Christmas Day - Years A,B, & C (John 1: 1-14)

Save for a few words, this lovely hymn to the Logos could easily be in honor of a Gnostic savior. By Gnostic I mean salvation through an idea or teaching, personified perhaps, but an object of the mind. Such a savior is as popular (or more so) today as ever. There are many who like the “teachings” of Jesus but are scandalized by the person of Jesus and even more so by the Church. Lots of others give voice to a similar sentiment when they proclaim that they are “spiritual but not religious”.
While it might be accurately said that the author of the fourth Gospel dallied with Gnostic ideas, the “punch line” of the Prologue brings both the writer and the Word clearly back down to earth. The Word became flesh and lived among us.” There is no “took up the appearance of flesh” here. The Word who spoke and it was made has itself become something made of real flesh and blood, the creator has become creature. For those of us blessed with the faith not to be scandalized by such a savior, the glory of God has entered our concrete lives in such a way as to make being “spiritual” (in its most limited sense) the ultimate heresy.

Such is the grace and truth of Christmas!

Third Sunday of Advent - Year B (John 1:6-8, 19-28)

Among you stands one whom you do not know. Begging the pardon of any who might read this, I am going to take this statement in a direction that might seem out of sync with the apparent intentions of the evangelist. I want to move beyond knowledge of and relationship with Jesus Christ to knowledge of and relationship with the Christ who is present to us “sacramentally” in the poor and marginalized of our world.
Among you stands one whom you do not know: the “homeless vet” asking for a handout at the freeway off ramp; the drag queen beaten and left for dead in the back alley; the children of “illegals” who are now afraid to go to school; the bullied teen; the lonely elderly; the list goes on and on. And the amazing truth, my brothers and sisters, is that not a one of us, not even John the Baptizer (whom Jesus calls the greatest man born of woman), is worthy to untie the sandal thong of any of these.
Among you stands one whom you do not know. To focus our Advent hope and expectations on the coming Christ while failing to recognize his presence among us is to seriously miss the point and to stand in risk of judgment. To know these is to know the one who comes after them.

2nd Sunday of Advent - Year B (Mark 1:1-8)

Few scriptural images stand more sharply in contrast to the ethos of a consumer Christmas than that of John the Baptist. I have heard recently of at least one church group setting up an Advent “station” in a shopping mall, offering a welcome (to some) respite from the buying frenzy. If that is what we consider a radical response to the co-opting of the Nativity, imagine the reaction of shoppers to John the Baptist, in camel hair, standing at the gate to Santa’s village, workshop, etc., demanding the preparation of the Lord’s way. “Take a bath and get a job!” It should be no surprise that these words directed at Occupy Wall Street Protesters might just as suitably (in the view of those issuing the insult) be hurled the Baptizer.

While in no way wanting to equate the message and tactics of OWS with the mission of John, there are some parallels. Disrupting the status quo is not for the faint of heart. It is, however, precisely that disruption which the prophets and the Gospel announce and we are called to give it voice in our words and actions as disciples of the one to whom John pointed – the disrupter-in-chief – Jesus.

So what is this disruptive message we are challenged to share with the world? Happiness, and more especially, love, cannot be bought or earned. We are not saved by a vibrant consumer economy or by any other thing that we can make, earn, or manipulate. The only gift necessary has already been purchased at great price and it is graciously given.

1st Sunday of Advent - Year B (Mark13:24-37)

I was fortunate to be with my mother, holding her hand, during her final hours. For a while during her dying process, she seemed to be struggling to breath. It was painful to watch and even more painful to hear. There was what seemed to me an eternity between each breath. And each and every time I wondered if this was the end. I was alert to every sound, every touch, every sign that the end was coming. I was painfully awake.

Could it be this level of alertness to which we are called by the gospel for the First Sunday of Advent? If so, I don’t know that I’m up to it. It’s all together too much to ask, too much to endure. That level of wakefulness quickly takes its toll on both mind and body.
After the struggle passed, my mother moved into a more restful and peaceful state. I was certainly still awake, still aware of all that was going on, but it was no longer painful and I was no longer on edge. Her breathing was so quiet that it was hard to hear and it was no longer necessary or even possible to try to guess when the last breath would come. The nerve racking hyper-alert listening and watching was transformed into a peace filled “being with”.

It is this peace filled being with the moment that the season of Advent calls us to embrace. Our preoccupation with violent apocalypse tricks us into thinking that we can know the day and the hour. The violent destruction of the Jerusalem Temple by the Romans must surely have seemed a precursor to the end, but it wasn’t. The violence of my mother’s physical struggle to cling to life was also not the end. Though painful to both mind and body, we have no choice but to stay awake and alert when everything is crumbling around us, the challenge is to be awake to the gradual opening of a spring leaf on a tree.

22nd Sunday After Pentecost - Year A (Matthew 25:14-30)

It is said that familiarity breeds contempt. Perhaps this holds true with the parables of Jesus as much as with anything else, and, if not contempt, than at least boredom and a sense of déjà vu. We might do well to hear today’s parable recast in more contemporary terms. A wealthy person going on a around the world cruise summoned his investment portfolio managers, giving one 500 million, one 200 million, and one 100 million dollars to invest. The one who had been given the 500 million invested in shady derivatives and other high risk deals made 500 million more. The one given 200 million followed suit and also made a 100% return. The final investor, having looked more deeply into the underlying market and fearing a collapse of both the market and the banks, decided to put the money in a safe deposit box. The first two investors managed to get in and out before the collapse having made a made a huge return. The final of the three had been correct in foreseeing what would happen to the markets but his timing was off by a few months and the capital he had preserved was given as a bonus to the first investor. That final investor had his “McMansion” foreclosed upon and ended up working for a credit union. Weeping and gnashing of teeth indeed!
So then, to what shall we compare the Reign of God? The Reign of God is like a Wall Street investor who is rewarded for taking risks. Really? This parable has long appealed to our American experience of a somewhat benevolent capitalism. In light of recent events, and the ruin brought to many by a much more malevolent economic reality, we are forced, perhaps, to look at the parable in a different light. Even the oft repeated attempt to define the word talent by its literal English transliteration meaning aptitude or ability seems naïve in our current situation.
A few points might help us come to terms with this parable. First of all, everything belongs to God. Secondly, in God’s economy there is only abundance. And, finally, it is our faith in that abundance, or lack thereof that influences our ability to risk everything.

19th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matthew 22:34-46)

There were many things about which the Pharisees and the Sadducees disagreed, but it seems they were united in their desire to trip up Jesus.  Beyond that, the text seems to imply that the Pharisees were out to show up the Sadducees by succeeding where the later had failed.  Once again Jesus escapes their verbal trap.  And then, as if not to be left out of the fun, Jesus sets a trap for the Pharisees.  Their failure to answer adequately finally brings the contest to an end.  Perhaps the point of the text is that any argument about scripture to which the final answer is not love of God and neighbor has missed the point.

18th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matthew 22:15-22)

Taxes are a major political topic in the U.S. today. Who, if anyone, should be taxed? What percentage of their income should people pay in taxes? How about corporations? While the Christian might hope to find some solution to these questions in this Sunday’s text is, I think, to miss the point. Taxes and the proper role of government are not the subject of this story, Jesus is. The enemies of Jesus are trying to trap him by asking a question to which, in their view, there is no answer that will not get him in trouble with someone. Jesus, as it turns, out, is smarter than they think and does not allow them to trap him. Jesus refuses to take sides but rather inserts a “both and” where his enemies would have an “either or”.  Jesus’ embrace of a more holistic view of the nature of the world leaves open the possibility of a Christian way of being in the world that rejects dualism and pursues reconciliation. In Christ, all things are brought together.

17th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt 22:1-14)

This is a hard one.  A man, dragged into a party from the street is then summarily thrown out for not being dressed appropriately.  So to what does the “wedding garment” refer:  Faith, good works, baptism?  It may seem a copout but I suggest that we leave this question up to God.  The text has already, in fact, made the point that it is not up to the slaves to make judgments, but to include everyone, “good and bad”.  While I am saddened at the loss of the one, I rejoice in the inclusion of the many.   The mystery of God’s judgment is beyond us but we live everyday in the mystery of God’s love and mercy.  As servants of King we are challenged to go out into the streets to invite everyone we find to the wedding banquet.   Not one of us is called to play the bouncer.

16th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt 21:33-46

In our time we often hear the phrase “don’t shoot the messenger.” As this coming Sunday’s parable indicates, killing the messenger is nothing new. The Christian messenger that we immediately think of is, of course the preacher. While the number of preachers killed by their congregations each year is, thankfully, very low. But preachers do find themselves alienated from members of their church and civic communities and, depending on polity, without a job. Beyond the professional preachers however, are all Christians, called by baptism, to be preachers of the good news. We are reminded by Frederick Buechner that before it is good news, the gospel is bad news. It is bad news in that is upsets the status quo. It is bad news in that it holds us accountable not only for our own sins but for systemic injustice. It is bad news because Jesus, the vineyard owners own son, was seized and killed. The messenger of Christ can expect nothing different.
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the vindication of the Vineyard owner and his Son. It is only in the resurrection that the bad news becomes good news. The stone rejected by the builders has indeed become the corner stone.

15th Sunday After Pentecost - Year A (Matthew 21:23-32)

Jesus never does directly answer the question about his authority but, by the end of the short parable he tells, it is clear for whom he is speaking.  In announcing who will enter first into the kingdom of God, Jesus clearly speaks for God.  Furthermore, the message Jesus speaks is good news for everyone; tax collectors, prostitutes, chief priests and elders.    Notice that it is not a matter of who is inside and who is outside the scope of God’s reign.  Jesus simply says that, contrary to expectations, it is the tax collectors and prostitutes who have been first to respond in faith to the call to repentance.  The chief priests and elders have not been excluded from the kingdom but they have been replaced as leaders and teachers of God’s people by tax collectors and prostitutes.  We are challenged to be open to the faith of those who seem most unlikely and to listen to the teaching of those whom the world deems unworthy to teach.  It is no wonder then that Jesus refuses to directly answer questions about authority.  In human terms, authority is always about hierarchy. Jesus continues to shatter all of our hierarchies in his announcement of God's reign.

14th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matthew 20:1-16)

In essence, this parable is identical to the Prodigal Son parable, minus the heightened drama of family relationships.  In both parables, justice is replaced by generosity.  Some, those who have labored all day and the elder son, see this generosity as injustice.  The landowner and father, however, see no injustice at all.  The idea that the long suffering elder son and diligent workers have somehow earned their inheritance/wage is shown for the sham that it is.  As Martin Luther supposedly wrote as he lay dying, “we are all beggars.”  The divine economy of love and grace is based on abundance rather than scarcity.  In the end there is no payment or repayment but only gift.

13th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt. 18, 21-35)

In any context, Matt. 18:21-35 is a “hard saying”.  In the context of the 10^th anniversary of “9/11” it becomes even a bigger challenge for the preacher.  Although the text seems specific to disputes between church members, to allow that to limit the impact of this teaching of would be, I think, to miss the point.  We are all debtors.  We all stand in need of forgiveness.  While most of us have never committed acts of evil and violence as great as those perpetrated on “9/11” we are part of political and economic systems that take the lives of many more innocent people than we generally want to know about.  When such deaths happen to us it is terrorism, when it happens far away, it is collateral damage.  I certainly do not mean to suggest that our role in these systems is comparable to that of those who hijacked those planes ten years ago.  But to suggest that any of us have blood free hands is also untrue.  We like to speak of people like the 9/11 attackers as inhuman, not like us.  The important truth of our Christian faith is, however, that they are just as human as we are.  That acknowledgement is the beginning of forgiveness and also the beginning of our transformation by grace into heralds of a new creation and a redeemed humanity.

12th Sunday after Pentecost, Year A (Matt. 18-15-20)

”If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”  For someone to be as a Gentile and a tax collector most likely means that Jesus is having dinner with them.   What seems at first glance a condemnation turns out to be a kind of blessing.   The text seems to suggest that the ultimate response to differences is not excommunication but communion, not exclusion, but table fellowship.  Our efforts at inclusion sometimes fall short in this crucial area.  In many ways, being inclusive of those who differ from us is much easier than being inclusive of those who have differences with us.  The only agreement required is the shared belief that God hears us and that Jesus is present in our gathering together.

11th Sunday after Pentecost Year A (Matt 16:21-28)

Following immediately upon Peter’s confession of faith, Jesus dramatically contrasts that faith, which came from God, to Peter’s rejection of the cross, which Jesus calls satanic.  There is, then, no real knowing of who Jesus is apart from the cross.   This passage then goes even a step further to connect the paschal mystery to God’s eschatological promise.  The death and resurrection of Jesus is the judgment and the reward.  The reign of the Son of Man has already been inaugurated and its reality upturns the logical view of reality to which we cling in such a way that we are no longer even able to distinguish between life and death.  We are, as always, utterly dependent on God’s grace.

10th Sunday After Pentecost - Year A (Matt 16: 13-20)

At first glance, it appears that Peter is being praised by Jesus for doing something, in this case, finally giving the correct answer.  If you look more closely, however, Jesus makes it clear that Peter has actually done nothing.  The “correct answer” is not the result of Peter’s theological acumen.  It is rather, God’s work.  And so we should have great courage, because the church built on the rock of Peter’s affirmation of faith is not ultimately dependent on the achievements of any human beings but always and only on the gracious gift of God.  The work of the church that we set our hands to is, the work of binding and loosing that Jesus gives to us, is indeed God’s work.  May God who has begun this good work in us bring it to fulfillment.

9th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt 15:[10-20] 21-28)

This is at once one of the most disturbing and hopeful portraits of Jesus found in the Gospels. Jesus’ initial response to the Canaanite woman is, to put it mildly, unkind. Why does he feel the need to put this woman in her place? Perhaps it is so that she is then in a position to put him in his. Jesus responds to her retort, not with further insult or by ignoring her and moving on. Instead, he recognizes both her dignity and her faith.
This story stands in sharp contradiction to all those who would suggest that Christians have nothing to learn from other religions. If Jesus himself was willing to be taught by a Canaanite, how much more should we be humble enough to recognize and accept those teachers who come to us from outside our own faith tradition? I have a fantasy of this woman standing beside Jesus on the Last Day, judging our faith. Fortunately, we have every reason to believe that she too will be merciful.

8th Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt 14:22-33

While placed by Matthew in the context of Jesus’ ministry, this text bears all the marks of a post-resurrection appearance; a body not bound by ordinary physics, speculation about a ghost, fear and then faith on the part of the disciples. In particular, this story parallels the post-resurrection story of Thomas, with Peter being the doubter who demands evidence. In this case, the evidence is his own (Peter’s) ability to join Jesus on the water. This story makes another important connection as well. It connects Jesus to the very moment of creation. Just as God’s spirit hovered over the waters and brought order to chaos, so does Jesus stand on the waters, calming the wind, and bringing order to creation.


The church like a tiny boat on a large sea; small, vulnerable, and seldom faithful, hardly seems fit for its task. Left to its own devices it would surely fail. There is no cause for triumphalism on the barque of Peter, no place for pride. There is only the need for faith and, in the end, worship.

Seventh Sunday After Pentecost - A (Matt. 14:13-21)

It’s been a commonplace over recent years to explain away the miraculous in this Sunday’s gospel text.  You know how it goes:  one person gives something they have stashed away and then another does the same.  Generosity begets generosity.  The real miracle according to this view is that the people shared what they had.  I am no critic of sharing.  A generous sharing of what we have with those who have not is, indeed, very important.  It’s just that in this instant, to emphasize human sharing misses the point.  The whole of the gospel message, including this pericope, is about what God does for us in Jesus Christ.  The answer to our chronic weariness and hunger is not to be found in our own striving but in God’s gracious gift.  This miraculous feeding becomes a type for the Eucharist.  In communion, we are given something we could never provide for ourselves, no matter how generous.  Christ gives us himself as food for those hungers that are too deep for words.  Christ gives himself to us as medicine, healing the weariness born of our bondage to sin.  God, in Christ Jesus, is the giver.

2nd Sunday after Pentecost - Year A (Matt. 10:40-42)

Summing up the theme of this Sunday’s Gospel lesson, The Rule of Benedict suggests that all guests are to be received as Christ.  Benedict’s wisdom transforms hospitality from a good work into an affirmation of faith.  Each person who comes to the door is seen through the eyes of faith.  Insofar as all guests are Christ, all guests are equal.  It is not up to the host to decide who is sent, who is prophet, who is righteous, or who is “one of these little ones”.  All are welcomed equally.  Just as God’s rain falls on both the just and the unjust, so too does authentic Christian hospitality reach out to absolutely everyone.

Trinity Sunday - Year A Homily

Trinity Sunday

June 19, 2011
St. Stephen Lutheran Church

Most theological textbooks on the Trinity distinguish between terms like ad intra and ad extra, processions and spirations, economic an imminent. Where’s a preacher on Trinity Sunday to begin? How is any of this relevant to our daily lives? I would suggest that its very relevant but only if we begin someplace other than theology text books. Let’s let the lectionary be our guide today and begin where it begins – “In the beginning.”

Today’s first lesson is the first of two creation accounts found in the Book of Genesis. Over the centuries the imaginations of Christians have been informed by artistic representations of this event, most notably by the Michelangelo version on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. In the Michelangelo version, the creator God is pictured as a stern older man with silver hair and beard. Kind of like your grumpy grandpa or uncle, except that he obviously works out and has a personal trainer.

At the hay day of renaissance humanism, you could almost say that God had been created in the likeness of human beings, rather than the other way around. God is just like us, only better. The God of the Sistine Chapel ceiling is the epitome of the renaissance artistic genius, working alone to create his masterpiece, the prototype of the modern world’s rugged individual. The artist Michelangelo and created an artist God who could, unlike himself, stand up to anyone, including the pope.

Unfortunately, Michelangelo’s depiction doesn’t quite capture the nuances of the Genesis account. This is more a limitation of the medium, I suspect, than a critique of Michelangelo’s talent. How do you paint the power of a word? How do you draw the breath of God hovering over the pre creation chaos? God does not simply will creation into existence but, rather, speaks a powerful yet gentle creative word, followed by a further word of affirmation and affection. God’s breath, or spirit, encompasses the creation and becomes the life force of all that lives. Creation, then, is not the singular masterpiece of a ruggedly individual artist God, but a delicate and loving interplay of will, word, and breath (– what we Christians have come to understand as the Holy Trinity; Father, Son and Spirit.
The Russian iconographer, Andrei Rublev, has given the world an artistic representation of the Christian Trinitarian God far different from that of Michelangelo. Will, word and breath are depicted as three individuals, each unique but at the same time, strangely the same. They gaze on one another, not as rivals, but almost as lovers. If in Michelangelo’s ceiling, creation was an act of power, in Rublev’s Trinity, creation is surely an act of love. And, beyond that, not a onetime act, but an ongoing expression of Trinitarian life.
There is no room for you and me on Michelangelo’s ceiling. Notice though that the icon not only has a place for us, its very structure invites us into the loving, creative, life of God. We have, by grace, been brought into the deepest heart of the Trinitarian mystery and have been made co-creators, with God, of the new creation. The Gospels call this new creation the kingdom of God.

Our triune God is at work in the world and by Baptism we have been made God’s coworkers. Using the word “work” in a Lutheran sermon is always dangerous. I‘m not suggesting that our role as divine coworkers is something of our own doing, nor would I want to suggest that it is a work we take on to advance our own salvation. No, our status as coworkers is totally God’s gift and the actual work we do a manifestation of divine grace.
Hopefully having scrupulously avoided the number one Lutheran heresy, I would dare to suggest that we are called, according to the measure of our gifts, to participate in the bringing about of the new creation, the coming of the Kingdom of God. Today’s Gospel lesson roots our understanding of the Trinity in baptism and in our common baptismal mission. The promises made in the Affirmation of Baptism, which is at the heart of the Lutheran confirmation rite and which all of us make from time to time during the church year, help us to understand just what our role is in the ongoing work of creation.



First, modeled on the Trinity itself, our work is communal. We commit ourselves to live among God’s holy people. We are not in this alone. The Christian life is rooted in a deep sense of community. Lone rangers are not the norm and our egos are made subject to the common good. Our human community is not only modeled on, but fully participates in, the community of divine life.
It may sound a bit silly, but the Trinity is actually what we might call a “mutual admiration society”. Father, Son and Spirit are engaged in a constant communication of mutual love and worship. Rather than creating a cacophony of noise, this exchange of affection and praise within the Trinity creates an exquisite harmony. In the Affirmation of Baptism we promise to hear the word of God and share in the Lord’s Supper. Whenever we come together in worship, we enter into that divine song. I suggest that we think of this dialog of intercession and praise taking place within the trinity as something akin to electricity. Our human acts of prayer and worship are the way in which we plug into a reality far larger than what we could ever manage on our own.
This Trinitarian life of love and worship in which we live by grace is not for us alone. Others are invited. Rublev’s icon of the Trinity reminds us that there is room at the table for everyone. This invitation must, however, be extended. Our Affirmation of Baptism reminds us that we have an obligation to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed.
The new creation is made present in the world through humble service. We commit ourselves to serve all people, following the example of Jesus. Not only is there a place at the table for all, there is a bountiful share of all the goods of creation for each person. Our human economies are based on scarcity – the law of supply and demand. We are co-creators when we do what we can to make the Trinitarian economy of abundance concrete in the lives of the victims of scarcity.
Finally, our Affirmation of Baptism would have us strive for justice and peace in all the earth. Justice and peace are the building blocks of the new heaven and the earth promised by God. No single political theory or party, no one form of government, no individual leader, has a market on peace and justice. We do ourselves and our world a terrible disservice, however, when we try to separate politics, government, and civic leadership from the work of Kingdom building. The mutual love and respect, of Father, Son, and Spirit, with its recognition of both oneness and difference, provides us with the model and definition of peace and justice.
The Christian doctrines of the Trinity and of Creation are not simply for theologians. They underpin our whole approach to the Christian life. Everything, from what we think of ourselves when we look in the mirror in the morning to how we spend our money, is influenced by our beliefs about who God is, what God has and continues to do in the world, and our role in that divine work.
And, just in case you were wondering, we’ve been exploring the idea of the immanent and the economic Trinity. That is, the relationship of the three persons to one another and their relationship to creation. Give yourselves a pat on the back. Pastor Marda will be so proud! As for processions and spirations, we’ll save those for another day.

Pentecost - Year A (John 20:19-23)

While it isn’t explicit, this Gospel text hints at something I have longed believed.  Sin is the result of fear.  Our sinful actions, inaction, and attitudes are ways in which we try to cope with a variety of fears.  Jesus enters the locked room of our fear with the offer of peace.  While peace is not the same thing as courage, it is the acceptance that the risen Christ is proof that God is ultimately up to something good for us and the world and that we need not be afraid.  The acceptance of that gift of Easter peace opens the possibility for forgiveness.  It is the Spirit that brings this peace to us.  It then becomes our mission to be ministers of this peace to others.  Pentecost begins with fear and ends with forgiveness.

7th Sunday of Easter - Year A (John 17: 1-11)

Given its post ascension placement in the lectionary, it is easy to forget that the hour of Christ’s glory referred to in today’s text is not the resurrection or the ascension.  It is the crucifixion.  For John, the “it is finished” uttered by Jesus at the moment of his death is the fulfillment of all that he came to do.  That having been said, the resurrection and the ascension are not simply icing on the cake.  The hour of glory is not a moment in time as we generally understand it, chromos, but rather a breaking in of God’s time, kairos.  The Johannine “Farewell Discourse” with its often confusing chronology and excessive use of pronouns (of which no self-respecting composition teacher would ever approve) wreaks havoc on our Newtonian universe of space and time.  And so the unity of believers and our common glory, though not yet realized, are none-the-less real and not simply pipe dreams.  All that God has promised has been accomplished in Christ Jesus.  Consumatum est.

6th Sunday of Easter - Year A

Sorry, no post.

5th Sunday of Easter - Year A (John141-14)

We do Thomas (and ourselves) a grave injustice by reducing the questioning apostle to a mere caricature.  Most prominently in the account of the post-resurrection appearance to the apostles, but also in this Sunday’s text from John, Thomas speaks for all Christians who sometimes doubt and question.  In some sense, we might even call Thomas the first theologian.  According to St. Anselm, theology is faith seeking understanding.  That is exactly what Thomas is doing.  Thomas asks the questions others are either afraid to ask or do not even know they have.  Faith is not certainty.  Faith is not perfect knowledge.  As St. Paul says in I Cor., “For now we see in a mirror, dimly,but then we will see face to face.   Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”  An again in Hebrews we read “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."   Thomas reminds us that we need not leave our doubts and questions at the church door and history shows us that the church is often most unfaithful when most certain.

4th Sunday of Easter - Year A (John 10: 1-10)

“I am the gate.”
Although I know that in the Mideast the shepherd often sleeps at the opening of the sheep pen and is literally a human gate, the gate images that fill my mind as I prayerfully consider this Gospel text are made of wood. Perhaps this is the result of a recent do-it-yourself project where a gate/door was added to the potting shed we are building in the back yard. It seems an obvious jump then, from the gate to the cross. We are incorporated into the fold by way of the cross. We are saved from our twin enemies, sin and death, by the cross. We are given access to the fullness of life through the cross.
Gates serve two functions that can seem at cross (no pun intended) purposes. A closed gate marks a boundary between “in and out” which cannot be passed. An open gate creates a space in which the boundary between “in and out” is breached. The cross stands as just such a paradox as it condemns our sin and announces our salvation.

3rd Sunday of Easter - Year A (Luke 24:13-35)

They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32) As a person who suffers from frequent heart burn, I am forced to take a second look at this passage from Luke. While we have always interpreted this in a positive light, perhaps we do the Word a disservice by eliminating any notion of preaching as irritation.
Perhaps the best analogy is that of the grain of sand in the oyster – a tiny irritant that, in due time, produces a pearl. It might help to imagine yourself on a plane traveling home from a funeral and being forced to sit next to someone who insists on having a conversation. While no doubt awed by the way in which the stranger explained the scriptures to them, the two pilgrim disciples on the way to Emmaus must have been at least a bit irritated. Not only did they have their solitude impinged upon by this talkative fellow traveler but their understanding of both the scriptures and the events that had just taken place was refuted. It was only in the context of the breaking of the bread that everything became clear.
The effective preaching of the good news requires a kind of pushiness that is respectful but insistent. Effective preaching requires that the hearer’s preconceptions sometimes be dismantled. Finally, effective preaching is tied to the Eucharist. It is the presence of the risen Christ in both word and sacrament that enables us to hear and receive Gospel.

2nd Sunday of Easter – Year A (John 20, 19-31)

William Holman Hunt’s famous painting, “The Light of the World”, depicts Jesus knocking at a door, somewhat overgrown from lack of use and without an outside knob. The painting is based on Rev. 3:19-21 in which Jesus awaits an invitation to come inside. In the Gospel of John, Jesus is not nearly so polite. He has no problem, even though the doors are locked, letting himself in.
The risen Christ comes to us in our fear with his Easter gift of peace without our having to do anything to allow it to happen. Even when we fail to recognize our need for that peace, even when we think we are unworthy to receive that peace, Jesus comes to us saying Peace be with you. Had the logic of the Hunt painting ruled the day after the passion and death of Jesus, fear would have been victorious. Thank God it did not. Instead, the grace and peace of the risen Christ confronts our fear head-on.   The disciples were not allowed to play out the drama of their angst (here I am reminded of the Beach Boys song "In My Room".  God always comes down.  Alleluia.

Fifth Sunday of Lent - Year A (John 11:1-45)

In the context of the early church’s use of John 11:1-45 (the raising of Lazarus) as part of the immediate preparation of “the elect” for baptism, this particular passage shifts in focus from a miracle story to a teaching about the meaning of baptism. As such, it imparts some important lessons.
1. Baptism is the result of the initiative of Jesus and not the individual coming to the sacrament. In Jesus, God calls Lazarus from death to life.

2. Baptism must always be seen in the context of a larger community of faith, and not simply as a matter between an individual and Jesus. In the gospel passage, Martha and Mary are very much a part of the story.

3. The new life of grace begun in Baptism, while not the fullness of life to be experienced in the resurrection of the body, is a foretaste of that fullness. Baptism brings about a real change in the person being baptized.

4. The death and resurrection experienced by the baptized makes the physical death that must inevitably come to each of us less fearful.

5. The celebration of baptism is a witness to the world of God’s power at work in Jesus Christ.

4th Sunday of Lent - Year A (John 9, 1-41)

Last week we looked deep into Jacob’s well with the woman of Samaria.  This week we look into the flame of the paschal candle.  (It is no accident that they stand next to each other in many churches, just as last week’s Gospel stands next to this one on these consecutive Sundays in Lent.)  In this flame is that same light first created when God said “Let there be light”.  Here are the sun, moon, and stars.  Here are fireflies and florescent creatures of the deep.  Here is the pillar of flame that led the people of Israel through the dessert.  Here is the sacrificial fire of the Temple.  Here is the burning coal that touched Isaiah’s lips.  Here is the fiery furnace and the fiery chariot.  Here is the miraculous light of Hanukkah and here is the star that guided the magi.  Here is the light of revelation to the gentiles.  Here is the light that came into the world to scatter the darkness and to make the blind to see. 

3rd Sunday of Lent - Year A (John 4. 5-12)

Imagine, if you will, that you have the ability to look deep down into the well frequented by the Samaritan woman.  What might you see?

First you would see the primordial waters of creation, that chaos over which the Spirit brooded and over which God spoke the Word of creation.  There too the Red Sea through which God's chosen move to new life and by which the forces of slavery and death are overthrown.  Forty days and forty nights worth of unrelenting rain are contained here.  Leviathan swims and the ark floats.  There are rivers here too, of course.  Not only the Jordan, but the river Ezekial saw flowing out of the temple, the river of the psalmist beside which the righteous flourish, and the river flowing from Jesus pierced side. 

This wonderous well in which we find and from which we drink the waters that quench all thirsts is found in every baptismal font. 

2nd Sunday of Lent - Year A (John 3: 1-17)

The recent controversy over a book by a prominent Evangelical pastor would suggest that many, if not most Christians, are not interested in the salvation of the world but only in their own personal salvation. Even if universal salvation is too heterodox for most Christians, you would think that it would be something for which Christians might earnestly hope. Theologians might debate how verses 14-16 relate to verse 17, but it seems clear that, at least according to the Gospel of John, God has a much bigger picture in mind than most of us do. The dying and rising of Jesus, the lifting up of the Son of Man, has as its purpose, the salvation of the whole world. 

1st Sunday of Lent - Year A (Matt 4: 1-11)

The season of Lent is a call to the dessert. The traditional Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting and almsgiving are proven ways in which the Christian can make room for grace. Prayer, especially those forms of prayer characterized by listening, opens our minds and hearts to the word God wishes to speak to each of us. Fasting helps us, to use modern psychological lingo, rid ourselves of our dependence on all the ways we numb ourselves through “self medication”. Almsgiving reminds us that all we have belongs to God and that no discipline can call itself Christian that does not somehow involve love of neighbor. Silence, emptiness and mutual dependence are the essence of life in the dessert.
Like Jesus, we will be tempted to turn our backs on this discipline. We all here those voices that tell us we deserve the $5.00 latte, that we don’t have time for prayer and that the panhandler will only buy cheap wine with the money I give him. Fortunately for us, the salvation of the world does NOT depend on our ability to say a resounding no to the temptations we face. In fact, nothing depends on us observing Lent at all except that perhaps, the abundant grace so freely given to us, might find a little extra room in our hearts.

9th Sunday after Epiphany, Transfiguration - Year A (Matthew 17:1-9)

The intent of placing the Transfiguration account on the last Sunday after Epiphany in the Common Lectionary is, I suspect, twofold. First it is itself an Epiphany story, a revelation of divinity. Secondly, it serves as a kind of “pep talk” prior to our collective entrance into the rigors of Lent. My current reflections on the text, however, have taken me to a slightly different but not unrelated place, the liturgy.
I think that the Transfiguration account can serve as a model for Christian worship.

1. The faithful gather in the presence of Christ and in company with the communion of saints.
2. This gathering is a kind of homecoming in which the faithful rejoice in the goodness or rightness of the worship event.

3. Ultimately, however, our human desire to domesticate God and our worship is upended by the divine voice spoken in scripture and sacrament.

4. Worship is not about the worshiper.

5. Comfort gives way to awe, with the word awesome carrying the full weight of meaning it had before it was commonly used to describe chewing gum flavors.

6. We cannot stay on the mountain.

7. The silence enjoined on the disciples prior to the resurrection has been replaced with the Great Commission.

8th Sunday after Epiphany - Year A (Matthew 6:24-34)

God instructed the Israelites not to save manna from one day for the next. In the Lord’s Prayer we are taught to pray for today’s bread. One of the saddest of the many sad reality shows on television is, I believe called Hoarders. I have run into it while channel surfing from time to time but have never had the stomach to see it through. The show is about individuals who for whatever psycho-spiritual reasons have a compulsion to hoard “stuff” of all kinds, everything from possibly useful canned goods to totally useless magazines and newspapers. Eventually these hoarders literally become prisoners of their stuff.
Most of us, fortunately, are not hoarders. But I suspect that many of us are collectors, and I’m not talking about coins, stamps or fine art. I know that I am. In our house we collect, among other things, used file folders, paper clips, and those plastic wrapped sets of eating utensils that sometimes come with takeout. There are boxes of old photographs, old letters and old travel souvenirs. It is comforting and perhaps even helpful to suggest that the purpose of the Sermon on the Mount is to free us to let go of all the “stuff” in our lives.

For better or worse, however, it’s not possible to look honestly at this text without talking about money. American’s are apparently not much good at saving. Press reports indicate low savings rates as compared to other national groups. Yet, many of us do manage to put a little bit away for a rainy day and those of us fortunate enough to have jobs with decent benefits might even have something stashed in a 401K for a rainy day. Francis of Assisi took Jesus at his word, considered the lilies of the field, stripped off his clothing in the Cathedral piazza and became the Poverello, the little poor man. In ever century since this sermon was first preached, others have done the same. Most of us have not. I’m not prepared to cash in my retirement savings and deliver it to the homeless shelter. I doubt that you are either. The best most of us can hope for is to love and serve only one master, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ and to live each day on its own terms. As for the rest, we must depend on God’s grace and mercy.

7th Sunday after Epiphany - Year A (Matthew 5:38-48)

Be perfect, therefore as your heavenly Father is perfect?  Is this really a reasonable request?  Perhaps this is one of those obvious Semitic hyperboles scripture teachers used to speak of?  Maybe Jesus has a perverse sense of humor and the joke is on us.  This next installment of the Sermon on the Mount sounds like just more bad news about standards we can never meet.  I do believe, however that there is good news to be found here.  The demand that we be perfect as God is perfect follows a description of what God’s perfection is like.  God’s perfection consists in perfect love showed equally to all.  God’s love falls like rain, equally on the just and unjust.  God’s love embraces both the sinner and the saint.  (Luther says that each of us is both.)  God’s unconditional, unearned, and often unrequited love for humanity is that perfection of which Jesus speaks.  Sharing in this universal love frees the follower of Jesus from the need to tally points or judge motives.  It opens our hearts to acts of mutual forgiveness and genuine acceptance of the other.  God’s perfection is ultimately displayed on the cross.  In joining Jesus at the cross, we too stretch out our arms in a perfect sacrifice of love and thanksgiving, embracing the entire world.

6th Sunday after Epiphany - Year A (Matthew 5:21-37)

Having just said a few verses earlier (in last Sunday’s pericope) that he had not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, today’s verses provide an explanation of Jesus’ understanding of what this fulfillment of the law will require. For the ordinary Christian reading this Gospel text, this portion of the Sermon on the Mount seems to be somewhat short on good news. It appears that even the rigorous interpretation of the law held by the scribes and Pharisees is insufficient as this must be “exceeded”. These teaching are hard sayings. Is the Christian required to do something impossible in order to be saved? This was, of course, the question that so plagued Martin Luther. The key to seeing this passage as good news lies in paying closer attention to the words of Jesus from last week’s text. Jesus says “I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” It is Jesus, and not you and me, who must fulfill the law.
But, you might argue, Jesus goes on to say that your (meaning our, the hearer’s/reader’s) righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees. I don’t think it a copout to suggest that this righteousness is achieved precisely through the prompt admission of our inability to meet these requirements and our utter dependence on God’s mercy. As portrayed in the Gospels, the Pharisees are individuals convinced of their own righteousness. The bottom line is that both the ordinary Christian and the Pharisee fail to observe the law in its fullness. The difference comes from the way in which this failure is acknowledged and the honest assessment of one’s ability to succeed.

5th Sunday after Epiphany - A (Matt 5:13-20)

In pondering this Sunday’s Gospel I can’t help but be reminded of the news surrounding the federal government’s recommendation this past week that American’s lower their salt intake. Salt, while necessary and good in the right amount, becomes dangerous when overused. We also know that even from a just a taste perspective, it is easy to ruin a dish by adding too much salt. It simply can’t be eaten.



Perhaps this is a good point for Christians who have been called to be salt to ponder. The gospel text seems to suggest that one of the evangelical tasks of believers is to “flavor” the world. The text isn’t explicit about what this means, but the larger context suggests that this flavor is provided by our behavior. I suggest that when the behavior focuses on the doer of the good deed rather than Christ, intrudes on the religious freedom of the hearer, or in the worst case scenario, brings violence and discord, then there has been too much salt.
Although extreme, the recent murder of David Kato in Uganda is a case in point. While I do not agree with my Christian brothers and sisters who denounce homosexuality as an abomination, their right to believe this is not in doubt. On the other hand, to allow this belief to be funneled into acts of intimidation, violence and murder is totally unacceptable.

4th Sunday After Epiphany - Year A (Matt. 5:1-12

In this Sunday’s account of the Beatitudes from Matthew, we celebrate a God who transforms curses into blessings. There are several tendencies that we need to be aware of as we look at this text.
The first is our tendency to turn this announcement of the Gospel into a law. Instead of a list of blessings, we read this as a list of musts. We must become poorer in spirit. We must become more merciful. Etc. We must do these things or the blessings turn back into curses. As much as the church and world need more poverty of spirit and more mercy, and as good a thing as it might be for any one of us to seek to grow in such virtues, our “blessedness” is not dependent on our ability to do better. It is precisely that notion of blessing being tied to achievement that Jesus’ teaching seeks to overturn.
Secondly, we have a tendency to see the Beatitudes as an exhaustive list rather than as shorthand for a radical reversal of the world’s values. Blessedness is a state of utter dependence on God. Every aspect of human life that stands in contrast to wealth, prestige, power, and authority is blessed. The ideal of the self-made person is completely contrary to today’s Gospel. This is indeed good news because none of us is ever able to live up to that cultural ideal.

Third Sunday afte Epiphany - Year A (Matt. 4:12-23)

In many ways, the teaching, proclaiming, and curing that Jesus does throughout Galilee are all facets of the same activity and so to address them individually might seem a bit arbitrary but I think it helpful.


• In this context, teaching is about imparting information and helping people to understand their faith tradition. To borrow a common metaphor from the Gospel tradition, teaching is about preparing the ground for the kingdom.

• Proclamation, to continue the metaphor, is about actually sowing the seeds of God’s reign. Through his announcement of the immanent reign of God, Jesus plants the kingdom in the hearts of his listeners.
• Curing, finally, is the fruit of the kingdom. Mental, physical and spiritual healing is all evidence of God’s powerful activity in the world. The reign of God inaugurated in Jesus is not simply an idea but a transformational reality.
This activity, then, of teaching, proclaiming and curing is how the followers of Jesus go about being fishers of people. Evangelization is an oft used word in religious circles today. These activities of Jesus are the “stuff” of evangelization.

2nd Sunday after Epiphany - Year A (John 1:29-42)

Renaissance paintings of the Madonna and Child frequently include a chubby baby John the Baptist in a lower corner, wearing animal skins, holding a banner that says Ecce Agnus Dei (behold the Lamb of God), and pointing up at Jesus.   In many ways, that is the vocation of every Christian, from the youngest to the oldest.  Everything we do and say must point to Jesus.  While few of us have been called to be “full time” prophets, everyone is baptized into a royal, priestly, and prophetic vocation.  The Christian points to Lamb of God who forgives sins, heals broken hearts and lives, loves without boundaries, and dies for all.  Christians point prophetically to the Jesus whose face is hidden in the schizophrenic homeless veteran, the unwed teenage mother collecting food stamps, the lonely elder and the annoying neighbor. 

Baptism of the Lord - Year A (Matthew 3:13-17)

The fact that the evangelists struggle to understand why Jesus would have allowed himself be baptized by John is a strong indication that this is an historical event. Mathew, perhaps even in spite of himself (the real meaning of biblical inspiration?), manages to bring together creation, incarnation and baptism.
The same voice that spoke the words of creation over the waters of chaos, speaks over the waters of the Jordan with the “with whom I am well pleased” echoing the “God saw it was good” of Genesis 1. The incarnate Word steps into the waters of the river Jordan, submitting to John’s baptism for the sake of righteousness, our righteousness. And so baptism becomes a sacrament, a means of grace, through which human beings are linked, once again, to the divine.