Sent to Nineveh

Today is a big day for ELCA seminarians.  It's the day regional assignments are released and students find out where they've been "drafted."  It's a day of high anxiety and fear.  Some students will find that fear alleviated by receiving the regional and synodical assignments they requested.  Some students will find that fear confirmed by being sent to a part of the country with which they have no experience and for which they feel ill-equipped.  A lucky few are able to go wherever they are needed and simply hope to find a good place to begin their ministry, but the overwhelming majority have a general place in mind where they hope they are called to serve, for whatever reasons may seem best to them.

A Valentine's Post: Flirting with My Beloved

Warning:  this is SAPPY.  There's no way it won't be.  But it's fun all the same.  At least, I remember it being fun.  I can NOT believe all of this happened ten years ago.  No way has it been that long  Yet here we are...

Sermon for Ash Wednesday - Saved In Ashes And Rent Hearts

The story that gives rise to Psalm 51 is terrible.  King David, the man after God’s own heart, the shepherd boy chosen by God to be the leader of God’s people, was standing on high and looking out over the city of Jerusalem when he saw a beautiful woman bathing and fell victim to his own desire and power.  He had the woman, Bathsheba, brought to his chambers, where he took her against her will and conceived a child with her.  When she told him she was pregnant, King David brought her husband Uriah home from the battlefield so that he might visit his wife, sleep with her, and thus hide the illegitimate pregnancy as one of his own.  But Uriah was faithful to King David and his fellow soldiers.  Uriah refused to leave King David’s house.  He slept on King David’s doorstep the first night, and stayed there the second night even after King David fed him wine and rich foods to get him drunk and fool him into going home.  In the end, King David sent Uriah back to the battlefield and ordered his commander, Joab, to put Uriah at the front of the army, attack their enemy and pull back quickly so that Uriah would be killed.  Joab followed King David’s orders, Uriah was killed, and King David took Bathsheba into his household as one of his wives soon after.

2013 Book List

Here's the list of books I've read in 2013, updated monthly, for fun or for some sort of edification, professional or otherwise. Recommended titles are in bold, and formats are +(Kindle), *(audio/iPod).

Culture Roundup

We gathered with some friends for the Super Bowl last night and, true to form, spent more time watching the commercials than the game.  One of these years I'm going to have to adopt an NFL team I truly love so I might actually care about the game itself if said team ever makes it to the top.

As it is, I'm considering proposing legislation to ban GoDaddy from ever producing a commercial again.  Yeesh.  And as some of my friends noted, there aren't a lot of farmers like the ones Paul Harvey described who could afford the $50,000 pickup Dodge was selling in their commercial, no matter how much it might tug at your heartstrings.  That one and the Clydesdale commercial win for "most likely to make me cry if I watch it by myself."  The Oreo Riot, Miracle Montana Stain and Babylandia were my biggest Laugh Out Loud moments.  And our friends brought a "Snackadium" for us all to enjoy, which we did.  Sloppy Joes, queso, Chex Mix - it was a good night for my tummy 'round these parts.

Sermon for the 4th Sunday after Epiphany - Jesus Came Into The World For...

There have been stories over the last few years about the difficulty of being a lottery winner.  You may have heard of this:  the first thing every big lottery winner should do, according to the people who run the lottery, is hire a lawyer and get ready for everyone you’ve ever known to come out of the woodwork.  Today being Super Bowl Sunday, the members of the Ravens and the 49ers have had similar problems dealing with ticket requests.  One former player interviewed on NPR said he made his spouse deal with ticket requests so he could focus on the game.  I can only imagine how well went over with the spouse.  But what it boils down to is this:  when a local boy or local girl makes it big, everyone comes running to share in the good news.  This was as true in Nazareth in the days of Jesus as it is today.  

The people of Nazareth were welcoming back the hometown boy who was building a good reputation for himself.  “Hey, did you hear Jesus will be back in town on Saturday?”  “If he healed that guy over in Capernaum, just imagine what he’ll do for us!”  “I remember Mary’s boy Jesus when he was still waddling around the house in his diapers.”  “I always knew Jesus would make something of himself.”  But Jesus had harsh words for these folks who thought they knew him so well.  First, as you heard in today’s reading from Luke, Jesus amazed the crowd by claiming that the promises of Isaiah were fulfilled as they listened to him read them aloud.  Odd, but that wasn’t the worst.  The worst was the moment when Jesus picked a fight with the hometown crowd.  

Jesus said, “I’m sure you’re expecting me to do some great things here, things you’ve heard I’ve been doing in other towns.  Well, you’re not going to like what I have to say to you here.  People who speak the truth from God are never welcomed in their hometowns.”

What happens here sets the tone for the rest of the gospel of Luke.  Jesus tells these people who have loved him that their connection to him is not what makes them special.  Jesus makes it very clear:  he has not come into the world to make sure that these people who’ve known him can exploit that connection for their own benefit.  Messiah came into the world for much more than the people of Nazareth.

Jesus came into the world for the Gentiles - for more than just one tribe, more than just one clique.  In Luke 2.10 the angels say that God has brought “good news for all people.”  A few verses later the prophet Simeon says Jesus will be “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”  When John the Baptist arrives on the scene to prepare the way of the Messiah, he proclaims that in Jesus salvation will be seen by all flesh.”  Jesus was promised to Israel for centuries, but the promise was never limited to Israel.  

You have to ask yourself:  what’s the problem for the people of Nazareth?  That they want Jesus to do great things?  No!  The problem is that Nazareth wants Jesus for themselves at the exclusion of others who also need him.  If he is the Messiah, he’s our Messiah - and they will set up walls to keep Jesus in and keep the rabble out if they have to.  There’s no room for outsiders, no room for those who don’t look like us, act like us, don’t meet our standards.  Make no mistake - this is not a failing limited to Nazareth - the same problem lives in us today and will live in us forever.  Jesus is for Nazareth, but Jesus is also for those outside of Nazareth.

Jesus came into the world for sinners, no matter where they might be found.  The things he said to the people of Nazareth offended them because Sidonites and Syrians were sinners.  We can’t say this for certain, but it sure sounds like Jesus picked a fight on purpose to prove his point.  Want to know what it feels like to hear what the people of Nazareth heard?  Imagine that person who epitomizes everything wrong with the world, and put their name in the place of the widow of Zarephath or Naaman the Syrian.  It sounds offensive because it is meant to be offensive.  It is meant to be offensive because God wants to offend our sense of entitlement, which always rises up and gets in the way when we think we’ve joined the “in” group by being part of the church.  God blesses whomever God chooses to bless.  It is not under our control - God blesses whomever God chooses to bless.  

