. It is this kind of suffering that divorce is meant to prevent, and it is this kind of death that God works against by allowing divorce due to the hardness of the human heart. Relationships die because we either cannot or will not forgive – that is the hardness of the human heart.

Does God mean for any of us to divorce, to claim that what one does in divorcing a spouse is right? Absolutely not. Even in the case of abusive marriages, where the actual physical life of the abused is at stake, a divorce is not the ‘right’ answer, merely the least sinful way forward. God allows divorce because of our brokenness, our frailty, our heard hearts that can’t be what they were meant to be in God’s creation. The question of divorce being right or wrong assumes that what is allowed is right, but that’s not the case. God means for us to be different, to be people dedicated to self-sacrifice, defined by the depth of our love for one another. Jesus made it clear that divorce, while legal, is not what God means for us to be, and no amount of legal wrangling will make it so. But Jesus didn’t leave us there, either – Jesus provides the answers we need to hear, both in his words and in his deeds. He shows us what life is as God means it to be – life received as a child receives life, a gift, something undeserved and far beyond our ability to repay, and yet something we have received and are meant to enjoy to the fullest.

Jesus lived as God meant him to live – as one who gave all of himself for the sake of the world. The reading fro Hebrews this morning says that Jesus is the vision of God’s creative intent, that in Jesus creation has found a true reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being. Yet how do we know Jesus? Not through his teachings alone, but in his suffering and death on the cross. Jesus gave himself for others; this is who God has meant for us to be! From the moment God created the partner for a-dam, God has meant for us to find our identity in giving ourselves for others, and Jesus is the perfect reflection of his Father’s will for creation. We are to be who we were meant to be – a people created for one another, defined by our service to others and our care for the creation that has been given to us.

Make no mistake: divorce is divorce. Sin is sin. Two wrongs do not make a right. We cannot hide behind our lesser sins because we’re ashamed of our greater sins. We cannot clothe ourselves in righteous morality and be suitable partners to each other. We cannot shame our neighbors or our partners into relationships that are what God intends them to be. We are broken, flawed, hard-hearted, unable to return to what we were before Sin claimed us as its own. But Jesus also comes to give what we cannot give: mercy, forgiveness, and the chance to try yet again. In Jesus we sinners are broken and whole, a people bound by sin yet free because of the love of God in Jesus Christ. Like the powerless children Jesus welcomed in the last few verses in our reading today, Jesus invites us to come to him and receive grace. Jesus comes to us and asks us to stop hiding in our legal wranglings, because the rags of our self-righteousness and high morality are nothing compared to being clothed in his mercy, forgiveness and love.

There are no easy answers when it comes to living in relationship with others. A friend of mine wrote on Facebook the other day that the Genesis passage reminds her that even the most irritating person she knows was handcrafted by God. Not one of us is perfect, not one marriage isn’t marked by some sin along the way, and not one of us can hope to live in God’s loving reign by means of what is legal. It is grace that brings us here, forgiveness that marks our life together, and love that keeps us going when our brokenness poisons our relationships with sin. In this life you will live broken – in this life you will see relationships end badly – in this life you will find yourself wondering, as I did, “how in the world did I get here?” But when those days come, remember first that you are a treasured child of God, broken by sin but made whole by the love of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit. As the psalmist sang, “what are mere mortals that you, God, should be mindful of them, human beings that you should care for them?” Whatever we are, we are loved by God, and that, my friends, is the answer under which all other questions are judged and found lacking. Be God’s beloved children, broken and made whole, and live in that love. Amen.

The image is from Jonny Baker's blog. Click the image for the link.

The Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification, 10 Years Later

2009-09-30T13:57:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow night, representatives of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the Roman Catholic Church, and the United Methodist Church will gather in Chicago to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the signing of the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification. It was, and remains, a significant moment in the relationship between Lutherans and Roman Catholics, who were the first to be separated by the condemnations of the Reformation and subsequent disagreements.

Here's the thing, though: the JDDJ isn't worth much more than the paper on which it is printed.

Don't misunderstand: our relationship with our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters is better now than it has been for centuries, and that is a good thing, worthy of celebration. But let's not pretend that unity exists where it does not, and the JDDJ has not removed the difference between us in how we view salvation:

The good Cardinal George shows us the difference that still exists between Lutherans and Roman Catholics on the doctrine of justification. Lutherans believe that works are not meritorious - that, in fact, works can be a dangerous distraction from the grace freely and fully given by Christ without our cooperation or worthiness. As Luther himself said, "The Law says, 'Do this,' and it is never done. Grace says, 'believe this,' and everything is already done."

This is not to say that Lutherans despise works, either - we merely note that their place is completely separated from salvation. Good works are the deeds of one who has already been saved by the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ. Good works are an important part of the faith we share as Christians; indeed, Luther also described Christians as "most free lords of all, subject to none, and most dutiful servants of all, subject to all." As Paul writes in Galatians, "For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but rhough love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'" Works are important - they are the means by which we live out the grace God has bestowed upon us. But a theology that confesses that works are meritorious is not a salvation of justification by grace through faith apart from the works of the law, and we shouldn't pretend that it is.

