Why We Worship: The Kiss of Peace
Ash Wednesday/Midweek Lent
March 6, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
1 Thessalonians 5.12-26; Matthew 18.1-9
Do you remember your first kiss? I don’t mean the slobbery kisses from mom and dad nor do I mean the stifling ones from Aunt Sally or Grandma Johnson. I mean your first real, intimate kiss, the kind that produced tingly anticipation and butterflies in your stomach. I think first kiss was supposed to be with Debbie, a neighborhood girl who lived a block over from me. Somehow we’d arranged that I’d go to her house and we’d “make out.” Now, because I was in the fifth or sixth grade I’m pretty sure we didn’t know what making out really meant, but I was pretty sure I did know it involved kissing. It turns out her invitation was something of a setup. The neighbor kids had been invited to hide behind the couch and watch. The embarrassment and disappointment I felt shows the depth of importance that kissing has in our relationships. One has to become vulnerable to kiss and vulnerability is risky.
Interestingly, kissing was a hot topic in the early church, primarily involving the holy kiss of peace. The apostle Paul tells the Thessalonians to greet each other with a holy kiss, and they aren’t the only ones he instructs. It turns out that the kiss of peace was practiced in several parts of the early church liturgy, so it must have been significant. Even so, it seems there is some question about what the kiss actually meant in worship and why it was practiced. And it probably comes as no surprise that apparently there were some folk who enjoyed it too much and got into it a bit too fervently. You see, the church practice of sharing the peace mirrored the secular practice of greeting: full on the lips whether you were male or female.
There were also some interesting ways to share the holy kiss of peace, but clearly it has evolved since then. For example, one person would place their hands on the other person’s shoulders while the recipient of the peace clasped your elbows in return. These days, although some people offer a peck here and there, mostly we shake hands (or fist bump if we are concerned about spreading germs.)
This Lent we are exploring the topic of why we worship. We are looking at the different parts of the worship service and plumbing the depths of ritual to have better understanding of what we do and why we do it. On Ash Wednesday, a day we don’t normally share the peace, we discover why it’s a good thing we should do so.
The most obvious reason for the sharing of the peace is that it is a vehicle of forgiveness. Usually placed before the meal, which includes the offering, the sharing of the peace is a reminder that we are not to approach the altar if there is anything standing between us and our brothers and sisters. Through the sharing of the peace—still an intimate action without kissing—we would be reconciled to one another just as we have been or about to be reconciled to God through Jesus Christ. Even so, the peace is not only a sign of forgiveness, but is an opportunity to reflect on the importance of reconciliation. We are reminded to make peace with someone if we haven’t already.
There’s more. For the early church—and for now—there is also an important communal aspect to the peace, really at its very heart. The kiss of peace served to bind the new Christian community together in crucial ways that couldn’t be done otherwise. Individual grievances had communal implications because fractured relationships threatened to split the community. So the kiss of peace bound them together and helped guard against divisions. Furthermore, the sharing of the peace was egalitarian in nature: whatever social, economic or cultural differences there were, though they didn’t disappear, were greatly smoothed over through the equality of love. Slaves greeted free, woman greeted men, poor greeted rich and so on. The result was that the kiss of peace among societal unequal persons became counter-cultural. The church was different.
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and a time of reflection and renewal in our life of faith. It’s the beginning of our journey with Jesus on the road to his suffering, crucifixion, death and ultimately the empty tomb. The ashes are a reminder of our mortality, our brokenness, and a sign of repentance, but they also cleanse us. Tonight, I invite you to reflect on God’s desire to reconcile you to him and to others. I invite you to ponder the power of the practice of peace to bring about restoration, even if you don’t feel it or see it immediately. You see, for it doesn’t really depend on you but rather on God working through you. You don’t have to kiss and nobody’s watching, but you know what you will be about. Peace be with you. Amen.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Sunday, March 3, 2019
What Have We Got to Lose? - Sermon for Transfiguration Sunday
What Have We Got to Lose?
Transfiguration – Narrative Lectionary 1
March 3, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 16.21-17.8
Each week during the season of Epiphany we’ve noted something that highlights who Jesus is revealed to be, how he has been made manifest to us and to “the nations.” On the day of Epiphany, even as a baby, Jesus was revealed to be a threat to the people in power and then at his baptism, he was shown to be God’s beloved Son. Since then, we’ve learned at his temptation by Satan that Jesus is steadfastly committed to God’s mission to save the world and in the Sermon on the Mount that he is the authentic interpreter of God’s law. In that great block of teaching, Jesus teaches us how to pray and gives us a glimpse of what God’s kingdom is like. Finally, had we been able to gather for worship last week, Jesus is shown to be the one who creates abundance where we see scarcity and gives us courage to step out in risky faith.
Today’s text provides a perfect bookend to the season with a similar declaration by God that we heard at Jesus’ baptism, but with one significant addition: “this is my beloved Son; listen to him!” Listening to Jesus not only means taking seriously what he says but it also means following him. Today’s text also nudges us into the season of Lent as we hear Jesus’ first passion prediction, that his mission to save humanity will involve suffering and death. Even so, we hear that this suffering and death will also lead to resurrection and new life. The Transfiguration, then, becomes a pledge, God’s commitment to the resurrection and life abundant.
