Tag Archive for: Reformation

Proper 28A-23

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“I went and hid your talent in the ground.” Oops.  Wrong answer-right?  Anyone who attended Sunday school knows you don’t hide your talent under a bushel basket or bury it in the ground! You’ve gotta let your little light shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

At first blush, this would appear to be the lesson of Jesus’ parable. But notice, Jesus isn’t talking, here, about our special abilities and spiritual gifts. He’s talking about a very, very large sum of money. One talent was between 80 -130 pounds of precious silver or gold, equal to fifteen to twenty years of a daily laborer’s wage. You are fabulously gifted by grace. It’s true. But this parable is not about some sort of spiritual talent show, neither is it a lesson about wise investing. That just wasn’t any part of the world view shared by Jesus’ audience.

Hear then, Jesus parable of the talents: “A member of the wealthy 1% gives three of his most trusted workers a jackpot to play with. They know the rules — the more they make for the boss, the more they’ll get to keep for themselves. The name of the game is exploitation — no questions asked — and the only rule is: turn a profit. Turn as huge a profit as possible” (Debi Thomas, “The Good Kind of Worthless,” Journey with Jesus 11/8/20).

“Two of the slaves do exactly as they’re told. They take their talents out into the world and double them on the backs of the poor. Who knows how many fields they seize, how many farmers they impoverish, how many families they destroy? It doesn’t matter: they fulfill the bottom line. They make a profit. When the master returns and sees what they’ve accomplished on his behalf, he’s thrilled. He invites the two enterprising slaves to enter into his “joy” — the joy of further wealth, further profit, further exploitation.” (Thomas)

Perhaps our first clue to think again about the meaning of this parable should have been the third slave’s description of his master. ‘Master,’ he said, “I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so, I was afraid’ (Matthew 25:24, 25a). Unfortunately, maybe this too sounds like the God we learned about in Sunday School—but whatever we might think, the God we encounter in the bible is not harsh, demanding, or threatening.

People listening to Jesus would have understood just the opposite. The God of Israel brought them out of slavery into a land flowing with milk and honey, to drink from cisterns they did not dig and to reap harvests that they did not plant. In fact, God instructed them to harvest badly, that is, to leave some of the wheat and sheaves behind for the hungry to glean.  God told them not to strip the vines completely bare of grapes, nor to shake all the olives from the trees so there would be some leftover for those with nothing to feed themselves and their families. Those listening to Jesus did not look kindly on wealth generated by reaping where they did not sow or by gathering where they did not scatter seed i.e., who profited from dishonest labor.

The ancient Mediterranean attitude toward wealth was very different from ours. The concept of an honest rich man was a first-century oxymoron (Bruce Malina and Richard Rohrbaugh (Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels). Jesus’ consistent priority is for the poor and outcast.

The first two slaves did their master’s bidding. They went out and lent money to the farming poor at exorbitant interest, and systematically stripped those debtors of their land. But the third slave? The third slave opted out. The third slave “is more than a quiet hero; he is a whistleblower. Jesus’ audience would have given a thumbs-up to the actions of the third servant, because he is the one who said no.  I will not participate, I will not cooperate, I refuse to be part of your system.  At great cost to himself, he names the exploitation — the same exploitation he colluded in and benefited from for years. He relinquishes his claim on wealth and comfort, calls out the master’s greed and [predatory rapaciousness.] He told the truth. He’s cast out. He lost everything” (Thomas).

Despite of what we learned in Sunday school, the ‘master’ in Jesus’ parable is not God but a stand in for all the corrupt worldly powers of empire that hold sway over us. The heroes aren’t the slaves who turned a profit but the one who let his little light shine by saying “no” to the ways of the world, the ways of Empire, and dog-eat-dog capitalism, and so, was cast out just as Jesus was. The way of Jesus leads to the cross.

What we encounter today is a counter-narrative to all our dystopian novels. Woven through the texts for this Sunday is the topic of fear: fear of punishment and ruin, of mortality and wrath, of communal uncertainty and individual failure. These lessons have special resonance for us today. The search for God and the search for our deepest selves ends up being the same search. As Teresa of Ávila famously said, ‘one finds God in oneself, and one finds oneself in God.’ This is the spiritual food that empowered our ancestors to courageously confront the values of empire and begin to replace them with hospitality, justice, and mercy. This is the story of hope that enables us now to live boldly, body and soul, in the promises of a God who treasures us.