Ten years ago, Lutherans and Roman Catholics gathered at a church in Augsburg to sign a document stating that we no longer condemn each other as we once had. That, in itself, is a noteworthy accomplishment in the history of our blessed church, the Body of Christ in which we are indeed one regardless of what our differences may be. Those differences remain, however, and should not be minimized or glossed over. Let us continue to converse with one another, to speak the truth to each other, and pray for the day when we can, at last, celebrate an agreement about salvation upon which we fully and completely agree.

Grace & peace,
Scott

The picture is the pulpit in the Schlosskirche (Castle Church) in Lutherstadt-Wittenberg, Germany. Luther's tomb is just under the pulpit.

Bizarro Moment of the Night

2009-09-28T00:27:00.003-05:00

On the recommendation of a student, I sat down & watched The Reaping tonight after everyone else had gone to bed. Not a terrible movie. Not great, but not terrible. Basic story (no spoilers) is this: Woman of Faith ordained in some faith resembling Catholicism (but obviously not, because, duh, she's WOMAN of Faith. But it has to be Roman Catholic because, really, whoever heard of a non-RC priest studying ancient prophecies at a monastery in the middle of the desert?) becomes Woman of Science after losing husband and child whilst serving God in Africa. Woman of Science proceeds to debunk as many miracles as she can, making a name for herself in the process and, apparently, leading her to a professorship at LSU (I didn't know they had a forensic mythology debunking department at LSU, but they showed the football stadium, so Q.E.D. she's a professor of miracle debunking at LSU). Small town in Louisiana sends Handsome Single Guy to LSU because, apparently, the Ten Plagues of Exodus are happening again, and they need her help to explain what's actually going on. And the local police are more incompetent than Handsome Single Guy. Add dramatic tension in the form of a possibly innocent young girl the same age as Woman of Science's daughter would be, move to the inevitable realization that something more than science is going on, and stir. Serve with popcorn in a dark room late at night.

After watching a movie on DVD, I usually check out the special features, in the hopes there might be something interesting. The special features for The Reaping included one piece entitled "The Science Behind the Ten Plagues." I figured, what the heck - let's see what they've got to say.

The minute the feature begins, I hear a familiar voice. Then I realize it's Dr. Terry Fretheim, Professor of Old Testament at my alma mater, Luther Seminary.

My Old Testament professor, who is a man of great faith, is on a special feature about the scientific explanation of the Ten Plagues of Exodus. Said special feature is attached to a movie about how the Ten Plagues happen again. Except that they aren't the Ten Plagues. And the woman working so hard to disprove them becomes a believer again, because of the plagues, even though the plagues that seem to be happening aren't really the plagues, or, at least, they aren't the Biblical plagues, which she's still not sure about. Meanwhile, the special feature featuring a faithful OT professor tries to show how they weren't plagues at all. Did you get all that?

Yeah. Me neither. But it sure is funny to think about as I head off to bed.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Sermon for the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost - "Part of the Stumbling Rabble"

2009-09-27T09:06:00.004-05:00

Preaching Texts: Numbers 11.4-29, James 5.13-20, Mark 9.38-50

Who was the “rabble,” anyway? The writer of Numbers mentions “rabble among” the Israelites, but doesn’t give a definition. Who were they? What was their story? How did they get hooked up with the people of Israel? Moses is leading a family of some 600,000 who all descended from Jacob during their sojourn and captivity in Egypt; how did a “rabble” get thrown in with them?

What about Eldad and Medad? The Bible says they prophesied, but it doesn’t say what they said, nor does it ever mention them after this. Who were they? Why was it so important to mention them? What’s the difference if they prophesied in the camp or not?

What was James talking about, with all this healing jargon? I’ve never healed a single person in my life, though I’ve prayed fervently for their health. James says that Elijah was a human being just like us, but I’ve never felt the call to command a three-and-a-half-year drought, and challenging queens and kings just isn’t my thing. Does that mean I’m not righteous? I’d love to bring back sinners from wandering, but I can’t even get my wife to stack the dishes right – how am I supposed to do these greater things?

Who was this mysterious person casting out demons in Jesus’ name? He didn’t give a name to John, and John didn’t give one to Jesus. Who was he? Jesus was teaching his disciples, his 12 closest companions, but they completely missed everything Jesus said – how was some unknown healer able to do miracles in Jesus’ name? Why was John so worried?

It seems like everything in my life causes me to stumble. Even the good things make me stumble. How much to I need to remove to make sure I enter the kingdom of God? Where do I start? Where does it end?

And the most important question in all of these goes unasked: Who am I? Let us pray.

Father, we come to You confused and uncertain. The dangers that surround us are not nearly so threatening as the dangers with us. We stumble and wander and lose sight of You, our Keeper and Protector. Make us whole. Heal our wounds. Feed us with Your love, and guide us through our darkness. In Your Son’s name we pray. Amen.

The quick and easy way to address these readings would be to give short, to the point answers to all the questions that get raised. For example, Bible scholars suggest that the “rabble” were slaves in Egypt from other lands: when the Israelites got the heck outta Dodge after the Passover, the “rabble” got outta Dodge with them.

Eldad and Medad? Never appear again in the Bible. We’re not sure what their prophesying contained. Their prophesy isn’t the point of the story, anyway, so you don’t need to worry about them.

