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SERMON
ARCHIVE October-December,
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. Third Sunday
in Advent Click here for printer-friendly .PDF format Isaiah 61.1-4, 8-11 It’s like my
dear departed Dad used to say: Lions beware, the Christians are at it
again. If you’ve been listening to the radio, watching TV, reading
the newspapers, or surfing the web you perhaps know what I’m talking
about. The latest screed of the so-called Christians is all about their
indignation over businesses, sales clerks, banners, and lights that
proclaim “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas”—and
here it’s only the Third Sunday of Advent. National and local newspapers
recently reported the reasoning of Focus on the Family regarding all
of this: Amanda Banks, spokeswoman for James Dobson – who recently
devoted one whole 30-minute radio broadcast recently on the topic, says:
“Many businesses in America would not survive the months of November
and December if it wasn’t for people going out and buying Christmas
gifts. That’s where our frustration comes from. You’re making
bucks from us but not willing to acknowledge where you’re making
it.” Now we know: it’s the poor, put-upon Christians who fuel
America’s annual frenzy of over-consumption. Quite predictably,
Jerry Falwell has also jumped with all fours onto this float of Christmas
indignation, and so too has the Tupelo, Mississippi-based American Family
Association, criticizing a whole host of major retailers for neglecting
the word “Christmas” in their advertising and their in-store
sales banners. Apparently they would like Christ put back into the buying
and selling of the holiday. And you know those evergreen trees we chop
down, bring inside, and decorate? a practice the Christians appropriated
from the pagan Druids? Ms. Banks informs us that they are to be called
by their correct name: “they are Christmas trees, for Pete’s
sake,” she says—“so call them that!” Gosh, I’ll
bet the Druids would have liked to have known that. Abercrombie & Fitch, peddler of soft-porn advertising and shoddily-made, indecently-overpriced clothes designed to hyper-sexualize the adolescent and pre-adolescent bodies of upper-middle class American children, has replaced “Happy Holidays” on its store windows with “Christmas 2005.” Reportedly, sales are going through the roof as the same Christians who boycotted the chain as recently as two years ago buy up heaps and gobs of clothing made in the sweat shops of third world countries by poor people who would have to work nearly a year to buy even one pair of Abercrombie & Fitch’s pre-tattered, navel-baring blue jeans. And good-old Bailey, Banks & Biddle, purveyors of high-end jewelry and gee-gaws for the blue-blood set, report they can hardly keep in stock their 10-inch-high, Lladro porcelain nativity scenes—limited addition, of course, and priced at a mere $850 or so dollars. Good news, however: not all displays of one’s righteousness need come with such a high price tag. One web-site is selling rubber wrist bands imprinted with the slogan “Just say Merry Christmas.” Reportedly several million have been sold at a dollar a piece—plus shipping. Thanks be to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And let us not forget
to bring the flag in on all the fun. Douglas Groothuis, so-called-professor
of philosophy at Denver Seminary justifies the indignation of the Christians
by saying, “They’re concerned...Christmas is part of American
history and culture...it really is Christ-mas.” It’s like
the bumper sticker on the no-doubt-Christian Humvee urban assault vehicle
said, “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Or is it more
like the Gospel of St. John says, “Jesus began to weep.”? This whole debate over whether it shall be Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays has no meaning for you whatsoever. For you, good people of God, it is a bootless and pointless distraction. Rather, for you the baptized, your life in Christ is as Isaiah the prophet sings: The spirit of the Lord God is upon you...God has sentyou to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners...to comfort all who mourn; to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning...For the Lord your [God] love[s] justice.” And now may the God of peace make you entirely holy and may your spirit and soul and body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The God who calls you is faithful and that same God will do all of this—for you.. First Sunday
in Advent Click here for printer-friendly .PDF format Isaiah 64:1-9 We’re only what—two miles or so from Cherry Creek Mall? Two miles and a whole universe apart. This place couldn’t differ more in this season from that place, that virtual shrine of American consumerist culture. I haven’t checked the mall out yet—I can only imagine. I hear this year’s theme has something to do with C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia—an allegorical work that retells the Christ story...and you can bet C.S. Lewis is rapidly spinning in his grave as his counter-cultural tale of redemption is turned into a catalyst for the selling of our souls to the credit card companies and those who earn interest rather than pay it. I do know that at Cherry Creek and across the malls of America the trees are trimmed, the stockings are stuffed, and the carols are being played—all to manage us into the right mood for our frantic, seasonal acquisition of stuff, stuff, and stuff—none of which we really need. And the pundits are already speculating—will this be a good Christmas or not? A good Christmas being one in which people buy with giddy abandon, tossing care to the wind, in the hope that some perfect gift will bring perfect happiness as the perfect family blisses out in the perfectly decorated home. And then there’s this place. Looks pretty spare doesn’t it? Withered grape vines, dried heads of wheat adorning an old, discarded, iron-rimmed wagon wheel. What color there is seems all wrong. Where’s the green, the red, the gold, the tinsel, the ornaments, the colored lights? All we’ve got is some weird blue stuff – obviously from different palates and dye lots. And we’ve got some bare willow trees with only a couple of lights on each. And no Christmas carols. Just some