From Me to We

Sermon preached Sunday, July 31, 2022, the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour, in North Chesterfield, VA. 

When I was in high school, I was in a production of Godspell. As time goes on, you’ll hear me mention that again because there are lots of passages in the Bible that I just can’t hear any more without picturing my friends and classmates acting them out!

This is one of those times: the parable of the rich man.

In my mind, I see my friend Jill really hamming it up. And man, does this parable call for some exaggerated behavior.

Parables are stories designed to teach us something about God and about ourselves and they often employ exaggeration, repetition, or other rhetorical devises to make their point. In the case of this morning’s reading, imagine it with a bit of tongue-in-cheek acting.

This rich man has SO MUCH stuff, so much wealth, that he doesn’t even have enough room to store it all. And so he processes this dilemma outload: “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?…I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”[1]

I just love this visual. I mean, most of us talk to ourselves, at least in our mind, right? When we’re figuring out a puzzle or running through the pros and cons of making a decision…but this rich man is so certain, so self-assured, that he has everything figured out and figured out correctly. Too much stuff? Just build more barns! Simple solution!

In my time with our youngest members just a few minutes ago, I talked about how God calls us to continually focus on the “we” over the “me.” The more theologically savvy way of putting that is with the Latin phrase “incurvatus in se,” or “turned in on oneself.” Essentially, this is the notion that, because of sin, we are inclined to selfishness, navel-gazing, and focusing on ourself and our own needs, as opposed to the needs of our neighbors, or our relationships with our neighbors or God.

And this is on full display in the parable Jesus tells.

The rich man is completely in an echo chamber of their own thoughts and feelings. When faced with this “problem”—can we even call so much wealth a problem?—when faced with this “problem,” the only person he consults is himself. “Soul?” he asks, or “self,” depending on the translation. Basically, it’s a case confirmation bias. This man is not wanting to share what he has, so he only asks someone who will have the same opinion on what to do with his excess as he does—himself!

But God calls us to more. Of course, we shouldn’t ignore our own thoughts and feelings, but being a person a faith means that we also are concerned with others. Can you imagine what would happen in this parable if the rich man asked his neighbors what he should do with his excess wealth?

Maybe his neighbor Sue would have reminded him that Miriam’s husband died and now she and her children were among the widows relying on others to survive.

Maybe Frank down the road would have pointed out that his fields haven’t produced nearly as much as he’d planned and his family will be facing a lean year ahead.

Heck, maybe another neighbor would have said, “Hey, I’ve got some extra space in my barns—why don’t you store some stuff here and we can work together to distribute it to those who need it!”

Because it isn’t the rich man’s wealth itself that is the problem. It is the fact that it has become an idol for him, something that is causing him to ignore the community around him, that is causing him to care only about himself. And it is in the midst of that selfishness and greed that God comes to him to tell him his life is being demanded of him.

That’s an interesting thing about this parable—God is actually a named character. In most parables (I’m tempted to say all, but I wasn’t able to go back and check every one), the characters are representative and we are left, as the hearers, to assign roles. I like this a lot! It leaves room for ambiguity and flexibility and different ways of understanding the parable. But in this one, we are actually told who God is and what God says.

And what God says is…not the most comforting: “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”[2]

Whew.

The rich man’s life is being demanded of him and so all of his grand plans are for naught. Now, we don’t know why his life is being demanded of him or who or what is demanding his, only that it is. And because it is, God asks the question that maybe the rich man should have been asking all along: “the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”

God is forcing the issue, forcing the rich man to think about more than himself, after he option of what to do with his wealth has been taken away from him.

Our levels of wealth in this congregation are not all the same. We all have different incomes and lifestyles and circumstances that impact our finances and how we feel about them. And so when we read this text, it’s usually hard for us to identify as the rich man because I doubt there are many of us who have so much wealth and money that our biggest problem is what to do with it all. That’s an Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos problem and I think scripture has quite a few things to say about that.

 

However, I do think there is a word here for the rest of us, whatever level of wealth we may have.

Jesus tells this parable after someone asks him to intervene in a family conflict: “Tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”[3] We don’t know how much of an inheritance we’re talking about, and Jesus doesn’t seem to care. He basically just says, “That’s not what I’m here to do—but while we’re on the topic of money, let’s talk about greed.” In other words, “Why do you want this money so badly? Let’s talk about what selfishness and greed gets you.”

So, we know that it’s not just about massive amounts of money. It’s about the love of money, the love of self, over love of our neighbor.

