On Reign of Christ Sunday, the church considers what it means to follow a crucified king. Jesus rules from the cross, extending his mercy and compassion to all. As followers of Christ, we reject all forms of violence and instead go out to serve.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

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

Every Sunday, there’s something I notice that I don’t think many other people do.

In all the dozens of hours I’ve spent sitting right there, (point to my seat in the chancel) I’ve always looked up in the south chancel window, and looked for the ear.

Out of context, that ear in the stained glass seems totally random. But in context, it serves as a powerful object lesson.

This ear comes from Luke 22, the chapter directly preceding today’s Gospel reading. As the temple guards came to arrest Jesus, one of Jesus’ followers did something totally expected, totally natural. He wanted to defend Jesus. So he took out his sword and struck one of the attackers, a slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

Jesus’s response to this episode, though, tells us a lot about his identity as our ruler. He said, “no more of this!” picked up the ear, and healed the slave.

This episode is an example of what happens when we misunderstand what kind of king Jesus is, and what his reign looks like.

We often think Jesus needs us to take up swords to defend him. Sometimes these are literal swords, like the episode in the garden. But often we also see Christians tempted to take up the sword of the state or the sword of scripture to cast down their enemies.

But this is not the kind of leader Jesus is.

Jesus is a ruler whose reign is marked by tenderness and mercy. He loves his enemies and makes room at the table for everyone.

In Jeremiah, God is the one who gathers us up, mending our damage. In the Psalm, God breaks the bow and shatters the spear. In Luke 22, Jesus heals the slave’s ear.

And in Luke 23, Jesus gives us an even deeper insight into the reign of Christ, that is marked by forgiveness, compassion, and promise.

In the beginning of the reading, they take Jesus up to the place where criminals were taken to be killed. Of course, Jesus was not a criminal. He did nothing wrong.

But his life was a threat to his rulers. They saw the way he welcomed outsiders in, and went to the margins, and they heard him say that this was the way of God, his Father.

And this combination — claiming his identity as the Son of God, the long-awaited Savior-King, and challenging these old orthodoxies and strict binaries — led to the arrest and sham trial that got him killed.

As they took him to the hill and nailed him to the cross, they mocked him and jeered at him. All four Gospels tell us about the sign they made that said, “King of the Jews.” This was a funny joke to the Romans. They wanted to send the message that this is what happens when you challenge the empire.

And his response to that was only, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus knew that the world protects power at any cost. Jesus knew that his ministry that challenged unjust systems and structures would be met with deadly force by the ones with the most committed to maintaining those structures. 

We sometimes put the blame only on the religious leaders who handed him over to be executed. Or we point only at the Roman politicians and soldiers, as they were ones who actually carried out the killing.

But we don’t see the ways that our own systems today continue to crucify Jesus. The image of God is seen in every unhoused neighbor who shivers in the cold tonight. Christ is crucified again and again whenever we act with callousness and cruelty against other children of God.

And yet we hear Jesus say, in the face of such violence and cruelty, “Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

Jesus offers his killers — and us — forgiveness.

And in response to those grace-filled words, Jesus faces more cruelty. “He saved others; let him save himself. If he is the Messiah of God, God’s chosen one!” and, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”

In the face of this mockery, Jesus was silent. Ironically, the things these soldiers said were true. Jesus could have saved himself. He could have called down armies of angels to defend him from death.

And yet he chose to stay there, refusing to inflict more violence, in a violent world, showing us a surprising, paradoxical image of God’s power. God’s love and power is shown to us most clearly in Christ dying for his friends.

The thing a bully wants most is a response. In his silence, Jesus didn’t give these soldiers what they wanted. In his silence, I hope these soldiers heard the shameful cruelty of their words.

In the face of our mockery, in response to our hard hearts, Jesus here gives us an opportunity to recommit ourselves to his way.

And in this last interaction, with the two other crucified people, Jesus shows us an image of his way… he shows us what his reign is like.

This first criminal continues the mockery, and in response to it, Jesus continues to be silent. 

The second criminal rebukes the first, confessing both his own sin, and Jesus’ innocence. His next line to Jesus, I think, reveals his guilty conscience, the deep shame he carried inside him.

He has faith that Jesus will enter into his kingdom, but he thinks he can’t come along. It’s not a kingdom for people like him. He says, “Jesus remember me,” because he thinks there’s no way he could deserve to be in that place. He could only be a memory.

But the way that Jesus responds overturns his expectations. He overturns our expectations. He shows us that the way of God, the reign of Christ, is marked by abundance and mercy. He tells him that today, you will be with him in Paradise.

Thank God that second criminal got to hear those words of life.

But my mind also goes to that first criminal. The one who, in the depths of his pain and anguish and grief, mocked Jesus.

I believe that those words of life were for both criminals hanging there. Those words of life were for the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, and the religious leaders who ordered it. Those words of life are for us.

In his death, rising, and ascension, Christ broke the power of sin, death, and the devil.

In the midst of the crucifixion, Jesus remained the image of the invisible God. Our reading from Colossians tells us, “through Christ, God was pleased to reconcile to God’s own self all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of Christ’s cross.”

Thank God that we hear those words of life. We are reconciled to God. I tell you that today you will be with Christ in Paradise.

And it’s not because of any of our good works, and can’t be prevented by any of our wrongdoing. Before and beyond anything we do or don’t do, Jesus has told us that, “today you will be with me in Paradise.”

But thankfully, we don’t have to die today, in order to get there. In a few minutes, as we come forward to the table, to receive Christ’s body and blood, we will experience a moment with him in Paradise. 

But as we come to the table, we’re not meant to just stay here. We receive the body of Christ so that we might be the body of Christ in the world.

We come and receive Christ’s abundance that we might go and give from our abundance.

When we leave today, we bring Paradise with us. Every time we follow Christ’s example of forgiveness, compassion, and promise, eternity breaks into the everyday.

The reign of Christ is a now and not-yet thing. He reigns among us now. And he will come again to reign among us forever. All the wars will end. All the systems of oppression will be broken. All will be fed and warm and safe.

But we don’t have to wait until then to do the work. We can end conflict in our lives. We can work to overturn systems of oppression. And we can feed the hungry and clothe the naked and shelter the homeless now.

And in doing so, today, we will be with Christ in Paradise.

Thanks be to God.

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

Our readings for Reformation Sunday invite us to reconsider what Christian freedom is. When a Christian understands that they are freed from sin, lies, and other burdens, they become free to love and serve their neighbors with open hands.

Vicar Erik Nelson
Reformation Sunday
Texts: John 8:31-36

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

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

As people in the United States, we hear a lot about freedom. It’s one of those loaded words that carries a lot of meaning, depending on your own experiences in this country. And as our country’s 250th anniversary approaches, I think we’ll hear more and more of that word being thrown around.

So I think this is as good a time as any to get ahead of the curve and start thinking about freedom, and how it relates to our Christian identities. In the months I’ve been here, we’ve talked about how our allegiance is first to God’s family. What does freedom mean in that context?

I’ll take a risk and say that Christian freedom, what Jesus calls us to, couldn’t be further from what our culture tells us freedom is.

American freedom, as it’s been defined for most of my life, has been primarily used to describe freedom from things. Freedom from taxation, freedom from being told what to do, freedom from obligation, generally.

But the Christian message of freedom is bad news for that American idea of freedom.

Christian freedom is simultaneously the freedom that Christ describes here, a freedom from lies and sin, (pause) and also a freedom to serve our neighbors. Because we have been freed by Christ and welcomed permanently into his family, we are freed to love and serve God and our neighbors … to live a life of freedom, and obligation.

American freedom is often just self-centeredness … Christian freedom leads us to serve our neighbors.

This calling to service with open hands starts with rightly understanding today’s scripture readings, and our place in them.

As I read these passages, I see how God is the actor in all of them.

In Jeremiah, God is the one who writes the law on our hearts. In the Psalm, God is our refuge; God is the one who melts the earth and breaks the bow and shatters the spear. In Romans, God is the one who justifies, taking away any of our arrogant boasting or self-righteousness. And in John, God in Christ is the one who sets us free, welcoming us into the household of faith forever.

Because God has acted in this way, setting us free, we are freed from our obligations to ourselves, to our self-interest, to our own stubborn independence … and we gain obligations to the family of God.

Martin Luther spoke rightly about freedom when he said, “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.”

This paradoxical statement tells us the truth that because Christ has set us free, we are no longer subject to the burdens that others place on us. People tell us that you have to look or act or love a certain way in order to be welcomed into the family of God, and in this gospel reading, we are reminded that we have already been freed from other’s expectations and welcomed into the family of God forever. We have been welcomed into this family not because of our own earning or righteousness, but because of the love of God.

Because we have received everything from God — life, love, a home, a family, wholeness — we go forth to share that with the world.

Luther, knowing he was freed in Christ, was able to make his stand when he went before the rulers of the church and empire, and say, “here I stand, I can do no other. God help me.”

Luther was able to know that he had received the abundance of God’s grace, and had no fear of what the rulers could do to him. He knew what it meant to be freed from the limitations others put on God’s love. And because we’ve been freed, we live lives surrendered to Christ, committed to service.

Lutherans at our best have understood this, creating things like Lutheran World Relief, Global Refuge, and Lutheran Social Services. Serving with open hands, knowing we’ve been freed, going out to free others.

But when we forget that God is the one who frees us first, through God’s own action, we lose sight of the abundance that God gives to all. At our worst, Lutherans have waged war against Catholics. Lutherans have thrown Anabaptists into rivers. Lutherans have put Native Americans and Sami people into boarding schools.

I think these examples are times when Lutherans have lost sight of the abundance that comes with our freedom. They gave into a mindset of scarcity, that says that my freedom, my identity, my security is threatened by your presence, your difference.

When we give into this scarcity mindset, we cling too tightly to the things that should make us free, and in the process, let go of our Christian freedom.

At our best, we live in abundance, knowing our place in the family is not dependent on our own work … God has given us a permanent home … we can live without fear and so we go out to serve with joy.

When we lose sight of that, when we think God is so small that God needs us to fight … when we see others as enemies to be conquered rather than as neighbors to love and serve, we destroy others and lose ourselves in the process.

But thankfully, we aren’t defined by our worst days. And also, we aren’t defined by our best days. We are defined by Jesus’ words for us here in John 8.

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

“If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”

Because the Son has made us free, we refute Luther’s writings against the Jews. We apologize to Sami and Native communities, and seek to make reparations. We work for reconciliation with Catholics and Anabaptists.

Because our first, primary, only identity is beloved children of God.

The Son has made us free, and we are free indeed. We are freed from the baggage of the past, good and bad, and we are freed to enter into new life with our neighbors

As we commemorate Reformation Day this week, let’s also consider the ways that it can be Reconciliation Day, to come together with our Christian siblings.

or Repentance Day, as we refute the harms done in our name.

or Revival Day, as we pray for the Holy Spirit to come down and renew us.

Or we could just remember it as Reformation Day, as this church of the Reformation is always reforming. Let’s reform our church to follow the Holy Spirit’s leading into freedom and service, wherever She goes.

Because what matters most is not our Lutheran identity, as much as I might love being Lutheran, or our favorite hymns or the Small Catechism, but instead the fact that Christ has made us free.

We have the freedom that comes from a permanent place in God’s family, a place that no one and nothing can take away.

Thanks be to God.

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

  

Jesus tells a powerful parable that leads us to reconsider our relationships to one another. Jesus’ image of the chasm speaks into our lives, as a terrifying symbol of all our divisions and separation. God’s Word reminds us that God desires to close the chasm, bringing reconciliation to the whole creation.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Amos 6:1,4-7a; Psalm 146; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31

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

This story used to terrify me. When I was little, I had awful dreams about the fires of hell and eternal torment. When I heard this story, I would get caught up on this horrible vision of hell that I missed what Jesus was trying to say. We’ve let Dante’s inferno overshadow Jesus’s whole point here.

The point of the story is not flames or eternal torture or the topography of the afterlife. The point is the chasm. The separation.

Christian tradition has talked about hell as separation from God, but as we see from this story, it’s more than that. Hell is also separation from each other.

In a way, the rich man was already living in hell. His wealth made him feel insulated from the suffering of the world. He heard the message of the prophets that call us to care for the poor and scriptures that reject the love of money. He heard those lessons, but let his heart become hardened because of the gilded cage in which he lived. He saw Lazarus every time he walked through his gate. He encountered Lazarus enough to even know his name, and yet his love of riches kept him from seeing Lazarus as a fellow child of Abraham, another bearer of the Image of God.

Even before he had died, the rich man separated himself. He chose the chasm.

When we look at the headlines today, we see countless examples of people choosing the chasm … choosing the void. We see school and church shootings. We see rising political violence, in our own city and far beyond. We see families divided, father against son, brother against sister.

As I look at the world, my heart hurts to see us choosing the chasm. I see all the ways, big and small, we choose our own way over the way of God.

All the readings this week, together, tell us about the way of God. In this passage, we see Lazarus named, but not the rich man. In our Psalm, we hear that God “keeps promises forever,” “car[ing] for the stranger, sustain[ing] the orphan and widow, … frustrat[ing] the way of the wicked.” Throughout the Bible, God names the poor and lifts up the lowly. To this day, God sides with the outcast and the forgotten.

There are times that like the rich man, our hearts become hardened, and we choose the wrong side of the chasm. Rather than following God into a world of justice and mercy, we choose our petty kingdoms and gilded cages.

As we hear the parable this week, we hear the voice of God offering us the opportunity to follow God’s way. Hear God say that it’s not too late. Jesus’ hyperbolic parable isn’t intended to terrify us into compliance, but it’s an invitation to God’s way. To reject the chasm.

I’m convinced that more than anything, God wants to close the chasm. The reading says “a great chasm has been fixed,” but it doesn’t say by who. Contrary to what you’ve heard, this story doesn’t say that eternal separation is God’s desire. I believe with all my heart that God wants to close the chasm. God wants to end all division and separation. The will of Christ is that all would be reconciled in him. 

There are parts of this text that still terrify me. I no longer think of hell as the place where God torments us forever. But what scares me is the idea of the rich man staying on that side of the divide. Even when he sees Lazarus finally receiving comfort and rest, the rich man’s only thought is “what can I get out of Lazarus?” He asks Abraham to send Lazarus as his servant to the rich man’s household. He still doesn’t get it.

And many people who read this story are still not going to get it. I think of people whose faith becomes entirely about who’s in and who’s out. That’s how we usually interpret this story, right?

I think when we see how vast and wide God’s love is, a love that encompasses the whole universe, an embrace that welcomes in the people we most hate … I am scared that that might feel like hell. When we see others receive what we think we deserve … when we realize the worthlessness of our little empires … that might feel like hell.

I’m afraid that that is the torment on the other side of the chasm. That’s the offense of the gospel — that it’s not the know-it-alls who go to heaven or the people who always do the right thing or have the nicest clothes. The ones who do get there, the ones who rest in God’s embrace, are there because they’re the ones who God loves. Not because of anything they did or any of their own deserving, but because of God’s scandalous love.

And that’s true for me, and you, and it’s true for the people we like, and the people we love, and it’s especially true for the people we most hate.

That’s a hard word for a world that loves the chasm.

God’s will is that the chasm be closed. And God invites us to join in the healing work. And we don’t do it alone. We do it together.

We do it, following Christ, who in his dying on the cross, stretched out his arms to show us how wide his embrace is, wide enough and deep enough and high enough to embrace the whole world.

In his rising from the dead, Jesus shows us that even death cannot separate us from God’s love.

And in his ascension and promise to come again, Jesus reminds us that our divisions, our chasms that we choose now, are not forever. He will return and make all things right, closing the chasm, once and for all.

Thanks be to God.

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