 |
||
 
|
SERMON
ARCHIVE
September-Decemer,
2005
Sermons may be printed using the Adobe Acrobat version of the sermon. Click on the "printable format" link. If you do not have Acrobat Reader installed on your computer, click on the icon above and follow the simple directions to download it free from the Adobe web site. 3 Advent Click here for printable .PDF file Isaiah 35: 1-10 Several years ago I saw a movie called The Color of Paradise. This Iranian film is about the relationship between a blind boy and his seeing father. During the school-year the boy lives at a boarding school in the city for children who are blind, but during vacations he returns to his home in the mountains where he is greeted with love and enthusiasm by his two sisters and his dear grandmother. But not by his father. Although he is adored by the women of his family, his father sees him solely as a burden and spends most of the movie trying to figure out how to get rid of him. He is hoping to get remarried and apparently fears that no woman would want to marry a man with a blind son. Watching the movie I easily fell in love with the boy—with his inquisitive spirit and with his love of family and nature. Although he lacks the ability to see colors, shapes, light and darkness, he has a well developed ability to experience the wonders of the world through his senses of touch, smell, hearing, taste and intuition. I wanted the father to fall in love with his son in the same way I, and the women in his family, had done, to open his eyes and see what a gift he had in that boy. Yet, he was so focused on his desire to remarry that he could not see the gift or the deep pain his rejection caused. The reality is that both the son and father were blind; one was unable to see with his eyes, but the other refused the see with his heart. The father's blindness was far worse than his son's. Thankfully, in the end, the father did learn to see. Both the Old and New Testament texts today describe miraculous acts and indicate that these acts are signs of transformation and renewal. The text from Isaiah was most likely written while the Israelites were still in captivity in Babylon, waiting for the time when they would be released and allowed to return to Jerusalem. For the Israelite people this was a time of much suffering and sorrow and they must have often wondered when or if their captivity would end. So, imagine being held captive and hearing the words from Isaiah, announcing not only their coming freedom, but the absolute transformation of humanity that would accompany it: The eyes of the
blind will be opened, All of these things must have been nearly incomprehensible to the captive Israelites. The possibility of freedom must have seemed far fetched enough, but to say that all these miracles would come about as well is verging on ludicrous. Yet, the Israelites were freed from Babylonian captivity and were allowed to return to Jerusalem. I don't know what kind of miracles accompanied their release, but at the time, freedom must have seemed like miracle enough. During the time of Jesus, the Jews were again hoping to be freed from oppression - this time from the Roman Empire. They hoped that their Messiah would unite and strengthen Israel into the nation it was during the days of King David. They hoped for a rebuilt army, strong enough to throw off Roman oppression and remove Herod from the throw. And with a history like theirs, how could they not hope for something as dramatic and violent as the parting of the Red Sea and the drowning of Pharaoh's army. They were ready to fight for their freedom. But here comes Jesus and he is not talking about rebuilding armies or overthrowing the oppressive Romans. He talks about healing and delivering good news to the poor. He is talking about transformation and renewal. In the Gospel text for today John sends word to Jesus through his disciples asking, "Are you the Messiah? Or are we supposed to wait for someone else?" Jesus - never one for yes or no answers - tells John's disciples to report back what they have heard and seen about Jesus: The blind receive
their sight Most of us are able to see, to use our sense of sight to tell the difference between a cat and a dog, an apple tree and a peach tree. And those of us who can't have other senses to help with these tasks. Yet, like the father in the movie, we all need our sight restored in some way Isaiah predicts that that the "eyes of the blind will be opened" and Jesus tells John "that is what I am doing." I am restoring sight to the blind. But the sight he restored was not just about a physical healing of bodies. It was about healing humanity. Open your eyes and
see, he says. It is Advent, and like John, we are again waiting for the coming of Christ into the world, we are waiting for the transformation and renewal that God's presence brings. Like John, we have certain hopes for what the Messiah will be and do. Maybe we hope for world peace and the equitable distribution of enough food and clean water for every person on earth. I do believe that God can bring this about, but know that it will be done in ways beyond our hopes or expectations. The transformation happens because Jesus' presence allows us to see in ways that we were unable to see before - not just to tell the difference between a cat and a dog, but to look into one another's faces and know that we are brothers and sisters. I believe that living out this understanding would bring about the transformation we hope for. It is slow, I think, this process of transformation and renewal, but God's spirit is ever prying our eyes wide open, ever helping us to see and hear and walk in new ways, to be clean and alive, and blessed in our poverty. This has been promised, and so it shall be fulfilled. But Jesus tells the crowds that they have been looking in the right place. Not in royal palaces where soft robes are worn and where power is generally thought to be located, but in the wilderness. It may seem ugly, dry and harsh, but it is the place where transformation happens. It is the place where we learn to see with new eyes. Christ the King
(Proper 29, C 04) Click here for printable .PDF file Jeremiah 23:1-6 A few years ago,
shortly after 9-11, I participated in an interfaith panel at Regis University.
With me on the dais were a Jewish rabbi, a leader of the Muslim community
in Denver, a Buddhist teacher, and a Jesuit priest. In the course of
the evening's discussions, the rabbi, the Buddhist, and the Muslim each
declared respectively that Jesus was a great Hebrew prophet; a person
revered in Islam as a major prophet; and an enlightened one upon whom
Buddhists look with reverence. These representatives of three of the
world's great spiritual traditions together agreed that while Jesus
was one of the world's greatest teachers and philosophers, he could
not, under any circumstances be thought of as the Son of God. The reason?