But how do we make sense of Jesus’ passion predictions, the call to deny our self and take up our cross, and the transfiguration on this side of the resurrection? Are they important for us? On one level, denying one’s self means to subordinate our will to God’s. Most of us would agree that we’d like for our will to align with God’s will for us. Yet, we may not be sure of what that means, especially in light of Jesus’ call about losing our lives in order to save them. I think there is a second level of meaning here and it’s an invitation to let go of those things that are standing in the way of the life God intends for us now. It’s an invitation to reject the fear that keeps us holding on to things the keep us from living the kind of life God brings us through Jesus.
Brené Brown is a sociologist who began studying connections between people. She discovered that shame and the inability to be vulnerable prevented people from connecting with one another and from living a whole-hearted life. Your church council read one of her books, The Gifts of Imperfection, and participated in a retreat last year to discover how we can cultivate a community of courage, compassion and connection centered in Christ. The subtitle of the book is Letting Go of Who You Are Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. In book she lists 10 things we need to let go of paired with 10 things we need to cultivate for whole-hearted living.
We don’t have time to go through all 10, but here’s an example that resonates with me. I hope that it might suffice. Number 2 on her list involves letting go of perfectionism and instead cultivate self-compassion. Now, perfectionism is not the same as trying to do your best or be better. Perfectionism results from thinking that we aren’t good enough and the shame we feel when we’re not perfect. Ironically, perfectionism actually hampers success. Letting go of perfectionism involves embracing our imperfections and practicing being kind to ourselves. Cultivating self-compassion means reminding ourselves that we’re doing the best we can even though it’s not perfect. What is amazing is that, when we practice self-compassion, it spills over into having compassion for others.
There are many more things Brown encourages us to let go of: e.g., what people think; the need for comparison; busyness and exhaustion as status symbols; self-doubt; and the “supposed to” mentality that keeps us running like a hamster on a wheel. But, as we enter Lent this Wednesday, I invite to think of something to let go of that is standing in the way of the life God intends for you to live right now. I invite to be kind and compassionate to yourself. For you are also God’s Beloved Children in who God takes delight and that same God wishes life for you. Amen
Transfiguration – Narrative Lectionary 1
March 3, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 16.21-17.8
Each week during the season of Epiphany we’ve noted something that highlights who Jesus is revealed to be, how he has been made manifest to us and to “the nations.” On the day of Epiphany, even as a baby, Jesus was revealed to be a threat to the people in power and then at his baptism, he was shown to be God’s beloved Son. Since then, we’ve learned at his temptation by Satan that Jesus is steadfastly committed to God’s mission to save the world and in the Sermon on the Mount that he is the authentic interpreter of God’s law. In that great block of teaching, Jesus teaches us how to pray and gives us a glimpse of what God’s kingdom is like. Finally, had we been able to gather for worship last week, Jesus is shown to be the one who creates abundance where we see scarcity and gives us courage to step out in risky faith.
Today’s text provides a perfect bookend to the season with a similar declaration by God that we heard at Jesus’ baptism, but with one significant addition: “this is my beloved Son; listen to him!” Listening to Jesus not only means taking seriously what he says but it also means following him. Today’s text also nudges us into the season of Lent as we hear Jesus’ first passion prediction, that his mission to save humanity will involve suffering and death. Even so, we hear that this suffering and death will also lead to resurrection and new life. The Transfiguration, then, becomes a pledge, God’s commitment to the resurrection and life abundant.
But how do we make sense of Jesus’ passion predictions, the call to deny our self and take up our cross, and the transfiguration on this side of the resurrection? Are they important for us? On one level, denying one’s self means to subordinate our will to God’s. Most of us would agree that we’d like for our will to align with God’s will for us. Yet, we may not be sure of what that means, especially in light of Jesus’ call about losing our lives in order to save them. I think there is a second level of meaning here and it’s an invitation to let go of those things that are standing in the way of the life God intends for us now. It’s an invitation to reject the fear that keeps us holding on to things the keep us from living the kind of life God brings us through Jesus.
Brené Brown is a sociologist who began studying connections between people. She discovered that shame and the inability to be vulnerable prevented people from connecting with one another and from living a whole-hearted life. Your church council read one of her books, The Gifts of Imperfection, and participated in a retreat last year to discover how we can cultivate a community of courage, compassion and connection centered in Christ. The subtitle of the book is Letting Go of Who You Are Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. In book she lists 10 things we need to let go of paired with 10 things we need to cultivate for whole-hearted living.
We don’t have time to go through all 10, but here’s an example that resonates with me. I hope that it might suffice. Number 2 on her list involves letting go of perfectionism and instead cultivate self-compassion. Now, perfectionism is not the same as trying to do your best or be better. Perfectionism results from thinking that we aren’t good enough and the shame we feel when we’re not perfect. Ironically, perfectionism actually hampers success. Letting go of perfectionism involves embracing our imperfections and practicing being kind to ourselves. Cultivating self-compassion means reminding ourselves that we’re doing the best we can even though it’s not perfect. What is amazing is that, when we practice self-compassion, it spills over into having compassion for others.
There are many more things Brown encourages us to let go of: e.g., what people think; the need for comparison; busyness and exhaustion as status symbols; self-doubt; and the “supposed to” mentality that keeps us running like a hamster on a wheel. But, as we enter Lent this Wednesday, I invite to think of something to let go of that is standing in the way of the life God intends for you to live right now. I invite to be kind and compassionate to yourself. For you are also God’s Beloved Children in who God takes delight and that same God wishes life for you. Amen
Sunday, February 24, 2019
"Eat and Run" - Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Epiphany
Eat and Run
Epiphany 7 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 24, 2019
Redeemer, Good Thunder
Matthew 14.13-33
This sermon was to have been preached at Grace's sister congregation, Redeemer Lutheran Church in Good Thunder. Due to weather, the service was cancelled. I post it here for those who are missing church today or who just like an extra dose of proclamation.
We have two stories that—with a nod toward the first—provide more than enough sustenance for us to feed on today. And there is a third story that hangs over both of them, yet preceding the first: the death of John the Baptist at the whim of Salome and the hands of Herod. Not only does the news of John’s death affect Jesus deeply, but there is a stark contrast between that story and today’s text. John’s death takes place in a palatial hall, with powerful, drunken guests and sumptuous fare. But the meal hosted by Jesus is set in a deserted place, with sick, common folk and simple food. And after meeting their hunger—physically and spiritually—Jesus sends them all away.
Because there is so much here, it is tempting to focus on just one of the stories, either the feeding of the multitude or the walking on water. But I’d like to connect the two because it seems like they belong together in some way. In the first story, I’m struck by how Jesus uses what little the disciples have and yet makes it more than enough for all. And then right after that, the disciples, in the midst of their struggles, are invited to step out in faith and courage. Though technically Peter gets the invite, he typically represents all followers of Jesus, including you and me. It doesn’t seem a stretch to say that Peter can join Jesus on the water because he has been fed and strengthened to do so.
I’ve experienced this same thing in my own life in many ways, but I’ll tell you only one story. As many of you know, I’m a second career pastor, having a number of jobs in the business world for 16 years before I went to seminary. I first felt the call to ministry in 1984, but our first daughter was on the way and the timing was not good. Not surprisingly, the call to ordained ministry would come and go over the next several years, but I would ignore it for various reasons. Finally, in Christmas 1991 I included in my annual letter to friends and relatives that I was thinking about this and asked for prayer. A relative who had not received a letter, but heard about it, called and offered to help with the costs in a very generous way. Cindy and I were stunned. There’s a lot more to the story, but in August 1992 at age 38, with a wife and two daughters (4 & 8), we stepped out of the boat, sold our house, and moved to Gettysburg Pennsylvania.
Now, I need to be clear about something: I am not the hero of this story. If anyone is the hero, it’s my wife and girls, who have sacrificed and gave up much for me to become (and be) a pastor. Believe me, there have been plenty of times during those four years in seminary and the time since when I have felt myself sinking and yelled, “Lord, save me!” It is God who is the real hero in this story. It is God who provides all that we need, even when it seems like we have little or nothing of our own. It is God who calls us to follow Jesus into situations that are chaotic and uncertain, even dangerous.
Last October, I announced that God has called me to step out of the Grace-Redeemer boat into intentional interim ministry. What is also true is that at the same time, God is calling Grace and Redeemer to venture into new, uncharted territory, together in some way. The prospects for both of us are exciting and uncertain, but there are two things we can count on. First, we know that, even though we can’t see how, God is going to give us all that we need, and more. Second, we know that God is going to be right alongside of us, guiding us along the way, saving us when we flounder. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Epiphany 7 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 24, 2019
Redeemer, Good Thunder
Matthew 14.13-33
This sermon was to have been preached at Grace's sister congregation, Redeemer Lutheran Church in Good Thunder. Due to weather, the service was cancelled. I post it here for those who are missing church today or who just like an extra dose of proclamation.
We have two stories that—with a nod toward the first—provide more than enough sustenance for us to feed on today. And there is a third story that hangs over both of them, yet preceding the first: the death of John the Baptist at the whim of Salome and the hands of Herod. Not only does the news of John’s death affect Jesus deeply, but there is a stark contrast between that story and today’s text. John’s death takes place in a palatial hall, with powerful, drunken guests and sumptuous fare. But the meal hosted by Jesus is set in a deserted place, with sick, common folk and simple food. And after meeting their hunger—physically and spiritually—Jesus sends them all away.
Because there is so much here, it is tempting to focus on just one of the stories, either the feeding of the multitude or the walking on water. But I’d like to connect the two because it seems like they belong together in some way. In the first story, I’m struck by how Jesus uses what little the disciples have and yet makes it more than enough for all. And then right after that, the disciples, in the midst of their struggles, are invited to step out in faith and courage. Though technically Peter gets the invite, he typically represents all followers of Jesus, including you and me. It doesn’t seem a stretch to say that Peter can join Jesus on the water because he has been fed and strengthened to do so.
I’ve experienced this same thing in my own life in many ways, but I’ll tell you only one story. As many of you know, I’m a second career pastor, having a number of jobs in the business world for 16 years before I went to seminary. I first felt the call to ministry in 1984, but our first daughter was on the way and the timing was not good. Not surprisingly, the call to ordained ministry would come and go over the next several years, but I would ignore it for various reasons. Finally, in Christmas 1991 I included in my annual letter to friends and relatives that I was thinking about this and asked for prayer. A relative who had not received a letter, but heard about it, called and offered to help with the costs in a very generous way. Cindy and I were stunned. There’s a lot more to the story, but in August 1992 at age 38, with a wife and two daughters (4 & 8), we stepped out of the boat, sold our house, and moved to Gettysburg Pennsylvania.
Now, I need to be clear about something: I am not the hero of this story. If anyone is the hero, it’s my wife and girls, who have sacrificed and gave up much for me to become (and be) a pastor. Believe me, there have been plenty of times during those four years in seminary and the time since when I have felt myself sinking and yelled, “Lord, save me!” It is God who is the real hero in this story. It is God who provides all that we need, even when it seems like we have little or nothing of our own. It is God who calls us to follow Jesus into situations that are chaotic and uncertain, even dangerous.
Last October, I announced that God has called me to step out of the Grace-Redeemer boat into intentional interim ministry. What is also true is that at the same time, God is calling Grace and Redeemer to venture into new, uncharted territory, together in some way. The prospects for both of us are exciting and uncertain, but there are two things we can count on. First, we know that, even though we can’t see how, God is going to give us all that we need, and more. Second, we know that God is going to be right alongside of us, guiding us along the way, saving us when we flounder. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sunday, February 10, 2019
"Going for Gold" - Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
Going for Gold
Epiphany 5 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 10, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 7.1-14, 24-29
“Calvin and Hobbes” was one of my favorite cartoons. It’s a boy Calvin—precocious, mischievous, and even devilish—and his stuffed tiger Hobbes. In Calvin’s world, Hobbes is very alive and they do much together, including playing a game called, “Calvinball.” Calvinball is a game played anytime, anywhere, with whatever ball or toy is at hand: soccer ball, hockey puck, croquet mallet, tennis racket, whatever. The game is made up as you go along and the rules are constantly changing at their whim. Though the game may cause momentary consternation for the players, Calvin and Hobbes hilariously go with the flow and have a ball.
I don’t know that there is much hilarity in our text today, but in a sense Jesus is helping his followers “go with the flow” of life in the kingdom of God. We come to the end of the Sermon on the Mount, that large block of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew where he is shown to be the authentic interpreter of the law. Previous to the Sermon, before he sits down to teach, Jesus proclaims that the kingdom—God’s reign—is now present with his presence. So, in essence, the Sermon on the Mount is Jesus’ teaching on what life in the kingdom might look like right now. Jesus’ teaching appears to be a collection of wisdom sayings highlighted by the Golden Rule: do unto others what you would have them do unto you.
New Testament observer Warren Carter has identified three ways we can approach these teachings of Jesus. The first is just that, as teachings for those who don’t know the ways of Jesus. Here is what it means to live the kingdom life. The second approach involves motivation or persuasion. The followers already know what to do but they need encouragement to do so. Unfortunately, there is a dark side to the first way that is often used to scare someone into obedience. The same is true for the second approach. It is better because it involves persuading people this really is a good way to live, but it can also be used for shaming.
Yet, there’s a third approach to Jesus’ teachings in general and the Golden Rule in particular that I think is more helpful. Rather than rules to follow, these sayings are visions of what God is up to in the world. Rather than commands, they are invitations to look for God’s presence and join in that work. The early church fathers talked about wisdom sayings as something to be chewed on “until they yield their full flavor.” By “chewing on” the Golden Rule we open ourselves to God’s presence in the world and are invited to join God in kingdom work.
I’ve seen this discernment response to the Golden Rule here at Grace through the homeless shelter. We were open to God’s working in the world as we considered the invitation to be a host site. And as we responded to the breaking in of the kingdom, we established a “five-star shelter” that treated our guests as we would want to be treated, demanding nothing from them in return. The kingdom is now peeking in again as we envision a different reality in the next few years. We are beginning to discern where God is inviting us to participate in God’s work, particularly with our sister congregation Redeemer. There is a lot of energy and excitement around deepening the possibilities for ministry between our congregations. We don’t know what that will look like, but it is exciting to explore where God is inviting us to join in.
I think that following Jesus into a changing world, living and working to serve others through God’s abundant love, is more like Calvinball than baseball: we’re making it up as we go along. That doesn’t mean that “anything goes,” but it does mean we keep looking for God’s presence as we follow Jesus. God invites us into a way of life that embraces humility, openness and awareness. We “go for the gold” when we join God in the work of making his kingdom a reality. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Epiphany 5 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 10, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 7.1-14, 24-29
“Calvin and Hobbes” was one of my favorite cartoons. It’s a boy Calvin—precocious, mischievous, and even devilish—and his stuffed tiger Hobbes. In Calvin’s world, Hobbes is very alive and they do much together, including playing a game called, “Calvinball.” Calvinball is a game played anytime, anywhere, with whatever ball or toy is at hand: soccer ball, hockey puck, croquet mallet, tennis racket, whatever. The game is made up as you go along and the rules are constantly changing at their whim. Though the game may cause momentary consternation for the players, Calvin and Hobbes hilariously go with the flow and have a ball.
I don’t know that there is much hilarity in our text today, but in a sense Jesus is helping his followers “go with the flow” of life in the kingdom of God. We come to the end of the Sermon on the Mount, that large block of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew where he is shown to be the authentic interpreter of the law. Previous to the Sermon, before he sits down to teach, Jesus proclaims that the kingdom—God’s reign—is now present with his presence. So, in essence, the Sermon on the Mount is Jesus’ teaching on what life in the kingdom might look like right now. Jesus’ teaching appears to be a collection of wisdom sayings highlighted by the Golden Rule: do unto others what you would have them do unto you.
New Testament observer Warren Carter has identified three ways we can approach these teachings of Jesus. The first is just that, as teachings for those who don’t know the ways of Jesus. Here is what it means to live the kingdom life. The second approach involves motivation or persuasion. The followers already know what to do but they need encouragement to do so. Unfortunately, there is a dark side to the first way that is often used to scare someone into obedience. The same is true for the second approach. It is better because it involves persuading people this really is a good way to live, but it can also be used for shaming.
Yet, there’s a third approach to Jesus’ teachings in general and the Golden Rule in particular that I think is more helpful. Rather than rules to follow, these sayings are visions of what God is up to in the world. Rather than commands, they are invitations to look for God’s presence and join in that work. The early church fathers talked about wisdom sayings as something to be chewed on “until they yield their full flavor.” By “chewing on” the Golden Rule we open ourselves to God’s presence in the world and are invited to join God in kingdom work.
I’ve seen this discernment response to the Golden Rule here at Grace through the homeless shelter. We were open to God’s working in the world as we considered the invitation to be a host site. And as we responded to the breaking in of the kingdom, we established a “five-star shelter” that treated our guests as we would want to be treated, demanding nothing from them in return. The kingdom is now peeking in again as we envision a different reality in the next few years. We are beginning to discern where God is inviting us to participate in God’s work, particularly with our sister congregation Redeemer. There is a lot of energy and excitement around deepening the possibilities for ministry between our congregations. We don’t know what that will look like, but it is exciting to explore where God is inviting us to join in.
I think that following Jesus into a changing world, living and working to serve others through God’s abundant love, is more like Calvinball than baseball: we’re making it up as we go along. That doesn’t mean that “anything goes,” but it does mean we keep looking for God’s presence as we follow Jesus. God invites us into a way of life that embraces humility, openness and awareness. We “go for the gold” when we join God in the work of making his kingdom a reality. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sunday, February 3, 2019
"Pray without Speaking" - Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany
Pray without Speaking
Epiphany 4 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 3, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 6.7-21
A tale of two couples: a middle aged couple was in a restaurant and, as is their custom, held hands, bowed their heads, and spoke a quiet prayer of thanks. It was a 38+ year custom of theirs. A while later, another couple who had been seated nearby, stopped and commended the couple for praying, saying what a wonderful witness it had been. The praying couple gave an embarrassed “thank you” and went back to their meal. They always tried to be unobtrusive and, though appreciative of the kind words, were a little chagrined at the attention.
Rewind the clock to another couple, far more seasoned than the first. They, too, are sitting in a restaurant. Clearly they were married and undoubtedly had been from some time. Even so, they barely spoke to one another during the entire meal. They ate their meal quietly and left the restaurant. The casual observer of this older couple was saddened. He thought how awful is was that this couple had nothing to say to each other, their lives empty with nothing to talk about. That is until many years later, after his own experiences, he came to understand that the older couple had become so comfortable with each other that they didn’t need words to be together.
In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus’ followers ask Jesus to teach them to pray. That’s unusual because Jewish men are taught to pray several times each day. Then, in 1 Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul tells his readers to “pray without ceasing … for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus.” Yet, here in Matthew during the Sermon on the Mount, the largest of five blocks of teaching, Jesus takes the initiative, telling his listeners to avoid being showy in their faith lives and to not “lift up empty phrases as the gentiles do.” Then he gives them a model for prayer that we have largely adopted, calling it The Lord’s Prayer.
The first couple in my story certainly tried to embody Jesus’ admonitions not to parade their prayers in public and, if you were were to listen in, you’d not hear empty phrases piled up. But it’s the older couple that fascinates me, who embodied prayer in an unimaginable way. With apologies to Paul, I think that it is possible to “pray without speaking,” just as it is to pray without ceasing. But, it’s only within the past few years that I’ve come to understand this type of prayer and frankly, it’s the one that I find hardest to practice. I also think it’s an important type of prayer to have in our tool box.
There are times when we know we need to pray, but just can’t find the words. And there are times when our minds are going a mile a minute that it’s hard to formulate a simple “please” and “thank you.” Yet, if it’s true as Fr. Hernandez says, that “Prayer is a chance to find out what God is up to in your life,” and I believe it is, then “praying without speaking” is a worthy practice to develop for both these times. The wonderful thing about this type of prayer is that we bring nothing with us except the expectation that God will be present with us, even if we don’t say anything or hear anything. What we do is leave behind our perpetually-focused world of doing to just simple be.
Now, of course there are going to be plenty of times when you are going to bring your joys and concerns before God, and that’s great because God truly wants to hear those from you on a regular basis. But I encourage you to carve a little time out each day or each week, maybe five minutes, to just be. Or if you want to practice “praying without speaking,” grab a partner, go to a restaurant and just be together without saying a word. Amen.
Epiphany 4 – Narrative Lectionary 1
February 3, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 6.7-21
A tale of two couples: a middle aged couple was in a restaurant and, as is their custom, held hands, bowed their heads, and spoke a quiet prayer of thanks. It was a 38+ year custom of theirs. A while later, another couple who had been seated nearby, stopped and commended the couple for praying, saying what a wonderful witness it had been. The praying couple gave an embarrassed “thank you” and went back to their meal. They always tried to be unobtrusive and, though appreciative of the kind words, were a little chagrined at the attention.
Rewind the clock to another couple, far more seasoned than the first. They, too, are sitting in a restaurant. Clearly they were married and undoubtedly had been from some time. Even so, they barely spoke to one another during the entire meal. They ate their meal quietly and left the restaurant. The casual observer of this older couple was saddened. He thought how awful is was that this couple had nothing to say to each other, their lives empty with nothing to talk about. That is until many years later, after his own experiences, he came to understand that the older couple had become so comfortable with each other that they didn’t need words to be together.
In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus’ followers ask Jesus to teach them to pray. That’s unusual because Jewish men are taught to pray several times each day. Then, in 1 Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul tells his readers to “pray without ceasing … for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus.” Yet, here in Matthew during the Sermon on the Mount, the largest of five blocks of teaching, Jesus takes the initiative, telling his listeners to avoid being showy in their faith lives and to not “lift up empty phrases as the gentiles do.” Then he gives them a model for prayer that we have largely adopted, calling it The Lord’s Prayer.
The first couple in my story certainly tried to embody Jesus’ admonitions not to parade their prayers in public and, if you were were to listen in, you’d not hear empty phrases piled up. But it’s the older couple that fascinates me, who embodied prayer in an unimaginable way. With apologies to Paul, I think that it is possible to “pray without speaking,” just as it is to pray without ceasing. But, it’s only within the past few years that I’ve come to understand this type of prayer and frankly, it’s the one that I find hardest to practice. I also think it’s an important type of prayer to have in our tool box.
There are times when we know we need to pray, but just can’t find the words. And there are times when our minds are going a mile a minute that it’s hard to formulate a simple “please” and “thank you.” Yet, if it’s true as Fr. Hernandez says, that “Prayer is a chance to find out what God is up to in your life,” and I believe it is, then “praying without speaking” is a worthy practice to develop for both these times. The wonderful thing about this type of prayer is that we bring nothing with us except the expectation that God will be present with us, even if we don’t say anything or hear anything. What we do is leave behind our perpetually-focused world of doing to just simple be.
Now, of course there are going to be plenty of times when you are going to bring your joys and concerns before God, and that’s great because God truly wants to hear those from you on a regular basis. But I encourage you to carve a little time out each day or each week, maybe five minutes, to just be. Or if you want to practice “praying without speaking,” grab a partner, go to a restaurant and just be together without saying a word. Amen.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
"Jesus Emmanuel: God with Us, God One of Us" - Sermon for the Second Sunday after Epiphany
Jesus Emmanuel: God with Us, God One of Us
Epiphany 2 – Narrative Lectionary 1
January 20, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 4.1-17
Early in my learning to give pastoral care, a seasoned pastor told me story of an experience from his early learning. He was visiting a man in the hospital, someone he didn’t know. This nascent pastor was listening intently to him and tracking with everything he said. Being a caring individual and wanting to be sympathetic he finally said the man, “I know how you feel.” Suddenly and without warning the man punched him in the chest and said, “I’m old and I’m dying of cancer; you couldn’t possibly know what I feel!” It was lesson learned and a painful one at that but one he’d never forget. The old man was right; he didn’t know how he felt.
Readers of Matthew’s story about Jesus’ testing in the wilderness have posited that because God took on flesh God knows exactly what it means to be one of us. God knows what it’s like to feel what we feel. But does he? Does God really know what it’s like? This story has fascinated us for millennia. From commentators to painters and, more recently, film makers, this story has been grist for many a mill. But, aside from the demonic elements and the classic battle of good versus evil, this episode has a more important purpose in Matthew’s story. It is another episode in the unfolding story that seeks to answer, “Who is this Jesus?”
The season of Epiphany explores that question in some depth because the word epiphany means to show or to make manifest. An epiphany reveals something. In Matthew’s birth story particularly, we learn that Jesus is descended from King David and that he has come to save his people. Furthermore, Jesus is Emmanuel, “God with Us.” In the story of the magi, we learned he is a king that threatens the powerful and last week in his baptism we heard that he is God’s Beloved Son. Today, immediately after Jesus is declared God’s Beloved Son we hear that he is thrust out into the desert and tested by Satan. We see that Being God’s Beloved doesn’t mean an easy life. In fact, it’s just the opposite. As the story unfolds we see that the testing never ends, even while Jesus is on the cross.
This story and the rest of the New Testament want to make absolutely clear that Jesus is thoroughly and unequivocally human. At the same time scripture wants to make clear that Jesus is thoroughly and unequivocally God. Jesus is not only “God with Us, he is “God One of Us.” Jesus eats, sleeps, feels pain, suffers, angers, and feels deeply, just like we do. But, although it may be comforting to know that God knows what it’s like to be human, is it accurate to say that Jesus knows what it means to be us? Does he know what it means to have cancer? Does he know what it feels like to be sexually assaulted?
In one sense, the answer is obviously, “No.” Jesus couldn’t possibly have experienced everything that we have. But there are two more ways in which Jesus does know what it’s like to be one of us. First, what ties together all of our experiences of being human is the temptation we all have to make God less than God. Whether it’s the temptation to allow the material goods of this world to become more important to us than God or to take God’s place in all of our struggles, Jesus knows what that is like to be us.
