Sermon preached at St John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on February 16, 2014; Epiphany 6A. Text: Matthew 5:21-37.
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Showing posts with label Lectionary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lectionary. Show all posts
Relationships, Not Rules - Epiphany 6A
Sermon preached at St John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on February 16, 2014; Epiphany 6A. Text: Matthew 5:21-37.
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"True Humility" Proper 17C
"True Humility" Sermon preached at St John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on September 1, 2013; Proper 17C. Text: Sirach 10:12-18; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14
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Bothering God
A reflection for the 10th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 12, year C.
"Knock and the door shall be opened unto you."
After two and half hours, I pulled up at the front entrance to the hospital at 9:10pm. It was an emergency. As Pastor, I was there to offer comfort to the family of a child who had been life-lighted to here for emergency care.
I didn't know where to park in the large medical complex. So I walked up to the front doors to ask the security guard where the best place to park was. "I'm sorry," he said, "No one is allowed in these doors after 9:00pm."
I was stunned. Somewhere inside was a very scared family. Somewhere inside were the people I had driven two and a half hours to sit with and offer comfort to. It was 9:10!! It took me 10 minutes to drive around the detour a block from the hospital. But the guard did not move.
I looked at the building one last time, and I made up my mind.
I put my car in the nearby parking garage, and walked into the other hospital - the one across the street. I signed in, and took the elevator to the second floor. So far so good. But where to next? I walked to one end of the hospital. No luck. I looked in all the little side corridors.
Finally, after 40 minutes of walking I found it. The sky bridge from this hospital to the one across the street - the one where no one is allowed in the front door after 9pm.
I walked across the sky bridge, and a nice doctor held the door open for me. I had a great visit with the patient and family. Exactly what I came there for - and exactly what they needed.
And then I walked out the front door past a confused security guard.
I knocked ... but the door was not open. But I didn't give up. I continued to knock, and to seek ... and seek ... and seek, until I found a way.
In Luke's Gospel, Jesus compares our prayers to a neighbor who knocks on the door in the middle of the night (Luke 11:1-13). Knock loud enough and long enough, says Jesus, and you will wake up the homeowner. Don't give up. Sometimes, we need to bother God with our prayers. Not once, not twice, but again and again.
Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you ... But if not, then knock again!
I wonder if we worry about being too polite with our prayers. If we don't really want to disturb God.
Jesus tells us to come to God with all the enthusiasm of a child who sees something that she just HAS to have. Jesus advises us to pray with the desperation of someone in need in the middle of the night.
So go ahead. Bother God.
"Knock and the door shall be opened unto you."
After two and half hours, I pulled up at the front entrance to the hospital at 9:10pm. It was an emergency. As Pastor, I was there to offer comfort to the family of a child who had been life-lighted to here for emergency care.
I didn't know where to park in the large medical complex. So I walked up to the front doors to ask the security guard where the best place to park was. "I'm sorry," he said, "No one is allowed in these doors after 9:00pm."
I was stunned. Somewhere inside was a very scared family. Somewhere inside were the people I had driven two and a half hours to sit with and offer comfort to. It was 9:10!! It took me 10 minutes to drive around the detour a block from the hospital. But the guard did not move.
I looked at the building one last time, and I made up my mind.
I put my car in the nearby parking garage, and walked into the other hospital - the one across the street. I signed in, and took the elevator to the second floor. So far so good. But where to next? I walked to one end of the hospital. No luck. I looked in all the little side corridors.
Finally, after 40 minutes of walking I found it. The sky bridge from this hospital to the one across the street - the one where no one is allowed in the front door after 9pm.
I walked across the sky bridge, and a nice doctor held the door open for me. I had a great visit with the patient and family. Exactly what I came there for - and exactly what they needed.
And then I walked out the front door past a confused security guard.
I knocked ... but the door was not open. But I didn't give up. I continued to knock, and to seek ... and seek ... and seek, until I found a way.
In Luke's Gospel, Jesus compares our prayers to a neighbor who knocks on the door in the middle of the night (Luke 11:1-13). Knock loud enough and long enough, says Jesus, and you will wake up the homeowner. Don't give up. Sometimes, we need to bother God with our prayers. Not once, not twice, but again and again.
Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you ... But if not, then knock again!