The cross. All agreed that were Jesus the Son of God, not only would
he not have been killed – but he most assuredly would not have
died on a cross – death on the cross being an especially cursed
death, agreed the Muslim and the rabbi, both citing a passage from the
Hebrew bible. The Jesuit priest and I looked at one another and nodded.
"That's exactly the point," said the Jesuit . . . in perfect
Lutheran fashion. Consider the one who it is who so ignominiously hangs upon the cross. St. Paul declares in our second reading for this day, "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; in him all things in heaven and earth were created, things visible and invisible – all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to God's self all things whether on earth or in heaven by making peace through the blood of the cross." Hanging on the cross is Jesus the fullness of God, the one who throughout his life yet continually emptied himself of all claims to power and privilege. The King of kings – born not in a palace, but in a stinking barn. Hanging on the cross is Jesus, the Holiest of holy ones, who blatantly disregarded the holiness codes of Scripture and welcomed into community with himself the sinful, the unclean, the cast off, and cast out. Here on the cross is Jesus, Most High God, who throughout his earthly ministry embraced the untouchables, who love the least, the last, the lowly, the unloved. Hanging on the cross is the creator and ruler of the universe who on the night in which he was betrayed stripped himself every honor due a King and took upon himself the nature of a lowly slave – and a female slave at that -- and knelt down to wash the feet of those who would soon deny they ever knew him, who in a few short hours would abandon him. Behold the Christ of God; behold your king. Rather than pulling of some last minute action hero show of force and smiting the terrorist enemy, the One who is the fullness of God . . . turns the other cheek. Rather than cry out in judgment against those who have conspired to bring about this scornful death, the firstborn of all creation speaks the most cosmic shattering words of all time: Forgive them. Forgive them. Here in the blood, excrement, and urine pouring from the body that is the image of the invisible God is God's most perfect, true, and final word – namely that God would rather die than not turn the other cheek. God would rather die than be known as the God of self-serving, self-preserving power. God would rather suffer and die than be known as a God of vengeance. Here on the cross, very God from very God welcomes into the fullness of God the criminal, the sinner. Here, from the cross those deserving of death are welcomed into the life that cannot die. True God from true God, on the cross – not upon a golden throne bedecked with jewel, in suffering and agony not conducting some vengeful crusade against the terrorist enemy . . . there upon the bloodstained cross is the fullest Glory of God – God making known for all time that the Creator, redeemer, and sanctifier of the universe will not be known as the God of judgment – but only, ever, always as the God of unconditional love and unconditional mercy for all people. And it's all a gift – an unconditional gift for everyone – for absolutely everyone – and only for trusting that it is so. Yes, the rabbi, the Muslim, and the Buddhist are right. The cross is a scandal – a most wonderful scandal and a complete offense to our ways of thinking about God. It is the cross that proclaims for all time that all the world's notions about an angry God who is to be dreaded are wrong. Forever put to death upon the cross is every image of God as the one who condemns; forever put to death upon the cross is the image of God, the avenger; put to death upon the cross is the image of God who condemns sinners, who condemns anyone, to hell. And upon the cross is raised the image of the God who wills for all people, without condition, life, love, forgiveness, Paradise. Behold – there dying upon the cross is Jesus the Christ, Christ your King. Behold the sacred cross: on it is written not only God's story, but our story as well. We who have been baptized into Christ are reborn in the image of Christ. Being made alive in the image of Christ means that we like Christ are now a people who do not speak judgment upon anyone – even upon those who judge us –rather we with Christ are a people who proclaim God's unconditional love and forgiveness of all people. We like Christ are a people who will not speak vengeance upon those who would terrorize us or take our lives – but in Christ and with Christ we are a people who turn the other cheek. We, like Christ the King who rules from a cross, are a people who will not speak of our enemies with hatred in our voices; rather, we are a people who love our enemies and pray for them even as they take our all, even as they take our very lives. And, no, none of it is practical; all of it means giving up all our claims to power and privilege. And yes, the way of the cross means death – the death of the ego, the death of pride, the death of our affluent way of life, even the death of the body. But have no fear, in the realm of Christ the King, you have already been raised from the dead, and you are no longer of this world – for truly I tell you, even today, you are with Christ in Paradise. 24 Pentecost
C 04 (Pr 28) Click here for printable .PDF file Malachi 4:1-2a Don’t blame me, I’m just the messenger. If you’ve been listening carefully this morning to the readings and to the Gospel, you know what I’m talking about. Gloom and doom. Literally. In the prophet Malachi we hear that a day is coming, burning like an oven. In St. Luke we hear that the temple—all temples?—will be destroyed. We hear that there will be wars and insurrections, great earthquakes, famines, plagues, betrayal, hate, and some put to death. Makes you glad you came to church this morning doesn’t it? But what did we come out to hear? Did we come to hear that because we are faithful everything is going to be hunky-dory? Did we come out to hear that if we persevere, if we work hard, individually, as a community, as a nation we will not only be safe but continue on the path of monetary and moral upward mobility? But Pastor, I was always told that the United States has been blessed, materially, militarily, mightily because we are a Christian nation, because in the pledge we say we are one nation under God, because we preserve and enforce the democratic order of the world. I was always taught Pastor that the faithful receive blessing upon blessing. Are you telling me that that isn’t true? Don’t blame me. I’m just the messenger. I really did not want to preach this sermon. But it’s those damned texts. They leave me no choice. They leave me no choice but to tell you that God does not seem all that eager to bless the top of the food chain after all. It’s those texts that say that the God of the Hebrews, the God of Jesus will not abandon those at the bottom, will not abandon those whose lives are a catastrophe, will not abandon those who can’t get themselves from Point