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.”

Taking a Risk to be Made Whole

Sermon preached Sunday, October 9, 2022, the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in Chesterfield, VA. 

This morning’s readings give us two pretty familiar texts. First, we hear the story of Naaman, the army commander from Aram, an enemy of Israel. He has been struck with leprosy and is seeking a solution. A enslaved girl, taken as a prize of conquest from her homeland of Israel has the solution: seek out a prophet of the God of Israel and you will be made clean. This story shows up in our lectionary three times, which is pretty unusual for a story from 2 Kings. It’s a somewhat comic tale about a man who thinks he knows better than the prophet Elisha how God will bring about healing. It ends with Naaman proclaiming faith in God and giving thanks for his health.

And then there is the story of the ten lepers. This is a story many of us know, one many of us have heard over and over again throughout our lives. Perhaps some of you could tell it yourselves, no text needed. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, on the way to the cross and he comes across ten people with leprosy. They call out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” Jesus does, and sends them on their way to show themselves to a priest. Ten leave. Only one returns. When we hear it, or when we read it, or when we think about it, we think of Thanksgiving. We think of gratitude. We think about how often we have been lax in our own thanks or have forgotten that everything we have is a gift of God. We think of how only one of these ten people came back to give thanks for being healed…and about how that one just happened to be a Samaritan.

These are two stories about how outsiders, non-Israelites, a Aramite and a Samaritan, experience God’s grace and God’s healing and praise God in gratitude. These are stories about the ways Jesus expands the kingdom of God to include more people in the Kingdom than the religious leaders of the day would like. That’s the way I’ve typically read it.

I have a confession to make. It might come as a shock. Pastors can still learn new things about the Bible. I know! I’ve probably scandalized you.

But a couple years ago, I felt my mind explode when I learned something about leprosy and the Bible I had never heard before…and I’d venture to guess it might be new information to many of you, too, unless you like to spend your free time exploring obscure verses in Leviticus.

Several years ago, I was in a text study with other pastors and all of a sudden one of these other pastors mentioned a verse in Leviticus about leprosy that I had probably read at some point in my life but couldn’t recall. As you may know, Leviticus, along with some other books in the Bible, carry all of the purity codes for the Jewish people. These codes tell people what they can eat and can’t eat, what they can wear and can’t wear, and, especially, how to be “made clean” in the event they are ever exposed to something that would make them “unclean.”

People with leprosy were considered to be unclean. This isn’t leprosy as we might understand it today, the word “leprosy” gets used to describe all sorts of skin maladies. Anyone with leprosy was considered unclean and had to announce that fact to anyone who might get too close. If someone was approaching them, they had to cry out, “Unclean! Unclean!”

The purity codes in Leviticus talk about how to determine if one is clean or unclean, but there is this very interesting caveat for people with leprosy:

“But if the disease breaks out in the skin, so that it covers all the skin of the diseased person from head to foot, so far as the priest can see, ¹³then the priest shall make an examination, and if the disease has covered all his body, he shall pronounce him clean of the disease; since it has all turned white, he is clean.” (Leviticus 13:12-13)

Hear that again: “But if the disease breaks out…so that it covers all the skin…[the priest] shall pronounce him clean of the disease.”

It might sound counterintuitive, but in a lot of ways this makes total sense. It’s about wholeness. If someone is whole, they are clean, regardless of that wholeness is disease-free or disease-filled. It’s about wholeness, not about a diagnosis.

These two verses from Leviticus were new for me. I looked it up for myself and read through it a couple of times to make sure I had a good grasp of it. Truth be told, it changes the way that I understand this Gospel story. All of a sudden, it’s not ten people with leprosy just crying out for mercy. It’s ten people with leprosy taking a risk. It’s risky for them to ask to be made clean, because they don’t actually know what they’re asking for…will they no longer have leprosy? Or will they simply be made whole and have leprosy cover their whole body?

It’s that the way healing is, sometimes, though? Isn’t it sometimes a risk, especially when we expand our definition to include more than physical disease?

I think about times when we make an effort to get healthier. When we start working out for the first time—or the first time in a long time! —our muscles have to work pretty hard in a way they’re not used to. Those first few weeks are sore weeks, muscles aching with the changes we are asking of them. Trying to eat more variety in our diet or incorporate more produce means that we might need to work harder to plan our meals, or learn new ways of cooking. It takes work. It’s a risk.