As disciples of Christ, we are called to be on guard against incurvatus in se, against turning in on ourselves, against turning from “we” to “me.”

That means that whatever we do with our resources, whether that be financial, ecological, spiritual, or material, while our tendency might be to just ask ourselves what is best, God desires that we ask our neighbors, that we ask our community, that we even ask God, the way forward.

What are we missing when we’re only concerned with our own bottom line?

Are we missing the hungry in our midst?

Are we missing the impact our choices have on the environment?

Are we missing a gap in local social services?

Could it be that the things we are tempted to store up for ourselves could actually have an impact in ways we could never have imagined, if only we’re paying attention and ready to share?

All it takes, is continually and consciously asking the questions.

Turning from “me” to “we.”

Amen.

[1] Luke 12:17-19.

[2] Luke 12:20.

[3] Luke 12:13.

The Last Word

Sermon preached Sunday, November 15, 2020, the Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

Back when I was serving my first call, I would have conferences twice a year for all pastors and deacons serving their first calls. Those three-day increments gave us opportunities for networking, building relationships with colleagues, learning, worship, and Bible Study.

If you remember, I served my first call in California and we did these conferences with our entire region that stretched out to Hawaii and western Texas, up to the very northern border of California and Nevada and down to our country’s southern border. This meant that we got to travel. In my two years there, we met at conference centers in Malibu and Phoenix, in Sacramento, and Salt lake City.

Each and every time, it was a full few days, but really wonderful in so many ways. I was able to talk with other new leaders about some of the excitements and challenges of new ministry and hear a seasoned pastor give advice on some special liturgical practices.

Far and away, however, I am deeply grateful for our time spent in Bible Study. I remember my first conference was right in November, right before this morning’s readings were going to come up in the lectionary. Many of us were apprehensive about preaching this morning’s texts, but we were able to work through some of the problems we faced.

All of us preachers were able to hear someone else’s take on these tricky passages and dig into the verses with one another.

At one point, we were encouraged to read the gospel from Matthew, the parable of the talents, and look for dying and rising.

The other pastors around my table and I didn’t think it would be too hard. It is one of Jesus’ parables, after all. Surely we’d be able to find some new life!

But we looked….

And we didn’t…

Or at least, we didn’t easily. It took some creative thinking, so unique maneuvering. Other tables didn’t have this problem. This is the problem and gift of parables: two people can read them and glean completely different ideas. All around us, other tables were finding places of life, but we were struggling.

…and I think I know why we were struggling. I have a lot of trouble finding life or resurrection in this parable…unless we push the boundaries of how it is traditionally understood.

It’s really tempting to think we know, for sure, who or where God is in these parables. It’s really tempting to think of God as the master. Sometimes this assignment works. But sometimes it’s problematic.

It can be problematic, because the “heroes” of this story don’t act all that heroic. Who ends up ahead? The two slaves who ignore the master’s practices of reaping where he doesn’t sow and put the money entrusted to them at risk The people who are rewarded, who “win” in this parable are doing the bidding of a corrupt master—and the one slave who stands up to the master and tries to do the right thing gets punished.

So, what if Jesus isn’t represented by the master? After so many years of assuming that he is, what if he’s not? Or what if Jesus isn’t really even in the parable at all? After all, if we read the parable, it doesn’t say that God is like a man going on a journey—it is in a series of parables about the Kingdom of God. Jesus is saying the kingdom of God is like a man going on a journey.

Parables do not have one interpretation. They are stories used to teach, but just what exactly they teach is found through an individual’s reading of it.

When I read this parable, I identify with the third slave, the slave who is called wicked and lazy—but just what, exactly, does he do wrong? Nothing!

His master is going on a journey and gives him one talent to take care of. While the other two slaves risk it, he chooses to keep it safe. He also knows that his master’s ethics are somewhat suspect and does not want to show approval of this. So, he doesn’t. He stands up to his master and calls him out on his corruption. This slave truly does nothing “wrong,” but he still ends up having the talent taken away from him and being thrown into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

So how can this be what the kingdom of heaven is like? Where is the good news here? Where is the new life here? How can this story point me to Christ? These are the questions I struggled with in our Bible Study.

Maybe the new life isn’t in the parable itself…maybe the new life happens outside.

In the community of the master, the slave didn’t have much. He saw the corruption. He saw the unjust actions of his master. He knew what was happening was not right. He couldn’t make his life better there because the system was broken…so maybe he needed to be thrown out. Maybe he needed to be in darkness.

Perhaps he had to find himself thrown out into the outer darkness in order to eventually find light. Perhaps he needed to die, so that he might actually be able to rise.

