In God’s Reign

Sermon preached Sunday, November 19, 2023, Reign of Christ Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

It’s the last Sunday of the church year. A new cycle of Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter begins next week. And, as always, that means today is Christ the King Sunday, or, as it is also known, Reign of Christ Sunday.

We don’t have nearly as many kings or autocratic rulers in the world as there used to be. In the world of the Bible, though, nations were almost exclusively ruled in this way.

Do you know how the Kings of Israel came to be?

When the Israelites finally entered the Promised Land after decades of wandering in the desert, they only wanted one thing: a king. They believed a king would lead them to victory in battle and set them on the same level as the nations around them. In a way, it was kind of a status symbol for the fledgling Israelites. For a long time, God resisted. God appointed judges like Deborah and Gideon to lead the people. The judges kept the people together, oversaw legal, political, and military proceedings…but it wasn’t enough. The people still asked for a king.

God warned the Israelites. God told them a king would take their children and put them into service, take their harvest, take pretty much anything he wanted from them and not serve in their best interest. It took hardly any time at all for God’s predictions to come true. By the time the prophet Ezekiel was writing, the Israelites had endured terrible king after terrible king. God saw this and decided to step back in.

In the Old Testament, the Shepherd is always a kingly image. In poetry, in the Psalms, shepherding is a metaphor for ruling, for caring for one’s people the way one might care for their sheep. Ezekiel speaks the word of the Lord and says that God will once again be the Shepherd of the people.

God says, “I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out…  I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness… and I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the watercourses, and in all the inhabited parts of the land.  ¹⁵I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. ¹⁶I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.” (Ezekiel 34:11-19)

God is ready to take over. There may be a human shepherd set to watch over them, but God will have a hand in it all. God will be the primary ruler.

Christ the King Sunday is when we explore what it means to have God as our sovereign. If God is our ruler, the leader of our hearts, what does that mean for us?

Maybe that’s where today’s parable comes in—it gives us an idea of what the kingship of Christ looks like, what the reign of Christ looks like.

When the sheep and goats are called to account, what does the Son of Man focus on? Is it the number of Sundays they went to church? Is it a quiz on how well they know their scripture? Is it a tally of how many prayers we’ve said over the years? No, it is their actions to the most vulnerable that matter. It is how they’ve cared for the hungry, stranger, the naked, the sick and the imprisoned. It’s how they’ve lived out their faith in service to one another.

In the reign of Christ, our call is not to micromanage religiosity, but to care for our neighbor. Our neighbor, who just might be Jesus in our midst.

The Gospel of Matthew is all about Jesus’ incarnation and Jesus’ presence with us in the world. Matthew begins with Jesus being called “Emmanuel,” which means “God is with us,” and it ends with Jesus saying, “Remember, I am with you until the end of the age.” Jesus was with us, Jesus is with us, and Jesus will be with us. We know this to be true and we know that we might encounter Jesus in surprising and unsuspecting ways. One of the ways we experience this is in the idea that we are all “little Christs” in the world. When we care for each other, we are expressing the Christ within us. When we are cared for, Christ is coming to meet us.

Jesus doesn’t ever leave us. This is the part we tend to forget.

The parable Jesus tells is frightening.

It is the day when the Son of Man comes in all his glory and all the nations are gathered before him. They are separated into two categories, although none of them know why. Both groups are mystified. No one was able to determine their grouping prior to Jesus doing it. Two groups: the sheep and the goats. The sheep, who took care of Christ and welcomed him; who unwittingly encountered God because they chose to care for their neighbor. The goats, who did nothing; who never had the chance to encounter God because they chose to ignore their neighbor. One, invited to inherit the kingdom, the other, sent away to eternal punishment.

It has a terrible ending…but even at the end, even when the Son of Man tells the goats to depart, we know that this can’t be the final word. They are sent away to eternal punishment…but they are not there alone. There is no place so far that Christ is not there, including whatever version of hell we might be talking about.