fusty, odd-sounding Advent hymns. This place couldn’t be more counter-cultural. Indeed! That is what it is—and that’s who we are—counter-cultural. In the Church, the days leading up to Christmas are a time of twice waiting, a time of double preparation. First and most obvious, we are preparing ourselves for the yearly celebration beginning in the night of December 24—and not before—of the great mystery of the incarnation, the great mystery of the God who wills to be born out of wedlock to a peasant woman, in poverty, in a barn attended by animals and some disreputable shepherds. In this season we in the church wait patiently, meditatively, quietly, simply for the season celebration of that quiet big-bang of a midnight birth whose meaning is light years upon light years away from what the retail world has made it—our celebration made more odd but perhaps more enduring and joyous for having patiently waited for the feast to begin. In the land and culture of immediate gratification what could be more counter-cultural than quietly waiting?? Second and perhaps less obvious, we are waiting and preparing ourselves for that mysterious event that we call the Day of Christ, the Day of the Earth’s Redemption, that we call the Second Coming, the Day of the Lord, Judgement Day. We remember in these days of Advent how Christ, speaking within the limits of human language, promised he would come again and bring all things to their completion. We do this waiting in a counter-cultural fashion as well. Much of what passes for Christianity, much of what has always passed for Christianity has looked toward the Day of the Lord, Judgment Day, the Second Coming, whatever you want to call it, as something to be dreaded, something to be feared. And in some ways there is truth there—were things as they seemed to be before the first coming of Christ, that day would indeed be one to fear, a day when fire causes the seas of the earth to boil, a day when every mountain quakes at God’s presence. Were God being fair, were God playing by the rule of law, were God playing by our religious rules it would indeed be a day when we all would all be ...toast. But God in the First Advent of Christ proclaimed God’s self not to be into the religious rules game, not to be into fairness and an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, smite-the-wrong-doers-dead-and-damn-‘em-all-to hell sort of dealing. In the First Advent of God into the world in Christ, God declared God’s self gone out of the judgment business. In the mystery of Christ’s birth, life, crucifixion, death, and resurrection God declared God’s self to be gone out of the business of religion and into the business of unending, bounteous, universal, scandalous, brash, and shocking...mercy. Mercy and love for you, for each and every one of you – without your having to do anything — and I do mean anything. It’s absolutely free—and there, for you, each and every new morning, noon, and night no matter how badly you screwed up the morning, noon, or night before. And it’s forever. Sorry, but you can’t out-sin God’s mercy—that would make us more powerful than God—and we’re just not that good at sin. So—what’s with this Day of the Lord? What’s with this Judgement Day? What’s with this Second Coming, this Second Advent? And how do we prepare for it? Forget all that you might read, watch, or hear from the fevered and fear-filled imagination of Tim LeHay and those who peddle the Left Behind series of books about the end times. I am deadly serious here: that crap is nothing but a dusted-off, technicolor, lots-of-special-effects version of some sees-you-when-you’re-sleeping, knows-when-you’re-awake, knows-if-you’ve-been-bad-or-good, so-you-better-watch-out, Santa-Clause-is-coming-to-town sort of god. Forget all that garbage. We, the baptized people of God, will await and prepare for what is to come by being who we already are—a people reborn in the image of Christ with nothing whatsoever to fear. That is why Blessed Dorothy Day, confident (with faith) that in Christ she was already holy and blameless before God, was free to care for others, why Jake is free to serve others by designing dependable office furniture, why Joanne is free to serve others by working on electrical power lines when there is a foot of snow on the ground and the wind chill factor is minus thirty-six, why Chuck can teach a group of Scouts about different kinds of trees and about squirrels and chipmunks, why Wendy can help build an observatory and telescope for awe-struck astronomers, why John can play cello in the high school orchestra, and why Chris can sit with her brother Tommie and watch the new Harry Potter movie. All of them, all of you, already holy and blameless before God. It’s why all of you are freed from having to measure your worth according to the standards of the culture, by what you own, or wear, how big your homes are, how gorgeous the ribbons, how bright the lights, how many the packages. It’s why you are free to be down-to-earth creatures who care for the creation, who love and serve the neighbor, and who enjoy the good creation. All of you, already holy and blameless before God. It’s why you are free to wait and watch, quietly, meditatively, confidently both for the yearly celebration of Christ’s first birth and for the mysterious, unknowable Day of Christ’s Second Coming with nothing to hide and nothing to fear. You have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever and against that not even the gates of hell, not even the insanities of the season, shall ever prevail. Christ the