I wonder if we worry about being too polite with our prayers. If we don't really want to disturb God.
Jesus tells us to come to God with all the enthusiasm of a child who sees something that she just HAS to have. Jesus advises us to pray with the desperation of someone in need in the middle of the night.
So go ahead. Bother God.
 |
| Take lessons in knocking from Dr. Sheldon Cooper |
"Never Alone" Trinity Sunday 2013
"Never Alone." Sermon preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill (Brenham, TX) on May 26, 2013 - Trinity Sunday. Text: Genesis 1:26-28.
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"Do We Mean It?" Pentecost 2013
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"Do We Mean It?" A sermon for the Pentecost Sunday, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on May 19, 2013. Text: Acts 2:1-21.
Thank you to Pastor Rafael Malpica Padilla for his call at the 2013 Gulf Coast Synod Assembly to be a church that is disturbed by the Holy Spirit.\
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Pentecost
Sometimes, it is hard to find just the right hymn for the day. Other times, the choice is obvious. Tomorrow is the day of Pentecost, and as I listened to a preacher this weekend talk about "God's mighty wind," all I could think about was this song.
"And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting." ~ Acts 2:2
So, if you are still looking for a hymn for Pentecost, I give you "A Mighty Wind is Blowin'" as sung by the New Main Street Singers, The Folksmen and Mitch & Mickey.
You're welcome :-)
"And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting." ~ Acts 2:2
So, if you are still looking for a hymn for Pentecost, I give you "A Mighty Wind is Blowin'" as sung by the New Main Street Singers, The Folksmen and Mitch & Mickey.
You're welcome :-)
"No More" Sermon for Easter 5C
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A sermon for the 5th Sunday of Easter, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on April 21, 2013. Texts: Revelation 21:1-6 and John 13:31-35.
(Thank you to Pastor Clint Schnekloth for his insight about the promise "No More" as a central element of this text. Subscribe to Pastor Schnekloth's sermons on iTunes and read his other ideas on his blog.)
Note: In the past, I have recorded a "podcast version" of the sermon on Monday. This week, I uploaded the recording from one of the Sunday services, with a little introduction. What do you think? Does it make a difference to you?
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Lydia
This Sunday is the 6th Sunday of Easter. Are you still looking for a hymn of the day?
Maybe you should preach on Lydia (Acts 16:-9-15).
I mean, you don't get much better than this:
The Ends of the Earth, Easter 4C
For more from Bishop Mike, visit his blog, follow him on twitter, or connect on facebook.
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"Do Over!" Easter 3C
A sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Easter, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on April 14, 2013. Jesus' resurrection appearance to Peter ("Simon, son of John, do you love me?") and the Damascus Road experience of Saul of Tarsus. Texts: Acts 9:1–20 and John 21:1–19.
Thankfully, my voice lasted through the sermon!
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Thankfully, my voice lasted through the sermon!
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Thomas Christians, Easter 2C
This was also our Confirmation Sunday, as 6 young people affirmed their baptismal promises.
Image is copyright Joshua Harris, visit his website here.
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"He Ain't Here!" Easter 2013
"He Ain't Here!"A sermon for Easter Sunday, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on March 31, 2013 at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill.
Inspired by the Rev. Dr. Don Armentrout, ELCA pastor and professor at the School of Theology of the University of the South, in Sewanee, TN.
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"Filling in the Gaps" Lent 3C
"Filling in the Gaps"
A sermon preached at St John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on the third Sunday in Lent, March 3, 2013. Texts: 1 Corinthians 10:1-13 and Luke 13:1-9.
I tire of sermons that shy away from the "big questions." So this one jumps right into the deep end, with the question: "Why do people suffer?"
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Grace that Goes Bump in the Night
"Grace that Goes Bump in the Night"
Sermon for Lent 2, year C, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on February 17, 2013. Text Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18.
(Thank you to the Rev. Lia Scholl for her awesome reflection at The Hardest Question, where she drew the analogy between the Genesis story and a horror movie which opens this sermon.)
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Sermon for Lent 2, year C, preached at St. John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on February 17, 2013. Text Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18.
(Thank you to the Rev. Lia Scholl for her awesome reflection at The Hardest Question, where she drew the analogy between the Genesis story and a horror movie which opens this sermon.)