James & Elijah? Special people for special times. Not in the same circumstances as we are today. The call of a prophet is for a certain time and place, and the time of the prophets ended with the last, John the Baptist, who pointed to Jesus as the new and only prophet of God His Father. Healing miracles are a function of the Bible’s record, nothing more – we would understand it much differently today, with our medicine and our electricity and nearly all the mystery of human existence crowded out by technology and science. Don’t worry about healing miracles and your righteousness: we live differently today.

This is the quick and easy way to address these readings. Every word I just said is true: I’ve said some of these words myself in certain situations where they seemed appropriate. But there’s nothing of God in these words. Explanation, yes. Interpretation, yes. Definition, yes. But are these words of salvation? No – and that’s the problem. One cannot explain, interpret or define one’s way into the kingdom of God; that takes a word of promise.

Moses can’t bring us a word of promise today: he’s too busy worrying about the discerning palate of the rabble. It seems that freedom in the wilderness, with a daily ration of manna, is not as tasty as slavery with a dash of onion & leek soup.

John can’t bring us a word of promise today: he’s too busy worry about the renegade exorcist who hasn’t filled out the requisite paperwork required of a proper disciple. It seems that following in the footsteps of the disciples is more important than casting out demons in the name of the one the disciples are following.

What’s going on here is the usual list of blunders, performed by a cast of thousands. It’s enough to make anyone with a smidge of hope for the human race weep uncontrollably. Moses can’t handle the rabble. James thinks that we just aren’t praying right. John and the disciples are still missing the point. Jesus can’t teach, so he resorts to threats. God pulls a page out of my mother’s playbook and says, “Fine – you want meat?!? I’ll GIVE you meat!” Where, oh where, shall I find my hope? What shall I, a simple campus pastor, do to find a gracious God this morning?

Then, suddenly, the promise is there, hidden underneath all the debris of our failings and God’s anger. Here is the promise: the rabble were allowed to stay. No one cast them away from the people of Israel. Not only were the rabble allowed to stay, but they were fed with the same miraculous manna. No crumbs from the table here – the rabble had a place of honor next to the children of Abraham, and even in anger God did not cast them away.

Here is the promise: we’re still here. God has not cast us away, though we deserved it many times over. When manna came from God’s hand, to sustain us in the wilderness, we rejected it: but God did not reject us. When others who were not of our fellowship did deeds of power in God’s name, we questioned their place instead of praising their faith, but God did not reject us. We stumble; we complain; we miss the point; we hitched a ride with God’s chosen people through a gift given to us in baptism, but we're still here. We are part of the stumbling rabble, lurching heavenward, and it is God who keeps us on the march, regardless of our mistakes. The promise comes out of heaven: we stumbling rabble belong to God, and even in anger God will not forsake any of us who stumble together here.

So here we are, stumbling toward heaven. Martin Bell wrote a story about us once: it’s called Rag-Tag Army:

If God were more sensible he would take his little army and shape them up. Why, whoever heard of a soldier stopping to romp in a field? It’s ridiculous. But even more absurd is a general who will stop the march of eternity to go and bring him back. But that’s God for you. His is no endless, empty marching. He’s going somewhere. His steps are deliberate and purposive. He may be old, and tired. But he knows where he’s going. And he means to take every last one of his tiny soldiers with him. Only there aren’t going to be any forced marches… And even though our foreheads have been signed with the sign of the cross, we are only human. And most of us are afraid and lonely and would like to hold hands or cry or run away. And we don’t know where we are going, and we can’t seem to trust God – especially when it’s dark out and we can’t see him! And he won’t go on without us. And that’s why it’s taking so long.[1]

Stumbling rabble or rag-tag army, we are part of a great cloud of witnesses to God’s patience, God’s determination, God’s creative and redeeming work in us, deserved or not. The question that was unasked before? Who am I? Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote a poem with the same title. He said:

Who I really am, you know me, I am yours, oh God![2]

And that’s all that really matters. Christ told His disciples to remove all the things that made them stumble, to cut away everything that caused sin, so that they would gain the kingdom of God. But the greatest thing that causes any of us to stumble is a lack of trust in God’s mercy. So Jesus cut himself off from God to give us the kingdom. He gave himself up as a willing sacrifice so that we might see the depth and reach of God’s forgiveness. Even killing the very Son of God was not enough to cause God to reject the stumbling rabble and cast them away.

The word of promise remains: God loves the stumbling rabble, in spite of our many mistakes and our costly blunders and our insistence on following the wrong people and believing the wrong things. You are loved by a God whose love is reckless and passionate – trust in that love, to pick you up when you stumble and to hold on to you when your sins make you fall away from the family. And may God’s peace, which passes all understanding, keep your mind and your heart and your life in Christ Jesus our Savior and Lord. Amen.

[2] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Wer bin Ich? – Who Am I? from Voices in the Night: The Prison Poems of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Edwin Robertson, Editor & Translator. © 1999 by Zondervan Publishing House. p. 46

Happy As...

2009-09-24T08:23:00.005-05:00

Have I mentioned that I love my work? Here's my Wednesday as proof of why I resemble Porky here most days.