King Click here for printer-friendly .PDF file Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Psalm 95:1-7a; Ephesians 1:15-23; Matthew 25:31-46 Last year during the season of Lent the St. Paul Education and Witness Ministries worked together to created a series of adult forums around issues of poverty and homelessness. During one of the forums we invited Randle Loeb to speak, a man who has experienced homelessness himself and who now works as a dedicated advocate for the homeless community. During this particular forum someone confessed (it might have been me) that they did not know what to do when they met someone in the church or on the street asking for money. What they were really asking is a question most of us have probably wondered: “Should I give them money?” Randle’s reply was simple, yet profound: “The most important thing you can do,” he said, “is to acknowledge their humanity. Look them in the eyes. Smile and greet them.” He pointed out that the worst thing about being homeless is not lack of shelter or food or clothing. It is being disregarded, feeling invisible, and being treated as less than human. The gospel text today describes a scene in which Jesus tells his follower, in no uncertain terms, that he expects us to take care of those in need—to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit those in prison. Yet when I hear these words in light of Randle’s admonition to acknowledge each person’s humanity, I realize that giving someone something to eat when they are hungry, clothing them when they are naked, or visiting them when they are in prison, are all simply ways of acknowledging their humanity. Raise your hand if you ever get hungry and need food to nourish you body, if you feel lonely or isolated at times and long for someone to call or visit you, or if you ever feel exposed or vulnerable and need something with which to cover yourself. Me too. These feelings go along with being human. Ultimately, by offering food, company and covering to others, we are acknowledging that others have the same basic human needs that we have. These acts of giving are not necessarily about charity, but about recognizing other’s humanity and understanding that they have something to offer back, as well. In addition to talking about how we are to treat one another, this text is portraying a scene of judgment in which Jesus is talking about sending some people to eternal life and others to eternal punishment. Jesus tells the accursed, “Depart from me...” From this we understand that eternal punishment is the state of being separated from God. Eternal life and eternal punishment, Heaven and hell, are symbols of inner realities, of states of being. All of us who have felt alienated, unloved, overwhelmed by shame or sadness, or helplessly caught in an addiction know what it’s like to be in hell. Likewise, all of us who have been welcomed home, who have seen our goodness reflected in the affirming eyes of another or who have been loved into recovery know what it’s like to be in heaven. (see note 1) I doubt there is a single person in this room who hasn’t fed someone who is hungry, dressed someone without adequate clothing, or visited a person in prison. Yet, if you are like me, there have also been plenty of times when you’ve walked or driven past a person in need of money for food, failed to find a coat for someone in need of winter clothing, or not visited someone isolated in their home, prison, or a nursing home. We cannot pass the judgment test outlined in this gospel. There is no way that we could ever do enough to earn our way to into the kingdom. So, where does that leave us? Quite simply, it leaves us in need of God, in need of forgiveness, in need of mercy, in need of grace. Later on in the service we will profess together the words of the Apostles’ Creed. We will confess our belief that after Jesus’ crucifixion and death, He descended into hell. On the third day He rose again and ascended into heaven. Whether we believe these words literally or metaphorically, their impact is significant. The text today creates a scene in which Jesus, our king and shepherd, judges some to be worthy of eternal life and others to be deserving of eternal punishment. Yet the apostle’s creed creates a continuation to this story of judgment. One in which Jesus himself, our king and shepherd, descends into hell, our place of seperation from God, and brings us back to himself. Like the shepherd searching for the lost sheep, Jesus risks his own life and well-being to bring us safely home, safely back to himself. If hell is the place where we are separated from God then it would seem that hell is the one place where God cannot be. By going there anyway, Jesus refuses to accept that separation and expresses God’s adamant unwillingness to leave us to own worst selves. This past Friday a large group of volunteers served a Thanksgiving meal that Ruth, our food services coordinator, worked to prepare over the last several weeks. In a period of 2 hours about 200 people who struggle with chronic mental illness ate a delicious meal prepared by her loving hands. In addition to those we invited from the mental health community there were others who saw the open door and wandered in from the street, who know St. Paul from Grant Ave. Street Reach meals on Mondays, or from St. Paul Local Assistance on Tuesdays and Thursdays. At about 1 o’clock a man came in who looked to be homeless. My initial impression was that he was a rough and tumble sort; He had a badly blackened eye and probably hadn’t showered for a while. When he arrived he was so hungry that, when one of the volunteers asked what he would like to drink, he wasn’t able to answer the question. He needed to get food in his body before he could know what he was thirsty for. After a couple of plates of food he seemed to be a different man. There was a new twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. When he was finished eating he came over to where Ruth was sitting and, with the utmost sincerity, offered her his compliments and thanks. It was then that I saw that he had a crucifix pinned to his shirt and understood that he, like the volunteers and workers, was trying to live in a way that reflected his faith in Christ. Before he left, with a full belly and a smile on his face, he thanked Ruth again and told her that he would pray for her. What a gift to witness this exchange of acknowledged humanity, this tiny glimpse of the Kingdom. Ruth acknowledged this man’s need for delicious, healthy, filling food, as well as his need to offer thanks. This man acknowledged Ruth’s need to be thanked and appreciated and all of our need, really, to be prayed for. In the gospel today Jesus instructs us to care for one another, and to find ways to acknowledge the humanity of all our brothers and sisters. But we are only able to reach out to others because Jesus himself finds us when we are lost, reaches out to us, embraces us when we need him the most. As a response to this great love, and only as a response, are we able to reach out to others in kind.
1 Good Goats: Healing
Our Image of God. Dennis, Sheila Fabricant and Matthew Linn. pg. 49. The Feast of All
Saints Don't get me wrong—the whole battle between "creationism" and evolution drives me nuts. Generally and generously speaking, not only is creationism not science, it's not even good theology. Again, generally speaking, the Darwin's theory of evolution does not need to be seen as any sort of threat to the proclamation of the Gospel; each declares its own truths in its own language, in its own way of thinking, in its own metaphors. The theory of evolution tells us in the language and metaphors of science that the fittest of a species are the ones who survive. The Gospel, in the language and metaphors of faith, proclaims the survival of those who are the most unfit, both in time and outside of time. It was the end of May, and I was at the funeral mass for a young man, Michael Sean, who had a few days earlier taken his own life. I wondered, given much of the history of how the church has handled suicide, what we would hear. The Gospel that was read that day was the Gospel we have just heard this morning; the assembly sat down and immediately the presbyter began the homily, boldly proclaiming, "Blesséd are the poor in spirit, for they shall see God. Blesséd be Michael Sean for his spirit was too poor, too weak to withstand the pain of this world—but now he does behold God fact-to-face. His tears have been wiped away, and now he is among the saints." It would have been in bad form and decidedly un-Lutheran, but I wanted to stand up and shout, "Alleluia, thanks be to God!" Michael Sean, not yet twenty-years-old at his death, proclaimed blesséd, proclaimed a saint of God by a Presbyter of the Church by the authority and command of Christ Jesus. We in the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church hold and believe, celebrate and remember on this Feast of All Saints, that all the baptized, alive and dead, are blesséd, that all the baptized are already saints – though not yet as we shall be when we are fully become a part of the timelessness of God. So now Saints of God, hear the Holy Gospel, proclaimed for you and for the beloved dead whom you remember this day and whom you will miss and mourn all the days of your lives. By the authority and command of Christ Jesus I declare unto you that:
And speaking of
heavenly banquets, blesséd are those whom we call our enemies,
those whom we call unrighteous and immoral, those whom we hate (and
we all have someone or ones we hate) – for they, to our great chagrin,
will also have a place at the table, most likely right beside us.
And so we join with Blesséd John Donne and pray: Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end. In the name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN 23 Pentecost
St. Matthew 22.34-40 I have some Roman Catholic friends, some of them priests, who have, now and again been accused by some bishops and archbishops of being “Cafeteria Catholics.” They’re called “cafeteria Catholics” because they’ve some choices about which church teachings they will observe and which ones, in good conscience, they feel they can safely ignore. Similar accusations are made in other Christian circles as well. I know people who staunchly believe that a person is made right with God by grace through faith. For them, however, he faith that justifies means “believing” that every bit of scripture is literal and inerrant. These people hold that being justified by grace through faith means “believing” that the earth was literally created in six, twenty-four hour days – and that the earth is less than ten-thousand years old. For them, a person cannot be a Christian and accept the theory of evolution as a valid explanation of how life has come to be on this planet. This, they say, contradicts the Biblical account of creation and therefore, “you’re picking and choosing from Scripture,” they say. but with an ear toward this morning’s gospel, we may safely respond, “You bet we’re picking and choosing.” And in our picking and choosing we are in very good company indeed. It’s what Jesus himself does in answering to the Pharisees. It’s what Martin Luther does throughout his preaching and teaching – and it’s what countless of the faithful have done before and since. Cafeteria Catholics along with all cafeteria people of faith are in the good company of Jesus himself! The Pharisees are out to test Jesus. It’s their belief that if only all the Hebrew people perfectly keep every last commandment of the law for just one day, the true Messiah will surely come. Now, if the Pharisees can just get Jesus to pick and choose, then they will be able to definitively demonstrate that the one from Nazareth disregards some of the commandments and is therefore anything but the awaited Messiah. The Pharisees have already hear how Jesus allowed his disciples to pick grain on the Sabbath, obviously breaking some commandments—how disregarded Scripture by saying that the Sabbath was made for people and not people for the Sabbath. That’s picking and choosing. Will he do it again? The greatest commandment, says Jesus: Love God. And the second is like it: Love the neighbor. This is the entirety of the Law and the Prophets. Though secretly delighted with this indicting response, the Pharisees feign shock. But Jesus, what about not eating shellfish? What about blended fabrics? What about women covering their heads and men not trimming their sideburns—but trimming something else? What about