Abiding in God’s Love

Sermon preached Sunday, May 5, 2024, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

This morning we hear again from Jesus’ final meal with his disciples. In this passage, which is also usually read on Maundy Thursday, Jesus tells his disciples that the most important commandment he can give them is to love…and not only love, but to abide in the love God has already given them.

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. ¹⁰If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love…” (John 15:9-10a)

 

Abide. That’s an interesting word choice. It can mean a lot of different things. We might say that we “abide by the rules” or that we “can’t abide rudeness.” It can also mean to remain with or to dwell or to endure. It’s one of those incredibly ambiguous terms that can include several larger themes, and even trying to go back to the original language doesn’t help us out much—in Greek, it still covers the same variety of meanings.

I think it is with this intentional ambiguity that Jesus tells his disciples—and tells us—to abide in his love.

All too often, we think of love as a noun—as a feeling. Something that makes us feel warm and comfortable and joyful. We think of love as something that we sense, or something that is so ephemeral or intangible that it simply is or isn’t. We either love someone or we don’t—we either “feel love” for something or we don’t.

But love is much, much more than that. I think we do much better when we think of love as a verb—as a term of action.

One of the most popular readings at weddings is from First Corinthians, chapter 13. I think that all but one or two of the weddings I’ve officiated and been to have included this piece of scripture, as did my own! Most of you could probably recite it with me, but in case you need a reminder, here’s what it says:

^“4Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant⁵or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;⁶it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. ⁷It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

When I preach on this text at weddings, I use it to remind people that all too often “love” becomes simply a word without a whole lot of meaning. Love can’t exist in a vacuum. You can say you love someone or something all you want, but if your actions don’t witness to it, your love is empty.

I illustrate this point by re-reading those four verses, but adding in the word “behavior.”

“Loving behavior is patient; loving behavior is kind; loving behavior is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Loving behavior does not insist on its own way; loving behavior is not irritable or resentful; loving behavior does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. Loving behavior bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

We love one another through what we do and what we say, simply saying that we love our neighbor doesn’t mean much if we aren’t living out that love.

When Jesus says, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you,” this sense of action is what we should think of. After all, when we talk about God’s love for us and how that love has been shown, we talk about God’s actions.

We talk about God’s love through creation, how God brought order in the universe out of chaos, how God designed an ecosystem to sustain such abundant life, and how God created us in the divine image and called us good, and how we see God’s love in every detail and in every step.

We talk about God’s love through the stories of our Israelite ancestors: God leading them out of Egypt and slavery, God providing manna and water for them in the wilderness, God healing people, God lifting up and calling prophets, and God finding a way for people when it looked like all hope was lost.

And, of course, we talk about God’s love through the cross and through every part of God’s incarnation through Jesus Christ: taking on our flesh and living among us, suffering death at our hands, and rising to share with us new life—all because God loves us and wants to be reconciled with us in spite of our sinfulness.

And these are just the things that God has done collectively for our world and for all of humanity. I know that many of us have our own stories of what we have seen God do in our own lives, moments when we have seen healing or restoration or peace.

Without these actions, would we know God’s love? Without the cross, would we have evidence enough that God actually cares for us, actually loves us? Everything God does is for us, for the creation God so lovingly formed.

Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you.”

If that is our calling, if that is the last and greatest commandment Jesus gives us, then the love Jesus shows—the actions of Jesus can give us some guidance.

Jesus showed love by healing the sick, like when he came upon the paralytic by the pool of Siloam who kept missing his chance to enter the water and be healed, until Jesus came along and made him walk.

Jesus showed love by engaging with people no one else would, like the Samaritan Woman who Jesus meets at a well when anyone else might have steadfastly ignored her.

Jesus showed love by feeding people who were hungry, like when he took five loaves of bread and two fish and feed an enormous crowd with twelve baskets-full to spare.

Jesus comforted the afraid, like when his disciples were terrified on a boat in the sea and Jesus walked across the water to be with them.

Jesus showed love by standing up for people facing unjust circumstances, like the woman caught in adultery who had no chance to defend herself and whose punishment was disproportionate to her accused crime.

Jesus showed love by dying for us and, in his own words, drawing all people to himself.

Jesus says, “love one another as I have loved you.” This is how we do it, through the example God has given us. Healing, comforting, restoring, feeding, building relationships, sheltering, helping, being compassionate, becoming vulnerable for the sake of others…these are the actions of love.

When we do these things, we are already abiding in God’s love: living in it, dwelling in it, surrounded by it, and sustained by it—Love that found it’s home in us through our baptism.

When you were baptized, and every time you have affirmed your baptism since then, promises have been made. You might remember some of them: to live among God’s faithful people, to come to worship, to read scripture, and to pray—but do you remember what else is promised?

In our rite of baptism we ask if you promise to do these things, “so that you may learn to trust God, proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.”

It’s there, from the beginning, from the entry rite of our faith. From the day we enter the community of faith, we commit ourselves to the work of love.

Every week. Every day. Abiding in the abundant love of God.

Amen.

“What is to Prevent Us?”

Sermon preached Sunday, April 28, 2024, the Fifth Sunday of Easter at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

I love other people’s enthusiasm. I love how contagious it is. I love how all it takes is one person’s passionate response to something to get a whole group of people involved. Have you ever been to a meeting or a planning session where one person’s enthusiasm gets everybody worked up and the ideas are flying across the room and everyone is honestly, truly, excited about doing what needs to be done? I live for those moments.

Maybe it’s because I’m already a pretty enthusiastic person. If you haven’t noticed—and I’m sure you have—I talk with my hands. They’re almost always moving, especially when I’m passionate about something. I sometimes talk fast, as if there are so many words and ideas rolling around in my head that I almost can’t get them out fast enough. I laugh loudly. I use hyperbole liberally, noting that far too many things are “the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

And maybe all of this is why I love the first story we heard this morning so much. Acts of the Apostles is full of stories about conversion and baptism, but this one I think is my favorite. This story about the Ethiopian eunuch stands out amidst the sermons, miracles and confrontations with authorities. If nothing else, this Ethiopian eunuch is enthusiastic—especially about his faith.

This man has a high power position with the Ethiopian royal court, even if his social status is still rather low. He is in charge of the entire treasury for the queen. He is trusted and is likely well compensated for his loyalty. And yet even with his lofty role, he takes the very long journey to Jerusalem. He goes to worship at the temple, even though, being a eunuch, he wouldn’t be considered a whole man and wouldn’t be able to fully participate in temple worship.