Wake up at 6:00ish and spend a little time in prayer and reading before getting the girls up.
8:30 - Drop the kids off at pre-school/day care.
9:00 - stop back at home for coffee and a few things I forgot.
10:00 - hit the office with a travel mug of hot coffee. Spend an hour playing with new email format, which works like a charm on my first attempt.
11:00 - read through my blogroll and spend some time pondering the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification (post coming next week).
12:00 - lunch, then I read the daily newspaper, my #1 sermon help.
1:00 - Spend an hour or so working on Sunday worship and the sermon.
2:00 - Spend an hour prepping for the Bible study on Ruth 3 for later that evening, and 30 minutes getting last details nailed down for Evening Prayer.
3:00 - go to the music store for new guitar strings for Ruby and Susannah, then to pre-school to pick up Ainsley.
3:45 - go to our church to pick up Jack, drop off my Bible and study materials for later that night. Pick up Alanna from day care and go home. Change Ruby's strings while the girls watch Sesame Street, then play with them for a while.
5:30 - head to St. Andrew's for Church On Wednesday (C.O.W.), where the evening meal is, surprise, pizza! Yay!
6:15 - play guitar for a short devotional/worship time.
6:30 - lead the Ruth study for which I prepared earlier in the day.
7:30 - take the girls home and wait for Steph the babysitter to arrive.
8:15 - head to University Lutheran Center for a brief sing-through of the choir piece for Sunday, and put the sanctuary in order for Evening Prayer.
9:00 - Evening Prayer, with session #2 of our worship series as the message.
9:45 - Almost-Free Pizza (which I denied myself, since I'd already had pizza for supper) and a great conversation with students.
10:30ish - home for the night. A beer, the evening paper, and the first few pages of Trinity by Leon Uris to finish off the night. Life is good.

It could all change in a second - I'm aware of that. But, for tonight, I am truly happy as a pig in...

Grace & peace,
Scott

Rainy Monday Road Trip

2009-09-21T09:30:00.003-05:00

It's a rainy, grey day here in Ames. As I drove the girls to their day care this morning, I thought more than once that it felt as though I were in Ireland again (luckily, I kept my American head enough to stay on the right side of the road).

The thing I love about Ireland - indeed, most of Europe that I've seen - is the way the density of the population leads to a near-bewildering web of roads. Beloved and I discovered this on our Germany honeymoon. Landing in Frankfurt, we set off for Bamberg, thinking it would be an easy two-hour drive on the Autobahn. Unfortunately, our directions were American-style: " take A3-A4-A7, etc." Works great in the American midwest, where you can travel for hours on one road and never vary more than a point or two off the compass direction along which you started. But an hour after leaving Frankfurt, we were lost. Hopelessly lost. Off the map, no idea where we are lost. Looking back, it's hilarious, but at the moment it was more than a little stressful. We learned that planning car trips in Europe means going to towns, not along routes, as in "Rothenburg to Oberdachstetten to Hainklingen to Ammerndorf to Oberasbach to Nurnberg." More or less. Of course, in some cases, the freeways are faster, and you can somewhat direct yourself via routes if you like. But we found that finding our way around Germany by map and town was far simpler AND far, far more scenic and rewarding. Winding your Peugot around those little roads, driving through towns where every house has windowboxes full of flowers in bloom - these are the off-the-track joys of travel in unfamiliar places.

So, consider this post a chance to check out some unfamiliar territory, courtesy of your friendly travel guide. Here are some links worthy of your attention.

Jan takes on an issue that has long been a concern for me - church loneliness.
Tripp offers a far better sermon than the one I preached yesterday morning.
Milton is thinking lyrically.
HotCup had a holy moment in the hospital recently.
Megan was not so incapacitated by the H1N1 virus that she couldn't offer a post about all of the cool stuff she's been doing lately. Including preaching, in her first year of her first call, to what must have seemed the whole Lutheran fam-damily at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly.

I think that'll do for today. Hoping to have an original post worth contemplating tomorrow. For now, you've got your directions - enjoy the open road.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Sermon for the 16th Sunday of Pentecost: "Children on the Way of the Cross"

2009-09-20T10:07:00.002-05:00

When I started college at the University of Nebraska I majored in music education. I was going to the U to practice, work hard, and possibly earn a spot with a major symphony in their trombone section. But if my dream of the Chicago Symphony didn’t pan out, I figured I would enjoy being a band director. Heck, everyone thought I should do it – I was the music guy in my high school and in my conference. I was first chair in the All-State Band as a senior, and St. Olaf had accepted me into their music program, so why wouldn’t I succeed?

Three years later, things had changed. I discovered that though I loved music, I did NOT love music education. What I did love, however, was God. Most importantly, I loved the idea of serving God professionally, so I dropped the music major for work in religion and philosophy, and I began preparing for seminary. But I stayed active in the music programs at the University, because I did love making music with my friends.

In the fall of my fourth year in Lincoln, I was preparing to become the principal euphonium player for the Wind Ensemble, the premier performance group, with whom I had been playing for two years. The previous year I had been second chair euphonium, but Pete, the principal, had graduated and so I assumed that the chair was mine. To be honest, I was looking forward to taking over the principal chair; I thought my time had come.

As I entered the audition room, the director greeted me warmly, heard my audition, nodded, and asked a question I hadn’t expected: “Why didn’t you prepare a trombone audition?” I told him that I had assumed I would be playing euphonium again that year, that he and the other directors knew my skills as a trombonist, and that one audition, I thought, would suffice. He nodded again, listened to the remainder of my audition, thanked me for my time, and I left.