A to Point B without getting completely lost. It’s those texts that say, however, that the God of the Hebrews, the God of Jesus, hides, has hidden, will continue to hide God’s self from those on top, from those who think they’ve got it all together, from those who live lives of ease: you know, those in control of the temples, those in control of nations and kingdoms, those who think they’ve harnessed the forces of nature, those who have the wealth of the nations sown up in their luxurious ways of life. For most of us, today’s readings sound like bad news because we are precisely those who have the most to lose in the world that today’s readings place before our eyes. I happen to like my life just the way it is – especially since I’ve moved into a beautiful, new rowhouse close to work, a house filled with beautiful things. If I were already on the down and out, today’s readings might indeed seem, if not good news, then really no news at all. If I were living poor in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Palestine, what’s one more war? What’s one more earthquake? What’s one more mosque or church becoming dust? Hunger is hunger. Chaos is chaos. The readings describe nothing much out of the ordinary for those who are already down and out. But for those of us living in the United States of America, the greatest, wealthiest, mightiest Empire the world has ever known – these readings chill us to the bone. Gloom and doom. Ruin and chaos. Suffering and death. Are they the will of God? The readings won’t say – they don’t let us in on that mystery. I prefer to think that rather than declaring it is God’s will that kingdoms, nations, and empire fall, these readings describe what inevitably does and will happen. There will be no human ascent. Our human nature – the need for each of us to be Number One, winner take all; the need for us individually and as nations to wreak vengeance; the need to fix blame on someone outside ourselves, outside our tribe, outside our nation – those things are sufficient guarantee that all human attempts to ascend to the heights are doomed to failure. Even though I can’t say – I won’t say — that the terrors described in today’s readings are God’s will, I can say, I have taken a solemn oath to say, that God will not be absent on that day when all things are brought low. In Malachi we hear God’s promise that on that day when everything shall go to pieces, on the day that will burn like an oven and all our arrogance and evil shall be as stubble, for those who are in God – that’s you through the promises of Christ – for you, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. In that day when all things are brought low – and that day will surely come — those in Christ – that’s you, the baptized, the people of the promise – even though some may be put to death – not a single hair of any of your heads will ever, ever perish. It is the promise of Christ, that there in the chaos God will find you. By the promise of Christ, love will walk among the ruins. God wills to be where everything is darkest – for it is in the darkness that the light of Christ shines, and the darkness has not and will not overcome it. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved and the mountains be toppled into the sea; though the waters rage and foam and the mountains tremble at its tumult the Lord of Hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge. And in the meantime – whether the times of trial be near or far off – we will do the work that has been given us to do while it is still daytime, before that time comes when no one can work. We, the children of God, will do what the children of God were made to do by the promises made to us in Holy Baptism – we shall go out and give good care to the earth – we shall plant trees and we shall make clean what we have despoiled; we shall care for those who are vulnerable, for the poor and the homeless, for those who have not justice, for those who know not love; and we shall enjoy the good things of the creation, for God did create all things good. And when the end shall come we will take joy and testify to the hope that is ours, singing God a new song – for in the day when all things born of arrogance and evil shall burn, behold, the sun of righteousness shall rise from among the ashes – with healing – and wholeness – and life – in its wings. This is God’s promise given to you in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ – a life, death, and resurrection that today are made yours. This is the Word of the Lord . . . All Saints' Sunday Click here for printable .PDF format Daniel 7:1-3 Saint Paul, Saint Peter; Saints Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Saint Mary, Mother of Our Lord; Saint Mary Magdalene, friend of Our Lord; Saints Mary and Martha, Agatha and Elizabeth. And all the Saints who from their labors rest, whose earthly remains lie outside in the columbarium: Saint Alice West, Saint Richard McKennet, Saint Jean Eaman, Saint Rose Weber, Saint Robert Trenka, Saint Darryl Loewen, Saint James Rapp. And all our beloved dead, Saints Nan and Carol; Saint Freda and Saint Sam; Saint Patrick and Saint Christine; Dad, Gramma, and Aunt Lydia – Saints, every one of them. Then too, the living and the lively ones: Saint Dorothy, Saint Richard, Saint Soren, Saint Brianna, Saint Amanda, and yes, even little Saint Christopher. Those in back of you, all of them Saints – and those in front and those on either side each of them a Saint as well. All of you -- and even me – Saints of God. So what is it to be a Saint? The English word saint is a translation of the Latin word sanctus which means holy. This Latin word for holy is a translation of the Greek word hagios – so in Latin and Greek, the Saints are known as Holy Peter and Paul, Holy Mary, Holy Wisdom, Holy Hannah and Holy James. Saints are holy ones. In Hebrew that which is holy is kadosh. Isaiah tells how the angels who surround the throne of God continually do sing, Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh, Adonai ts'va-ot – Holy, holy, holy, Lord of Hosts. But the word holy, what then of it? Silent nights are holy, the lowly infant is holy, the Ghost is holy, and the Trinity as well. Kadosh in the Hebrew scriptures, holy, yes – but more precisely meaning – set apart, Other, eccentric, peculiar, different, odd. The God of the Hebrews is the God who is peculiar and eccentric. The God of the Hebrews is different from other gods. How odd of God to choose the Jews. Odd, odd, odd is the Lord or Hosts. Silent night, odd night. Infant lowly, infant . . . odd. The Odd Trinity. (No kidding.) Indeed, how odd
of God to become one like us, to become one liking us. How odd of God
to be born in a stable – and then those different shepherds. How
odd of God to forgive those who put him to death in the most humiliating
way possible – terribly eccentric of God to be executed as a revolutionary,
a threat to the state, a threat to good religious order. What an odd
God who would rather die as a criminal than be known as a God of vengeance,
who would rather die and save a murderer than not turn the other cheek.