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Christianity is For Suckers, Ash Wednesday
A sermon preached at St John Lutheran Church of Prairie Hill on Ash Wednesday, February 13, 2013. Texts: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 and Matthew 5:38-48
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Jesus and Divorce?
(Proper 22, Year B)
A colleague of mine said this week that too many pastors do not want to preach on this Sunday's gospel lesson, Mark 10:2-16. It seems that the assumption of many is that preachers do not want to come close to the touchy subject of divorce.
Not me. A short three weeks after the day my second marriage was solemnized, I am itching to preach this text. Unfortunately, I made the decision back in May (before had even looked at this Sunday's Gospel) to preach on the Old Testament text, and so for the next few weeks I am preaching on Job (also a text that needs to be heard).
But the fact that I am not preaching it does not mean I can't share my thoughts with you!
Many pastors this Sunday are going to talk about divorce, and that's a good thing. Those who are dealing with the hurt and pain of divorce need to hear their pain addressed. Very often, divorce is just ignored, because it makes people uncomfortable. But this is not the Sunday to talk about divorce.
Let me be clear - as one might guess - my theology of marriage and of relationships does not teach that a second marriage after divorce is adultery. I do not think that divorce is the worst thing that can happen in the course of a relationship. But that is a topic for another time, because this Gospel text is not about divorce.
Throughout the Gospel, Jesus again and again expresses a deep concern for the defenseless and vulnerable in society. He talks about the children, the "least of these," widows and orphans, the poor, the hungry. In fact, in the passage just prior to this Jesus warns about the danger of causing the "little ones" to stumble and in the passage following he talks about the importance of welcoming children.
The "divorce text" of Mark's Gospel should not be read in isolation. It fits with the text that precedes and follows it. It is not about divorce and marriage at all. It is about our responsibility to care for those who cannot care for themselves, our responsibility to defend those who are vulnerable.
Women whose husbands divorced them in the ancient world were often left with nothing. Whereas divorced men often got a free pass, divorced women were often ostracized and left with no means to make ends meet. Questions about divorce in the ancient world are not the same as divorce in 21st century America. Jesus calls for a personal and communal responsibility that does not throw away relationships and - more importantly - that does not throw away people.
Divorce and broken relationships are important topics, but not this Sunday. This Sunday, Jesus reminds to us to defend the defenseless. This Sunday, Jesus reminds us to make sure that our relationships (all of them!) do not treat other children of God as if they are disposable. This Sunday, Jesus reminds us of our responsibility to care for those whom our society has forgotten.
"Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it." ~Mark 10:15
Image: "Third Rail" by David L Hansen,License: Creative Commons (Attribution/NonCommercial/NoDerivs).
A colleague of mine said this week that too many pastors do not want to preach on this Sunday's gospel lesson, Mark 10:2-16. It seems that the assumption of many is that preachers do not want to come close to the touchy subject of divorce.
Not me. A short three weeks after the day my second marriage was solemnized, I am itching to preach this text. Unfortunately, I made the decision back in May (before had even looked at this Sunday's Gospel) to preach on the Old Testament text, and so for the next few weeks I am preaching on Job (also a text that needs to be heard).
But the fact that I am not preaching it does not mean I can't share my thoughts with you!
Many pastors this Sunday are going to talk about divorce, and that's a good thing. Those who are dealing with the hurt and pain of divorce need to hear their pain addressed. Very often, divorce is just ignored, because it makes people uncomfortable. But this is not the Sunday to talk about divorce.
Let me be clear - as one might guess - my theology of marriage and of relationships does not teach that a second marriage after divorce is adultery. I do not think that divorce is the worst thing that can happen in the course of a relationship. But that is a topic for another time, because this Gospel text is not about divorce.
Throughout the Gospel, Jesus again and again expresses a deep concern for the defenseless and vulnerable in society. He talks about the children, the "least of these," widows and orphans, the poor, the hungry. In fact, in the passage just prior to this Jesus warns about the danger of causing the "little ones" to stumble and in the passage following he talks about the importance of welcoming children.
The "divorce text" of Mark's Gospel should not be read in isolation. It fits with the text that precedes and follows it. It is not about divorce and marriage at all. It is about our responsibility to care for those who cannot care for themselves, our responsibility to defend those who are vulnerable.
Women whose husbands divorced them in the ancient world were often left with nothing. Whereas divorced men often got a free pass, divorced women were often ostracized and left with no means to make ends meet. Questions about divorce in the ancient world are not the same as divorce in 21st century America. Jesus calls for a personal and communal responsibility that does not throw away relationships and - more importantly - that does not throw away people.
Divorce and broken relationships are important topics, but not this Sunday. This Sunday, Jesus reminds to us to defend the defenseless. This Sunday, Jesus reminds us to make sure that our relationships (all of them!) do not treat other children of God as if they are disposable. This Sunday, Jesus reminds us of our responsibility to care for those whom our society has forgotten.
"Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it." ~Mark 10:15
Image: "Third Rail" by David L Hansen,License: Creative Commons (Attribution/NonCommercial/NoDerivs).
The Lorax & the Empty Tomb
(Spoiler: I'm going to talk about the end of the movie. If you don't want to know until you watch it, then don't read on)
I’ll admit it, I was excited about the seeing The Lorax with
my daughter. It was one of the books that I grew up with, and I was excited not
only to share it with my daughter, but also to see it brought to life.
I was a little bit anxious about the overlaid plot. If you
remember, the book is just the Once-ler telling his story. And so, the movie
was given a bit more of a plot – the Once-ler’s re-telling was set within a
larger story. But I thought it worked very well.
In fact, I was pretty impressed with the movie overall. The
animation did a wonderful job of bringing the vivid world of Dr. Seuss to life.
All the characters were great and very … um … Seuss-like. Ok, so the music left
a little to be desired – but to be fair, I still have the great songs from The
Muppets running through my head. Danny DeVito even sounded the way I had
imagined the Lorax in my head.
Then came the ending. They gave The Lorax a happy ending! Do
you remember the book? It ends in a tree-free world of smog, with the Once-ler
figuring out what “Unless” means: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful
lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” And that is it.
But the movie ends with new trees growing, the Once-ler
seeing the return of blue skies and the animals – and even the return of the
Lorax. Everything all wrapped up, brought back together to a happy ending and a
nice musical number. None of the uncomfortable challenge from the end of Dr.
Seuss’ book.
Just as if someone had tacked a longer ending on the Mark’s
Gospel, telling stories of the resurrection.
Mark’s Gospel ends just like Seuss’ book. There is the
beginning of hope (an empty tomb, one last seed), but if the story is to have a
happy ending it is up to the audience to make it happen. If trees are going to
get planted, the reader of the Lorax will have to do it. If there is to be a
witness to the resurrected Christ, the hearer of Mark’s Gospel will have to be
that witness.
Dr. Seuss and Mark both leave us in the darkness, with just
a glimmer of hope. They place that hope in our hands, and call on us to go back
into the world and bring the light with us.
The truth is, though, that we would rather have a happy
ending. We would rather hear that “They all lived happily ever after,” and not
have to change our lives. We prefer stories that make us feel basically good
about the world, rather than stories that challenge us to change ourselves and
the world.
A good Lutheran, Theodore Geisel knew that the world is not
all sunshine and happy endings. There is a task for each one of us, to bring
the light of the resurrection into a world of smog and darkness.
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.”
It is true about caring for trees and our environment. It also about caring for God’s children.
Top Illustration: From The Lorax, Universal Studios and Illumination, released in 2012. Image is property of the copyright holder; Fair use claimed for as image is used commentary & discussion of the work in question.
Bottom Illustration: From The Lorax by Dr. Seuss, Published by Random House, 1971. Image is property of the copyright holder; Fair use claimed for as image is used commentary & discussion of the work in question
Advent Blue
We are about to celebrated the festival of Christ the King, and it is soon time to begin the new liturgical year with the season of Advent. With the arrival of Advent comes the perennial question: Is the color of Advent blue or purple?
Prior to the changes of the late 20th century, most American Lutheran churches used purple vestments and paraments during the season of Advent. However, in the last 30 years, many churches have started using a deep blue for this season. And so the debate rages: Is Advent purple or blue?
Many who advocate a blue Advent talk about blue being the color of royalty (i.e., "royal blue"). They talk about, rather than a penitential focus, Advent being a time to prepare for (to steal a Tolkien phrase) the return of the King.