The roster was posted the following day. You can imagine my shock when I discovered that I was not the principal euphonium player. I had been replaced by two freshmen, both of whom were under my leadership as a baritone section leader in the marching band. I was going to play bass trombone.

I was mortified. I had told those freshmen how much I was looking forward to playing with them in the Wind Ensemble… someday. I was trying to be the magnanimous upperclassman, but instead I looked like a pompous blowhard. Bass trombone? Why not just make me go play piccolo or something.

In truth, they were better than I was. For the good of the ensemble, my role changed. To make better music, I took on a different role and followed the direction of my leader. But the embarrassment of discovering how poorly I had judged the situation has remained with me to this day. It was a question of ways: the way of my glory, or the way of the director’s will. I had to choose which way to follow.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus Christ, You take us along the Way of the Cross as the way of discipleship. You lead us down roads of sacrifice and service, where our desires and our needs are replaced with Your will and Your mercy. But all along the Way, we misunderstand You. We seek greatness where You desire humility. We seek power where You desire mercy. We seek individual glory where You desire the glory of Your body, the church. Forgive our arrogance and our ambition. Help us welcome each other as fellow children in Your family, and forgive us as we struggle to follow You. In Your name we pray: Amen.

It’s never an easy thing, getting your ego deflated. It’s an even harder experience to endure when your desires for individual glory are in service to a greater good. Or so you think.

It’s easy to demonize the disciples in today’s reading from Mark. Who would be stupid enough to argue about being numero uno when Jesus was around? But take yourself out of our modern church for a minute and think about life from the disciples’ perspective. Tiberius has been emperor of Rome for a few years. Your people have been captives to Rome for almost 100 years, prisoners in your own homeland. The Messiah, you believe, will deliver you from your bondage, and now that Jesus is here, now that you believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, you think it’s about time for the deliverance to get going. When Jesus delivers Israel, he’s going to need helpers to make sure all the work gets done properly. According to Dr. Don Juel, “as [Jesus’] followers, they will undoubtedly be assigned places in His cabinet.”[1] If you’re going to be in the cabinet, who wouldn’t want to be prime minister? Secretary of Agriculture? The disciples were a diverse group; is it possible that they were thinking of their own individual gifts and talents and how Jesus might best use them in his ‘inside’ group?

The disciples would have had no problems reading our text from Jeremiah today, with all its talk of retribution and destruction of enemies and evil deeds. They were, after all, faithfully serving God by following Jesus of Nazareth, God’s anointed one, the Messiah, the Christ. The coming of the kingdom was at hand! God was finally going to put things right, and the faithful would be sorted in the order of their deeds and their faithfulness to God’s commandments. Finally, Israel would receive her reward and receive her proper place as the people of God on earth. The way to Capernaum was the first step in the way to Jerusalem and the new kingdom of God!

After listening to this all afternoon, Jesus asked them at the evening meal: “What were you arguing about on the way?” Can you see the sheepish looks on the disciples’ faces when they realized Jesus had heard them planning His kingdom for Him? Jesus took that opportunity to teach them what it means to follow Him. The disciples believed that they were on the way to Capernaum. They believed that this was just another day along the path to the deliverance of Israel from her bondage. They were right; Israel was to be delivered, but the way was not through Capernaum: the way Israel would be delivered would be the Way of the Cross.

The Gospel tells us that before any of this happened, Jesus tried again to explain to His followers that He was going to be betrayed, handed over to be tortured, killed by His own people, and rise again. This was the second time in a week that Jesus told His followers about His death and resurrection, and also the second time they didn’t understand it. Worse, they were afraid and didn’t ask Jesus to explain further. Peter tried to tell Jesus that his ideas about death and resurrection were nonsense, and got a good rebuking for his trouble; why would any of them question Him again? So we see that the disciples weren’t just missing the point; they were trying to avoid the point altogether. The cross was the 800 pound gorilla in their lives, and they were very busy arguing about their greatness so they wouldn’t have to talk about it.

So, at the supper table, in Capernaum, with their ignorance and arrogance exposed, Jesus began to teach. He taught that the Way of the Cross reverses the order of things: the first become last, the greatest are servants, and the least are served. Then Jesus further deflated their hopes and dreams by showing them the most honored guest in the kingdom of God: a child. In Jesus’ time, a child was without worth or stature. Until a child reached adulthood, they were cherished for their potential but not nearly the people of power they are in the 21st century. A child in Jesus’ time would have lived out the old adage, “Children are to be seen and not heard,” but Jesus welcomed the child as a monarch or a head of state. Jesus tied the whole of his power and prestige and glory as Messiah to a nameless child, and so, Jesus said, should those who would follow Him. This is the Way of the Cross.

Not an easy way to follow, the Way of the Cross. On the surface one might imagine that one could follow the Way of the Cross by always going to the back of the line and always being nice to children. But it’s more than simple exterior actions. To follow the Way of the Cross, one is called to completely “abandon one’s authority and status, spending them on those with the least ability to repay.”[2] The Way of the Cross involves a complete devaluation of the self – “I” cease to exist without having “you” to serve. “I” the adult am nothing without the child of God to welcome in the name of Christ. “I” look for ways to lift up Christ through lifting up those around me. Jesus does not ask his followers to target the lowest in society and ignore the greatest: Jesus asks his followers to consider all people, be they lowly or of high stature, as blessed children of God and worthy of honor and respect. This is the Way of the Cross, as Jesus describes it. This is the Way to follow Him.

As we follow Jesus on the Way of the Cross, we remember that Jesus asks us only to receive what He has to give. On the Cross, where Jesus gave His life for you, the greatest became the least and the Living One died for we who were already dead in our sins. When Jesus asks us to follow Him on the Way of the Cross, He asks us to throw out the world’s order of greatest and least and simply serve all people as fellow children of God. When Jesus asks us to welcome one another as children in His name, He asks us to welcome each other as we were welcomed into His family – without thought or consideration of worth, simply as the greatest gift a loving God could give.

The way to follow Jesus is not a line: it is a circle, gathered with Christ at its center, where all serve the Servant of All. Who is the greatest? Jesus is the greatest – and we are His children, children on the Way of the Cross. Thanks be to God. Amen.

[1] Juel, Donald. Word & World, Vol. XIV, No. 3, Summer 1994. © Word & World, Luther Seminary, St. Paul, MN. p. 354
[2] ibid, p. 355.

What I Do On Mornings Like This

2009-09-15T08:13:00.005-05:00

6:00 AM: The alarm on my watch goes off, beeping on my dresser. I get up, get dressed, grind the coffee beans and start the first pot of the day, let the dog out, put in my contacts.

I pour the first cup of steaming bitter blessedness and settle down into the recliner in the basement with my latest book, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold by John le Carre. I'm about 100 pages from the end. I hear Alanna cooing to herself upstairs, and think that I might get twenty pages, maybe thirty, before she insists on getting up and starting her day.

But, wonder of wonders, she goes back to sleep. After about 90 minutes, I have finished the book, including its wonderfully tense final chapters. I check Facebook, make up a few snarky titles for the rumored "Indiana Jones 5," catch up on my Huskers, and read email, which includes the funny poem below, from The Writer's Almanac this morning. Now it's 8:20, I can hear my ladies stirring, and we've missed breakfast at day care - so I'll go upstairs and make scrambled eggs and toast, and we will smile at the luxury of sleeping in and reading good books.

Thus far it's been a nearly perfect morning. Please let's not ruin it, shall we?

Grace & peace,

Scott

A Wife Explains Why She Likes Country

by Barbara Ras

Because those cows in the bottomland are black and white, colors
anyone can understand, even against the green
of the grass, where they glide like yes and no, nothing in between,
because in country, heartache has nowhere to hide,
it's the Church of Abundant Life, the Alamo,
the hubbub of the hoi polloi, the parallel lines of rail fences,
because I like rodeos more than golf,
because there's something about the sound of mealworms and
leeches and the dream of a double-wide
that reminds me this is America, because of the simple pleasure
of a last chance, because sometimes whiskey
tastes better than wine, because hauling hogs on the road
is as good as it gets when the big bodies are layered like pigs in a cake,
not one layer but two,
because only country has a gun with a full choke and a slide guitar
that melts playing it cool into sweaty surrender in one note,
because in country you can smoke forever and it'll never kill you,
because roadbeds, flatbeds, your bed or mine,
because the package store is right across from the chicken plant
and it sells boiled peanuts, because I'm fixin' to wear boots to the dance
and make my hair bigger, because no smarty-pants, just easy rhymes,
perfect love, because I'm lost deep within myself and the sad songs call me out,
because even you with your superior aesthetic cried
when Tammy Wynette died,
because my people
come from dirt.

The, er, Kindness of Friends

2009-09-11T11:54:00.003-05:00

My beloved black 4th gen Nano bit the dust a few weeks ago. 16G of tiny little sonic wonder deemed unrepairable and, worse, not replaceable by the folks at Apple. Combine that with our new dedication to save money rather than use credit for purchases we don't "need," and I'm woefully behind on audiobooks and podcasts.

But here comes a good friend to the rescue. She calls Wednesday morning and says she's coming with a suprise for me. It's an old iPod Mini. Completely functional, not being used because her child got a new one last year, only 4G but with proper tending I should get a lot of use out of it before it bites the dust. There's only one problem:

Stop that snickering. I mean it.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Raising the Wrong Sort of Flags

2009-09-09T13:54:00.003-05:00

I received a letter from a local congregation promoting this year's "See You At The Pole" event. SYATP started in 1990 and has since grown to be a nation-wide event, purportedly encouraging students to pray at their schools.

For the record, I'm not opposed to students praying. I'm not opposed to students having prayer groups in schools. What concerns me is the language we use when we promote this stuff. For example:

How about you? Do you desire to see a mighty move of God on your campus? Are you pursuing God passionately? Are you serious about radical obedience? Are you determined to get rid of anything and everything that dishonors God and ready to challenge your friends to do the same?