He reads the prophet Isaiah to himself, even though he struggles to understand it. He invites Phillip, a stranger on the road, up into his chariot to teach him. He sees a small bit of water and immediately wants to be baptized. He goes on his way rejoicing and proclaiming the good news of Jesus.

This Ethiopian’s enthusiasm can be best highlighted in the question he asks Phillip: “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

What would our faith look like if we lived with such enthusiasm? What would it mean to operate out of a place of possibility and hope instead of doubt and pessimism. What might be the questions we would ask?

What is to prevent us from providing food for the hungry and shelter for the homeless?

What is to prevent us from offering equal opportunities to everyone, regardless of race, gender, creed, or any of the other labels we love to put on other human beings?

What is to prevent us from boldly proclaiming the freedom and abundant life we have in Jesus Christ?

These questions, and more questions. What is to prevent us from living our faith and not just talking about it on Sunday mornings?

What is to prevent us from being God’s presence in the world? What is to prevent us from being God’s hands?

I have a classmate from high school. His name is Dwight. We haven’t kept in touch much, but Facebook makes the world small. Nine years ago, he had been attempting to climb Mt. Everest. Let me remind you that nine years ago, in April of 2015, an earthquake hit Nepal…and it hit while he was on Mt. Everest. His expedition was safe, though an avalanche near them took out most of their base camp and ended eighteen lives. Instead of trying to get out of the country as quickly as possible, Dwight and some of his fellow climbers leapt into the rescue effort, helping as much as they could.

Dwight had the Silicon Valley money to afford a helicopter evacuation. He could buy his way onto a flight home. Instead, he asked himself, “What is to prevent me from doing what I can here?” Instead of taking that flight, he donated what it would have cost to the villages he could get to, started up a fundraising site for those same villages and stuck around for at least a month to lend his hands, feet, body and soul to the place he found himself in.

We might not have the financial resources that could allow us to do what Dwight did, but what is to prevent us from doing something when faced with a community in need? What is to prevent us from stepping up like the people we see or read about who accomplish remarkable things? What is to prevent us? Nothing. Nothing, because of what Jesus tells us in verses from the Gospel of John we heard this morning.

Jesus tells us, “I am the true vine.” Jesus is the vine, we are the branches. “…the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine.” We cannot bear fruit unless we abide in Christ—and when we abide in Christ, that is when some truly amazing things are done.

When we abide in God, we have the resources and sustenance to do the will of God. When we abide in God, we are grounded in prayer and discernment, and find ourselves asking what God wants of us, rather than what we want for ourselves.

The branches do nothing apart from God: they die, their ideas die, the momentum and enthusiasm dies the more it moves away from God and instead focuses on us. This is the reality of everything we do as church. When we focus on things that aren’t God, it just doesn’t work.

If our main goal and focus is to increase membership, or giving, or pay off our mortgage faster, or renovate a space, we will never succeed. Those goals are not us abiding in the vine. We will not have the patience, endurance, or energy to see them through.

But if our goal is to spread the Gospel of Christ, or to show God’s abundance love through word and deed, or to truly welcome the stranger (instead of seeing them as another warm body)—then we are abiding in the true vine. Then we can have true, lasting, renewal. Focusing on God’s mission may very well result in more people or more money, but it’s not the goal. Our eyes are on God—our lives are abiding in God and God has promised to abide in us.

When we remember our roots and ask what God is calling us to do instead of letting fear take over, real change and life and growth happens. Let’s ask the questions of hope instead of the questions of fear.

Instead of: How can we get more members?” Or “How can we be sure we do things the way they’ve always been done?” Or “How can we get more money?”

Let’s flip the script like the Ethiopian Eunuch and look for the new places God is taking us.

Let’s ask:

“What is to prevent us from abiding in God?” “What is to prevent us from discerning God’s will for this place and this people?” “What is to prevent us from doing something remarkable for the sake of the Gospel?”

What is to prevent us?

Nothing.

And Christ, the True Vine, will give us the life to do it.

Amen.

Healing for a Purpose

Sermon preached Sunday, February 4, 2024, the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

We’re still pretty early in the liturgical year. In our Gospel readings, we’re in the first Chapter of Mark. In Mark 1, Jesus has been busy. He’s been baptized by John, tempted in the wilderness, called some disciples, cast out some demons, and now he’s healing people. All this, in just twenty-five verses, because the first nine verses describe what’s happening before Jesus even shows up. Mark moves at a break-neck pace, with everything happening “immediately,” and yet Mark is still painting a picture. He is trying to establish who Jesus is and what Jesus has come to do—and the fact that we get these many healings so early on in Jesus’ ministry means something.

Jesus, Mark tells us, is not just a teacher or a preacher or a prophet. He is a healer, a restorer, a compassionate leader who seeks reconciliation.

The healing of Simon’s mother is brief in the text: the whole encounter is covered in three verses. It is brief in the text, but even in its brevity, it has a lot to say. There are a couple words here that stick out to me. First, it says Jesus “lifted her up.” This is the same word that will later be used to describe how Jesus was “raised” from the dead, so we have resurrection undertones. Secondly, it says that after she was healed, she began to serve. The word here is the same word that is the root of Deacon, a position in the church defined and shaped by service in the world.

So at it’s surface it’s a simple healing and Simon’s mother goes back to living her life. But if we look deeper, this healing is more than just curing a physical ailment. She is lifted up and then immediately moves to service. She has been raised to serve, raised for a purpose.

Could that be true of all who come to Christ for healing?

Could that be true of us?

Illness can come in so many forms.

Of course, it can be physical. Our bodies, even despite our most intense efforts, will all eventually decay and shut down. There are sudden and acute things like injuries, infections, or heart attacks. There are slower moving culprits, like a silent undetectable cancer or encroaching dementia.

There are mental illnesses, both those clinically diagnosed by psychologists and those that might not quite reach that level but cause distress nonetheless.

Our spirits may be in need of healing, beaten down by guilt or shame or just plain exhaustion from the experience of being human.

Last week, the Sesame Street character, Elmo, posted a question on his social media accounts. (Maybe you’ve heard this story.) He wrote, “Elmo is just checking in! How is everybody doing?”
At first, the responses were pretty innocuous. “I’m good, hope you are, too!” “Going to the store to buy groceries!” You know, simple, sort-of silly things you might say to a puppet’s Instagram account.

But then, it almost seems like a dam broke. It seems like people felt they could be vulnerable with this fuzzy red monster from a neighborhood that they visited in their childhood. The answers got real. Some were still celebrations about jobs or life milestones, but there were more, many more, that were honest about the struggle so many of us feel.

Elmo’s question, “How is everybody doing?” got answers I don’t think the folks at Sesame Workshop expected:

“So tired, I struggle to get out of bed.”

