Let us pray…
“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation[s] of [our] heart[s]
be acceptable to you,
O LORD, [our] rock and [our] redeemer.” Amen. (Psalm 19:14, NRSV)
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There is a crooked ash tree
that rises bent and twisted
from a berm alongside the driveway
at our house.
At night a light mounted
amid its branches
shines down into the leaves.
It’s warm and inviting.
But when you stand up on the hill
above our house in the dark
and look at the ash tree—
or at least when I look at it—
there is a face like a mask
looking back at me
from those downlit branches.
A face stern and foreboding,
yet strong and paternal,
like a guard standing watch
over our home at night.
Psychologists tell us
that we see faces and shapes
in lit up branches
and billowing clouds
and folds of drapes
in our childhood bedrooms,
not because they are there,
but because they aren’t there.
And when we encounter
unknown and unfamiliar patterns
our minds try to make sense
from the confusion by imposing
the known and the familiar
upon the chaos.
There is nothing we know better
than the basic shape of a face.
For most of us,
the features of a caregiver,
perhaps a mother or father,
were the first shapes we saw
with any clarity from our infant eyes.
So, it’s no surprise that faces
look back at us from the turbulence
of the world that swirls around us.
Sometimes that churn threatens us,
but sometimes the changes
wash over us as a natural and expected
part of our lives.
Right now we are all living
amid such a time of change.
You have known
that your pastor was retiring,
and so he and you prepared
for his departure.
This was a natural step
along the journey in the life of a parish
as a part of the people of God.
You knew he was leaving,
and could prepare for it.
But no anticipation,
no playing out the scenarios
in the mind beforehand
can actually take the place
of living through the changes.
The last day of June came and went,
and now he has retired,
and you are here,
facing the first days
of the next leg of your journey
as the people of Holy Cross Lutheran Church.
You’re still here,
and now I am here too.
A few of you know a little about me,
and I know a little about several of you.
But for the most,
we are unknown and unfamiliar
to one another.
And so, quickly, without our needing to ask,
our minds go to work
to make sense of the new people
in our lives,
to seek some familiar pattern
amid the changes.
A part of this search
is to seek help
in making sense of the change.
So when we hear today’s readings,
we might be led
to believe we are hearing
three texts that speak spot-on
to our needs.
And we might just as quickly wonder
if we hear those messages
just because we need them to be there,
and not because they really are there.
But God’s Word is not at all like
a random fold in the curtain,
or the billow of a cumulus cloud,
or the dappling of light on leaves.
His Word is not random or chaotic.
Instead, God’s Word is purposeful,
packed with meaning,
deliberate, inspired,
intended to speak to us
precisely because we need to hear it,
telling us exactly what we need to hear
to help us make sense
of the changes in our lives.
All of us, gathered here today,
are faced with changes from the familiar
that challenge us to ask ourselves
deep and significant questions:
“What is God calling us to do?
What is his desire for our ministry?
How ought we respond in faith to his summons?”
These are the questions that
swirl and churn in our thoughts,
that perhaps weigh heavily on our hearts,
or that hold our guts in their grasp.
And then we hear God speak to Ezekiel,
we overhear his commissioning,
God sending him on a mission,
to witness among the chosen people.
“Mortal, I am sending you to the people of Israel…
and you shall say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord GOD.” (Ezekiel 2:3a, 4b, NRSV)
In some way, this is God’s mission for us too.
And in the weeks and months ahead,
we will be blessed to be able
to figure out together—
prayerfully, deliberately, faithfully—
where God is sending us,
to whom he sends us,
and what he desires for us to say and to do in his name.
Then as we turn our attention
to Saint Paul,
we hear his admittedly strange description
of his own encounter with God.
I don’t think anyone really knows
what he means by “the third heaven,”
or what it was like to be
“caught up into Paradise and [hear] things
that are not to be told,
that no mortal is permitted to repeat.” (2 Corinthians 12:2, 4, NRSV).
But even so,
we can make sense of his honesty,
of the clear and unwavering gaze
he brings to looking at himself,
his basic makeup and personality,
his tendencies and habits,
his gifts and wounds.
And so, he stands among us,
as one of us, when he says,
“…but on my own behalf
I will not boast, except of my weaknesses.
But if I wish to boast,
I will not be a fool,
for I will be speaking the truth.
But I refrain from it,
so that no one may think better of me
than what is seen in me or heard from me,
even considering the exceptional character
of the revelations.” (2 Corinthians 12:5b-7a, NRSV)
Paul struggles with his calling,
he finds himself wondering
what God desires of him
and how he is to respond to that divine summons.
Paul faces a conflict within himself,
where he feels tempted to boast,
to bask in his own elation, his own experience.
But then he finds himself
knocked down by a thorn in the flesh.
And again, we don’t know for sure
what he means by that.
But we can understand him crying out to the Lord,
asking for release from his discomfort,
to be set free from his circumstances,
for the grace of God to calm the chaos,
to still the swirling currents in his life
and bring him calm and peace.
Then, he hears an answer from God,
an answer that speaks to us as well.
“My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NRSV)
This is a word from God that we can trust.
We can cling to the hope it offers us.
It does not matter, in the end,
that we are weak,
because God promises, by his grace,
to care for us, not because we are strong and deserving,
but because we are weak and in need.
What does power perfected in weakness look like?
What shape will our lives take
when God’s sufficient grace
washes over us?
We can’t know for sure
exactly how God will mold us,
how he will take us and use us
for his purposes.
But we do know that power perfected in weakness
looks like a man crucified,
like the Son of Man dying on a cross,
but in dying, conquering death,
and then rising to life
through the power of his Father’s love
poured out through their Holy Spirit.
So, as we seek together to know
how God asks us to serve him,
we can trust that this love and grace and power
that say “no” to hate and sin
through the perfect weakness of the cross
is God’s gift to us.
This is enough for Paul,
it has been enough for the Church,
and it is enough for you and me,
not because any of us says it is,
but because God promises that it is.
“My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NRSV)
In Mark’s Gospel too,
we hear the same assurance,
this time in Jesus’ words to his disciples.
He speaks with power,
“…[giving] them authority over the unclean spirits,”
so with his blessing,
they “…[go] out and proclaim[] that all should repent.
They cast out many demons,
and anoint[] with oil many who [are] sick and cure[] them.” (Mark 6:7,12-13, NRSV)
Jesus sends each of them out almost empty-handed,
with only a staff, a tunic, and a pair of sandals.
But just as was later to be true with Paul,
the disciples discover
that their ministry’s power is made perfect in weakness,
because Jesus’ grace is sufficient for them.
So the disciples go and tell others
about Jesus’ message to repent.
Many hear it and turn from their sins,
and then they tell others,
and so on, until finally
by God’s grace,
you and I are gathered here today,
turning daily from our sins
and finding God’s grace sufficient
to give us strength in our weakness.
God wants to share that grace with us,
he wants to bring order to the chaos in our lives,
to help us discern the path of our journey,
to lead us to discover how he calls us to serve.
None of this is new because our lives are changing.
but perhaps we see from a fresh point of view
because change has come to our lives.
That’s what opens our eyes of faith
to see God’s face in the confusion of our days.
That’s what attunes our ears of faith
to hear his voice calling calmly
amid the clatter of our waking hours
and the chatter in our heads as we try to rest.
We don’t need to fear or to worry
or to wonder whether he cares,
because he says to us,
“My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NRSV)
He sets his table for us and invites us
to come, to eat, and to drink.
These are his gifts of grace, sufficient for us.
They will give us the strength we need
to embrace this day and to step out in faith,
walking together on the journey before us. Amen.