The purpose of our faith practices is not to improve our reputation or to prove to others our holiness. The purpose of our faith practices, rather, is to deepen our relationship with God, to practice humility, and to go about our daily lives with intention and focus.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   Ash Wednesday, year C
   text: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

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.

Around this time two years ago, I was just beginning my spring semester at Luther Seminary, and I was signed up for a bunch of classes, including Lutheran Confessions. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to this class, not because I wasn’t interested in learning about the Lutheran Confessions, but because I was dreading one of the assignments: memorizing Martin Luther’s Small Catechism. The Ten Commandments, the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the Sacrament of Holy Baptism, the Sacrament of the Altar, all the explanations to those things, plus all 28 articles of the Augsburg Confession.

I am not good at memorizing things. I can do it, sure, but it takes me a long time. So I knew this would be a challenging assignment for me. I spent hours pacing through our condo in St. Paul, reading off of notecards, and then repeating back to myself. “I believe that God has created me together with all that exists. God has given me and still preserves my body and soul: eyes, ears, and all limbs and senses; reason and all mental faculties.” And so on and so forth.

Well, in the midst of all these studies, my dear grandmother became sick. She quickly entered hospice care and my family rushed to be with her in her final days. For the next week we kept our own sort of vigil with Grammy. It was lovely to spend that time with her, and amidst the grief and tears, there were holy moments of laughter and joy.

And then one morning, very early, she died. My mom and I had spent the night with her, and I woke up early in the morning to the sound of silence, quite a contrast to the erratic rattling breathing we’d heard as we fell asleep. I woke up my mom, and together we went in to check on Grammy. And she was gone. Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

So we did the only thing we knew how to do: we prayed the Lord’s Prayer together. And at the end I felt such peace, because in my head I was hearing all those explanations that I’d memorized, especially the explanation to the seventh petition: ”And deliver us from evil.”

What does this mean, you might ask? “We ask in this prayer, as in a summary, that our Father in heaven may deliver us from all kinds of evil–affecting body or soul, property or reputation–and at last, when our final hour comes, may grant us a blessed end and take us by grace from this valley of tears to himself in heaven.” Embedded in this petition is a promise that through Christ we shall overcome all things, even death.

Together we clung to that promise, my mother and I, to that blessed end. Which is also a beginning. God’s beginning for us. Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.

As we hear these words today and make our way into the season of Lent, we too are reminded of our own mortality. That without God, our lives are dust and ashes. They are empty vessels. Today, we remember that it’s not about us. That with God, the Spirit gives us life abundant. Fullness. And hope.

In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus gives us some clues about how we might live fully, with God at the center of all that we do. “Give alms, pray, and fast,” Jesus says. But he doesn’t invite us to these practices, he assumes that we already do them. “Whenever you give alms…whenever you pray…whenever you fast.”

I like this. Because it reminds us that there is value in the faith practices that we already do. His point, of course, is that we don’t show off. The purpose of these faith practices is not to improve our reputation or to prove to others our holiness. That is how we store up treasures on earth, “where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal.” There is shallowness there. And emptiness.

The purpose of our faith practices, rather, is to deepen our relationship with God. To practice humility. To surrender. To go about our daily lives with intention and focus. This is how we store up treasures in heaven–treasures with God that cannot be taken away from us. Practicing our faith with intention helps us to live confidently in Christ’s promises for us. We have courage to go into the world and live as God’s people, knowing that we are forgiven, loved, and blessed. Here there is depth. Meaning. And promise. For today and all the days ahead.

In this season of Lent, as many of us may begin a spiritual discipline, I appreciate that Jesus gives us permission to carry on in our normal business, but with this new intention. At the time when I was memorizing Luther’s Small Catechism, I certainly didn’t see it as a faith practice. It was homework! But after days and days of memorizing, it became a practice for me. A habit where I’d spend an hour or so each day working on the Small Catechism.

