Gospel in a Nutshell

Sermon preached Sunday, March 14, 2021, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

“For God so loved the world that he gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life.…”

That’s probably one of, if not THE most famous Bible verses out there. Do you have any idea where you were when you heard or read it for the first time?

Maybe it was in Sunday School, where a teacher taught it to you to memorize it? Maybe there was a catchy song taught along with it. If you were confirmed, maybe you had to be able to recite it in front of the congregation at your Confirmation. Or maybe it was just sprawled across a colorful and cheerful poster tacked up in the wall of a Sunday School classroom or Youth Room.

Maybe your parents shared it with you. Maybe you were given a Bible and had that verse pointed out to you or underlined on that page in the Gospel of John.

It’s the Gospel in a nutshell, at least that’s what one of my many Study Bibles calls it. It’s naming God’s works and the reason behind such good work all in one sentence. What did God do? God sent the Son so that we might have eternal and abundant life! Why did God do this? Out of eternal and abundant love for the world which God created.

But it’s much more than that. It’s important to know the tree this particular nut came from–it’s important to know the larger context around this oft-quoted scripture. This is a conversation…or rather, Jesus’ part of a conversation.

Nicodemus was a Pharisee. He was a leader in the community, and part of a group of people who, even at this early stage, less than three chapters into the Gospel of John, were suspicious and even hostile to Jesus. But Nicodemus has come in the middle of the night to talk to Jesus.

Their conversation winds around several questions and answers before this stuff about light and dark and condemned and saved. The talk about being born from above, being born of the spirit; how the Spirit is like the wind; how the Son of Man has descended from heaven. Jesus references this well-known story from the Hebrew Scripture about God working through poisonous snakes and a serpent on a pole.

But then, finally, we have our nutshell, our gospel, our Good News: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” God loves us SO much, that God chose to come to use in the human form of Jesus Christ in order to be reconciled with us.

But we often don’t act like that—like we’re worthy of such a terrific sacrifice. God sent the Word, Jesus, the Light into the world, and yet we still so often prefer to dwell in shadow. Jesus says it too, to Nicodemus: “…people loved darkness rather than light…” (John 3:19)

This is the lack of light that looks like not living up to our potential, the image we were made in when God created us: when we are cruel or hurtful instead of forgiving and sympathetic. When we fail to give others the benefit of the doubt. When we seek to advance our own interests at the expense of others. When we fail to see God’s hand in the world around us and care for God’s creation accordingly. This shadow that is us living as if we are not children of God, children of the light.

And we prefer it, much of the time. It’s easier, takes less self-study or introspection. Have you ever been walking around your house in the middle of the night and turned the light on? That light hurts, doesn’t it? It’s less stressful, less of a shock to our system to stay in the dimly lit midnight.

And we can find places to hide when there’s no light shining. We can pretend as if our selfish parts aren’t there. We can ignore the callings to peace and justice God gives us. We can act as though only we are God’s beloved, not those other poor souls stumbling around in a shadow world of their own.

The light shows us, and the world around us, as we really are.

Several years ago I was visiting my sister, along with my mom. My sister had recently moved to Newark, New Jersey and was working in Manhattan. On Friday, she had to go into work, while my mom and I ran around and did lots of errands for her: we hit Ikea and Target and got into a pretty intense HGTV-style apartment improvement for her. That evening, my mom and I took the train into the city and met up with my sister to have a touristy dinner in Times Square.

We ate and then walked around a little, taking in the giant lighted billboards and scrolling news updates. It’s bustling, and noisy, but also exciting. There are all sorts of things to look at and to distract you. You sort of get swept up in a stream of people and find your focus is scattered all around.

And I thought about the other times I had been in Times Square. I had been there at night before, but I had also been there during the day. Cities can be strange places. At night, they are often glittering, the skyline lighting up into something beautiful. But that darkness hides some of the things you see during the day. During daylight, you might notice more of the trash. You might notice the graffiti on the side of a building. You might realize how dirty the sidewalk is. You might more readily see the homeless person who at night is trying to find a place to sleep tucked away close to a building.