pork-and-beans, and handling footballs? You’re picking and choosing, Jesus. You cafeteria Jew, you. First, says Jesus, love God. But not that kind of love that is simply some personal, warm and fuzzy feeling. Love of God must rather be a force, a force that takes over your whole being—a powerful, all encompassing trust—trusting that God means what God says when God promises that all your sins are forever forgiven, that you don’t have to worry about keeping God happy by what you wear or eat, by how you scrub your pots and pans, by how you pray, or by the gender of the one to whom you make a life-long commitment of love and caring. Only this love that trusts in God’s promises can free you from your turned-in-on-self piety in or that you keep the second commandment which is equal to the first. Now that you absolutely do not need to worry about how to keep God happy, how to keep God from zapping you—you’re completely free, completely free to love the neighbor. No more can it be me and my sweet God together alone in the garden and to hell with everybody else. Now it must be trust God’s promise, come down to earth where you belong, and get on with it. Get on with it: love the neighbor. And we’re not talking Valentine’s Day, mooshy, gooshy, Hallmark-greeting-card love here either. We’re talking about an all encompassing commitment to the very best of life for the neighbor, a life-altering commitment to making sure that the neighbor is fed, clothed, housed, and able to live a good in peace and tranquility. And the neighbor is anyone and everyone who is vulnerable. Your own hungry little baby with dirty stinking diapers that make you gag is the neighbor who is in need. Your spouse or partner with all his or her annoying behaviors and habits who, nevertheless, needs your faithfulness, your understanding, and your care is the neighbor. Neighbors too are the world’s countless hungry children, one of whom dies every seven seconds because of starvation; one of whom dies every seven seconds while the average U.S. citizen becomes more obscenely overfed by the day. Our neighbors too are the unknown many in Pakistan who mourn the death of over 50,000 of their beloved, the unknown many in Pakistan who face even this day a certain and immanent death because there is left for them only marginal shelter, little food, little warmth, and insufficient clothing as the dark cold of winter descends upon the wreckage of their lives. And our neighbors are school children who, in order to be productive citizens of the world, desperately need quality education in order to succeed in a highly complex and technological society— and by conservative estimates, in Denver alone, at least a thousand of these school children are homeless. And now today, more victims of yet another hurricane in this season of depredation that seems to know no end. And I could go on and on and on and on. We all know that those in need of our care and commitment are everywhere and as near as our very next breath. How can we ever care for them all? This commandment to be committed to the well-being of all who are in need to soon becomes a quick and easy road to despair. Hell, hang around this place and you’ll see more need in just one day than can be met by any one person in a lifetime of trying. And it goes on day after day, week after week, deadening year after year. Has God has set us up for failure? We cannot truly love the neighbor—it’s too big a demand, too huge a demand, and just what sort of God is it who commands such an impossible task? It’s the sort of God you can too soon learn to be afraid of, to mistrust, to hate, to loathe. Love God? How can you love a God, how can you trust a God, who commands this task beyond our doing—who commands this task beyond all comprehension? Life would be so much easier if it could only be a matter of following rules about how to eat, what to wear, whom to hang around with, and whom to commit one’s life to. If only God could be like...a book—preferably one of literal and inerrant facts and rules—so much easier to love a book.... Go back to the first commandment. You shall love God—without limits. You shall trust God’s promise with every fiber of your being. Hear that now not as demand—but as promise. You shall love God—without limits. You will one day trust God’s promise with every fiber of your being. God guarantees that it shall be so—that it is already so in God’s eyes. God sees each and every single one of you—already, this very day—as perfectly trusting God’s promise to you that you are unconditionally loved and forgiven. Lay aside your anxiety. As God sees it, you do love God, without limits; you do trust God’s promise with unfailing trust—and you are not ever going to be able to mess that up. And the second promise is like the first. You will be completely dedicated to the well-being of all who are vulnerable and in need. You already are completely dedicated to the well-being of all who are vulnerable and in need. It’s who you are in my eyes, says God. So lay aside your anxiety over whether you’re doing it completely or perfectly or correctly or enough or not. Just do it. Nor do you need to try to be any Messiah—in my eyes, says God, you already bear the imprint of Messiah, the imprint of Christ upon your heart and your soul and your mind. I see you as Christ already, already risen from the dead and alive in love. And one more thing, says God. You do get to pick and choose from Scripture. Pick and choose those things that tell of my unconditional, compassionate, forgiving love—a love that is for you and for all the creation. Pick and choose those things that tell of my undying commitment to life and life abundant, for you and for all people. And as for the rest of it? Quit worrying. Get on with life. Be who I have declared and promised you already are. 22 Pentecost
Isaiah 45:1-7 I’d be willing to bet that there isn’t anyone here who hasn’t been absolutely disgusted with government at one time or another. And I’d bet too that all of us have complained at one time or another about paying taxes—sales tax, income tax—state and federal, Denver head tax, real estate tax, vehicle excise tax, arena tax, fuel tax, you name—seems like every time we turn around there’s one more sort of tax or another. Some things never change. It was the same thing in Jesus’ time—only, made worse by the fact that the people paid their taxes to the Romans, occupying invaders—foreigners, infidels, people with customs and habits that scandalized the Hebrew people. One of those customs was to mark the coin of the realm with the image of Caesar. Images were bad enough—the scriptures prohibited the making of physical images of people or animals, lest those images become idols as they almost always did in every culture. But what made the images of Caesar even worse, was that the Romans proclaimed Caesar to be one of their gods. So, the Hebrews and their religious leaders made a lot of noise about having to carry currency marked with the likeness of a pagan deity. But what could one do? Well, for one thing, the religious leaders of the Temple discovered...one could turn all of this into an opportunity. So, the religious leaders declared that no currency bearing the likeness of Caesar could be carried into the Temple where the people had to come to buy animals for the priests to sacrifice so that sins could be forgiven. All Roman currency would have to be exchanged for Temple currency—for a currency exchange fee, of course—and a very lucrative currency exchange fee at that. And then, of course, one would then be obligated to buy an extra sacrifice to cleanse oneself of the sin of carrying Roman currency in the first place. Yes, the Roman occupation did have its positive aspects. In truth, the Roman occupation worked out quite well for many others as well. For one thing, the Romans knew that peace could be kept in the colonies by allowing the locals freedom of religion—a truly remarkable advance. The Roman conquerors also brought with them a very high standard of living—good sewage systems, running water, great roads, the beginning of public education, impressive architecture—along with all the freedom due to citizens of the Roman Empire. And though they maintained an exterior posture of revulsion, the religious leaders benefited from the Roman occupation along with everyone else. If the truth were to be told, life in Jerusalem had never, ever been so good. The only ones who were truly serious about getting rid of the Romans were those who kept alive the hope of a Messiah coming to restore the land of the Hebrews to the glory they imagined it once had under King David. Messiah would command an avenging army that would kill the infidels and establish a government that would strictly enforce religious law. Rome, however, heard any and all of this talk as a threat to peace and tranquility and quickly and publicly executed any and all who publicly advocated any breach of the Pax Romana—the Peace of Rome. Hmm, thought the
religious leaders. This Roman concern for law and order, for peace and
tranquility, might just have some benefits beyond the obviou. It might
very well be the way to eliminate a certain someone who threatened their
own brand of peace and prosperity—it could be used to trap that
irritating Jesus of Nazareth into implicating himself as someone who
preached against the Roman occupation. Soooo, Jesus...is it lawful to
pay taxes to Rome or not? Any way Jesus answered very well could (one
could only hope) be his undoing. On the one hand if Jesus says that
paying taxes to the infidel Romans is lawful then Jesus would alienate
many of his followers—the ones who had no love for either the government
or its taxes. On the other hand, if Jesus says that paying taxes is
not lawful according to religious law—then Jesus would hang himself
with words that would surely be construed by the Romans as a threat
to national security. Looks like Caesar’s coin to me, says Jesus. Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, to God what is God’s. And by the way, even Caesar belongs to God, whether you like it, or know it, or not. And though he doesn’t know it, even Caesar does God’s work. Don’t you remember the words of Isaiah the Prophet – who told you that God was using the foreign ruler Cyrus to do God’s bidding? Don’t you remember how God called this so-called infidel, God’s own anointed, God’s...messiah? God uses government for the common good—for your good. And the money for your common good comes from those who benefit—namely you. Paying taxes helps accomplish God’s work of keeping us in line, of keeping chaos at bay, of keeping peace and tranquility in the land, of insuring religious freedom and the common good. A couple of weeks ago, the comparative religion class of Denver East High School visited here to learn a bit about the Lutheran tradition of Christianity—and so I told them all about grace—how all people are unconditionally loved by God, how all people are unconditionally forgiven. No ifs, ands, or buts.