At a concert in 1997, a few months before he died in a car accident, Rich Mullins said, “Being a Christian doesn’t mean you build a community and fence it in, where there are no minorities, no gays, no sinners.  Being a Christian means loving what Jesus loved, and Jesus loved the poor.”  We simply can’t tell God what God should do, whom God should love.  God is free.  God is free to do whatever God wants, even if it doesn’t make us particularly happy.  God can and does call us to love and serve the outsider, the imperfect, those who aren’t necessarily what we think they ought to be.  Above all, the message from Jesus is this:  “DON’T YOU DARE PRESUME TO TELL GOD WHO IS IN AND WHO IS OUT.”  Living in Nazareth didn’t make for a special claim on the Messiah.  Neither does being a member in good standing of St. Petri Lutheran Church, or the ELCA, or the Roman Catholic Church, or any other community of faith.  God decides who is in and who is out, and if God wants to ignore what you might think is your better judgment, well, you’re going to have to take that up with God.  And I wish you good luck.  

Here’s the great thing, though:  you can indeed take this up with God, because if Jesus came into the world for the outsiders and sinners, that means that Jesus came into the world for you.  Or are you going to sit there and tell me you’ve never felt like an outsider - or that you’ve never been a sinner?  If being part of the hometown crowd didn’t do anything for the people of Nazareth, being here this morning isn’t going to make God feel any better about you, either.  It’s not about who you’ve been - it’s all about who Jesus is and who Jesus came into the world to save.  Ann Landers once wrote that the church “is not a hotel for saints:  it’s a hospital for sinners.”  Jesus also seemed to feel this way about faith and why he came into the world.  He said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”  

Jesus didn’t come into the world to play favorites.  Jesus didn’t come into the world to be the eternal nanny, forever keeping track of our spiritual chore sheets and who gets an extra spoonful of sugar this week.  That’s not how it works.  The people of Nazareth were blessed by Jesus presence, but not because it got them better seats at the resurrection:  they were blessed because God Incarnate grew up among them!  The Word of God took on flesh and bone and lived with them, and they saw his glory - that’s all the blessing we people of God could ever need!  We aren’t righteous here at St. Petri because we’ve got our theology right, or because we got the budget in the black, or because we’ve braved the elements on a cold Iowa morning when it would have been more comfortable to just stay in bed.  We here at St. Petri are blessed because Jesus Christ, the truth of God, came into the world for sinners like us, and in him we’ve been set free of all those other things we think are so important.  God’s church is meant to be a safe place, a hospital for sinners, but it is NEVER a place where the blessings of almighty God are expected as a result of what we do or limited to a chosen few that look, act, and think the way we do.  God’s church is meant to be a safe place turning itself inside out, offering God’s mercy and love to a world that needs it desperately, welcoming those who don't know the story and who haven't been part of the 'in' crowd at the church before.  

This world is changing.  God’s church is changing.   But God’s love hasn’t changed.  From our deepest history, God’s love has always sought outsiders and sinners and made them free in mercy for the sake of the world.  God's reckless love isn't happy until it gives itself away freely.  In the church, God is creating the 'inside-out' crowd, gathered by the Holy Spirit, forgiven in Jesus’ name, sent into the world to proclaim the love of God for all humanity.  Jesus didn’t come into the world to play favorites - Jesus came into the world for outsiders, for sinners, for you.  Be blessed, God’s chosen people.  Amen.

Friday Five: Smile!

Posted by Jan at RevGalBlogPals:  

Remembering that Meister Eckhart said that if you pray "thank you" that that is enough of a prayer, share with us five things, memories, or activities that bring you smiles and gratitude.

Culture Roundup

Hey, you know what?  I haven't done one of these in a while.  Let's see...

Just finished reading Dead Beat, book 7 in the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher.  I'm really enjoying this series. It's formulaic, and a bit chauvinistic at times, but I really enjoy the Harry Dresden character and the group of folks who continue popping in and out of Harry's life.  Smart-ass wizards with cool friends make for some fun reading.

A Week In The Life

Clint Schnekloth challenged some colleagues to post about a week in the life of a pastor. The past eight days seemed as good as any for such an endeavor.

SUNDAY, 6 January
9:30 am Worship, which means I'm up at 5:30 or so to get caffeinated, run over my sermon one last time and get to the office by 8:30 at the latest for details.  I practice briefly with the choir, meet with the lector & assisting minister to go over any last things, check in with the organist, do a sound check and try to remember to put on my alb and stole sometime before 9:28 so I can do it slowly and prayerfully and not "HOLYCOWIT'STIMEFORWORSHIPANDI'MNOTREADYWHYCAN'TITIEMY
CINCTUREHASANYONESEENMYIPADTELLTHEORGANISTTOPLAYFORAFEWMOREMINUTESKTHXBAI..."  We worship - it's a small crowd since the college students have gone home and the high holy days of Christmas have gone by.  But it's a good day nonetheless.  In the afternoon, I find time to read the Sunday paper while watching football, then I catch a 20 minute nap before working on the evening Confirmation lesson from 4 until the class actually begins at 6pm.  We do Confirmation jointly with the other ELCA congregation in our school district, meeting every 1st and 3rd Sunday of the month, alternating between the churches.  I'm leading this week because we're at the other church, so I put together the lesson plan, get the media display ready, etc.  We have class, and likely the high point is explaining what "eunuch" means.  It's certainly the moment at which I have the keenest attention of the group.  After class, I'm done for the day: home, a few hours of TV and reading, then sleep.  Sweet, sweet Sunday night sleep.

MONDAY, 7 January
Monday is usually my Sabbath day.  We get up, drop our kindergartener off at school and head to the gym with our preschooler, who stays with us on our day off.  I get in a good workout, and as a special treat there are several friends in the weightlifting class I attend.  We come home for lunch, then I break my Sabbath for a brief meeting with our Stewardship Chair (it's the only time she can meet before Wednesday's Council meeting).  I spend the rest of the afternoon reading, napping and puttering around the house. After supper my colleague & friend Jamie came over to watch the college football title blowout...er, game. So sad to end the best season of all with a butt-whipping, but man, that Alabama team was good!

TUESDAY, 8 January
Back at the office early in the morning - I check email and sort through some administrivia from the weekend.  At 10:30 I visit a parishioner, then lead a lunchtime Bible study before heading back to the office.  I spend a few hours finishing up various projects apropos to the time of year:  my annual report, looking over Council matters & other reports, reading mail that comes in, etc.  If I remember right I continued some more unpacking & organizing of my files - particularly stuff I don't use regularly but need to have from time to time.  After picking up our eldest from kindergarten and our youngest from preschool, we go to the gym together, then come home for the night.  As Tuesdays go, it's a light one, which is good because Wednesday is going to be a doozy.