Remember that image from the Chora Church I shared on All Saints Sunday? If you weren’t here, or if you don’t remember, it’s a beautiful image. Jesus, flanked by saints, is reaching down into hell and pulling out sarcophagi there. The figures he grabs are Adam and Eve, representing all of humanity. At the very bottom, in the shadows, is the figure of Satan bound in chains just below broken pieces of a gate and lock. Humanity is lifted up from the depths of hell by Christ. Jesus goes to the lost, to the forgotten, to the cast out, and gathers them up and takes them home. They are reconciled to God.

This is what it means to have God as our sovereign. We cannot be forgotten. We cannot be left behind. We cannot be lost. Christ, our king, God, our shepherd, is watching over us.

Here again the words of Psalm 95: “For the Lord is our God,
and we are the people of God’s pasture and the sheep of God’s hand.” (v.7a)

The Shepherd does not abandon the flock. God does not abandon us. Amen.

Wise and Foolish

Sermon preached Sunday, November 12, 2023, the Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, VA. 

This is kind of an in-between time. We just had two major festivals: Reformation and All Saints Sunday. In two weeks, we’ll enter into the season of Advent…but, in the meantime, we’re back to the color of green, back to the season of ordinary time, back to quote-un-quote “Normal.” Except, not really. It’s almost as if we’re in a time of “Pre-Advent,” where our readings already have us anticipating Jesus coming into our midst in a different way.

This morning’s reading is from the 25^th chapter of Matthew’s gospel. This is the chapter right before Jesus’ passion begins. Soon, the religious leaders will be conspiring against him and finding concrete ways to bring him down. Things will begin to happen quickly as Jesus enters his last few days in Jerusalem. As the tension builds in the narrative, Jesus tells three parables about his second coming. The first is this one about the ten bridesmaids.

Does anyone know what the word “parable” means? [look for raised hands.] Para means “along side of” and ballo means “to throw.” A parable is a story used to throw two things alongside each other to make a point. In this case, the image of the bridesmaids and bridegroom is thrown alongside the anticipated kingdom of heaven and return of Christ. It’s important to keep this in mind because this is not an allegory and it shouldn’t be treated as such. It is a story used to illuminate, not to explain. If we push the parable too far, take it too literally or assign it too specifically, it will fall apart and will no longer be helpful. This is a parable about preparedness, not judgement. That’s where our focus is drawn.

So, here we have ten bridesmaids—five of them are apparently foolish and five of them wise. When we hear it, we are prone to fall prey to two temptations. The first is to self-identify as the wise, prepared bridesmaids, and believe that this parable has nothing to tell us because we’re already set to go. The second is to be terrified that we are one of the foolish bridesmaids and drive ourselves crazy trying to work ourselves into having enough oil, whatever it is oil is supposed to represent.

We become obsessed with this oil. We become obsessed with making sure we have enough: enough faith, enough good deeds, enough credits in our “respectable Christian” piggy bank to make sure we’re ready for the bridegroom when he arrives. It becomes about checking things off a list, which is exactly the kind of thing the prophet Amos takes people to task over.

Amos was writing to the Northern Kingdom of Israel not too long before they will be overrun by the Babylonians and the Israelites will be scattered and taken captive to Babylon. He warns that destruction is imminent because of their sinful behavior. He takes them to task for worshiping other gods…but, perhaps more importantly, he berates them for their treatment of the poor. They have been continuing to do the proper things to worship God: the correct rituals and the appropriate prayers, but they are lacking in caring for the most vulnerable among them.

This is why God is so angry here: “I hate, I despise your festivals and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.” (Amos 5:22) In other words, it doesn’t matter if the Israelites say the right words or perform the right actions if they fail to do the bigger, more important work of feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. The Israelites figured they were doing okay, but forgot that it’s not just about following prescribed rules.

They lost sight of the big picture.

We lose sight of the big picture. We pay attention to the showier parts of our faith…but sometimes we forget about the on-the-ground work that we are called to do—the work of ushering in God’s kingdom.

We’re presented with these two groups of people in today’s parable. Our tunnel vision means that we try to figure out whether we are foolish or wise and how to be sure we have enough oil. To be honest, though, it doesn’t matter all that much which group we fall in. Both groups have things to learn. Both groups have things to teach us.

