Seven Last Words of Jesus - Good Friday Year A

The Seven Last Words of Jesus

Good Friday A 

April 7, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN
Luke 23; John 19; Matthew 27 

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” The words must have been difficult to utter, on two accounts. Having been seriously whipped, losing copious amounts of blood, walking all the way to Golgotha (the Hill of the Skull), carrying the burdensome crossbar, having his arms and legs nailed in place, suffering exhaustion and shock, every breath painful and labored, Jesus still somehow manages to speak. And yet these are not words of spite or hate or derision. No, they are the words of a prayer: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

The first words proclaimed from the cross are directed to Jesus’ Father who, for some obscure reason, has allowed his only Son to be brutally, savagely, and wrongfully murdered. Still, Jesus finds it in his heart and in his dying breath to plead forgiveness for the ignorance of humanity. In the name of God, Jesus begs pardon for those who claim to be acting in the name of God. Which of us, thinking that we spoke for God, have done what those who crucified Jesus did? How many of us, who are nowhere near Jesus in sinlessness, can forgive as Jesus did?

Jesus, the obedient Son gave himself as a sacrifice for the sins of humanity. He is the sacrifice that accomplishes forgiveness and, in that very act, asks for the forgiveness of all humanity, including you and me. Many people have died horrible deaths as Jesus did, and some may have forgiven their executioners, but only Jesus by his death fulfilled his purpose and teaching in life: to heal the brokenness of humanity; to repair the relationship between God and the creation; and to offer humanity a new way of living, one which God had intended for us from the very beginning. God, forgive us, for we do not know what we are doing. Amen.

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” An incredible promise made in response to a vague request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” As St. Ambrose said many years ago, “More abundant is the favor shown than the request made.” One of those crucified with Jesus makes an incredible statement of faith but asks for very little: simply to be remembered. What he receives is grace heaped upon grace: the offer of Paradise.

Remarkably, this second criminal can see something in Jesus that the first criminal dismisses sarcastically: Jesus is the Messiah. The Messiah, the Anointed One, the Christ, was the One that Jewish people had been expecting to come for many years. They expected the Messiah to be a descendant of King David and therefore they were looking for a warrior king who would drive out the Romans and restore the kingdom of Israel as the centerpiece of the world. Jesus hardly looked like a king to the first criminal.

It’s been only a few days since Jesus came riding into Jerusalem like a conquering hero sitting on a royal beast. The crowds had shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David. Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!” Now, the words of blessing have been turned to words of mockery; now the shouts of “Hosanna” have been turned to shouts of “Crucify him!” Yet the second criminal sees what the other does not: Jesus’ throne is the cross; his humiliation is his exaltation; and his kingdom is not of this world but is the one that God has promised since the fall of humanity in the Garden of Eden: Paradise.

Despite evidence to the contrary, Jesus’ authority is very much intact. Jesus is very much a king who can confer promises and blessings even in the most hopeless of situations. Jesus’ faith is unshaken throughout his life, and even unto death. Those who have faith in the faithfulness of Jesus receive the saving benefits of his kingdom, even as he dies. Jesus, remember us as you come into your kingdom, and let us be with you in Paradise. Amen.

“Woman, here is your son. Here is your mother.” Jesus looks out through eyes almost swollen shut because of the beating he has taken, eyes that are stinging from the mixture of sweat and blood pouring down from his forehead, on which sits the crown of thorns. Still, he can see those who are nearest and dearest to him. They are in agony because of his agony; and he is in agony over their agony. But most importantly, Jesus can look through the eyes of love. It’s not only love for all of humanity but also love for those that have touched his heart in a special way: his mother and the disciple Jesus loved.

Of course, Jesus loves all of us, but love is deepened as relationships are deepened. Jesus’ relationship with his mother is especially deep, almost as deep as God’s love for the world. It’s deep because Mary is a mother like all mothers, tied to their children with more than an umbilical cord. But it’s deep also because Mary intimately knows the unmerited grace that chose her to bear God’s Son. Children need mothers, and mothers need children to care for, but mothers also need children to care for them.