Light comes after darkness. Life can only come after death.

The slave has to experience some death. The slave needed to die to the expectations put upon him by his master. He was expected to carry on the status quo, but there was no life there. The slave needed to die to the fear that he felt. He was afraid of standing up to his master because, in his words, his master was a “harsh man.” When he finally overcame his fear, he was thrown out into the outer darkness, separated from those things he had always known and what he had always understood to be sources of power or worldly influence.

The outer darkness is scary, but maybe that’s where Jesus is. Maybe that’s where Jesus is waiting to give us life, at least some of the time.

What might need to die in our own lives? This is a question that only you can answer for yourself. I don’t know what might need to die in your life.

Maybe it’s expectations that everyone you love will behave exactly the way you want them to.

Maybe it’s the idea that if you just try hard enough, everything will work out perfectly for you.

As Christmas ads start playing, maybe it’s the desire to think of Jesus as a spiritual Santa Claus who rewards us when we are good and gives us goal when we are naughty.

These notions are highly prized in our society, they are the prevailing narratives people live by. And when we choose to die to them, we need to know what to expect. These deaths might lead us to be thrown out. These deaths might find us in darkness, separated from those things the world tells us are important.

The outer darkness is scary, but know that God is waiting for us there, meeting us there and while we might be scared, we are not alone.

God is there. Our siblings in Christ who have experienced these sorts of deaths before us are there. We are not alone. Be brave. Take heart. Like that third slave, do not let your fear keep you from living out the Gospel in your own life.

Outer darkness might be the end of the parable, but it is not the end of the story. God’s story is not one of life and death—it is one of death and life.

Life is the final word.

Amen.

Choose to Shine

Sermon preached Sunday, November 8, 2020, the Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost and first Sunday after the 2020 Presidential Election, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

Let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room, shall we? We’re all exhausted. It’s been a long campaign season. It’s been a long year. And it’s been an especially long week. As it’s taken time to go through record numbers of ballots, it’s been frustrating for our country to sit in limbo for several days.

But here’s the reality: some of us in this congregation are happy. Some are upset and disappointed. Some are resigned, not believing that any of it matters all that much in the grand scheme of things. And some are just relieved that it’s over and are hoping to get back to seeing commercials for laundry detergent instead of political ads.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that our divisions in this country have been highlighted and heightened. We are primed to see the best in people who agree with us and the worst in people who don’t. We are primed to believe that our politics are right and other people are wrong. We are primed to believe that God supports our candidate, our party, our platform and will judge harshly the other guy.

But here’s the truth: partisanship is too small for God. Party lines do not contain God and God does not have a D or an R label. No party has an exclusive claim on God—and it is heresy and idolatry to suggest otherwise. It is making God subject to our politics, not the other way around.

When I was preparing this week’s sermon, I read the text from Amos, and I heard it in light of everything we’ve been witnessing these past several months and, really, for much of our political life for decades, regardless of party:

“I hate, I despise your rallies.

and I take no delight in your myopic conventions.

Even though you court votes in my name and offer me thanks for victories,

I will not receive it.

and the lip-service you pay me

I will not hear.

Take away from me noise of your slogans

I will not listen to your talking points

BUT let justice roll down like waters,

and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (Amos 5:21-24, rephrased)

That last part stayed the same, I hope you caught that. Everything else is noise and distraction BUT “let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

That’s where we are today. Regardless of who you voted for or who you supported, it doesn’t change our mission as disciples of Christ. Regardless of if you are registered Democrat or Republican or Green Party or Independent, God’s call to us doesn’t have a party color or affiliation. Our mission as people of God is clear—in the words of Amos: to do our part to make justice and righteousness a reality here and now.

Red or blue, we are called to feed the hungry. Red or blue we are called to shelter the homeless. Red or blue, we are called to care for our neighbor. Red or blue, we are called to free the oppressed. Red or blue, we are called to participate in bringing about God’s reign of justice and peace and love and grace on earth.

In other words, red or blue, we are called to shine the light of God.

And that’s supported in the parable from the Gospel of Matthew. Like all the other parables we heard throughout the summer and, so far, this fall, this parable isn’t simple, but it does seem to make a point about the light of God.

Ten bridesmaids are waiting for the bridegroom to show up and they’ve got oil to keep their lamps lit…or at least they think they do. The bridegroom is delayed and so five of the bridesmaids accidentally run out! They have to leave to buy more oil and, while they’re gone, the bridegroom shows up. The bridesmaids who still had their lamps lit where there to welcome him and guide the way and so they went together into the wedding banquet.

