God’s new way is one that will ultimately change you from within, into a new person. But you start with your perception of it, and take that first step.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday in Lent, year C
Texts: Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

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 asks a hard question. It almost seems unfair.

Forget everything I’ve ever done, God says in Isaiah. In fact, forget that I brought you through the sea, stopped armies, and gave you an exodus, a path to new life. Forget your greatest story of salvation because I’m about to do a new thing. Don’t you perceive it?

As Christians, we say God’s new thing is fulfilled in Jesus, who called us to a path of life in God. But what if you aren’t sure you can see that, perceive what that means for your life?

Once again we’re looking at the path of Christ.

We’ve often talked of how hard Christ’s path is, the sacrificial, vulnerable love we’re asked to share for the sake of the world. But we also heard a couple weeks ago that the path is like rich food, rewarding, a way of life like nothing else.

Today we meet people who do perceive God’s new thing, God’s new path. People who find insight, truth, that changes them from inside out. They’re never the same after it. They don’t have to think about walking Christ’s way, it’s the only way they know. They don’t have to wonder if it’ll be hard or life-giving. The life they know in Christ is in their bones, and they can’t imagine going their old way.

We’re talking about Mary and Paul.

Paul tells the Philippians he is embedded in Christ’s new way. He once lived a life of joy and hope in following Torah, living as a faithful Jewish person. His life in Judaism was exemplary and fulfilling to him. But now, he says, none of that matters to me compared to knowing Christ. Paul found life in Christ and threw everything into following. All that matters to him now is knowing Christ ever more deeply, sharing Christ’s suffering and resurrection, and living as Christ.

Mary found God’s new way in Jesus, too. And today, at this dinner party, Mary can feel something from Jesus, the one she loves, who just brought her brother to life again. She senses his grief and anxiety. Maybe even his coming death. And she takes perfume that costs a year’s wages and pours it on Jesus’ feet, wiping them with her hair in love.

Mary and Paul perceive God’s new thing. It changes them completely, so now they act with new instincts, as if they’re already in the new way. Because they are.

But is this helpful to you? Can either of them explain how this helps? Not so much.

In these verses Paul tries to explain what it means for him to be so in Christ that his old ways don’t matter anymore, but he fails. Twice he tries, and twice he corrects himself, as if to say, “no, those aren’t the right words, either.”

And no one understands what Mary did except Mary and Jesus. The other disciples are dismayed. All they see is math. That much perfume costs this much, and this is a huge waste. They don’t get Mary at all.

So it’s not surprising we’re not sure how Mary and Paul help us, either.

They do because neither knew much more than you when they first perceived God’s new thing.

Paul was changed on the road to Damascus, but he didn’t have his theology yet, his proclamation. He couldn’t describe the way of Christ if you drew him a map. He just took a first step, then another. He listened to other Christians. And he met Christ. Not just on the road, at every step. Until he passed a point where he was no longer the person he was before. He sacrifices everything of his past life because step by step Christ drew him to this realization, this letting go, this life.

Mary didn’t give her perfume away on day one. However she first met Jesus, she didn’t know the new way fully. But step by step she followed until she was changed. She sacrifices financial security, faces the scorn of her friends. Because step by step Christ drew her to this realization, this letting go, this life.

So there’s your invitation: if you sense anything in Christ that pulls you with hope or gives you light or heals your heart, focus on that.

And take a step toward it. And another step. And if something you value pulls you back, ask for God’s help to let it go.

Mary and Paul had a lot to learn. But for both, it started with a moment of perception. That sense in you that says “these are words of life.” Maybe you’ve had that, too. So if Mary and Paul have anything to say it’s, “try that first step and see. Let go a little and see.”

This is God’s way in Christ. God’s new thing. Do you perceive it?

If you do, even in the smallest way, rejoice. And pray that the Spirit gives you courage to take those steps, one at a time, toward the light. Toward the hope. Toward the love. And courage to start dropping your old ways, no matter how precious, along the road. Until they’re not even in sight anymore.

That may sound like sacrifice at the start. But Mary and Paul say you’ll get to the point where it’s just the natural thing to do. Where God’s way so infuses you that it’s your new instinct, your only way to be and think and love and do.

God’s doing a new thing, to heal the world. You already know this. God now give you the heart to follow until you are changed, and you can’t even remember that you’d gone a different way before.