And so, Jesus, amid the gambling and pettiness, indeed amid his death, takes time to attend to what may seem trivial in comparison to his awesome work. But it is not trivial to him, nor is it trivial to us. He bequeaths to each other the things most precious to him, and in doing so shows us that his work is not only eternally significant; it is significant for the here and now. In providing for his mother and the beloved disciple, Jesus models a pattern of care and concern for our earthly needs and relationships.

Yet, because of the cross and what it stands for, Jesus also demonstrates the formation of fellowship, what we now call the family of faith. The cross marks the formation of a new people of God, at the center of which stands Mary, Jesus’ Mother, and the Beloved Disciple, symbols of faithful discipleship. Jesus, gather us as sibling and parents of faith. Amen.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It would be difficult to imagine any place more God forsaken than the cross. An instrument of torture and humiliation, the cross stands for the very opposite of God’s intention for humanity. The cross was about the farthest place one could get from God’s purposes in the world. And Jesus, God’s own Son, was at that place. Echoing the words of Psalm 22, a psalm of lament, Jesus expresses that deepest of human questions that many of us have uttered, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Should anyone dare to question the humanity of Jesus, they would look no further than the cross and these words. We are all too aware of Jesus’ suffering, especially those of us who have seen Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ.” But we are less certain about his emotional state and tend to speculate what was going through his mind and what these words mean. On the surface, they seem to be words of hopelessness, faithlessness, and despair.

Instead of trying to read Jesus’ mind we might pay more careful attention to his words, especially as an echo of the psalm. As a good and faithful Jew, Jesus was comfortable with arguing with God. God chose humanity for a special relationship, one that included frank and open exchanges. Just as Abraham, Moses, and Jonah challenged God, so did Jesus. And the intensity of his words is directly proportional to the depth of his faith. One doesn’t chastise a God that one doesn’t believe in. Only those who have great confidence in God can be disappointed when God remains aloof.

If Jesus is abandoned by God, it can only be because he is giving his life for sinners. Sin is separation from God, and Jesus took our sins upon himself, paying the price for us. We may not be able to know fully what Jesus means in his anguished cry, but we also cry, “My God, my God, please do not forsake me.” Amen.

“I am thirsty.” His tongue bloated and dry from the loss of body fluids, Jesus utters another simple yet profound statement. “I am thirsty.” It’s a wonder he could talk at all as he nears the end of his life. Of course, he was thirsty, as any human being would be thirsty in that condition. Water is the lifeblood of all creation, including our bodies, which are biologically bags of water. Without water we die. Jesus is thirsty; Jesus is dying; and dying of thirst is a horrible way to die.

It’s somewhat ironic, isn’t it, that the one who claims to be the Living Water, and who promises to his followers that they will never thirst, is thirsty himself. We who come with tongues hanging out to the Thirsty One are told that we will never thirst nor hunger ever again. Our tongues are bloated and our stomachs are swollen as we seek that which truly satisfies the deepest thirsts and hungers imaginable. For some reason, we look for that satisfaction on the cross.

We do so because we are told that scripture says it to be so. In a more profound sense, Jesus thirsts as a fulfillment of Scripture, and Jesus must fulfill scripture. It’s what is called “divine necessity” because it is what God has deemed necessary for the completion of God’s plan of salvation. Since the very beginning, followers of Jesus have tried to make sense of his death, and they have scoured the scriptures trusting that God has not done anything that contradicts what was promised and what was necessary.

God did do something totally unexpected and new in the sending and crucifixion of the Son, Jesus. But it was not outside of the promises made to us in scripture. It was necessary that Jesus both thirst and die for us, because God was determined to repair the broken relationship with each and every one of us. Dear God, we are thirsty. Give us some of that Living Water. Amen.

“It is finished.” Finished: over, done with, ended, completed. Any of these words can be used but what is finished? In the immediate sense Jesus’ life is over. He commends his spirit to God and breathes his last. The agony of beating, scourging, and crucifixion is finally over with. Death may even be welcomed, though not on its own terms. To the end death only comes when Jesus is ready for it to come. It’s over only when Jesus says it is over.

