Archives for February 2013

Our fear of God, of being vulnerable before God inhibits our letting God in, but it is overcome by God’s loving embrace and patient waiting for us to come under the wings of love and life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, 2 Lent C; texts: Luke 13:31-35; Psalm 27

Sisters and brothers, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

The mosaic from an altar in a church on the Mount of Olives pictured on the bulletin cover is beautiful to me.  And of course it depicts Jesus’ lament from today that he is like a mother hen longing to gather her brood together under her wings, but they weren’t willing.  There is much we could say about this image from Jesus, and this particular mosaic depicting it.  But we should notice the striking placement of the words here.  It’s Jesus’ quote in Latin (cited from Matthew’s version, but Matthew and Luke use the same words here).  But if you notice, the last two words aren’t placed around the edge with the others.  Literally translated “and you would not,” the “and you were not willing” phrase is separated out, under the baby chicks.  And it has a question mark.

Now we could see the question mark as attending to the whole sentence: how often have I wanted and you were not willing?  The NRSV and most English translations use an exclamation point.  But the way this is laid out, it looks to me as if the artist is asking the viewer the question: you were not willing?  Are you not willing?  Almost as if each time we encounter this verse, this art, the same question comes to us: are we willing to let Jesus enfold us in his wings?  Almost as if the artist says Jesus isn’t talking to ancient Jerusalem, he’s talking to us today.

It’s also interesting that the way Jesus uses this metaphor of a hen and her chicks only works if we humanize the chicks.  Baby chickens are hardwired to run to their mother for protection when a threat comes, to respond to her call.  Not so for us, apparently, since Jesus seems to think he has something we need but we aren’t willing to trust him to meet that need.

And that seems to be the crucial question: why wouldn’t we be willing?  If we read this as a question mark, as if we are faced with this choice, this offer, every day, what on earth would keep us from running under Jesus’ wings?

We speak of “God’s will,” and say, as St. James invites, “the Lord willing.”  But here Jesus declares the mystery that despite his will, we have a different will.

We don’t want what he’s offering.  We’re not willing.  And it makes him deeply sad to face such rejection.

Now, what Jesus says we’re rejecting is being gathered by him under his wings, being drawn into his care.  It’s an image of protection.  But it’s also an image of relationship and vulnerability.  It’s an image which, if we accept it for ourselves, suggests we are not in charge, we cannot save ourselves, we are dependent upon the mercy and grace of God for everything.

And that might be our dealbreaker.  Jesus is saying here that the Triune God wants a relationship with us, but it’s a relationship on God’s terms, a relationship based on a recognition that we need God for everything.  And as much as we want God for some things, we’d rather keep some parts to ourselves.

The great risk in any relationship important to us is vulnerability and exposure.

In any of our relationships, if they are to deepen, we need to open ourselves to the other.  And all of us have varying levels of openness with varying people.  Those closest to us usually know us the best, and we’re more willing to be open to them about our deeper needs and wants and even our flaws.  The further out the circle goes, the less free we are with ourselves.

In a relationship like a marriage, where two people commit to lifelong love and faithfulness, that kind of openness and vulnerability becomes central to growth and depth of love.  But even there, we can hesitate to share everything we think and feel, to be known completely.  There’s always a piece of us afraid of complete disclosure.

That’s the huge risk of any relationship, really, isn’t it?  Vulnerability and exposure.  How much do I trust you?  And can I risk being hurt by you?

So what’s this have to do with the Triune God?  Everything.  Clearly God knows everything about each of us.  So in one sense, there is no hiding.  But the reason for confession, for prayer, for openness with God is our finding a willingness to admit our failings, our deepest fears, our flaws, our sins, to ourselves, and so to God.

When we can be honest with ourselves before God, that we cannot fix our lives, that we cannot be who we know we are meant to be, that we are broken and sinful, we’re not telling God anything that God doesn’t already know.  But in that vulnerability, our relationship with God is strengthened.  Because we’re saying we depend upon God for life.  We won’t run to Mother Hen, in other words, unless we think we’re in need of help.

But it isn’t just our fear of vulnerability that holds us back.  We also fear being trapped.

I was thinking this week that a hug might be analogous to the wings image in a helpful way.  Some people are big huggers, others are not.  And it often has to do with a sense of personal space.

Some people like a little space around themselves, are uncomfortable if others break into that space, unless they’re family or loved ones.  And in some families, not even then.  Others find great joy in physical touch and in hugging, and have no problem letting others into their personal space.  Both options are certainly fine for people to choose.  But look at what this might mean if we are trying to understand Jesus’ lament.

Whether you’re a natural hugger or not, can you think of a situation where someone’s hug made you uncomfortable?  Or have you ever hugged someone who clearly didn’t want it, and stiffened up like a board?  Why wouldn’t someone want to be embraced in that way?  I think it’s because of fear of vulnerability, but also a fear of being trapped.

If we let someone into our personal space, we risk being harmed by them.  We risk being touched, which can be threatening.  And most important, we lose our ability to maneuver, we lose our room to move.

So what if that’s the problem with letting our Lord Jesus surround us with his care and love?  What if we’re afraid of being so close to Jesus there is no place to hide from him?  There will be no such thing as personal space for us any more?  What if we’re afraid we’ll have no more room to maneuver under those wings, nowhere to run, nowhere to turn?  If we accept his embrace and protection and care, we’re trusting him to embrace us, protect us, care for us, not to harm us or crush us.

And if we get nervous under those wings, we might fear that we can’t run away because he has us trapped.  Think of that: an embrace, even between humans, can be freeing and a sign of love.  Or it can make one of the people feel trapped.  And maybe that’s part of our fear with Jesus.

And feeling trapped is more than just a concern we can’t escape or run.  If we let him surround us with God’s wings, we not only put ourselves in God’s care, we put ourselves under God’s guidance and will.  We freely give up some freedom to obey and follow his will and way.  Going under those wings means giving Jesus, the Son of God, control of everything.  It means agreeing to follow Jesus’ way, the way of the Triune God, and not ours.  And that’s another way to feel trapped.

But freedom is actually key to all of this, because Jesus astonishingly leaves us to our choice.

He says, “See, your house is left to you.”  In effect, “You’re in a mess, and you want to stay there because you can’t see trusting me with everything yet.  And I will let you stay in that mess as long as you need.  See, your house is left to you.”

This is key: Jesus is powerless in the face of our unwillingness because Jesus will not force us to trust, force us to faith, force us into relationship.  He will not drag us under the wings of God.

But here’s the promise he says to Jerusalem and to us: “when you’re ready to recognize that I am the one who comes in the name of the Lord, that what I offer is God’s offer of life, that I am life for you, when you’re ready, I will be here.”

That’s what Jesus says.  “I will be here when you’re ready.”  I will wait for you, however long it takes.

And even more, the promise Jesus makes in dying and rising from the dead is that if we do decide to trust him, to let him bring us into relationship with the Triune God, to deepen in this relationship of trust and dependence, he will not let us down.  Just as much as he won’t leave us simply because we keep rejecting his desire to gather us, we can trust that he also won’t let us down when we do let go and trust.  He died and rose to prove that.

So the wings are waiting for us.  For you.  What are we waiting for?

That’s our question today.  It’s our question for the rest of life.  It may be good to think of entering into a relationship with God, “being willing” to go under those wings as something which takes little steps instead of one giant leap.  Little steps like starting to open up just a little in prayer and confession and letting God see the inside, and trusting in God’s love.  Steps like beginning to listen to the Word and actually hearing it and the promise again and again, and starting to live in that Word.  Little steps like simply coming to this Table once again to be fed today and for at least a moment trusting God enough to forgive all.

And taking those steps means discovering what it is to live with the joy of the psalmist of Psalm 27 who today has no problem trusting in God for all things, in delighting in the shelter and protection the LORD God provides, and in calling God a rock, a sanctuary, a home, a light and a salvation.  That joy is where Jesus invites us to go, the life Jesus hopes we will seek.

Because make no mistake, this is where life is, abundant life: under the wings of God’s love and grace, where we are known fully and still loved, and where we are protected as much from our own fears and brokenness as from any outside force.  With God is life.  Let’s not be afraid to go there.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

After escaping Pharaoh and wandering the desert for forty years, but before the Israelites entered the Promised Land, Moses left them one final commandment.  “Remember where you came from.”  With this institutional memory, we enter this time of Lent in prayer and confession so that as Christ did in the wilderness, we say “no” to self-serving power and “yes” to power that serves the world.

Vicar Neal Cannon, First Sunday in Lent, year C; texts: Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Luke 4:1-13

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The story of the Jewish people is the story of the wandering Aramean.  Arameans were nomadic group of sheepherders that bounced around the Middle East looking for pasture where they feed their flocks and stay safe.  They were a homeless people.  They were an oppressed people.  They were a people who struggled to survive.

It’s difficult for us in America to know what it’s like to wander in the desert, to struggle to survive.  Most of us, if not all of us, can get clean water from the tap, and fresh fruits and vegetables from the grocery store.  We don’t have to fight for it or toil over it.

The narrative in America that is true for many but not all, is that if you work hard and study hard, you can get ahead. You can build a nice living for yourself.  You can have a nice home with a white picket fence and raise your children in safety.

And that’s why I think it’s so hard for us to relate to this text in Deuteronomy today.  We don’t know what it’s like struggle to grow food.  We don’t know what it’s like to be homeless. We don’t know what it’s like to live in a world where climbing the ladder is not a possibility, no matter how hard we work.

But then again, maybe this story is not so foreign to us …

In this text, Moses and the Jewish people had wandered the desert for forty years, struggling to get by and surviving only by the grace of God.  Moses at this point was very old, and as he was nearing the end of his life he realized that he was never going to see the Promised Land while he lived.  So, as tradition tells us, Moses wrote down the laws and stories of the Jewish people as a way to remember their history.

Moses wants to capture everything that has happened to his people.  He wants them to remember that their ancestors were wandering Arameans. He wants them to remember how God delivered them, so that when they get to the Promised Land they won’t forget how they’ve been treated.

So, Moses leaves instruction for his people for when they come into Promised Land. He says this: “you shall make this response before the LORD your God: ‘A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the LORD  the God of our ancestors; the LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders.’ ”

And this is how Moses wraps up all the law, and the history of the Jewish people. He tells them to remember. Remember where you’ve been. Remember what it’s like to be oppressed.  Remember what it’s like to struggle to survive.  Remember what it’s like to be without a home.

That’s why Moses instructs us to welcome the foreigner, the widow, and the orphan.  That’s what God did for us.  It’s in our history and it’s crucial to remember that God saved us when we were hungry, and homeless, and struggled, and in pain and sorrow. Moses says that you can’t forget or else when you get to the Promised Land, you’ll become the oppressors, you’ll do the very things God hated. We can’t let that happen.

But here’s the thing.  It’s extremely difficult for us to remember things we’ve never experienced personally, even though the story of America is not that different from the story of the Jewish people.

Our story is the story of people from all over the world from all different backgrounds and traditions who were searching for a place to call home.  We were wanderers, some people came here to escape religious discrimination, others came to find a home, and others were brought as slaves against their will.  This story was so ground into who we are as a people that we wrote the constitution to guarantee life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and other freedoms.

Ironically, time after time after time we’ve interpreted these words to be only for us.  We practiced slavery, oppressed the native, said no to the widow, and kept out the immigrant.  We’ve said, “you can’t be here, this is our Promised Land, and we will make it in our image.”

So we use our power to protect what is ours. We build fences to keep our neighbors out.  We create laws that benefit the wealthiest in society.  We make in groups and out groups of all kinds. And what this tells me above all is that we forgot to do what Moses commanded.  We forgot that our ancestors were wandering Arameans.  We forgot our ancestors were once foreigners here.  We forgot that their story is our story.

Now, I hope you don’t think that I’m blaming America for this problem.  The problem is not an American problem, this is a human problem.  Whenever people, throughout human history, have gone from having no power to having power, they’ve fallen to the temptation of saying, “this is mine and I am going to use my power to serve myself.”

And this is the exact temptation that Jesus encounters in the wilderness today.  The Gospel tells us that Jesus spent forty days, wandering in the wilderness, without food. And at the end of these forty days, the devil comes to Jesus at his weakest point and he says an incredibly logical thing, “You know, you have power, use it to feed yourself.  Use this for your own purposes.  Take these stones and turn them into bread.”

And Jesus turns to the Devil, and he says, “No.”

I find this fascinating because I think any one of us would have said, “Why not?  I’m hungry, I need bread, and I have the ability to create bread for myself, why wouldn’t I do this?”  It’s too easy for us to say, “Sure, what’s the harm in that?”  And this is the human choice, to take power and use it for ourselves.

Jesus is the only one who makes the choice that we couldn’t make.  Jesus is the only one, who makes the Godly decision to use power to give life to the other, as opposed to give life to the self.

This choice is emphasized later in the Gospel as Jesus uses the exact same power that he denies himself during the forty days in the wilderness. Jesus takes five loaves of bread and two fish, and he uses his power to feed the 5,000.  In this story Jesus uses his power and authority, not for his own purposes, but to feed the world.

In our Gospel today, Jesus turns down power to serve himself three times.  In this, Jesus teaches us an important lesson.  He teaches us to say “no” to self serving power and “yes” to power that feeds the world and welcomes the stranger.

In this no, Jesus says, “I remember”.  Jesus remembers when people took power and used it for their own purposes.  Jesus remembers that his people were once slaves in Israel.  Jesus remembers what it’s like to be homeless and wandering in the desert for forty years. In fact, because our God is the God of all people, then Jesus remembers everyone’s story.  Jesus knows every story of oppression, and violence in the name of self-service, and he says “no” to it because he sees all of time and he knows how that story ends. Our problem is that we can only see what’s right in front of us, and we’re afraid of losing it.

When we have gone through the wilderness ourselves our temptation when we get power is to serve only ourselves.  We don’t trust the words “One doesn’t live by bread alone.” So when we are blessed in life with wealth, and privilege, and power we use our power for ourselves.  Jesus calls us to use that power for the world.

And that’s what the discipline of Lent is all about.  In Lent we reconnect to Christ through the giving up of worldly power, and in doing so, we remember in the same way as Christ not only our own history, but the history of all people.  We remember that we share a common link, common DNA.  We remember that our ancestors were wandering Arameans too.

And that’s why in Lent we spend time prayer and confession, because in prayer we remember our history.  We remember that we were once strangers in a foreign land, we were once oppressed, and we confess that when we gained power and influence, we gave into the temptation of using our power for ourselves.

But it’s also in this confession we make room in our lives for something new to happen.  We make room for God to change us.  In confession we let go of the need to serve ourselves, and we are given a heart for serving the other.

That is why Lent is not the Christian equivalent of a New Year’s resolution which asks, “How can I better myself?”  Lent asks, “How can I serve the world?”

So for this Lenten season, if we give up chocolate to lose five pounds, we’ve missed the point of Lent altogether.  But if we give up chocolate and sweets to remind ourselves that people in this world go without food everyday, then we’ve connected with something bigger than ourselves.

And if we give up TV so we have more time to exercise, truly we have not accomplished God’s will on Earth.  But if we give up TV so that we can have time to serve the homeless a hot meal, and remember what it is to go for days without one, then God’s will is done.

And if for Lent it is our goal to pray, and fast, and study scripture, and worship in order become more holy before God and honored before other people, we’ve wasted our time.  But if we remember in these Christian practices what it is like to wander, and so welcome the alien into our community, and wash their weary feet as they enter our homes, truly we’ve encountered the almighty presence of the living God and we will shine before all people.

So as we enter this time of Lent together, let us say this with one voice, “My ancestor was a wandering Aramean.”

There is in us a brokenness, a way of living and being apart from God, which traps and binds us; the joy of Ash Wednesday is that in turning to God in confession we find life, joy and forgiveness, a new life restored to live anew.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Ash Wednesday; texts: Isaiah 58:1-12; 2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10; Psalm 51

Sisters and brothers, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Today is Ash Wednesday, a day where we confess our sin and begin a six week journey with God, a journey of turning our lives around and seeking to live in God’s ways.  Today we once more speak strongly and openly about our sin.  But I’ve been wondering about that lately, in two areas.

First, in our modern world, given that even speaking of something as “sin” rather than “bad choice” or “mistake” makes us somewhat out of step, we need to consider our language of sin and captivity to sin and see if we even still find meaning and truth in those words.  But second, I’m also concerned that the invitation to confess our sin to God that Ash Wednesday brings, and the Lenten journey itself, is too often covered in layers of gloom in our minds, as if this six weeks is a time to be weighed down, as if confession and discipline are negative terms, as if we have to endure Lent so that we can have the fun of Easter.

We do put ashes on our heads today, reminding us that we are mortal, we die, and we live too often apart from God, that is true.  But in spite of that, and in spite of the seriousness with which our readings from God’s Word today take our sin, our brokenness, the rupture of our relationship with God and others, they also describe a light, a joy, to which we are turning in our confession.  Assuming we can continue to agree that captivity to sin is still our problem, perhaps we can also find that joy in confession as a present reality in Lent, we can find life in our discipline during this season that will also continue far beyond these six weeks.

So we begin with the question: do we mean it when we say we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves?

Those words from one of our confessional prayers, though not one we used today, are directly from the witness of the New Testament, and central to our understanding of our lives and of God.  But do we still understand that to be true?  If we aren’t sure how to begin to answer that, let’s listen to something a fellow Christian wrote:

15 “I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.  18b I can will what is right, but I cannot do it.  19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”  (Romans 7:15, 18b-19)

Now let me ask you: do you understand what that Christian meant?  Is that something we experience?  If it is, then we know what it is to be in bondage to sin.  To be a slave to sin.  To be captive to sin.  It’s amazing that the apostle Paul wrote those words nearly 2,000 years ago and they still connect.

This whole section of Romans, leading from chapter 5 up to this part of chapter 7 I just read, flows with Paul’s belief that sin – not just our actions but for Paul an actual power we cannot control – enslaves us, to the point that we are trapped at times.  And those words describe our reality perfectly.

Paul describes a situation where he feels trapped, where he knows how God wants him to be, how even he wants to be, but he cannot seem to do it consistently.  Sometimes, he thinks, he can’t do it at all.  What Paul has done is move from an abstract theological word, sin, to a real experience, his brokenness in life.

And that’s the move we need to make if we’re going to be honest about ourselves and our lives.  We need to move away from the idea that sin is an abstract idea, the breaking a set of arbitrary laws that God has set up and that are hard to follow.  We also need to move from the cultural idea that flows around us that “sin” is outdated, that there is no need to speak in such terms.

In short, we need to move toward a recognition that sin is the word that best describes what we already know is wrong with our lives, what we know God sees as broken in us.

What the Scriptures tell us about this is actually pretty simple: we were created to be loving people who cared for a beautiful creation and for each other, who lived in the way we were created to live by a loving God, and who loved God with all of our lives.

To the extent that we know we are not any of that, we know sin.  To the extent that we feel trapped and unable to return to the way we were created to live, we know captivity to sin.

Now, I don’t go to bed every night thinking, “I’m an awful sinner.”  But I do go to bed remembering the ways I failed to be the father I could be, the husband I could be, the pastor I could be, the person God sees I could be and wants me to be.

I do hear the problems of the world and realize that too many days I’m too distracted by my own life and worries to even try to think how I could help the problem of world hunger, or the injustice our way of life creates for others, from our foreign policy to our use of resources, or the problem of homelessness in our own city, let alone the state or nation or world.

I understand what Isaiah says, that there’s no point in dumping ashes on our head if we still aren’t sharing our bread with the hungry, and inviting the homeless poor into our houses.

And my life is not the rich, full, abundant life it could be if I lived fully in God’s ways, and the world is not the beautiful, peace-filled place it could be if we all lived fully in God’s ways.

But like Paul says, knowing that isn’t enough.

We hurt people by what we say and do every day, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.  We think about it after we realize someone is hurt by what we’ve said or done or failed to say or do, and we regret it.  But tomorrow we’ll probably do something similar.

We neglect the poor and hungry every day, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.  We think about it when we throw half a plate of food away or try some diet to get to a lower weight, and we regret it.  But tomorrow we’ll probably be in the same place.

We know that life could be better for a lot of people in this world and we know that we’re a part of the problem, and we regret it.  But we don’t change.

We know that God’s law isn’t bad for us, it’s good for us.  And it’s frustrating when we repeat our sins again and again.  We say, “this time I’ll do better.”  We say, “now we’ll live more simply so others may simply live.”  And yet we fall into the same patterns.

This is what sin is.  And this is what it is to be enslaved by it.  We know it in our bones.

This is why we come here today.  To confess, to turn back to God, to remember our problem.  We come to hear if we could possibly break free of this enslavement that grasps our lives, and find new lives in God.  We come to hear if God has any good news for us, to understand what God’s forgiveness truly means.

Because there’s where the joy is found: ultimately the reason we want to recognize the things in our life that God calls sin is that we might be freed from them.

In that struggle in Romans 7, Paul ends with an outburst of thanksgiving to God who in Christ frees us from our bondage, our captivity.  That’s why Lent, and confession, and repentance, the turning to God of which we speak today, is a call to delight and hope.

The Good News of God’s forgiveness in Jesus is that all these things into which we feel trapped, these things that harm our life and the lives of countless others, these things that we do that we don’t even want to do, all these things can be taken away.

We can be given new lives and new hearts, as David asked for and so do we in singing his psalm.  We can become the people we were created to be.  That’s what God came to do in Jesus.

And then, then, Isaiah says, “light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly.”  When we are honest about our captivity to sin, about our need for repentance, when we learn that God not only forgives us but frees us, all we can do is rejoice.  Because God’s light is breaking forth in our lives, even in the midst of our sinful, broken world, and our sinful, trapped, broken lives.

And we are finding healing, hope, grace.  We’re not there yet, not where we will be.  But God is working this in us, and it is our joy and life.  And our lives become, as Isaiah says, springs of water in the wilderness, a watered garden, and our gloom becomes “as noonday.”

So that even in the six weeks of Lent, while we speak often of the wilderness, even now we begin to understand the overflowing waters of God’s grace.

And we can see Lent not as a six week drudgery, but as a six week beginning of a new life.  Because that’s what returning to the Lord really is for us, a new life.  A life lived with the grace of forgiveness because we have been honest about our sin and our captivity and brought it to God.  A life lived with the joy of being a part of God’s justice and peace for the world, because we have confessed our participation in the injustice and not only are forgiven but empowered to be a part of God’s healing.

That’s the promise.  When we turn to the Lord in confession, knowing all that we do about our sin, we will not only know the Lord’s forgiveness, but also the strength to be freed.  We will begin to be healed inside and out.  We will become the children of God only God can see in us now and the world will begin to be healed, too.  And this season of Lent then begins our joy, begins our new life.

Come, let us return to the Lord.  Now is the acceptable time.  Now is the day of salvation!

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

The Rev. Dinku L. Bato is a pastor of the Ethiopian Evangelical Church Mekane Yesus and a Ph.D. candidate at Luther Seminary in Congregational Mission and Leadership.  He is from Addis Ababa, and he and his family were at Mount Olive on Transfiguration for a celebration of our partnership in mission with Christians in Ethiopia. He preached and led the adult forum.

Pr. Dinku L. Bato, Transfiguration of our Lord, year C; text: Luke 9:28-36

In the name of the Father, and of + the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Introduction

The story in our text today (commonly known as the Transfiguration) foreshadows the two separate events on the Mount of Olives: place of prayer and arrest as well as the scene of the ascension. The transfiguration is a narrative of two major doctrines of Christian life: the cross and glory wherein the theology of glory is inseparably intertwined to the theology of the cross. The scene depicts Jesus praying as heavenly bodies talk to him about his imminent pain, death, and resurrection while his disciples doze on the mountain of vision. As we continue to look into the passage where the identity of Jesus is unveiled,  I want us to approach it in six analytical steps toward examining the problems and solutions the text offers (including brief passages immediately surrounding today’s gospel reading).

I. The External Problem: Spiritual Slumber, Heedlessness

The disciples, in spite of this important incident, where they are invited to participate in the disclosure of God’s salvation plan, seem to be heedless and unprepared, allegedly due to
   1. The time of the day (probably night time, in which they usually go to bed),
   2. The tiredness involved in the trek (mountain climbing), and
   3. Apparently, Jesus’ prolonged prayer.

Their condition, however, may not be appropriate when seen against the background of Jesus’ intended purpose, which may include
   1. Revealing the identity and purpose of Jesus’ coming,
   2. Encouraging these particular disciples (in the inner circle) in their upcoming responsibility as key leaders in the ministry, and
   3. Acting as prayer companions as Jesus prepares for the “exodus,” and departure (suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection) in Jerusalem.

Here sleep may be understood as a faithless equivalent to vigilance in prayer. Later at Gethsemane, Jesus rebukes the disciples for their heedlessness in prayer: “Why do you sleep? Rise and pray that you may not enter into temptation” (Lk 22:46).  Who chooses to sleep on such an eventful night—a divine one? Such nights need special alertness, for as Elihu states: “Our maker gives songs in the night” (Job 35:10).

Their inattention has led them to misunderstand the event which they glimpsed only partially. By the time they wake up from their slumber, they will have already missed the first part, the crucial part: the words of Moses and Elijah to Jesus where they speak about his departure (lit. “exodus”), that is, his suffering, death, and resurrection. This means that they miss the cross which they were meant to see considering their unwillingness and/or unpreparedness to accept. We also remember Peter rebuking Jesus for telling them about His imminent suffering and death.

Their misunderstanding of the event was not without consequences. I see four ramifications:

The first is surrender to their own agenda (dwelling in the moment of glory), exaltation above the rest of the disciples and all earthly pains. This was clearly demonstrated in the question of greatness raised among the disciples or the position the mother of John and James requested for her sons when Jesus would come to his Kingdom. Yet it is not possible to dwell permanently in this moment of glory. Peter could have learned this right from where he stood—the mountain which slowly releases the dew it absorbed from the atmosphere as the  sun shines upon it.  Thus, the dew turns into a stream that flows to the dry valleys.  Mountain top experiences (dreams, epiphanies, and visions) always need to be connected to the lives in the valley where God wishes to pour his blessings. Only then can they bring significance to our entire experience in making the goal clear in the journey and at the same time helping us to see the tasks and struggles from new perspectives that give our lives purpose.

The second is knowing not what one speaks (v. 33). Cross-less talks are gibberish talks; they are quite misleading like flowery roads leading to death. Paul on the other hand determines to speak/preach nothing else but Christ crucified (1 Corinthians 1:23). Only in the light of the cross do we ever understand the character of God or the significance of Jesus.

The third is sinful silence (v. 36). According to Luke the silence seems to arise out of fear, a lack of faith which becomes sinful silence and unholy, a silence that emanates from a disappointment connected to the need to descend into the valley, leaving the mountain top experience behind. The hustle and bustle of self aggrandizement muffles the resounding evangelistic voice echoed in the holy mountains of revelation.

And the fourth and final ramification is to live below expectations, which is their inability to be agents of God’s blessing and healing to His people as depicted in their failure to heal the epileptic—(as in Luke 9:37-38).  Obsession with the self (the big I) equates to spiritual slumber. There are times when this spiritual slumber deprives us of seeing what we ought to see. Preoccupied and tired out by the responsibilities and burdens in our lives, we soon lose focus on life’s bigger picture which is serving others in the name of Christ. We are often tempted to put ourselves at the center. This sort of self love stifles not only our ability to see the full revelation, but also leads us into sinful silence and inaction in the face of injustice and death in which the whole creation languishes. Hence, the call is in place for us: “Awake, you who sleep, arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light” (Ephesians 5:14).

II. The Internal Problem: Faithlessness

The external problems we saw hitherto have an internal cause, in this case, fear /terror (v. 34) and faithlessness (v.41). The cloud which depicts the presence of God should have conveyed faith and joy, but to them it instigated fear and terror. Their hearts were filled with desire and competition for earthly gains. Their encounter with God of selfless love, therefore, has caused trembling and frustration rather than joy and jubilation. This lack of trust and confidence has resulted in all kinds of heedlessness, selfishness, and the inability to speak and act properly. The unbelief and the consequent restlessness of our hearts and thoughts often become the source of restlessness in our speech and action. We also may need to join the father of the epileptic boy in the Gospel of Mark, who cried:  “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mk 9:24-25).

III. The Eternal Problem: Eternal Separation from the Presence of God (Death)

Unbelief leads to isolation and perdition as depicted in Jesus answer here: “O faithless and perverse generation, how long am I to be with you and bear with you?” (v. 41). This refers, I believe, not only to the crowd that was gathering around the epileptic boy who the disciples, reportedly, couldn’t heal, but even more so to the befuddled and distraught disciples.

Faithlessness is powerful at keeping the presence of God out of one’s life. This sort of unbelief finally, Luke tells us, led Peter to denial of his Lord and the rest of the disciples to deserting Him.  Luke clearly portrays this condition of the disciples–particularly in the life of the two who were on their way to Emmaus (representatives of the rest of the group, who were hiding out of fear) who remarked that “but we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel” (Lk 24:21). Their hope for earthly glory was shattered and with this their lives. Similarly, Ron Starenko aptly notes in his Sabbatheology article “Glory Lost, Glory Found” that “whatever glory we seek, whether in our efforts or accomplishments, which are fading, we are heading the wrong way, ultimately having no promise of life, no future, no continuity, as the pay-off is death, the final terrifying experience, glory lost forever.” [1]

IV. The Eternal Solution: Listen to Him!

We see God coming closer and closer to them: the messengers (Moses and Elijah), the cloud, the voice, and above all, His Son, who walked with them in spite of their doubt, fear, and perversity. God comes to us, for us and always loves to abide with us—Emmanuel, regardless of our slumber and frailty.

No more cloud of fear and terror but of God’s presence and guidance as it was for the Israelites in the wilderness: “By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way” (Exodus 13:21). This in some way depicts the characteristic of Christ, who is a refuge to His people from the heat of a flaming law, the blazing sword of justice, the anger of God, the fiery darts of Satan; and who continues to lead his people through the wilderness by his Spirit, by his word, and by his own example; and who is the best Shepherd to follow.

Now it is not the voice of Moses or Elijah but the voice of the Son (the fulfillment of both the Law and the prophets) whom they need to listen to. No more confusion from the multiplicity of puzzling voices but a unique voice of the Good Shepherd that guides them through the wilderness.

V. The Internal Solution: Know the Voice

Now they know a voice—the voice they know. Now they trust a voice—the voice they trust. The voice expels fear and disbelief and guides them to rest and peace: As Jesus said: “When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers” (Jn 10:4-5).

I once heard a story of a man who lost a couple of dogs to thieves who killed them with poisoned meat before robbing his house. But finally, this man trained his new dog in a way that it eats only after listening to the voice of his owner whenever the food comes on a plate or thrown over the fence. Thieves, ever since, have relentlessly tried their old trick on the new dog, but to no avail. The dog knew the voice of his master.

The voice of our Shepherd continually comes to us, as new men and women in Christ: through the reading and preaching of the word, the sacraments, through prayer, friends, creation, vision, dreams, and epiphanies: “For God does speak—now one way, now another—though man may not perceive it” (Job 33:14). Do we notice the voice of Christ, our shepherd, who always speaks to us and walks before us?

VI. The External Solution: Live According to the Voice!

This humble voice that guides them now is powerful enough to break the haughty cedars of self aggrandizing motifs and selfish living. “The voice of the Lord is powerful . . . The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars” (Ps 29:4-5). No more would they seek their own glory, but the glory of the one who called them to glory through the cross (theologia gloria via the theologia crucis): It enables these sons of thunder (“Boanerges”) to live for others a life of service rather than a life of wrath that once prayed for fire from heaven to destroy Samaritans who resist receiving them (Lk 9:54). At the end of their lives these Sons of Thunder became known for something else. James was the first apostle to be martyred. And John became known as the apostle of love.

They would no longer be unaware of what they spoke, as Peter did after seeing Moses and Elijah on the mountain of transfiguration. Peter and John’s fear was supplanted by a confidence from the Holy Spirit who speaks now through them even in the face of opposition from those who threaten them to keep silent about this Jesus whom they preach crucified and raised from the dead: “For we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20).

Conclusion

Today, we too are indwelt by the Holy Spirit, Who fills us with confidence and moves us to speak and proclaim boldly the good news of God to all creation through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. We too are empowered by the same Spirit to descend the mountain of self- enhancement to the valley of pain and suffering to serve others humbly and joyfully.

May the heavenly love always shine upon us and melt our love of dwelling in mountain top experiences, prompting it to flow and go to the arid and dark valleys until they grow and glow. Amen.

[1] See http://www.crossings.org/theology/2013/default.html

In baptism we are anointed, like Jesus, and filled with the Spirit, like Jesus, to proclaim God’s good news to the broken and weak of the world, with God’s strength supporting us throughout, even when we meet resistance.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, year C; texts: Luke 4:[14-20] 21-30; Jeremiah 1:4-10

Sisters and brothers, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

As I began to read the Gospel just now, some of you might have thought I turned to the wrong page.  Surely that was the Gospel we heard last week?  Well, it was (at least the first half was).  The lectionary divided this one episode at the start of Jesus’ ministry into two weeks, but to understand the second part, assigned for today, it’s important to hear what led up to it.

And reading the whole event together also helps make a deeper connection to the call of Jeremiah which began our words from Scripture this morning.  Because there is both joy and concern, both sending and opposition.  There are messengers of God and the threat of, and even reality of, enemies of those messengers.  Or of the message itself.  And if we’re to consider the one, we can’t ignore the other.

Today we baptize our young brother Felix John, and anoint him, praying the gift of the Holy Spirit on him.  Whenever we do this, we not only rejoice in this new sibling who joins our mission, who joins the ranks of the anointed ones of God sent into the world, whom we will see grow up among us into that call, we quite naturally are reminded of our own anointing and sending.  We speak it aloud in our welcome to Felix and to all whom we baptize in the name of the Triune God, welcoming him and them into the body of Christ and into the mission we share.

But both Jeremiah and Jesus, who also share such anointing, remind us today of what we often let slip out of our conscious thought: being sent by God to bring the Good News to the world is not necessarily an easy job.  It not only might meet with resistance, it almost certainly will, from outside, or from ourselves.

In some ways, we can find ourselves avoiding such resistance by being less active in our mission, our sending, than we could be.  We can be timid in our actions, shy in our proclaiming, quiet in our convictions.  There are often times when we feel a pull to act, to pray, to do, to serve, to get involved in one way or another, when we resist that pull because, either consciously or subconsciously, we are afraid of the consequences that might result.

What God suggests to us by way of Jeremiah is that there is a better way.  Rather than dodge our call or duck from it, we could choose to embrace it.  Rather than fearing what might happen if we did something, said something, acted on something, we could believe the powerful truth that the Triune God who anointed and sent us has not sent us alone, but goes with us, giving us all the love and support, and guidance and direction we need to faithfully fulfill our mission.

So to begin our exploring of this path God offers Jeremiah, and us, we begin as we all began, with Baptism, and the certainty of our own anointing.

Luke is the only evangelist who gives these important details to Jesus’ first visit to his hometown as a rabbi: Luke says that Jesus is filled with the power of the Holy Spirit, and he claims his anointing as God’s servant.  It’s a powerful claim: I am the servant of God Isaiah foretold, he says.  Quite a first sermon for him to deliver to his own people.

He claims that the Spirit of the Lord is upon him, which Luke the narrator has already told us.  And that he, Jesus, their kid from the hometown, is anointed by God to bring “good news to the poor,” sent by God to “proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind,” and sent to “let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

These were important words to Israel, words of promise that God would come with an Anointed One who would bring about such grace and healing to the chosen people.  So at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus declares he is the fulfilling of that promise to Israel, that, as he said, “today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

But what’s also important for us to know is that Luke believes the same about the Church, and therefore about us: we are so anointed, we are so filled with the power of the Spirit.  Throughout his Gospel he points to these realities of Jesus, but in Acts he says the same thing about the Church.  The Church, the believers, is filled with the power of the Spirit at Pentecost, a power that continues to be poured out on new believers as they are baptized.  So throughout Acts, more and more people are anointed by the Holy Spirit, just as Jesus was.

And from the beginning of Acts to the end, the Church is called to the same mission, the same outreach Jesus was called to do.  But there’s a twist in Luke 4 and in Acts, a twist Jesus now shares with his fellow Nazareth residents: this mission is not just to Israel.  It is to all people.

This causes problems for him, as we’ll see in a moment, but for now let’s recognize that the dual mission of Jesus after being anointed by God and filled with the Spirit, a mission both to Israel and to all the Gentiles, is precisely the mission of the Church in Acts.  This message of healing to the broken of the world is for all people, both for Jesus and for us.

But as Jeremiah would learn, and Jesus learns in this very story, being the anointed of God, bringing Good News to poor and downtrodden folks, Good News which also applies to outsiders, can rile up the insiders, even the less than powerful ones.

As we’ve already seen, though we’re early in our year with Luke, there is no secret in Luke’s mind about Jesus’ identity or his mission.  From the start he is identified as Son of God, filled with the Holy Spirit.  And from the start, his mission is both to the Jews, the chosen people of God, and to the Gentiles, the rest of the world.  It is comprehensive.

Luke doesn’t follow Matthew and Mark in this, who tell a story of a meeting Jesus had later in his ministry with a foreign woman who wanted healing for her daughter.  In that encounter, Jesus seems to have his mind opened to the possibility that his mission is beyond just the Jewish people.  Luke doesn’t tell this story.  As we heard in Nazareth today, Luke believes that Jesus understood this expansive mission from the very beginning.

And so Jesus launches into a bit of a rant which marvels at God’s goodness in healing foreigners over Israelites.   Though there were many starving widows in Israel in the multi-year drought that happened during the time of the prophet Elijah, the only one we know who was fed by God was the foreign woman from Zarephath, Jesus says.  And though there were many lepers in Israel at the time of the prophet Elisha, the only one we know was healed was Naaman the Syrian.

It’s as if Jesus is forcing the people of Nazareth to face his anointing as for all the people of the world, not just them.  So the good news to the poor, the release to the captives, the sight to the blind, the freedom for the oppressed, all these things are for all God’s people.

And for Jesus as well as for us, that’s not always going to be well-received.  Any time people speak out for the voiceless, for the outsider, for those for whom God has a particular love and care, there is resistance.

In our politics, people who claim to be concerned about spending and don’t want the government to offer help to the least of our society don’t blink an eye when the government spends billions to subsidize corporations.  But those who speak to the powerful about the powerless are often pushed aside, ignored, even ostracized.

To free the oppressed, heal the wounded, release the captives, welcome the outsider, requires a great deal of courage.  Consider just the immigration debate.  For years compassionate cries to care for real human beings who have lived among us and contributed to our society for years have been met with by angry shouts and outcries of “keep those people out.”

And standing up for those who are most in need can often be uncomfortable, risk friendships, cost time and energy, and put us into situations where people misunderstand or even hate us.  Jesus’ own people wanted to kill him.

Maybe that won’t happen to us.  But lots of people get death threats in this country for doing the right thing, for speaking up.  For witnessing to God’s love where it needs to be said.  Even if we aren’t threatened in this way, which both Jeremiah and Jesus were by the way, we are threatened by the costs to our lives that such witness and work would bring.

We can measure those costs in lots of different ways, and their impact on our lives.  But sometimes the cost is just taking time to do something rather than staying silent.  How many of us regularly, or ever, contact our state representatives to express concern or support for legislation that will make a difference in other people’s lives?

We’re sending letters for Bread for the World today, as a part of an ongoing effort to effect societal and legislative changes that will have a direct impact on reducing hunger and poverty.  How many of us walk past the tables every year that we do this at Mount Olive, thinking, “that’s not for me”?

There seems to be a fear inside us to actually live fully into this call, this anointing.

In our rite of baptismal affirmation we always promise to strive for justice and peace in all the earth, and to serve all people, following the example of Jesus.  We say this because in baptism we were anointed to do that very thing.  In affirming our baptism, we are saying we’ll do what we’ve been sent to do.

But somehow we don’t often actually do much striving in that way.  Maybe we’re indifferent.  That really can’t be an option, as we make these promises pretty often, and it’s what we’re called to do, what we’ve said we’ll do.  But maybe we’re afraid at various levels of what it will cost to be such an anointed servant.  If that’s the case, then we have some good news.

Our hope is found in God’s word to Jeremiah, which Luke speaks of in his theology of the pouring out of the Holy Spirit: God will be with us.  We are Godsent.

Jeremiah protests that he’s not the right person for this job, and God says, “don’t be afraid.  I am with you.”  Do not fear, God says, and it’s more than we might think.

Sometimes we think all those expressions in the Bible which say not to fear are meant to ease our fear of what might happen to us, dangers that might befall.  Fear of evil, fear of tragedy, fear of the world.

But God’s word to Jeremiah is not about a passive fear (fearing things that might happen.)  It’s about a fear of being active, of doing something and having it all go wrong.  For us, it would be fear of being pro-active in our Christian call and anointing.  Fear of doing, for whatever reason.

And to Jeremiah and to us, God says, “don’t be afraid.  I will be with you.”  Do what you are called to do, what I sent you to do, without fear of anything – reprisal, inconvenience, loss of time or wealth, whatever – do not fear because I do not send you out alone.

Remember, all who are anointed to do God’s call are anointed with the Holy Spirit.  We are filled with the very breath of God to do what we are called to do.  We go with the Triune God moving within us in strength, love, and power.

There’s a common expression, where people say to another, “you are a Godsend.”  That’s exactly what we are.  Godsent.  People who bear in our hearts and lives the very strength of the Spirit of God, to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, freedom to the oppressed, healing to those who are wounded or broken.  We can do this because we do not do this alone.  That’s what God says to Jeremiah, that’s what Jesus understood, and that’s our absolute promise.

And though we do not know how our anointed life will play out, and even what adversity we might encounter, we know it is our life.

And more to the joy of our hearts, we know that God goes with us.

There is a prayer which in our last two worship books has been one of the collects that could be used at the ending of Vespers (Evening Prayer).  This has become beloved to many as a result.  It comes from Eric Milner-White and G. W. Briggs, and has only been in print since the mid-nineteen-fifties, but was already also included in The Service Book and Hymnal, though not at Vespers.  The prayer reads:

“O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” [1]

Give us faith to go out with good courage . . . knowing only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us.  That’s all we need.  There’s much unknown in our calling, much we could fear, but we are called, anointed and sent by the Triune God, whose love and care and strength and guidance are with us always.

And who says to us, as he did to Jeremiah: “Do not be afraid, for I am with you.  Now, go.”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

[1] Eric Milner-White and G. W. Briggs, Daily Prayer, © 1946 Oxford University Press, under the title “The Call of Abraham.”  No author is cited, so it is presumably from the two editors.  (Included in SBH in a list of collects for various needs [this one was “For Guidance”], and in LBW and ELW as one of the collects at the end of Vespers.)