“Could be better.”

“I lost my partner 85 days ago. I am lost without him.”

“I’m feeling really unanchored, like I’m floating in the wind with no direction or control.”

“I wish I could say okay. It’s been really rough.”

Each time, Elmo responded with a thoughtful and caring comment and, when needed, a link for more resources or support.

This post and its accompanying comments served to illustrate that so many of us are struggling. So many of us are in need of healing, in all its forms. We are not alone in this. So many of us are experiencing similar struggles.

Yes, I would wager a bet that all of us, in some way, are in need of healing: for the physical, the mental, the spiritual, or some other dimension I’m not even considering.

And that healing can arrive in just as many varied forms as the illness itself.

There is, of course, the healing that has been discovered and developed and supported by science. Medicine, clinical therapies, changes in diet or physical activity. These strategies and tools are gifts from God in and of themselves, God working with and through our society to find ways of providing relief.

But we know that there are other kinds of healing, too.

We can’t fix a broken relationship by taking a pill.

We can’t stave off loneliness by eating a more balanced diet.

We can’t increase our capacity for compassion and grace by following a scheduled protocol.

That’s when we need God.

It is God who forgives us, who enables us to forgive others, who allows us to accept forgiveness from others.

It is God who brings together communities of faith and empowers them to support one another through the highs and lows of life. Who helps us create a space that is open to varied personalities and ideas and backgrounds, but protected from bigotry and further oppression for the most vulnerable.

It is God who sees how we are overwhelmed by the world’s deep need and who buoys us in our small efforts of impact.

It is God who provides that wholeness of healing, that healing that sets us up to serve, not unlike Simon’s mother.

Not in a mercenary way, like God is just healing us so that we can be shipped out to the front lines of mission…but in a beautiful, freeing way, like all that has been keeping us from being fully engaged in service has been that thing within us in need of healing.

I wonder if this sounds too simple, too naïve.

I know that healing, in whatever form is required, is not simple. On the contrary, it is often very difficult to experience and takes time and stages, not an easy flip-of-a-switch. And yet, we trust that God will provide it. And we trust that God will heal us for service, even if it’s not-quite-all-the-way-at-once, even if it happens in fits and starts, even if it is more of a cycle of healing, rather than a straightforward line.

And it is in that vein that we serve: not as perfect, not as “finished products,” but as ever-healing disciples, raised up to care for our world.

Martin Luther wrote, “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject of all, subject to all.”[i]

Maybe you’ve heard that quote before. It bears repeating: “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject of all, subject to all.”

In other words, God does not demand service as a price for the healing God so lovingly bestows. Instead, caring for our neighbors and the creation around us is a blessing, a gift, an honor, that we are enabled to do only because God has cared for us first.

Like illness, like healing, that service itself has many shapes to it. Small acts, like giving food to a local food pantry, volunteering at a cold weather shelter, or pushing back against hateful or hurtful rhetoric spoken by another. Bigger acts, like organizing a clothing drive, providing a weekly meal, or supporting conversations around difficult topics of injustice. Large-scale efforts like advocating for policy changes that better the lives of the underrepresented or demonstrations for peace.

Service looks like that and it looks like so many other things God has called the faithful to do, caring for one another as God is caring for us.

To paraphrase Elmo, “How are you?”

Allow yourself to move past the “I’m fines,” and reflect on the places in your life that are in need of healing. I have mine. You very likely have yours.

God knows where you are hurting. God knows what healing you need and will provide. God will lift you up and inspire you to serve.

Amen.

[i] Martin Luther, “Freedom of a Christian.”

What are We Waiting For?

Sermon preached Sunday, January 21, 2024, the Third Sunday after Epiphany, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

I’m a planner. It doesn’t mean that I can’t or won’t be spontaneous, but I prefer to know what’s coming, what I have waiting for me down the pike. I want to plan, to feel as if I have some control, and so I’ll often have three or four scenarios laid out, ready to be used when I need them.

My mom’s the same way, too. Neither of us can stand feeling as though we have no control over our futures and so we take control whenever and however we can.

Whenever a big life change is on the horizon, the lists, the googling, the contingencies begin.

When we were looking to buy a house, there were a series of plans that were begun and discarded as offers weren’t accepted or as we didn’t like a house as much in person as we did in pictures.

When I got pregnant with Owen, pinterest became my best friend as I looked up pregnancy tips, newborn care advice, nursery decorating ideas, and recipes for freezer meals to carry us through those early days when we didn’t have the energy to cook. It was less intense with Ellie, but had the added complication of the damage to our house which required a whole other list of plan b’s to be prepared.

One of the trickiest parts of Owen’s treatment is our lack of ability to definitively plan. Anyone who has had or accompanied someone with a severe or chronic illness knows what it’s like to constantly have doctors appointments popping up or clinic visits being rearranged or having circumstances mean that a certain activity is no longer a good idea.

And it’s hard.

…I like to plan.

Which makes it extremely hard for me to identify with the disciples called by Jesus in this morning’s Gospel. What they do is so far outside my wheelhouse!

Can you imagine what it must have been like for these men? Can you imagine picking up and leaving your entire life after one sentence from stranger? They are fishing—likely what they did every day. There’s not a lot of job or financial security in fishing: each day they had to bring in enough to feed themselves, their families, and to sell or trade. So, them leaving is a big deal. It’s not calling in sick from work for a couple days—it’s abandoning your livelihood!

Simon and Andrew hear Jesus call to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they leave their nets and follow him. A little further, Jesus calls to James and John and, again immediately, they leave their family business and follow him. They have no income. No backup plan. No knowledge of what they might be getting themselves into. All Jesus has said is “Follow me” and they do!

No questions asked. …No security. …No guarantee or contingency plan.

And they don’t just leave—that would be bold enough on its own!—they leave immediately. They act immediately to the call from God.

This word, “immediately,” is a hallmark of this Gospel. Over and over again, as we make our way through Mark, we will hear how things are happening right away. This Gospel moves at a fast clip and the listener is asked to keep up!

How many things do we do immediately? Without any delay? [Beat] Maybe I’m just a major procrastinator, but I can’t think of a lot. Things that we do immediately. Not soon. Not in a timely manner. Not before a deadline. Immediately.

It’s remarkable, really. These disciples hear God calling them and decide that they can’t wait another second longer to join in. Jesus gives an invitation, and they take him up on it right away!

Do you hear it? Jesus calling you? This call, this invitation is not just for the individuals who will eventually become the Twelve Disciples. No, it is for us all: for every hearer of these words, for every person who busy doing the work of everyday life, Jesus calls us. Jesus calls us to life: new, abundant, transformative, immediate life.