The Saints, the Holy Ones of God, the Odd Ones of God – born of a fallen humanity, of a humanity turned in on self, but reborn in the waters of baptism – proclaimed by God to be, in God's sight, like Christ, the Odd Son of God. The baptized – no longer regular, everyday, usual, run of the mill people -- God said, let them be Odd, and they were . . . Odd. What God says, IS. The Holy Ones of God, the Eccentric, different, Other, set apart people of God. The Odd Son of God says to the odd, set-apart people of God: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. This, says the Eccentric One from God, is who you are, Odd people of God – you are as I AM: If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other one also -- as I have. And from anyone who takes away your coat, do not withhold even the very shirt off your back. Give to everyone who begs of you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. The Odd Son of God who stands outside of time says this is who you already are, this is who you yet shall be. Day by day you are being transformed into who you are in Christ – a Saint – one of God's odd, eccentric, different ones. How odd to congratulate those newly elected ones for whom you did not vote. How eccentric to bless those whose politics frighten you and to pray for those whom you think may threaten your way of life. How very strange to rejoice and be glad in all things -- even on the day after the election. How perfectly odd to live life extravagantly giving while radically trusting that God will indeed provide us with all that we need and more. All of that – that is you, beloved Saints of God. All of that – that is what the saints whose remains lie outside have now fully become. Oddness often hidden in this life – oddness now complete in the realm of God to come. For all the Saints who from their labors rest – and for all the Saints still struggling on – for you – thanks be to God who will -- and already does -- give us the victory through Our Lord Jesus Christ. 20 Pentecost
C 04 (Proper 24) Click here for printable .PDF format Genesis 32:22-31 As some of you realize, many of our Gospel readings during this past Church Liturgical year have been from the Gospel according to St. Luke. In Luke's Gospel, we've heard Jesus introduce us to some really odd characters, some of whom -- horror of horrors – have been stand-ins for God. We've heard about God being the crazy-lady who throws a huge party after finding a stray penny mingled with the lint and crumbs between the sofa cushions. We've heard about God being the lunatic shepherd who leaves ninety-nine perfectly good sheep to go in search of one lost one – and who upon finding the one straying sheep then throws a party to celebrate – leading the rest of the shepherds to conclude that the party-throwing shepherd has finally gone ‘round the bend. And we've heard God likened to an unscrupulous manager who fraudulently writes off other people's debts to the lord of the land so that they will invite him to dinner once he's laid off for his dubious management style. And now today, we have yet another parable where it is apparent that Jesus, not having been to seminary, does not have the good sense not to use bad people to illustrate the goodness of God. Though this morning's parable is introduced with a piece of wise counsel regarding prayer, this story is most assuredly not about what we do. It's likely that Luke's editor – perhaps a teacher of freshman composition in an earlier life – decided that the narrative needed a transition – and having a few unused index cards in his box, decided to throw in something about our pious works. However, this parable, like most of them, is most assuredly NOT about something we do to curry God's favor. It is, rather, one more parable that tells us what a wonderfully goofy God is being revealed to us in Jesus Christ. There once was a judge, says Jesus, who was both ungodly and didn't give a flying fig about public opinion. And there was a widow – a person who, in Jesus' time had absolutely no legal, social, or religious standing. She was your basic loser, your basic less-than-nobody. But with more chutzpah than good sense, she hadn't quite figured that out yet, and so the poor dear didn't know that a judge with any sense of jurisprudence would toss her out on her ear the first time – and if there were a second time, the judge would have permanently dispatched this presumptuous loser to some place where she would no longer be heard from. Here too, the presumptuousness of the widow is not about our needing to be persistent – rather it is a detail that helps us to hear how this judge must deal with someone who is not just your ordinary loser – but an obnoxious loser – just the worst kind. But our judge apparently has some sort of a soft spot for obnoxious, loud-mouthed, no-count losers, and he tolerates her coming back time and again – until finally, admitting he has no regard for either godly behavior or human tradition, makes a ruling in the widow's favor – a complete corruption of justice it seems and something neither a normal god nor a rational human being would approve of. And if this unjust decision results in the judge being put out of the judging business, so be it. The judge has simply had it with abiding by the rules – and if someone happens to find this scandalous -- tough luck for the offended – they'll just have to stew in their own juices. It's stories like this one that got Jesus nailed to a cross. The good, fair, and just religious folks of Jesus' day certainly DID GET THE POINT – that Jesus is telling people that the God from whom he comes, the God of Israel, the one and only True God, really isn't any longer into acting like gods are supposed to act, that the Lord God of Hosts is not about to act in the way we all think God is supposed to act. "Guess what?" says Jesus, "God is actually a softy for obnoxious, no-count losers – and so God has decided to go out of the judging business – and if you don't like it – tough." For me at least, it's relatively easy to get up on my high horse and shake my finger at those nasty religious folk back then who preferred God to be a show-no-mercy, hanging judge rather than the soft-hearted God who has decided to surrender his place on the bench. Actually, I'm really good at shaking my finger at a few nasty folk down Colorado Springs-way who I'm sure would be only