If our healing takes the form of overcoming an addiction, there is almost nothing harder than the beginning. Withdrawal can be painful, scary and, in some cases, even deadly in some cases. Though we know that, eventually, life without addiction is richer and fuller, it is a terrifying prospect for many. It would be easier to keep using. Healing is a risk.

I think about our relationships, too. If we want to heal a relationship, we need to put ourselves out there. We need to be vulnerable. We need to push ourselves to be honest about our feelings and our needs and we need to accept that we have likely made mistakes which we need to atone for. We need to be open to listen to another person and hear their thoughts and feelings. This is tough work. It’s intimidating. It’s risky.

God heals. We know that. But we also know that the process of healing, that the process of becoming whole is full of unknowns and pitfalls and won’t always be easy. It will likely be hard, with ups and towns and too many unknowns. It would be much easier, in a lot of ways, to simply allow ourselves to continue in that unhealthy  or un-whole state.

Yet still, God heals. God provides the strength to see us through and the inspiration and motivation to start. While God’s Word points out the ways we may fail, it also highlights the Good News that Christ never gives up on us. God provides forgiveness for all the ways we will mess up along the way. God provides community to support us, evidenced in the body of Christ created through baptism. God sustains us in the journey with life-giving bread and wine, the flesh and blood of our God.

And so, God makes healing more than worth all the possibly negatives. God puts it all on the line for us, risked it all on the cross, so that we might be made whole and might have the courage to embrace that wholeness.

Jesus, have mercy on us.

We know it will be worth the risk.

Amen.

The Process of Breaking Bonds

Sermon preached Sunday, June 19, 2022, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in Chesterfield, VA.

Can you imagine what this man’s life must have been like?

We don’t know when his demonic possession began. We don’t know if he was a young boy or if it was a more recent development. What the text does tell us, however, is that he doesn’t wear clothes and that he doesn’t live as a real member of this community. Instead of a house, he lives in the tombs—and it doesn’t sound like this is a choice he has made for himself. Later, we learn that he is actually kept under guard, shackled up, to keep him from running off into the wilds.

That sounds awful, doesn’t it? And we might judge his community harshly for treating him this way. But I think, as misguided as they are, that they truly believe they are doing what’s best for him.

As soon as the demons leave the man, they enter the herd of swine and the pigs drown themselves. It’s possible, that with driving him out to the wilds, that the demons were trying to kill the man, as well. Maybe the community saw that. Maybe the community locked him up and kept a guard to keep him alive, to keep him from hurting himself or others—not just as a punishment. And, if that’s the case, then they were doing what they thought was right. It’s not excusing their behavior, but recognizing that they didn’t know what else to do.

Their attempts at help, however, didn’t do anything but keep him bound.

As I read this story this week, I couldn’t help but think about all the things in our society that we do, ostensibly to “help,” but that actually keep people bound, that keep people in cycles of sickness, or debt, or poverty.

I thought about predatory lending practices. You know, the ones that advertise how they can get you your paycheck days or weeks early, without clearly and obviously spelling out the monstrous interest that will have people paying that loan back for months, years, or the rest of their lives…if they don’t have to file for bankruptcy, that is.

And I thought about some charity practices that focus more on helping the person doing the action feel better than on what the person receiving actually needs. The most visible example of this I can think of is after natural disasters when communities are inundated with things people have chosen to donate…but not always what those affected could use at that time.

There is a story about the relief efforts in Honduras after a hurricane: desperately needed medical supplies where on their way in a cargo plane, but the plane couldn’t land because the tarmac was full of things that weren’t part of that initial, critical response, things like stuffed animals, bedding, and even expired food.[i] The intentions are wonderful. It is a beautiful, Christ-like impulse to want to help when others are hurting. But if we don’t take the time to stop and realize what is most helpful—in the case of natural disasters, usually money so that it can be directed precisely towards where it’s needed most!—we are keeping folks and organizations bound longer than they need to be.

And I also thought about they way that we respond to people who are unhoused. As a society, we’re decent at donating food, clothes, etc., especially those of us who call ourselves disciples of Christ. But if we are not listening to how people ended up on the streets, we are missing the big picture. If we are addressing only the symptoms (hunger, lack of shelter, hygiene, etc.) instead of also the causes (poverty, mental illness, addiction, lack of education and resources, unaffordable housing, etc.)…we are keeping people bound up in that unjust system

Jesus offers another way. Jesus breaks the chains.