In a perfect world, I explained, there would be no need for laws or for government or for taxes—in a perfect world we would love our neighbor completely. In a perfect world we would never do anything to harm our neighbor and we would do everything to provide for the neighbor’s very best interests. But we are not perfect, and our main concern, when all is said and done and if we are honest, is the self and the interests of the self. We are God’s bratty children: we need a good deal of restraint and we need to be compelled to do the good. That is the job of government, and it is God’s way of managing our bad behavior and our refusal to do the right thing. In our country, we are the government—and when government refuses to be effective in managing bad behavior and refuses to provide for the common good, it is our job, as people of reason and conscience to change it through secular argument that will make sense to all people of reason and conscience, through secular arguments that preserve freedom of religion, that preserve freedom from religion when that is people’s choice. Though deeply flawed because human beings are deeply flawed, government is still God’s way of minimizing chaos, God’s way of protecting us and all people from our worst selves, God’s way of compelling us and all people to provide for the common good. And to enable all of that, we do pay taxes. The state and its laws, however, are not God’s final word. God’s final Word is...the Christ—God’s love letter to the world. In Christ, God says to each and every one of you—there is nothing in this world, nothing in law, nothing in government, nothing in power, nothing in weakness, nothing in yourselves, nothing outside of yourselves, nothing you can do or fail to do that will ever, ever separate you from my love. There is in this world one thing that you cannot and will not ever mess up, says God in Christ—and that is my absolute, unconditional, undying, and everlasting adoration of...you, all of you...just as you are. And all of that is the one thing in this world that is absolutely...tax-free. 21 Pentecost Isaiah 25.1-9 Hear this now and hear it well!! Everybody, absolutely everybody, gets in to the sumptuous banquet laid out by God, the Great Giver of the Feast! Everybody!! Period!! Diversity is not perversity as the pickets outside of here said one Sunday in June. Diversity is the plan for God’s glorious and grand banquet. And everybody gets in to the banquet, the good and the bad together – Jesus’ words, not mine. The banquet hall must be filled to overflowing with guests – of every sort, of every kind, of every persuasion and orientation, of every hue and tongue!! Now, having said that, what about those in the parable who didn’t want to come to the wedding banquet, who made light of the invitation, some of whom seized the bearers of the invitation, mistreated them, killed them? The Giver of the Feast sent troops to destroy them — how can they, the dead get in? No problem, says Isaiah: for God will destroy the shroud that is cast over all peoples, it is God who will swallow up death forever. What’s more it is Christ the Bridegroom, the guest of honor at the banquet, who has himself come to destroy death – to bring to life those who were dead to the invitation, to bring to life all those who scorned the Giver of the Feast. I know well how this works: there are days when the things of the mall and the image in the mirror are the most compelling things in my world – and so I become deadened to the Feast. But as we say in the Nicene Creed – we look for the resurrection of the dead – ourselves included, in the here and the now – a resurrection that happens daily, that happens for some of us dozens of times daily. We are raised from deadened lives and to our surprise we find ourselves at the banquet hall once more where the bad get in and the good get in, where everybody gets in. And make no mistake, each and every one of you gets in no matter how dead you’ve been. For free. There’s nothing you need to do. Nothing you need to do to get yourself invited and no way to get yourself uninvited. No way to get priority seating and no way to get yourself eighty-sixed. The Giver of the Feast wants everyone there and wants everyone seated equally, and what the Giver of the Feast wants, the Giver of the Feast gets. But what of the person who wasn’t wearing a wedding robe, the one the Giver of the Feast tosses out on his ear for not being properly dressed. What if that person without the wedding robe couldn’t afford one – or didn’t read the part on the invitation about the banquet being a formal dress affair? But then again, how is it that there seems to be only one in the room not properly dressed? At most of the parties I go to, at least 30% of the guests look like they searched for the worst clothes they could find. Besides, where do you think those who have just been summoned from the highways and the byways, the good and the bad, got their fancy dress? You think all of the riff-raff and dregs of humanity that got in to the banquet hall came ready-prepared with wedding banquet clothes? False! Without any doubt whatsoever, the Giver of the Feast handed out party duds the minute the guests set foot on the premises. Then, what happened then to this hapless guest wrongly dressed? Did he somehow get lost along the way and not get into the party-clothes line? Oh, he got his party clothes all right. But rather than put them on, he went immediately to the men’s john and stuck them in the waste paper basket. Every party has its pooper and this badly dressed character has come to try and make sure no one has a good time. This character is there to rile things up, to rustle up a bit of . . . I guess we’ll say, doubt. He’s that voice that whispers in our ears, “Listen, if everybody gets in, the good and the bad, if the Giver of the Party gives everybody identical wedding clothes, do you really want to be seen here? Listen, we’re the A-list crowd and we don’t want to associate with just anybody, do we?” When finished instilling doubt that way, Old Mr. Party Pooper goes to another table: “You know, this place is for Lutherans only. You don’t belong here, your party is elsewhere where they do things differently.” And to still others, Mr. Pooper says, “Be on guard, the Giver of the Party doesn’t really mean that everybody gets in for free. There’s going to be a pop quiz. The first question is: Do you believe that every word of scripture is literal and inerrant? And number two