Like I’ve said over and over, every parable has different angles and different interpretations, but as I read it this time, this is what I see: It is the bridesmaids who are carrying the light who are able to welcome Christ who, in turn, welcomes them into the feast.

It is the ones who are carrying the light of love and peace and justice and grace that are welcomed into the wedding banquet. It is the ones who are following their primary calling as a child of God and disciple of Christ. And that is who we are called to be. That is what we are called to do.

So today, we can choose to further entrench ourselves in our political ideologies—or we can look to our real savior: Christ. We can listen for God’s voice and follow God’s call and shine brightly in a world that too often sits in shadow. As Jesus says earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, we are the light of the world.

What are you going to choose? Are you going to shine?

Amen.

It’s Not Fair!

Sermon preached Sunday, September 20, 2020, the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

So which is it?

Are the laborers angry with the landowner because they want to control what the landowner does with his belongings, his money? Or are they angry because the landowner is gracious?

Those first laborers made an agreement with the landowner. They had gone to the marketplace looking for work. It’s sort of like the people who wait outside Lowe’s or Home Depot: they know they might not get any work for the day, but they show up, hoping they will. It’s a gamble, but one they hope will pay off.

When the landowner found these laborers standing in the marketplace, he told them he would pay the usual daily wage and they agreed to come. Already this day had amounted to more than it might have. They might have stood around all day and made no money at all. They might have been asked to work by someone who would pay them less than the daily wage, or someone who might have tried to cheat them out of any wages at all. At the end of the day, they received exactly what they were told they would.

And yet, they aren’t happy. They are jealous. The text says they “grumbled.” Even though they made more that day than they might have and were paid the agreed amount, they couldn’t believe that people who worked less hours than they did received the same amount. And so the landowner tries to figure out why they’re so upset.

“Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?”

The questions are similar, but they aren’t the same. “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” means that the laborers are trying to control what the landowner offers. “Are you envious because I am generous?” means that the laborers want to determine who gets how much of the landowner’s money.

Jesus tells this parable to the disciples and we understand that this generous landowner is a stand-in for God. The laborers are all of us, grumbling and griping about what God freely gives.

These same questions could be asked of Jonah from our first reading this morning. He grumbles quite a bit himself.

We didn’t hear the beginning of the story. We didn’t hear what led up to Jonah sitting outside the city. God had come to Jonah and told him to go to Nineveh.

God comes to Jonah and tells him to go to Nineveh and preach repentance to it. Jonah is supposed to proclaim God’s work to a city considered to be evil and full of unrepentant sinners who continually fought against the Israelites. Jonah, on the other hand, has other ideas.

He gets on a boat headed the opposite direction, but doesn’t get very far before a storm threatens his ship and he asks to be thrown overboard to spare the rest of the crew. God sends a big fish to swallow him up, keep him safe for three days, then spit him up on the land.

Finally, after all of this, God comes to Jonah again and tells him to go to Nineveh and Jonah does. He barely gets a third of the way through the city before everyone—the king, peasants and animals—repent and cover themselves with ashes and sackcloth. God chooses not to punish the city because of their repentance.

And so Jonah is upset with God and, frankly, sounds a bit like a petulant four-year-old. “O Lord! This is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” Jonah didn’t want these people who had threatened him, who he considered evil, to be saved from destruction. He didn’t want to preach God’s word to them because he didn’t want them to have the chance to escape God’s punishment.

How upset is he? Upset enough to die.

But the question remains: Is he upset with God because of what God did with God’s forgiveness and mercy, or is Jonah upset with God because God is generous?

It’s a big question, but am important one. The landowner asks the laborers. Jesus could ask the disciples. We could ask Jonah…and God could ask us.

Do we get upset with God because of how God offers mercy and forgiveness, or are do we get upset with God because God is generous?

They are important questions because we often find ourselves in the position of Jonah or the laborers.

There are people in this world that we don’t want to be worthy of God’s grace.

Some are people who continually work against us, people whose actions or words we find abhorrent or offensive. People who everyday work against God. Extreme examples can be seen in the Westboro Baptist Church, militant atheists, or individuals who go on shooting sprees because their ideology tells them to. Surely those people aren’t worthy of God’s love! Why bother preaching God’s word to them? If they repent, God will forgive them and then we’d actually have to live in community with them. Who wants that? (I hope you’re catching the sarcasm here)

And then there are the people who, while they might not work against God, certainly don’t live in a way we would consider “righteous.” People who feel their convictions and faith are something to be discarded or set aside when they become inconvenient. People who ignore Jesus’ call to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. (I should point out here that we often find ourselves in this very category. We are sinners and not exempt from ignoring God’s voice when it’s easier than listening to it.) Even so, shouldn’t we have a say in who is really “Christian”?

