Blog – Page 121

Like a Tree

September 4, 2022 By Vicar at Mount Olive

Answering the call of discipleship involves unexpected challenges and conflict, we choose if it leads us to destruction or to grow together, rooted in justice, peace and loving our neighbors.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Psalm 1, Philemon 1-25, Luke 14:25-33

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

Today’s readings are not the warm embrace one might be looking for.

Jesus makes declarations about hate and about the cost of discipleship. Paul challenges Philemon about welcoming his slave, Onesimus, as a brother. And we are left to figure out how to connect the pieces.

I found myself asking, really Jesus? Hate? Isn’t that what we are trying to get away from? I would imagine that Jesus’ statement grabbed the attention of the crowd around him as the Gospel asks if we’re ready to consider what the cost of discipleship may be.

While the second reading helps us discern what the cost of discipleship could look like. As we’ve traveled through the Gospel of Luke, we know that Jesus is not a stranger to conflicting relationships. And when looking at the world today, we’re not strangers to this either. Except for today, the question about discipleship and conflicting relationships is asked directly to us.

Are we willing to open ourselves up to conflict and unexpected difficulties that come with being a disciple? And are we willing to let the call of discipleship change us, allowing us to grow into the promise we made in baptism, even if that means letting go assumptions we have made about the world?

Paul opens up this question to Philemon.

The book, Philemon, consists of a single chapter containing a letter from Paul to his “dear friend and co-worker,” Philemon. In the letter, Paul asks Philemon to take back his slave, Onesimus, and asks that when Onesimus returns, he be welcomed as a brother.

On the surface, Paul’s letter appears to be a phenomenal cover letter for Onesimus. Paul speaks about having a father-like relationship with Onesimus and even states that he will take the blame for any form of debt Onesimus has.

But Paul’s ask should not be taken lightly. Knowing the inhumane history of slavery, Philemon has the legal ability to choose what happens to Onesimus. Despite this, Paul asks Philemon to live into the choice he made to become a disciple of God. Paul points to what actively living out discipleship looks like, even if it means challenging one’s close friend.

Paul holds both love and accountability for his friend, Philemon

Paul gives thanks for Philemon, expressing how Philemon has brought him joy and encouragement. After acknowledging that friendship, Paul pushes on in his letter saying “for this reason, I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty.” Welcome back Onesimus – not as a slave, those old days are gone – instead, live into your call of discipleship. Welcome home your brother.

We’re looking at a conflicting situation that feels all too familiar today. Opposing sides, friends being torn apart, both feeling justified in their thinking. We’re seeing that when Paul says, “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female,” he means it.

The letter ends unclear as to what Paul’s expectations are for the outcome or even if Philemon chooses to follow through with Paul’s appeal. While this may be a cliffhanger for the reader, it leaves us to think about Paul’s words. Paul leaves his request open-ended, saying: “Knowing that you will do even more than I say,” “welcome him as you would welcome me.” A true challenge to the call to discipleship.

Although Paul mentions he would like to make this a command to his friend, Paul reminds Philemon that he has an option in this. Will Philemon decide to answer with hate? Or will Philemon and Paul grow together, bringing God’s reign of peace, and justice, and caring for the neighbor?

Paul puts himself at risk of losing his friend and the whole situation ending in conflict. And we are left asking if Philemon is going to pick up his cross to be a disciple, even if that means ending his assumptions about how his world operates and reaching instead to his foundation found in God.

Philemon’s call to discipleship is a call for us too.

How can we as a community keep each other rooted in this call? And how can we as individuals, answer the call of discipleship, trusting God’s teachings to guide us when conflict arises? Will we choose to be grounded in God’s teachings of peace, justice, and loving the neighbor when political divides emerge? What about when in arguments with loved ones? What about when anger rises to the top and we begin to even feel hate towards those close to us?

The psalm gives us an answer.

Meditate on God’s teaching, look to the law of the LORD to guide, and be like a tree. It is no wonder that we find the answer in the texts of scripture that are known for having raw emotions because those that wrote the Psalms knew about conflict. Yet, when writing in conflict, they looked to God and remained rooted.

Note that the Psalm speaks about being planted by a stream of water, a place where trees can be fed, grow, and prosper. Know that this rooting by a stream does not mean ultimate safety. Our summer storms remind us of that. But having rootedness means leading to growth. It means enduring the change of the seasons and growing tall via the nutrients we find when going back to one’s foundation.

Those roots for us can be found in the sacraments, in God, and in our communities. Do you find your identity being empowered by God’s spirit and trusting in the Triune God? Do you find yourself welcoming all to the table, despite the biases and the doubts poured into our ears? Do you have the boldness in your relationships to both walk with and confront the challenges of life? These things are by no means easy, but show the risk that Jesus is speaking of in the Gospel and what is at stake in the book of Philemon. Discipleship is a big commitment. Paul’s letter shows us this while continuing to act with love towards Philemon. It shows us this is what growth can look like.

So, where will you choose to plant your roots?

In places where questions are not asked and the call of discipleship is disregarded when it gets too complicated? Or in places where we’re pushed to grow, to branch out, reaching toward God’s promises? If we’re to be bold enough to hope for peace and justice and reconciliation for the world, we, in partnership with God, are to work toward that with each other, too.

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

Worship, September 4, 2022

September 2, 2022 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C

Our lives are centered on the love of the Triune God that calls us to lives of the same love. In worship today we consider the cost of that loving service.

Download worship folder for Sunday, September 4, 2022.

Presiding: The Rev. Beth Gaede

Preaching: Vicar Mollie Hamre

Readings and prayers: Rob Ruff, lector; Paul Odlaug, assisting minister

Organist: Guest organist Art Halbardier

Download the readings for next Sunday for this Tuesday’s noon Bible study.

Click here for previous livestreamed liturgies from Mount Olive (archived on the Mount Olive YouTube channel.)

The Olive Branch, 8/31/22

August 30, 2022 By office

Click here to read the current issue of The Olive Branch.

Down to Earth

August 28, 2022 By Pr. Joseph Crippen

You are a precious human being, made of dirt and God’s breath, and God, who knows what it is to live as you, invites you to see and love all others made like you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 22 C
Texts: Luke 14:1, 7-14; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

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

God loves playing in the dirt.

That’s what our ancient Hebrew forebears tell. After their first creation account of an eternal, almighty God speaking creation into existence, they tell a completely different creation story. In the second account, they tell of a God who gets down to earth on divine hands and knees, plays around in the mud, and makes humans.

Then, this hands-on God breathes life into them. Even what the Hebrews called humans in the story tell this wonder: the man isn’t referred by name, only as “earth,” or “dirt,” in Hebrew “adam.” Adam. The woman isn’t referred by name, only as “life,” or “breath,” in Hebrew “chavah.” Eve.

These ancient Hebrews give us the gift of understanding each human being as a precious, miraculous merger of dirt and breath, earth and God’s Spirit.

Hold that for a moment as we listen to Jesus today.

Because Jesus asks you and me, who hear this story of an awkward dinner party, to be humble.

In the Greek of the New Testament, as well as in the Aramaic Jesus spoke, and the Hebrew of the Jewish people, the words for “humble” and “humility” meant to “bring down.” You could use it to describe leveling a hill, or, as we know well from Isaiah, a mountain being laid low.

But “bring down” gets us into all sorts of trouble. It leads to proud, privileged people telling oppressed people to be humble, literally putting them down, and covering that sin with the assumed virtue of divine command. We still see that today, especially from people who do the same job I do. But it also leads people who are struggling, who do not have privilege and status, to put themselves down, trying to be obedient. Neither is what Jesus means.

It’s the Romans who help us. Latin speakers used a different image for this concept than “bringing down.” “Humus” in Latin means earth, ground. And the Latin words you and I still use for this idea come from that word for earth: humble. Humility. Literally: grounded.

To be humble is to be down to earth, Latin says. And if you join that to what the Hebrews believed was the heart of humanity, earth filled with divine breath, you see an astonishing wonder in Jesus’ teaching today.

Actually, Jesus is his teaching.

The Word of God from before all time, God’s Sophia, Wisdom, creating with the Creator and the Spirit at the beginning, became human. A being of dirt and breath, just like you and me. The ancient Hebrews thought God liked playing in the dirt. But the first to trust in Jesus as God’s Messiah believed God actually became dirt.

To be down to earth, humble, the divine, all-powerful, eternal God became one of us. Lived in and experienced being made of the same minerals and water and breath that make us who we are.

Because – and this is most important – God loves these beings of dirt and breath. Loves you. Loves me. And God needed to see us as we are, from our view. To learn about us from inside our skin.

That means today’s writer to a different group of Hebrews is giving the wrong incentive.

This preacher says “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that, some have entertained angels without knowing it.” But Jesus, God-with-us, sharing our dirt and our breath, says, “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that, you will entertain a human being. No more, no less. But a beloved person made of dirt and breath, like you.

The preacher of Hebrews isn’t wrong. We might entertain angels among us. And Christ taught us to look for his face in every person we meet. That’s a blessing we don’t want to forget.

But today Jesus says, how about seeing everyone else as dirt and breath, just like you, when you look in their eyes? Whether you see one of our smallest, Annika, baptized with her brother James today, or the two revered saints among us whose centenary-plus birthdays we rejoice in today, from youngest to oldest we’re all dust, dirt filled with God’s breath. And that is precious and holy to God.

All the things we seem to notice and categorize most, color and gender and size and age and culture and language and customs, all these are just God’s frosting on the cake, God’s delight in diversity. They are to be treasured and valued and enjoyed. But at the core, Jesus says, remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. And so are all you meet. So love them, because they are you.

And if Christ can change how our eyes see, so many things will be healed.

All our categories – rich, poor, friends, enemies, stranger, neighbor, race, gender, creed – make objects out of beloved people. If you’re jockeying for good seats at the party or for the front of the line, you’re seeing objects, not people. If you support oppressive structures and value some people more than others because of how they present themselves, you’re seeing objects, not people. If you live in privilege and expect you deserve things, and are offended if you don’t get them, you’re seeing objects, not people.

But Jesus says true life is found when you look into the eyes of every human being you see, and see another human being. Not a category or a type or an object. A beloved child of God. And as more and more see with these eyes, all oppression and violence and hatred and all that ails our world will fall apart.

So, if you want to be humble as Jesus asks you, just remember your Latin.

Remember that to be humble is to be down to earth. To be who you are. Rejoice that you are a precious, miraculous merger of dirt and breath and you are not the only one.

Open your eyes, and see all these others God has made and rejoice. Find and live in that mutual love for and with all people that the preacher to the Hebrews urges, and then see what God will change inside you and in this world.

In the name of Jesus. Amen