Jesus takes time to see this man, and see the problem at the heart of it all: the demons. He asks their name. Martin Luther said, “A theologian of the cross calls the thing what it actually is.”[ii] And that’s because only by recognizing what something actually is, can we take steps forward to address it. That’s what Jesus does, gets to the name of the issue: Legion, these many demons who torment this man without rest. The running off into the wild and acting disruptive is merely the symptom.

Jesus talks to the man, finds of the name of the real problem…and then he addresses it.

Jesus casts out the demons and the man is freed. He no longer has to be chained up. He can rejoin his community. He can live in a house again, for crying out loud, instead of a tomb! His shackles have come off.

Siblings in Christ, what does this story mean for us?

Casting out demons doesn’t seem to be part of our daily lives, but there are implications here that do impact the way we want to live.

If we want to live as a disciples of Christ, how can we follow Jesus’ lead?

Let’s think about those three steps Jesus took:

First, talking to the man. It seems so simple that it shouldn’t have to be said but, well, there’s a reason I’m saying it! All too often we assume that we know what people need or what they want, without ever actually getting their input.

In a previous call, we had a disabilities ministry group that worked with young people with both developmental and intellectual disabilities. The first thing they taught me was that they could (and would!) tell me what they were able to do. I am reluctant to admit that I had assumptions about who would be capable or who would be willing to read, or acolyte, or even serve as assisting minister—and these assumptions were quickly proven wrong. Sure, there were some adjustments made here and there, but I learned to never presume to know what others needed.

By building relationships with them, they showed me what they were capable of and I’m sad to say, it was often more than I initially assumed. If I hadn’t taken the time to listen, I would have never known. They would have been excluded and the congregation would have lost out on being a full expression of the Body of Christ.

What did Jesus do after he listened? He got to the name of the real problem.

This is a tricky one, because it often involves much of our preconceived biases and can be skewed quite a bit by our world view.

Are there really good schools and bad schools? Or are there just schools with great funding that pay teachers well and have parents and caregivers who have time or money for extra help outside of school in the form of tutors when needed, and schools where teachers have to pay for most of their supplies out of pocket, classrooms are bursting at the seams, incomes are lower so parents and caregivers work more hours but still can’t afford tutors and older siblings have to provide childcare for younger ones?

Is there really an issue with people not wanting to buy or cook quality food? Or have we made “healthy food” such an idol that people feel pressured to by “fresh,” everything when frozen and canned produce can have very close nutritional profiles at often a fraction of the cost. And do we allow big companies to push out local grocery stores before marking up their own groceries, offering limited selection, and leaving communities in a food desert where it is very difficult to get the groceries you want.

Is it really just a given that 50% of people released from prison are incarcerated again because they just make poor choices? Or does our society set them up for failure by making it so hard for them to find jobs, by releasing them back where they were arrested with no support system other than the one that probably helped land them in jail in the first place, by providing few resources for mental health on the outside?

Do you see? It’s simple to point at results or symptoms and jump to conclusions about how we got here. It’s a lot of work and research and thought to figure out the heart of the matter. But only by doing that, can we start to make a difference.

And that’s step three. Jesus addresses that real problem.

And the “real problems” are usually systemic injustices presenting themselves in different ways. Lack of access to certain resources, prejudice, inadequate mental and physical healthcare. That’s what the demons are counting on. As long as the forces of sin and death can keep us focused on the minutiae, they’re safe. They want us to avoid talking about and addressing the systems that create these issues…but that’s not Jesus’ way.

When we leave here today, when we go about our lives, I encourage you to think like this when you encounter someone or some institution struggling. What do they have to say about it and how are they feeling? What’s the root of that struggle? What needs to be addressed to make a difference?

After all, it’s what Jesus would do.

Amen.

[i] https://www.npr.org/2013/01/09/168946170/thanks-but-no-thanks-when-post-disaster-donations-overwhelm

[ii] https://tollelege.net/2008/03/24/a-theologian-of-the-cross-calls-the-thing-what-it-actually-is-by-martin-luther/

Interruptions

Sermon preached Sunday, February 7, 2021, the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

This week I saw someone say, “If there’s one thing that defined Jesus’ time on earth it was his willingness to be interrupted.”

