If you don’t have to be afraid of dying, because of God’s love in Christ, then you don’t have to be afraid of living, either. For the same reason.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   All Saints Sunday, Lectionary 32 C
   Texts: Luke 20:27-38; Psalm 17:1-9; Job 19:23-27a

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

Are you getting the answers you came here for today?

This is a holy day here, a day we remember those saints we love who have gone ahead of us into life eternal, a day we celebrate those we’ve welcomed in baptism into the body of Christ’s saints. It’s a day of great beauty, mixed with both our grief and our joy.

But are you finding the answers you hoped to find? The All Saints liturgy is much like a funeral, it’s a liturgy where we have many questions of God about life and death, about ourselves.

Like the Sadducees had a question for Jesus. It wasn’t sincere; they wanted to trick Jesus into saying something incriminating. Still, the question they asked isn’t far from questions we ask on a day like today.

Of course, the answers we seek depend entirely on whom we ask. And if we follow the Sadducees and ask God’s Son, we might find the Answerer is offering far more than we knew to ask.

We start with the Sadducees’ question, though.

We probably haven’t pondered the heavenly reality for a woman and the seven men she married and buried. But we know what they’re asking. There’s so much we don’t know about the life to come that we wish we did. Every time we bring a loved one before God in their death, we wonder about much.

What is the resurrection like? What can we expect? How do we know? Are the beloved dead with ones they know? Are we still ourselves?

Then there’s the question of whether those who die sleep to the last day and all awake together, or if they are even now awake in God’s presence and aware of us. We can find suggestions for both in the Bible, but not a definitive answer.

Even without the Sadducees’ cynicism, we join them today in waiting breathlessly for Jesus’ answer. But it’s not what we expected.

Christ Jesus, the face of the Trinity for us, tells us we’re missing the point.

He answers the marriage question, saying that in the age to come people aren’t married like they are here, so it’s not really relevant.

But then he says what matters: when we die, we will be raised as children of the resurrection. God is God of the living, and that includes all who have already died. For, as Christ says, to God all of them are alive.

We can’t know all the details about that life, it is mystery. As Paul and the elder of 1 John remind us, here we only see partly; there we will see face to face, clearly, and understand. Jesus knows this is hard for us. But on this All Saints Sunday, Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, would have us hold this confidence firmly, joyfully, hopefully: In Christ all shall be made alive, and brought to resurrection life in the age to come. So we don’t need to be afraid of dying, ever.

But our Lord also wants us to realize this: If you don’t have to be afraid of dying, then you don’t have to be afraid of living, either.

That’s the answer we didn’t expect today.

But it’s Job’s answer, in the midst of terrible suffering: he knows his Redeemer lives, so he can live with hope. It’s in the psalmist’s prayer today, “keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me under the shadow of your wings.” If death has no power over the love of the Triune God for the world and for us, we are freed to live in this world without fear.

We need to know this. Because there are so many things about living that we fear. We fear what might happen to those we love, or to us. We fear sudden illness. We fear job losses, financial setbacks. We fear being a burden to those we love, and we fear others might be a burden to us. We fear the life in Christ to which we are called, because it’s hard and it costs, and we’re not sure we want those costs.

We fear the problems in our world and our country, both for the pain they might cause us, and for the pain they already cause others. But we fear the solutions, too, because they also might cause us difficulty and suffering; there are few cost-free ways to solve all the pain and division and injustice in our world. And even if we know we will be raised, we fear the act of dying, the suffering and pain that might come.

But Christ Jesus says God is God of the living. That’s not just those who have died. God is God of the living. God is our God. Our mother, under whose wings we are gathered for safety and warmth. We are the apple of God’s eye, the delight of God.

We don’t need to be afraid of dying; God’s love destroys death’s power. But we don’t need to be afraid of living, either: the Triune God who made all things is with us always, because God is God of the living.

We know this, even if we’ve forgotten it, because we celebrate Baptism today even as we remember the saints who’ve come before.

Baptism is a sacrament for the living; it is the gift of God that anoints us into the Body of Christ that we might be Christ in this world, bringing God’s light and life. It is our beginning and our call.