There is another meaning to, “It is finished.” Jesus’ death signals the end of his ministry on earth. No longer will Jesus preach, teach, and heal. Already the memory of his time with humanity starts fading from their minds. Already his presence on the earth is like some dream: faintly recalled but earnestly desired to continue.

But with the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry comes the completion of his mission from God. So here is another aspect to, “It is finished.” Jesus has accomplished all that God has asked him to do, even to the very giving of his life. For “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish…not to condemn the world but that the world might be saved through him.” Scripture has been fulfilled as God has promised. Though Satan’s hold on the world seems to have solidified, it has been broken instead; the Tempter’s rule is over.

However, we who gather to ponder Jesus’ last words know that this ending is not the ending. But let us not rush too quickly away from the foot of the cross. We need not wallow in Jesus’ death, but it is right that we linger a bit longer. We must acknowledge the shadow of the cross that falls upon each of our paths. And as we anticipate the fulfillment of God’s promises we welcome the power of the cross in our lives. It is finished. Almost. Amen.

“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” One last gasp, and a holy one at that. Darkness now fills the earth as death is at hand. Jesus’ unrighteous crucifixion takes on cosmic significance. So much so that the temple curtain is torn in two from top to bottom. The powers of evil and darkness are poised to take over the rule of the earth, waiting for Jesus’ final breath.

Breath: pneuma in the New Testament Greek; ruah in the Old Testament Hebrew. These same words are used for breath, wind, and spirit. It is the wind that passes over the waters of creation. It is the breath of God that is the life force found in humanity. It is that which enlivens the prophets of God and inspires us to follow Jesus. It’s what we call Holy when it proceeds from the Father and Son: calling, gathering, and setting aside disciples into the church; it bestows gifts to be used for the benefit of all; it unifies believers into the very broken body of Jesus Christ; it pronounces forgiveness, the same forgiveness that Jesus prays we may receive; and it breathes in us the hope that the powers of darkness will not prevail.

Jesus, the one who was handed over to death, freely hands over to God what God first gave him. He places himself squarely into the hands of the One that he has always trusted, God the Father. Jesus again displays a supreme act of human dedication by entrusting his very spirit to God. The Spirit has been with Jesus throughout his life and ministry: at his conception, his baptism, his transfiguration, his whole ministry of teaching, preaching, and healing.

We who are also soil and spirit, dust and breath of God, are also handed over with Jesus. We who have been baptized into Jesus likewise have been baptized into his death. As Jesus completes his mission on earth, we who are gathered at the cross utter with great fear and trepidation, “Father, into your hands we commend our spirits.” Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

At the Table - Sermon for Maundy Thursday Year A

At the Table

Maundy Thursday A

April 6, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

Matthew 26.17-30

Many years ago, Cindy and I were members of Nativity Lutheran Church in Alexandria, VA, just outside of Washington DC. I was still a lay person and had gotten involved in leadership positions. Over 20 years prior to that, as a new church start, a “Phase 1” facility had been built. There was a multipurpose room used as a temporary sanctuary, some offices and classrooms. But for some reason, Phase 2 had languished and was not built. Finally, there was energy to add a permanent sanctuary and folk from the denominational headquarters in New York, the old Lutheran Church in America, arrived to “help.” 

Unfortunately, the meeting got contentious and emotions ran high. I don’t remember the exact issues, but I suspect it had to do with the long time since Phase 1 had been built. Even so, after a long and trying day, we closed out our time with worship and Holy Communion. As we gathered around the railing together I could feel the tensions dissolve. There was something about gathering around the table that restored us and healed our relationships.

I often wonder what the meeting would have been like had we started with worship and Holy Communion just as Jesus started his journey to the cross with the meal that we now call the Lord’s Supper. Scholars debate whether this meal was a true Passover meal, but Matthew is clear that the Passover themes permeate the story: we are delivered and freed, just as the Israelites were.

I came across an old Jewish folktale that says before God created the world, he forgave it. It seems that forgiveness, grace, and mercy are baked into the very essence of the world. It’s in our DNA. Of course, there was nothing to forgive at creation, but God anticipates the need for it anyway. Just so, Jesus anticipates the need for forgiveness, not only for Judas and the disciples but also us. It doesn’t change Judas’ betrayal and the desertion by the disciples, but it anticipates it and  provides for it.

The importance of meals is well-attested in the Bible, including tonight’s reading from Exodus. The meal we now call Passover not only prepared the Israelites for escape, it embodies the very themes of deliverance and in the reenactment. For thousands of years it continues to remind us of God’s presence. Meals were and are crucial for hospitality. They were even safe places, refuges from harm. It is no small thing that when people gather for significant occasions, we eat.

We know that God loves us and we hear the words of assurance to that effect during every worship service. But God knows we are fleshly creatures who not only forget but also need tangible expressions of that love. Holy Communion addresses all of our senses. We touch, taste, feel, hear, and see God’s love for us. That’s why I love Lutheran Sacramental theology because it claims, as Jesus said, “This is my body, this is my blood.” that we take the very creator of the universe, who forgives, into us. Tonight, as we continue our journey with Jesus and thinking about how he was stripped and beaten, mocked and condemned, deserted by his closest friends, we do so by first eating with him. We come to the table by faith, for faith, knowing that whatever our failings, God loves and forgives. Thanks be to God. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

On the Road - Sermon for Palm Sunday Year A

On the Road

Palm Sunday A

April 2, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

Matthew 21.1-11

A few years ago, pre-pandemic, I was having lunch with other interim pastors following a meeting at the synod offices in Rochester. A young woman came up to the table and said, “Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?” I did recognize her, though it had been 10 years since I’d seen her as a middle school Confirmation student. But before I could find the name in the deep recesses of my memory, she blurted out her name, “I’m Carla!” We spent a few minutes chatting as she caught me up about her and her family. She had to leave quickly as she was on her lunch break and needed to return to work. As I sat down, one of my colleagues said, “Don’t you just hate that?” In the sense they meant it, yes it was a bit awkward, but I was truly grateful to see her and how she had matured.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem he is subtly engaging in a game of “Do you know who I am?” The crowds who gather to watch this spectacle of donkeys, cloaks, and palms appear to play along with him. “Who is this?” they say to one another even as we know that this is no frivolous game. They take stabs at identification saying, “Son of David,” prophet, and the “one who comes in the name of the Lord” Yet, these seem wholly inadequate to those of us who have been traveling with Jesus this Lenten season.

New Testament scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan believe that there were likely two contrasting entrances into Jerusalem that Passover. On the opposite side of town from Jesus who entered from the East would have been the Roman Governor Pontius Pilate from the west. During Passover the population of Jerusalem would swell to many times its size and, to forestall riots, Pilate would make a show of force by entering Jerusalem. Furthermore, he would come mounted on a warhorse followed by heavily armed Roman soldiers. It is doubtful that the pilgrims who have arrived to celebrate Passover would lay garments and shout, “Hosanna, save us!”

Though Jesus doesn’t talk much, his actions speak volumes: in response to “Who is this?” he says, “Not who you think.” Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, the mount of kings, not a warhorse like Pilate. And he comes from the East, the Mount of Olives, where prophecy had predicted that deliverance for the people would come from. In case you didn’t catch it, Matthew supplies us with a quote from Zechariah underscoring that this king would be the very antithesis of strongarm despots such as Pilate, one ruling with gentleness and humility.

We know that there were different ideas of who the Messiah would be, but the prevailing one was that the Messiah would be a warrior king like his ancestor David and that his descendant would be someone who would defeat the Roman occupation and kick them out. We get a very big hint today that Jesus will not be who we expect him to be, that he will resist being tied to preconceived notions, and he will not conform to a role dictated by those in power. Jesus will overthrow the powers of evil and heal the brokenness of the world in his own way.

The question of “Who is this?” invites not only reflection on our part but also compels us to walk with Jesus as we discover for ourselves who he is and what he means to us and our world. A hint: among other things, Jesus is the one who willingly and for our sake enters the darkest places, encountering the worst this world has to throw at him to bring light and abundant life to us and all of creation. This is a hard road to Easter, going through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, but nonetheless an important one. We need to do this to answer, “Who is this?” Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna to the Son of David. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

At the Tomb - Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent Year A

At the Tomb

Lent 5A

March 26, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

John 11.1-45

It became clear to me this past week that our scripture readings can trigger strong emotions within us. We can easily feel overwhelmed by the finality, despair, and hopelessness of death present in the story from Ezekiel about the vast valley of dry bones, bones that are dried up and utterly lost. And emotions run rampant through John’s Gospel as not only Martha and Mary mourn Lazarus’ death, a death that seems senseless, but we see Jesus weeping as well.

One of the many memories these texts triggered for me happened years ago as I was called to the hospital because a member, Delores, had died, not unexpectedly. When I arrived, Delores’ daughter, Dory, was there with her husband Jim and their daughters Ashley and Jamie. Now, I’d done the funeral for Delores’ husband Carl a year or two earlier and I knew her family well. The girls were active, with Jamie in Confirmation and Ashely a key member of the Youth group. In addition, Dory and Jim lived close to us and our girls were of similar ages. 

Now, Delores’ death was a good death in many ways: it was time for her and she’d had family close by at her side as she died. But as I walked in the room and saw their grief, I was surprised by a wave of grief that washed over me. Usually I can maintain my professional demeanor. But as I reflected on that emotion I realized my grief wasn’t as much for Delores as it was for her family, to see them in their tender grief.

I know better than to say, “I know how you feel,” because nobody ever knows how someone else is feeling. But I can say that I suspect that what happened to me was similar to Jesus’ experience with Martha and Mary. Our text today is rich in emotion and human interactions, from the disciples who wonder if they are going to die with Jesus, to Martha and Mary and the mourners as well as to Jesus himself, through which we have a window into the full humanity of God. Jesus not only exhibits deep compassion for them, he is angry at the power of death.

Jesus often appears detached and “above the fray” as we say, and there is that sense here. He seems not to care about Lazarus, let alone his disciples and Martha. But there is also the sense that Jesus is right there with them as one of them. Said in another way, our God is mysteriously Holy Other, who cannot be grasped or fully understood, is also fully present and acting in our midst, bringing life from death. All too often as we go about our daily lives we might forget about God or perhaps we might talk about the idea of God. That is, until a story like today’s text nudges us to remember that God is fully present in, with, and under our lives each and every day.

As today’s lessons evoke deep feelings we are reminded that we are always at the tomb whether we realize it or not. If it is not being confronted by death itself, as when we said goodbye to Donald “Buzz” Riehl yesterday, it is being reminded about the grief death brings. But we do not stand at the tomb alone for we have a God who stands with us and we have a community of faith that supports us in our grief when we can barely support ourselves. In doing so, we, too, are unbound and released for life by the One who is the Resurrection and the Life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

In the Dark 2 - Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent Year A

In the Dark 2

Lent 4A

March 19, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

John 9.1-41

One day, following a funeral at church, I encountered an attendee in the parking lot. A visitor to the church, she told me how much she appreciated the service, especially the invitation to Communion. The invitation that I gave was the same I give here: “All are welcome to God’s table of grace and mercy. If you wonder if that means you, yes it does.” I was glad she felt welcomed, especially in an unfamiliar setting. Then she added, “You know, if I’d been welcomed like that years ago I’d never have left the Lutheran Church.” So, in addition to feeling grateful, I was sad she hadn’t experienced it previously.

The man born blind who had received his sight from Jesus did not receive a warm welcome, either. In what should have been a joyous occasion, the gift of sight to the man born blind was not one at all. Writers have observed that the usual response of amazement following a miracle is nowhere to be found here. The disciples are silent after wrestling with the theological question of sin and suffering. The neighbors can’t see the miracle though it’s staring them in the face. The religious leaders are so indignant they can’t see God’s handiwork. And the man’s parents lose Parent of the Year because they are afraid of retribution from the religious leaders they throw their son under the bus. But it is the religious leaders that Jesus has choice words for, those who should be helping people see God’s action in the world, not hindering it.

This is not a Jewish problem from 2,000 years ago. (By the way, when the Gospel writer John uses the term “Jews” in a negative sense he is most often referring to the religious leaders, not the Jewish people themselves.) It has all too often been a Christian problem. Former Pastor, public theologian, and writer Brian McLaren explains this in excruciating detail in his book, Do I Stay Christian: A Guide for the Doubters, the Disappointed, and the Disillusioned. The book provides a case for why one shouldn’t (and should) remain a Christian. Among the arguments McLaren gives for leaving: Christianity’s antisemitism, complicity with Colonialism, and long history of squelching dissent against nonconformists (i.e., heretics) especially with violence.

In the story of the man born blind, we discover someone who grows in faith and understanding of who Jesus is and what it means to follow him, even in the face of hostility, uncertainty, and fear. But we also have the opportunity to engage in deep reflection as a church how we respond to the possibility that God is doing something new in our midst. We can ask ourselves if we have the humility to wonder about God’s crazy ways.

The author CS Lewis wrote a book called The Last Battle, the final installment in The Chronicles of Narnia series. In the series, the lion Aslan is a Christ-figure in the land of Narnia populated by people, talking animals, and fantastical creatures. The Last Battle depicts the end of Narnia and features a battle between good and evil. In the battle dwarves continually switch sides because, as they say, “the dwarves are for the dwarves.” Even so, they still find themselves thrown into a ramshackle hut by the evil forces, a hut that we discover “is bigger on the inside than outside.” Though the inside of the hut is a Narnian version of a new world, a new heaven and a new earth, if you will, the dwarves can only see a dirty, smelly hut. They cannot see the beauty surrounding them.

I won’t spoil the ending for you, but suffice it to say that there are those people and creatures in the New Narnia whom we might not expect to be there. And we have a hint that even the blind dwarves are not a lost cause, that they might be able to escape the hell of their own making and see the paradise prepared for them. The season of Lent is an opportunity for deep reflection on our relationship with God and others. It is for both personal and communal reflection, how we are invited to see God working, both in, with, and through our lives and Christ Lutheran Church as well. 

I can’t go back and fix the hurt that the funeral visitor experienced in her life. And I’m sorry if any of you who are listening have been hurt by the church. But we can be the gracious, open, and welcoming place God intends. This is hard work, Siblings in Christ, but done with the presence of Christ who opens our eyes and minds to see. Thanks be to God. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

At the Well - Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent Year A

At the Well

Lent 3A

March 12, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

John 4.5-42

While in seminary, I met Barb and her husband, Sam. They were members of the congregation we plugged into. Barb was a middle school English teacher and Sam trained horses. One day, Barb casually mentioned that Pr. Ralph learned that Sam, too, had a master’s degree and when doing so, she said, Pr. Ralph’s whole attitude toward Sam shifted. The clear message was that Pr. Ralph didn’t think much of Sam, a horse trainer, until then.

I remembered that lesson, to not misjudge others, as I thought of the Samaritan woman at the well. We are in the second week of a four-week series of long vignettes in John’s Gospel. Last week, we were “in the dark” with Nicodemus, and many comparisons have been made between the two. Nicodemus is male and the Samaritan woman, of course, is female. Nicodemus is a  religious leader of the Judeans and the Samaritan woman is of lowly status. Nicodemus is  named and the Samaritan woman is unnamed. Nicodemus comes in the dark while the Samaritan woman comes in the bright heat of the day. Perhaps even more telling: Nicodemus fades into the background while the Samaritan woman gives witness to Jesus to her townspeople and of course, Nicodemus is Judean while the woman is a Samaritan.

Much has been written about enmity between Judeans and Samaritans, yet little understood. We do know that they worship the same God, Yahweh, but disagree where the proper place to do that is, Jerusalem or Mt. Gerizim. Samaria is the region just north of Judea and we think that those Judeans who were left behind during the Babylonian exile intermarried with invaders and settlers from other nations. This intermarriage was infuriating to the Judeans whose major tenet was, “do not assimilate.” Furthermore, when “pure” Judeans returned, the Samaritans tried to thwart their rebuilding effort of the temple in Jerusalem and Jerusalem itself. Finally, in 128 BC John Hyrcanus, the high priest, destroyed the shrine on Mt. Gerizim and slaughtered many people.