We get frustrated, because over and over in the Bible God sides with the people we would rather write off. Jesus ate with sinners—welcome them all to the table. The strangers, the unclean, the ones considered to be outside of God’s grace. It doesn’t make people happy. The religious elite don’t like it. The disciples don’t like it. And when we’re faced with it, we often don’t like it either.

We want to be welcome and loved by God, but couldn’t God just welcome and love the people who think like we do? Who share the same values that we do? If we are more conservative, we’d prefer God’s mercy be reserved for other conservatives. If we are more liberal, we’d like liberals to be the sole recipients of God’s grace. Especially now, when we seem to be more and more entrenched in our own “sides,” we want our “side” to be the one that “wins.”

So, which is it? Why do we get upset with God? Is it the freely offered mercy and forgiveness or the generosity?

The answer, of course, is, “Both.”

We constantly want to control what God does and who God is generous with. We want to be able to say who is worthy and who isn’t. We want to leave those we deem unfit on the outside.

And yet, God puts up with our ranting, our envy, our pouting, or whatever other expression of displeasure we come up with. We cry out, “it’s not fair!” and God responds with, “I know, but I’m offering grace and love anyway.” When we say with Jonah that it is better for us to die than to live, God replies, “Should I not be concerned with everyone, all peoples, who do not know their right hand from their left?”

God refuses to conform to the box we’ve created. God defies the rules we try to impose.

God will do what God chooses and God is generous, even if it upsets us from time to time.

Because sometimes God forgiving us, God loving us, will upset others.

“The LORD is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” (Ps. 145:8) God is all these things, even when it’s upsetting.

Amen.

The Kingdom of Heaven is Like…

Sermon preached Sunday, July 26, 2020, the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

How would you describe the kingdom of heaven?

Today’s gospel is rapid-fire series of parables. The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed. The kingdom of heaven is like yeast. The kingdom of heaven is like treasure. The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. The kingdom of heaven is like a net.

You barely have time to really ponder and examine one metaphor before Jesus has already moved on to the next. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam.

But even with all these examples of what the kingdom of heaven is like, the list is not exhaustive. Jesus doesn’t say, “here are the only things the kingdom of heaven is like.”

And so, even with this pretty big catalog of parables, the door is still wide open for more—more examples of what the kingdom of heaven is like.

If I were to ask you, how would you describe the kingdom of heaven? Don’t worry—I’m not asking you to share with the group—but just in your mind, how might you describe it?

It’s not that easy, is it? I think part of what makes it hard is that word “kingdom.” When I hear that word, I tend to think of something medieval, with castles and knights and arranged marriages to consolidate power. It’s certainly something physical—the territory someone would be “king” over.

…but that’s not quite what the original Greek word is getting at here. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but a better translation of this word is really “reign,” meaning rule. Instead of a physical place, it’s more of a way the society and world is ordered, the way in with our ruler governs us. In the case of God, it’s less about heaven as a physical place that we go to when we die and more about the way in which God’s rule and reign comes into the world we inhabit right now and changes things for the better.

What does that simple word change for us?

“The reign of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field;³²it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”   The reign of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”  The reign of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.  ⁴⁵“Again, the reign of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; ⁴⁶on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.  ⁴⁷“Again, the reign of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; ⁴⁸when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad.

So, what do you think? What else is the reign of God like? The reign of God is one of the things we say is already here and yet has not fully come to fruition. We see glimpses of it, the will of God breaking through into our world.

So, what is the reign of God like?

The reign of God is like people finding ways to give and be generous even when they don’t have all that much to spare.

The reign of God is like fields and orchards growing full and lush with a good harvest.

The reign of God is like the sweet and unconditional love of a pet.

The reign of God is like people choosing to take small steps and measures to safeguard the health of others.

The reign of God is like acknowledging when you have hurt someone else and making an effort to do better in the future.

I’ll tell you what else I think the reign of God is like—I think the reign of God is like this passage from Romans. I love this passage from Romans, especially verses 38 and 39: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

For years, this has been my favorite verse. I find it incredibly comforting. In a world where I have had doubts, where friends and family have struggled with faith, when I have not felt good enough—I have needed to be reminded that nothing can separate us from the love of God.

