Be a Scrooge!

(Altar of St. John-Prairie Hill
with memorial candles)

In the middle of our Advent celebrations, along come John the Baptist proclaiming his radical message: Dream Small!

A little longer than my average sermon, here is audio for yesterday's sermon. Where the heart break the Newtown tragedy meets the hope of Advent. "Be a Scrooge" a sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year C.


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Scapegoats or Shepherds

I'm working on Sunday's sermon. Week after week I stand in front of the congregation I serve, and share with my thoughts on the Gospel message. Some weeks, it seems pretty clear what the Gospel means for our lives. Other weeks, it is harder to figure out exactly what God is saying to us.

This is been one of those harder weeks.

You know the news. Last night, at the midnight screening of The Dark Night Rises, a gunman opened fire. 12 were killed, dozens were injured.

I’ll be honest with you: I’m not sure what to say about all this. There is no magic word that will make it all better. There is nothing that I can say that will cause this all to make sense – nothing that will make it seem less tragic and awful.

There are questions we could ask today.
How did no one catch this sooner?
Who failed this troubled man?
How does violence in our entertainment create violence in our society?
Are our gun laws too lax or too strict?
We like to look for scapegoats … someone to blame … someone or something to point our finger at. But as much as we ask those questions, they will not give us the comfort we are looking for. They will keep us busy for a while, but they cannot comfort us.

Following the resurrection, Jesus appeared to the Apostle Peter; Peter who had denied Christ and had run away on Good Friday. Peter, who had seen the hopelessness of that tragic and awful day.

And Jesus asked Peter a question.
He asked, “Do you love me?”
“Peter, having seen what you have seen – the hopelessness of Good Friday, and the light of the resurrection, do you love me?”
“Yes Lord, you know that I do” came the reply.
“Then tend my sheep.”
Tend my sheep. Care for them, provide for them. Look after one another, love one another. Whatever else may come, whatever else may happen, remember that: Tend my sheep.

Jesus wasn’t looking for a scapegoat – he surely had that in Peter if he wanted it. So many questions that Jesus could have asked: "Did you run … did you deny me … were you afraid … did you give up hope?" But he didn't.  Instead, Jesus was looking for a shepherd. If comfort is to be found … if Jesus’ flock is to be cared for … then shepherds are needed.

What about you?
Having seen what you have seen –
The pain of Good Friday.
The tragedy of this last night.
The glory of Easter morning – Do you, having seen what you have seen, love him?

Then tend the sheep.

Be the one who provides care and comfort … Be the one who shows the love of Christ to the world … Start close to home … caring for and loving your family both at home and in your community.
Then branch out … reach out to those in need … those who are hurting … those who are lost … 

In dark times such as these, we don’t need more blame, we don’t need scapegoats, we need shepherds. 


There – in the act of tending the sheep, caring for one another – will we find the comfort and the hope that we so desperately need right now. 


Dear friends … Do you love Jesus? Then tend his sheep.




Adapted from a sermon that I preached at St John - Prairie Hill on April 22, 2007, following the tragic shooting on the campus of Virginia Tech. 


Image is from http://www.churchart.com, used with permission. 


Aurora Shooting, Dark Night Rises, Gunman, Colorado, Prayers, Sermon, Movie Theater Shooting

Jesus Wept

The following is a sermon that I recently preached at a funeral. The funeral was a graveside service for a young man (not a member of the congregation I serve) who had apparently committed suicide. The Gospel text for the service was John 11:1-6, 17, 32-39a. I am greatly indebted to my colleagues on the ELCA Clergy Facebook page who helped me to think through this sermon, and held me in prayer last week. I am especially grateful for a sermon by Pastor Keith Fry, which drew my attention to the question of Mary and Martha.

Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ.

From time to time, people expect me to have “the answers.” Because of what I do, people thing that I must have some sort of direct line to God; that I must know “why;” that I must have something to say that will make it all better.

I don’t.

Because the truth is that there are no words that will magically make it all better.


[Dad], [Mom]: No parent should ever have to bury a child. Never. I could say all sorts of nice things – things about God’s plan and God’s purpose, things about how everything will work out for the best – and I’ll bet that well-meaning family and friends have said those things to you in the last week. But, however true those things may be, they do not make today any easier, and they do not make this any less painful.

And so, let me begin by saying “I’m sorry.” [Dad], [Mom], [brothers]. I cannot imagine how much you are hurting today. And I’m truly sorry.

In the reading from the Gospel you just heard, Jesus shows up in Bethany where his friend Lazarus has died. And there are immediately questions. Mary and Martha both approach Jesus and the first thing they say: “Jesus, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

I wonder, today, faced with the death of a dear friend, how many of us have faced the same question - how many of us have sat in the quiet of the night, and accused ourselves just as Jesus was accused by Mary and Martha."If only I had said something. If only I had done something different. He would not have died." Sound familiar?
To that I have two word. Quit it. Knock it off.

What if, Maybe, Perhaps – these questions haunt us, and they are not our friend. They cannot be answered. The past cannot be changed, no matter how deeply we would like to change it. What is done is done; "What if" can only cause us harm.

No, our question today – the real question – is not “What if.” Our question is “What now?”
What do we, who love Name and mourn his loss, what do we do now.

What do we do now? Today we grieve.

The God we proclaim today is not a God who magically makes everything better, but a God who stands beside us in the darkest hours and troubles of life.
As Jesus came to Bethany, he wept over the death of his friend. As Jesus joins our worship this day, I believe he weeps as well. It is a good for us to mourn – to acknowledge our pain together.

Our God, is not afraid of the dark places of life, and is not afraid of our grief. Jesus wept, and so will we today. And in the days to come. And Jesus will continue to walk with us to the tomb, will walk beside us no matter how dark that grief gets. The promise is not that we will understand the "Why" or the "What if" - but that there is no where we can go that God will not go with us - right? Even through the valley of death.
And so we mourn.

What now? Then, we are honest about why we are grieving.
We are not sad for Name. Not today. I don't know what was going through his heart and mind in those last few days, those last few hours. But I imagine he must have been in some scary places. And now, today, we celebrate the fact that he is free from all that. Today we celebrate that Name is free from all that pain and suffering; that he is undoubtedly enjoying the company of his beloved mother. Today, we celebrate the promise that God will gather all his children to himself.

No, as we grieve, we are not sad for [Name]. We are sad for ourselves - for that place that [Name] filled in our life, for the laugh that we won't hear every day, for the smile that we can't see today.

And so, in our grief, we name that empty place, and we remember [Name]

What now?
Finally, we begin to pick up the pieces. You and I - we have lives to live. That day in Bethany did not end in the tomb. No, our Lord brought new life into being -- life in the midst of death. Because that is what he does. And that is what he will continue to do in our lives.

We pick up the pieces, and we return to new lives. Not that we forget [Name] - not at all. In fact, we remember him precisely by living our lives.
I have heard the stories - stories about how helpful [Name] was, about how kind, about how generous. We honor [Name] as we return to our lives, by living out those same things in our lives. By showing others the sort of kindness and generosity that we remember so well in [Name].

Friends, in these days of mourning and sadness, God promises to walk beside you. To weep with you as you weep. And even now - here, in the valley of the shadow of death - even here, God is working to bring new life and joy into the world. Through you, through your lives, and through the memory of [Name].

Amen.


Image: Vzkříšení Lazara (The Raising of Lazarus), 1911, by Bohumil Kubišta. Public Domain.

Why Twitter Matters

I avoided Twitter. I set up an account about a year and a half ago (@rev_david), but it largely sat their unused. I didn't see the point. It seemed like a waste of time. I couldn't see the personal or professional benefits of learning my way around Twitter. Sure, I used Facebook extensively. I blogged. I was not opposed to social media. I just didn't see the benefit of this particular form of social media.

About a month ago, I thought I would dive in.  I connected with some people. I had some good dialog with new people and with old friends. As a theological, homiletic exercise, I tweeted as Judas.

And then came Wednesday, April 25. It was in a flash on my Twitter feed, which I keep up while working in my office, that I saw the news of tornadoes in Alabama. Tornadoes headed for Chattanooga, my hometown, and the current home of family members and friends.

So I searched. Who was tweeting from Chattanooga? From North Georgia? I contacted my parents, to check and see if they were okay. They were without power, riding out the storms. Sitting at my desk in Brenham, Texas, I had better information about what was happening in and around Chattanooga than they did at times. Through Twitter, I knew exactly when and where the tornadoes where appearing in the Chattanooga area. All of a sudden, Twitter didn't seem like a waste of time.

And then came tonight, Sunday, May 1. Relaxing after getting home late from a very long Sunday, I was talking with recently met colleagues about "low Sunday," the first Sunday after Easter. Just about ready to call it a night. And then, a tweet: "President to have a press conference at 10:30 pm." People began to speculate. This was sudden. This was late at night. What could it be?

Many guesses. Then, a few rumors. Then a flood. "POTUS Press Conference national security related." "Related to Bin Laden." "Reliable sources say Bin Laden is dead."

I turned on my TV. Nothing. The Apprentice was still on NBC. The news channels said it was a security related press conference. That was all. And then, some fifteen to twenty minutes later, "Confirmed: Osama Bin Laden dead."

Ok, it was fifteen to twenty minutes that the news was out on Twitter before in the media. That may not seem like much. But the fact is, this was reliable information, spread by the people, directly to the people; without filter. And all of a sudden, Twitter didn't seem like a waste of time.

Yes, you can still waste time on Twitter. Yes, there is a great deal of inane content on Twitter, and even more unreliable information disseminated through Twitter. Like any crowd-sourced information source, Twitter has its flaws. And yet, at times it works. And when it works, we get a glimpse of what social media is designed to do.

Many thoughts running through my mind tonight, waiting for the press conference to begin. But among them is this: Twitter does not seem like a waste of time tonight.