The night has its own problems, but it also covers up an awful lot.

And the night might hide what we want to keep hidden, but that’s just because it’s deceptive.

You can’t do much without any light.

If something breaks in your house, can you clean it up without turning on a lamp? If you need to get something, can you do it without light to see? Why do we have flashlights, if not because we need to have emergency light when the shadows are closing in?

You need the light to fix, to heal, to change, to look at yourself in a mirror and see your real identity—not what the shadows know you as, but as who you are. You are not merely selfish, you are someone God became selfless for. You are not sinless, but you have been forgiven. You are not worthless, you were bought at great price. And you are a child of God, so loved that God came into the world for you.

For God so loved the world that God gave Jesus, God’s only son.

For God so loved the world, that God shined light into the shadowy void.

For God so loved the world that God claimed us as daughters and sons through our baptism.

For God so loved the world that God offered body and blood to us in bread and wine.

For God so loved the world…For God so loved you and me…that’s the Gospel in a nutshell.

You are so loved. Amen.

Where is God?

Sermon preached Sunday, March 7, 2021, the Third Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

The Temple in Jerusalem was a key part of life for a first century Jew like Jesus. It’s hard for us to understand just what it represented and the incredibly important role it played.

The temple, at least the first one, was built by King Solomon, son of King David, because God required a permanent home. Since the time Moses came down the mountain with the Ten Commandments, the Israelites has carried the commandments and, in essence, the presence of God in a tent called the Ark of The Covenant—a name that might sound familiar if you’re an Indiana Jones fan.

They carried God’s dwelling place around with them, until finally God

said that it was not right that he had no real place to call home. And so Solomon built a great temple. It took lots of special offerings and years to build, but it was lauded for its beauty and design. Unfortunately, it was not to stand forever. It was destroyed by the Babylonians nearly six hundred years before Christ was born.

It was eventually rebuilt, after the Israelites returned from exile enforced by those same Babylonians. After years of having no place to properly worship God, they were able to rebuilt God’s house. It was bigger now, the temple complex was spread out, containing a series of areas that eventually led to the Holy of Holies, where God’s presence was. The Court of Gentiles (or non-Jews), The Court of Women, The Court of Israel for the men, and the Court of Priests. This was the temple Jesus knew, the temple Jesus and his disciples walk into at the beginning of John’s Gospel.

Since the temple was God’s house, it is where Jews would offer sacrifices to God, or come to pray on special festival days. It wasn’t that God couldn’t be found anywhere else, but one was guaranteed to find God at the temple. Up until this point, this was the common thought: if I want to encounter God, I need to be there.

But, as usual, Jesus has more to say. When we hear this story about the money changers and the merchants selling animals, we picture all of this happening in the heart of the temple. We might imagine animals being placed upon the altar, or the sounds of coins clinking overshadowing the practice of worship. But these things would have been happening in the court of the Gentiles, in the outermost part of the temple complex.

If we were to compare this story to our own churches, this is not Jesus acting in the Sanctuary, or even in the Adult Faith Formation Room or Karns Hall. This would be Jesus our in the parking lot, maybe even standing out by the entrance sign. Jesus has left the building.

And that’s the point. Jesus speaks on this day about how the temple will be destroyed and raised up again in three days. He is obliquely referring to himself, but no one else understands that—no one else understands that he is now the temple. He is now where God is present, where people can be sure to encounter God.

So what does that say about where God’s house is? What does that say about where God dwells?

God dwells wherever Jesus dwells. God goes wherever Jesus goes.

We might call a church a “House of God,” but God is not exclusively located there. Jesus spent time in local synagogues, interacting with the local people of the established religion. He didn’t ignore them; he spent time with people like Nicodemus, a Pharisee who came to Jesus in the middle of the night to learn.

But because of Jesus’ actions, God can be found in so many other places.

Jesus often went to the edges, to the borders and crossed them. He engaged in a conversation with a Samaritan woman at a well. If you remember anything about the relationship between Jews and Samaritans, you know it wasn’t good. Each group believed the other to be worshipping God at the wrong place, to be unclean, to be, at their core, bad people where were to be avoided at all costs. And here Jesus is, inviting a Samaritan into dialogue and bringing her and her entire village to faith.

Jesus heals a blind man, who many believed was blind because he or his parents had committed some unpardonable sin. Jesus restores his sight, even though it is the Sabbath and some might think he is “doing work on the Lord’s day.”  He does not let human rules get in the way of God’s grace. Time and time again, Jesus can be found with those whom society often overlooks. The poor, the hungry, the outcast, the ones who live on the fringes.

And if God was in those places then…we know that God is in those places now. They might look different though—maybe we need to look a little harder for them.

Where are the places we would rather not go? What are the borders we’d rather not cross? Where are the people we think are “too different,” if not “unclean”?  [beat]

Are we willing to look for God in the parking lot? Out on the streets of Littlestown? Across the invisible lines that separate our communities into the “good” and “bad” parts of town? God is on the move, God is out and about, God has left the building—not forever and not completely—but this—the sanctuary of St. John’s—is not the only place we will encounter God. Surely the past year has taught us that much.

But this place still holds sway. We know that God is here. God is in water that we may touch and cross ourselves with, water that reminds us of God’s promises to us in baptism. God is in bread and wine, in these elements that become for us the body and blood of Christ. And God is in the Word: scripture read and hymns sung, as we proclaim God’s good news for us. It is so easy to only seek to encounter God here, or to simply return here without looking for God when we’re out and about in our everyday life. But if God has left the building, and we, too, will leave this building, why do we assume that we won’t run into God? After all, we run into other congregation members, friends, co-workers, acquaintances and all sorts of other characters—why not God?

Maybe that’s something to think about this week. Maybe we can keep our eyes peeled for where God might show up. And maybe we can use that to discover where we might be most called to do the work of God.

If we spot God in the midst of an interaction with someone living on the street, what can we do to join God there? If God is advocating for justice and peace in a public forum, can we add in our own voice? If God is offering care to the sick, can our hands help? If God is comforting the grieving or consoling the bereft can we provide our own shoulders to lean on as well?

It’s a deceptively simple formula: find where God has already decided to dwell and take up residency there ourselves. But it takes courage on our part, and creativity. We cannot limit ourselves to what we have always done or where we have always gone. It means expanding our ideas of where we can encounter God.

God has left the building. Let’s go find out where God’s gone! Amen.

What It Means To Suffer

Sermon preached Sunday, February 28, 2021, the Second Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

“Then Jesus 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…”

Jesus warns his disciples that suffering is coming, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. Jesus warns us that suffering is part of a package deal.

But our culture has a funny relationship with suffering—or, rather, we have a funny relationship with what we call suffering.

There is some suffering we say is “deserved.” Because Joe made poor decisions, he is now homeless and hungry—he is getting what he deserves. Jane brings it on herself because is too trusting and lets people take advantage of her. And if that group over there would only do things our way, they wouldn’t be in the terrible position they are now. We can’t always explain why bad things happen, and so we assign blame to the victims.

And then there’s the other end of the spectrum: holy, or righteous, suffering. This happens when someone’s faith is just “being tested” by the cancer slowly taking their life or the demoralizing process of losing their job—if they can make it through stoically, they’ll have proved the strength of their faith! This way of thinking doesn’t allow for people in the midst of hardship to share their frustrations, fears and prayers for comfort. Instead, it tells them to keep quiet, unless they are rejoicing for what they do have.

And then, finally, we have the most ridiculous: the Olympics of Suffering. If you’ve never witnessed this in action, this is what it sounds like:

Person One says: “Oh my goodness, I am SOOO busy! I just don’t know how I’m going to get everything done with work and the kids, and then my car broke down last week and the baby has a cough and gas prices keep going up and that restaurant down the street that I love is closing.”