So we rejoice on this All Saints Sunday for those brought into this life through the waters of baptism this year. We rejoice on this All Saints Sunday for Harold, who today will be washed into this life. We rejoice on this All Saints Sunday for all the baptized whose names are precious to us and whose baptismal life we give thanks for as we name them before God today.

We rejoice, because on this All Saints Sunday God’s answer to us is this: live, confident in my love and grace and strength. Do not be afraid to die; but do not be afraid to live. I am your God, and I am with you.

This might not be the answer you came here for today.

But it’s the answer that gives us all life and hope.

There’s no denying that this world can be difficult and challenging. As hard as it can be for us, there are millions for whom it’s far worse. So it’s imperative we take Christ seriously and trust this promise, so we might live without fear, even as we know we can die without fear.

In such fearlessness we can risk being the Christ we were anointed to be in our baptism, and, like the Son of God we follow, offer ourselves to God’s world as healing and hope. We can do this without fearing the costs, because God is God of the living and will be with us. We can do this without worrying about ourselves, because God is God of the living and will be with us. We can do this with joy, even when we see just how many problems and pains and sufferings we are called to bring healing to, because God is God of the living and will be with us.

Have you not seen? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, who does not faint or grow weary. God gives power to the faint, and strength to the powerless. *

This is the One who answers our questions today. This is the One who is our confidence and hope. This is the One who will be with us in death and in life.

So we are not afraid.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

* Isaiah 40:28-29

When sinners like Zacchaeus are ostracized by the crowd, Jesus asks us to see them and widen our circle of inclusion.

Vicar Kelly Sandin
   The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 31 C
   Text: Luke 19:1-10

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

A friend once told me that people aren’t all bad. Yet, we want to categorize other humans into neat packages of good or bad. It justifies our position. It allows us to continue our hate or mistrust or dislike. If we ever do see good in what is perceived as a bad person, we find it hard to believe. We don’t want it to be true because it’s much less confounding that way. It messes with our easy system of good versus bad so we dismiss the possibility.

If you remember the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, he had a scale for the golden goose egg. It determined whether it was good or bad. There was nothing in-between. If it was bad, down the chute the egg goes. If it was good, well then it was a wonderful chocolate Easter treat! Even Veruca, one of the main characters in Willy Wonka, ended up down the bad egg chute for singing a Wonka treat coveting song. If you were like me, you rather enjoyed seeing the scale judge her in such a way.

The problem is how quickly we want to write each other off with any perceived notion of a character flaw, a mistake, an infraction of what would be deemed socially unacceptable, or simply because the person rubbed us wrong that from that point on we’ll have nothing to do with them. We don’t want to see them. They’re bad eggs. Down the chute they go.

Zacchaeus’ life was like this. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. The text makes sure to include this description – chief tax collector and rich. He was deemed a bad egg and rightly so. Being a chief tax collector meant you were an entrepreneur. To collect taxes in a certain territory you’d pay a select amount of money in advance to the Roman government to work that area. It was kind of like leasing property. Then, as chief tax collector, you’d get a team of people to work for you who actually collected the taxes. They did the dirty work. The point in all this was to make a profit. All the middle men needed to get paid while still paying the Roman government the taxes that were owed. So, of course, the system was oppressive with excessive taxes. The common folk were being robbed by their own people, Jewish tax collectors, who were traitors working for the Roman Empire.

This, apparently, was the life of Zacchaeus. But, was he all bad?

What if he was just trying to make a living? He could have had a family to care for. Children to feed. We don’t know. It’s probable. We might do this job if it meant providing food for our family. We have no idea what Zacchaeus went through. People get desperate. But, given the business he was in the crowd would choose not to see him. They wouldn’t care to know his story. He was a bad egg and that’s all there was to it. He made a living in an unacceptable way and therefore was an outcast living on the margins of society, even as a rich man. No one wanted anything to do with him. Until Jesus came along.