We are indeed called to a public faith, but not in this way. Programs like SYATP can all too easily descend into the kind of Christianity satirized in the movie Saved:

"This is not a weapon." Sort of sounds like this: "Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?" (Jesus, speaking in Matthew 26.52)

To my mind, faith and prayer are meant to transform from within, one by one, not by being imposed from without. This is exactly the sort of thing James rails against when he says "Faith without works is dead." Sure, we can pray outside our schools: the real challenge is this, to live prayerfully and faithfully within our schools, without becoming the sort of Christian who sees every disagreement as heresy and every question as damnation incarnate.

Language like that which was used in the SYATP flier makes me nervous because it sets up the Christian faith as an arena of domination and colonization. The flier invites adult sponsors to provide "prayer cover" at schools, as though this were an operation being undertaken by a boatload of Navy SEALS. It's no coincidence that the people who put it together for this year used the state religion of Josiah's reign as their operative paradigm. But shouldn't there be a way we can emulate Josiah's faith without tying the baggage of warfare and empire to it all?

Perhaps Paul has a better way for us:

¹⁶From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. ¹⁷So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! ¹⁸All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; ¹⁹that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. ²⁰So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. ²¹For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
2nd Corinthians 5.16-21

Reconciliation, not domination. I can get behind that.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Campsick

2009-09-06T23:42:00.003-05:00

In the summer of 1984, one week changed everything about me, changes that are still playing out today, 24 years later. All because I went to church camp.

I was ten years old, bookish, fairly unathletic, hopelessly self-conscious, an easy target for teasers. I had friends, good friends, and I'm pretty sure I was well liked by most of my classmates in our small town elementary school. But I had a very small sense of self-worth, and what I remember about those days was a fairly constant low-grade fear that whoever or whatever I was, it wasn't good enough, that sooner or later whatever goodness I'd found would be taken away from me. Melodramatic? Of course: but that's who I was back then, and in some sense that's who I remain today. I'm still plagued by fears of inadequacy, doubts about my worth as a person, as a father, husband, pastor. But over the course of six days in 1984, four more years of camp after those six days, and eventually five summers as a staff member, my experiences at Camp Carol Joy Holling in Ashland, Nebraska planted seeds of faith, hope and love in me that have never died. Sometimes I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that church camp saved my life.

This past weekend, staff members from years past gathered at Carol Joy Holling to celebrate 35 years of ministry in that wonderful place. They sang songs around the campfire; they hiked the trails I know like the back of my hand; someone did the "Shishi" skit before the all ate s'mores; the ookaleylas made an appearance (does anyone actually know how to spell "ookaleyla?"); maybe someone took a trip to the doctor's office and left with more than they bargained for. Most of all, I'm sure they laughed their heads off, heard gracious words of faith from the many skilled pastors who've risen out of that staff, and, maybe, even cried a little as they thought of friends who've left us since those summer days we treasure in our memories.

We couldn't go. Finances, the academic year and illness combined to make the trip out of the question for us. I know we made the right decision not to go. But, still...

When I was a kid, I never cried at church camp, never got homesick. I did my crying on the way home, and for a couple of days afterwards. I got campsick. Every. Single. Summer. And even when I came back as a staff member, I cried every August when I drove away from camp back into the "real world." In 1997, my last year on staff, I cried at least once a day for the last week, especially after the kids left and we were packing up "my camp" for the last time.

Tonight I feel like crying a little bit, as I think of all the friends I didn't get to see this weekend. Now that we're closer, we'll be back more often, especially as the girls grow up and they get ready for their own camp experiences. But it would have been really special to be there this weekend, and melodramatic me, well, I'm thinking of all those evening campfires, playing guitar and singing "Messiah" or "Come to the Water" or "Micah 6:8" and I'm really wishing we'd have been able to go.

So, camp friends, do me a favor. If you read this, drop me a line and let me know how your life is. Where are you, what are you doing, do you enjoy it or does it suck, what stirs your heart these days? Because I'm sure that's what we'd have been talking about if I'd have been able to be with you, and tonight, being campsick, it's what I really want to hear. Most of all, take care of yourselves, friends, and remember the most important thing you ever learned at camp: you are a child of God, and we are all family.

Grace and peace,

Scott

Sermon for the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost - "Even God Needs a Mother"

2009-09-06T06:54:00.004-05:00

Preaching Text

Every Christian experiences, sooner or later, a disconnect between the God in whom we think we believe and the God who actually is. This is true of all our relationships, of course, but it is especially troubling when our own expectations and hopes about God don’t match up with the Being who exists far, far beyond those expectations and hopes. It might be even more troubling, however, when that Being falls, in our estimation, fall short of those expectations and hopes.

What do you do with a Savior who isn’t interested in saving people? With a Healer who doesn’t want to heal? That’s the question that leaps out at us from the gospel of Mark today. Jesus – our kind, gracious, warm, loving Jesus – actually dismisses someone. Worse, the someone he dismisses is a mother who wants her daughter to be free from demonic possession. What happened to the Jesus who said, “Let the children come to me, for the kingdom of God belongs to them?”

Pastor Rob Bell has some thoughts about images of God that might not be what we “always think about” when we think about God. Take a look and listen well to what he has to say.

This is a short clip from the Nooma video "She." It can be ordered at flannel.com.