That really struck me.

It’s true. Over and over again in the gospels, Jesus is in the middle of something—a meal, a journey, a conversation, relaxation—and people come to him with their problems. He doesn’t get upset or frustrated (I mean, maybe he feels those things internally, but he certainly never expresses them outwardly!). Instead, he listens and meets the need that is expressed.

This week’s reading is a perfect example. This passage from Mark follows immediately behind last week’s. Jesus has just left the synagogue where, if you remember, he was teaching (“with authority!”) and caused an unclean spirit to leave someone. It was a pretty eventful day already!

But, of course, the day isn’t over yet. Jesus and his disciples go to the house of Simon and Andrew, presumably to eat and rest, because it isn’t until they’re there that Jesus is told that Simon’s mother-in-law has a fever. He heals her, but the day still isn’t done!

At sunset, everyone in this city who is sick of possessed by a demon shows up and wants Jesus to heal them. He probably wouldn’t say no to an evening of relaxing, but he sees to all of them and heals and casts out demons until everyone is satisfied.

In the morning, probably quite early, since the text tells us it was still very dark, Jesus gets up and goes to a deserted place to finally have some peace and quiet. There, he prays. And there, Simon and other disciples track him down and tell him everyone is looking for him because there is more work to do. I mean, the text says that they hunted for him!

Even then, Jesus doesn’t lose his temper. The text doesn’t say anything about rolling his eyes.

I don’t get how Jesus can be so calm and easy going here.

Getting interrupted almost always prompts at least a little irritation for me—sometimes even an eye roll.

Especially during the past year, it feels like interruptions are even more inevitable and they don’t really get easier to deal with.

If you had to work from home, in the same house as a spouse or a parent or a child of any age, you know what I’m talking about. No matter how well we set ourselves up for success, there’s always something that will interrupt us: the dog needs to go out. The kid needs a snack or direction or help or attention. The spouse has a question that clearly could have waited until later. The parent wants to be helpful but is actually making things harder.

It is so hard not to come right back with the eye roll or the deep sigh or the passive aggressive attitude.

And I remember these stories of Jesus and how the interruptions he was facing were often matters of life and death! People needed Jesus for comfort, for teaching, for healing, for reconciliation, for reminding them that they are a valued part of God’s humanity.

Yes, he needs his time apart. Throughout scripture, he makes a point to find solitude where he can pray by himself.

But, he never lets that alone time, that time in prayer, get in the way of his calling, get in the way of what he came to earth to do in the first place.

Maybe that’s one way to consider interruptions, in the bigger picture. After all, if they serve the larger mission God has called us to, are they really interruptions?

Jesus doesn’t seem to think so.

So, what might be interrupting us that we try to push away?

And what would happen if we stopped and listened instead?

Amen.

Not a Stumbling Block or a Doormat

Sermon preached Sunday, January 31, 2021, the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

The connecting thread in the readings this morning is the idea of how God’s word can reach God’s people.

In Deuteronomy, we learn that one of the ways in which God’s word will be proclaimed will be through a prophet like Moses.

In First Corinthians, Paul writes about how God’s word can get muddled or lost or misconstrued if we allow stumbling blocks to get in the way.

And in our Gospel reading from Mark, we hear a story of how Jesus is sharing God’s word in a new way, and as one “with authority.”

Each week, while I am in the early stages of sermon writing, I usually read through the texts several times and see if any word or any phrase sticks out. I tend to think that this is the Holy Spirit nudging me towards what my focus should be.

This time, it was this idea of a stumbling block.

Paul brings it up in a larger discussion about food sacrificed to idols. Here’s the context: many cities in the Roman Empire would have food—fresh produce, grain, and meat—sacrificed to idols and then that food would be distributed to the community. Although it did not make up for all of the social injustices in the Roman Empire, this one practice was one that was actually pretty beneficial to poorer families and people lower in the social hierarchy.

Paul implies in his letter that there is a conflict in the Corinthian church about whether or not it’s okay for Christians to still partake of this food that has been sacrificed to idols. The one side argues: of course not! We don’t believe in these other gods or worship these other gods and therefore we shouldn’t eat food that has been sacrificed in their honor.

The other side argues: of course, we can! We know that there are no other gods and therefore we know that this food is just normal food that these non-Christians think is blessed by their gods. Why should we give up good food—and good meat!—that can feed the poor in our midst?