too pleased for God to continue in the judging business from this day forth and forever more, thank you very much. But I am no different from any of them – I like this unjust, ridiculously merciful judge as long as it's me that's the widow, as long as I'm the obnoxious, no-count loser God is letting off the hook. I do, however, have a list a mile long that I would like to submit to God of those whom I think must receive the full penalties of the law. I most assuredly want God to be the harshest judge in the universe over those who have enslaved other human beings; I want God to eternally damn the Nazis and their ilk; I want God to damn for eternity those who brought some of our ancestors to this shore in chains and left thousands of others dead in the bellies of slave-trade ships. And, in my spare time, when I'm not making my list of those fit for hell, I like to contemplate my own comparative goodness. And it makes my blood just boil when some clod – well, I guess that would be . . . Jesus – reminds me that, according to God's laws, I am most assuredly in the same category, horror of horrors, as the most vile Nazi, the most hardened criminal. I most assuredly do not take kindly to the notion of a god who puts all of us into the same category – I don't take too kindly to a god who sees all of us as equally guilty, all of us equally deserving of a divine justice that sends us straight into darkness and nothingness. And upon hearing that the worst of sinners, right alongside of me, receives mercy rather than divine justice – well, I'm not too sure that I wouldn't have been one of those screaming for Jesus' execution. I want a JUST God – I do not want the unjust judge – the judge of unconditional mercy, unconditional love, unconditional reconciliation. That is, however, the very God we've got – and God doesn't care if we don't like it, if it all seems rather unseemly. God is just going to keep on staying out of the judging business. God is going to keep on being merciful – to the worst of us, to me, and to you – and to our trashy, no-count neighbors and relatives as well. And if you think this week's story about the unjust judge is unfair, just wait till you hear next week's Gospel – no wonder they tried to permanently shut Jesus up. But rather than whining on and on about how none of it seems quite fair – perhaps we should just let the whole thing crack us up – because my hunch is that the unjudging and merciful God of Jesus is laughing up her sleeve – all the way from Easter to eternity. 19 Pentecost
C 04 (Pr 23) Click here for printable .PDF format 2 Kings 5:1-2;7-15c A Letter to the Church at Large, from a Samaritan Leper The Samaritan Leper writes, “There is a certain advantage to being called unclean, to being called an abomination, to being seen by others as cast off by God. Even though the one from Nazareth has surely declared me clean, the rest us of the world—and especially the religious world—still sees me as an outlaw, as an unclean person—barely human—who must stay outside the church walls, if not outside the walls of polite society as well. The advantage in all of this,” writes the Samaritan leper, “is that I am reminded daily that I am going to hell, straight to hell. So they say, and so indeed I am, thank you very much. They remind me that there is nothing I do or say or think that can keep me from being condemned by the Law. “I start every morning with such good intentions—well that’s a lie too. Each morning I awake to the world about me and, as often as anything, I remember some past wrong, real or imagined done to me by another. It doesn’t matter who that other is or what the other said or did—the Other is still on the planet, and I am not pleased. Another day of barely tolerating the fools that surround me....And I remember, forever too late, that such thoughts are the same, according to the One from Nazareth, as taking a gun to the other’s head. I object, but I know that my excuses mean nothing. “Each morning too, I leave the house to make my way through my public day. I see all the things that my neighbors have—new cars, bigger houses, expensive and beautiful clothes. I see them living in perfect luxury—and I want it all and more. I wonder—how can I make enough money to get that stuff? Perhaps a rich relative will die and soon—the sooner the better. Perhaps I shall win the lottery, the lottery of course funded by the poorest among us. Forget being thankful for what I have; I want more, and I feel deprived because I don’t have all the newest, coolest stuff. And as for giving to the poor—or to anyone or anything else for that matter—forget it. I need my money for myself. I earned it...didn’t I? “But again, I know that the One from Nazareth will have none of my own self-justification. ‘When you take too much,’ he says, ‘it means others will have less. Are they not worth as much as you? And what must you do to get riches? Money and the things it buys have become your ultimate concern. Everyone else and everything else take second and third place—if they even rate at all.’ But let’s be practical, I plead. ‘Yes, let’s,’ he says. ‘You are practically—in practice—engaging in modern-day slave trade when you buy shoes and clothing made in factories where workers displaced from their farms by transnational corporate agriculture are forced to work under unsafe and degrading conditions for less than subsistence pay. Your lust to have it all as cheaply as you can—cheaply so you can buy even more stuff for yourself—that desire has reduced people all over the world to subhuman existence—practically speaking that is.’ “The One from Nazareth is right. If it’s not one thing for which I deserve to die eternally, it’s another. The evidence is everywhere—no matter how hard I try, I find that I am an outlaw according to the Law of God. Religious people tell me that I am an abomination. And so I am. I cannot escape this dark world and its dark systems. I am in bondage to it and I cannot free myself. And so there is only one thing to do—and that not by my own effort: on my way to hell, I can only cling to the cross of Christ. My only hope is to throw myself on the ground beneath Christ’s tortured, dying body and hear his prayer: Forgive them...forgive them, they have no clue. And hearing those words, holding on to those words with all my might—something beyond my own reason or strength begins to happen. I begin to trust that I am indeed forgiven—as I cling to that place of horrid suffering, the Word comes: your trust is enough. You are made clean. Yes, I am being washed and made clean—and as I am being made clean, I come more and more—I know not how —to follow another one who is cursed; I follow the one who is forever being put to death outside the city walls, the only one who forever turns the other cheek, the one who forever loves all, who forever forgives all, the only one whose love cannot be stopped by the doors of any tomb in this world and the next. That one too is called an outlaw – he dies as an outlaw—and he prays unceasingly for those who hate him—in unwavering love for us sinners he prays. “And so, knowing that it is only through his Word of forgiveness that I can be good to God—knowing with a knowledge beyond all reason or hope, I go about my daily rounds—and though you can’t see it yet, though I can’t see it yet, clinging to the cross, being stained by his blood and watery sweat and tasting on my lips bits of flesh falling from the body ripped apart by his torturers—unseen to the eye, I am becoming reborn in his image. “Some say that Samaritan lepers aren’t supposed to stand up in public and talk about the love and mercy of God made manifest by the cross. Only, I just can’t seem to be able to shut up—I’ve tried—but somehow I can’t help but come back to telling about the cross and the good news written there in Christ’s blood for me and for all people. There is a strange advantage to being reminded every day that I, a Samaritan leper, am going straight to hell: it makes me all the more aware that the only thing I have going for me—the only thing any of us will ever, ever have going for us—is the One who says to all of us here on this dark planet, that nothing—not even our greatest and gravest sins—can keep God from forgiving us and loving us; there is nothing that can keep God from creating us anew in the image of the loving, forgiving, sacrificing, self-emptying, and fully-God-Christ. And there is no one who is going to make me shut up about that.” So writes a Samaritan leper. 16 Pentecost (Proper
20) Click here for printable .PDF format Amos 8:4-7 The parable about the dishonest manager that we hear from St. Luke this morning is one that has left many people scratching their heads for a goodly portion of the last 2,000 years. How can Jesus tell a parable in which someone who is dishonest seems to be the good-guy, a parable in which Jesus himself seems to commend the action of the unjust manager who cheats the one who employs him? It is evident to textual scholars that the earliest editors of Luke’s Gospel were also more than a little confused themselves about this parable, and so they tacked onto the end of it a series of very un-promise-like platitudes that make little to no sense in the context of this section of Luke—which contains the best-known parables of radical grace. This parable of the unjust and dishonest manager is so...so extremely odd and enigmatic that many biblical believe these words are as close or closer to being authentic, verbatim words of Jesus; who else but the man from Nazareth could come up with something this strange and this outrageous? How to unravel this mess? First, this is a parable—not an allegory. As you might remember from High School English, in an allegory each person, place, or thing in the story logically and neatly stands for something in daily life. Parables, by contrast, are much less tidy. In figuring out what a parable means, we look for one or two main points, and we don’t get too bogged down if there isn’t complete logical consistency between each aspect of the parable and that to which it points. Indeed, one of the reasons that many have gotten themselves twisted in knots over the parable of the dishonest, unjust manager is the very quest for an equation-like. The second move in unraveling this morning’s parable—a move important to unraveling any scripture—is to see how it speaks forth the promise. This parable from Luke’s Gospel is preceded by three of the most radical parables of grace one can image. First are the two parables from last week’s reading—parables that tell us that God’s completely undeserved gifts of love and forgiveness are, in human terms, completely outrageous—if not just downright crazy. The third of these parables, one we hear in Lent, is about a father who disregards, overlooks his son’s wasteful and wanton life-style—who goes out to look for his loser son, who welcomes the big loser home, and throws a great feast in his honor. The parable is a total affront to those who have been dutiful daughters and sons, and the loser’s over achieving older brother cries out, “No fair!!” God, of course, is the father whose love qualifies him for insanity—and all human beings, no matter how sinful, depraved, defiant, or self-righteous, are the ones welcomed by God into God’s house—and without condition. And now this strange parable about the dishonest manager. I would wager that the parable of the dishonest steward is of a piece with these three parables of radical and outrageous grace. Some of you have heard me tell—more than once, or twice, or maybe three times—about asking the 8th graders in my confirmation class in St. Peter, Minnesota if they wanted God to be fair. Oh yes, most definitely they all replied – all of them except one young man sitting off in a corner by himself—the class outcast. Unlike the rest of the kids who were from well-to-do homes, he lived in a trailer park. His clothes were ratty. He was dark and swarthy, with greasy hair, he already had to shave, and he usually smelled of cigarettes. “Jamie,” I said, “you don’t want God to be fair. Why not?” “Because,” he answered quietly, “if God is going to be fair, I’m cooked.” Jamie was not far from the reign of God. If we desire God to be just and fair, we too are cooked. Let me sound the
parable of the dishonest manager once more in your ears: There was a
rich man who had a manager and because the manager was said to be squandering
the rich man’s resources, the manager is summoned by the owner
who demands an accounting of the hireling’s management. Said manager
knows he isn’t fit for any real work, and so he cooks up a scheme
so that he may be welcomed into the houses of his neighbors when the
time for his dismissal. The manager summons his master’s debtors