Whenever I preside over funerals, this is one of the suggested verses during the committal and I always include it. I figure, when families are laying their loved ones to rest, it can’t hurt to be reminded one more time that their loved one is held in God’s embrace and that nothing can change that.

So, this is what I think the reign of God is like: a bond that can’t be severed. Not by anything. Paul lists so many things that cannot separate us from the love of God and concludes his list with “anything else in all of creation.” …I mean, that’s pretty exhaustive, right?

But as I close today, let me remind you, because it bears repeating: neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor senators, nor representatives, nor governors, nor presidents, nor cancer, nor pandemics, nor trauma, nor mental illness, nor disability, nor grief, nor guilt, nor sin, nor injustice, nor oppression, nor bullying, nor abuse, nor hubris…nothing in the whole wide ever-expanding cosmos can separate you from God’s love and care. This is what the reign of God is like.

Amen.

How Can You Tell What’s a Weed?

Sermon preached Sunday, July 19, 2020, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in PA.

Last week I talked about how ridiculously overgrown our backyard was when we moved into our house two years ago. It was incredible! With some time and effort, we probably could have cut things back and kept more of the things that had been planted, but for our dog’s sake, we wanted a yard that was mostly grass that she could run and play on, so we took out everything we could.

Last year, we didn’t pay much attention to what was came up. It was a blur and we let things get out of hand too early. This year, however, once the grass was planted, we started looking at the garden beds that we had largely ignored up until now. As each plant broke through the soil, we speculated on what we thought it was. Sometimes, we knew right away, like when the daffodils started coming up. We knew what those looked like, even before they were in bloom.

Other plants had us puzzled for a while. There was plant in particular that came up and was kind of a bush but we had no idea what it was until one day—like that—buds appeared and began to bloom and, what do you know, we had peonies!

We knew there was mint growing because when we got close, we could smell it. …but for most of the plants we were stumped. There were other plants coming up that we didn’t recognize and we weren’t one hundred percent sure if they were things we would want to keep, or if they were weeds.

Andrew ended up downloading a plant identifier app and the information we’ve gotten from it has been incredible! We learned that there are three separate kinds of trees beginning to grow in one of the beds, that a pumpkin plant is growing through the fence from the neighbor’s garden, and that one of the plants, the name of which escapes me, is incredibly toxic to both animals and humans! (We dug that one out right away!)

It’s been really fascinating to sort out what are the things we’d like to keep around because they’re either not invasive or they’re really pretty, or they’re just not harming anything and which are the things we know we’ve got to get rid of as soon as possible or they’ll take over or maybe even make us or Libby sick.

And so, when I read this morning’s Gospel reading, I think about trying to pick apart the differences between desirable plants and weeds.

Jesus tells this parable about good seed that is sown but then, while everyone is sleeping, someone comes in and sows weeds in with the good seed. It isn’t until the plants begin to grow that the weeds are noticed, but the household says to leave the weeds be so that they won’t uproot the good seed when they’re pulled out—they can separate everything out later.

I don’t think of the wheat and weeds so much as people, but parts of people. Parts of who we are. We have wheat and we have weeds. We are simultaneously sinner and saint. There are pieces of us that are loving and gracious and compassionate and generous and reflect who we are as children of God…and there are pieces of us that are selfish and stubborn and greedy and reflect precisely why we need a savior like Jesus in the first place.

Wheat inspires us to serve our neighbor. It encourages us to care for creation. It enables us to forgive. It calls us to justice. Weeds tighten our hold on grudges. They delight in petty attacks and hurtful comments. They make us focus only on ourselves and forget that we don’t live in a vacuum and that we can’t succeed all on our own.

If my experience with our backyard has taught me anything, it’s that it’s not always easy to tell what’s good and what’s a weed…and what one person may consider a weed because it’s not what they want growing, someone else may plant intentionally! Everything can get mixed up and some plants might fall into both categories.

It’s the same with these traits that wrestle for control inside of us. There are a lot of traits which can either bear fruit or cause harm, depending on the situation or the degree to which they are allowed to take root.

Pride can be helpful when it keeps people from taking advantage of us, but it’s detrimental when it keeps us from apologizing to others for our mistakes.

Being nice can make new people feel comfortable and at ease, but wanting to be “nice” can keep us from confronting problematic behaviors.

Confidence is wonderful when it allows you to assert your own intelligence or talent, but if it leads us to dismiss other people’s ideas or always assume we know more or we’re better than everyone else, it can be a huge obstacle.