But there’s a second, far more important way that Jesus knows what we go through and it is found in the cross. On the cross Jesus took upon himself for us all of our brokenness, pain, struggles and sin where it was crucified along with him. There is nothing that you have gone through or are going through that Jesus doesn’t know about. More importantly, there’s nothing that he isn’t taking care of by walking with you through that pain. But there’s more (with God there’s always more). Jesus continues to be “God with Us” in the bread and wine of Holy Communion and as we take that into ourselves, “God One of Us” becomes “God One with Us,” strengthening us to make this journey through life. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Epiphany 2 – Narrative Lectionary 1
January 20, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 4.1-17
Early in my learning to give pastoral care, a seasoned pastor told me story of an experience from his early learning. He was visiting a man in the hospital, someone he didn’t know. This nascent pastor was listening intently to him and tracking with everything he said. Being a caring individual and wanting to be sympathetic he finally said the man, “I know how you feel.” Suddenly and without warning the man punched him in the chest and said, “I’m old and I’m dying of cancer; you couldn’t possibly know what I feel!” It was lesson learned and a painful one at that but one he’d never forget. The old man was right; he didn’t know how he felt.
Readers of Matthew’s story about Jesus’ testing in the wilderness have posited that because God took on flesh God knows exactly what it means to be one of us. God knows what it’s like to feel what we feel. But does he? Does God really know what it’s like? This story has fascinated us for millennia. From commentators to painters and, more recently, film makers, this story has been grist for many a mill. But, aside from the demonic elements and the classic battle of good versus evil, this episode has a more important purpose in Matthew’s story. It is another episode in the unfolding story that seeks to answer, “Who is this Jesus?”
The season of Epiphany explores that question in some depth because the word epiphany means to show or to make manifest. An epiphany reveals something. In Matthew’s birth story particularly, we learn that Jesus is descended from King David and that he has come to save his people. Furthermore, Jesus is Emmanuel, “God with Us.” In the story of the magi, we learned he is a king that threatens the powerful and last week in his baptism we heard that he is God’s Beloved Son. Today, immediately after Jesus is declared God’s Beloved Son we hear that he is thrust out into the desert and tested by Satan. We see that Being God’s Beloved doesn’t mean an easy life. In fact, it’s just the opposite. As the story unfolds we see that the testing never ends, even while Jesus is on the cross.
This story and the rest of the New Testament want to make absolutely clear that Jesus is thoroughly and unequivocally human. At the same time scripture wants to make clear that Jesus is thoroughly and unequivocally God. Jesus is not only “God with Us, he is “God One of Us.” Jesus eats, sleeps, feels pain, suffers, angers, and feels deeply, just like we do. But, although it may be comforting to know that God knows what it’s like to be human, is it accurate to say that Jesus knows what it means to be us? Does he know what it means to have cancer? Does he know what it feels like to be sexually assaulted?
In one sense, the answer is obviously, “No.” Jesus couldn’t possibly have experienced everything that we have. But there are two more ways in which Jesus does know what it’s like to be one of us. First, what ties together all of our experiences of being human is the temptation we all have to make God less than God. Whether it’s the temptation to allow the material goods of this world to become more important to us than God or to take God’s place in all of our struggles, Jesus knows what that is like to be us.
But there’s a second, far more important way that Jesus knows what we go through and it is found in the cross. On the cross Jesus took upon himself for us all of our brokenness, pain, struggles and sin where it was crucified along with him. There is nothing that you have gone through or are going through that Jesus doesn’t know about. More importantly, there’s nothing that he isn’t taking care of by walking with you through that pain. But there’s more (with God there’s always more). Jesus continues to be “God with Us” in the bread and wine of Holy Communion and as we take that into ourselves, “God One of Us” becomes “God One with Us,” strengthening us to make this journey through life. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sunday, January 6, 2019
"Dwelling in Deep Darkness" - Sermon for the Epiphany of Our Lord
Dwelling in Deep Darkness
Epiphany of Our Lord – Narrative Lectionary 1
January 6, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 2.1-23
Last summer, Cindy and I vacationed in Dubuque, IA, which you may know is a river town. We had a great time. Really. One of our stops was the Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium, a wonderful place where we wandered around for hours. At the museum was a special exhibit displaying replicas of Leonardo da Vinci’s paintings and inventions. What I particularly enjoyed about our time there was being unhurried. We were taking our time, reading the placards, and interacting with those displays that allowed it. I’m pretty sure we saw everything. And we didn’t just see it, we sat with it. That’s a bit unusual since I have the tendency to rush through things, to “get ‘er done.”
I’ve had to fight that same tendency with the story of the Holy Family, especially regarding the slaughter of innocents. Apparently, two years have passed and for some reason Mary, Joseph and Jesus have settled in Bethlehem. The story starts out innocently enough with the familiar visit by the magi. There are a few nuances as to who the magi were, but my guess is that they were probably Persian astrologers. Their presence emphasizes a theme that Matthew leads with in the genealogy in chapter 1 and will be spelled out in chapter 28: the gospel includes the most unlikely people and goes to all nations. “Go, therefore, to all nations, teaching all that I have commanded you, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy.”
But then the story goes horribly wrong as Herod—who is no real king—goes murderously berserk. The Holy Family is forced to flee to Egypt, which is hardly a welcoming place of sanctuary or safety. Here’s where I think that there’s a tendency to rush, to either to gloss over the text with some superficial explanation or to make the text serve our purposes. I guarantee some pastors will use this text to preach against abortion, sex trafficking or other atrocity against children. Or pastors might compare those who are seeking sanctuary at our border (or anywhere else for that matter) to the plight of the Holy Family.
Now, those are not bad things to preach about and should be preached about. However, I think it’s disingenuous to move too quickly to what is to be done in order to satisfy a political agenda, no matter how worthy. Even so, I think I get why pastors (or listeners) want to do so. I so desperately want to beat the text with a stick to get something out of it that would help us make some sense of the unwarranted suffering inflicted upon the vulnerable by those who should be protecting them. Truth be told, as your pastor I’d like to say something profound to help you do the same.
Yet, as a prayed and meditated about this awful story I realized there was a different way to deal with this difficult text. I think that for today we must just sit with the text, to dwell in deep darkness with it just like those parents, family members and friends sat with the horror visited upon them. I think we need to sit with the acknowledgement that the world Jesus entered was one in which the innocent suffer, where suffering in one form or another is part and parcel of being human. We all suffer to one degree or another, to a greater or lesser degree. After all, that’s the definition of compassion: to suffer with someone. It’s also the way of Jesus Christ, the way of the cross.
Compassion is one of our proposed core values here at Grace. It’s one of our core values because I’ve seen compassion in action every day here. We continually dwell with the homeless, the broken-hearted, and the most vulnerable. Yet, as much as we’d like to fix the world and everyone in it, that’s not our primary job. The first order of being a community of faith is to dwell with people in their deepest darkness. That doesn’t mean we don’t try to make the world a better place; we do want to make a difference in the world. But that our first priority is to tell people that they aren’t alone in their darkness. We are to tell them that ultimately the darkness doesn’t win and that we have God who loved us so much that he came to be one of us. That’s not something that can be rushed. Amen.
Epiphany of Our Lord – Narrative Lectionary 1
January 6, 2019
Grace, Mankato, MN
Matthew 2.1-23
Last summer, Cindy and I vacationed in Dubuque, IA, which you may know is a river town. We had a great time. Really. One of our stops was the Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium, a wonderful place where we wandered around for hours. At the museum was a special exhibit displaying replicas of Leonardo da Vinci’s paintings and inventions. What I particularly enjoyed about our time there was being unhurried. We were taking our time, reading the placards, and interacting with those displays that allowed it. I’m pretty sure we saw everything. And we didn’t just see it, we sat with it. That’s a bit unusual since I have the tendency to rush through things, to “get ‘er done.”
I’ve had to fight that same tendency with the story of the Holy Family, especially regarding the slaughter of innocents. Apparently, two years have passed and for some reason Mary, Joseph and Jesus have settled in Bethlehem. The story starts out innocently enough with the familiar visit by the magi. There are a few nuances as to who the magi were, but my guess is that they were probably Persian astrologers. Their presence emphasizes a theme that Matthew leads with in the genealogy in chapter 1 and will be spelled out in chapter 28: the gospel includes the most unlikely people and goes to all nations. “Go, therefore, to all nations, teaching all that I have commanded you, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy.”
But then the story goes horribly wrong as Herod—who is no real king—goes murderously berserk. The Holy Family is forced to flee to Egypt, which is hardly a welcoming place of sanctuary or safety. Here’s where I think that there’s a tendency to rush, to either to gloss over the text with some superficial explanation or to make the text serve our purposes. I guarantee some pastors will use this text to preach against abortion, sex trafficking or other atrocity against children. Or pastors might compare those who are seeking sanctuary at our border (or anywhere else for that matter) to the plight of the Holy Family.
Now, those are not bad things to preach about and should be preached about. However, I think it’s disingenuous to move too quickly to what is to be done in order to satisfy a political agenda, no matter how worthy. Even so, I think I get why pastors (or listeners) want to do so. I so desperately want to beat the text with a stick to get something out of it that would help us make some sense of the unwarranted suffering inflicted upon the vulnerable by those who should be protecting them. Truth be told, as your pastor I’d like to say something profound to help you do the same.
Yet, as a prayed and meditated about this awful story I realized there was a different way to deal with this difficult text. I think that for today we must just sit with the text, to dwell in deep darkness with it just like those parents, family members and friends sat with the horror visited upon them. I think we need to sit with the acknowledgement that the world Jesus entered was one in which the innocent suffer, where suffering in one form or another is part and parcel of being human. We all suffer to one degree or another, to a greater or lesser degree. After all, that’s the definition of compassion: to suffer with someone. It’s also the way of Jesus Christ, the way of the cross.
Compassion is one of our proposed core values here at Grace. It’s one of our core values because I’ve seen compassion in action every day here. We continually dwell with the homeless, the broken-hearted, and the most vulnerable. Yet, as much as we’d like to fix the world and everyone in it, that’s not our primary job. The first order of being a community of faith is to dwell with people in their deepest darkness. That doesn’t mean we don’t try to make the world a better place; we do want to make a difference in the world. But that our first priority is to tell people that they aren’t alone in their darkness. We are to tell them that ultimately the darkness doesn’t win and that we have God who loved us so much that he came to be one of us. That’s not something that can be rushed. Amen.
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