one by one, asks them how much they owe, and then tells them to rewrite
their debt. And so each one does. The rich man, when he discovers the
scheme, commends the dishonesty of the manager; the tag line of the
parable is “the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing
with their own than are the children of light.” To add more insult to this parable, Jesus observes that the crooked manager and his sort—the ones who realize their lostness—are far more Christ-like than are we, the children of light. We, the children of light, tend not just a little bit toward self-righteousness and are not so inclined to let others off the hook quite so easily. We demand an exact justice for sins—especially those of the neighborhood terrorists. We, the children of light, look at this parable of the unjust manager and say, “Oh, but the manager only took away 20%, or 50%. Some of the debt remains to be paid. What good work must the neighbor do to erase the rest of the sin? What penalty must the neighbor pay to atone for her or his sin?” That, however, is most emphatically not what the gospel is all about. Do you want only 20%—or even only 50% of your sins forgiven? As for me, I need all my sins forgiven—or I am, beyond any doubt, truly “cooked.” If I need still to be concerned with 80% of my sins—if I must be still concerned with 50% of my sins—which ones should I worry about? Which ones are forgiven? And what will happen to me if I don’t pick the right ones to work out on my own? What if I don’t pay for my sins in just the right way? Are any of them then forgiven??? That’s the stuff that keeps us awake at night with our hearts pounding and our bodies coldly sweating. Either all my sins are forgiven—those past, those present, and those future—either there is one baptism for the forgiveness of all my sin—my state of being—or I might as well not be here—because nothing I do will ever pay for what I have done and will do, for I am in bondage to sin and cannot free myself. But thanks be to God! Jesus Christ, the disreputable manager, has swindled unto himself the entire world’s sins. Jesus Christ, from the cross, becomes a far greater thief greater than any in his midst as he steals away from you and from me all our sins and every one of the penalties demanded for them. And now, as one who has been ordered to proclaim the scandal of the gospel in season and out, in the Name of the Holy Corrupter of Fairness, in the Name of the Holy and Shrewd Swindler of Divine Justice, in the Name of the Holy Thief of Heaven, I declare unto you the entire forgiveness of all your sins. Now, go forth from this place and bear the corrupting, shrewd, and thieving Christ to the world––forgive all without cost or condition. Be merciful to all...know that God is infinitely merciful to you. 15 Pentecost (Proper
19) Click here for printable .PDF format Exodus 32:7-14 The Scribes and the Pharisees mutter: This fellow welcomes sinners—and eats with them. And Jesus replies—Which of you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until you find that one? Raucous laughter, rolling eyes. Has he finally lost his mind? Too much fasting—or too much drinking? See the looks on the faces of the Pharisees and Scribes. Nothing to fear from this one after all. You don’t have to be a shepherd to know that neither a hired hand nor any sheep owner in Palestine or on the face of the earth would leave a whole flock to go after one stray sheep. One lost sheep out of a hundred – an acceptable loss — the cost of doing business. And as for calling together all one’s friends for a party after having abandoned the whole flock to go after one lost sheep—what sort of person would even want to admit to such a dumb-ass stunt—let alone celebrate it? And what sort of woman would throw a party after turning the house upside down to find one lost coin? A crazy woman that’s who. When’s the last time you spent a hundred bucks throwing a party on account of finding some spare change under the cushions of the sofa or stuck inside the recliner chair? College kids might . . . but that’s precisely the point: sane, responsible adults don’t go in for the kind of behavior. So what’s Jesus saying? That the Christ of God is meshuggenah? God is nuts, irresponsible, loopy in the head? Yup. Exactly. During communion, we’re going to sing Amazing Grace. You know how those words go, I once was lost, but now am found? Forget the once was lost bit—I’m continually getting lost. If there’s one thing I’m really, really good at, it’s losing my way. Sometimes I do it up real big, in a way that everybody notices, that starts people wondering what’s wrong with the pastor. Other times, while I may be way lost, I manage to fake it quite well. Surely some of you
know what I mean—surely some of you get lost a great deal of the
time too. But I come to bear witness: Even as I am continually losing
my ways, I am continually being found. No, I don’t see Jesus coming
after me wearing a bathrobe and sandals and carrying a home-made shepherds’
crook...at least not often. The Christ of God who finds me does, however,
look rather ordinary and everyday. Some days when God’s Christ
finds me, she looks rather like a ninety-year old woman with white hair
wound around her head in a braid. Other days, the Christ who finds me
is pushing a noisy, rattling shopping cart down the alley and smells
gawd-awful and looks ungodly worse. There are days too when the Christ
who finds me looks for all the world like a little pre-schooler kneeling
at the altar rail, a big smile on his face as he extends his tiny, open