Many who advocate a purple Advent talk about purple being the color of penitence and repentance. They often like the parallels between advent and Lent, and may talk about Advent being a "little Lent." Changing to blue, for them, takes the focus off of the most important part of preparing for the return of the King -- repentance.
Unfortunately, "blue adventers" and "purple adventers" often think that the other group is out to ruin this wonderful season of the church. The fact is, if they could listen to one another, they would hear that they are both right. The former liturgy professor at Sewanee, J. Neil Alexander (a former Lutheran, now bishop of the Atlanta Diocese of the Episcopal Church), used to say that we are all held captive by the berries.
Yes, blue is the color of royalty -- but so is purple. Both colors of fabric were very expensive in the days before chemical dyes, because they required such deep, rich colored berries. If you lived around the Mediterranean, chances are your royalty wore purple -- because those were the berries (or other natural dyes) in wide use. If you lived in Northern Europe, chances are your royalty wore blue -- because those were the berries available.
And Yes, purple is the color of penitence -- but so is blue. In the days before chemical dyes, it was nearly impossible to make fabric that was true black -- the color of mourning and repentance. What you wound up with, depending on the natural dyes (berries) you used, was usually either a dark purple or a dark blue. Again, the differences were regional.
So is the "correct" color for Advent purple or blue? Well ... I guess "Yes" is the only answer that works.
Prior to the changes of the late 20th century, most American Lutheran churches used purple vestments and paraments during the season of Advent. However, in the last 30 years, many churches have started using a deep blue for this season. And so the debate rages: Is Advent purple or blue?
Many who advocate a blue Advent talk about blue being the color of royalty (i.e., "royal blue"). They talk about, rather than a penitential focus, Advent being a time to prepare for (to steal a Tolkien phrase) the return of the King.
Many who advocate a purple Advent talk about purple being the color of penitence and repentance. They often like the parallels between advent and Lent, and may talk about Advent being a "little Lent." Changing to blue, for them, takes the focus off of the most important part of preparing for the return of the King -- repentance.
Unfortunately, "blue adventers" and "purple adventers" often think that the other group is out to ruin this wonderful season of the church. The fact is, if they could listen to one another, they would hear that they are both right. The former liturgy professor at Sewanee, J. Neil Alexander (a former Lutheran, now bishop of the Atlanta Diocese of the Episcopal Church), used to say that we are all held captive by the berries.
Yes, blue is the color of royalty -- but so is purple. Both colors of fabric were very expensive in the days before chemical dyes, because they required such deep, rich colored berries. If you lived around the Mediterranean, chances are your royalty wore purple -- because those were the berries (or other natural dyes) in wide use. If you lived in Northern Europe, chances are your royalty wore blue -- because those were the berries available.
And Yes, purple is the color of penitence -- but so is blue. In the days before chemical dyes, it was nearly impossible to make fabric that was true black -- the color of mourning and repentance. What you wound up with, depending on the natural dyes (berries) you used, was usually either a dark purple or a dark blue. Again, the differences were regional.
So is the "correct" color for Advent purple or blue? Well ... I guess "Yes" is the only answer that works.
Reformation Day Sermon
Preparing for Reformation Sunday this year, I happened across this: the first Reformation Sunday sermon that I preached. It is from Reformation Sunday, 2006. While sermons tend to go stale pretty quickly after being preached this one has held up pretty well, and still speaks to me.
Disclaimer: Like all sermons, the text of the manuscript is not necessarily the same as the text preached.
Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.
On this Reformation Sunday, I want to talk with you some about why we are here.
Not the existential question “Why are we here on the face of this earth,” but why are we here at Saint John Lutheran Church.
For many of us in this congregation, we grew up in the Lutheran church. Our parents were Lutheran, and their parents before that. We were born into and raised in the Lutheran church, and we never left.
Others in this congregation married into the Lutheran Church. You grew up in another tradition, maybe Baptist, Episcopal, or Presbyterian, and married someone who was a Lutheran. Rather than worship at two different churches, you joined your spouse at the Lutheran church.
Still others live in the community surrounding this church. You come here to worship because it is the closest church to your house, and you want to be a part of this community.
I am one of those who grew up in the Lutheran church. By that I don’t mean that my parents brought me to the Lutheran church on Sunday morning, I mean that I spent the much of my childhood inside the walls of Lutheran churches – I grew up in the church.