What had Zacchaeus heard about Jesus that made him so eager to see him? Had he already met him? Was Zacchaeus among the large crowd of tax collectors in Luke 5 who ate with Jesus at Levi the tax collector’s house? The tax collector whom Jesus saw sitting at his tax booth and simply said, “Follow me” and immediately Levi left everything and followed. Where also in this same scene Jesus responded to the complaining Pharisees and their scribes with “I have come to call not the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

Had this possible first encounter with Jesus planted seeds of reform in Zacchaeus? Were there other stories circulating that had Zacchaeus willing to run ahead of Jesus and the crowd, a grown man, and then climb a tree to get a better view? He was certainly putting himself out there for ridicule. Apparently, though, none of that mattered. He got to see Jesus and in turn Jesus saw him.

“Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” It sure seemed like Jesus and Zacchaeus were old friends. And if Zacchaeus had been at Levi’s dinner party, then perhaps they were. Since Jesus was in the business of seeing tax collectors and joining them for a meal, he called Zacchaeus to make haste and come down. There was urgency in his voice.

Zacchaeus was needed.

One minute Zacchaeus is perched on a limb above the marching crowd to get a better glimpse and the next minute Jesus publically calls his name and invites himself over! He was taken out of the limb and given solid ground.

Not only is he seen by Jesus, he’s pulled out of the margins so the crowd is forced to see him, too. And in front of all those grumbling, Zacchaeus is given opportunity to tell his story. “Half my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”

Through an encounter with Jesus who sees Zacchaeus and offers new life, Zacchaeus is now able to truly see his neighbors and love.

He is transformed.

Will his new way of being impact the other tax collectors who worked for Zacchaeus? Will they change their ways? Perhaps they were also at Levi’s banquet with Jesus and the seeds had already been sown. Is it possible, with this being Jesus’ last stop before Jerusalem, that the other tax collectors would also see who they were oppressing, their own people, and reform could have come upon Jericho? Setting the crowd free, to love and see?

In today’s polarized political climate, we are guilty of wanting to point out how horrible others are because of the views they hold. We can’t seem to see the good in anyone if they behave or believe in a way that’s different from our own. In fact, we often dismiss any possibility of good or refuse to give the benefit of the doubt as a fuel to keep our animosity burning. Of course there’s legitimate evil in this world, but in our day to day life people get misunderstood or labeled for all kinds of reasons and their stories don’t get told because we don’t want to give them the time of day. We’d rather send them down the bad egg chute.

However, God models a different way, more difficult, yes, but one that doesn’t allow us to write each other off so easily.

Jesus saw Zacchaeus and welcomed him into the circle, even as a chief tax collector. And while the crowd might have booed at first, Zacchaeus was provided a platform to speak. And on that day salvation came to Zacchaeus’ house.

Until God breaks in to help us see. Until we truly hear another’s story. Until we are able to see the personhood in the other, it’s hard to reconcile. We want to keep the scale of good or bad as our only options. But, hearing one another’s story opens the door for healing, of the other and ourselves.
In life we have opportunities where God nudges us to see the other and widen our circle of inclusion. To extend the life-giving love of Christ. To see as God sees everyone, neither all good nor bad, but loved, like Zacchaeus hanging on the limb of a Sycamore tree.

God’s love for us and for all people is constant and wide; letting go of our need to declare ourselves righteous, we find God ready to embrace our brokenness and name us truly righteous.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 30 C
   Text: Luke 18:9-14

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

“Jesus also told this parable, to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

It would be lovely if we weren’t among the people to whom Jesus told this parable. But in this time of polarization and hostility in our national conversation, an election season that seems worse than any we’ve experienced, we know we’re those people. Speaking only for myself, if at confession we were told to consider only this, “have we ever trusted in ourselves that we were righteous and regarded others with contempt?”, I would have multiple examples to confess from just the last six months.

In fact, it’s likely just in today’s telling of this parable many of us were thinking contemptuously of some others when we heard about this Pharisee and his braggadocious prayers. The trap in this parable is how easily we say after hearing it, “God, I thank you that I am not like them.” And then we realize we are.

Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt. But why would Jesus tell us this parable if there was no hope for us or the Pharisee? If Jesus feels the need to tell us a parable, Jesus must intend us to hear it and be changed.

This situation is like another parable Jesus told a few chapters earlier.

