July 3, 2010 at 7:35 am · Filed under Homilies
This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, July 4, 2010.
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Readings
Isaiah 66:10–14
Psalm 66:1–9 (antiphon v.4)
Galatians 6:1–16
Luke 10:1–11, 16–20
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Prayer
Bless us with the strength of your Holy Spirit, gracious Father, as we journey like lambs amid wolves, telling others that the kingdom of God comes to us all in Jesus Christ, your Son and our Savior. Amen.
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Message
We have an innate sense—
a vestige of our animal selves—
that alerts us to danger.
It’s the tingle that runs up our spines when we hear a shuffling in the dark.
It’s the primal fear of danger
that filmmakers and novelists plumb with abandon
when they create horrors seen and unseen—
forces with blade and muscle,
both machine and beast.
Perhaps the experts might trace this sense
to the survival instincts of our ancestors
who huddled—naked and hairless—
in caves and crooks of trees,
while greater, stronger creatures ruled the night.
But whatever the sources of our fears,
the wellspring from which flows our sense of threats,
we know the truth of this world that the strong vanquish the weak,
that the powerful overwhelm the impotent.
And it really doesn’t matter whether we are talking about
animals running wild on the prairie or in the woods
or about people running wild on the streets of our cities
or on the sidewalks of villages.
In both cases, the law of the jungle seems to hold.
That’s why the phrase, “red in tooth and claw,”
resonates with our fear of injury and death
at the hands of beasts, both human and animal.
The author of that phrase, Alfred Lord Tennyson,
captured the bloody struggle when he wrote:
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation’s final law—
Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek’d against his creed—
Who loved, who suffer’d countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal’d within the iron hills? (In Memoriam A.H.H., Canto LVI)
It is a struggle between love and hate,
between order and chaos,
between good and evil.
And in the midst of it all,
we can find ourselves driven to despair,
which means to live disspiritedly, without hope.
We can come to believe that the best we can do
in this life—this “nasty, brutish, and short” life—
is to hold on as long we can,
to ward off the forces arrayed against us,
to postpone inevitable.
Something will get us, in the end,
something surely will claw at us, drag us down,
whether it’s disease or old age,
violence or drugs,
guns or random accidents,
terrorists or crazed vigilantes.
And with the world as scary and as threatening as we know it to be,
the last thing we normally and sanely would want to do
is to place ourselves in danger,
to put our lives at risk.
That’s just natural and normal.
This makes Jesus’ saying in today’s Gospel
all the more difficult for us to overhear
and to embrace as his word to us.
He tells the Seventy—
and by extension,
all who follow in the footsteps of the Seventy,
meaning you and me and every other Christian—
“See, I am sending you out like lambs
into the midst of wolves.” (Luke 10:3b, NRSV)
As lambs amid wolves,
we are the prey, not the predators.
We do not go with weapons, with tooth and claw,
but instead we head out on our mission
as a flock, gentle and meak, gathered and sent.
We go out only because our Lord sends us.
He sends to be witnesses to the world.
He sends us out to tell others,
“The kingdom of God has come near you.” (Luke 10:9, NRSV)
Some will hear our message,
experience our testimony,
come to know our witness,
and they, too, will join the flock.
They will become lambs with us.
When this happens to others,
as it has happened already to us,
then God rejoices,
and we celebrate along with him.
We give thanks that his kingdom has grown,
that his flock has expanded.
This is the work of the Spirit in us and through us.
This is the power of the Word
spoken both as summons and promise,
enacted both as discipline and comfort.
This is the ministry of the Father
embodied in people,
poured out in service,
and suffered in extremes of personal sacrifice.
It’s no coincidence that the Greek word
often translated as “witness” is “martyria,”
from which we get the English word “martyr.”
This reminds us that when we become God’s witneses,
we very well may also become his martyrs,
his lambs amid wolves.
But this is not the final word.
We are not doomed to die pointlessly,
torn apart by inhuman forces “red in tooth and claw.”
That’s not to say that we, as lambs amid wolves,
will escape all threats and dangers,
that we will end our days unscarred,
that we will necessarily live as unbloodied martyrs.
Instead, we can live as courageously as witnesses,
knowing that we are on our Father’s mission,
that he has sent us out in Christ’s name,
that he blesses us with the Holy Spirit,
just as he promised the Seventy:
“See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions,
and over all the power of the enemy;
and nothing will hurt you.” (Luke 10:19, NRSV)
So, does this mean that Jesus Christ gives us some sort of body armor,
that we cannot be hurt in the course of our witness?
It helps to know what Jesus means by “hurt.”
In Matthew’s Gospel, he says,
“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” (Matthew 10:28, NRSV)
To me that means that while our witness may lead us into times and places
where we are hurt, and perhaps even die as martyrs,
we need not fear those forces,
because all they have done is “kill the body.”
At the end of the day,
we find protection in God and in him alone.
As St. Paul encourages us in Ephesians,
“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.
Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand
against the wiles of the devil.
For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh,
but against the rulers, against the authorities,
against the cosmic powers of this present darkness,
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.
Therefore take up the whole armor of God,
so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day,
and having done everything, to stand firm.” (Ephesians 6:10–13). Amen.
July 1, 2010 at 5:34 am · Filed under Ephemera
Introduction
This article is the July 2010 installment of my monthly message in the parish newsletter for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb.
Daily Witness
The other day I stopped at the Beatrice Post Office to buy stamps for the Lincoln Stamp Club’s July newsletter. A few months ago I agreed to add the creation of this newsletter to my other responsibilities as the Club’s secretary. Because the newsletter goes to stamp collectors, they appreciate when the stamp on the newsletter is a commemorative and not a common issue.
I’d recently seen that the Postal Service had released a Kathryn Hepburn commemorative, and thought—given the ages of most of the members of the Club—that this would be a good choice. I found out from Bob, the clerk at the post office, that he was almost sold out of the Hepburn stamp and didn’t have the fifty I needed. But then he suggested a roll of Flags of Our Nation, featuring the Nebraska flag. That was the choice I made.
Somehow in the course of our brief conversation I mentioned the newsletter. Bob said, “Oh, I’m in a stamp club too.” It took only a moment for us to discover he was a member of the same club and actually receives the newsletter I write. This led to us comparing notes on our specialty collections and me asking whether he would ever consider presenting a talk on his collection at one of the Club’s meetings.
At this point, you might be asking yourself, “Where is he going with this rambling story?” That’s a good question. And the answer is that I was struck by how easily and how energetically I could engage in a conversation with a complete stranger when the topic touched on our shared passions. You have probably had a similar experience, whether it involves sports or antique cars or the latest best seller or ….
No, Not That!
But now envision yourself running into someone and somehow—through the twists and turns of the conversation—bumping up against your faith. Certainly we are passionate about our Lord Jesus Christ, about the new life we share in the Holy Spirit, and about the trust we have in coming, upon our deaths, to the endless day we will enjoy with the Father in heaven. But to talk about that with a stranger is an almost unimaginable scenario for most of us. In fact, we often find it hard enough to talk about our faith in church or even at home with a spouse or other relative. When we picture ourselves treading perilously close to the topic of our faith, we find ourselves pulling back, raising our hands in defense, and crying soundlessly, “No, not that!”
Beyond Fear
We typically fear what we cannot control, so it is natural, in one sense, to fear a conversation about faith. Once that topic arises, then God—without a doubt—is present and active and alive in the conversation. And we do not control him.
But while fear is natural, fear that shows we do not trust God to guide us is the kind of fear that we know to be the absence of faith. St. Paul reminds us:
For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, [emphasis added] but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ—if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:15–17, NRSV)
This helps, because it reminds us that the Spirit bears witness with us when we share our faith with others. And really, of what or whom need we be afraid if God is our ally standing at our side? With him as our companion, we are free—free of fear of embarrassment, ridicule, injury, even death—to witness daily to others of our faith with the same intense passion we bring to our hobbies and pastimes.
Blessings!
July 1, 2010 at 5:29 am · Filed under Ephemera
Introduction
Holy Cross Lutheran Church began offering individuals the chance to ask questions about the Church, faith, theology, and the Bible by putting their queries into a Question Box. A question and answer appears in each month’s newsletter. This is the July 2010 installment.
Question
Is Jesus the only way to eternal life, and if so, what happens to people who do not believe in him? Please use the Scriptures in the answer.
Answer
St. Paul’s hymn in Philippians says, “Therefore God also highly exalted [Christ Jesus] and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:9–11, NRSV) This tells us that God desires for all people to say, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” We trust that he will work this out in his own time and according to his own plan, revealed to us when Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6, NRSV) So, yes, Jesus is the only way to eternal life with the Triune God.
But in the meantime, we are left with the reality that not all people confess that Jesus is Lord or come to the Father through him. Some people doubt or deny that God exists. Others may say, “He may be your God, but I have made my own religion.” Still others follow the tenets of the world’s major religions, such as Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism.
We believe that God has made us with the capacity to respond to him, which includes the ability to say “yes” to his love, but also to say “no,” even if that answer will cause lasting separation, a gulf between us and God, and pain because of that estrangement.
This “what happens” question can cause us great anguish if we have a loved one who professes doubt or denial of the Christian faith. In such circumstances, we are called to pray, not so much that they “snap out of it,” but that God will live up to his promise to relentlessly pursue his children, no matter how far they may stray. As Jesus said, “The Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:10, NRSV)
June 27, 2010 at 5:26 am · Filed under Homilies
This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, June 27, 2010.
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Readings
1 Kings 19:15–16, 19–21
Psalm 16
Galatians 5:1, 13–25
Luke 9:51–62
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Prayer
By your Spirit, gracious Father, empower us to follow your Son in faith, that we may keep our sights fixed on him throughout our days. Amen.
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Message
One of the cliches you can hear repeated
in news reports about politics and government
is that public officials have just pivoted
to focus attention on a new issue or problem.
The sense behind the visual image of pivoting
is that the officials now have set their sights
on a complex issue requiring full attention.
The problem, though, is that they run the danger
of pivoting so often—in response to so many polls—
that they create the opposite impression.
They are not resolute, but fickle,
and perhaps they are just turning in circles
like a centerpivot in a cornfield.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus himself reaches a true pivot point in his ministry.
In Luke’s Gospel,
up to the point just before today’s reading,
Jesus had devoted himself to his Galilean ministry.
But, with the opening sentence of the reading,
we hear a change in focus and attention:
“When the days drew near for him to be taken up,
he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (Luke 9:51, NRSV)
“The days [drawing] near” refers to the coming days of his passion—
his trial, sentencing, torture, crucifixion, and death.
And in response to those days drawing near,
Jesus “set[s] his face to go to Jerusalem.”
The word “set” is the translation
of a form of the Greek word στηριζω (stérizó, pronounced “stay-rid’-zo”).
It means “to set fast, to turn resolutely in a certain direction, to determine.”
It has a seriousness to it,
a strong sense of will,
a heft and weight and force
that will not be diverted or dissuaded.
We get the feeling that Jesus displays energy and drive,
that he leans into the task before him
in a way that would overcome any obstacle,
overmatch any force arrayed against him.
And for Jesus, his task is to carry out the will of his Father
by the power of the Spirit they share,
no matter the personal cost to them.
We know what he had only recently told his disciples in Luke 9:22–24 (NRSV):
“The Son of Man must undergo great suffering,
and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes,
and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”
Then he said to them all,
“If any want to become my followers,
let them deny themselves
and take up their cross daily and follow me.
For those who want to save their life will lose it,
and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.”
This is his ministry
and it is the path of the cross
that all who follow him must take.
It’s not a time for pivoting too and fro.
It’s a time for setting one’s face,
for determining to take the cross and to bear it,
and to follow the Lord along the path he takes before us.
Today’s text tells us how hard this is
for people to witness and to embrace.
The people of Samaria,
who shared a longstanding rivalry with the people of Israel,
did not welcome Jesus,
because “his face was set toward Jerusalem.” (Luke 9:53, NRSV)
James and John, two of Jesus’ disciples,
want to call down the fire of God
to wipe out the Samaritans
the way Elijah called down fire on the prophets of Baal.
But that is not the way of Jesus,
the way of the cross.
And then he encounters people
who come up to him as he travels along.
They see him walking with purpose.
Perhaps they see something of the passion in his face
as he makes his way to Jerusalem.
They sense, maybe, his determination,
and they want to be a part of the movement.
But he reminds them, at every step,
how hard this way will be.
Animals have places to call home,
safe places, restful places,
but not the Son of Man
and certainly not those who follow him resolutely.
The way of the cross demands that God
and service to him be first in our lives.
And so, in a seemingly harsh saying,
Jesus counsels a would-be disciple
to leave behind family commitments
and to “go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:60, NRSV)
Finally, one person wants to follow Jesus,
but first desires to say goodbye to family.
The response from Jesus?
“No one who puts a hand to the plow
and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62, NRSV)
Who does that leave?
Do you feel fit for the kingdom?
I know I look back,
I try to make a start down this path,
but then, like a politician,
I convince myself of the goodness of an easier path.
I pivot and get distracted while my hand is on the plow.
I’ve never plowed a field,
but I get the impression from Jesus’ saying
that plowing straight and true for the kingdom
involves setting one’s face.
It’s like orienteering,
something I learned in Boy Scouts.
You get a list of compass directions and distances
and you set off through the woods and meadows.
The secret is to take a reading,
get your bearings,
know the length of your stride,
pick a landmark out ahead,
and then set your face, your gaze, on that landmark.
If you look back or watch your own feet
or pivot too much this way and that
to avoid rocks and fallen trees,
you can easily lose your bearings
and end off far removed from the mark.
Plowing for the kingdom,
proclaiming God’s good news,
taking up one’s cross and following Jesus
is like orienteering in the wilderness.
But what hope do we have?
Is there any chance we can follow him?
Are there any among us
who would deny themselves,
who would face lives with no holes or dens,
nowhere to lay their heads,
who would leave behind family
to become cross-bearing disciples of Jesus?
Well, on our own,
left to our own devices,
under our own power,
depending upon our own wills,
we would pivot away from suffering,
drop the cross from our shoulders,
and plow crooked and meandering furrows.
But the grace that comes to us
as a gift from God
saves us from living on our own,
by our own devices,
facing life under our own power
and depending upon our own wills.
Our Lord has plowed our lives with his cross.
He has planted in us the seeds of faith.
He moistens those seeds with baptismal waters.
He weeds the sin from our lives through confession.
He prunes us and cuts us back through trials
so that we can grow to bear the fruits of faith.
He fertilizes us with his body and blood in communion.
These are the gifts of God for us, the people of God.
They are what empower us
to step into the footprints of our Lord,
to follow behind him in faith,
to set our faces upon him in obedience,
and so to follow him with determination. Amen.
June 20, 2010 at 5:40 am · Filed under Homilies
This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, June 20, 2010.
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Readings
Isaiah 65:1–9
Psalm 22:19–28
Galatians 3:23–29
Luke 8:26–39
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Prayer
Open our eyes, Lord God, to the forces that turn us away from you, and by your Spirit restore our trust in your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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Message
The demons are Legion
and they possess each one of us.
We don’t want anyone telling us what to do.
The only authority we want to recognize is the one in here,
the one that knows what is best for ourselves and for others.
And so we say to ourselves,
“I’ll be the judge of that,”
whatever that may be.
Maybe we think the speed limits are a little low,
or perhaps our employers’ rules are inane or insane.
We make the judgments, bend the rules,
find the grey areas, the ambiguities
and then we decide for ourselves what is right,
or at least defensible.
Let’s call this demon Autonomy.
It’s the demon that possesses us
when we decide to become a law unto ourselves
and to ignore the truth that the Law
is truly the Word of God come into our lives.
The demons are Legion
and they possess each one of us.
I’ve worked for what is mine
and I’ll decide what to do with it.
I may not be rich, but I am the lord of my domain,
the master of my house.
And so we say to ourselves,
“This money is mine to do with as I please,”
whatever may please me.
Then we give God the remainder,
the leftovers, whatever remains unspent
at the end of the month, the day before the next paycheck.
We set the priorities, rank the needs, make the allocations,
and decide for ourselves what is worthy,
or—at the least—attractive.
Let’s call this demon Avarice.
It’s the demon that possesses us
when we delude ourselves into believing
that we create and sustain our own well-being,
that the size of our pile is a measure of our worth,
that our wealth results from our own efforts
and not from the unmerited blessings of God.
The demons are Legion
and they possess each one of us.
I will decide what parts of the Church’s faith
work for me and just embrace those.
That’s what each of us is prone to say.
That’s what congregations are apt to believe.
And that’s what denominations can come to practice.
What matters is what makes me comfortable,
what I judge to work here and now,
what I do not find threatening.
And so we say to ourselves,
“This is my faith and this is my church.”
Then we fit God into the box we have built.
We cobble together our own set of beliefs.
We ignore the truth that God’s Church
is one and holy and catholic and apostolic.
Let’s call this demon Idolatry.
It’s the demon that possesses us
when we convince ourselves
that our own comfort is the arbiter of the standards by which we live,
that what must be best is what works for me,
that the satisfaction of my desires
is the measure of the Church’s life.
The demons are Legion
and they possess each one of us.
The demons are many,
and we have named but a few
to remind us of their pervasiveness and power.
Their ways are subtle
as they insinuate themselves into our lives,
slipping into the crevices and the corners of our hearts and souls.
It is like an infestation.
It begins with one.
And that’s not so bad, we tell ourselves.
Then comes another and another,
and before we are really aware of what has happened,
the infestation—the possession—is complete.
Call them demons, temptations, sins.
Whatever term you choose,
the patterns are the same.
Eventually we get to the point
where we come to believe
that we direct our own lives,
when in fact,
we have invited forces beyond our control—
forces in opposition to God—
to enter our lives and to entertain us,
only to discover that they have taken possession of us
and now rule over us.
We may not run naked among the tombs,
break the bonds placed upon us for our own safety,
and cry at strangers with loud voices.
But even so, in our own ways,
we have become demoniacs.
And then, when Jesus Christ walks into our lives,
we find those voices inside us, voices we cannot master,
calling out to him and saying,
“What have you to do with me, Jesus,
Son of the Most High God?
I beg you, do not torment me.” (Luke 8:28, NRSV)
And the strange and poignant and touching thing
about the pitiful cry of these voices
is that they recognize who Jesus is
at the same time they see his challenge to them.
Do you know that in your own heart?
Do you see our Lord Jesus through the haze of your possession?
Can you make our his shadowy form
at the limits of your gaze gone dark from sin?
Jesus is the Son of the Most High God.
And that makes him your Lord and mine.
That makes him Master of our lives,
the Ruler of all our days,
the One who can speak a Word of power and healing,
who can say to the Legion inside of you and me,
“Be gone. Leave this child of mine.”
And off Legion goes,
washed away from us by the waters of our baptism,
banished from our lives by our confession and absolution,
purged from us by nourishment
of Christ’s own body and blood
in the bread and wine of communion.
And in the place of Legion,
Jesus Christ sends his own Spirit,
the Spirit he shares with his Father,
the Spirit that gives life, reveals the divine will,
makes tender our hearts,
and empowers our service and sacrifice.
Then our Lord sends us away, sends us out, saying,
“Return to your home
and declare how much God has done for you.” (Luke 8:39, NRSV)
And like the Gerasene demoniac,
we depart—in our right minds—
possessed not by Legion, but by the Truth,
the Truth we know because he first knows us,
the Truth that sets us free. Amen.
June 13, 2010 at 4:57 am · Filed under Homilies
This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, June 13, 2010.
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Readings
2 Samuel 11:26–12:10, 13–15
Psalm 32
Galatians 2:15–21
Luke 7:36–8:3
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Prayer
Lead us, Father in heaven, to confess our sins to you, so that we may grow in the love of your Son, Jesus Christ, through your Spirit’s gift of forgiveness. Amen.
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Message
When I was in high school,
I went on a field trip to New York City
with the German Club.
One of our stops was the United Nations Headquarters.
Since I wanted a souvenir of the trip,
I went to the gift shop
and ended up buying this set of Matryoshka dolls.
What’s curious about these dolls
is that each one opens up
to reveal another doll,
and so on, until you get to the smallest one.
This is a small set, only three deep,
but bigger ones may have more,
some up to nine dolls.
In a way, these dolls are like onions,
because you can peel off one layer of an onion
to reveal another, smaller onion inside of it,
and so on until you get to the center.
I thought maybe this image of the dolls or an onion
would help us to make some sense
of today’s Gospel from Luke.
This is a rather long reading
with a lot going on in it.
But if we go at it like we are taking apart a set of dolls,
or peeling back the layers of an onion,
that might help us make sense of the message.
The background for this passage
is the paragraph just before it
that tells us how Jesus critiqued the people’s reactions
to his ministry and the work of John the Baptist before him.
He said,
For John the Baptist has come
eating no bread and drinking no wine,
and you say, “He has a demon”;
the Son of Man (Jesus’ title for himself) has come eating and drinking,
and you say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” (Luke 7:33–34, NRSV)
There is no reasoning behind the public’s reaction;
they criticized John for his lean asceticism
and Jesus for his reputed hedonism.
And so what did Jesus do?
He went to dinner at a Pharisee’s home.
We know that some of the Pharisees had warmed up to Jesus’ teaching,
while others remained critical and skeptical.
But whatever Simon the Pharisee thought of Jesus,
he at least welcomed him into his home.
And that brings us to the first layer of the story:
the account of the dinner and Jesus’ conversation with Simon.
Simon showed Jesus the customary hospitality, to a point.
He invited him into his home.
They reclined at the table together to eat.
But then we come to second doll, the second layer of the story:
the arrival of the woman with the alabaster jar of ointment.
As was the custom in that day,
she could enter Simon’s house.
She sat at Jesus’ feet, washed them with her tears,
and dried them with her hair.
Then she kissed his feet and rubbed ointment into them.
In these simple and humble acts,
she extended to Jesus a more profound act of hospitality
that he had received from Simon, his host.
This irritated Simon,
raising the big unspoken issue,
the one the crowds had complained about
in accusing Jesus of loose living.
Simon said, “If this man were a prophet,
he would have known who and what kind of woman this is
who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” (Luke 7:39b, NRSV)
And then Jesus spoke to Simon,
and Luke’s account moves inward to the third doll:
Jesus’ parable of the creditor and two debtors,
where one owed more than the other.
The gracious creditor forgives both debts
because the debtors could not pay what they owed.
And then Jesus’ question for Simon was simple:
“Now which of them will love the creditor more?” (Luke 7:42, NRSV)
Simon gave the right answer—
the debtor who owed more loves more when forgiven.
And then Jesus tied together these two layers of the onion,
these two dolls nesting together in the passage:
his parable of the creditor and debtors
and the hospitality extended by Simon and the woman.
They are the debtors who cannot pay what they owe.
They show their gratitude, their love by their hospitality.
So a greater act of hospitality means a greater love
that flows from forgiveness of a greater debt.
That’s why Jesus commented on his parable, saying,
…her sins, which were many,
have been forgiven;
hence she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven,
loves little. (Luke 7:47, NRSV)
And then he spoke to the woman
who had been kneeling silently at his feet:
Your sins are forgiven….
You faith has saved you; go in peace.” (Luke 7:48, 50, NRSV)
And that is the final doll,
the deepest layer of the onion,
the great treasure lying at the center of this Gospel,
the word of life for us.
When we come to Jesus Christ,
kneel at his feet,
and shed our tears,
we give up our burden of sin and we turn our lives over to him.
The greater the sins we confess at his feet,
the greater the forgiveness Christ extends to us,
and the more we love him in return.
This is the tiny doll, the pearl of an onion at the center,
the simple, yet profound and powerful message of grace,
the word that can change our lives.
This message helps us to know how to look at ourselves.
If we honestly examine our hearts,
and we see that we do not love God as much as we ought,
as fully as we might,
as deeply as he desires of us,
then we can take that insight as a call to confess our sins,
to come to the feet of our Lord,
and to bathe them with our tears
of repentence and contrition.
This is the moment of honesty and truth,
the time when we may join our voices—
choked though they may be by our sorrow—
with the voice of the Psalmist
and the echoes of our forebears in the faith
who used his words in the old Common Service:
“Then I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not hide my iniquity.
I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,’
and you forgave the guilt of my sin.’” (Psalm 32:5, NRSV)
And when we do,
we can wait in confidence for our Lord to say:
“Your sins are forgiven.”
After all, he is the one who eats and drinks with sinners
and now invites us to come and to recline at his Table. Amen.
June 10, 2010 at 5:05 am · Filed under Ephemera
Introduction
The Congregation Council at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., where I am serving as interim pastor, opens its monthly meetings with devotions. These are the thoughts for the June 2010 meeting. The Psalm is the one appointed for the third Sunday after Pentecost. The council read it in choirs—men and women.
Reading
Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered.
Happy are those to whom the LORD imputes no iniquity,
and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
While I kept silence, my body wasted away
through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.
Then I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not hide my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,”
and you forgave the guilt of my sin.
Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you;
at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them.
You are a hiding place for me;
you preserve me from trouble;
you surround me with glad cries of deliverance.
I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go;
I will counsel you with my eye upon you.
Do not be like a horse or mule,
without understanding,
whose temper must be curbed
with bit and bridle,
else it will not stay near you.
Many are the torments of the wicked,
but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the LORD.
Be glad in the LORD and rejoice, O righteous,
and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.
Devotion
There’s a famous scene in the movie, The Mission, where a 18th-century Spanish mercenary, played by Robert DeNiro, decides to give us his violent ways and to become a monk. He decides he needs to atone for his sins, so he drags a bag containing his armor and weapons through the South American jungle, up into the mountains, to the headwaters of a river where the mission is located.
In a wordless scene at the end of this ardous journey, a boy cuts the rope binding the bag to Rodrigo, and the former killer breaks down into tears of deliverance, forgiveness, and release.
Can you think of a time in your life when you have recognized your sin and asked God and those whom you had hurt for forgiveness? What a great release it is when we receive that word of grace, “I forgive you.”
This is exactly what the psalmist invites us to experience. We can feel the weight of a burden of sin in the words, “While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long.” (Psalm 32:3, NRSV) But at the same time, we can feel the relief that comes when we finally can say, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD.” (Psalm 32:5)
Forgiveness is a great gift from God. We can trust that he forgives us and gives us a new lease on life when we confess our sins to him.
Discussion
+ How have you responded when someone has come to you to confess having wronged you in some way?
+ If you have something to confess, what keeps you from making that confession either to God or to someone else?
+ Are there any sins that our congregation has committed as a community for which we should ask forgiveness?
+ What can we do as leaders to encourage confession?
Prayer
Help us, O God, to turn to you and to tell you our sins. When we have sinned against others, give us the courage and the humility to confess our wrongdoing. Give us new life by the Spirit of your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.
June 6, 2010 at 5:21 am · Filed under Homilies
This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Second Sunday after Pentecost (the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ), June 6, 2010.
+ + +
Readings
1 Kings 17:17–24
Psalm 30 (antiphon v. 2)
Galatians 1:11–24
Luke 7:11–17
+ + +
Prayer
Hear us, Father, when we lift our hearts and voices to you in prayer, so that your Spirit may move in our lives, through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
+ + +
Message
Do you have memories
of times in your childhood
when you gathered with family
and shared a prayer together?
Maybe you prayed before meals at holidays,
seated around a big table full of food.
You heard the voice of your grandfather
rumbling from one end of the table
as you bowed your head and folded your hands,
perhaps sneaking a glance across platters of fod
to check to see if your brothers had their heads bowed
or if they, too, were checking on you.
I don’t recall exactly what my grandfather said,
but he always ended his table prayers the same way:
“Bless the hearts and hands that have prepared the same.
These blessings and favors we ask in Jesus’ name.”
And then, half-breathing, half-speaking, he concluded, “Amen.”
My parents also taught me to pray before bed.
I learned the traditional prayer:
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”
But then we veered from tradition,
reminding God of a list of relatives
who needed his care,
“Bless Mommy and Daddy,
David and Jonathan and Christopher,
Grandma and Grandpa and Grandma Frye.”
At some point when I was growing up—
I don’t remember when—
my parents stopped praying those words with me,
releasing me to pray on my own, following my own patterns.
As we get older,
there may be times when we decide to make prayer a habit,
to set aside a specific moment and place each day
to pray to God.
Maybe we keep lists of people we know
along with reminders of the heartaches and triumphs of their lives.
Maybe we reserve our prayers
for the table, for the family meal,
or to a time when we just have awakened
or are nearly ready to fade into sleep.
You know your habits, your tendencies, your patterns.
You know if your life of prayer is vibrant and alive,
or atrophied and faded.
In many ways, the ups and downs of our praying
mimic the ebb and flow of our relations with loved ones.
There are times, for example, when we feel connected to a spouse.
and our conversations together blossom with ease.
We are attuned to one another,
aware of the history we bring to the conversation,
the passions that animate our deep commitments,
the aches of the depths and the joys of the heights of lives together.
And then we find the dialogue between us to be electric, resonant,
to be like a song that we sing in harmony.
But there are also the times when we cannot find the right words,
when we do not listen well to one another,
when we rant about our own issues
and do not attend to the needs our spouses try to express.
Prayer is just like that,
because we are the same people when we talk to God,
and because prayer is really just our conversation with God.
Of all the creatures in this world,
we are the ones he has made to talk with him.
When it comes to the animals,
God made them, saying, “Let there be….”
But when he made humans,
he spoke to us, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply….”
We’re the only creatures God makes for conversation.
In fact, that’s what it means to be made in his image.
It means to be made for conversation with God,
to be made to share in his life—
the divine and triune conversation
that Father and Son and Spirit
share with one another from all eternity.
Sometimes we find it easy to talk with God,
but other times it’s not easy at all;
it’s hard, stilted, disjointed.
Maybe praying seems awkward
because we are afraid we won’t say the right thing,
that we won’t use the proper form, the correct words,
that our prayer will not be eloquent or expressive.
That’s not what God desires for us.
That’s not the reaction he intends for us to have.
And that’s why he has inspired our ancestors
to pray with honesty and humility
and why he has guided his people to preserve those prayers
so that they can inspire us, so that we can learn how to pray.
Today’s Psalm is a great example of a faithful prayer.
Just listen to what the psalmist says
about how he acts in his relationship with God.
“I will exalt you, O LORD….” (Psalm 30:1a, LBW)
This tells us that praising God can be part of our prayers.
“O LORD my God, I cried out to you….” (Psalm 30:2a, LBW)
This reminds us that we can call upon God when we are hurting.
“Sing to the LORD, you servant of his;
give thanks for the remembrance of his holiness.” (Psalm 30:4, LBW)
This shows us that we can share our joy and gratitude with God.
“I cried to you, O LORD;
I pleaded with the Lord….” (Psalm 30:9, LBW)
Here we see that its alright to beg for mercy, asking God to save us.
“O LORD my God,
I will give you thanks forever.” (Psalm 30:13, LBW)
And finally, we have an example of how to show our gratitude to God.
And there’s nothing really very unusual about Psalm 30.
It’s just one of many psalms filled with faithful expressions
of praising and thanking,
of pleading and bargaining,
of reminding and recounting
before our God who has promised
to listen to us when we talk with him.
The blessing for us is that he does not get distracted,
that he does not background us
the way we sometimes do with one another.
Instead, we can trust that when we call to him,
saying “God” or “Lord” or “Father,”
“Jesus” or “Spirit,”
he inclines his head,
turns his ear to us,
and listens with love and patience
to all that we have to say,
whether aloud with words or silently with sighs too deep for words.
I hope this helps you if you have wondered how to pray,
that this reminds you of the great freedom we have,
as God’s children, to come to him
and to speak in honesty and humility,
and trust that he will hear and embrace us in love. Amen.
June 1, 2010 at 5:36 am · Filed under Ephemera
Introduction
Holy Cross Lutheran Church began offering individuals the chance to ask questions about the Church, faith, theology, and the Bible by putting their queries into a Question Box. A question and answer appears in each month’s newsletter. This is the June 2010 installment.
Question
What does the Bible say about practices that alter our bodies, like
+ wearing make-up
+ having tattoos
+ getting body piercing
+ undergoing plastic surgery?
Answer
Some of the questions that come to us are the same questions our ancestors in the faith asked. But many other questions stem from the times in which we live, so we may not find precise and direct answers to each question we may think to ask. This question, though, falls somewhere in the middle.
Genesis starts out by telling us that human creatures are God’s possession and that he made us as embodied spirits or enspirited bodies: “…then the LORD God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.” (Genesis 2:7, NRSV). This tells us that we cannot separate ourselves into parts and say we do something to our bodies alone. When we alter ourselves physically, we cannot help but alter ourselves spiritually, and the other way around as well.
So then the question becomes, what is the intention of any alteration? Paul helps us to know the proper goal of any change we attempt to make in ourselves: “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you were bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body.” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20, NRSV).
This means that part of the answer to the question comes from examining the goal of the practice: does it glorify God? Some of the practices are easier to examine this way. Many tattoos feature symbols or texts. Do these forms of communication glorify God, witnessing to others that he is the Lord of our lives? At least one form of plastic surgery—circumcision—traces its roots to a sign of the covenant God made with Abraham and his offspring (Genesis 17:10–14). But since the first Council of the Church, held in Jerusalem, decided that Gentiles did not need to become circumcised to become Christian, this practice is not required (Acts 15). Reconstructive surgery has as its goal the restoration of one’s shape as made by God. Other kinds of plastic surgery may have as their goal the refashioning of one’s shape according to one’s own ideals rather than accepting and rejoicing in the distinctive way one has been fashioned by God’s creative hand.
Perhaps the most helpful passage in responding to this question is 1 Corinthians 8:1–13, where Paul discusses whether or not to eat meat that had been sacrificed to idols. He comes to the point of saying there is no rule one way or the other, “But take care that this liberty of your does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak.” (1 Corinthians 8:9, NRSV). This would apply to the questions of altering our appearances by helping each of us to ask, “Does this change bring attention to me or does it help others turn to God?”
Background
What is the Question Box?
It’s actually several boxes. We will have a box in the narthex at church. The church’s mailbox is the second box. The third box is Pastor Frye’s e-mail inbox.
What goes into the box?
Briefly, your questions. You may use any of these boxes to ask Pastor Frye a question about faith and daily life, the Bible, our Lutheran background, events in the life of the whole Church, and practices at Holy Cross Lutheran Church.
What happens with the questions?
Depending upon the questions, Pastor Frye will respond to one or more questions in the newsletter each month.
What else can we expect?
Well, some questions about the faith do not have answers in this life. As one seminary professor once said, “Put that one in your hip pocket and ask God when you get to heaven!” Pastor Frye will not “fake” his answers. He will respect your confidentiality.
What do we do now?
Go ahead and ask your questions. Please sign your name, but indicate whether you wish your name to remain confidential or not.
What are the ways to share questions?
+ Use the box in the narthex and fill out one of the slips nearby.
+ Second, mail your questions to the church office:
Question Box
Holy Cross Lutheran Church
1918 Garfield St.
Beatrice, NE 68310.
+ Or send your question by e-mail, placing “Question Box” in the subject field:
pastorfrye (at) windstream.net.
June 1, 2010 at 5:29 am · Filed under Ephemera
Introduction
This article is the June 2010 installment of my monthly message in the parish newsletter for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb.
A Change of Seasons
Flipping the calendar’s pages from May to June brings several changes of seasons—school ends and summer begins; the church year moves from the Easter season through Holy Trinity Sunday and then to ordinary time, the many Sundays after Pentecost; our parish’s ministries move into their summer patterns.
In a way, it’s a little like the change from December to January. That’s the traditional time for taking stock of one’s life, of making new beginnings. This month can work the same way for us. As we move into the season after Pentecost, we enter the time traditionally dedicated to focusing on the spreading of God’s Word, the growth of the Church, and on our maturation in the faith.
A Chance for Questions
So it’s a good time to take a step back from our lives and to ask some questions. Here are a few questions to guide your personal reflection. You can use these however works best for you. Some may find writing in a journal is a helpful way to focus. Others may find a partner in conversation. Others might make each question a beginning for a time of prayer.
+ Where have I felt God at work in my life?
+ What gifts have I received from God?
+ How is God calling me to use those gifts?
+ Whom do I know who does not believe in God?
+ How can I share my faith with others?
+ What cross is God calling me to carry?
+ Where does my faith lead to sacrifice?
+ What do I need to lift up to God in prayer?
+ Is God at the center or the edges of my life?
A Time for Reflection
One of the most powerful ways to help focus one’s spiritual life is through daily devotions. In many ways, making devotions a daily part of one’s life is a task of establishing a habit. This takes some discipline, some resolve to make a change in patterns to open up space in one’s life for a new action in the daily routine. This means that when and how devotions fit into life varies with each person.
I found that placing my devotions between two other firmly established habits helped me to make devotions part of my routine. I wake up every morning and I drink coffee each day as well. So two years ago, I tried spending some time in devotions after I woke up, but before I made that first cup of coffee. This has worked well for me. I’m not suggesting that everyone should do this, but that the notion of finding a way to commit to the discipline of devotions will bear fruit in your life.
A Pattern for Prayer
Once you decide to dedicate time in your life for devotions, the options for resources can overwhelm you. For the Christian, the Bible is the essential resource. A great place to start is with the Psalms. These texts have served as the prayerbook and the hymnal of God’s people for thousands of years. They will touch you with their tenderness, inspire you with their praise, shock you with their brutal honesty, and remind you of God’s lordship over every moment of life.
Our congregation provides several devotional booklets available quarterly on the rack in the narthex. Our hymnal, Lutheran Book of Worship, includes a variety of aids for devotions, including a schedule of daily Bible readings on p. 179. If you have access to the Internet, the options are just about endless. You can find out what readings are coming up in worship at www.elca.org/lectionary. And for example, another site, www.journeywithjesus.net, offers a mix of essays, book reviews, poetry, and reflections on the arts tied to the lectionary, our schedule for Sunday readings.
Please consider this message an invitation to start a habit or to renew an existing discipline. If you find a practice that works, let me know. I can gather and share the suggestions and wisdom of our congregation so that we all may grow together in our life of faith.
Blessings!
Pastor David Frye
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