Many of you know my story. My Dad was a Lutheran pastor, as was my grandfather and my great-grandfather. And not just them, my great-uncle and a number of my great-great uncles were also Lutheran pastors. All told, I am the 12th Lutheran pastor in my family.
In fact, I am so Lutheran that my Episcopal friends at the seminary I attended called me “Little Luther.”
It would seem that I had little choice in being a Lutheran.
But in fact, just as you did, I did have a choice, and I continue to choose the Lutheran church; and I hope you will continue to choose the Lutheran church.
I could find the hymns that I love in the Baptist church.
I could find the liturgy that I love in the Roman Catholic or Episcopal Church.
I could find the emphasis on Scripture that I love in any number of non-denominational churches.
Yet, here I am, here we are, in Saint John Lutheran church. Why?
I can’t answer for you, but I know why I – in a world littered with different churches and different denominations – continue to choose the Lutheran tradition. And it starts for me with the story of Martin Luther.
Martin had just finished his undergraduate studies and was preparing for law school. He grew up in the church, raised by faithful parents. He went to religious schools for his entire education.
He was like many of us – a faithfully person living his life as best he could – yet not terribly committed to the church – after all, he was a college student.
It was then that he was caught just outside the forest in a fierce thunderstorm. With the rain pouring down on him, the thunder rolling overhead, and lightning flashing almost non-stop, young Martin saw no sign of shelter. So he called out to God for help, pledging to enter a monastery if God would save him from this storm.
Well, Martin did survive the storm. You can call it fate or chance, but Luther described it as God’s guidance that this young man who had big plans for a successful career as a lawyer wound up in a monastery.
In fact, Luther would say that God pursued him, leading him to a life in the church.
But it did not end there. Luther immersed himself in both the monastic and the scholastic worlds as he taught at the University of Wittenberg. He soaked in the Bible, teaching from the Old and the New Testament and preaching regularly in the Stadtkirche, the city church of Saint Mary’s.
Spending time as a monk in isolation, Brother Martin had a great deal of time to reflect on his life. In doing so, Luther realized how far he fell short of what he should be. He was very aware of his inadequacies and he failings. He was sure that he was unlovable – that even God could not love such a person.
But in his study of Scripture, Luther discovered something else. He discovered a God who loves us so dearly, that we are relentlessly pursued just as Luther was during that storm. He discovered a God who would send the only Son – not for the perfect people, but for the sinners. He discovered, above all else, a God and a Savior that will NEVER abandon us, that will stand by our side no matter how often we fail or how short we fall.
And Luther began to tell the world about this God. He began to talk about the God who adopts us as beloved sons and daughters in the waters of baptism, and never lets us go. He began to talk about the Christ who relentless pursues the lost sons and daughters of God into the darkest places of the world – not to scold them but to save them. He began to talk about the Spirit that transforms our lives, so that even while we continue to sin we become more and more God-like and Christ-like.
For a variety of reasons, what Luther began to say to the world got him into trouble. He was thrown out of the church. The emperor sentenced him to death and put a price on his head. So this young man, now about 35, who once had never thought about a life in the church, who thought he was unworthy of God’s love, went into hiding because of his proclamation of God’s love.
Luther went to a castle called the Wartburg, high on a mountaintop outside of the city of Eisenach. There Luther became depressed. He was sure now that God had abandoned him, that he was right to feel unworthy of God’s love.
But God’s love in Christ Jesus pursued Luther even to that mountaintop. There, once again, Luther encountered the light of Christ, creeping into even the darkest of places in his life. He dove back into the Scriptures, translating the Bible from the Latin into the German. And Luther left that mountaintop fortress even more convinced that God will never abandon those who are adopted as God’s sons and daughters in the waters of baptism.
Why do I continue to choose the Lutheran church?
Because I know that this life is often frightening, chaotic, and sad; and I need a Savior who will stand by my side especially in those dark, tragic times.
Because I know that there are times that I will fail, when sin will overpower me; and I need a Spirit that will strengthen and transform me.
Because I know that I will wander and that I will lose my way; and I need a God who loves me enough to pursue me and find me, who loves me enough to bring me home and never give up on me.
I continue to be a Lutheran because – as it did for Martin Luther – it all began here for me, in the waters of baptism, when Christ wrapped me up in his arms and God said, “You are my beloved son, and I will pursue you wherever you go, and I will never let you go.”
And that, dear friends, is reason enough and grace enough for me.
Disclaimer: Like all sermons, the text of the manuscript is not necessarily the same as the text preached.
The Pursuit of God
Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.
On this Reformation Sunday, I want to talk with you some about why we are here.
Not the existential question “Why are we here on the face of this earth,” but why are we here at Saint John Lutheran Church.
For many of us in this congregation, we grew up in the Lutheran church. Our parents were Lutheran, and their parents before that. We were born into and raised in the Lutheran church, and we never left.
Others in this congregation married into the Lutheran Church. You grew up in another tradition, maybe Baptist, Episcopal, or Presbyterian, and married someone who was a Lutheran. Rather than worship at two different churches, you joined your spouse at the Lutheran church.
Still others live in the community surrounding this church. You come here to worship because it is the closest church to your house, and you want to be a part of this community.
I am one of those who grew up in the Lutheran church. By that I don’t mean that my parents brought me to the Lutheran church on Sunday morning, I mean that I spent the much of my childhood inside the walls of Lutheran churches – I grew up in the church.
Many of you know my story. My Dad was a Lutheran pastor, as was my grandfather and my great-grandfather. And not just them, my great-uncle and a number of my great-great uncles were also Lutheran pastors. All told, I am the 12th Lutheran pastor in my family.
In fact, I am so Lutheran that my Episcopal friends at the seminary I attended called me “Little Luther.”
It would seem that I had little choice in being a Lutheran.
But in fact, just as you did, I did have a choice, and I continue to choose the Lutheran church; and I hope you will continue to choose the Lutheran church.
I could find the hymns that I love in the Baptist church.
I could find the liturgy that I love in the Roman Catholic or Episcopal Church.
I could find the emphasis on Scripture that I love in any number of non-denominational churches.
Yet, here I am, here we are, in Saint John Lutheran church. Why?
I can’t answer for you, but I know why I – in a world littered with different churches and different denominations – continue to choose the Lutheran tradition. And it starts for me with the story of Martin Luther.
Martin had just finished his undergraduate studies and was preparing for law school. He grew up in the church, raised by faithful parents. He went to religious schools for his entire education.
He was like many of us – a faithfully person living his life as best he could – yet not terribly committed to the church – after all, he was a college student.
It was then that he was caught just outside the forest in a fierce thunderstorm. With the rain pouring down on him, the thunder rolling overhead, and lightning flashing almost non-stop, young Martin saw no sign of shelter. So he called out to God for help, pledging to enter a monastery if God would save him from this storm.
Well, Martin did survive the storm. You can call it fate or chance, but Luther described it as God’s guidance that this young man who had big plans for a successful career as a lawyer wound up in a monastery.
In fact, Luther would say that God pursued him, leading him to a life in the church.
But it did not end there. Luther immersed himself in both the monastic and the scholastic worlds as he taught at the University of Wittenberg. He soaked in the Bible, teaching from the Old and the New Testament and preaching regularly in the Stadtkirche, the city church of Saint Mary’s.
Spending time as a monk in isolation, Brother Martin had a great deal of time to reflect on his life. In doing so, Luther realized how far he fell short of what he should be. He was very aware of his inadequacies and he failings. He was sure that he was unlovable – that even God could not love such a person.
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| Interior of the Castle Church, All Saints, in Wittenberg |
And Luther began to tell the world about this God. He began to talk about the God who adopts us as beloved sons and daughters in the waters of baptism, and never lets us go. He began to talk about the Christ who relentless pursues the lost sons and daughters of God into the darkest places of the world – not to scold them but to save them. He began to talk about the Spirit that transforms our lives, so that even while we continue to sin we become more and more God-like and Christ-like.
For a variety of reasons, what Luther began to say to the world got him into trouble. He was thrown out of the church. The emperor sentenced him to death and put a price on his head. So this young man, now about 35, who once had never thought about a life in the church, who thought he was unworthy of God’s love, went into hiding because of his proclamation of God’s love.