The bridesmaids with brightly lit lamps and plenty of oil are prepared. They have plenty of whatever it is oil might represent: justice, kindness, righteousness. They are ready for the bridegroom’s coming. They are ready for the Lord’s coming. It wouldn’t matter if it was delayed for even longer. The other bridesmaids have little to no oil; little to no mercy or compassion. They don’t shine light into the world but are focused in on themselves.

If we find ourselves standing with the foolish, we know that we still have time. We, here today, still have time to engage in our mission as disciples of Christ. Although the believers in Jesus’ time believed the second coming would happen in their lifetime, we know that we can no neither the day nor the hour…but as of now, as of this moment, we still have time. We have the chance to do better. We have the grace of a second chance.

And if we find ourselves standing with the wise…well, we don’t get off scot-free, then, either. I mean, to be honest, they’re not exactly showing their best colors. When the foolish come to them and ask for help, they are rebuffed. “No, you can’t have any of our oil. It’s ours and you should have thought further ahead. You don’t deserve our help.” Nice, huh?

Would we expect people full of God’s love to speak like that, to treat people like that? Or would it be more fitting for them to say, “Come with me. Perhaps I can’t fill your lamp, but we can walk together by the light of mine.” If we find ourselves identifying with the wise, it is imperative for us to remember that we are not isolated. There are people all around us who are in need of oil, in need of help. People who could use some guidance in how to live in God’s light; people who maybe want to participate in the reign of God, but need a little coaching. We cannot ignore the cries of others simply because we believe we’ve got ourselves sorted out.[1]

So even here, we see that the wise are little foolish: they are still unable to understand what their fellow bridesmaids need. And the foolish are a little wise: they recognize their deficiencies and ask for help. Which are we?

The good news is that, in the end, it doesn’t matter. In the end, we’re probably a little bit wise and a little bit foolish. In the end, because of who God is, we are given all the oil we need: all the grace, love, hope, comfort, healing, and joy we could possibly require. In the end, the bridegroom arrives in due time and we can walk comfortably and confidently in the glow shining from the Light of the World.

Amen.

[1] Inspiration for this characterization and the second quote come from Fred Niedner’s notes/handout for his workshop, “Preaching Reformation, Repentance, and Renewal,” at the Institute of Liturgical Studies in 2017.

In Heaven and On Earth

Sermon preached Sunday, November 5, 2023, All Saints Sunday, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, Chesterfield, VA. 

The day after I graduated from seminary, I flew to Turkey with forty other people and two of my professors. Our goal was to visit the ruins of the cities with early groups of Christians: Ephesus, Pergamum, Laodicea, among others. Along the way we visited other wonderful sites of our Christian heritage. We saw cave churches in Cappadocia, tiny little chapels built into rock, each with a unique assortment of paintings on the walls, telling Bible stories, depicting angels, naming saints.

We went to the Hagia Sophia, or Holy Wisdom, in Istanbul. First a basilica built for the Eastern Roman Emperor, it was converted into a mosque in the 1500s by the Ottomans. Its original mosaics were covered to conform with Muslim piety, but in 1935 it was converted to a museum. Currently, it’s an interesting mixture of Islamic symbols and uncovered Christian mosaics. The mosaics are, as you might guess, of Jesus, Mary, and other saints.

Just outside of the city center in Istanbul is the Chora Church. It was one of the most remarkable sites I saw while I was there, so remarkable, that I actually bought a book. The book contains close up pictures and explanations of all the mosaics in this church and the book is necessary because almost every inch of ceiling and wall in this space was covered in images.

There is a room that tells the whole life cycle of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Another that tells the life of Christ. The genealogies of Christ and Mary. The apostles. And then, on one wall, there is the Parekklesion, the part of the church dedicated to what will happen, instead of what has happened. It depicts the risen Christ, the archangel Michael, the Day of Judgment, and what you have in front of you, the image on the paper you received with your bulletin. Most of you got papers with a QR code, so get your phone out and use it to pull up the image. For those of you unable to do that, you should have received a paper copy. If not, raise your hand and an usher will bring you one.

This is called the Anastasis, or the “Harrowing of Hell.” If you remember, in our creed every week, we say that Christ “descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again.” This mosaic imagines what that meant, what that might have looked like.

You can see Christ in the center, grabbing two people, Adam and Eve, and pulling them out of their tombs. It’s hard to see, but down at the bottom is a figure bound near a broken gate: Satan, defeated. Behind Adam is a group of the righteous, including John the Baptist, King Solomon and King David. Behind Eve stands her son, Abel and other figures representing various Church leaders.

It’s an image that is connecting people of God throughout human history, across the ages. We see the very first human creatures and know that we are connected to them.

This is one imagining of what resurrection might look like, of what it might mean to be a saint. It’s one that always comes to mind for me when I think of All Saints: the lengths Christ goes to in order to reconcile us with God.

We get another image in our reading from Revelation. A multitude that no one can count, from every nation, every language, worshipping God. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

These are saints, those who have come out of the great ordeal we call life, who have been washed clean. They hunger no more, and thirst no more. God wipes away every tear from their eye. And they worship God, day and night, in unceasing praise.

Both Revelation and the Anastatis from Chora Church paint this beautiful picture of God’s people of every time and place being together in God’s presence. And this beautiful picture is one we have the opportunity to enter into every Sunday.

When we are preparing for communion, I greet you and you greet me, and then I pray: It is indeed right, our duty and our joy…remember? And then, finally, I’ll say today, “And so, with all the saints, with the choirs of angels and the hosts of heave, we praise your name and join their unending hymn…”

And we sing together, “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might, heav’n and earth are full of your glory. Hosana in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Heaven and earth are full of God’s glory…and that glory is celebrated in both places, as well. Sing hosanna here on earth because hosanna is already being sung in heaven. Sing hosanna here on earth because at this moment heaven and earth are joined together, the great company of saints, living and dead, united in worshipping God.

Every year when we observe this festival, it hits each person a little differently. Some of us have lost someone dear in the past twelve months. For others of us, it’s been much longer, but still feels raw. Some of us are grieving people we had a wonderful relationship with. Others are grieving relationships that never were, and now never have the chance to be. And still others have complicated grief for someone who caused hurt and damage.

But when we remember the saints, we remember all of that. We remember that not every person spread joy and love. We remember that we are still sinful and far from perfect. And yet, somehow, God still opens arms to us in welcome.  Still, somehow, calls us blessed. Still, somehow, calls us saints.

Saints in heaven, Saints on earth. Saints we knew, saints we never had the chance to meet. Saints we loved, saints who never showed love, saints who never experienced being loved.

Saints who brought joy and some saints whose sinful side brought pain.

Saints claimed and named by God. Called children of God. Not because of what they did, but simply by virtue of belonging to God.

And we are saints, as well as sinners. Again, not because of what we do, but because we are God’s.

You. Me. The ones we remember today.

Blessed saints.

Amen.

Sowing God’s Word

Sermon preached Sunday, July 16, 2023, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

Andrew and I bought our first house together back in Gettysburg in 2018. The market was competitive and one of the concessions that we made in purchasing this particular house was that the yard was completely overgrown. I mean, it was a riotous mass of weeds and overgrown shrubbery. You couldn’t even tell that there was a garage in the back by the alley—and when you finally got close enough to realize that fact, you also realized that there was a giant rosebush climbing up the walls and finding its way under the roof. The weeds were several feet high and the rest of the vegetation, flowers, and bushes, and ivy, had gotten so out of control that it was hard to even know where to start. When we had our inspection, we were even told by the inspector that the air conditioner wasn’t running very efficiently, but that was probably because the outside unit was hugged on all sides by plant life.

After several weeks of trying to do some of the work ourselves, we quickly realized it was too big of a job and hired the outdoor sexton at the congregation I was serving to clear the rest for us. He did a great job and, in the spring, he planted grass that came up really well.

I should add here that neither Andrew nor I have ever really needed to care for a yard ourselves. When I was growing up, we had people come once a week and we had automatic sprinklers. When Andrew was growing up, his dad took care of it all. So, it’s no surprise that we didn’t pay attention to how much it was raining—or not raining. We realized too late that the lawn wasn’t getting enough water once we hit July and the new grass wasn’t strong enough to hold on. Then, we also realized too late that morning glories were making their way in from the sides of our yard and were quickly taking over.

Between us not acting quickly enough, me being heavily pregnant with Owen, and Andrew’s work schedule, we pretty much lost the progress we’d made on the yard and were back at square one.

The following spring, we were determined. We were out in the yard during a lot of Owen’s naps, pulling up weeds and preparing the ground for another attempt at grass. Some of it had survived, but most of it was long gone. We pulled and dug and raked and, finally, we were ready to plant the grass seed!

As we walked around the garden center, we decided to get a motorized spreader. I mean, it wasn’t that much more expensive than the hand crank one and it would surely work better, right?

Wrong. It got congested and clogged every few minutes and made it basically impossible to use. So, what choice did we have? We needed to get the seed in the ground now, before more weeds popped back up, and before we lost the seasonal planting window. And so, we grabbed handfuls of seed and sowed, not unlike the sower in this parable.

Some of it landed on the slate path that led from the garage to our house. Some of it landed on the old tree stump. Some of it landed in a separated bed that we hadn’t gotten around to clearing out yet and was still full of weeds. And some of it landed where we wanted it to: in the midst of the already established grass and in the wide swathes dirt.

And then we waited and watched, hopeful that our work would pay off, hopeful that even if our yard wasn’t perfect, it would be a little closer than it was at that moment.

I’ve got to admit, ever since that experience, I hear this parable differently. Now, I see myself as the sower and not as the ground or as the seed.

Jesus tells us that a sower went out to sow some seed. As with all parables, this story is open to interpretation. Jesus sort of gives a partial explanation, but there is still some room to maneuver.

Here’s how I tend to hear this parable now. If the seed is God’s Word, and God’s love, and God’s grace, we, like God, are sowing it out into the universe. We sow in hope and anticipation, praying that this seed falls on good soil, soil that is receptive and that will yield much good fruit.

But this parable also reminds us that that won’t always happen. Sometimes the seed will be eaten up by birds. Sometimes it will begin to flourish but quickly die out because it lacks deep soil. Sometimes it will be scorched by the sun. Sometimes it will be choked by thorns and weeds.

I would often hear this parable and think of myself as the grown into which the seed is sown. I would wonder, “So how do I make sure I’m good soil? How to I make sure that God’s word, planted in me, will yield a hundredfold?”

The problem with this question, though, is that it misses the point of the parable. The soil, the ground, never does anything. Things happen to the seed and sprouting plant, but the ground is not necessarily the main actor.

The seed is eaten up by birds. Maybe this is like when good news is preached but someone says, “This news isn’t for you. It’s for people like me, people who do x, y, or z.”

The seed dies out because it lacks deep soil. Maybe this is like when a very shallow faith and view of God is taught. Everything in black and white with no shades of grey and no room for doubt. Any hint of uncertainty makes it all collapse.

The seed is scorched by the sun. Good news is preached, but overshadowed by the community of faith doing something to discredit itself: scandal, oppression, narrowmindedness.

The seed is choked by thorns and weeds, competing voices that argue that God is not gracious and God is not loving and God’s will is not reconciliation with all of God’s good creation.

And then the seed falls on good soil. Soil that is soft enough to allow for questions. Soil that is deep enough to bear seasons of doubt. Soil that is mineral rich enough to support and nourish and enhance faith.

The ground is not so much us, as it is the environment into which God’s word is sown, often sown by us!

When we set out to sow, we have little control over where our seed lands. But we hope. We hope and we pray that at least some of it makes it to good soil. And we do our best to cultivate an environment of good soil in our churches and in our homes and in our communities—an environment where God’s seed bursts forth into life-giving fruit.

Today’s service has a lot of additional elements added in: we are commissioning our VBS teachers and volunteers, we are welcoming new members into our midst, and we are bidding farewell to a family who has been so active the past couple of years.

In each piece, we’re celebrating sown seeds and seeds that will continue to be tossed out in hope and anticipation. We see and notice and remember ways in which faith has been planted, nurtured, grown, and brought to fruition. And we know that God will continue to be at work, here at LCOS, and in the places we go from here.

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.

One-on-One: The Devil

Sermon preached Sunday, February 26, 2023, the First Sunday in Lent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

The purple is out, the Alleluias are gone, and Lent has officially begun. Our seasonal changes in the church year lend themselves to sermon series—and oftentimes, I don’t even have to change the lectionary texts! This year, the Gospel texts during Lent feature several encounters that Jesus has: with the devil, with Nicodemus, with the Samaritan woman at the well, with the man born blind, and with his friend Lazarus. Each week, we’ll take a look at these stories and explore what impact these particular encounters have on Jesus, on the implications of the Gospel, and on us.

We begin this first week of Lent, as we always do, with the story of Jesus going into the wilderness for forty days to be tempted by the devil. This happens just after Jesus is baptized, when a voice from above calls out, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17) Immediately, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness.

The gospel text tells us that he goes there specifically to be tempted by the devil, although it’s unclear why. Whatever God’s reasoning, Jesus goes and the devil comes to test him.

The devil says, “Create some food for yourself!” And Jesus responds with words from Deuteronomy: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

The devil comes back with, “Why not jump off this highest part of the temple since angels will be sure to catch you?” The devil can quote scripture, too, and uses Psalm 91 to try and convince Jesus. Once again, Jesus quotes Deuteronomy, quotes the Law and states that no one is to put God to the test.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, the devil tries to tempt Jesus with an easy life: wealth, power, military might…a life quite different from the one Jesus has led so far and quite different from the path to the cross laid out before him. An easy life, and all Jesus has to do is fall down in worship. And just like before, Jesus comes back with words from Deuteronomy about how God is to be worshiped.

Three temptations, trying to get at Jesus from different angles. The devil tries to attack through Jesus’ hunger, Jesus’ divine powers that never get to be displayed to their full advantage, and Jesus’ bleak future filled with adversity, torture, and death. But none of the devil’s suggestions work. None of the temptations take. Jesus is able to resist them all.

So, what does this one-on-one tell us? What is the impact here on Jesus and on his ministry?

I like to think of Jesus’ time in the desert as a time of preparation—a time of getting things together and making sure that he is ready for everything that is about to come. He’s just been baptized, so his ministry has been inaugurated…but he hasn’t actually done anything yet. No acts of power, no miracles, no teachings. His first act of ministry is this time in the desert.

The first thing he does to care for us is to take on the devil, head-on. He is faced with temptation because we are. If Christ is to be fully human, that’ll include facing forces that will try to sway him away from serving God. Of course, Christ overcomes these temptations and eventually comes back into society and jumps right in, proclaiming that the kingdom of heaven has come near and calling his first disciples.

As he embarks on his ministry, Jesus leads by example. He feeds people who are hungry. He blessed people who are normally overlooked. He comforts people who are afraid. He heals people who are sick. He lifts up love as the highest authority: love of God and love of our neighbor.

And that time Jesus spent in the wilderness? That was an example, too.

God knows that we are tempted, all the time, by all kinds of things.

There are the small things, like the temptation to stay up late and finish a book because it’s really good and you have just a few more chapters left but you have to get up early for work. Anyone else face that temptation? Or maybe it’s the more common temptation of whether or not to have that last cup of coffee in the afternoon…the caffeine couldn’t effect your sleep that much, right?

But we are tempted by other things, too, things that are central to how we live in our world, to how we relate to our neighbor and God.

We are tempted to hoard our money and goods. Maybe not as bad as the hoarders who have magazines dating back twenty years and so many piles of stuff that a path has to be created to move around their house…but we’re tempted to hoard none the less. When we go through our homes to clean stuff out, we reminisce and think about all the “what ifs.” What if I end up needing that next year? What if I decide to pick up that random hobby I did for two weeks three years ago again? What if I am able to fit back into that pant size I haven’t worn since college? How can I be more generous with my money? What if I end up needing it more down the road?

But possessions aren’t the only thing we’re tempted by. We’re tempted by control, especially control of our bodies and our health.

When I got pregnant the first time, I was amazed at the attempts to control everything that permeate pregnancy and early parenthood. There were articles about how to never get morning sickness, how to avoid stretch marks, how to have a “belly-only” pregnancy, how to ensure that you won’t have a c-section, how to have an “easy” or “pain-free” labor—without medication!

And then after the baby comes, be sure to read about how you can definitely get your baby sleeping through the night at four weeks old! Find out the surefire way to triple your milk supply! Buy this product or that product that will magically make your baby fall asleep or make them a genius or prevent them from feeling teething pain!

It’s ridiculous. Every person is different. Every pregnancy is different and every baby is different, but man do we want to be able to control as much as we can! And this occurs in all kinds of ways, not just around mothers and babies.

Do this workout three times a week and see these exact results! Eat this superfood and watch your health improve with no other changes to your lifestyle! Have this procedure or take this medication and you can be sure that you’ll live a long healthy life! Adopt this daily habit and see your wealth triple! Realistically, we know that there are no guarantees… but, man, are we tempted by the thought of one.

We’re also tempted by ideas of our own importance. We get so set in our own ways and so set in our own ideas that we stop listening to others and even sometimes stop listening to God. We convince ourselves that we know everything and understand how everything works and so we don’t take the time to hear what anyone else has to say.

This is something I’ve seen to an increasing degree in our public discourse. When someone says something we don’t agree with, we tend to just write them off instead of really trying to hear their point of view. By listening, we won’t always reach an agreement, but at least we’d be in a better place than if we just ignore them all together.

So yes, we are tempted—and in more ways than I’ve just mentioned. But we have Jesus to look to. Now we know that we can’t resist temptation like Jesus can—and God definitely knows that we can’t—so what are we to do with this story? It’s aspirational, certainly. But it’s not the most realistic for a humanity that is steeped in sin and who constantly need God to forgive us.

Instead, I think Jesus is giving us tools. What do we do when we are tempted? Go back to the Word of God. Listen to what God is saying. We won’t get it right every time, but at least some of the time we’ll have a fighting chance.

When you’re facing temptation, in whatever form that might take, remember that we can find strength and resolve in the Word of God. Words that remind us who we are and who we belong to. Words that remind us to show compassion and generosity. Words that remind us to seek justice and peace. Remember that God’s presence is always with us. And remember that Jesus has been there. Jesus was tempted and overcame so that we might find forgiveness when we fail to resist temptation ourselves.

Amen.

Hyperbole with Purpose

Sermon preached Sunday, February 12, 2023, the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA.

What a Gospel text, right? This is a day that just about every preacher I know dreads. These are not the feel-good texts that are easy to share. There are no “blessed are the poor” comments here. There are no wondrous miracles or healings. There’s not really any promise of hope or indication that things are going to get better. Instead, it’s Jesus talking about the law—and not just talking about the law as it is, but about the law as he says it should be…harsher, more extreme, with less grace.

So, let’s just dive in, shall we? No need to dance around the edges, let’s just get right to it. There are four times that Jesus says, “You have heard it said…” and he references the laws of Moses from the Old Testament before he turns that well-known guidance on its head. When

First, Jesus talks about murder: “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’” That’s not enough, he says. If you are even so much as angry with or insult someone, you must make amends. Relationships can be damaged by much less than murder.

Then Jesus moves on: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’” Jesus comments that it’s not just one’s actions that are risky here, but rather the simple intention. Even if you would never actually commit adultery, the way you think about other people matters and you should do everything in your power to keep yourself from those thoughts, even plucking your eyes out or cutting off your hands. So extreme, right? Or is it hyperbole? Surely even removing limbs won’t keep us from sin.

Next Jesus gets into divorce: “It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.” This is the one that usually gets us the most. After all, most of us know of people who have gotten divorced and it was the best decision for all parties involved. Sometimes divorce is the best option when someone’s physical, mental, or emotional health is at stake.

But Jesus states the divorce is only permissible on the grounds of unchastity. There isn’t time here to do a deep dive on divorce in the ancient world but let me summarize it by saying that divorce today is a totally different thing. Jesus stating that unchastity is the only reason for a divorce is actually protecting women who could previously be divorced for any reason their husband might think up…and women in general and especially divorced women were incredible vulnerable and had few resources when they were on their own.

Of course, marriage is a serious commitment and should not be considered or embarked upon without an intention to live out the promises made, and it certainly should not be ended with the casualness we sometimes witness. However, I tend to think that Jesus cares more about people, more about their safety and well-being than the longevity of a harmful and unhealthy marriage.

Finally, Jesus gets to his last comment: “You have heard it said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’” He makes the assertion that you should not swear by anything. You should be so honest in your life, letting your “yes” mean “yes” and your “no” mean “no,” that you don’t need to resort to swearing by this or that or the other thing. After all, it won’t do anything. It won’t change the color of a hair on your head and it won’t make your word any more or less trustworthy.

In each case, Jesus’ adaptation or interpretation of the law comes off as just harsh and extreme. It is requiring people to go further, to take things more seriously than was expected before. It’s easy to hear his words and think, “Whoa, Jesus! Take a breath! No need to cut off hands or pluck out eyes! No need to throw me in jail if I try to offer a gift to God while I’m in an argument with a friend! Can’t you just relax a little bit?”

But what if it’s not just about being extra harsh? What if Jesus is getting at something else entirely? What if this is hyperbole meant to get our attention?

For Jesus, righteousness is not about simply following the letter of the law, it’s about a changed way of life. The law is not meant to just curb out poorer instincts and impulses, it is also meant to guide us in the way God would want us to go—to encourage us to live more harmoniously in community with the rest of God’s creation. It’s what the last couple weeks of gospel passages have been leading up to.

In today’s first reading from Deuteronomy, Moses exhorts the people on God’s behalf to “Choose life so that you and your descendants may live.” (Deut. 30:19b) In other words, God is calling us to choose life, to choose a way of living that reflects God’s intention for humanity. This can, of course, mean following the prescribed face-value meaning of the law given to us, checking off tasks as they are completed and strenuously working to avoid breaking any rules. But if our law abiding is perfunctory or simply for show or following the letter of the law instead of the spirit of it…it’s meaningless.

Instead, Jesus is calling us to broaden our scope, broaden our understanding and really live into that God-given intention.

This is a lot harder. It’s relatively simple to read a rule and then follow it as best as you can. It’s much more difficult to try and discern why the rule was written, what harm the rule is trying to prevent, or what good the rule is trying to encourage. Trying to live into God’s intention for humanity is way tougher than trying to abide by the letter of the law. It takes thoughtfulness. It takes discernment. It takes listening: listening to God’s Word, listening for God’s spirit, and listening to each other.

So if we revisit these statements again, we can see what Jesus is getting at. It’s not just that we don’t actively kill one another, but it is God’s intention that we live in loving community with each other. It’s not just that we don’t cheat on our spouse, but that we seek to give every person dignity and avoid objectification. It’s not just that we try to keep our life-long commitment to a spouse, but that we honor our spouse in every way we can. And it’s not just that we don’t swear falsely, or lie, but that we try and make our word unimpeachable.

Yes, it’s much harder to live this way. It’s much harder to discern how God is calling us to live than to follow a list of rules…but it serves a much better purpose. Instead of just ensuring our own righteousness, it serves the larger community. Living this way can help establish and maintain deeper connections and restored relationships. It is a more holistic approach to discipleship. It’s not about our individual holiness—it’s about what we can do to bring about God’s reign in our world, piece by piece.

This is what Jesus calls us to—courageous, bold actions that put our neighbor and the community first.

Amen.