And what is Paul’s solution? He plays it right down the middle. The one side is right: we do know that it is fine to eat this food sacrificed to idols because we know the one true God. BUT, if by eating this food we cause one of our siblings to get confused or to lose faith, we’ve messed up.

So yes, we can, but we must always be wary of whether or not we should. “Knowledge,” Paul writes, “puffs up, but love builds up.” In other words, it’s fine to know academically that your behavior is theologically fine—but is it loving to simply argue that knowledge over and over again when someone is truly struggling? Or is it more loving to walk alongside them, accompany them, and live in a way that displays your knowledge without pushing the point?

We never want to be a stumbling block to others, Paul tells us.

The trick is, though, that we don’t end up going to far the other way, either. That we don’t so avoid becoming a stumbling block that we become a door mat, not having any convictions and living on ever shift sand.

Instead, I think that maybe we should strive to be a helpful sign, or an unlocked door, or an invitation inside.

Let’s look at today’s Gospel reading as an example:

Jesus is in the synagogue teaching and those who are gathered aren’t sure what to make of him. They’re skeptical. The text is translated “astounded,” but I think skeptical works, too.

Who is this guy? How is he teaching with authority? He’s not like the scribes! Can we believe him? Is he trustworthy?

This is the knowledge. This is what could be a stumbling block. But Jesus doesn’t allow it to be, because he follows it up with an invitation—a sign of God’s power.

This man with an unclean spirit calls to Jesus and the spirit knows who Jesus is and what he has come to do. The spirit is worried. And Jesus heals the man—calls the unclean spirit to leave the man.

This act of power, this miracle, this healing, whatever you want to call it, is an act of love. Jesus is showing that not only does he have new knowledge about a new way of living in God’s world, but then he shows a loving example of what that new way of living looks like—and it looks like people being made whole again. It’s the teachings being put into practice.

He does not just say all the things he knows, he leads with love, and that makes all the difference.

Instead of a stumbling block, it’s an open door into the reign of God.

This is part of our calling, part of what Paul is trying to get us to realize.

We can have incredible theology. We can have well thought out arguments for our beliefs. We can quote scripture until we’re blue in the face. But knowledge puffs up and love builds up.

If we can’t express ourselves with love, if we can’t lead with love, if we can’t let our love to the bulk of the work, then we’re just creating a stumbling block.

We can do better than that.

Amen.

Unbound

Sermon preached Sunday, August 25, 2019 at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio for recent sermons can be found here.

Imagine, if you will, what life must have been for this woman in the Gospel text I just read. For eighteen years she has been bent over. And we tend to picture her as an old woman, but we don’t know that. For all we know, she should be in the prime of her life, but instead is struggling every day. Maybe she has been this way since childhood.

For most of us, this isn’t our reality. Picture it. I won’t make you all actually try it out, but really imagine what it would be like if you were almost permanently bent over like this.

You wouldn’t be able to see too much, would you? Your line of sight would be far lower than you are probably used to it being. Even trying to look ahead would be so much more difficult than simply looking down at your feet. …so you’d probably spend most of your time looking down at your feet. And others would probably end up looking right past you, or looking right over the top of you. It would be so easy to be ignored, to go unnoticed, to get used to the idea that no one notices you and no one sees you.

Imagine this woman’s surprise, then, on this Sabbath day in the synagogue. I imagine she is going to hear the teachers, to hear the word of God read from the Torah or the prophets. Going out in public this way is likely not easy: she is stigmatized because of her condition and probably physically exhausted from the effort it takes to get there. She is going for herself, assuming that no one will pay her any mind. She’s wrong, though. She is noticed. She is seen. Jesus sees her and changes her life. I don’t even know if she wanted this to happen, but it did.

This woman is bound up. Jesus compares her physical problems with an ox or donkey being tied up. In fact, Jesus even uses the same word. The work animals are tied up and this woman has been bound for eighteen long years. She has been. She’s not anymore. Because Jesus doesn’t look past her. Jesus sees her, lays his hands on her, and immediately releases her. All of a sudden, she is restored to wholeness and to her community.

This is the work of Christ. Healing. Restoration. And it’s not just for this woman or for people we hear stories of in the Bible. It’s for all of us.