So, the upshot is for Jesus to be in Samaria, talking to a Samaritan, woman no less, was beyond the pale. Yet here Jesus is engaging in a complex theological argument with said Samaritan woman. Jesus not only refuses to undervalue the woman, he sees her for who she is, wounds and all. That last observation about her woundedness is important, because in the past she has suffered indignity heaped on by preachers who mistakenly brand her as a woman of ill repute. There is no warrant for this in the text.

Though we don’t know her situation, it is safe to say her multiple relationships could reasonably occur through no fault of her own and be due to a variety of reasons. But we do know that she has been wounded and finds herself in difficult circumstances. Jesus recognizes that woundedness and, rather than condemning her, treats her with respect and dignity. Indeed, like Sam the master degreed horse trainer, there is more to her than meets the eye and Jesus acknowledges such.

I wish I could say that I’m more like Jesus than Pr. Ralph, to know people are more than their circumstances, to remember that when Jesus says God loves the world it’s everyone and everything in it. But I try to remember Barb’s gentle lesson, to learn more about people, to be delighted and not surprised when I get to know them, and to look for those who we consider on the margins to see God in them. When we can do that we are at the well, drinking deeply of Jesus’ living water. Thanks be to God. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.

In the Dark - Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent Year A

In the Dark

Lent 2A

March 5, 2023

Christ, Preston, MN

John 3.l-17

Last week we found ourselves in the wilderness with Jesus during his temptation for 40 days and 40 nights. We discovered that the wilderness can be a thin place and a time of transition or change. This week begins a sojourn of a different sort as we begin a four-week journey in John’s Gospel. And, whereas last week we were in the wilderness with Satan, this week we are in the dark with Nicodemus. Nicodemus, a religious leader, comes to see Jesus at night although we aren’t told why. Even so, he seems to be truly curious. But we wonder, is he truly seeking to understand who Jesus is and what he came to do or does he have some ulterior motive?

As Nicodemus himself has pointed out, Jesus has been doing signs, John’s word for miracles. John calls them signs because they point toward who Jesus is as God’s Word made flesh. Prior to this text, Jesus has turned water into wine during the wedding at Cana. And as we’ll see in the coming weeks, Jesus will do even more amazing signs. But for now, Jesus ignores Nicodemus’ opening greeting and launches into a speech. It’s one that confuses Nicodemus on two levels because Jesus uses a word that can mean two things. The word that means being born from above can also mean born anew or born again. Yes, that word, one that has almost become a cliche among Christians.

This is such a rich text with many preaching points, including what is meant by being “born again.” And I love John 3.17 even more than the ubiquitous John 3.16, how Jesus emphasizes that God did not send him to condemn the world, but rather out of love we didn’t ask for is sent to save us. But I keep returning to Nicodemus coming at night, a time of darkness. For John’s Jesus darkness symbolizes limited understanding if not downright inability to see Jesus for who he is.

As I reflected on the themes of nighttime and the dark, it occurred to me that things happen in the dark, and not always welcome things. At night, after a busy day where we run from one thing to the next, it is the nighttime when thoughts, regrets, and the days’ events catch up to us. We often replay these events in our head, over and over again. If this doesn’t happen when we fall asleep, it may happen when we wake in the night and we end up tossing and turning. I wonder if Nicodemus was tossing and turning or simply brooding about Jesus. However it happened, at the end of the day he needed to seek Jesus out for some answers.

As so often happens, Jesus doesn’t answer the question he is asked but rather he givesNicodemus what he needs to hear. The language Jesus uses of being born from above, born anew, or born again doesn’t refer to a conversion experience. Rather it refers to Nicodemus’ willingness to let go of his preconceived ideas about how God works in the world. Nicodemus doesn’t have a bad life, but it’s a shallow one and Jesus is encouraging Nicodemus (and us) to be grabbed by the Holy Spirit and be willing to go wherever the Spirit blows us. 

Our Fifth Graders are being grabbed by the Holy Spirit in a new way today as they receive Holy Communion. As they receive Jesus’ body and blood in, with, and under that bread and wine, they will experience the new life that Jesus promises to bring. My siblings in Christ, when the dark surrounds you, look and listen for the Spirit bringing new life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

My sermons often preach a little differently than written and you can find the video here.