Keeping in mind what Rob Bell says about aspects of God that we don’t often consider, we are forced to wonder about the interaction between Jesus and the Syrophonoecian woman from today’s gospel reading. It’s one of those scenes where we wish we could have been there to hear the way Jesus said what he said. Was Jesus being ironic, using the moment to teach his disciples? Or was Jesus genuinely convinced that this woman was not one he came to save? Either way, in this instance, the boundary-breaking that is so common in Mark’s gospel does not come through Jesus, but through this desperate mother. She was a Gentile, not a member of Jesus’ faith community. She was a Swede at the Sons of Norway meeting, a Baptist at the Lutheran church, a Nebraskan at an Iowa State game. She was a woman, and thus she was not supposed to speak to a man in public. But her devotion to her child led her to break social and religious boundaries in the hopes that Jesus might have the power and the willingness to heal.

In this woman, we see an aspect of the relationship between God the Creator and Jesus the Christ. Here we are witness to a holy conversation: the Christ, the anointed Son of God, hears the voice of the Creator through the longing, hopeful plea of a woman who will go to any length for the sake of her child. Was it actually the voice of the Creator? No, but can we not imagine that in her plea Jesus hears and remembers the voice of the one he calls “Abba – Daddy?”

It seems that even God needs a mother – at least, God in the form of Jesus needs this mother. Jesus needs this mother to show the sort of boundary-breaking, devoted love God has for creation. Jesus needs this mother to illustrate why he has come for the world, not just for a certain group of people within it. Jesus needs this mother because it is her faith, not his refusal, that carries the day. She pleads, she thinks on her feet, but most importantly, she believes; and so the world is changed by Jesus once again.

I spoke earlier of the disconnect we sometimes experience when we experience something of God we never believed we would see. It is not the most comfortable way of maintaining the relationship between God and ourselves, but God is not interested in comfort for the sake of easy living. When Jesus refused to save this woman’s daughter, that disconnect occurs for us: when Jesus gave his life on the cross, that disconnect occurs for every ounce of our humanity that ever believed that God was primarily interested in power and dominion. Yet Jesus, the one who refused a desperate mother, did not refuse to save a broken world, and so all the boundaries between ourselves and the God who loves us started to come crashing down. Our sin, our fear, our shattered dreams and hopes: all gone in the cross, replaced by the love of Jesus that says, over and over again, “I will not refuse you. You are mine and I will never let you go.” Now where do you suppose he might have learned to say something like that? It appears that Jesus, like the most fortunate of us, learned wisdom from a mother’s love. It just goes to show you that, perhaps, even God needs mothers. Amen.

Wisdom On Her Corner

2009-09-05T06:35:00.003-05:00

Early Saturday morning. Will be heading out for a run in a few minutes, the first exercise I've gotten since Monday. Pancakes and eggs to be made after that, then college football. Ah, the glory of September.

But I'm up before any of my girls, and since I didn't have time to run through my blogroll yesterday, I opened up a bunch of them just now. Some days it's a quick run through stuff that's not new, but between today and yesterday most of my blogger friends have new posts to peruse. Here's what I've read today:

Jan's church is starting to understand that ministry is an "all of us" thing, not a "Pastor" thing.
Cheesehead preached an amazing memorial sermon at a funeral for a 23 year old man, he and his family being largely unchurched (though if it had been me, hearing that sermon, I wouldn't be unchurched for long).
Diane connected the dots between the anxiety in health care reform and our refusal to look death square in the face.
Meta tells the story of how she and her husband set up their financial stewardship plan (hint: they give more to the church than they do to their cable provider. Probably a good sense of perspective, IMO).
CoffeePastor is perusing the start of football season with a healthy sense of trepidation, being a Michigan fan. All is not well in Ann Arbor at the moment (but I hope it becomes so very soon, because college football is better when Michigan is a strong program).

Some folks think blogs are a pretentious waste of time. Sometimes they are - even here, where the author is one of the most un-pretentious people I know. ;-) But if you pay attention, blogs and facebook and even Twitter can offer some incredible wisdom in addition to a greater sense of connectedness.

My denomination is undergoing a time of great change at the moment. It's uncomfortable even for those who wanted the change, and sometimes excruciating for those opposed to it. But of all the things we've said and done in this conversation over the past eight years, what gives me the most pride in our denomination is how we've tried to make sure our collective wisdom is not ignored. Many, many voices have spoken and continue to speak about this time of change in our church, and they have rarely agreed. But unlike those who surround themselves with people who agree, we've tried to make this conversation as wide and wise as it can be. It might be more comfortable to silence dissenting voices, but no one grows wiser by hearing only what you already know.

Last night, Beloved and I watched Caprica, a prequel to SciFi's excellent series Battlestar Galactica. This movie was even more philosophical and metaphysical than the already-heady BSG; it addressed the nature of the mind, the soul, technology and what might happen when we develop the ability to mix the three more than we already do. But the sentence that struck me was this: "A difference that isn't noticeably different isn't really a difference, is it?" (As close as I can remember it, that is) So true. Likewise, a wisdom informed only by itself isn't really wise.

Well, that's some Saturday morning thinking for you. Now I'm off to kill brain cells by watching as much college football as possible between now and tomorrow night. There's wisdom, and then there's, well, whatever this weekend is going to be.

Grace & peace,
Scott

Speaking of Things That Get Me Charged Up

2009-09-04T22:57:00.001-05:00

It's football season. Need I say more? Well, probably one more thing.

GO.

BIG.

RED.