Soon, the explanations to these important confessions of faith became a part of me. They weren’t just words on a notecard; they became truths that I lived out in the world. This practice changed the way I experienced life. And when confronted directly with my mortality and the mortality of someone I love, I had hope. I heard Christ’s promise of the resurrection. And I believed it. Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Those seminary professors knew something when they assigned this exercise. While the words may fade from memory (and many of them have), God’s promise of hope made known to us in Jesus Christ certainly will not. And that is the purpose of our Lenten disciplines: that we may be moved from our self-centeredness to God-centeredness.

In Lent, we remember that our faith practices are gifts of God, gifts that bring us back into relationship with God–who forms us from dust, who by his death and resurrection gives us eternal life, and who makes us holy and equips us for the work of the kingdom. We give extra focus during Lent so that these practices might become a part of who we are, so that during the rest of the year we can simply live out this intention and embody God’s love in the world.

In the coming weeks, may you continue in your faith practices with intention. May you have the courage to live out your faith boldly for the sake of the world. And, when you need some extra encouragement, may you be immersed in God’s abundant grace: a grace so amazing it turns endings into beginnings and brings life out of ashes. Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Amen.

In Jesus’ transfiguration we get a glimpse of his divine glory, enough to give us hope as we follow him to the cross, as he walks with us in the suffering of the world, hope as to what we, and the world, are being transformed into.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Transfiguration of Our Lord, year C
   texts: Luke 9:28-36; 2 Corinthians 3:12 – 4:2

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

Why did Jesus need Peter, James, and John on the mountain?

They kept silent about it afterward; they were so sleepy they almost missed it; he didn’t ask any of his other disciples to come. What value did they bring?

It’s clear this experience was a gift to Jesus. After this, he turned toward Jerusalem, toward his suffering and death. But here he was strengthened by Israel’s greatest leaders, the prophet Elijah, the lawgiver Moses. Luke says they spoke of his “exodus,” his departure, that is, about the cross he was facing, what was to come. Jesus needed this encouragement, this conversation with people who understood what was to happen, something we rarely say about the disciples.

And that cross was a very different scene. On that other mountain, really a hill, everyone saw what happened, not just three. On a highway outside a major city at the most important Jewish festival, thousands likely saw the humiliation, torture, and execution of Jesus, the Son of God. Unlike today, that hill was very public.

Maybe Peter, James, and John needed to be on this first mountain because what they saw was going to be important later. This glimpse of Jesus’ divine glory became an important reminder to the Church that what happened on the cross had a deeper truth than those thousands could have understood.

What they couldn’t see, what Peter, James, and John had glimpsed, was that it was God on that cross.

The second mountain was public because this is what God needed the world to know.

The way of the cross is the way of God. This is how God heals the world’s suffering. Not by shining in glory, as on today’s mountain. Not by overpowering oppressors or destroying the wicked, as we sometimes hope. Jesus’ “departure” he talked about today was how God would change the world.

This is the center of our faith: the Triune God who made all things answers the pain and suffering of our world by becoming one of us, living among us, and entering the depth of that pain and suffering. The cross shows us all that God’s love will enfold the whole universe, but that love only lives on a path where we win by losing, we live by dying.

God needed the world to see the cross to understand this truth. And then to follow this path.

But Christ’s path is abundantly hard to walk. We’ve long known this.

There’s a reason the Church so easily falls for the power games of the world, so quickly seeks the security of dominance and control, even though we know that’s a false security. Our faith is centered on a God who gives up power willingly, but we go the other way so often because the path the Triune God walks is a hard, frightening path.

We fear losing, letting go. We fear not knowing all the answers. We fear true love, which, as Paul told us again last week, is deeply self-giving. So much so the world can’t abide considering it, substituting all sorts of nonsense for love. We know having our Lord walk beside us in our suffering, sharing the pain of the world, is a gift. But we’d rather that gift included our never having to suffer for the sake of someone else. We’d rather an easy path where all things feel good, and we never doubt, and no one ever hurts.

Unfortunately, that isn’t Christ’s path. So if we are, as we believe, also Christ, anointed ones of God, well. The hard path is the only one for us.