is like it. Do you believe the earth was created in six, twenty-four hour days? You get those two wrong and out you go.” Party P. Pooper has been busy terrorizing a whole bunch of people with that one, and they, in turn, are busy trying to scare anyone they can find with the ‘orthodoxy 101’ quiz. And if the Old Poop hasn’t gotten to you with any of these so far, he’ll try to figure something out. He’ll try to have you wondering where the catch is — doubting you’re good enough to get in to the Feast, and convincing you your slime-ball neighbor definitely isn’t. “Party P. Pooper has just got to go,” says the Great Giver of the Feast. “I just won’t have it. So, my servants, go out and start the Banquett NOW, anywhere and everywhere and already. Proclaim from the heights and proclaim from the depths: All are welcome. And build holy halls and hallowed houses make a place at the table for everybody – for the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the confused and the sure, the outcast and the stranger, the conventional and the strangest, those who think they have it all together and those who know they don’t, for the Democrat and for the Republican, for the dove and for the hawk, For Ellen DeGeneres and for James Dobson, for the noisy and for the contemplative, for the winsome and for the wacko, you name it. All are welcome.” And so it has come to pass — here in this place. All are welcome: Come to the Feast!! There is a place at the table — for r absolutely everybody. No conditions! No exceptions!! AMEN!!! 27th Sunday in Ordinary
Time Isaiah 5:1-7 Whoever dies with the most—fill in the blank—wins. You know how it goes: whoever dies with the most stuff, the most toys, wins. Whoever dies with the most money wins. If you’re in the world of academics, it might be whoever dies with the most publications wins. For other people it’s whoever dies with the most property or real estate or cars—wins. Then there’s Whoever dies with the most power wins. And if you were to take a tour of my clothes closet, you’d realize that for me it’s, whoever dies with the most pairs of shoes wins. Of course there’s
nothing intrinsically wrong with stuff, toys, real-estate, or even power—we
need powerful teachers, researchers, writers, and nurses. Nothing wrong
either with publications, cars, money, or even my shoes. The problem
lies, rather, with a couple of four-letter words: most and wins. Underlying
both of them is what Martin Luther called our turned-in-on-selfness.
If I am to have or to be the most anything, it means I alone must be
number one, and everyone else must be something less—preferably
much less so as to eliminate or at least limit anyone coming close to
my mostness. And if I am to win, everyone else must lose, and of course
I would prefer my winning be by a comfortably gigantic margin. It’s
the way we are, and if we say it’s not so—we haven’t
spent enough honest time with ourselves. And that’s where Isaiah
and the other prophets come in. “This is not what God intended when God gave you every good thing,” say the prophets. “The harvest of the vineyard, the harvest that God expects of you as God’s people is nothing more nor less than justice, mercy, kindness, and peace. This means that there is to be no hoarding of food, goods, or land. This means that people must not be crushed beneath daily-increasing debt at impossibly high interest rates,” say the prophets. “This means that people are to provide for any and all who were poor. This means that foreigners in the land—yes, even undocumented foreigners—are to be treated as honored guests; that animals are to be treated humanely; that the land is to be cared for and conserved (what a concept).” “What’s more,” say the prophets, “the harvest God expects includes walking humbly before God. Not putting your self above others or the creation, you are to live as down-to-earth creatures. Not trying to tell God how to be God, you are to refrain from putting yourself upon the judgment seat that belongs to God alone.” These prophets with their painfully honest words are the slave messengers of Jesus’ parable, the ones sent by the Landowner in an attempt to eke out a harvest of justice, mercy, peace, and humility before God and humanity. These emissaries of the landowner, however, prove to be about as popular as seventy-times-seven plagues, and they must be gotten rid of as quickly and efficiently as possible! And so in a last ditch effort the landowner sends—the Son. The Son, however, fares no better than the other emissaries. He is seized, made an outcast, and killed. So what should the landowner do to those who kill the Son? “Well, of course,” reply the grim-faced religious leaders, “the landowner should put those wretches to a miserable death and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him good produce.” Jesus then turns
enigmatic with the Chief Priests, the Scribes, and the Pharisees and
starts talking about a stone, a stone that will trip up the religious,
that will fall upon the power elite, but a stone that will be for others
a cornerstone. The religious leaders hear in all of this a threat to
themselves and their power. They hear Jesus threatening the wrath of
God upon them. They hear Jesus threatening them with the death penalty
that they have unwittingly just pronounced. “But how can
that be,” snidely sneer the religious leaders. “Isn’t
God supposed to be the most powerful, the most holy, the most righteous?
And isn’t God supposed to win, not suffer and—scandal of scandals—die?
What have we been striving after all this time? We wanna a god of most-ness
and winning. We wanna be like a god of most-ness and winning. A God
who wills to suffer, to be weak, to hang out with the world’s losers
is not playing by our rules. Get real; who but losers would want to
be like a God who serves the poor, who loves those whom normal people
find disgusting, a God who, when attacked, won’t fight back with
weapons of mass destruction? That kind of a God IS a stumbling stone—and
if that is going to be the foundation stone of the realm of God—well
those people can just have it. Next thing you know those people will
be saying heaven is where absolutely everyone gets to sit down and feast
with God, where there are neither most nor least, neither winners nor
losers. If that’s God’s heavenly garden who wants it!”
rage the religious. “We’d rather die than associate with some
damn fool of a loser God who loves all people equally.” |
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