How do we react to that call? What is our response? Do we act immediately? What keeps us from acting immediately? These first disciples are so filled with faith and hope at Jesus’ call that they cannot help themselves—they must follow him. What dampens that same fire and spirit in us?  What stands in the way of following Jesus into immediate, abundant life?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question is a rather long list. We have our busy schedules, which make carving out time for ourselves, let alone our faith community and spiritual lives a challenge. It’s hard to focus on what God is calling you to do when a new Facebook notification pops up. Every other story in the news makes us worry and encourages us to be more cautious with others, more on guard, more fearful of being hurt or taken advantage of. The political and societal climate encourages us to blame others and surround ourselves with only those who agree with us, instead of encouraging understanding, compassion, and compromise.

I could go on, but this is stuff you know already. You know what keeps you from acting on God’s call. You know what disheartens you. You know the reasons why you feel exhausted and why the notion of doing anything “immediately,” even the work of the Gospel, seems far-fetched.

Maybe the remedy comes, at least in part, from this community. Maybe this community of faith, gathered in spirit, is the thing that allows us to act with immediacy, the energy source of our faith. Here we are renewed and sustained and sent back out into the world.

The community can speak when we don’t know how to. When our faith is strong, we can sing loud and proud. When it is weak, we can let others proclaim God’s grace for us. When we’re not sure of where we stand with God, we make the sign of the cross and remember that we have been claimed and named as God’s children. Let that fire of faith be rekindled in you each week.

And when the worship service is over? Kindle each other’s flames! Encourage one another. Reach out to each other. Help one another in serving God’s mission.

Jesus calls the first disciples to be “fishers of people.” It’s a funny term. The mental picture of a bunch of people being drawn up in a net like fish is frankly a little odd. But that’s what Jesus says: “fishers of people.”

We won’t always be the fishers. We won’t always be the ones proclaiming the Good News loudly. Sometimes we’ll be the fish, swimming in the murky waters, deep below the surface, unaware of the light that awaits us. We are fishers and we are fish. Another preacher put it this way: “Following Jesus means becoming a fish as well as groping for other fish to draw into the net.” (from Sundays and Seasons: Preaching 2021)

And why do we grope for other fish?

It’s not to increase our attendance numbers. It’s not to get more kids coming on a weekly basis. It’s not to increase our offerings or have a youth group with twenty kids in it. All of these may be positive things, but they are not why we are called to be fishers of people. They are not ultimately the work of the Church or the mission of God.

We are called to fish for people to share the Good News of Jesus Christ with them and to help others be aware of the immediacy of God’s abundant grace. With one action, Christ’s death and resurrection, we are forgiven, redeemed, saved—once and for all. This is the mission of the church: share the good news and share it immediately. It’s too incredible to let it wait.

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near…”

…So what are we waiting for?

Amen.

Showing Up

Sermon preached Sunday, January 14, 2023, the Second Sunday after Epiphany, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

There are times in life when it seems as if one has to have the “right” knowledge or the “right” qualifications in order to be included.

School often feels like that, or at least it did for me, especially when I was younger. Maybe it’s because I was in Honors and Advanced Placement classes, but I felt like I needed to be as smart as everyone else in the class to be taken seriously. I had to agree with the prevailing opinions about certain novels or refrain from asking questions when I didn’t understand something for fear of seeming different, or not good enough, or an “outsider.”

Maybe you’ve felt that way at work. Maybe you’ve started a new job and don’t want to ask for clarification or help because you want people to know you’re competent right off the bat. You’ve got this, you tell yourself. You might fear not knowing as much as your coworkers and being written off as not good enough for the job. If you reveal yourself to not be on the same page as everyone else, you might risk your position or status.

But it’s not just about knowledge, about hoping that you know enough to blend in, it’s also about a certain way of thinking. So often, being a part of a group, a class, a workplace—being a part of something means ascribing to a certain set of rules or a statement of values, right off the bat. Many colleges have incoming freshmen sign an academic integrity pledge, promising not to plagiarize or cheat during their years there. When you start a new job, you’re often given a code of conduct to read and agree to on your first day. When you join a club, there are often regulations about how that club is run and how its members behave that you are expected to adhere to.

I might be making all of these examples sound bad. They’re not, at least not always. Asking students not to cheat or employees to maintain a certain standard of professionalism is a good thing. There are certainly good reasons to have these sorts of practices in place. But I still can’t help picturing a certain scene from the movie Mean Girls when the main character is finally allowed to sit with the “cool” girls and is told: “You can’t wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week…and we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays.” These are the rules she must follow, the philosophy she must ascribe to if she wants to belong to this particular group of girls.

You might be wondering at this point where in the world I’m going with this—what does Mean Girls have to do with our reading about Samuel or Nathanael? I promise, I’m getting there! In the world we live in, you often have to have things figured out before you join in, or you are expected to agree to statements of values or beliefs right away. Not always, but often.

Discipleship, on the other hand, works a little differently. Faith is not necessarily always believing the “correct” thing or stating the “correct” stance on a particular issue. Faith is much more nuanced than that—there’s much more to it than a static list of rules and “I believe” statements. We have creeds. Our national denomination has social statements. I have a large collection of writings of Martin Luther and other church theologians in my office, but I don’t make you all take a pledge or sign an elaborate statement of faith before you can worship here. There is more to living in faith community than that, more to being a disciple than that.

Just look at the two call stories we heard this morning: the stories of Samuel and Nathanael.

Samuel is a boy when God first speaks to him. He doesn’t understand that God is calling his name, he thinks it is Eli, his guardian, for all intents and purposes. He obeys what he thinks is Eli’s request for his presence, until finally Eli determines that God is calling the boy. Does Eli teach Samuel all about the proper points of faith, or the proper way to pray or offer sacrifices, or make sure that Samuel knows all the finer points of Jewish law? Does Eli wait until Samuel can recite a perfect proclamation of faith?

Nope. Eli tells Samuel to listen, to discern, and then to offer his presence. Samuel lays down, he hears a voice calling his name, determines that it is the Lord and says, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” All Samuel does is be present and listen to what God has to say.

In Nathanael’s case, he is approached by a friend. Phillip has already met Jesus, has already been called by Jesus into a life of discipleship. He wants to share this with Nathanael. Phillip tells his friend about Jesus and Nathanael’s reaction is…skeptical…at best: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Phillip doesn’t try and explain how Jesus fulfills the law and prophets. He doesn’t go into a lengthy monologue about the promised Messiah and how Jesus is it.

Nope. Phillip simply suggests to Nathanael, “Come and see.” All Nathanael does is go with is friend, all he does is show up and Jesus is there to meet him.

There are no prerequisites for experiencing God. No list of questions to be answered or qualifications to meet for faith or discipleship. Confusion is okay. Skepticism is okay. Questions are okay. It’s okay not to always be sure where God is calling you, if God is calling you, or even who God is.

Discipleship is about showing up. Discipleship is about presence far more than knowledge or certainty.

How do we show up? How do you show up? Well, you showed up here, this morning, didn’t you? Your faith might not be solid right now, but you showed up. You could be struggling with doubts and uncertainties, but you showed up. On the other hand, you might be bursting with joy and love for God, and you showed up, too. This is a place for people at all places along the spectrum of faith, from doubters and skeptics to confident proclaimers: all who come together and show up.

In a couple minutes, we’ll all show up together at the table. With outstretched hands we will all receive bread and wine, body and blood of Jesus Christ, broken and shed for each of us. Not because we have this whole “real presence of Christ” thing figured out, or because we agree one hundred percent with the people who join us in communion, but we receive the body and blood, broken and shed for us because God showed up to provide it and we showed up to eat and drink it.

We can show up in the rest of our lives as well. Listening for the voice of God. Discerning God’s voice and presence above the din around us and responding “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” Perhaps expressing our skepticism at doing something new, or going somewhere we’ve never been before, but deciding to “Go and see” anyway. Opening ourselves up to seeing and experiencing God in places we’d never expect.

Showing up, because God has already shown up for us. Shown up in bread and wine. Shown up in baptismal water. Shown up as God on earth in human form, walking on our ground, eating with us, drinking with us, laughing with us, crying with us, living with us. God has shown up out of abundant, over-flowing love for us.

Come and see.

Speak, Lord.

Here I am.

Amen.

Rest as Discipleship

Sermon preached Sunday, July 9, 2023, the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

This past Tuesday was the 4^th of July, which means there was a lot of talk about FREEDOM. Freedom is one of the things we value the most in this country, enshrined in our founding documents. We talk so much about freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of the press—it is one of our most highly treasured aspects of what it means to be a citizen of the United States.

As Christians, though, we know that we do not live in a vacuum. We are in relationship with the rest of God’s creation and therefore our freedom is not as individualistic as our culture sometimes portrays it. Martin Luther put it this way: “A Christian is an utterly free man, lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is an utterly dutiful man, servant of all, subject to all.” (Freedom of a Christian)

We are utterly free and subject to none—but simultaneously, we are servant of all and subject to all. This is an excellent, concise way to understand what it means to be free in Christ. In Christ, we have freedom from sin, freedom from the pressure to be perfect, freedom from the strain of having to work for our own salvation. At the same time, our calling as children and disciples of God means that we are interconnected to each other and the rest of this world. We cannot ignore needs or cries of pain. We are called to care for and look out for one another.

Even though this calling is based in freedom, it is not an easy one. There are ups and downs and struggles. Although we need not work for our salvation, we know that we are called to care for others and work towards justice—and, unfortunately, that is the kind of work that never ends.

But God knows that. God’s know that our calling weighs on us—and God knows that its not the only thing that weighs on us. We bear the weight of others’ expectations of us. We bear the weight of our expectations of ourselves. We bear the weight of financial stress and anxiety about the world’s problems. We bear the weight of political divisions and cultural divides. We bear the weight of trying to be followers of Christ and yet knowing that we will fall short.

God knows all of this. And, still, Jesus offers words of solace: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Doesn’t that just sound lovely? Don’t you almost want to just close your eyes and have those words wash over you? How wonderful does it feel to have your heavy burdens leave your shoulders and be taken on by God?

It got me thinking—what are some of the ways in which this happens? How is it that we can release the things that are stressing us and weighing us down? There are lots of ways, certainly, and they vary a lot from person to person. We all have different ways that we de-stress or reset. …but there are also some ways that our faith provides that we know can helps us connect with God and let God take some of what we’re carrying.

How about prayer? Prayer helps us center ourselves. We release our worries and ask for God’s guidance. We take the time to try and hear God’s voice speaking to us. Prayer can help us focus, almost like the list of things you write out before bed so that you can finally get to sleep: we offer up our mental load. And this isn’t always the case, but it can be a time set apart, a space set away—a pause in the work.

The same can be said for the study of scripture. While scripture study can happen pretty much anywhere, taking time to open our Bibles or read a devotional or pull up a passage on our phones can create a break in an otherwise hectic time. Whether we are on our own or in discussion with others, reading God’s Word grounds us when the world can be pulling us in all too many directions.

When we gather for worship, it is like we are amplifying the effect of individual prayer and Bible study. When we do it together, we lean on each other; we learn from each other; we support each other in the work we are engaged in. The people in this community remind us that we are not alone in following Jesus, that we are not alone in being disciples.

That font, the place of baptism, marks our entrance here and marks the place where we become the Body of Christ. The font is a constant reminder that we are united with each other and with Christ in this Gospel-centered activity.

What’s more, the meal we share at the table sustains us week after week. Even though we only have a small piece of bread and a little bit of wine, we are filled to the brim with Christ’s presence and our hunger and thirst—for a time—are satiated. This meal fuels our discipleship.

None of us has an unlimited supply of energy and if we are to truly live into the freedom Christ has given us, we will need to also take time to reconnect with God—time to lay down our burdens and feel our faith be strengthened and grown. The work is important, but so is the rest. There’s a reason why God modeled Sabbath for us in creation and why Jesus found his own places of re-connection during his ministry on earth. We can’t do it alone, and we can’t do it with God.

Come unto Christ, and you will find rest for your souls.

Amen.

A Disciple’s Welcome

Sermon preached Sunday, July 2, 2023, the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

Someone special is coming. You’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom. Fan blades have been dusted, baseboards have been wiped, carpets have been vacuumed and counters are pristine. Windows are spotless and curtains are hanging just right. The messy chaos of a lived-in house has been put away for the time being so your guest can make themselves at home without having to move anything out of the way first. Dinner is prepped and in the oven. Drinks are cold and ready to be poured. Everything is set for your visitor to arrive.

This is how we welcome people who are special to us. This is how we welcome people we want to make a good impression on. Haven’t you done these things for a guest? You don’t do it all the time, or even every time a person comes over…but when you really want them to feel special, you put a little effort in.

If this is the way we welcome friends and loved ones into our homes…how might we welcome others into places we consider to be our “home” as well? As disciples, how are living out this divinely instructed welcome?

