You can only know what God is doing in Christ when God gives you new birth to see, hear, breathe, and walk in God’s love.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: John 3:1-17; Psalm 121; Genesis 12:1-4a

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

I don’t remember, but I wonder if the light shocked me.

Embraced inside my mother’s warm darkness for nine months, her heartbeat flowing through me, the light I saw as I was born probably surprised me most. I imagine this because even today I don’t like to wake up to bright lights. I much prefer a gradual increase of light as I awaken.

But really, coming from sound muffled through my mother’s body to hearing with my new ears directly in the air, or breathing air into new lungs that had never been asked to stretch until now, both could have also shocked my relatively new existence.

That’s what Jesus invites you to consider when you think of where God is in your life and what God is doing. Jesus says to Nicodemus, it’s like being born. Birth is an enormous threshold from one existence to another. But it’s the only way Jesus can answer what Nicodemus is really searching for.

There’s a reason Jesus is hard for Nicodemus to understand.

Nicodemus is an important man in his society, privileged, respected. He’s an authority, serving on the governing council of the Sanhedrin. He’s come to Jesus by night, maybe because many of his colleagues, other men in authority, dislike Jesus, are offended by or even fear him. He’s intrigued, though, wants to know more.

But Nicodemus comes with his teacher’s perspective, his authority, his credentials, to find out if Jesus really comes from God. Surely only God could give Jesus the teaching authority he has or the power to do the things he does.

But Jesus says something utterly confusing to Nicodemus. He tells him, “you really can’t understand anything about me if you don’t start seeing God as your mother.”

Jesus says, “Your question isn’t whether God is with me or has authorized me. Your question is whether God is with you. And to answer that, you need to be born, Nicodemus. From above, from God. God will have to mother you into this truth, give birth to a new you.”

Jesus isn’t insulting Nicodemus when he asks how he, a teacher of Israel, doesn’t understand these things.

He’s saying, “your frame of reference doesn’t work with what God is doing here. Your privilege, your authority, your questions, won’t get you anywhere. God is doing something simpler yet more profound than you think. You need to drop your credentials and let God give you new birth.

“You will need newborn eyes to see what God is doing in different ways, Nicodemus. As radically different as what your eyes saw in the dark of your mother’s womb compared to the light of day they saw at your birth. You will need newborn ears to hear what God is doing in different ways, Nicodemus. As radically different as the sound you heard through your mother’s body compared to the brightness of sound as you began life in the air. And you will need newborn lungs to breathe the Spirit’s life and be filled with what God is doing, Nicodemus. You’ve lived and breathed God before now as if in the womb, but the unused lungs inside you need to stretch and open to the breath of the Spirit, and take that breath into your very life for good.”

Can you see why this was hard for Nicodemus to understand?

Knowing God as mother isn’t an alternate image. It’s absolutely central to how Jesus understands what God is doing in the Spirit.

You can’t understand the third chapter of John without this. God births children into new life in the Spirit. New eyes, new ears, new lungs. To know and live in God’s expansive, astonishing motherly love.

A love for the cosmos that is so wide and deep that no one, no creature, no piece of creation, is outside of it. A love that, as Jesus says today, moved the Trinity to send the Son from the inner dance of God’s life to rescue the creatures of this planet, so none will be lost. A love that comes to heal and save, not to judge. A motherly love that cannot imagine life without all her children in her embrace.

A motherly love as in Psalm 121 today, that, like so many of our mothers, never sleeps deeply after her child is in the world, but is always awake to their movement, their life. Their going out and their coming in. Who fiercely protects them in the sun of day and in the moon of night.

Nicodemus’ image of God makes him wonder if Jesus is authorized to do and say what he does. If Jesus can be approved as officially God’s servant. Only by letting go of all of his preconceived notions can Nicodemus grasp the Mother’s heart within the Trinity Jesus deeply wants him to know.

Only by letting his eternal Mother give him new birth can Nicodemus see and hear and breathe in the heart of God’s astonishing and expansive love for him. And for all.

This is your promise, too, you know.

Birth is an enormous step from one existence into another. A step into the unknown. A step like Abraham and Sarah were asked to take today. A step like Nicodemus took. The only way Jesus can describe God’s abundant life for you is by calling you to a birth from one existence into a completely new one.