Jesus turns our world upside down. Jesus upends even what we may have learned in Sunday School. Highest praise is reserved for those who make of themselves a gift to others. God is not a tyrant but a steady source of undeserved and abundant love. Transformed by the way of the cross, this love turns our hearts and hand outward toward the outcast and the poor. Jesus said, “The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted” (Matthew 23:12).

The so-called lazy slave said “no” to his master and said “yes” to God.  We too, say “yes” in our baptism.  We have vowed to renounce the devil, the powers of this world, and the ways of sin that draw us from God.  We have vowed to live among God’s faithful people, to serve all people following the example of Jesus, and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth. This is not a burden, but the source of our joy and thanksgiving.

So, let there be some thanksgiving in our Thanksgiving.  Let us work not for the betterment only of ourselves—but of our grandchildren and our grandchildren’s grandchildren –so future generations may live and thrive and not make the same mistakes we have made. Even now the kingdom of God breaks in all around us, with us, in us, through us, and among us.   Thanks be to God.

All Saints Sunday A-23
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Today, we see family photos, keepsakes, and candles arrayed before us. Each one is a reminder of someone we have known and loved who has died. Perhaps they inspired us or encouraged us or nurtured us in faith. These ancestors gave shape to our values and to our bodies. We carry forward a connection to them with our talents and interests, in our passions and in our DNA.

I chose a photo of my dad and me riding a horse together. I must have been about three years old. It’s curious, some people look and comment how much I remind them of my dad. Others notice how much I looked like my son, Sam, when he was little. Others assume it’s a photo of Sam and me. Three generations, the living and the not yet born, are linked together in a snapshot taken in 1965. Old photos tell the story of family traits, passed from generation to generation –family traits by which we recognize relatives –and by which others recognize us. Today we honor those that have loved us, taught, bathed, and toiled for us who are now together with all the saints in light.

The Sermon on the Mount stands out as among the very first written records of Jesus’ preaching and teaching. It predates the gospels and even the letters of St. Paul. It is, therefore, among the most direct, life-like samples of what it was like to sit and listen to Jesus. The beatitudes offer a glimpse of the family traits we share with each other and with people of faith of every time and place. Prayer and contemplation centered on the beatitudes lead toward a disarmed heart, nonviolence, and love. The Sermon is a kind of portrait drawn to reveal the family traits of those who dwell the upside-down world that is in, with, and under the world which Jesus called the kingdom of God.

The first four beatitudes point to those whom God’s heart goes out to. Jesus said, ‘Blessed are the poor in Spirit, those who mourn, the meek, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.’ (Matthew 5: 3-6). Jesus directs our attention to the dispossessed and abandoned people of the world. These four blessings are a song of lament. These are not qualities and conditions for living that God desires for us. Rather, these are undesirable conditions that characterize no one when God’s will is finally done. God suffers with the poor and so do we when, by God’s grace, we begin to take on the family traits that are our birthright as children of God.

The second stanza of blessings in Jesus’ Sermon (Matthew 5:7-10) point us toward those champions of God’s love who usher in God’s Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. The people whom Jesus declares blessed in the end of his Sermon (Matthew 5:7-10) are those who help to make real the blessings promised to others mentioned at the beginning of his Sermon (Matthew 5:3-6). (Mark Allan Powell, God With Us: A Pastoral Theology of Matthew’s Gospel, Fortress, 1995, p. 130)

The merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, those persecuted and reviled for striving to do God’s work, these are God’s champions. Ironically, those who seek to bring fairness and hope to those without it can find themselves in the position of lacking it. Jesus’ own life is a good example: he proclaimed justice to those deprived of justice, and he became one who was unjustly executed. Yet, by his example, Jesus also showed us where such sacrifice in pursuit of the greater good leads. It leads into glory and eternal life.

The final blessing of Jesus’s Sermon suddenly shifts to the first-person pronoun, ‘you.’ “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.” (5:11). Up to now Jesus has not directly addressed us. Jesus has pointed toward the poor. He has pointed at the virtuous souls working for a better life for all. He has pronounced blessings upon them both. Now suddenly, Jesus points at each of us. He directly involves his listeners. Jesus calls us to embrace our legacy and take our place in the family business that is our birthright as children of God.

People searching for Jesus came from everywhere. On an arid dusty mountain in the rolling hills of northern Israel, somewhere near the Sea of Galilee, Jesus sat down among a great crowd. Some came because they were curious. Others came because they were desperate. They came on behalf of friends or family. They came daring to hope Jesus could be the beginning of the good news, the end of capricious power, the repairer of the breach, the restorer of cities and streets to live in (Isaiah 58:12). Some had left everything behind to follow him.

They were a great crowd, trudging, clanging, and banging their way through the wilderness, lugging bags, supplies, and the infirm up a mountain behind Jesus. They came hoping for hope. They gathered amidst the dust hanging in the air, covering their bodies, catching in their eyes, choking their throats and Jesus taught them to see themselves. He taught them to reclaim the dignity endowed to each of them as children of the living God.

He taught them as the prophet Jeremiah of old had proclaimed, “Thus says the Lord: Do not let the wise boast in their wisdom, do not let the mighty boast in their might, do not let the wealthy boast in their wealth; but let those who boast boast in this, that they understand and know me, that I am the Lord: I act with steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth, for in these things I delight, says the Lord.” (Jeremiah 9:23-24). He taught them as St. Paul would later write, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will or God—what is good and acceptable and perfect (Romans 12:2). See, even now, all creation groans as if in labor pains towards a new creation in Christ.

We can see this new birth of freedom in each other. We recognize each another among those struggling for God’s shalom to be born again in us, in our families, and in our world. Our ancestors in faith passed these precious traits down to us from generation to generation. They left their mark on us in the shape of the cross we bear on our foreheads. Theirs is a legacy of love and caring, both for themselves and for us. These are the family traits we share with all the people of God. This is the life’s work to which we are called. This is how we honor our beloved dead until that day when there breaks a yet more glorious day, when we with the saints triumphant rise in bright array singing Alleluia! Alleluia! Thanks be to God.

Proper 25A-23- Reformation

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Kari and I visited Wittenberg, Germany, this summer. It was the birthplace of the Protestant Reformation. On All Saint’s eve, October 31st, 1517, Martin Luther is said to have nailed 95 theses to the doors of Castle Church. He called for a debate on stewardship. More to the point, he called out the church’s manipulation of the poor, fearmongering, and abuse of money being done to build St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.

Driving from Berlin, I was surprised to discover how far the historic town is from the main roads. It’s a small place even today. The old city is laid out along two parallel cobblestone streets each about a mile long—or less!  Yet, 500 years ago, changes to the church, to worship, to culture, to commerce, to faith in daily life, including an explosion in increased literacy rates among both boys and girls, wrang out from that tiny town. The impact of the earthquake that was the Reformation can be mapped by historians rippling out from the epicenter in Wittenberg, and in concentric circles surrounding anywhere else in Europe and throughout the world that Lutheranism and/or other protestors (otherwise known as Protestants) took root. (Joseph Henrich, The WEIRDest People in the World, 2020, p. 33)

Of course, such profound change comes with unintended consequences.  The Reformation cast long shadows in Western history that we are only now beginning to name.  The legacy of colonialism, white supremacy, manifest destiny, antisemitism, and Christian nationalism, and ecological destruction are the sins of our forefathers and mothers which we must face squarely. A Reforming church is also a self-critical church. It is a self-correcting church, a repenting church that can learn and respond to the promptings of a Loving God. This is the legacy of Lutheranism that I am most proud of.

Martin Luther famously translated the bible into vernacular German. He wrote the large and small catechism as a guide to parents which he said, ‘are the priests and bishops of their household.’ He encouraged people to read the Psalms, which he said “might as well be called a little Bible. In it is comprehended most beautifully and briefly everything that is in the entire Bible. It is really a fine enchiridion or handbook. In fact, I have a notion that the Holy Spirit wanted to take the trouble [herself] to compile a short Bible and book of examples of all Christendom or all saints, so that anyone who could not read the whole Bible would here have anyway almost an entire summary of it, comprised in one little book” (LW 35:254).

“By this Luther obviously did not mean that the Psalms teach Christian beliefs, since they were all written before the time of Christ.  Rather, Luther was referring to the fact that the Psalms explore the highs and lows of the life of faith.  They sing with joy and trust from the mountaintop moments and cry out with pain “out of the depths (Ps. 130:1).  The Psalms weep with those who suffer, laugh with those who celebrate, and teach all of us about the long journey of faith” (Introduction to the Psalms, Lutheran Study Bible).

Likewise, our reading from Matthew is often called the ‘gospel in miniature,’ and/or, ‘The Great Commandment.’  It comes from Jesus’ last days. Jesus is teaching in the temple. This time, it’s the Pharisees turn to play gotcha with Jesus.  The Sadducees, Scribes, and Herodians all struck out. After this none will dare to approach him with any more questions.

“Teacher,” they ask, ‘which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ (Matthew 22:36). A careful, painstaking review of scripture by Jewish scholars had resulted in a list of 613 commandments. Citing any one of them as the greatest would be cause for controversy.  Jesus answer surprised them. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind… and your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37, 39b

Jesus combined the famous Shema with the Golden Rule.  My Jewish friend has a mezuzah nailed beside every door in his house, each containing a small printed copy of the Shema—Deuteronomy 6:4—‘Hear O Israel the Lord is our God…You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”  The Golden Rule, ‘love your neighbor as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18) is more familiar to Christians, although we are, perhaps, surprised that it is found in the book of Leviticus!

Love God, love people.  Sounds simple, but we notice, Jesus didn’t say how we are to go about it. There’s no instruction manual. Instead, Jesus showed us what it means to love God and neighbor – for example—in talking to a Samaritan women at the well; or in dismissing an angry mob and pronouncing forgiveness to a women caught in adultery; feeding the five thousand, eating with hopeless no-gooders, touching lepers, attending to the widow, and of course, by going to the cross, rising, and proclaiming to friends who betrayed him, ‘shalom, peace be with you.’

For Jesus, loving God and neighbor are equal, synonymous, and inseparable.  To love God is to love our neighbor (NIB, Matthew, p. 426). To do one is to do the other, and to neglect one is to lose them both –or as theologian Dorothy Day once put it, “[You] really only love God as much as [you] love the person [you] love the least.”

Returning to the Psalms for confirmation of this teaching we read—Happy are they who delight in the Torah of the Lord. “They are like trees planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season, with leaves that | do not wither; (Psalm 1:3). Living in love we become rooted in grace wherever we go so that we may sing with joy and trust from the mountaintop and cry out with pain from out the depths. We weep with those who suffer, laugh with those who celebrate with an open, curious heart throughout all our lifelong days.

This Reformation Day, if there is one thing in your faith life you might try to shift, or to change, consider this: the church is not a noun but a verb. Church is something we are called and equipped to be and to do. There isn’t some magic number we need to hit or program we need to have to do the things God is calling us to do right now. We already have everything we need to be church to one another and to our neighbor.  Being church is infinitely scalable. Wherever two or three are gathered, Christ is there, in the midst of us, teaching us to love and serve and to disciple one another. This is how we are living sanctuary whether we are talking or listening, or feeding, or worshipping, or singing, or tutoring, or studying, or praying, or peacemaking, or striving for justice, or whatever it is that we do in Jesus’ name.  May God strengthen you and keep you. May God’s face shine upon you with grace and mercy and give you peace. Amen.

Proper 26C-22 – Reformation Sunday

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“Zaccheus was a wee, little man, and a wee, little man was he.” It’s hard for me to read this gospel without that bible song running through my head. “He climbed up in a sycamore tree, For the Lord he wanted to see.” This wee little story, found only in the gospel of Luke, holds obvious fascination for children. Yet, it is no mere plaything. We are living in the age of Zacchaeus. For all our privilege, education, and wealth the Church finds itself looking again to Jesus hoping to learn what we’re missing. I wonder, what’s more surprising, that rich little Zacchaeus was curious enough to climb a tree to see Jesus; or what happened after he climbed down? He was open enough to follow with him.  Can we, like Zacchaeus, climb down from our own privilege and our modern life-style, to follow Jesus?

This Reformation Sunday would be impossible without Luther’s famous hymn A Mighty Fortress (ELW #503-505). There are no less than three versions in our hymnal! Luther’s hymn is a paraphrase of Psalm 46, which sings of a river “whose streams make glad the city of God” (46:4). Rivers bring life-giving waters, and rivers flood and reshape the terrain despite our best efforts to control them. The Holy Spirit is such a river. Reformation is the Spirit’s never-ending work. The Spirit upended the life of little Zacchaeus, knocked blind Saul from his horse on the road to Damascus, blew the doors off the Church in 1517, and courses through our lives today.

Our Lutheran ancestors were protesters before they were reformers—they accused the church of their day of being too rich, too political, in thrall to kings and princes, having sold its soul to the powerful.  They taught, and argued for freedom—spiritual, economic, and political—and for God’s justice to be embodied in the church and the world. (Diana Butler-Bass)

 “[Luther] removed the barrier which put priests nearer to God. He encouraged priests to marry. Ordained ministry suddenly became about preaching and teaching rather than acting as civil judge, tax collector, and/or manager of large estates. One surprising consequence of the Reformation was that, by the 1550’s, the number of clergy persons in Protestant cities dropped by as much as two-thirds (Stephen Ozment). Priesthood became less profitable. Now, the faithful could serve God by being a shoemaker or blacksmith as well as by being a priest. Empty monasteries became hospitals, hospices, and schools.

Before Luther, the notion that every individual should read and interpret the bible for himself or—worse—herself, instead of deferring to learned authorities, would have seemed outrageous and dangerous in premodern societies everywhere else in the world. Luther’s Sola Scriptura, the belief that every individual should read and weigh biblical teaching for themselves was astonishing on many levels. It led to an explosion of literacy among both men and women, that literally radiated out from Wittenberg, spread throughout Europe, and later across the globe. Sola scriptura is credited with energizing innovation, with laying the legal groundwork for representational democracy, modern economic prosperity, and the flourishing of the science. (Joseph Henrich, The WEIRDest People in the World.)

That’s the good news. The Protestant Reformation brought profound and positive social change. Yay God. Yet we now see it also cast a very long shadow. European wars of religion stretched on for 125 years. The natural world suffered as it was emptied of value except for what could be extracted from it.  The diverse peoples of the world became subjects to be ruled, converted, killed, or enslaved—and the Church enthusiastically lent its stamp of approval to the whole project of global domination. No. The Spirit is not yet done with us. Could it be time, finally, to climb down from our lofty self and join the all-people’s parade?

I challenge anyone to be a better, more industrious, or more creative servant of the gospel than Emmy Evald. Emmy, our hero, the ultimate matriarch of Immanuel, was college roommate and life-long friend of Jane Adams. She was the ally and friend of Susan B. Anthony. Yet, like all of us, Emmy could only see so far. Emmy was a suffragette but not an abolitionist.  She built schools, hospitals, and homes for poor women throughout the U.S., Puerto Rico, China, India, Africa, and the Holy Land to bring good news to lost souls she believed were living in darkness and lost to God without Christianity. Yes. We, like Emmy, once were blind, but now we see, don’t we? How service to the gospel became tragically mixed with the poison and arrogance of white supremacy?  Jesus bids us come down.  He wants to make a home with us.

Like rich little Zacchaeus we stand high up in our lofty perch of accumulated Western wealth wrung from the sweat of other people’s labor, living on stolen land waiting, watching, and hoping for Jesus to show us again what our lives are missing. Jesus sees us. Jesus bids us to learn from our mistakes. As we stand near the end of 2022 and look over into 2023, we know the terrain ahead has been flooded is being reshaped and will be changed. We are living amid a new reformation. Yay God?

The story of rich little Zacchaeus points the way to forgiveness and inclusion. These are Jesus’ most urgent and often repeated lessons. Forgiveness and inclusion are the practical names of love. Without them love is no more than a sentimental valentine. Forgiveness and inclusion are also the two practices that most undercut human violence. (Richard Rohr, Things Hidden, 150-151).

Notice: Jesus didn’t ask Zacchaeus to confess his faith or pass a spiritual litmus test. Jesus does not condemn, lecture, or ignore him but simply challenges him to true conversion. Zacchaeus response is equally surprising. He says yes with his whole being, transforming his life without hesitation. Grace is that simple. It’s that amazing. There is nothing to do but climb down from our trees and join the parade.

Zacchaeus was a sinner by anyone’s standards, supporting the occupying Roman government through tax collection, cheating his own people in the process, and becoming a very rich man. Jesus’ words scandalize the crowd and stun Zacchaeus: “Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house” (Luke 19:5). Without hesitation, Zacchaeus responds to Jesus’ invitation with equal generosity. He opens his house, heart, and life by proclaiming that “half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor,” and from those he has cheated, he will “repay it four times over.” In other words, Zacchaeus is even willing to pay reparations.

The Baptist theologian A.J. Conyers called the ongoing work of the Spirit “correcting the correction.” The work of genuine reformation, whether of the institutional church, or that of our individual lives, is never finished. We stand here in need of renewal and restoration of mind and spirit.  We come here to stand in the light of grace and to shine once again with some small portion of the image and likeness of God. This is our story.  This is our song. God who formed and reforms us calls us out to join the Jesus parade.  Amen.