Today, I want to explore what welcome means for those of us who call ourselves disciples. I want to take a close looks at two of the “homes” we can welcome people to.

We call this nation home. On Tuesday, we’ll celebrate Independence Day, the Fourth of July, when we commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the beginnings of our country. From its earliest days, our country was founded on ideas of welcome. These were imperfect and flawed ideas, of course, because you weren’t welcome if you were African or of African descent unless you were enslaved. You weren’t welcome if you were one of the indigenous people who were already here. You weren’t necessarily welcome if you didn’t meet written and unwritten criteria that allowed for all kinds of discrimination rooted in culture and social and economic class…BUT. But the words written in that document—written into the Declaration of Independence— were meaningful. People saw and still see the US as a place for new starts, where anyone can have a shot at a better life, where people from all races and religions can live on equal footing.

Welcome is our heritage. “The New Colossus” is the poem written to help raise money for the Statue of Liberty and was inscribed on a plaque at its base I’m sure at least part of it is pretty familiar, but let me read the whole thing:

“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’”

(“The New Colossus,” Emma Lazarus)

I couldn’t read these words of Jesus this week about welcome without the imagery of the poet Emma Lazarus running through my head. This week, as we celebrate the founding of our country, let us not forget our highest ideals and goals.

So that’s one model of welcome—welcoming to our nation.

What’s another place we consider to be home—the church? For many of us, this place is certainly like home. We have family here, literal or forged by time. We have a sense of comfort here. We know where things are, we know how things work, we know that we belong.

The question, then, is how do we welcome others? How is our hospitality? Every congregation I’ve ever heard of describes themselves as friendly and welcoming, but you’d be surprised at how many truly aren’t…and much of it comes down to how we experience visitors and new people. Do we welcome others as if they are Jesus, as if they are God in our midst? Or do we welcome others as if their presence and wallet will save the church.

There are so many ways a person might be welcomed into our community. They might be greeted by a friendly face when the first walk in and helped through the service at points of confusion. They might be invited into a Bible Study. They might be baptized here as a child or an adult and be irrevocably joined to God. They might be given bread and wine at the table and be changed forever.

I’d like to share an excerpt from a memoir. Sara Miles had grown up as an atheist and had no need for religion. She said of herself, “I was certainly not interested in becoming a Christian…Or, as I thought of it rather less politely, a religious nut.” (Take This Bread, p.57) But all of that changed when she found herself passing by an Episcopal church in San Francisco and giving into her reporter’s curiosity to get a closer look at the unique architecture. Here’s what she writes about that morning:

“I walked in, took a chair, and tried not to catch anyone’s eye. There were windows looking out on a hillside covered in geraniums, and I could hear birds squabbling outside. Then a man and a woman in long tie-dyed robes stood and began chanting in harmony. There was no organ, no choir, no pulpit: just the unadorned voices of the people, and long silences framed by the ringing of deep Tibetan bowls. I sang, too. It crossed my mind that this was ridiculous.

“We sat down and stood up, sang and sat down, waited and listened and stood up and sang, and it was all pretty peaceful and sort of interesting. ‘Jesus invites everyone to his table,’ the woman announced, and we started moving up in a stately dance to the table in the rotunda. It had some dishes on it, and a pottery goblet.

“And then we gathered around that table. And there was more singing and standing, and someone was putting a piece of fresh, crumbly bread in my hands, saying ‘the body of Christ,’ and handing me the goblet of sweet wine, saying, ‘the blood of Christ,’ and then something outrageous and terrifying happened. Jesus happened to me.” (Take This Bread, p.58)

I’ve read her memoir a number of times and each time, I get hung up on her first encounter with communion. She felt welcomed at that table. In some places, maybe she wouldn’t have been. Maybe she would have felt excluded or been left out of what was going on. And so when I read her story, I think that maybe the best thing we can do to welcome other people into a life of faith is try really hard not to set up obstacles or ways for them to fail—to open the doors wide and expand the invitation and tear down the barriers and insider language and tiny tests we set up to keep outsiders out and insiders in.

Because here’s the thing: all of the welcoming we do is grounded in God’s first welcome to us. God has welcomed us to the font. God has welcomed us to the table. God has welcomed us into the Body of Christ with one another. God has welcomed us to life everlasting. And God promises to help us welcome others. As one of my preaching professors put it, God says to us, “Do the welcoming; I’ll be there.”

Let’s be welcoming disciples. Let’s open the door and make the threshold wide.

Amen.

Holy Disruption

Sermon preached Sunday, June 25, 2023, the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, Virginia. 

Today’s Gospel is not an easy one to hear or preach on. It never is. And every three years, when it comes up again, I look back to see what I said the last time, thinking that things are different this time.

But, I’ve gotta say…not much has changed!

Our passions and disagreements don’t seem to have been toned down—if anything, they’ve ratcheted up more! It is getting harder and harder to have simple conversations about our beliefs without facing scorn or derision from some people.

And maybe that’s to be expected. In our readings today, we hear all about what happens to people following the Word of God…and it’s not pretty! They are denounced, they are weary, they suffer reproach. They become strangers to their own families and are mocked day and night. These do not sound like happy lives.

And then Jesus says the harshest words: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.” (Matthew 10:34-36)

That’s not what I want to hear. These three verses are hard for us to take. We struggle to make sense of them, because how could this be what Jesus wants? How could this be part of God’s plan to bring about reconciliation? Division? Violence? Broken relationships?

I’m not going to tell you that I know exactly what Jesus is trying to say here, because I don’t. It’s one of the questions on my ever-growing list of things I’d love to ask God. But, here’s where I tend to end up: What if this violence and discord is not what Jesus wants, but is simply a result of his work being done in the world—at least at first? What if God uses disruption in order to, eventually, get us to renewal?

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. often talked about this idea. He wrote that the only way to get from point A, the problem, to point B, the solution is through struggle. There is no other way, because the status quo needs to be disrupted in order for something new and more life-giving to come out of it. Isn’t that what happened with the Civil Rights movement? Change didn’t come by asking nicely. It came through sit-ins at lunch counters, boycotting busses, protesting, and marching.

Our country, from its earliest beginnings, was a result of unrest, of people deciding that they had enough with the way things were and decided to change things. The Boston Tea Party was a violent and destructive—disruptive—message to the Crown that certain things just weren’t going to stand anymore.

There are all sorts of Biblical examples of when God decides that things “as they are” aren’t working and that something needs to change—so God acts and disrupts the world.

Think of the world before the flood. Wickedness had spread through the land and people had forgotten whose they were. Things could have remained that way, but God chose to disrupt and bring the flood, giving the earth a fresh start.

Or think about the Israelites in Egypt. They were enslaved and mistreated. God could have let things be and waited it out in hopes things would get better, but instead God heard the cries of the people and disrupted the Egyptians’ law & order by bringing about plagues to secure the Israelites’ freedom.

Or what about Esther? At her cousin’s urging, she put herself in the running to be the next queen of Persia, which led to her marrying the king. When her cousin found out about a plot to essentially murder all Jews living in the land, she could have protected herself by staying quiet and not disturbing the king…but she didn’t. She took a chance and broke the rules—disturbed the palace order—by going to the King unannounced to plead for her people.

And then there’s the biggest disruption of all: Jesus himself. Humanity was finding ways to live and survive on earth and some people were even making efforts to be closer to God. But God saw that no matter what we did, we would always fall short due to our sin—So God chose, once again, to disrupt. God disrupted the world by taking on our human form and coming to live with us that we might all be reconciled to God. The Romans didn’t like it. The religious authorities didn’t like it. Jesus was killed because he was disrupting their way of life.

We are afraid of disruptions and things that disturb our order, but we can also see that they are not always bad, not when they help us pave the way towards justice and equality and peace. Disruption solely for the sake of violence, for oppression, for harming one another is never the answer. But a disruption that breaks us out of indifference? That’s another story.

We are tempted towards calm and complacency, wanting everyone to sit down and follow the rules even when they are fair or unjust. We don’t like to be shaken from the status quo. It leads to uncertainty and it’s unsettling…but sometimes it’s necessary.

There are things that are legal, that we, as a society, seem to accept, that I cannot call just or life-giving. I argued that if we are going to live as disciples, we are called to step it up and occasionally disrupt.

One of the biggest historical examples of this idea is slavery. Slavery was written into the laws. It was supported by many churches. It was seen as a smart, economical way to run a farm. Legal, yes. Accepted, yes. Just? Of course not. We know that now. But it took disruption. It took decades, and longer, of protests, law-breaking, and, eventually, a civil war to abolish slavery in the United States.

If we look at the world around us today, we see cases and circumstances all around us in which things happen to people that are technically legal but are actively harming people.

• Predatory payday loans that trap people in a cycle of debt
• Intentionally keeping people at just below full-time hours to get out of paying benefits or a living wage
• Raising the price on medications solely for increasing profit
• Discrimination based on things not specifically listed in anti-discrimination laws
• Unsafe labor conditions that we seem to be okay with because we can get our goods cheaper

I could keep going. These aren’t easy things to talk about. Many of them are “hot button” issues that we avoid at all costs. But these things are not just. They hurt people. They hurt society. They hurt the Body of Christ.

We are called, as disciples of Jesus, to work against things that hurt us, that hurt any part of God’s creation. When we do that, when we call out injustice, we will sometimes find ourselves being disruptive. It’s hard work. It’s scary work. It’s dangerous work.

…but we need not be afraid to do it. God is with us. The prophet Jeremiah declares, “But the Lord is with me like a dread warrior; therefore, my persecutors will stumble, and they will not prevail.” (Jeremiah 10:11) Jesus tells it even more plainly: “²⁶’So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. ²⁷What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.’” (Matthew 10:26-27)

Discipleship is not being complacent.  God gives us the strength, God gives us the courage, God gives us the passion to be a little disruptive, for the sake of the Gospel.

Amen.

What is a Disciple?

Sermon preached Sunday, June 18, 2023, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, Virginia. 

What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus?

I’m sure that’s a question you’ve heard before, you’ve thought about before. What’s your answer? What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus?

Not a worshipper of Jesus or someone who believes in him as the Messiah. Not a person who believes that they have been saved by his dying and rising…but someone who follows his example and strives to live the way he is calling us to.

When asked what it means to follow Jesus, we too easily fall into vague ideas like “share God’s love” or “spread the Gospel.” Those ideas are right on—but they also lack specificity which makes them unhelpful when trying to define what a disciple of Jesus is called to do.

How do we share God’s love? How to we spread the Gospel? Who are we called to be in conversation with? What are the methods we might use?

The truth of the matter is, when we say, “Share God’s love” and “Spread the Gospel,” it sounds pretty easy. I can do that!

But in our Gospel reading today, Jesus makes it explicit that being his disciple is anything but easy. In fact, it can be dangerous or even deadly.

He tells them that they will cure the sick and raise the dead. They will cast out demons, but they are to take no money with them and receive no payment. He warns that they will be flogged and arrested and hated and persecuted because of the things they do in Jesus’ name.

Let’s look at what Jesus tells them to do: proclaim that the kingdom of heaven has come near by healing people in need and entering into relationships with the people they meet. That’s maybe a little bit vague, but not if we understand what Jesus means by “Kingdom of Heaven.”

The phrase refers to the time, or the circumstances, in which God will have full domination and all of creation is reconciled back to God. In fact, the word “kingdom” here is often better translated as “reign,” meaning not a physical territory, but an entire way of living under God.

This means justice and equity. It means caring for the neighbor and stranger in our midst. It means living out God’s call to compassion and generosity and love. It means that everything Jesus says in the Beatitudes early in the Gospel of Matthew has come to pass. Those who mourn will be comforted. The meek will inherit the earth. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled.

That means not allowing injustice to pass in front of us without doing our best to stop it. That means not allowing a few people to hoard the earth’s resources with others starve. That means listening to the stories of others and trying to understand their point of view. That means putting our own egos and our own defensiveness aside and finding ways to work together.

It’s hard work. And, as Jesus says, it’s work that can get us killed. If we think back through history and think of figures who challenged injustice or who proclaimed God’s word in a more expansive and inclusive way…we’re typically talking about people who either were killed or had their lives threatened more than once. Here are just a few examples: Some were put at risk because of their faith, others because of their political advocacy against discrimination and oppression that was deemed legal under the law.

All of the disciples.

Paul.

Martin Luther.

Essentially all of this country’s founders, who would have been hanged for treason if the revolution turned out differently.

Frederick Douglas.

Harriet Tubman.

Abraham Lincoln.

Susan B. Anthony.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

The list does not end there, but I think you get the point.

God does not give us a spirit of timidity. Niceness is not discipleship, love is, and sometimes love means saying things that others don’t want to hear.

Niceness is keeping our mouth shut when someone says something derogatory or insensitive because “they didn’t mean it.” Love is pointing out the harm that can be done with our words even with the best of intentions.

Niceness is staying on the sidelines when others are being targeted because we “don’t want to get involved.” Love is standing up for folks who need support and advocacy.

Niceness is being content with prayers from positions of safety and security. Love is following those prayers up with activity: not just praying for hungry folks to be fed, but finding ways to do it. Not just praying for people to have shelter, but working towards a world without homelessness through policy and organizations. Not just praying for peace in our world, but seeking out evidence-based processes and being willing to try anything to achieve that goal.

Niceness feels, well, nice. And it doesn’t ask that much of us. It’s easy to be nice, to be unoffending, unassuming. We can pat ourselves on the back and take hollow comfort in the fact that we are nice people. It’s much harder to push past that initial niceness and put ourselves at risk: risk of making others angry, risk of losing property or status, risk of hurt to our pride, our bodies, or worse.

But that’s what discipleship requires: more than niceness. Being a disciple is not easy and Jesus never says that it will be…but he does promise hope. He does say that he will be with all who are persecuted in his name. We trust and we believe that God will guide us and carry us and uphold us, even in the midst of struggle or even death. God does not leave God’s people to fend for themselves. That is where we get our strength and motivation to move from niceness to love, to step out and take those risks—because we know that God is stepping out alongside us.

So, think about it that initial question: What does it mean to be a disciple of Christ? Are you someone who only believes in Jesus? Who only worships Jesus? Or are you someone who also strives every day to be a disciple of Jesus, no matter the cost?

Amen.

What’s Next?

Sermon preached Sunday, May 7, 2023, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Today’s Gospel reading is most commonly heard at funerals. In fact, if I went back through every funeral I’ve ever presided over, I’d be willing to bet that over half, if not closer to two thirds or more, have used this excerpt from the Gospel of John over any other passage found in our four Gospels.

These verses are comforting. When we are forced to look death in the face, it’s helpful to hear this promise from Jesus that we are not alone. God is with us and God has prepared a place for us when we breathe our last.

But because I’m so used to preaching on this text at funerals…I spent a lot of time pondering what good news these words might be to us when we aren’t as emotionally raw. What do these promises mean to us when we aren’t mourning? What is the Word we need to hear today?

And that got me thinking to what Word the disciples needed to hear, needed to remember.

Four weeks ago, we celebrated the resurrection. And then we followed that up with two weeks of post-resurrection appearances—basically, we journeyed with those early followers of Jesus as they processed what happened and began to spread the news.

But the last two weeks? We’ve kind of gone back in time, haven’t we? We’re back to hearing things Jesus said before his passion while he was teaching. Why is that?

Well, it’s partly because there’s not that many more post-resurrection accounts in our Gospels to pull from—we wouldn’t have enough to go the whole season of Easter until Ascension Day on May 18^th.

But I also think it’s because it’s where the disciples and followers of Jesus’ mindset was. Yes, Jesus is back and dwelling among them, but there is still a lot to figure out. Where do they go from here? What are the most important things that need to be remembered and shared from Jesus’ ministry?

And that’s why I think these Gospel readings in these weeks of the Easter Season are included. In my mind, it’s a window into the psyche of those early followers asking the question “What now? What’s next?” and leaning on these snippets for inspiration and guidance.

If I approach the text in this way, I’m left asking these questions for myself and for our community of faith today: “What now? What’s next?”

The initial mission and work of the Church was simply to share the story, share the account of Jesus’ ministry and teaching and death and resurrection and share how God came to dwell among us and usher in a new way of life. That, for the most part, has been done. There may be some tiny region of the world where this message has never been shared, but I am skeptical. Missionary movements of the past and the current inter-connectedness of our world mean that there are very few individuals who have not heard of Jesus or who have not heard of the basic tenets of Christianity, regardless of what faith tradition, if any, they belong to.

So just getting the story out there is not our “what’s next?”

And attempting to “save souls” or “get converts” shouldn’t really be, either. Christians of the past, as well as the present, have taken on that particular mantle and it has not often been beneficial to those who were being “saved.” Missionary schools in this country and Canada stripped native peoples of their cultural heritage and language in the name of “saving them.” Slave traders and holders used the notion of bondage as a way of “taming” and “saving” people they saw as savages or heathens. Even today, attempts to “save people” often seem more about fear or emotional manipulation than about sharing the freeing, inspiring love of God in a way that genuinely changes lives and reflects the reign of God.

So, siblings in Christ, what is our “next”? Looking at the words of Jesus that have inspired and encouraged believers for two thousand years, what are we to do post-resurrection, two thousand years on from those earliest days?

Jesus says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also.” (John 14:6-7a)

More often than not, we hear this in a very exclusionary way: “Believe in Jesus or you won’t be able to come to the Father!”

But I think it is richer than that, more nuanced than that. God came to us in human form, introduced us to Jesus, so that we might have a new way of relating to and understanding God. Through Jesus, we bear witness to a God who feels sorrow and joy, pain and passion. Through Jesus, through his death and resurrection, we are assured there is nothing we can experience that God is separate from, even death. Through Jesus, God decided to give up the trappings of divinity to be reconciled to us.

And that is why no one comes to the Father except through Jesus, because it is by Jesus’ actions that we know him, know the Father and Creator, that we know the Holy Spirit.

Phillip and Thomas (and probably most of the other folks listening) are really struggling to understand what Jesus is saying. And so when Philip says to Jesus, “Show us the Father, and we shall be satisfied,” you can almost feel the frustration in Jesus’ response:

“Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? ¹⁰Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. ¹¹Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. ¹²Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.” (John 14: 9-12)

So, it is knowing Jesus, knowing the Father, knowing God, both from experiencing God through the works of God’s own’s self and from the works of God lived out through our hands and feet and words. This is what’s next, what is our calling as we go into the future.

What’s next for us, fellow disciples of Christ? What shall we do, following the works Jesus did in his time walking this earth?

What’s next? We heal people. Maybe not through miraculous instances that make the blind see, but through supportive care, seeking resources and provisions to enable healing of body and mind and soul. And through caring and cooperative relationships to strengthen community ties and build bridges instead of animosity.

What’s next? We feed people. Both immediately via food pantries and feeding programs, but also through advocacy for ease of access and working to reduce and eliminate food deserts.

What’s next? We clothe and house people. We shelter them from the immediate threat of inclement weather, and also work towards fair and affordable means to get out of debt and find secure accommodations.

What’s next? We speak up for all voices that continue to go unheard, lifting up everyone who has historically been excluded from the larger narrative and paving the way for all who continue to be kept at the margins.

What’s next? We tell people how much they are loved by God, especially those who haven’t heard it before and especially those who have been told that God will only love them if they change.

What’s next?

The details and particulars are as yet unknown, but the goal is the same: to do our part in living out the reign of God in our world today and, through our actions, allowing people to know Jesus, the way, the truth, and the life.

Amen.