Maybe this is why those three witnessed today: to give an encouraging glimpse of who it is we follow, so we will follow.

Today’s glimpse reminds us of the profound mystery: it was the God of the universe hanging there.

Seeing a glimpse behind the curtain of Jesus’ humanity gives us hope. If God can face death and bring new life, then even if this path is hard, even if it means dying in little ways every day, we, filled with the Spirit of God, will find life. If this is truly how God deals with suffering and pain, and transforms it to healing and wholeness, we, filled with the Spirit of God, can trust this path even when it’s overwhelming.

At the center of our Eucharist we say this: When we eat of this bread, and drink from this cup, we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. We proclaim the Lord’s death. Every week we remember we have to account for this in our theology and life: the one, true God entered death, now lives, and is coming.

It really was the God of all who faced that. That’s who walks beside us, leads ahead of us, and sustains and fills us on the path, whenever we are afraid, or stumble, or want to turn aside.

Now, we don’t often see these glimpses clearly.

Sometimes the best we have is this third- or fourth-hand account: Peter, James, and John pass it to others, who tell the evangelists, who share it with us. We don’t always see God when we look at the cross. But Paul says that’s fine. We might see dimly, like a reflection (this is twice in two weeks we’ve heard him say we see as in a mirror), but we see something. And it’s enough to go on.

We know in that dimness who is with us. And we see in that reflection a sign of who we are becoming. Paul says we are being transformed into the same image, into that glimpse. Into the likeness of Christ.

Not surprisingly, we only see this in ourselves in glimpses, too.

If our destiny is that in walking Christ’s path of self-giving love, we become the Christ we follow, we don’t often see that clearly.

We know our flaws, we fret about our weaknesses. But every so often we have a moment where it makes sense, where we act, and realize the Spirit is there, where we know we are Christ. We get a glimpse of ourselves, like in a mirror, transformed. And that, too, is enough to keep us going.

Sometimes we can even look back with a few years’ perspective on our lives, and marvel at how different the Spirit has made us. The glimpses in the moment become, after many years, realities of the children of God we are transforming into.

So now we turn to Lent, to practice walking this hard path.

We get a glimpse today of who is walking with us, and filling us. And of who we are becoming.
And that will get us through. These glimpses of Christ in our lives, of the moments we are Christ, help us set aside our fear and our reluctance and step forward on Christ’s path.

Today in our liturgy we remind ourselves of this. We bid farewell to Alleluia in Lent so we can focus. We need Lent to teach us once again what it is to walk Christ’s path, to follow the way of divine love with our lives.

But we carry through Lent the glimpse of Alleluia with us in our hearts until the Easter feast, even as we carry through life’s wilderness the glimpse of the image of God who is with us, the image of who we are becoming, until we fully see all.

And “so we do not lose heart.” By God’s mercy we live our ministry. We see this, if only in glimpses. And we do not lose heart.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

When we use our gifts for the sake of the other, and act out of love, we embody the love that Paul describes in his letter to the Corinthians. With this love, anything is possible.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, year C
   texts: Jeremiah 1:1-4; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30

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.

“…For you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you.”

How often do we feel like Jeremiah? Inadequate, unprepared, and not ready for what God calls us to do. “But I’m only a boy!” says Jeremiah. If God said these words to me as a child, I’d come up with an excuse, too.
I’m only a kid!
I don’t know what to do!
I haven’t been trained for this!
I don’t have time!
Can’t you ask someone else?

The truth is that God calls all of us–the young and the old, the weak and the strong, the willing and the reluctant–to carry out God’s mission in the world. To go where God sends us and speak what God commands us. If you’re feeling a little unsure, like Jeremiah, find comfort in the fact that God knows us from the very beginning. Even before we are formed in the womb, God makes us holy, and equips us with gifts so that we might share God’s love with all the world. We might still have questions or hesitations, but we can trust that God works with us in our reluctance and uncertainty, helping us to discover who exactly God calls us to be in this time and place.

Through a family acquaintance, I learned the story of the Schuster family–a family that learned together how to answer God’s call and show God’s love to the world. The Schusters live near Bremerhaven in the northwest part of Germany. This mom, dad, and their 16-year-old son decided to volunteer to take in an unaccompanied refugee, a minor. It was an involved process–lots of red tape, background checks, education classes, and–most importantly–an agreement to accept the minor until he or she turns 18. They knew during this process that they’d have no say in the age or gender of this person. No say in anything about the person at all.

Finally, they were approved and soon after, the Schusters and this young refugee had a chance to meet one another and see if it would be a good fit. If either party was hesitant, then the process would not move forward. Thankfully though, that wasn’t an issue. The Schusters connected immediately with Sohrab, a 13-year-old boy originally from Afghanistan. After his father was killed, however, his family had escaped to Iran to flee the Taliban. Sohrab wasn’t allowed to go to school while living in Iran. So his mother put him into a refugee program so he would have the opportunity to continue in his schooling. He’d been living in Germany, awaiting placement, before he met the Schusters.

When the Schusters met Sohrab he could only speak Farsi and a few words in German and English. He didn’t have many of his own belongings, so the Schusters bought him new clothes and a smartphone, so he could feel at home and be able to contact his family in Iran. Together, the Schusters and their guest-son (that’s what they call Sohrab) use Google Translate, a smartphone app, so that they can communicate more effectively. Can you imagine the challenges of living with someone when you don’t know their language?

When Sohrab first arrived, he slept and ate. A lot. With all his traveling and time spent in refugee camps, he didn’t get much rest. Now that he’s arrived in his new home he’s catching up on sleep and eating like any other growing teenage boy. He has started to interact more with the family, too. He goes to a school with other refugees and is taking intensive classes in German, so his language skills are improving making it easier for him to communicate with others. He’s also playing soccer which he loves.

The biggest worry of these unaccompanied minors is that they’ll be sent back to the refugee center. But the Schusters have done their best to make Sohrab feel welcome. Some of their relatives in the United States bought Sohrab his own laptop, so he’d have something to use in school and could more easily keep in touch with his family. Sohrab loved the gift and couldn’t believe it that it belonged to him! His guest-mom also thought it helped him feel secure in his new home since his extended guest-family in the United States thought of him as a new family member and welcomed him with a gift.

The Schuster family likely didn’t know what taking in an unaccompanied refugee would mean for them. They had their doubts and likely wondered if they could handle this. Other friends and family probably had their doubts, too. But even in spite of these concerns, the Schusters practiced love. They used their gifts for the sake of the other.

When we use our gifts for the sake of the other, and act out of love, like the Schusters, we embody the love that Paul describes in his letter to the Corinthians. This isn’t sentimental love, or romantic love, but love made known through our actions. The Corinthians were a squabbling bunch. They argued over what spiritual gifts were best and lost sight of how to use them. Paul tells them, and us, that if love is not at the center of all that we do, then we are nothing. Then our actions are worthless. Unproductive. Futile.

To embody this love in the world, we might have to take a risk, like Jesus. Jesus describes to the crowds in his hometown what this gospel-love looks like in the world. And he upsets them! Because this love propels us out of our hometowns–the places where we are most comfortable–and towards the other, into the unknown. It breaks down the barriers that place us against each other so that we can get to know one another and learn together how to live in community with all.

This kind of radical love is the purest expression of the gospel and is most fully revealed to us on the cross. It’s surprising and acts in ways we might not expect. It allows for disagreement, but does not create division. When this love flourishes and is practiced by a community, the gospel is made known to all. This is how love anchors us as a community of faith. There are no insiders and no outsiders. But all are united and included in the body of Christ.

When you doubt your place in the world or wonder if you have the gifts to share God’s love with others, remember what this gospel-love is like. With this love at the center, anything is possible.

In the words of Eugene Peterson:

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Thanks be to God for this love made known to us through Jesus Christ.
And thanks be to God for you as you share this love with all the world.

Amen.