Luther went to a castle called the Wartburg, high on a mountaintop outside of the city of Eisenach. There Luther became depressed. He was sure now that God had abandoned him, that he was right to feel unworthy of God’s love.
But God’s love in Christ Jesus pursued Luther even to that mountaintop. There, once again, Luther encountered the light of Christ, creeping into even the darkest of places in his life. He dove back into the Scriptures, translating the Bible from the Latin into the German. And Luther left that mountaintop fortress even more convinced that God will never abandon those who are adopted as God’s sons and daughters in the waters of baptism.
Why do I continue to choose the Lutheran church?
Because I know that this life is often frightening, chaotic, and sad; and I need a Savior who will stand by my side especially in those dark, tragic times.
Because I know that there are times that I will fail, when sin will overpower me; and I need a Spirit that will strengthen and transform me.
Because I know that I will wander and that I will lose my way; and I need a God who loves me enough to pursue me and find me, who loves me enough to bring me home and never give up on me.
I continue to be a Lutheran because – as it did for Martin Luther – it all began here for me, in the waters of baptism, when Christ wrapped me up in his arms and God said, “You are my beloved son, and I will pursue you wherever you go, and I will never let you go.”
And that, dear friends, is reason enough and grace enough for me.
Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday
Caught a post this morning from Christian Century about the dual focus of the last Sunday in Lent, called "Against Passion Sunday".(Can you guess what conclusion the author draws?) In that brief post, the author argues against the "recent liturgical emphasis" on observing both the Triumphal Entry and the Passion on the last Sunday in Lent. She draws on childhood memories of when Palm Sunday was just that - Palm Sunday *only* - and says that the move toward Palm/Passion Sunday was caused by practical concerns (recent lack of attendance on Good Friday).
It is true; attendance at Good Friday liturgies is not as high as any pastor or liturgist would like. However, I believe that this is a straw man, and a misleading one at that. The novel, recent practice is not the reading of the synoptic Passion on the Sunday of Holy Week. The reading of a synoptic Passion account on the Sunday of Holy Week dates back to the medieval church (when the practice was to read Matthew's Passion on Sunday). Instead, the historically novel practice was (is?) congregations who omit the reading of the Passion on this Sunday.
Besides the historical argument, there is also a certain theology presented in the observance of the Sunday of the Passion. In the liturgy of Passion Sunday, we - the church - are simultaneously the ones who pour accolades on the entering Jesus and the ones who demand his execution. The peculiar juxtaposition of celebration and crucifixion gets to the heart of what we believe about Jesus and the world. Yes Jesus is the Messiah, but not the Messiah of worldly conquest. Yes this creation is good, but it is broken by sin. Yes we have been made holy by Christ, and yet our wills are still incurvatus in se. Yes God's Kingdom has drawn near, but no it has not fully come into being.
The liturgy of the Sunday of the Passion will not allow any theology that dwells on triumphalism. It will not let us deceive ourselves about the sort of Messiah that Jesus is. To leave Palm Sunday without the Passion narrative is to leave with the impression that Jesus is the conquering Messiah, the Messiah of worldly power. The Passion narrative reminds us that we follow the crucified Messiah, the one who gained victory precisely in defeat.
(See also Mark Mummert's musings on why we read both the Synoptic Passion and John's Passion every year)
Besides the historical argument, there is also a certain theology presented in the observance of the Sunday of the Passion. In the liturgy of Passion Sunday, we - the church - are simultaneously the ones who pour accolades on the entering Jesus and the ones who demand his execution. The peculiar juxtaposition of celebration and crucifixion gets to the heart of what we believe about Jesus and the world. Yes Jesus is the Messiah, but not the Messiah of worldly conquest. Yes this creation is good, but it is broken by sin. Yes we have been made holy by Christ, and yet our wills are still incurvatus in se. Yes God's Kingdom has drawn near, but no it has not fully come into being.
The liturgy of the Sunday of the Passion will not allow any theology that dwells on triumphalism. It will not let us deceive ourselves about the sort of Messiah that Jesus is. To leave Palm Sunday without the Passion narrative is to leave with the impression that Jesus is the conquering Messiah, the Messiah of worldly power. The Passion narrative reminds us that we follow the crucified Messiah, the one who gained victory precisely in defeat.
(See also Mark Mummert's musings on why we read both the Synoptic Passion and John's Passion every year)
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