It’s the story of a father and two sons, the elder one faithful and hardworking, the younger one less so. The heart of that story is the father’s welcoming home the younger brother after he’d squandered his inheritance and rejected his father and family. But notice: Jesus also told that parable to people who trusted in their own righteousness, and had contempt for those they considered “sinners.”

Our Pharisee is like the elder brother: he’s followed God’s rules and has been faithful, just as the elder followed his father’s rules. He also knows the tax collector hasn’t lived up to God’s law, just as the elder brother knew his younger sibling was worthless. It’s hard to miss the contempt of the elder or the Pharisee, and hard to miss their trust in their own righteousness.

In that other parable, the elder son is angry that he has been taken for granted, that his good hasn’t earned him anything, and that his brother’s sinfulness is rewarded by a feast. But the point of that parable was the unfailing, astonishing, prodigal love of the father for both his boys. The elder soncouldn’t see it; the younger son was overwhelmed by it.

This is key to Jesus’ hopes for today’s parable. The Pharisee’s problem isn’t that God doesn’t love him. God’s love is without limits and embraces him fully, just like the tax collector. The problem is the Pharisee can’t see his need for such mercy and love. And if he can’t see it, will he experience it?

If God’s love is the constant, then it’s this problem that needs our attention.

We know we too often trust in ourselves that we are righteous. We act confident in our own decisions, we justify our own behavior, even if deep down inside we doubt. We play the common human game of compare and compete. As long as we can compare ourselves to others who are worse, as long as we’re doing better than some, we seek no more introspection.

Jesus suggests we’re putting up a false façade when we try to trust in ourselves and what we’ve done. We also know this is true. In the dark of the night all our self-defensiveness and self-assurance can melt away when we realize we aren’t always loving and faithful and well intentioned, as we seem to need to claim.

Jesus told us these parables so that in seeing the Pharisee and the elder brother, we might also realize that God’s love for us is constant and unwavering. Then, rather than trusting in ourselves, we might learn to trust God. Rather than trying to impress God with our list of accomplishments that we secretly fear aren’t enough, we might begin trusting God’s love for us that cannot be taken away.

The tax collector and the younger brother connect us to God’s grace.

They’re not exemplars of faithful living; no attempt is made to say they were good. But both know this, and come asking for mercy. This poor tax collector can’t even lift up his eyes to heaven. But God looks at him and says, “I just want to put my arms around him and love him.”

This is what it is to be declared righteous by God. That’s how the word “justified” should have been translated here, contrasting with our being self-righteous. When the only thing that matters is God’s love for us, the only declaration of “righteous” that matters is God’s declaration, not our own.

Far from having contempt for people who seem to fail and struggle, we should be grateful to them for revealing the depths of God’s love. If tax collectors and delinquents and even Pharisees can be loved by God, then we can, too.

The trap in this parable is a huge gift.

If Jesus had simply rebuked self-righteousness and exhorted us to confession, we might have missed the point. Instead he told a tricky story that was bound to trip us up so we’d realize we are the very ones we are mocking, we’re the ones we’re holding in contempt.

Jesus’ trap helps us see we and the Pharisee belong with the the tax collector, and that’s the best place to be. We have nothing to bring before God except a plea for mercy and grace, and then we’re surprised to learn we’re already surrounded by God’s loving embrace. We don’t need to trust in ourselves that we are righteous because the Triune God who made all things declares us righteous. We don’t need to brag to God in hopes of being loved, because at the cross God made it clear that we are loved beyond anything we could ever imagine.

The center of these parables is the beating heart of God’s surprising mercy and love.

Only such love that is willing to die for us can break through our defensiveness and fears and embrace us, whether we’re hanging our heads in sorrow over our sin or whether we’re trying to put a brave, bragging front before God and declaring our goodness.

The truth Jesus would have us hear, the reason he told us this parable, is that God sees us as beloved children, forgives our wrongdoing, and embraces us with love and grace.

When our eyes are lifted up and we look into the loving face of the Trinity that Jesus has revealed to us, then we are able, with God’s help, to begin to live as the redeemed and loved people of God we really are. Then we’ll know what it is to go home justified, that is, declared righteous, and live that way in God’s love.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen