This is the sermon I preached at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Saturday and Sunday, Jan. 23–24, 2010, for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany.

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Readings

Nehemiah 8:1–3, 5–6, 8–10
Psalm 19 (antiphon v. 7)
1 Corinthians 12:12–31a
Luke 4:14–21

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Prayer

Gracious God, open our eyes to the life-giving light that shines through your Son Jesus Christ, so that your Holy Spirit may empower us to share your Good News with others. Amen.

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Message

When I was a little kid,
my Dad would drive me to Annville,
a little town just down the road
from our home in Cleona,
to the barbershop to get a haircut.

Joe the Barber, as we called him,
was a kind and gentle man.
And I was always excited to sit on the board
he placed across the arms of his barber chair.
I liked the smell of the tonics and powders
and the whiff of ozone from his clippers.

I enjoyed the sound of him stropping the straight razor
on that long strip of leather that hung from arm of the chair.
I was fascinated by the ghostly blue-violet light
glowing above the tray where he kept his scissors.
And I always enjoyed the big pink block
of Bazooka bubble gum he gave me as a treat after the haircut.

But the best reward came while I waited
for my turn on the chair.
Then I had the chance to read comic books.
Scattered on a table at the front of the shop,
they were dog-eared, tattered, sometimes missing covers.
But the stories of adventure and the pictures in bright, primary colors
were a thrill and a treat for me.

I guess there’s a part of being a man
that never leaves behind all the boy I once was,
because five or six years ago,
I started reading comic books again,
picking up a simple pleasure from forty years ago.

The biggest publisher, Marvel, puts out some special comics every year
under the title of “What If…?”
They explore the alternate stories that arise by asking that simple question.
What if Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben hadn’t been murdered?
Would he still become Spider–Man?
What if Bruce Banner hadn’t been exposed to radiation?
Would the Hulk inside of him have found some other way out?
Things like that.

What if…?
It’s an intriguing question.
And sometimes asking “What if…?” about a part of our lives,
walking down those paths not taken, exploring those decisions deferred,
can help us understand better the direction of our daily lives.

So let’s ask “What if…?” about our life together.

One of the tendencies, or temptations—
depending upon your view of the issue—
is for Christians and for their congregations
to get a little bit turned in on themselves.

Sometimes this is just a slight bend, a little flexing,
and other times, sadly,
it develops into a pretty severe and deforming curvature.
In fact, Martin Luther wrote about sin and our sinful nature
as the human turned in upon himself or herself,
homo curvatus in se was the phrase in Latin.

We really can’t avoid it;
it’s part of our human nature.
It is just another way of saying “we are in bondage to sin,”
of placing ourselves in human history after the Fall in Eden.

And look what happens when we get turned in upon ourselves.
We lose sight of one another;
we lose our ability to focus beyond ourselves.

We go from a world of open skies and unlimited horizons—
from the faces of our friends,
the lives of our loved ones,
the hands of humanity stretched out for help—
to a world of ego and solitude,
a life devoid of relationships,
an existence geared around the god we make,
the god who bears an uncanny resemblance
to the sad and lonely face in the mirror.

This is our “bondage to sin,”
our life embodying homo curvatus in se,
our denial that God our Father makes us, redeems us, and sends us,
in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ,
and with the power of their Holy Spirit.

But, “What if…?”

What if we envision ourselves gathering with the people of Israel
in the square before the Water Gate.
What if we listened and heard Ezra
bless the LORD, the great God,
and we joined all the people and said, “‘Amen, Amen,’
lifting up our hands,”
and bowing our heads and worshiping the LORD
with our faces to the ground?
What if we listened to the readings from the Book,
if we heard the law of God, with interpretation,
and we understood the reading? (see Nehemiah 8:1–10, NRSV)

And then, what if we were gathered again with the people of God,
and we saw Jesus come into the synagogue?
What if we watched him stand up to read,
and witnessed him unrolling the scroll to the words of the prophet Isaiah?
Then we would hear his voice speak a clear word:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18–19, NRSV)

And what if…?
And what if that same Spirit
who filled Jesus with power,
who energized his ministry,
who lifted him from the grave—
what if that Spirit lived and breathed
and blew and moved among us?

If it did, then we would find God’s hand upon us,
helping to raise us up from our crouch,
strengthening us to stand up straight,
straightened by faith so we are no longer curved,
bent in upon ourselves,
no longer homo curvatus in se.

Then, we would find ourselves
emboldened to go out in Jesus’ name,
to proclaim his message of hope to all the people on the fringes.

In Jesus’ name and with the Spirit
we would bring good news to the poor,
tell captives of their release,
announce recovery of sight to those who have closed their eyes to God,
break the chains of the oppressed,
and shout from the hilltops:
This is the year of the Lord’s favor.

What if…?
It’s not an alternate reality.
It’s not a story of what might have been.
It’s not a tale of a path not taken.

Instead, this is the truth, the true story,
this is the world the Father makes and gives to us in Jesus’ name
that we may live in it joyfully with their Spirit.

And so, the question is not, “What if…?”
Rather, the question for you, for me, for our congregation,
for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, and for the whole Church
is another question altogether,
simple in the asking, but profound in the answering.

Now what…? Amen.