WEDNESDAY, 9 January
At 7:00am, while I'm in the shower, I get a voicemail telling me a member of our church has died.  So we swing into funeral mode.  The family knew this was coming, so there's not a lot of pastoral care I need to do at the moment.  But there are details to put in place.  I know I'm going to be very busy the rest of the week, so I take my normal Wednesday morning sermon writing excursion to a local coffee house in the hopes I can get a very good start and not have to scramble after the funeral.  After lunch I'm at the office doing more administrivia.  At 3:00 I have an appointment with the family of the deceased and their funeral director, where we plan funeral details and remember the deceased with laughter and a few tears.  After that meeting I pick up our girls and go to a local plasma donation center (I use my plasma money for fun stuff like golf, music, etc.).  At 7:00pm I'm supposed to be in committee meetings for our monthly Council night, but at 5:30 we got a text from our babysitter telling us her car broke down and she won't make it.  I stay with our girls until the backup babysitter gets there, then head over to the church at 7:30 for Council.  The actual meeting begins at 8:00pm and runs for over two hours due to an overwhelming agenda, including annual meeting stuff, job reviews and constitutional review.  It's exhausting, but it's important work and for the most part everyone does it well.  Still, when I get back home sometime after 10:30, the best part of my night is the dram of Glenfiddich and cigar I give myself as a treat every month after Council is done.

THURSDAY, 10 January

The living room at The Sanctuary. Did most of
my reading in that red easy chair.

In the morning I was supposed to drive to Iowa Falls for our regularly scheduled Riverside Conference meeting, but due to the full schedule I had for the remainder of the week, I elected to stay home and catch up on a few things.  I read the newspaper, a spiritual discipline I follow daily to keep up on what's happening in God's world, then go to the office to finalize funeral plans and get them sent to the people who need them.  This takes longer than you might imagine, and by the time I'm done it's lunchtime.  Kristin and I eat lunch at the parsonage together, then we have our weekly staff meeting at 2:00pm.  At 3:00pm I pack my bags and head out to my 24 hour Prayer and Planning retreat.  I am trying something new - spending time "off the grid" at a nearby spiritual retreat center to get a better big-picture focus for the work I need to do.  In the afternoon I finish reading some journals and a book I'm using for a stewardship class coming up in a few weeks, then in the evening I start planning worship for Lent and Easter.  At 9:00 or so I call it a working night, break out Dead Beat, the next book in the Dresden Files series I'm reading by Jim Butcher, and read until I fall asleep.

FRIDAY, 11 January

The office at The Sanctuary.
That's my worship stuff spread out over the desk

In the morning I get up and realize the retreat center is out of coffee, so I have to drive into town and find a local coffeeshop.  After I get back home, I continue worship planning until 11:00 or so, then channel my inner Tolkien:  I fire up a good pipe and take an hour-long walk in the woods.  I can barely hear traffic noise from the highway, so it's a good, long, quiet walk (note to self:  the waterproof hiking boots you've been considering just moved from "wouldn't it be nice" to "gotta get some").  After my walk, I spend a few more hours planning worship & sermons, then clean up the retreat center before coming home around 5:00pm.  At 6:30pm I lead a short prayer service at the funeral visitation, then hurry home to see the girls for the first time since breakfast Thursday.  Friday night me & the missus spend some quality time watching TV together, then hit the sack.

SATURDAY, 12 January
Unfortunately, I see a lot more of Saturday than I planned.  Every once in a while my brain will NOT shut off at night, and tonight is one of those nights.  So I read in the easy chair in our bedroom until at least 3:00am or so, then fight for a few hours of sleep before the funeral.  I get to the church around 9:30, get everything ready to go with our sound guy, the funeral director and the family, then officiate the funeral at 10:30am.  We drive 15 miles to the cemetery for the committal, which is the coldest I've had in quite a while, particularly for Iowa.  The poor soldiers who came to play taps and present the flag to the widow are shivering even though they try to hide it - I admire their dedication to one of their own.  After the committal, it's back to the church for the funeral lunch, and after helping our volunteers a bit with the cleanup I check some emails in my office before heading home around 2:30 or so.  I didn't read the paper that morning, so when I get home I spend a couple of hours reading the Friday and Saturday newspapers while watching the playoffs and letting Kristin catch a nap.  In the evening we all make supper together, then play some games before the girls go to bed.  I'm not too far behind them.

SUNDAY, 13 January
And the week begins again.  Up at 5:30am to run through my sermon and cover last details for worship.  Today is the Baptism of Our Lord, so we need water in the font for a blessing prior to communion and a few other out of the ordinary things.  There are some emails related to a Council issue to read and write, and a quick conversation after worship about the same thing.  Decent attendance with at least three people who don't make it because it's flu season:  we don't shake hands for the passing of the peace.  I've got a bug myself: congested sinuses and a bit achy, so I hit the hand sanitizer often and don't shake hands after the service.  After posting my sermon on the blog, I'm done with "work" for the day - time to come home, read the paper while watching football and catch up on some rest after a very busy week.

This is what I do.  It's rarely boring, sometimes exhausting, but always rewarding.  I love being a pastor and can't imagine another calling giving me such a sense of joy and well-being. And I like to think that as I approach the 10th anniversary of my ordination (is that even possible?), I'm starting to figure out how to do it well, also. 

Sermon for the Baptism of Our Lord Sunday - "Baptism Is Not The Point"

"The Baptism of Jesus" by He Qi

I remember the first time my campus pastor shocked me.  We were sitting around the lounge of the Lutheran Student Center one Sunday morning after worship, eating the last of the donut holes, drinking the last of the coffee, leafing through the Sunday paper and watching football.  Somehow the conversation in our little circle of chairs got to baptism, and after a while somebody asked Pastor Larry, "Have you ever refused to do a baptism?"  That was when he shocked us, because his answer was, "Yes."

Sermon for the Nativity of Our Lord - "Christmas Belongs To Children"

Christmas is a time that belongs to children.  Think about all the Christmas stories and songs you know, and the role that children play in them.  

• A Christmas Carol:  where Tiny Tim understands the spirit of Christmas better than Scrooge, Marley, and even his own father, Bob Cratchit.  

• Miracle on 34^th Street: where the child believes in Kris Kringle when no one else does.  

• A Charlie Brown Christmas:  no adults even appear in this story!

• How the Grinch Stole Christmas:  Cindy Lou Who speaks for all of Whoville.

• The Best Christmas Pageant Ever:  the Herdmans, even though they get everything wrong, get it all right in the end.

Sermon for the 4th Sunday of Advent - "Change Is Coming"

Brothers and sisters, grace and peace to you from God our Creator, Jesus Christ our Redeemer, and from the Holy Spirit, present and active in our midst this morning. Amen.

First, turn to your neighbor and take a minute or two to answer this question: what are the things you need to feel like you’re celebrating Christmas?

For me, it seems like food plays a big role. I was in Ames yesterday looking for potato sausage. Didn’t find any, where I went, but my friend Heidi said Dahl’s sometimes has it, and Linda Fevold said there’s a shop in Gowrie that might have some also. I don’t know if there’s enough time to get some for this year, but it certainly bears remembering for next year.