Do you see? So many of our traits can be good or troublesome, depending on a number of other factors. This is what makes it tricky sometimes to determine what we need weeded and what we should let flourish and grow.

It’s not something we can do on our own. Try as we might, we will never be able to fully clear the weeds out of our lives. They are too entangled in who we are. We can try and tame them, try and keep them from getting out of hand, but we can’t eliminate them completely—that’s what we need God for.

God encourages and nourishes the things that benefit us and God forgives and helps us overcome the things that cause harm in us and in our communities. It’s not easy. It’s not an overnight-fix. It’s not as if one day we do hurtful things and then—bam!—we completely stop…but, through God, we are able to recognize when we make mistakes. We can take action to apologize, to repair relationships, and become more aware when we are prone to do the same thing again. We’ll screw it up, but God will forgive us. We will struggle, but God will support us. We will work hard, and God will encourage us.

And then, at the last, God will finally separate out any weeds we have left in us as we are gathered into the communion of saints and come face-to-face with the presence of God.

This is work that only God can do and work that God loves to do because God loves us so much.

Amen.

Sowing in Hope

Sermon preached Sunday, July 12, 2020, the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, Pennsylvania.

Some of you know this, but when Andrew and I bought our house two years ago, the backyard was completely overgrown. 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, the inspector told me that the air conditioner wasn’t running very efficiently, but that would probably change once we cleared the plants that were hugging the unit.

After several weeks of trying to do some of the work ourselves, we quickly realized it was too big of a job and hired Ray, our outdoor sexton here, 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 or 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 pregnant, and Andrew’s work schedule, we pretty much lost the yard and were back at square one.

This 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 so we grabbed handfuls of seed and sowed, not unlike the sower in this parable.

Some of it landed on the slate path that leads 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 now.

I’ve got to admit, for the first time in my life, I heard this parable and saw 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 hear this parable this time around, having been in that position of the sower. 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, when I was thinking 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.

Amen.  

Parsing the Parable

Sermon preached Sunday, March 24, 2019, the Third Sunday in Lent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. 

My last year of seminary, I worked in a congregation in the Chicago suburbs doing a kid’s faith formation program called Godly Play. This program is based in Montessori philosophy and follows the basic pattern for worship. Each kid is greeted, we shared a story together, the kids got to respond to the story by playing with things in the room, then we shared a “meal” of crackers or cookies and some juice, and finally I said goodbye to each of them.

In Godly Play, we spent the weeks between Epiphany and the first Sunday in Lent telling stories of the parables. There is a lot that goes into presenting the parables. The materials the story teller uses are in a gold box with a lid. I tell the kids that the box is gold, so there maybe there is something very valuable inside. I point out that the box looks a bit like a present—parables are presents that were given to us a long, long time ago, before they were born, before I was born, before their parents or grandparents were born. Finally, I draw the kids’ attention to the fact that there is a lid and that the lid is closed—sometimes parables are hard to open. They are difficult to get inside of, not easy to understand.

Today’s parable illustrates that last point rather nicely, don’t you think? This parable of a barren fig tree can be hard to open, difficult to get inside of, and not easy to understand.

The stage is set with people asking Jesus about what Pilate had recently done to some Galileans. Apparently Pilate had punished some Galileans by killing them and mixed in their blood with the sacrifices at the temple. In essence, the question being asked is one we often ask ourselves: “Why do bad things happen? Why does God let bad things happen?” Is it because of sin? Did these unfortunate Galileans sin more than others?

These are the questions that pop up when a hard working person is laid off from their job, or when a beloved member of the community is diagnosed with cancer. Looking at the news cycle from just the past few weeks, we ask these questions when flooding devastates people’s homes and livelihoods, when a cyclone has caused what some are calling the worst humanitarian crisis in Mozambique history, and when a white supremacist kills fifty people as they prayed in their mosque. We ask, “Why do these things happen? Was it because of sin?

The questions are real and Jesus does not brush them aside…but he does reinterpret them. When the people around him ask if the events that transpired were because of sin, Jesus says “no.” Jesus says, “no,” but then he goes on. Jesus says that sin was not the cause of these tragedies, but “unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”

Wait, what? I thought Jesus just said this didn’t have anything to do with sin! How can we reconcile these two ideas that seem to contradict each other?

I think, maybe, Jesus is reframing the notion of sin. Those awful events didn’t happen because the victims were bigger sinners…there isn’t such thing as a “bigger sinner” or a “lesser sinner.” Jesus also isn’t saying that the victims were sinless. His words are neither an indictment nor an exoneration. Rather, Jesus calls for repentance. Jesus calls for repentance because we are all sinners. All of us. … the fact that we are sinners has no bearing on whether or not terrible things might happen to us.

And then Jesus tells the parable… A gardener plants a tree in a vineyard. The owner of the vineyard comes after three years and sees none of the fruit he is expecting. He tells the gardener to cut it down so something else can be planted. The gardener intercedes and asks the owner for one more year and if the tree still bears no fruit, then the owner can cut it down.

Hard to open, difficult to get inside of, not easy to understand…this parable is tricky. The pleading of the gardener for more time is good news, but the concession that it can be cut down in a year if there is still no fruit can make one wonder about the level of the gardener’s commitment to the tree…  But maybe there is more here than we realize at first listening.

We are quick to try and assign roles to images or people in parables. The initial impulse in this parable, I think, is that the gardener is Jesus and the vineyard owner is God the Father. We, humanity, then, are the fig tree, bearing no fruit because we have not repented. Jesus intercedes for us with the Father, offering grace in the face of imminent punishment.

…But what if this parable is more flexible than our initial impulses allow for? What if we are still the tree that hasn’t borne fruit, but this time the gardener is God and the vineyard owner represents the forces of sin and death. It’s not a perfect metaphor but bear with me for a moment.

We, as the tree, have not reached our potential; we are unable to bear the fruit we were created to. We are unable to serve God as fully as we would like, we are unable to love one another as fully as we ought, and we constantly find ways to say “no” to the voice of God calling out to us.

Death seeks to cut us down, points to us and says, “God! Can’t you see that these people aren’t living up to what you envisioned in creation? Can’t you see that they are unable to do what You would desire them to? Can’t you see their sin?”

But God, the gardener who created and planted us, the one who cares for us, steps in and says, “Yes, I do see that…but these people are not a lost cause.” God declares that good fruit can come from this seemingly barren tree.

In the parable, the gardener states he will dig around and put manure around the tree. He will give it some intentional love and attention. The translation here says “manure,” and that’s exactly what it is…but it is just dung. There is nothing added, not some sort of fertilizer. The gardener states that he will dig around in dirt and dung in order to make the tree bear fruit.

God, the gardener in this parable, offers to dig around in our dirt, to get those divine hands filthy with the crap, literally, of our lives, in order to make us bear good fruit. Whatever it is that holds us back: selfishness, greed, holding grudges, inability to love God or our neighbor as we are called to…God doesn’t shy away from our sin. God doesn’t ignore our failings and shortcomings. On the contrary, God digs in, God dwells in them with us, not condemning us, but forgiving us with the love and attention the gardener shows the tree.

Left on our own, we would not be able to live up to our created ideal. We would not be able to move past our sinful nature, move past our inability to love God with our whole heart, or move past the threat Death has made to cut us down.

It’s a very good thing, then, that we are not on our own. The tree is not abandoned—we are not abandoned to attempt redemption on our own. We are nurtured by God, the Gardener, in the dirt and dung of our lives.

We don’t get to hear the end of the parable. Jesus never tells us what happens. We don’t learn the fate of that poor fig tree, whether it ever bears fruit or is eventually cut down. However, if I am forced to say whether God or Death arises as the winner in this instance, I know that God always has the last word, and not Death. The tree must bear good fruit because the gardener has taken time to work with it. We must bear the fruit of God’s reign because God has forgiven us and shown us grace and love.

When I say, “must” here, I am not saying that this is a prescription, “we must do x, y, and z.” Rather, I mean that we can do nothing else. When we are grounded in Christ’s death and resurrection, when we have experienced God’s love for us, evidenced in the words of absolution stated at the beginning of the service, when we are fed and nourished by bread and wine at the table, we cannot help but have God’s work be done through us.

This work is not perfect; it is, after all, still done by our own fallible hands…but it can be done, it is done. I look at institutional examples, in programs like Lutheran World Relief, or locally, the support of New Hope and Survivors, Inc. I look at individual efforts to usher in the reign of God through volunteer hours or advocacy. I look at the support given in times of grief or tragedy. I look at the celebration of shared accomplishments or joys. I look at simple words of forgiveness which bring about reconciliation and healing. These are human actions, yes… but still human actions in which one can clearly see the face of God.

Parables are hard to open, difficult to get inside of, and not easy to understand… but we don’t need to understand every aspect of this parable in order to hear good news from God.

And the good news from this morning’s parable is: we are not abandoned, we are not left on our own; we are nurtured and defended, forgiven and renewed, by the one who first created us.

Amen.