Luther often spoke of baptism as a daily death and resurrection. That’s a wonderful image. But today Jesus invites you to think of your baptism as a daily birth in water and the Spirit. A daily moving from one reality into a new life God births in you. And even though the new birth, the new reality is into the unknown, mysterious, unexperienced-yet, your heavenly Mother will always be with you in it, leading, guiding, loving. Not falling asleep.

This is the joy Jesus longs for you to know, to seek: letting the Spirit give you new birth every day.

New eyes to see God, so you can see where God is and where God is leading you. New ears to hear God, so you can hear God’s voice of love calling you, guiding you. New lungs to breathe God anew and let the oxygen of God’s transforming grace enter every cell of your body, every corner of your reality until you are a new creation. And new feet and hands, to learn to walk and touch – baby steps at first, small gestures at first – in ways that transform your world with God’s love.

And at first it’s going to be a bit of a shock, the light, the sound, the breath, the steps. It might be painful, too, this move from one identity to a new one. These things are always part of the birth process. Just let go, let your heavenly Mother’s embrace, your Mother’s breath of the Spirit, surround and fill you.

You won’t be led astray. You are safe in God’s arms. Because remember, in God’s maternal love no one gets lost or left behind. Not you. And not those you meet who might need you to draw them toward the birth God longs to give them.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Note: in this week’s video we’ve included the singing of the Hymn of the Day to connect with this sermon. (The silence after the sermon and the chorale prelude before the singing are not included.) The hymn is in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, no. 735. Text by Jean Janzen, based on Julian of Norwich.

Whatever lies the Great Liar whispers in your ear and plants in your heart, hear this truth: you are God’s child, you are beloved, and you are well-pleasing to God. (With thanks for the insight of Christopher L. Heuertz who made the connection between Nouwen’s famous “three lies” and the temptation of Jesus. The Sacred Enneagram, Zondervan, 2017, pp. 186-189)

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday in Lent, year A
Text: Matthew 4:1-11

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

Liar. Slanderer.

That’s what the Greeks meant by their word diabolos, a word translated “devil” in our Gospel today, a word that is diabolical in English.

So Jesus, soaking wet from his baptism, heads into the desert, where the Slanderer whispers lies into his ear, lies intended to destroy Jesus’ sense of his identity, his truth, his purpose in life.

But Jesus is dripping with baptismal water, and the Liar doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe doesn’t understand that’s a problem. But those baptismal waters are the end of the slander and lies.

Dutch priest and theologian Henri Nouwen famously spoke of three lies we believe about ourselves, lies that kill us.

There is the lie, “I am what I do.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I accomplish, what my job is, from my success.

There is also the lie, “I am what other people say or think about me.” The lie that my value and identity come from others, from what they say I’m worth, what they think about me.

And there is this lie: “I am what I have.” The lie that my value and identity come from what I possess, what I’ve accumulated, what I own and control.

These three lies destroy our sense of our identity, our truth, our purpose in life. And strangely, these are the three lies the Slanderer whispers to Jesus in the desert.

Are you really God’s Son? the Liar said. Can you do anything?

Could you turn these stones into bread? If not, what are you worth?

But Jesus still has water dripping off him from the Jordan and he knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my Son.” He doesn’t need to prove that. He is a child of God.

You remember that, too, when the Liar whispers in your ear that you arent’ successful enough or don’t have abilities, or can’t prove you belong to God in any way worth noticing. The Liar has forgotten that you’re dripping wet, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “You are my child.”

That is your truth, child of God.

So the Slanderer whispered another lie. How sure are you that you matter to God?

Do you really think you’re protected, safe, secure? This mission you’re going to do, Jesus, isn’t going to end well. Do you think God cares for you? the Liar asks Jesus.

But Jesus is soaking wet, and knows what he heard from his Father’s voice: “You are my beloved.” Even within the life of the Trinity, these words were precious and life-giving: I love you. Jesus doesn’t need to test that, either, jump off a high building to see if he’ll be safe. He is God’s beloved.