Sermon for the Second Sunday in Advent - "On Jordan's Banks...and Ours"

Preaching Texts

1 On Jordan's bank the Baptist's cry

announces that the Lord is nigh;

awake and hearken, for he brings
glad tidings of the King of kings!

We know how Advent and Christmas work, right?  Put up the tree early in December, string the lights.  Get the gifts on Black Friday if you want to get nice stuff and save lots of money.  Clean the house.  Clean it again.  Prepare for the coming of the relatives.  For us this year, it’s ALL the relatives on Kristin’s side.  I’m about to become Clark Griswold.

But that’s window dressing.  If we knew that JESUS was coming, actually and really entering the world, what would look different?  Would anything look different?

Pastor Brian Stoffregen writes, “Perhaps if we want to properly prepare for the coming of Jesus, rather than looking in the manger, or decorating trees and houses, or buying and wrapping presents, we need to listen to John. While only two gospels mention the nativity, all four talk about John who prepares the way for the coming of Jesus.”  John says it’s more than just family and good food coming:  the LORD is coming.  And the way must be prepared.

2 Then cleansed be ev'ry life from sin;
make straight the way for God within,
and let us all our hearts prepare
for Christ to come and enter there.

Luke makes it clear that John comes out of the wilderness in a time of powerful people.  Emperors, governors, kings and high priests.  But the word of God doesn’t come to these powerful people, and for all Luke’s talk of “casting the mighty down from their thrones,” we would do well to notice something:  all of these powerful people Luke lists at the beginning of the gospel are still in their seats of power at the end.

Power is not the reason John proclaims the coming of Jesus.  Repentance is what John preaches, from the highest to the lowliest.  Repentance for sin, for the mistakes we make and for the ways we miss the coming of our Lord’s reign.  Every last one of us, from the most powerful to the least, walks this world under the bondage of sin.  If John were to re-proclaim his message today, it might go something like this:  in the 5th year of the Presidency of Barack Obama, when Terry Branstad was governor of Iowa, during the papacy of Benedict XVI, when Mark Hanson was the Presiding Bishop of the ELCA and Steven Ullestad the Bishop of the Northeastern Iowa Synod, the word of God came to John in the wilderness:  REPENT.”  This message of repentance is not about the downtrodden rising up to take the place of the powerful:  it is about the burden under which all of us stagger through this life.  Rich or poor, strong or weak, old or young, Republican or Democrat, faithful or fearful:  John calls us all to turn toward the One who is coming, who brings salvation for all.

3 We hail you as our Savior, Lord,
our refuge and our great reward;
without your grace we waste away
like flow'rs that wither and decay.

We noted that all the powerful people Luke catalogues remained in their seats of power at the end of Jesus’ life.  But today they are only history:  only names in the annals of time.  Tiberius was emperor in name only when John began preaching in the wilderness - he died in exile about eight years after Jesus’ crucifixion.  Legend has it Pilate died in exile as well.  Herod Antipas died in exile in Gaul.  No one knows anything about Annas and Caiaphas beyond their involvement in Jesus’ life in the gospels.  There is no life in these powerful people:  as Isaiah says,

“All people are grass,

their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,

when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;

surely the people are grass. 

The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand for ever.”

It’s worth taking our time to reflect on that word, “Savior.”  The implication, of course, is that we need saving.  It goes against the grain of the season, doesn’t it?  As we prepare for “perfect” holiday gatherings, with lovingly decorated treats, wonderful new drinks, lavishly decorated houses and as we shop for the “perfect” gift for those special someones in our lives, John comes proclaiming that the One who saves us is coming.  For all our dedicated festivity, we are as flimsy as the tissue paper we use to wrap our gifts:  here for only a short time, and none of us able to save one another.  Only the Savior saves.  Only the grace of God lifts the burden of sin from our lives.  Only the one John proclaims is coming to give life to His people.  


4 Stretch forth your hand, our health restore,
and make us rise to fall no more;
oh, let your face upon us shine
and fill the world with love divine.

John was not only a prophet to the people of Israel:  in John’s own words, “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”  John’s father, Zechariah, said it even more boldly when John was born:

“And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.  By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

John was called to be the voice of God to the entire world, to point to the coming day when all people will see the greatness of God and live in the glorious light of God’s kingdom.  And John wasn’t just talking about life after death – John didn’t say a word about death or hell here.  John was talking about forgiveness, repentance, transformed lives in THIS world, in THIS time.  John wasn’t preparing the people to be taken away from this world – John was preparing this world for the in-breaking of God, right here, right now, among us.  And when Jesus came, all of history began to be re-interpreted in the light of Jesus’ love, grace and mercy.

On Jordan's banks and on ours, the prophecy of John continues to ring out: "prepare the way of the Lord."  God is breaking into this world - repent, turn your hearts and your lives toward the heavens, and receive the gift of grace which all of this world's rulers cannot give.  John brought the message.  God brings the kingdom.  We turn our eyes toward the wilderness, and we hear the joyful songs that herald our Lord's arrival.  Come, Lord Jesus.  Come quickly, and in your unending love save us all.

5 All praise to you, eternal Son,
whose advent has our freedom won,
whom with the Father we adore,
and Holy Spirit, evermore.

Clear Mission

We are disciples of Jesus Christ,

called to grow in Christ and to invite all to follow him.

Every worship service at the congregation I serve begins and ends with this mission statement as part of its liturgy.  I love our mission statement: it offers both an inward and an outward focus, is clear that we are about the work of being disciples (not members), and in its brevity and simplicity it is both wide in scope and easy to remember.  By now I imagine folks who worship at St Petri twice a month have memorized our mission statement:  how many of our churches can say the same? (Note: that's an observation, not a comparative statement)

I'm traditionally leery about overplaying the effectiveness of mission statements, etc.  We all have a tendency to engage in magic bullet thinking about such things, as if composing a good mission statement is the one key element missing from a church equation and, upon completion of said task, the pews will magically fill, the budget will be exceeded and the pastor's kids will behave in worship.  The only magic bullet that will make those things happen is hard work, particularly the last one.  But there is a place for a good mission statement, and that place is most certainly not a once-every-three-years Council retreat where we navel-gaze for a Saturday and promptly forget everything we put together.

I hope that incorporating this elegant little statement into each and every one of our public worship gatherings brings a continual awareness that we are about discipleship, growth and invitation.  Yes, membership is important: God's church needs members to carry out its work in the world.  But our mission is not to get more members for St. Petri Lutheran Church:  our mission is to follow Jesus and invite others to do the same.  Our mission is God, both through our congregation and in other ways also.

Does your congregation have a mission statement?  Do your people know that mission?  If not, find ways to incorporate it into everything you do: worship, letterhead, emails, the works.  Be clear about who you are and why you're here: you will do yourselves and the world around you a great favor.

Open Orthodoxy

I had an interesting experience the other day.  We have a Bible study group that meets weekly over lunch at a local restaurant, and a question was raised about whether or not the early church wound up erecting a structure to fit the happenings after Jesus ascended to heaven.  In other words, is the historic faith we have shared, including the Biblical canon and the many, many practical decisions made along the way, our best attempt to make sense of the world post-Jesus, or is it only and always the working of the Holy Spirit?  And, to even ask such a question:  is this faith or heresy?

Running Thankful

So, um, yeah, I'm still here.  Sort of.

Tonight was our Thanksgiving Worship at St. Petri.  Can I just say that I love the fact that we do this worship on Tuesday night?  For families that are traveling tomorrow, like ours, we can leave as soon as school is out and be at our destinations at a reasonable time (I should arrive back home sometime near supper, Mom).  I don't know why it never occurred to me that Tuesday night might be the better night for worship in Thanksgiving week.  Going to be my recommendation from here on out.  

Sermon for All Saints' Sunday - "Saints at the Feast"

Preaching Text:  Isaiah 25.6-9

⁶On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. ⁷And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. ⁸Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.⁹It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

            When I stepped on the scale this morning, it read 237 pounds.  This is not good news.  When Kristin and I got married eight years ago, I weighed 200 pounds, and I was in the best shape I’d been in since my football days in high school.  Eight years of happily married life, two children, a bit of aging and a plethora of changes means I’m more than the man I used to be, in more ways than one. 

            Part of my problem, of course, is how and where I live.  Isaiah 25 has nothing on the options available to an average middle class American like me.  In Isaiah’s time, the daily diet was mainly bread, some fruits and vegetables depending on what was in season and available, and occasionally meat.  By “occasionally” I mean “at times of great importance.”  No feedlot cattle in Isaiah’s day.  No hog confinements pushing out pork by the ton.  Shoot, they wouldn’t even have free range chickens.  If I want, I can march right up to Pizza Ranch and consume more food in one meal than most families in Isaiah’s time would have eaten in a day.  As a matter of fact, part of my problem is that I’ve done precisely that a few times too many since we’ve moved to Story City.

            Let’s be clear about what’s happening in Isaiah 25 as we gather today for worship.  Let’s think about context.  Let’s think about the world the prophet knew as he described this great mountaintop feast.  Imagine a life where you never really know where your next meal is coming from.  Maybe there will be bread or some fruit, but maybe not.  If you had food for two or three days, you were unimaginably fortunate.  The amount and variety of food available to us today would have been absolutely overwhelming to the person reading Isaiah’s prophecy of the mountaintop feast; which makes it, I believe, that much more wonderful to consider.

            Now let’s think about more than just food in Isaiah’s day.  No penicillin or antibiotics, so infection and viral disease would be left to run rampant; death could be waiting around any corner, and would take your loved ones swiftly and pitilessly.  No health insurance, social security, Medicare, Medicaid, WIC, Habitat for Humanity or anything like it.  Your social network was your family, perhaps your friends, but in a world where every meal is a question and every mouth divides that question further and further, sometimes hard choices needed to be made.  Philosopher Thomas Hobbes wrote in Leviathan that in the state of nature, human life is “poor, solitary, nasty, brutish and short.”  For most of human history, we would have been heartbeats away from such an existence – it is into this world that the prophet Isaiah delivers God’s message of the feast to come. 

            This is why I’m dwelling so much on what Isaiah’s hearers would have known, and why it is so different from our own experience. It’s not about making you feel guilty about how good you have it; it’s about the outrageous extravagance of what God promises to God’s people.  To a society that was intimately familiar with hardship, hunger, disease, death and destruction, God promised a feast unlike anything they’d ever known.  In a world where tears are always a heartbeat away, God promises to bend the knee and wipe away the tears of generations of those who mourn. 

            Last month the Logos and Latte group read C.S. Lewis’ story The Great Divorce.  If you want to contrast the world of Isaiah with a modern outlook on death, heaven and hell, this is as good a way to do it as I know.  Lewis imagined a world much like our own, where we separate ourselves further and further from our neighbors because we have all we ‘need’ and find the reality of other people uncomfortable.  But every once in a while, a bus comes to take people to another world, where the grass is so substantial it cuts your feet and our beings are so light and ephemeral we can walk on the water because there’s just nothing to us.  In this world, the feast isn’t remarkable because we never eat: the feast is remarkable because it’s so real we can’t handle it.  The surplus of our lives leads us to think that everything is inconsequential, that an apple is just another thing to eat instead of a vessel containing the glory of God.  In The Great Divorce, one person tries to carry an apple back to the old world, but he cannot because it is just too heavy.  As he struggles, a voice booms out from the sky: ‘”Fool,” he said, “put it down. You cannot take it back. There is not room for it in Hell. Stay here and learn to eat such apples. The very leaves and the blades of grass in the wood will delight to teach you.”’[1]

            This, I think, is our reality on this All Saints’ Day.  We have so much of what we need that we often miss the simple truth that our very existence is a gift from God and a glory unto itself.  When you can buy apples for $.99/pound at the market, the wonder of the feast begins to fade, until everything is a commodity and nothing is a gift.  Our task as followers of Jesus Christ is to be made aware of the glory that surrounds us and the glory that awaits us, the reality of God that is more substantial than we can truly envision.

            The Hebrew word for glory, dbk, begins to get at this idea of substance and reality.  Its literal meaning is “weighty/heavy.”  You might compare it to the difference between a plastic cup and this heavy tumbler – the second is more precious because it has heft and substance. It is not intended to be used once and then cast away; it is meant to be permanent, to be used again and again, to endure.  And let’s face it:  in a world where we discard more than any culture before us, our voracious appetite for consumption is rarely put in check.  Do we understand glory?  Do we understand that this world was not created to be consumed and then discarded?  When we can gather for treats after worship this morning and discard our plates and cups after one use, how long will it be until we begin to look at people in the same way?  When you can throw away your dishes, how long until you can throw away the relationships in your lives rather than working to clean them up?           

            We do have one thing in common with the people of Isaiah’s time:  death still consumes us.  Amy Erickson writes: “the Hebrew word for death (twm) is related to the word that designates the god of death (Môt), whose appetite for human life is insatiable…”[2]  All of us will be consumed by death someday – no matter how much we gather, no matter how much we consume, no matter how much we discard, death will come for us all.  You’ve heard the joke:  you never see a U-Haul in a funeral procession.  And yet we all laugh nervously when we tell that joke, because we know how hard it is to break ourselves out of our mindset towards consumption, towards acquisition, towards building what we have in the desperate hope that it will be enough in the end.  Even in a world inundated with abundance, we are still a people driven by scarcity and anxiety.  God knows this.  God has always known this, and so God makes yet another promise, one you might have missed in all the talk about good wine and rich meats: “[God] will swallow up death forever.”  Again, Amy Erickson says, “God must be stronger, more voracious, and more vicious than Death.”[3]  And to that, I add:  God IS.  The glory of God in this world, whether it is an apple, a child’s laugh or the last breath of a dying saint, is more substantial and more important than we can ever imagine: so glorious that even death cannot withstand it.

            This is All Saints’ Day.  We remember the lives of those who have passed into the glory of God – and we do this because those beloved saints matter.  Our anxiety and fear tell us that our lives are meaningless, a chasing after the wind, but God promises that this simply is not so, that in God we matter, we are substantial, we carry the weight of God’s glory in a world that is heartbreakingly real.

Your life has weight and heft and meaning because God says this is so.  You are a child invited to the banquet.  You are a saint invited to the feast.  Here and now this feast is your life:  family, work, friends, your church – all of it is holy, rich and substantial and far more important than we realize.  One day this feast will be the life of all creation, gathered on the holy mountain of God, more rich and substantial and incredible than we can realize.  Until that day, when all tears are wiped away, we gather in hope, remembering our beloved who rest in God’s glory.  Live here, you weighty saints of God, and rejoice in the hope of the feast that is to come.  Amen.

---

[1] Lewis, C.S. The Great Divorce. © 19XX

[2] Erickson, Amy. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?tab=1&alt=2

[3] Ibid.

Sermon for the 19th Sunday after Pentecost: "It May Be Lawful, But It Ain't Right"

“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; we can only be defined by our 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. Divorce may be lawful, but it ain’t right. 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. 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.

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. Are we adulterers? YES. We are covetous. We bear false witness. We live in broken relationships. We do violence against one another. We fail to protect each other's property. We dishonor our parents, elders and families. We don't keep Sabbath. We use God's name disrespectfully, even contemptuously. Worst of all, we worship gods of every kind: sports, wealth, sex, happiness, comfort, certainty, self-righteousness and purity. THIS IS WHO WE ARE. But Jesus also comes to give what we cannot give: mercy, forgiveness, and new life out of the sin and death that is in us. 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 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. Not one of us is perfect, not one relationship 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 lawful. 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 right 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.

"Thanks Be To God!"

We were sitting in worship a few weeks ago, and like every other Sunday, we were struggling to keep order in the front pew.  This is not a new development for us, but things have thankfully improved as our girls have grown.  Ainsley rarely requires anything more than the occasional nudge to be quiet: most of the time she's coloring or drawing or playing with her dolls.  Alanna, on the other hand, remains a handful.  She's an active little girl, can't read, doesn't understand much of what's being said in church and prefers to dance in the aisle during the hymns (side aisle, not the middle, and most folks smile broadly as she twirls around with her hands above her head).  The only time she gets really problematic is during the readings and prayers:  when she doesn't want to be quiet, she can be really not quiet.

Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost - "There's No Wrong Way..."

            Do me a favor, folks – tell me your favorite kind of pizza.

            Now:  what would you do if I told you you’re all wrong?  That the best kind of pizza is Fat Pat’s Canadian Bacon and Sauerkraut pizza?  Right or wrong? 

            How about college rooting interests?  Care to argue about that?  How many University of Iowa freshmen does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  They can’t:  at Iowa that’s a sophomore course.  How do you get an Iowa State grad off your front porch?  Pay him for the pizza.  What does the “N” on Nebraska helmets stand for?  Knowledge.

Friday Five: Blogging

I am making yet another attempt to be more regular in blogging - not that you've noticed.  Right now I have three posts in semi-finished state and hope to finish one or two over the weekend.  For now, though, just to get something on the page, I'm playing this week's Friday Five from RevGalBlogPals.

Blogging at Google's Blogger, I recently was boondoggled by the new designs of the site, which includes my blog. I felt like I had lost track of all the blogs I daily check so that I asked for help both at my blog and on Facebook! Still trying to learn the ways of these new ways of blogging, I am turning our minds to blogging for this Friday Five.

Sermon for the 16th Sunday after Pentecost - "Inside-Out Christ"

Mark 8:27-38
²⁷Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” ²⁸And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” ²⁹He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” ³⁰And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.³¹Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. ³²He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. ³³But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
³⁴He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ³⁵For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. ³⁶For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? ³⁷Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? ³⁸Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

Welcome to the homestretch of the presidential election of 2012.  It’s a season of big questions and big answers, none, apparently, more important than this:  “Are you better off than you were four years ago?”  We will spend billions upon billions of dollars on politics this fall.  Estimates suggest this will be the most expensive election in history (at least until we do it all over again in 2016).  You can’t turn on the TV or even watch a video on YouTube without sitting through commercials telling you how wrong Candidate A is, and why you should vote for Candidate B.  Meanwhile, Candidate B spends his time reminding you what makes America great, why he’s a good example of those American values, and why you should vote for him instead of Candidate A. 

            Now, I know who has my vote in November, and maybe you do, too.  Imagine, though, that you’ve been waiting all your life for your chosen candidate to come around.  And your parents and grandparents died without ever seeing the candidate they hoped they would see.  Imagine that instead of a system of free government, you’re trapped under the thumb of foreign rulers, and you have been for almost a thousand years.  Finally, you think the person you’ve been expecting for generations has arrived – and best of all, you’re in early, before the Iowa primary.  And one afternoon, your candidate turns to you and says, “Here’s the deal:  I’m a dead man.  Sooner or later, I’m going to die at the hands of the people I’m working so hard to save.  You’re going to abandon me, one of you will hand me over to the powers that be, and they’re going to make a public spectacle of my death.  The same thing will happen to you if you stick with me – and I hope with all my heart you’ll stick with me.”  Who wouldn’t want to vote for a candidate like that?

            In the Gospel of Mark, these verses we read this week mark a major turning point.  It’s the first time the word “Messiah” or “Christ” has been used since the very beginning of the gospel.  And it is a LOADED term for Peter and any Jew who believed such a thing about Jesus.  God’s “anointed One” was almost universally assumed to be a figure of great political and cultural power.  God’s victory through the “Messiah” would be marked by the triumphant rise of a free people who would no longer be prisoners to tyranny.  So when the one Peter identifies as “Messiah / Christ / Anointed One” starts talking about betrayal, abuse and crucifixion, the reaction of his disciples is what you’d expect:  they don’t like it one bit.  Put it in our modern context, and there’s one phrase that might sum it up in three words:  “That’s not Presidential.”

This is who we are – and this is the delusion we have about both our Messiah and our presidential candidates.  We want the person we vote for to lift us out of the doldrums we largely created for ourselves, and we want Jesus to be a King or a modern-day President:  powerful, dignified, but most of all, dedicated to changing the world for us.  But no president can save us from ourselves, and Jesus did not come to change the world through power exerted from the outside in.

There’s a Latin phrase we learn in seminary to describe what it is to be human and sinful:  incurvatus in se.  It means “the self turned in upon itself.”  It was first coined by St. Augustine but was expanded on by Luther, then later theologians like Karl Barth worked with it as well.  The basic image is this:  in sinfulness, we turn in upon ourselves, thinking only of our protection and our own needs and desires, turning away from the world around us and hiding from the people around us.  It drives almost every impulse we have as humans and, unfortunately, as members of a church.  Incurvatus in se drives us to resist any challenge to the reality we have constructed for ourselves in our homes, our schools and our communities. Incurvatus in se drives us to base our political decisions on whether or not we’ve got more money in our pockets and who we think is to blame if we don’t.  Incurvatus in se drives us to look for churches the way we look for health clubs:  offer programs we like, help us get a good workout now and then, keep the place clean, and we’ll be happy – even if we only come once a month. Incurvatus in se drives us to bind ourselves up with policies and constitutions so we can protect the institution that is the church.  Incurvatus in se is what makes us think that God is out to change the world into something that more closely resembles what we think it should be.  Incurvatus in se is wrong, wrong, wrong about all of these things, but most importantly about the last few.  The Gospel of Mark teaches us that God is indeed out to change the world, but not from the outside in.  Jesus says he has come to change us for the world – an inside-out change marked by death, humility, vulnerability and a self turned open to the world.  Jesus has come to open us up so that we might make the world better than it was four years ago.  Our Messiah, our Anointed One, the candidate we’ve expected for so long, will work from the inside out.  And he will start with the cross – for all of us. 

The best interpretation of what Jesus says here, in my mind, comes from Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “[The cross] is laid on every Christian. …The cross is not the terrible end of a pious, happy life.  It stands at the beginning of community with Jesus Christ.  [Every call of Christ leads into death.][1]  Whether we, like the first disciples, must leave house and vocation to follow him, or whether, with Luther, we leave the monastery for a secular vocation, in both cases the same death awaits us, namely, death in Jesus Christ, the death of our old self caused by the call of Jesus.”[2]  This is how it works to be a Christian.  Jesus never says, “Vote for me and I’ll put a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage.”  Jesus does say, “Take up your cross, deny yourself and follow me.”  In other words, stop worrying about whether you’re better off than you were four years ago, because you’re not.  You’re the same sinner you were then, and the same sinner you will be four years from now.  I didn’t come to make you better – I came to make you mine. 

            Do you know why we gather here this morning?  Do you know why we sing, why we pray, why we read and listen and speak?  Because our captivity to sin makes us turn in on ourselves without being regularly opened up by Jesus.  We live in a world that operates under the question of “What have you done for me lately?”  In a world like this, we need opening up.  We need a Messiah who changes us from the inside out.  We need to be reminded the cross is how God claims us and how we follow.  Dr. Don Juel said “Taking up your cross should be seen less as a project than as the character of discipleship.  We follow because we trust that God will complete what [God] has begun at our baptism…and if our vocation is to care for the neighbor, Luther insisted, we will not need to seek out suffering.  It will come routinely, as any parent will attest…Following Jesus will not involve a cross of our choosing – and it promises deliverance that is likewise not the result of any grand project.”

[3] 

            We gather to be opened up together because this way of following Jesus is hard on our own.  We gather together to confess, together, that we’re sinners in need of forgiveness.  We gather together because, on our own, we turn in on ourselves and forget there’s other people under the cross with us, doing our best to follow Jesus. 

            In this homestretch of election season, it’s easy to get swept up thinking your candidate is the one who can make things better than they were.  Maybe there’s some truth to it, but only in a limited sense and only for a limited time.  As the psalmist reminded us last week, “Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help.  When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day their plans perish.”  That goes for Barack Obama and Mitt Romney.  That goes for Ron Paul and Hillary Clinton.  That goes for Terry Branstad and Chet Culver, Tom Harkin and Chuck Grassley, Christie Vilsack and Steve King and every candidate of every party in every state that has ever existed.  Their work is important - laudable - inspirational, but it has its limits.  Not a one of them is going to save the world – that contest has already taken place. God’s “anointed One” was a figure of great political and cultural power – and Jesus continues to challenge culture and politics even after his crucifixion and resurrection.  God’s victory through the “Messiah” was and continues to be marked by the triumphant rise of a free people who are no longer prisoners to tyranny – Jesus defeated the tyranny of our sinfulness, not the tyranny of governments.  And our Lord, who emerged victorious from that battle, is still at work, changing the world from the inside out through sinners like you and me.  Take up your cross, citizens of God’s kingdom.  Be opened to the world around you, and make it a better place.  God be with you all.  Amen.

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[1] This is an alternate translation offered in the footnotes of this text.  The original German text reads “Jeder Ruf Christi fährt in den Tod.”

[2] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich.  Discipleship. © XXXX by Augsburg Fortress Press.  p. XX

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

After Eleven Years: Nothing Has Changed / Everything Is Different

Eleven years ago this morning I drove from Titusville, FL to a church in some other town in the Space Coast Conference for our monthly Conference gathering, my first as an intern at Trinity Lutheran Church in Titusville and Sunrise Lutheran Church in Port St. John.  As we sat in the meeting, the senior pastor was called away around 10:00, and when he returned his face was white.  "Two planes hit the World Trade Center this morning," he said.  "I think we'd better get back home to our people."

In the blink of an eye, our world became different.  Families were torn apart by loss and grief.  We began to question everything.  That night, at a hastily arranged prayer service, Kris, my supervisor, said, "Today I'm ashamed to call myself a human being."  It remains one of the most profound sermons I've ever heard - an outpouring of grief and horror at what we do to ourselves, and at the same time, a desperate plea for God's grace and mercy to cover us all.

These eleven years have been hard years for most of us.  The obvious wounds are slow to heal:  those who lost friends and family in the attacks or in the wars we started in response.  The world seems a more dangerous place these days, as though every advance in communication and technology quickly becomes an avenue for violence and destruction.  My own litany of hard times includes divorce, death(s) and disillusionment after disillusionment.  One broken marriage, grandmothers and mentors gone to their rest, bitter church struggles and scraping by fueled by coffee and a prayer.

Maybe your story is similar. (Maybe I've been the one disappointing YOU - if so, please know I'm sorry, and I'm trying to do better).  Maybe you're like me tonight; reflecting on how the world has changed, and in so many ways for the worse.  If so, let me share another thought with you: the good has held on also, and the God who has created this world has not abandoned us to its tempest just yet.

I shudder to think of how different I was on 10 September 2001 - and how little of it I would trade for the wisdom I've gained through all the hard times since then.  I'm a better husband, better father, better son, better brother, better pastor.  Maybe it's just maturity, but it feels like more than that.  It feels like God has continued to mold and shape me, even in the many, many times I though God wasn't listening or acting at all.

Marty Haugen wrote O God, Why Are You Silent?, a new set of lyrics to Bach's Passion Chorale, rooted in the pain of these days.  For me, the final stanza is the clincher:

May pain draw forth compassion, let wisdom rise from loss;
oh, take my heart and fashion the image of your cross;
then, may I know your healing, through healing that I share,
your grace and love revealing your tenderness and care.

This morning I drove from Story City, Iowa to Bergen Lutheran Church in Roland for a gathering of the Riverside Conference clergy and lay leaders, my first as pastor of St. Petri Lutheran Church in Story City.  I am not the man I was eleven years ago this morning.  The world has changed, also.  But we're still gathering as God's people, still maturing, still growing in wisdom, and most of all, still being fashioned into the image of Christ crucified.  God who was and who is and who will be, bless us all.

Sermon for the 12th Sunday after Pentecost - "Sing a Better Song"

Preaching Text:  Ephesians 5.6-20

          I’d like to start this morning by doing something of a recap of where we’ve been these last five weeks in Ephesians, and not just for those of you who’ve had to miss a Sunday or two because of a wedding or vacation or whatever.  This has to do with the structure of this letter and what’s going on in it – the letter to the Ephesians is carefully constructed, built with definite intent to emphasize certain aspects of this church’s life together and what that says about the God who has made them one.  A review, then, of what we’ve seen and heard.

            In Ephesians 1 we talked about adoption, about what it means to be a people of God grafted onto the tree that was the Israelites from centuries ago.  We talked about what it would have been like to be a house church gathering to read a letter from our founding pastor, and how things would have been so very different in a culture where our faith in Jesus might have literally been dangerous for us and for our families. 

            In Ephesians 2 we talked about being a family of faith, bound together by blood – the blood of Jesus makes us one.  Both Kristin and I, when we preached on this chapter, lifted up the ELCA Youth Gathering as an example of how big and colorful this family of faith really is.  It’s much more than just our small gathering here in Story City on Sunday mornings: we are part of an international family that lives together in faith seven days a week.  Remember, we’re gumbo:  everyone belongs and everyone adds their own special flavor to the mix.  I was going to say we’re a potluck dinner, because I love potluck dinners, but that’s not good enough, really:  you can pick and choose what you like at a potluck, and that’s not what God is up to here.  God’s making gumbo:  it all goes in the pot together, and you can’t pick and choose what you like in this family of faith!

            In Ephesians 3 we talked about unlearning what we have learned about faith and life and how it all fits together.  I got to talk about Star Wars, which always makes me happy, but more importantly, Ephesians 3 reminds us that it is God who has triumphed over evil – the church gathers to celebrate that triumph.  We are not called to galaxies far, far away to battle the forces of darkness on God’s behalf.  God has already won the battle: we are called to lay down our lightsabers, to trust in God and live humbly and peacefully as God’s people after the war has been won.

            Last week, as we looked at Ephesians 4, we talked about the Olympics and what it means to be part of a global community of faith.  If you remember, the Olympics celebrates the best of what we hope to achieve, but at its best it is NOT about defeating your opponent.  Rather, we looked at those Olympic moments that celebrate the vitality, creativity and spirit we all share as members of the human race, gathered together in a gigantic, colorful community where old boundaries, divisions and hatreds can begin to be broken down.  For us, the church gathered, it is Christ who makes us one, who calls us all together to proclaim his victory over sin and death, and it happens every week in churches all over the world.

            This is where we’ve been in this letter to the church in Ephesus.  Here’s why it matters:  if you start with our reading from this morning, without everything that comes before it, you could easily turn this wonderful letter of love and adoption into a harsh demand for self-righteousness and exclusion.  It’s important to put the emphAHsis on the right sylLAble, as my choir director used to say – so we remind ourselves where we’ve been before we hear our reading this morning. 

This picture’s been floating around on Facebook this week.  (BONHOEFFER PIC)  As you all get to know me better as your pastor, you’ll come to hear a LOT about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, but that’s not why this picture is important this morning.  It’s important because it illustrates both the danger and the opportunity present in our following of our Lord Jesus Christ.  If we pay too much attention to avoiding sin and evil, life becomes a never-ending game of Pac-Man:  make one wrong move and it’s all over.  One of my favorite illustrations of this comes from Father Robert Farrar Capon:

“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.  It has spent so much time inculcating in us fear of making mistakes that it has made us like ill-taught piano students: we play our pieces, 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.  The church…has been so afraid we will lose sight of the laws of our nature that it has 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.

”..there is one thing we will need from here on out: to live not in fear of mistakes but in the knowledge that no mistake can hold a candle to the love that draws us home.  My repentance, accordingly, is not so much for my failings but for the two-bit attitude toward them by which I made them more sovereign than grace.  Grace—the imperative to hear the music, not just listen for errors—makes all infirmities occasions of glory.”[1]

Well and good, Father Capon – but how do we get there from Ephesians 5?  How do we play the song right when the days are evil?  I sat over at the parsonage all afternoon on Friday, trying to figure out how I was going to get here.  If we’re not careful, we turn into exactly what Father Capon and Dr. Bonhoeffer warned us against:  the piano teacher with the ruler in her hand, ready to smack the knuckles of anyone who steps out of line.  That’s not living – that’s avoiding. 

            Thankfully, preachers never venture into the text alone, particularly if they can use the internet.  Every week I listen to a podcast from Luther Seminary called Sermon Brainwave, and when I’d finally had enough Friday afternoon, I went into the kitchen, queued up the podcast again and started making potato salad.  Finally, one sentence by Dr. Rolf Jacobsen brought it home for me:  “Sing a better song.”  Boom.  Sermon done.

            Sing a better song.  “Make the most of your time, for the days are evil.”  If we are going to live well as followers of Jesus Christ together, then it isn’t enough to just march through our lives saying, “Don’t do that.”  Wisdom does not come to those raised in a vacuum – wisdom comes from a life lived in the world.  Sing a better song.  It’s not enough for the church to become the disapproving nanny who traps her charges in their rooms and won’t let them out until they’ve eaten all their brussel sprouts – we are called to invite the world into something better than what they already know.  Sing a better song – and as we sing, teach the world to join in the song.

            This is why a recap of this letter to the Ephesians is so important:  we need to remember to keep things in order so we can sing with joy and without fear.  This letter starts with what God has done, and then moves to living with wisdom.  Those of us who’ve been in the church for a while often forget that it is God who brings us here, God who makes us one, God who calls us to sing with love.  Sing a better song.  Life in the darkness of sin and evil is not what we’re created for – but the world will not know it if all we do is point out what’s wrong.  Sing a better song.  God has made us one in Christ, adopted us into the great chorus of the saints.  We belong.  No evil can harm us.  No sin can take us out of God’s hands.  Even death itself cannot separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.  Sing a better song.  Sing about what you love, about what God has done for you, about what God is up to in the world.  The very breath you breathe is a gift from God:  use it to make a joyful noise in thankfulness for what God has given you.  Sing a better song, about the family of faith God has brought together here, about the gumbo that is our church, and give thanks, people of God:  the very song you sing comes from God’s gracious love for you.  Amen.

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[1] Robert Farrar Capon, Between Noon and Three: Romance, Law and the Outrage of Grace, p. 149