hand to receive the Eucharist. It is in the company of the lost – in the Church, the Body of Christ—that we are found by God—through Christ, who just happens to look like us. Just as we are at the same time sinners and saints, so too are we at the same time the lost and the ones who find the lost. We in the Church are at once the ones being saved and the ones through whom God is working to do the saving. I am not infrequently asked— “What about those who are not a part of the Church—what about those who have drifted away, those who were never a part of the church, those who refuse to have anything to do with the church? What about those who die completely lost? Will God find them? Will God save them?” St. Paul, in the letter to the church in Rome, says, “Listen to this confounding mystery – the call and the promises of God are irrevocable—they are forever, eternal, beyond time.” It was at Easter that we come to hear and to know that the grace of God cannot be stopped by death. The call and promises of God go out to all the lost —the call and promise of God, the odd and searching shepherd will not be stopped by death—God will search even beyond death, until all are found. Beyond death and all time, God is the eccentric woman who searches and searches for the smallest of lost coins—sorting through the lint and crumbs stuck in the folds of the sofa, who throws a party for all her friends whenever each of the lost is found. And so this morning—a party of sorts—a party in which God finds us and in which God celebrates the lost being brought home yet again. And so it continues: each day, God finding us no matter where we have gotten ourselves lost; each day, God using us to find those other lost ones—and together each day, the company of the lost and found gathers—and the whole company of heaven joins together and sings with the most odd God, with the most odd God who will not rest—until that time beyond time when each and every created thing is at last brought home, safe and sound and found forever. 14 Pentecost (Proper
18) Click here for printable .PDF format Deuteronomy 30:15-20 I’m going to
share a couple of letters with you this morning from my “To the
Pastor” file. The next letter
is more recent and comes from Anonymous. If the postmark is any indication,
Anonymous lives in a state east of the Mississippi and writes to me
in my role as a member of the ELCA’s Human Sexuality Studies Task
Force. He or she skips the niceties of any sort of salutation and jumps
right in: “It used to be that everyone knew exactly what God’s
will for our lives is. It is in the Bible. I don’t know why the
church is wasting its time and our money studying sex when everything
is made perfectly clear in Scripture. The church must teach that if
you obey all God’s commandments, ordinances, and statutes, you
will prosper and live. If you disobey any of God’s commandments,
ordinances, and statutes, evil will befall you and you will surely die.
It’s time we got back to obeying all of what the Bible says instead
of picking and choosing. See Deuteronomy 30.” It just so happens
that I know Deuteronomy 30 quite well—I’ve received more than
just a few letters telling me to see Deuteronomy 30—a part of which
was our first reading this morning. In this chapter of Deuteronomy the
author tells how Moses purportedly laid out for people the consequences
of following or not following all of the commandments, ordinances, and
statues written in the Torah. Indeed, Deuteronomy 30 seems to be an
especially well-loved portion of scripture for those who wish to protect
us all from eating shrimp, lobster, and ham or from wearing blended
fabrics. In all seriousness,
both of the letter writers that have shared their thoughts with us seem
to view the Bible to be a set of do’s and don’ts, and they
and others of their ilk want to make sure that we follow the rules,
all the rules, and nothing but the rules...or else. The first letter
writer focuses on what he thinks the rules are that he finds in Matthew,
Mark, Luke, and John. The second writer wants to make sure we follow
the Ten Commandments and the other commandments, statutes, and ordinances
that can be used as weapons in our present day culture wars—I don’t
need to tell you what those are—see Leviticus 18 and 20. At any
rate, both letter writers are insistent that read the Bible, learn the
rules, and follow them. Then all will be well, praise the Lord, Amen. One of my favorite
essays from Martin Luther’s works is a short little piece he wrote
in 1525 entitled “How Christians Should Regard Moses.” So,
how are we Christians supposed to regard Moses and all the commandments,
statutes, and ordinances from God that Moses gave to the people? Luther
is characteristically to-the-point: “Moses has nothing to do with
us.” But how can Luther say that Moses has nothing to do with us?
What about the Ten Commandments? Don’t we have to at least follow
them—or else? Listen to the good campus pastor of Wittenberg as
he echoes St. Paul in Romans and Galatians: “If I were to accept
Moses in one commandment, I would have to accept the entire Moses. Thus
the consequence would be that if I accept Moses as master, then I must
have myself circumcised, wash my clothes in [a certain] way, eat and
drink and dress thus and so, and observe all that stuff. So, then, we
will neither observe nor accept Moses. Moses is dead. His rule ended
when Christ came. He is of no further service.” I love it. But,
what about the Ten Commandments? Why are they in the catechism; why
did we memorize them? The commandments, admits Luther, do have their
use. First, they are a good, common sense model for civil, secular law,
the law that governs all people so as to keep some sense of order and
keep us from harming the neighbor. These are the laws common to all
cultures: do not kill, do not steal, do not take your neighbor’s
wife, don’t be greedy. However, other of the commandments, statutes
and ordinances no longer make sense. Here Luther makes an especially
important point with regard to all of Scripture: “One must deal
cleanly with the Scriptures. From the very beginning the word has come
to us in various ways. It is not enough simply to look and see whether
this is God’s word, whether God has said it; rather we must look
and see to whom it has been spoken and whether it fits us. That makes
all the difference between night and day.” Second, says Luther,
a reading of Moses shows us that if any of the commandments applied
to us in the spiritual realm, we would indeed be in a heap of trouble.
But the promises of Christ have superceded Moses. The promises of Christ
are what have been spoken to us; they alone fit us. How’s that
for giving up some prizes suppositions, some prized possessions? And now dear sisters
and brothers, hear this Word and treasure it your heart. Do not look
backward to Moses and do not turn the promise of the Gospel into a law.
Rather, pick up and lift high the promise of the cross, for there in
Christ God has spoken God’s final word: All are forgiven by God,
and all are beloved daughters and sons of God. Everybody gets into the
banquet. Everybody. No exceptions. But be careful when you proclaim
that Good News, that Gospel. People have been killed for saying things
like that.
|
|
