Tag Archive for: hope

Advent 3B-23

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

The sun rose at 7:13 this morning and will set at 4:20. It will feel like midnight by about 7:15. The winter solstice comes at 9:27 pm this Thursday and I’m looking forward to the upward swing of lengthening days. In our world of wars in Sudan, Ukraine, and Israel, it’s easy to be seduced by despair. Doubt and despair can feel especially authentic with the added weight of 15 hours of night. Doubt and despair become a sort of false idol, and we begin to feel that we are the first and only people to struggle against an uncertain future.

But Advent comes to meet us here, in our deepest dread fears and doubts, with ancient words of the prophet Isaiah who testifies about a God who “comforts those who mourn.” The Psalmist proclaims, “God has done great things for me, and will do the same for you.” And who can forget Mary’s song, the Magnificat, with dreams of a world more just than ours where gross inequities of wealth and power are overthrown. Here, on the cusp of Christmas, Advent preaches hope amidst despair and gives testimony about a light that shines in the darkness of our confusion — Immanuel, God is with us. Here comes Advent to rekindle our hope and to re-light the fires of our faith.  It all begins with hope.

Tom Long tells the story of Rabbi Hugo Grynn who was in Auschwitz as a little boy.  In the camp, amid much death and horror, many Jews held onto whatever shred of religious observance they could without provoking the wrath of the guards.  One winter’s night, Hugo’s father gathered others in the barracks.  It was the first night of Chanukah, the Feast of Lights. He remembered watching in horror as his father took their last pad of butter and made a makeshift candle using a string torn from his prison clothes.  He struck a match and lit the candle. “Father, No!” Hugo cried, “that butter is our last bit of food! How can we survive?”  His father said, “We can live for many days without food. We cannot live for a single minute without hope.”

You and I are not the first person to feel alone and overwhelmed by life and the challenges we face in an uncertain future. Here comes Advent to say you and I are not alone.  God fights with us to toward the dawning of a new and better day.  John the Baptist cried out from the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord’ (John 1:23). John’s words were a sharp rebuke to the religious authorities of his day. To rekindle our hope today, we too must be ready to clear away the clutter accumulated over a thousand years by patriarchy which has persistently obscured the biblical witness to the character of God.

American poet John Hollander tells the story of his childhood impressions of one of the most familiar, best loved psalms –psalm 23.  As a child, he misheard the final verse. As you know that verse goes like this: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long (Psalm 23:6).  But in his mishearing, he instead heard: “Surely the good Mrs. Murphy shall follow me all the days of my life. And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.” Congregation: Contemporary Writers Read the Jewish Bible, edited by David Rosenberg (1987) (John Hollander, “Psalms”, pp. 293-312)

Bible scholar, Walter Brueggemann, affirms Hollander’s childhood image of ‘Good Mrs. Murphy’ attending to children like a beneficent nurse resonates deeply with our scripture and helps us to recover from the dominant Western theological tradition mesmerized by masculine and muscular adjectives of sovereignty—omnipotence, omnipresence, and omniscience. We overlook other more neighborly sets of divine characteristics in scripture, namely, “goodness and mercy, righteousness, justice, steadfast love, and mercy. For example, El Shaddai, which is frequently translated in our English version of our bible, as ‘the lord God Almighty,’ refers to God in the original Hebrew as the ‘many breasted one.’

Brueggemann writes, “It turns out that the deliverer of Israel is quite like the good Mrs. Murphy in her capacity for the wellbeing, security, and dignity of all the children in the neighborhood of creation… These maternal markings of God matter in the world, as they mattered to Jesus who did the mothering work of feeding, healing, and forgiving. Beyond that, these maternal markings bespeak another way to be the people of God in the world, a way of vulnerable self-giving, after the church has had a long-running season of Constantinian domination.” (WALTER BRUEGGEMANN, Church Anew, “The Goodly Company of ‘the Good Mrs. Murphy’” 12/13/23.)

Mary sings praise to God, “You have cast the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly” (Luke 1:52). Being different in the world requires an embrace of mothering among those who frequently “feel like a motherless child.” Here comes the good Mrs. Murphy to rekindle our hope and faith, and courage.

The proclamation of the Good Mrs. Murphy finds an echo in the preaching of John the Baptist and in the witness of the Hebrew prophets shouted in the streets today: No justice, no peace. The coming Messiah proclaimed by angel choirs and attended by simple shepherds is synonymous with the advent of fairness and dignity for all.  John would have us get ready for Jesus.  Hurry, “Bind up the broken hearted, bring good news to the oppressed, proclaim liberty to the captives, release the prisoners, proclaim the year of Jubilee’ (Isaiah 61:1).

