God’s only way is to draw you into the cross, to become that sacrificial, self-giving, non-violent, peacemaking, world changing love. And things will be healed.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Feast of the Holy Cross
Texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17; Numbers 21:4b-9

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

Easter really did a number on us.

Because of Easter we’ve created a serious misunderstanding of the cross.

We know the women and men who followed Jesus were stunned, dismayed, almost broken by the cross. But then he rose from the dead and it seems clear they thought it was back to business as usual. As if the cross was just an unpleasantness best put in the rear-view mirror.

Because before the Ascension they asked: “now will you restore Israel?” It’s as if they admit they made a mistake not expecting the cross, but now that he’s alive, “back to plan A, right? Destroy Rome, make us number one?”

We’re the same, though. We’ve made the cross into a logo to put all over our things and we think of it as a past event. For centuries the Church taught that in the cross of Christ we are forgiven and given life after we die, and that’s the end of it. As if Good Friday is a one-off thing, that if you believe in it you’ve got your ticket to salvation. Many think that’s exactly what Jesus is saying today in John 3.

Paul begs to differ. For Paul, the cross is still real and active. Good Friday is every day for those joined to Christ.

Paul’s words today make no sense in the way we usually think of the cross.

Paul believes it’s the current stumbling block and scandal of the cross that’s the threat. The current foolishness of the cross that drives people away. Not what Jesus did long ago, but what God is still doing today and what we’re called to do today.

For Paul the cross is still the main thing. The only thing. The point of it all. The cross is God’s love, period. The cross is the love you are asked to love, period. It’s risky, self-giving, vulnerable, sacrificial. It makes no sense to people who want to protect themselves at all costs, it’s foolish. It’s offensive, a scandal, to people who want to believe God dominates with power, and so should they.

For you, then, is the cross a symbol of a past event, a logo you carry and wear? Or is it your reminder, your job description, your mystery, your calling? The current and only word on God’s love? Whether you wear it, bow to it in worship, make its shape on your body or not, the only thing that matters is if the cross is still real to you. Still active. Still the only thing worth knowing about the Triune God, and the only way God works even now.

That is, is the cross is your idol, or your marching orders?

If we weren’t celebrating Holy Cross today, we’d have heard the story of the golden calf as our first reading. Israel wanted less of a relationship with God and more of something controllable. Less of a God who scared them and gave out commandments and more of a beautiful gold thing they could hold and pray to, but didn’t ask a lot of them.

And Moses’ bronze serpent that Jesus also mentions? Six or seven hundred years later King Hezekiah of Judah, reforming after a number of evil kings, had to destroy it. Israel had kept it all those years. But instead of seeing it as a reminder of God’s grace, they came to worship it as an idol.

Yet Jesus still links himself to that story. Maybe he’s giving another chance to focus on the God who comes to heal and save, so that no one will perish, instead of on a symbol or a statue.

If we make the cross our idol instead of seeing a constant reminder of the love of God that is broken for the world, the love of God that draws all people and all things into God’s heart, the love of God that you and I are called to bear and live and be in the world, we’re just playing the same old game. We’d be better off tearing down our crosses and destroying them.

Find the foolishness and you’ll see. Trip on the stumbling block and you’ll see.

Please do trust that at the cross God’s love is for you and brings you healing and salvation in this world and after you die. That’s absolutely your promise and the promise for all God’s children.

But if that’s the end of it, you’re no better off than before you heard that promise. You’re like those who paint the cross on shields and armor and warplanes, who wear it visibly while doling out violence and oppression and hatred. Who use Christ’s cross as their own personal talisman which, they believe, makes them strong and leads them to disdain the weak.

But you can hold the cross as sign of your salvation and also focus on the cross as your guide, your calling, your only job. Then you’ll see. You’ll see how foolish it feels to let go of things you cling to for the sake of loving others. You’ll see how quickly you’re scandalized that God loses in order to win, and asks you to do the same. How easy it is to trip over your fears, your anxieties, your need for security, your prejudices, and not love as God loves.

But when you find that foolishness, that scandal, rejoice. It means you’re on the right path. You’re finally hearing the cross, seeing the cross, embracing the cross. The cross that shows God forgives all your stumbling and rejection, and then constantly carries you forward to more foolishness and scandal.

But what’s the good of all this? How does this help this world?

Will it stop the bloody proliferation of guns and violence in this country? The hatred spilling from our leaders for the weak and vulnerable? The terror of so many on the margins here that their lives are in danger? All the pain and suffering we see? Not immediately. But all the pain and suffering we’re experiencing comes from a world in love with violence and power and domination. That seeks self-interest above all things. A country increasingly devoted to might makes right. That’s how we got into this mess.

And God says the only way out is to draw you into the cross. Draw me into the cross. Draw God’s children, one by one, into the cross. So that we become that vulnerable, self-giving, non-violent, peacemaking, world changing love. And things will be healed, eventually.

Starting with those closest to you. Begin with what’s foolish about this love, scandalous about this love when you’re asked to love those closest to you, or at work, or next door. You’ll see how hard that love will be. But you’ll also be amazed at the healing it brings when you just do it.

There’s nothing wrong with Easter, by the way.

Easter is the promise that when you risk the cross, live the cross, embrace the cross as the shape of your love and life, nothing can stop that love. Not even pain and death. Easter says the path of cross-shaped love always ends in life, even if most of the time it feels like losing. Christ’s resurrection is the gift of life in the Spirit that empowers you to go back to Good Friday every day and learn what you can learn there from God. See what you can see. Find the path to that hill that is your path.

And don’t be afraid. Look to the shape of God’s love and be drawn into it for your life and the life of the world.

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

Jesus’ shocking command to “hate father and mother, spouse and children, siblings, yes, and even life itself,” stops us in our tracks. Christ’s words lead us to step back and reconsider our allegiances.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 1; Philemon; Luke 14:25-33

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

What in the world is Jesus doing here? “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, spouse and children, siblings, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” What?

What is Jesus doing here? This is a question that surely every generation of Christians have asked when they got to this part of the Bible.

This seems to fly directly in the face of the Fourth Commandment. Remember from Confirmation, “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” How do you square that with “hate your family”?

Remember, Jesus is the same God who taught us that commandment originally. I think he’s making this bombastic statement to stop us in our tracks and make us say, “What in the world is Jesus doing here?”

I think with this statement, by saying that we need to hate our parents and families and our very lives, He’s not really talking about our families. He’s not really talking about our lives. He’s speaking against idolatry. He’s speaking against all of the ways, big and small, that we hold onto our identities and relationships not as gifts from God but instead as dividing lines and the basis for structures that separate us.

In our time, and in his, I think these words especially speak against the sin of nationalism, which is a form of idolatry, which Pastor Crippen has spoken against in the last few weeks. 

When Jesus says, “hate your family,” he is saying something radical about society that we might not really pick up on. American society values the family but overall we are quite an individualist culture. Family is important to us, yes, but it doesn’t really define every aspect of our lives, as it would for the biblical audience.

When Jesus’ listeners heard him say this, they would have thought about much more than just their nuclear family. In that society, which was much more communal, more collective, your family was the key to your whole identity. Your family was all wrapped up in your nationality, your religion, your eternal legacy … your relationship to your family, and therefore to your nation, your religion, your everything, was an existential thing. And so for Jesus to say this was even more radical in his context than it is in ours.

Earlier in this Gospel of Luke, the Evangelist includes an extensive genealogy of Jesus, showing how even he was tied up in his culture’s idea that family = nation = identity = purpose. It was so important to the authors of the Gospels to show Jesus’ connection to legendary King David that two different gospels offer two different genealogies that converge on David. We have numerous Scriptures that describe a king who will restore the throne of David.

Our reading this week starts out by telling us that large crowds were following Jesus. Maybe some were following because they knew he offered free food and healing. Maybe some were following out of genuine love for this humble rabbi.

But I’d bet that there was a substantial portion of the crowd who were following him because they hoped he would be the one who would restore the throne of David, cast out the Romans, and usher in a new kingdom. There are some today who follow Jesus because they hope he will build a kingdom that casts out their enemies.

But that is not the Christ who we know in the gospels. The Christ of the Scriptures is the one who tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. The Christ of the Scriptures is gentle and kind but ferocious in standing up for people who are being cast away. The Christ of the Scriptures is one who could use Godly power at any time, and yet took up his cross for our sake. 

The Christ we know in Scripture is a king, the Son of David, but he’s not a king who ruled like David, taking what he wanted, conquering neighbors, or casting out undesirables. He’s a king whose reign sees tyrants pulled down and the lowly lifted up.

When Jesus tells us here to take up our cross and follow him, he’s reminding us of where our allegiance really should lie. We should love our given families, of course, but our first allegiance is to God and to the chosen family that God has given us, the kingdom that Christ has brought us into. The reign of Christ is a family of outsiders who have been brought inside.

In our other reading, the letter to Philemon, we see an example of what that looks like lived out. Paul, the author of the letter, is a Roman citizen. In his day, that was the ultimate insider designation. With that title came special privileges and rights and gave him a high position in the Roman hierarchy. And he’s writing to Philemon about Onesimus, a person who the text describes as a slave. In Paul’s context, slaves were considered to be property, not even people. And yet, because of the way that the reign of Christ reshapes our relationships, Paul describes Onesimus as a “beloved brother.” (v. 16) He even refers to Onesimus as his “own heart.” (v. 12)

The relationship between Paul, Onesimus, and Philemon is totally changed by the reign of Christ. Paul tells Philemon and Onesimus that they are no longer slaver and enslaved. They’re brothers. Paul’s place in the Roman hierarchy fades away in his encounter with Christ. His high achievements are worthless compared to his place in the family of God. His allegiance is not to any political or religious structure, but to Christ, first and foremost.

When our primary allegiance is to Christ and his kingdom, our family includes all of Christ’s family. Christ’s allegiances become our allegiances.

And so, our allegiance is to our unhoused neighbors, who we ignore on the street corners. To children who die to gun violence, because of the inaction of our communities and legislators. To families ripped apart by government raids, which our country voted for in massive, historic numbers. To people dying in Gaza, who live at the other end of American weapons.

Our love for Christ should look like our love for these people who Christ loves, which is all people, but particularly the people on the margins and the outside.

And while we might start feeling self-righteous or holier-than-thou because of our advocacy or our good works or who we voted for or not, we need to be reminded that our place in the family is not because of any of our own deserving. In fact, I’d bet most of us can think of times when our own self-interest or our own allegiances separated us from others or put other people down or left other people out. I know I can think of plenty of times that my own need to be right has triumphed over the need for me to be kind.

And yet, God doesn’t leave us in our separation. God has chosen each and every one of us, before and beyond anything we do or don’t do. God’s infinite grace has been poured out on each of us, and has brought us together into one family.

And like any family, there are going to be ones we disagree with. I’m sure we all have people we feel like we just can’t understand why they believe what they believe or do what they do.

But also as family, I don’t think we can just shake the dust off our feet and walk away. I fear we have a call to listen to them, seek to understand them, maybe let ourselves be changed by them, and tell them our truths, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

It’s easy for us, who are in this room together, who are about to share the Lord’s Supper, to say that we are in relationship and in communion … it’s harder to acknowledge that we are in relationship and we have a responsibility to the people outside this room who make us ashamed to say that we’re Christians.

And even as I say all these things, we know that we won’t be able to do everything right … We’ll mess up and say the wrong things … We’ll hurt each other’s feelings and get into messes but at the end of the day … We come back to grace and faith.

In the readings this week, Christ tells us to count the cost and take up our cross. But in reality there’s no way we can count the cost. None of us knows what’s coming. We can’t know what will be asked of us.

All we know is that God is faithful. God has not left us alone. God has given us each other for companionship and solidarity. God has given us the Word to show us the Way.  And God has given us this meal we’re about to receive to build us into one body, broken for the world.

May it be so.

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