You remember that, too, child of God, when the Liar whispers in your heart that you really aren’t important enough to matter to God. That if God really loved you you wouldn’t get sick, or you wouldn’t have setbacks or suffering. Because the Liar has again forgotten that you’re soaking wet, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “You are my beloved.”

That is your truth, beloved child of God.

There’s one more lie to attempt.

Surely, Jesus, you can’t believe you’re important if you control nothing? You’re poor, insignificant, with no political or religious authority. If only you had control of this world, you’d know you were the Messiah. I could do that for you, the Liar said.

But Jesus shakes the water from his head and remembers what he heard from his Father’s voice: “I am well pleased with you.” Jesus doesn’t need wealth or possessions or control or power to prove he is doing what God wants, or to heal the world with God’s sacrificial love.

You remember that, too, beloved child of God, when the Slanderer whispers to you that you really can’t know God is pleased with you if you don’t have possessions and wealth, visible signs of blessing. That you need power and control to heal your world with God’s love. Because the Liar has forgotten, again, that you have water to shake from your head, too, and you’ve heard the same voice of the Triune God saying to you: “I am well pleased with you.”

That is your truth, beloved and well-pleasing child of God.

The Slanderer really ought to remember that these lies all have a warning attached: do not fully immerse in water.

Because your baptismal waters, still clinging to you, still quenching your thirst, still cooling your brow, still cleaning your heart, dissolve any lies about who you are, what God thinks of you, and whether you are following God faithfully.

You are God’s child. You are God’s beloved. You are well-pleasing to God. There is no other truth that matters for you, ever.

And Jesus says if you know the truth, you are free. Free of fear. Free of lies. Free to follow Jesus’ cross-shaped path and be who God says you are.

And the Liar has nothing to say to you ever again.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

This is a day of joy and celebration: you are alive, you are found, and you are home.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Ash Wednesday
Texts: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 (shaped by Jesus’ story in Luke 15:11-32)

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

This is not a day for your shame to overwhelm you. This is not a day for your guilt to crush you.

This is not a day for your imminent death to terrify you or lead you into despair.

That is not what we do today.

This is a day of homecoming. A day of rejoicing. A day of celebration.

Jesus told a parable about a father and two sons that ended in a great party, noisy, joyful, full of food. A party of resurrection celebrating that the one who was dead is now alive again. That party is today.

Because today this is the voice of the prophet for you: “Return to the Lord your God, who is gracious and merciful. Return to the Lord your God, who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Today this is the voice of God’s servant for you: “We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” And today this is the voice of God for you: “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.”

“Now is [that] acceptable time, now is [that] day of salvation.” That day is today.

But, you say, I get ashes on my forehead today to remind me that I will die.

How is that not something to frighten and dismay me?

Yes, you will hear today that you are dust, and that you will return to dust. Just as the younger child had to face the truth that sitting in a pigsty eating pig’s food was death before he knew he needed life, so you and I need to face our truth. Just as the elder child needed to hear that his bitterness and resentment toward his brother and his own father was death before he could come into the party, so you and I need to hear that reality.

But the One who calls you to return home, the One who longs for you to be reconciled, has faced death itself to love you home. Has defeated the power of death forever. If you are dust, and you know that you will return to dust, then today is a day of joy and hope. Because the holy and Triune God not only has a love that cannot be stopped by mere death, this God is your God and loves you with that love. A love that even raises you from the daily deaths and sufferings you know here and fills you with life now.

And when the dead realize they are alive, it’s time for a party, a celebration, Jesus says.

But, you say, I confess my sins today, I sing with David my grief over my failures, my broken heart and life.

How is that not something to be ashamed of, to feel crippling guilt over?

Yes, you confess your sins today, and the sin that binds you. You look at your life, your actions, your inaction, and you say, “I know I have failed to love my God and love my neighbor in so many ways.” Just as the younger child needed to face his mistakes, his sinful disregard for his father, his wastefulness, and admit it before he knew he longed for his father’s embrace and kiss, so you and I need to face what we have broken in our lives and in the world. Just as the elder sibling needed to realize that his own self-centered actions and self-righteous behavior led to his pain and suffering, and equally disregarded his father’s love, before he could hear that his father loved him deeply and forever, so you and I need to admit the hidden things we do, the habits, the ways of thinking and being that destroy others and destroy our own peace of mind.

But today you see your God going out on the road looking for you, longing to bring you home. You hear God’s voice calling through the prophet, “return to my love,” and through the apostle, “be reconciled in my love.” Your welcome is assured before you ever face your sin and wrongdoing.

And when the lost are found, when the homeless are brought home, it’s time for a party, a celebration, Jesus says.

That’s why the Table of Christ is spread for you today.

You wake up in your pigsty or in your bubble of self-righteousness and find a great feast spread for you in the love of the God of all creation. A meal of love and forgiveness and healing for you, joining you to the reconciling death and resurrection of the very Son of God.

You will eat and drink and taste the goodness of God for you. You will remember, even as you wash off your ashes tonight, the healing waters of baptism that have poured over you and called you beloved.

You will hear, “this is for you. For you.”

This party, this celebration, is for you. Because when the dead live and the lost are found, all God wants to do is throw a party.

So rejoice, beloved of God. This is your day. This is your homecoming.

This is the acceptable time, the day of healing for you. This day begins and ends in the unconditional love of the Triune God that kills death with life, and runs out on the road looking for all who are lost.

You are loved by a God who will not be satisfied until all the lost sheep, all the lost children, are home safe and sound.

That’s the treasure in your heart that surpasses all other treasures, the treasure that can’t be rusted or stolen. And when such treasure fills your heart, where else can your heart be but fixed solidly within that treasure, that joy?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Audio file of Gospel and sermon:

Jesus’ way, the way of Christ, is a way of life: choose it – even though it’s hard – and you will know God’s life abundant.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, year A
Texts: Matthew 5:21-37 (adding in 17-20 from last week’s Gospel); Deuteronomy 30:15-20

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

“Choose life,” Moses says.

Standing before the whole people of Israel, preparing to enter the land promised them by God, Moses tells them, “you’re going to have choices ahead.” Choices that lead to life, to blessing. Choices that lead to death, to curses. Following in God’s way is choosing life. Choose that, Moses says.

So does Jesus today. This section of teaching is one that many would rather not read or hear. It sounds harsh and daunting, it activates all sorts of guilt that people would rather not have to look at or hear about on Sunday morning. These teachings have the reputation of both being read legalistically or simply ignored when inconvenient.

But today’s Gospel is full of Good News. Jesus says again and again, “Choose life.”

Here is life, Jesus says:

Life is found when people appropriately deal with their anger, and don’t discard others by insults or hate. Life is found when people reconcile and don’t discard difficult relationships. Life is found when people of faith don’t take each other to court, discarding trying to personally solve the problem. Life is found when all people are valued for who they truly are, not objectified as something to be used, whether that’s sexual lust or other similar ways of discarding a person’s worth. Life is found when people remove the things in their life that hurt others and themselves. Life is found when men can’t discard their wives in divorce with a simple certificate and throw them out of the house, the specific injustice Jesus criticizes here. Life is found when people’s word matters, and they can simply say “yes” or “no” and be believed, they don’t have to swear on something to convince others they’re trustworthy.

Can you see the good news here? Jesus describes a community where every one is of value to every one, where no one is discarded like old trash. Each of his examples speaks of relationships that are broken when one person doesn’t see God’s face in the other, doesn’t honor the other.

Jesus says, can you see why God’s way is better life? Can you see the joy of a community that followed these words?

But we set up barriers that keep us from choosing Jesus’ life. Here’s one: we say, “Jesus teaches these things knowing that we can’t do them.”

The idea is that Jesus sets God’s standards so high here no one can attain them. People love to claim this. (Some go on to say Jesus does this so we know we need God’s forgiveness at the cross.)

This flimsy barrier collapses under the merest touch of logic. Half of Matthew’s Gospel is Jesus’ teachings, and all four Gospels claim Jesus spent the majority of his three years of ministry teaching his followers what it was to follow him.

What good teacher gives lessons that have no application in the students’ lives? Why would Jesus take such care to lay out in detail the life of God’s reign, the life of following Christ, thinking no one could actually do it? It’s nonsense. And Jesus never, ever, says, “I know you can’t do this, but I’m going to tell you to do it anyway. You’ll be glad of it when I die on the cross for you.”