All four gospels tell us people went out to John in droves.  His was not merely a message of judgment and condemnation.  His message sparked the light of hope and restoration.  John offered a new rite called baptism that opened the way of salvation to bunches of people otherwise categorically excluded from accessing grace at the temple in Jerusalem. God who called Israel out of Egypt and led it across the Jordan River would create a new people in the waters of that same river, regardless of race, religion, class, occupation, or past transgression.

Dressed in the simple, uncomfortable clothing of a prophet, subsisting on a diet of grasshoppers and wild honey, living in the desert beyond the Jordan—unauthorized, unsanctioned, and not ordained—John is clearly operating outside the religious authority in Jerusalem.  Nobody ever heard of a baptism for the forgiveness of sins before.  This message did not fit the teaching of that time about how God works in the world.

The religious authorities demand to know who John is. He tells them mostly what he is not.  He is not the Messiah; not Elijah; not the prophet, but a voice calling out in the wilderness. Perhaps we, also, should begin where John begins by being clear about who we are not.  We are not Jesus.  We are not Saviors.  We are not infallible.  We are not omniscient.

“One of the costliest mistakes the historic Church has made is to claim identities, powers, and privileges that don’t actually belong to us.  When we Christians adopt messianic ambitions for ourselves — either personally or corporately — we hurt ourselves, we hurt others, and we hurt the cause of Christ.  When we make promises we can’t keep — promises of prosperity, promises of immunity, promises of consumer-based “peace” and “blessing” — we become stumbling blocks to those who seek consolation in Jesus.” (Debi Thomas, “Who Are You?”, Journey with Jesus, 12/06/20)

In contrast, John begins his ministry from a place of humility. Like John, all we can do is point to Jesus. Clear away the clutter. Make his pathway straight.  Make room as the innkeeper did for Mary and Joseph. “If in your heart you make a manger for his birth, then God will once again become a child on earth” (Angelus Silesius, Polish priest and poet, 1624 – 1667). By tradition, Jesus birthday became connected to the winter solstice as a kind of poetic metaphor pointing to the new dawn of hope for humanity in the lengthening of days. See! Here comes Christ, our morning star, who shines on God’s future and scatters the night till shades of fear are gone and our hope is restored.

Epiphany 3A-23

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

It was New Year’s Day, 1929. The University of California at Berkely Golden Bears played the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets in the Rose Bowl. Halfway through the second quarter, Golden Bears defensive tackle, Roy Riegels, scooped up a fumble by Georgia Tech’s Jack “Stumpy” Thomason, 30 yards from the end-zone. The pivotal play changed outcome of the game. As Riegels later told the Associated Press, “I was running toward the sidelines when I picked up the ball. I started to turn to my left toward the goal. Somebody shoved me and I bounded [bounced] right off into a tackler. In pivoting to get away from him, I completely lost my bearings.” Riegels became disoriented. He spun around and ran 69 yards in the wrong direction. Roy “Wrong Way” Riegels blunder is often cited as the worst mistake by a single player in the history of college football.

Wrong Way Riegels, by all accounts, was a great football player. His story is a cautionary tale. Sometimes, even when we are very good at what we do, and are trying our very best, we are tragically unaware that we are going the wrong way. Those who sit in darkness cannot comprehend the darkness until they see the light. Our redemption begins with changing direction.

Like a lighthouse beside stormy seas Jesus shined a light revealing the outlines of a new and distant shore, a new kingdom, a new life, a new way of being, a new way of being together. Suddenly the disciples understood their life could go a different direction. Or, in the words of Matthew’s gospel, they could repent and follow Jesus.

 Jesus’ first, one-sentence sermon is identical to the message of that wild man John Baptist (3:1). ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near'” (4:17). It sounds to us like some fire and brimstone warning about the afterlife. Yet, we may be surprised to uncover here the core message of grace. To repent is not to feel bad, but to think differently. To repent doesn’t mean to grovel in self-hatred or pious sorrow. To repent is to turn around, to change direction, or make a radical rupture with the past.

The good news of Jesus shines into the hidden corners of the world to lead us out from the pain and suffering caused by hate, fear, or anything else that degrades and dehumanizes us. That’s where we find Jesus today. He is searching out fertile fishing grounds among those in need. Capernaum was in the back-water territory of Zebulun and Naphtali. It was the “wild west,” a rough, unruly place frequented by bandits and revolutionaries derided by religious know-it-alls in Jerusalem as uncivilized, semi-literate, and infected by paganism.  It was a land familiar with brutality, poverty, and hunger, a land unaccustomed to hope.

You might think the disciples had a pretty good life. They fished every day. They lived beside the sea.  They owned their own business.  Maybe it had been that way once, but a process of brining and preserving fish had allowed fishing to become industrialized. In the first-century Roman Empire, fishing was a miserable job controlled by the Roman state — only profiting the elite.

“In the ancient Roman Empire, you didn’t work for yourself. You didn’t choose a job or a career. You worked for Caesar. Your entire family worked for Caesar. You, your parents and children, and your neighbors and friends were part of a massive political and economic hierarchy which took nearly all the work of your hands and gave it to the wealthiest people in the empire — and from which you, your relations, and your community received almost no benefit.” (Diana Butler Bass, Sunday Musings, 1/22/23). This is ‘the land of deep darkness’ into which Jesus journeyed—and doesn’t it sound familiar?

The land beside the sea was a fertile place to fish for human hearts and minds hungry for hope.  Peter, Andrew, James, and John were ready to hear the gospel because they knew, deep in their bones, they were headed the wrong way.  They were ready to become valuable, dignified citizens of the kingdom of heaven rather than continue being subjects of King Herod or living as cogs in the Imperial economic machine that was the Rome Empire.

I would like to think that today we are living in a similar time more open to receiving gospel. Afterall, haven’t we started to realize we are all going the wrong way? We cannot thrive while the natural world dies. Economic extraction, perpetual growth, and short-term profits will lead us, like lemmings, to our collective doom—not to mention the pound of flesh it demands of our health and well-being. Haven’t these past three years been an epiphany? We have seen how Christian church has become infected by nationalism, white supremacy, and a greedy media machine. We are startled to realize how fragile our democracy has become. We are going the wrong way.

Living and working in Nazi Germany, Lutheran pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote in The Cost of Discipleship, “Where will the call to discipleship lead those who follow it? What decisions and painful separations will it entail?  We must take this question to him who alone knows the answer.  Only Jesus Christ, who bids us follow him, knows the where the path will lead.  But we know that it will be a path full of mercy beyond measure.  Discipleship is joy.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Discipleship, p. 40)

Could it be? The unfolding path behind Jesus will lead us, finally, in the right direction toward happier, more fulfilling lives, however much it may cost us in terms of worldly success.  I recommend to you a little documentary now on Netflix featuring the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and his Holiness, the Dalai Lama, who share their deep friendship, much laughter, and their teachings on the wisdom of living a faith-centered life. It’s called Mission: Finding Joy in Troubled Times.

You don’t have to take their word for it. Acts of kindness toward others have a measurable, lasting effect on our own happiness, and immune system functioning. Since 1938, the Harvard Study of Adult Development has been investigating what makes people flourish. What’s the key to human happiness, according to the longest study ever conducted on the subject? It’s friendship. More specifically, good listening, being trustworthy, curious about others, empathetic, generous, hospitable, and caring. We could just as easily list all these as fruits of our faith in Jesus. These are the spiritual gifts that bless our lives as we change direction and follow the way of Jesus and his cross.

Jesus went to “Galilee of the Gentiles,” literally, the land of ‘those who are not us.’ We will see this word appear again, translated as “nations” in the Great Commission Jesus issues to the nascent Church at the end of Matthew’s gospel. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:19-20).

No matter how far we have strayed, grace abounds for those who turn to follow the light. As Martin Luther wrote, “We are not now what we shall be but are on the way. The process is not yet finished, but it is actively going on. This is not the goal, but it is the right road. At present, everything does not gleam and sparkle, but everything is being cleansed.”  Hear the good news. Follow me.

Epiphany 2A-23 

Immanuel Lutheran

Two weeks ago, on New Year’s Day, I went to church with extended family on vacation. New Year’s Day is what we call a ‘low Sunday.’  Yet, to my surprise, the worship center, built to hold 1,600 people, was mostly full. Parishioners were eager to maintain a right relationship with Jesus (by avoiding a whole checklist of sins including homosexuality) to ensure each of them, individually, would be among the few people raptured to meet Jesus in the sky and taken to their eternal home in heaven.  (Okay. There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s set aside the part about the rapture for a moment).

So, what do you think?  Can we get right with Jesus and ensure our individual eternal survival by avoiding a list of sins? It’s a simple formula. Grace abounds—except for anyone not living right by Jesus. Hop on the Jesus track and ride the Kingdom train all the way glory. But what if, sometimes, people go off track? Can they hop back on?  What if the moment we fall off track is the exact moment of the rapture? Do we get a pass for at least trying?

We find a clue in today’s gospel. John points to Jesus and says, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the Sin of the world.” It may seem small—but notice—here John does not say, Jesus takes away our sins (plural), but our Sin. In other words, Sin isn’t a check list of bad behaviors at all. Sin is a narcissistic human condition.  It is a kind of tunnel-vision of heart and mind locked solely in on our self. Our fragile ego, our petty interests, desires, and grudges become the whole world. The remedy Christ Jesus, the logos, turns our hearts and minds outward toward God, the world, and each other.

In fact, Jesus ripped up all forms of checklist religion once and for all. Jesus takes away the sin of accounting for sin. Just stop it. Stop trying to justify your own righteousness or to elevate yourself above others. In Christ, there are no most-favored people, no most-favored race, no most-favored gender, no most-favored orientation, no most-favored nation, not even a most-favored religion. What’s more, this Jesus rips up any notion there is some big book of life, somewhere just inside the pearly gates, recording all your merits and demerits. Jesus is not Santa Claus. Jesus did not die on the cross to appease the wrath of a violent God out for blood.  It was the crowd. The mob. It is us who demanded that Jesus die.

Instead, Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, not by blood sacrifice, but by becoming our lifeblood. Here is the body of Christ, given for you.  Here is the blood of Christ, shed for you.  The one-life flowing in, with, under, and around all things now, knits us together with God into the Body of Christ.  As the blood flowing throughout the body nourishes and sustains every part of it, so now the life of Christ Jesus flows within and between us. Or, as we like to say around here, “Grace is for everyone, or it isn’t grace.  It’s that simple!  It’s that amazing.”

Perhaps this is where our gospel takes its most surprising turn not toward the sky, or to the afterlife, but here and now, on earth as well as in heaven.  Five times in four verses, (John 1:29-42, 38-39), John’s gospel uses the little Greek work, meno, typically (but not always) translated by the English word, abide. (Which I highlighted for you in reading the gospel today.) The gospel of John encourages us to see these linkages to what comes later, namely, Jesus’ teaching that he abides in the Father and the Father in him. And we as his disciples are then invited to abide in him and he in us. Today’s gospel reading introduces us to these themes, showing us how the Father’s Spirit comes to abide in Jesus at his baptism, and how Jesus invites the disciples to abide with him.

As followers of Jesus, we become a new creation, through Word and sacrament. Little by little, and sometimes, all at once, we are joined together in the One life of God within the Holy Trinity to love and care for each other, creation, and for the common good just as God does. (Which brings us to what scholar Barbara Rossing has called the non-biblical idea of the rapture.) Christian faith will not allow us to make of our religion an ejector seat from this world. Rather, we follow our Lord Jesus from our spiritual home in heaven down into the world to bind up the broken hearted, heal the sick, preach forgiveness of sin, work for justice, and let the oppressed go free.

Christianity is not a religion of escape, but of incarnation.  The Word became flesh and lives among us. Faith is not what we do separately and individually, but what we do collectively, collaboratively, generously, hospitably, communally, and mysteriously. The prophet Isaiah proclaimed, “The LORD called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb, he named me” (Isaiah 49:1b). Notice, that God called us by the name—Israel!  We are individuals who find our true self as living members of that giant family as children of Abraham and Sarah.

As Isaiah testified, God proclaims “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6).

The disciples could not have imagined where their decision to follow Jesus would take them.  He just said, “Come and see” (John 1:39).  He would take them to the cross. He would show them the way to live under and within the shelter of God’s abiding presence even while they walked through the valley of the shadow of death.

Dave Daubert, pastor of Zion Lutheran in Elgin, Illinois has said, “The work of the church is renewing its people.”  We’ve been trying and failing to renew congregations for years.  You can’t do that.  You can only renew God’s people and let them renew the congregation.  “God isn’t interested in a bigger church as much as God is interested in a transformed world.  And that means reconnecting the church with what God is up to in the world.”

Martin Luther King famously said, “The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”  In his letter from a Birmingham jail King also warned the universe doesn’t bend toward the better all by itself.

Come and see. Abide with me. To answer the call to discipleship is to actively engage with Jesus.  John uses a string of active verbs–to follow; see; seek; stay; find. Jesus invites us, as if to say, ‘If you follow this pathway with me, and are open to God’s vision for your life, you will see what you truly need to experience wholeness, vitality, and hope in the midst of finitude, brokenness, and loss.’ As we dwell with Jesus Christ our heart and mind is renewed, and our energies reverse direction and begin to turn out from over focus on ourselves toward love of neighbor as our self. Bending and weaving our strength together for the common good, here and now—however we are given to understand the common good—we make life better for ourselves and everyone else, while riding that kingdom train into glory.