And Person Two says: “You think that’s bad? My knee has been acting up because of all of this terrible rain that’s flooding my front yard and when I went to pick up my new prescription at the Pharmacy I had to wait forty-five minutes because they screwed up the refill and by the time I finally got home last night I was too exhausted to do anything but microwave some leftovers for dinner.

And Person One returns with: “Oh I know! I had to order pizza for the family because I didn’t have time to cook and the dishwasher wouldn’t start for some reason so I had to do all the dishes by hand.”

And again, Person Two: “At least you have a dishwasher to start with! I always have to do dishes by hand and inevitably the dog will jump up on me while I’m in the middle of it and make me splash water all over myself.”

…okay. So I’m exaggerating—but not by much! I have heard so many conversations similar to this and, I’m sorry to say, I’ve participated in my fair share. The Olympics of Suffering triggers something in us, something about trying to be the one who works hardest or the one who does alright despite having the most difficult life. I don’t know. But this one-upping the bad things that happen to us can’t be all that healthy.

It’s not healthy, but it also distorts our perception of reality. It’s important to note that “…not all suffering is the cross, and not all suffering is simply to be accepted.”

This means that when Jesus says he must undergo suffering, he’s not talking about our Olympics of Suffering. That suffering is not the cross. He’s not talking about “righteous” or “holy” suffering the way that we do. He’s not talking about “deserved” suffering. That suffering is not to be simply accepted. He’s talking about real suffering of body and spirit as he is arrested, beaten, tortured, mocked and executed.

When Jesus says that any who want to become his followers are to take up their cross, we need to discern what is the cross and what is not—what is suffering and what are exaggerated first-world problems, as well as what suffering is done as a witness to the Gospel and what suffering is not acceptable.

Having to wait in line or eat pizza for dinner because you are too tired to cook is not suffering for the sake of God’s work. And living on the street or being diagnosed with an incurable illness or being born into unimaginable poverty—while it is suffering—should not be accepted because “Jesus said we had to take up our cross.”

Jesus suffers because of who he associates with, what he says, and what he does. Jesus is constantly surrounded by people on the fringes of society, if not outside of it completely. He builds relationship with women, Samaritans, children, tax collectors, the unclean, the poor. He identifies with the last and the least and cries out for justice on their behalf.

Jesus preaches Good News that is not reserved for the religious elite. His words of hope and healing are not meant just for those who are already assured of God’s love, but for those who had been told time and time again that they were not good enough, or healthy enough, or faithful enough.

Jesus embodies a new way of being with others that involves humbling himself and becoming a servant to all, not merely those who had the social or political status to warrant it. Jesus served in actions: feeding crowds, healing the sick, forgiving sins, washing feet and, importantly, Jesus cried out for justice. Jesus cried out that God’s will would be done on earth.

The powers at the time attempted to silence him because he stood up for all whose voices were unheard—and Power thrives on keeping the powerless silent. Jesus speaks up, calls out hypocrites, proclaims the undeserved love of God, and ushers in a kingdom of reconciliation. That’s the work of God. And that’s the work that Jesus suffered for.

No, not all suffering is the cross and not all suffering is to be accepted—but don’t be surprised if taking up your own cross results in some suffering.

When you join your voice with someone who’s voice has been ignored—they are not voiceless! Just not heard—you may upset those who have chosen not to listen. When you feed the hungry or clothe the naked, you may be told that they deserve their lot in life and that you shouldn’t waste your resources on them. When you choose to forgive the person who wrongs you or show love to your enemies instead of hate, you may confuse the hard-hearted people who believe compassion is the same as weakness.

But in all of these things, you are doing God’s work, the work God has called you to in baptism, the work you are able to do because of the body and blood of Christ which sustain you week after week.

There may be some suffering. There’s no point in denying that. But suffering for the sake of the Christ, taking up our own cross, speaking out for the last and least among us—these will never be in vain. This is God at work, bringing in the kingdom. Amen.