We may or may not be physically suffering like this woman. We may or may not be in need of a miracle. But I have known what it means to be bound. I imagine that you have, too.

Perhaps you’ve been bound by feelings of guilt because of something you did, or something you failed to do. This is the feeling that keeps you up late at night replaying conversations or events in your mind trying to change the outcome. This is the feeling that paralyzes you from moving forward because you are so wracked with shame.

Or maybe that’s not it at all. Perhaps you’ve been bound by the expectations of others. Your life is dictated and planned out according to the needs of others and not your own. Your own desires and passions are pushed to the backburners as you meet the demands put on you. You strive to be the perfect child, the perfect student, the perfect parent, the perfect spouse, the perfect employee, the perfect Christian, the perfect person and, in the end, you have no freedom to simply be yourself, perfect or otherwise.

Or maybe it really is physical. Maybe you are bound by your body, facing the reality that things you used to be able to do you can no longer do. Maybe your body has never done the things you want it to. Maybe you have physical limitations that effect the way you have to live your day-to-day life.

Jesus sees us. Jesus sees us and calls us over and sets us free. …but that freedom may not look like we expect it to.

We may not immediately see a change in our physical abilities, but that doesn’t mean that restoration and wholeness isn’t happening. It could happen through a community that works to make everything accessible and inviting. It could happen through a new technique or therapy that brings greater quality of life. I believe in miracles, but there’s a reason why they’re miracles: they don’t happen all the time. If they did, they wouldn’t be miraculous. But there are moments of healing that transcend our limited imagination and change lives.

We could be set free by the knowledge that we are enough just as we are. We don’t need to be held to unrealistic and damaging expectations because we were created as a beloved child of God that is all we ever need to be. If we struggle sometimes to be everything to everyone and the “perfect” example, Jesus reminds us that we are already God’s perfect creation.

And, yes, it could be that we are set free from our guilt and shame. Every week, we lay our sins before God. We may even do it more often, praying before bed or throughout the day, confessing the ways in which we have wronged our neighbor or ourselves. And every week, without exception, God hears those confessions and forgives us. Every week, I proclaim the Word of God that in Christ, your sins are taken away and you are made new. Instead of replaying the same mistakes over and over, perhaps we might try reminding ourselves that we are always loved and that we still have so many chances to do something different the next time.

Jesus sees us. Jesus sets us free. So, what are we going to do about it?

Our first reaction might be praise and thanksgiving—it’s a great place to start! Our incredible, amazing, loving God does so much for us, and it is only natural for us to respond with joy. The text says that, “immediately [the woman] stood up straight and began praising God.” Praise and thanks and sharing with others what God has done for us is a natural and beautiful response to God’s work.

That’s a great place to start, but we could go further. We could take the energy of this praise and thanksgiving and put it to work in service of God’s mission in the world. Jesus sees us. Jesus sets us free. What if we tried, in our own imperfect way, to do the same? Maybe not set people free, but to remind them that God already has?

Seeing people, though, this is where we really struggle. How often do we “not see” the person asking for money outside the grocery store? How often do we plan events and “not see” that the space or activities will exclude people who are physically unable to participate? How often do we use “insider language” in the church and “not see” people who don’t understand when we use words or acronyms that have become common place for us, or refer to a space like Karns Hall by the Pavilion, it’s previous name? Unfortunately, we are all too good at “not seeing” our neighbors, but with the grace of God our eyes are opened and all of us are freed.

Jesus sees all. Jesus frees all. All are seen by God and, God-willing, we can work to make it so that all are seen by the Church. Amen.

What’s the Catch?

Sermon preached Sunday, July 7, 2019, the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio for recent sermons can be found here.

After Pentecost Sunday, our lectionary readings give us a choice: we can choose from two different Old Testament readings each week. One of the readings, known as the complimentary series, is chosen because it corresponds thematically with the Gospel. While this is great for highlighting themes in any given Gospel text, it means that the first readings tend to jump around quite a bit with little to no context or background provided.

The other option is to go with the semi-continuous readings which, as the name suggests, take us through parts of the Old Testament in a methodical way, following specific figures or stories to introduce us to parts of scripture we might not otherwise hear in worship on a Sunday morning, like today’s story about Elisha and Naaman.

Elisha was a prominent prophet in the land. By the time this encounter with Naaman occurs, Elisha has already had God work miracles through him, like provided oil and food to a poor widow, and raising someone from the dead. He has a reputation as a powerful and spiritual person. This is how Naaman hears of him—by his reputation!

Naaman is a commander of an opposing army, one that frequently does battle with the Israelites. His servant girl, however, might either be an Israelite or has just heard things because she suggests that Naaman contact Elisha in order to cure his leprosy. So, Naaman gets his Aramean king to write a letter to the King of Israel seeking permission to travel to find Elisha and sets off in search of this fabled prophet who can make him better.

Naaman gathers an impressive entourage of travelling companions and takes along more clothes and money than he probably needs and finally arrives at Elisha’s house. When this important man arrives, however, Elisha doesn’t see him. Instead, Elisha sends a messenger out with a simple message: “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean.”

Naaman, we know, doesn’t take this very well—and it’s easy to see why. He is a VERY IMPORTANT PERSON, used to commanding large groups of men and having people respond to his every order. He travels all this way to see this prophet and Elisha can’t even be bothered to come out and meet him himself! And not only that, but the instructions he’s given seem laughable—they couldn’t possibly work. Naaman responds with incredulity.

The hesitation on Naaman’s part is understandable—it seems too easy. If all it takes to cure leprosy is to wash in some water, why couldn’t he do it in any of the other bodies of water in his own land? What kind of stunt is Elisha pulling, especially when he didn’t even appear to do anything? What’s the catch?

Of course, there isn’t one—and Naaman’s servants point out to him that he was more than ready to do something super difficult—why is he having such a hard time doing something simple? Eventually he relents and washes and is cured.

That hesitation, that skepticism, is understandable, though, isn’t it? We can also be pretty skeptical when something seems to easy. We also want to ask, “What’s the catch?” We’re so used to everything in our lives having strings attached or fine print that we simply just expect that there must be more to the story. We’ll have to sign up for a mailing list or become a member of some club or be charged a monthly fee. It’s just what we’ve been conditioned for. I see something shared of Facebook about how some person or company will donate x amount of money if they get a certain number of shares or that you can win an all-expenses paid cruise if you like and share and my first reaction is to roll my eyes and say, “Suuuuure they will.”

And this isn’t just the case with apps on our phones or special deals or coupons we find—we are this way often even when it comes to God…even when it comes to God, we expect that there must be something more. We hear that we are loved by God and we feel compelled to add, “as long as we live the right way,” or we hear that we have salvation freely given to us and our brain chooses to chime in and say, “as long as we do the right things.” We are conditioned to add on tasks we must accomplish or steps we must follow.

We are wary of cheap grace, wary of forgetting the incredible gift God gives us. We don’t want to take advantage of it…and, in fact, we are so worried about avoiding cheap grace that we are prone to miss grace altogether. We end up creating a list of requirements that must be met before we allow ourselves to accept that freely offered grace.

And not only do we expect to need to do something, but we also tend to expect God to do something big, noticeable, impactful and impossible to miss. After all, this is the God who created order from chaos, who separated the waters and land and sky. This is the God who flooded the earth, who called down the plagues in Egypt, who parted the sea to let the Israelites pass, who came to live among us and rise from the dead, who walked on water and calmed the sea. This is a God who tends to make a big impact.

But just as often, God works in small, subtle ways. The Bible tells us of a quiet afternoon visit by angels to Abraham and Sarah when God revealed they would be expecting a child. There wasn’t anything special about these visitors to mark them as messengers from God, but they delivered the most incredible news. There’s also the story of the woman who was ill and snuck up behind Jesus to touch his robe and be healed. It was a small transfer of power, but no noise, no showiness, no one would have ever even known it had happened if Jesus hadn’t stopped and turned around and questioned her.

And then there’s the story we heard in worship two weeks ago, when Elisha stood in a cave waiting for a word from God. There was a great wind splitting rocks and mountains, but God was not in the wind. There was an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake. And then there was a fire but God was not in the fire either. After the fire there was only sheer silence and that is where Elisha met God: not in the loud natural wonders, but in the silence.

Think about your life. How has God been at work? What are the big things? What are the little things?

If the story of Naaman tells us anything, it’s that our God works in big ways and small ways; in ways we expect and ways that surprise us. And God does all these things out of love for us, not because we deserve it or because we have followed all the correct rules or because we have completed all the right items on the checklist. Amen.