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

Midweek Lent, 2025 + Love Does No Wrong to a Neighbor +
Week 4: Faith without loving action is dead

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Texts: James 2:1-17; Psalm 113:2-8; Luke 16:19-31

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

Nothing says “partiality” quite like a school lunchroom.
The cool kids at one table, nerds at another, various cliques siloed off, and the sidelined many anxiously trying to find their place. Maybe you, like me, felt hopelessly alone sometimes because you didn’t fit in, and had bullies reminding you of it. Maybe you spent your school years frantically figuring out which group would finally accept you. Or maybe you’ve been part of a friend group and you’ve felt suffocated by the expectations of who you should be, and worried that if you go against the grain, you could end up on the outside–perhaps again. Maybe you’ve felt partialities creep up in your professional life or even in your family. And whatever your experience with partialities, it’s easy to see why James condemns them so passionately. 

Partialities hurt.
They dictate who we should and shouldn’t care about and love. And it’s because of partialities that kids bully each other, that discrimination thrives, that oppression keeps people stranded on the margins, that wars erupt between nations, that hatred exists between people who don’t look the same or speak the same language or worship the same god, that the rich man either doesn’t notice Lazarus or decides Lazarus is not worth his time. This way of life alienates us from God’s beloved children, our siblings, and keeps us sitting in our prescribed places.

But Psalm 113 gives us another way.
The Psalmist tells us that in God’s reign the poor sit next to rulers, making space for each other, valuing each other. Sharing meals and sharing life. God knocks down the divisions between us and welcomes us to see each other as God sees us. In God’s reign, all people can sit together at a crowded table that has enough room for every person, where everyone is served, everyone is loved. Where we pull out chairs for each other and extend the table so everyone has a good seat. It’s a community where you and I are radically, unconditionally welcomed, where we can experience true belonging. 

I’ve seen it, like in the youth group Jake and I led, where the homecoming queen and the president of the anime club became friends. In the world of school lunch tables, these students would basically be on different planets. But because God was present, they laid down the ways they’d been divided and made space for each other and built a home where everyone belonged. We see God breaking down barriers when people of all different races, genders, sexualities, and life experiences stand together advocating for a kinder world that values all people, even with the threat of backlash. And God is doing it here and in so many communities like this one, where all people who walk through our doors are treated with dignity, respect, and love.

And because we belong to God, and have a seat at this wide and crowded table, we also belong to each other and all people and they belong to us–and that’s the hard part, isn’t it? It’s the pulling out chairs and expanding for all people that gets in our way. God calls us to extend this unconditional, radical welcome to all people, and we don’t always want to do this because there are people out there that need a welcome to the table that are perpetuating evil. There are people out there that are inconvenient for us to invite. And there are people that we worry would affect our reputation if we extend a welcome to them. But we’re on the hook. If we trust in the Triune God to make space for us and all people, we have no option but to live this reality out. We cannot stay on the sidelines. 

“Faith without works is dead” says James. Us Lutherans might cringe at this verse. But this isn’t a works-based theology of salvation that goes against our understanding of grace. But it is a call to us to let God’s love flow from us to all people because of our faith in the God that widens tables. Our faith cannot be stagnant, James says. It should move us toward seeing the work that needs to be done, and then doing it–like sitting with the person who’s alone, or having difficult conversations that lovingly confront our siblings who do evil, or doing the hard work of forgiving, or welcoming a stranger, actively loving the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the outcasts, or advocating for the basic human rights of the marginalized even in the face of major resistance. God’s love doesn’t just stay with us, it’s desperate to be shared with the whole world. 

And it’s hard work.

Because as we start to widen God’s welcome, we see all these prejudices have become great chasms that are too wide to cross by ourselves, as Abraham tells the rich man. They’ve been formed and reinforced by years of neglect, like in the case of the rich man’s relationship with Lazarus. They’re influenced by fear and hatred that festers between people and strengthens the partialities that keep us apart. We can’t bridge these gaps by ourselves. Because when we do, we can become overwhelmed by the depths of division or get caught up in our own biases or fear backlash and resistance. And we grow tired and weary by ourselves, and we can lose hope in this chasm-crossing mission.

But God can do it.
God already crossed the chasm between Godself and us through life, death, and resurrection of Christ and broke down any barriers between us so much so that God’s Spirit dwells within us, and commissions us to continue building a world where chasms and prejudice turn into bridges and beloved communities. It’s hard and heavy work, but we can rely on the Holy Spirit, to expand our ability to love those we’d rather not, to give us patience, grace and mercy that sustains us when we feel like giving up. The Holy Spirit leads us to communities like this one, full of people committed to crossing chasms and breaking down barriers, where we become the Spirit’s nourishing to each other. We hear each other out on days it feels too difficult, on days when we lose hope that the barriers will ever be broken. And we encourage each other to keep going. We embrace each other with unconditional and radical belonging. We share stories of how our lives change after we were told we genuinely belong and are beloved. We help each other recognize we’re in this together. We remind each other why we do what we do. And, together, you and I are sent out, by the power of the Holy full of faith, to break down partialities and cross chasms, to invite all God’s children to the crowded table.

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