Everything in this chapter is something you can do. Right now. (And if your particular besetting challenge isn’t anger or lust, then you can work on what is yours, whether it’s pride or greed or envy or fear or whatever – Jesus talks about them elsewhere.) You can choose life, and choose to act as Jesus says here. It’s well within your grasp.

So, having that wall knocked down so easily, we quickly throw up a second barrier: We can’t do this all the time.

We’re not perfect, we say. We’re never going to be 100% reconcilers, or peacemakers, or lovers of enemies. We’re going to try and we’re going to fail. This chapter can’t be done.

Again, just a little push blows this barrier over into the dust. Surely if you are kind half of the time it’s much better than never being kind. If you control your anger once, and refrain from hating once, that’s surely much better than never. If you were raising a child, you’d understand that child might sometimes struggle to be good, but you’d delight when you saw progress, wouldn’t you?

Well, as Jesus says, if you and I know that much, how much more will God? Of course God understands that if you choose this, if you follow Jesus’ path, you’re going to stumble sometimes. You’re going to fail. But the point is to choose this life, be a follower. Then even when you stumble, you’re still on the right path, the path to abundant life.

A little anxious now, we erect another barrier: but if I fail, God won’t be pleased.

God knows I might fail, but will God be happy if I forget these ways, if sometimes I don’t do them?

This barrier cost a lot more to knock down. Jesus gave his life to take this one away. The holy and Triune God faced death on a cross to prove once and for all that you and the whole creation are worthy of God’s love. Nothing can separate you from God’s love in Christ, that’s unchangeable truth. That’s what Jesus’ death and resurrection mean.

So, when you stumble or fail as you choose life, the way of God, you are still loved, forgiven, blessed. You are God’s precious child. Nothing, nothing can take that from you. Jesus will go on in Matthew’s Gospel to say that it is the will of his Father in heaven that not a single one will be lost. Not one. That means you, too.

Choose life, Jesus says. Take this path. I’ll forgive you when you fail, and help you back up.

We’re running out of building materials, but we try another barrier: Jesus frightens us in these verses because he threatens us with hell.

How can we trust we’re forgiven, we say, if Jesus says those who don’t do these things are liable to the hell of fire?

Well, Jesus has already answered that on the cross, and by proclaiming God doesn’t intend to lose anyone. But Jesus in the Gospels also doesn’t seem to understand hell the way Milton and Dante shaped it, eternal damnation, and in this section he doesn’t even use the word hell. He speaks of the “Gehenna of fire,” a burning garbage dump outside Jerusalem where the poorest of the poor lived on the edges. Literally hell on earth. It may be Jesus is repeating Moses: if you don’t choose life, you choose death. A life where you rage and hate and insult is a hellish life to live. A life where you keep doing the things that harm you and others is a hellish life to live.

But even if Jesus means hell after death, according to Jesus – who is, remember, the Son of the eternal and Triune God, so he gets to make this decision – according to Jesus, God’s plan is that the population of hell will be exactly zero.

So, Jesus says, choose life. Follow this path without fear of punishment when you fail, without fear of falling out of God’s love. There is literally no way in hell that could happen.

Our last, desperate barrier is left for you to ponder.

Because the only thing that can keep you from choosing life, seeking to follow Jesus as he commands today, trusting that this will be a life abundant, a life of God’s grace, a life of reconciliation and peace between you and your family, and this community, and, if it spreads to the world, even between nations, the only barrier left is this: what if you just don’t want to do this?

What if you want your faith to just be trusting in God’s love, and knowing that you will live with God after you die? Both are truths to cherish.

But what if you don’t want God to change you, you don’t want to have to look hard at your life and make different decisions in following Jesus? What if the problem all along has partly been that you want to go on doing whatever it is you do?

Every single one of us likely has moments where we put up this barrier. I have. So just hear Moses again one more time, and then ponder what you’ll do. Moses says: you’ve got choices that lead to death and choices that lead to life. You are God’s beloved, nothing can change that. So, choose the path of life, so that you can live.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen