“True Love”

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Texts: Romans 12:16-21; Matthew 5:38-47

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

“If you love those who love you, what reward do you have?”

That’s a strange question, Jesus. Who wants a reward for loving? If I love someone who loves me, that’s reward enough. We don’t love people to get a prize.

Exactly, Jesus says, that’s what I’m saying. The loving is the prize, the goal, the treasure beyond price. To love and to be loved is its own reward.

But, Jesus says, everybody knows that. Everybody does that, loves those who love them. But the world is still full of violence, pain, and inflicted suffering. And everybody greets their friends, their sisters and brothers, welcomes them. Everybody knows how to do that, Jesus says. But the world is still divided by hostility and hatred, murder and bloodshed. Something is wrong.

Jesus has the answer, but we don’t want to hear it. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” That’s what no one thinks of, Jesus says.

And that’s the only way this world will find healing and peace and abundant life.

We really don’t like this command of Jesus.

Theologians, pastors, and teachers of the Church have dodged this command for 1,700 years, building theologies and principles that explain Jesus didn’t really mean this the way it obviously looks like it means. Christians have justified war, torture, genocide, oppression, slavery, revenge, by explaining away Jesus’ plain and clear words.

What Jesus said was, the way of Christ is to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. Period. No exceptions.

So, when you look through history and see what groups are responsible for the most killing of other human beings over the centuries, why are Christians near the top of the list? Why does the Church today across this planet still endorse war, still nurture hatred, still declare enemies, still kill people? It’s quite a witness of love we give.

This is the most radical, world-changing command Jesus ever gave. We know this by how hard we’ve worked for nearly 2,000 years to pretend he never said it.

At the cross, the Son of God offered his life freely as a witness to the Triune God’s love for the whole world.

As his enemies pounded nails into his body, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

The story of Christ taking on our flesh is the story of God living vulnerable love among us to teach us what such divine love looks like. God set aside all power and strength and let us kill the One who is God-with-us. The Son of God declared forgiveness and love for those who hated him most, at the most terrible, painful point of his life. The Triune God says simply at the cross: this is the love that will heal the world. A love for all that risks all, without exception.

The only way to break the cycle of hate and violence, revenge and death, is to put down our weapons, our anger, our justifications, and offer love to those who hate us.

It’s a huge risk. Do you think God doesn’t understand that, after the cross? There is nothing more important to the Triune God who made all things than that we on this earth love each other, care for each other, give life to each other. God showed that in the most personal way possible, and in an unmistakably definitive way, in dying on the cross.

Yet we usually miss the point.

We’ve carefully built a theology of the cross that never asks us to see God’s radical love.

While the Church spent time and energy justifying hating enemies, it also distracted the faithful from the love God showed on the cross. Many of us grew up thinking Jesus went to the cross personally for each of us, because we’re all sinners. There’s no way God could love us unless Jesus died for us, many of us were taught. We were told we were wretched beings, and God sacrificed Jesus so we wouldn’t go to hell.

Of course we sin. We’re flawed, broken people. But the Scriptures witness that we are beloved of God, and Jesus didn’t have to die to make us beloved. God’s forgiveness flows through the Scriptures with and without the cross. The Scriptures witness that God went to the cross in person to reveal the depth of God’s love for the world. To show us the path of Christly love, the only love that can heal this world.

If we walk away from the cross happy that we’re personally forgiven and miss the greater point, that this is the love we’re called to live ourselves, we’ve missed everything. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” When we walk away from the cross, knowing that in this cross we see how much God loves us, the next realization is, that’s our path, too.

A path of vulnerable, self-giving love. With no promises that we won’t be hurt. Only the greater promise that the God who made all things is confident this path will heal the world.

So how are we doing on this one?

How are we doing loving our political enemies, who support and endorse things that cut us to the heart? How is our love for them growing? How is our prayer for those folks? Are we seeking God’s love for them?

How are we doing loving those who share the name of Christ with us but say and do things we’re convinced are not of Christ? Things that break our hearts and enfuriate us? How is our love for them growing? How is our prayer for those folks? Are we asking God to bless them, make them whole?

How are we doing loving those in our lives who have offended us, betrayed us, abandoned us? Those in our families from whom we’re estranged? Those whom we’ve written off because we can’t stand them? How’s our love for them growing? How is our prayer for those folks?

Oh, these are hard words Jesus gives us today. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” How much we’d rather not hear these words, how often we avoid them!

But in our hearts, hearts shaped by the endless love of God in Christ we’ve experienced, we know our Lord is right. This is the only way to heal this world. When one at a time, people do something different than what everyone else does, and love their enemies. Pray for those who persecute them.

This healing is so important, but we fear being the only ones loving as Christ.

The risk in vulnerable love like Christ’s is that we’ll be hurt. Others might not return the same love. We hesitate to give ground, sacrifice ourselves even for the ones we love, because we’re afraid others might take advantage of that. What if we’re the only ones doing this?

If it helps, Jesus says we might very well be. This whole command is surrounded by his expectation that we do things differently than the rest of the world. God’s hope is this love will spread to the rest of the world, but at the beginning, it might be a lonely path.

But Paul gives this gift today: “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” So far as it depends on you. That’s all we have. We can’t control what others will do to us, in return for our love and prayers. That’s why Paul says, “if it is possible.” Others might not treat us peaceably. But that’s out of our control. So far as it depends on us, we live in peace and love.

There’s great freedom in knowing we’re not responsible for the whole world’s healing. Just our own part in it. That we can do.

“Goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate.”

In this hymn, Archbishop Tutu deepens the grace of Paul’s words today: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” This is the great promise of the cross. God’s love faced death, torture, hatred. But the power of the Triune God’s love destroyed the power of pain and hate and death forever. “Life is stronger than death,” the hymn also sings.

And so goodness is stronger than evil, too. Love is stronger than hate. And this frightening path we’ve tried to avoid, a path we’ve hoped Jesus didn’t really mean to call us down, is the path to life and healing and love and hope for this world.

That’s the reward. That’s the prize. A healed, whole, abundant, life-filled world for all. That’s what Christ’s love in us will bring.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Week 4: “Christ in All”

Vicar Kelly Sandin
   Texts: Matthew 15:21-28; Colossians 3:1-11

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

Humans were created in the image and likeness of God. We are diverse and collectively represent the many facets of God. Each one of us is part of the beautiful mosaic needed to complete God’s creative image. Yet, we’ve decided certain pieces are of little value. We’ve tossed out some, with preference over others, and in doing so we’ve distorted the likeness of God.

Even Jesus seemed challenged by this when he went into Gentile territory and encountered a Canaanite woman. She had two strikes against her, Gentile and female. Social and religious customs would dictate not speaking to her, but since she shouted so loudly, she definitely got attention. At first, Jesus ignored her disturbance. It was the disciples who couldn’t take it. To them, sending her away was the only solution. But Jesus, instead, decided to give it to her straight. She was outside the realm of his mission and he wasn’t sent to help her people. Not having it, she knelt before him pleading. Again he retorted and she persisted, finding loopholes in his analogy until, amazingly, he changed his mind.

It may not have been Jesus’ timing to include the Gentiles, but that didn’t prevent him from having a conversation with the Canaanite woman, even if forbidden. Jesus learned from her and was moved into action. Imagine the life change for the woman and her daughter. What Jesus modeled was the willingness to learn another’s point of view. Rather than send her packing, he engaged her intellectually. He spoke truth and she countered it. She was desperate for the one thing she knew he could do. Her persistence and his readiness to listen and learn made all the difference.

While not exactly like the story of Jesus and the Canaanite woman, racism continues today and we lack the dialogue necessary to learn from it and change it. Similar to Jesus, some of us might not be ready for an encounter, but we must, nonetheless, listen to the voices in our community that are shouting. We need only walk out the front doors of our church to see the diversity in our neighborhood. We live and breathe around families worried if one or more of their family members will be deported or incarcerated. Children fear their parent will be taken away. Families are struggling with multiple low paying jobs, while learning English, getting their kids to school, and trying to put food on the table. We have many neighbors of immigrant status needing the Diaper Depot each and every month to save what little money they can. Our black community fears being pulled over because of their pigmentation. There’s discrimination in the housing market and job market based upon race. There are countless judgments toward people of color, whether overt or covert, on a daily basis. And, as a white person, I’ve never had to live like this. I’ve never feared being pulled over. I’ve never thought I might not get a loan if I needed one or get the house in the neighborhood of my choosing. I’ve had to face the fact that because I’m white, I get to walk in this world differently and there’s no way that’s just.

I understand what it’s like living in an area with overt racism. I moved here from Detroit where there’s a huge black and white divide. White flight from Detroit to the suburbs happened decades ago. I learned much later in life that the Detroit neighborhood I was raised in, on the very street I played with my black and white friends, was thought to be lower class white, yet, at the same time, upper class black. I still grapple with this thought.

After being in the Twin Cities for a month or two, I felt this area might be different from Detroit. Maybe it might even be safe for my black friends. I was optimistic. I openly shared my observations with folks. I talked with black friends about their experiences in this area and, to my sadness, what I was hoping for wasn’t true. It was simply more subtle here.

Humans have created a social construct called “race,” never intended by God.

Let’s look again to the theme of our Lenten series from Micah 6:8: “With what shall I come before the Lord?…“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

What is God calling you to do as we live in the tension of racism today? We cannot pretend it isn’t there. That will not create equality. That will not change minds. But, there are many ways to learn more about social justice issues to put racism behind. We can work for a more just and equitable society. We can become aware, if we are not, of our attitudes and actions that perpetuate racism, so we may be challenged to change. We can learn through the power of listening, and through it see the personhood in the other. This exchange will bring life, both to the person sharing and the person listening. It will connect us as humans and bridge our divide. In the midst, God will be present. It will be sacred ground.

As children of God, created in God’s image, we have been clothed with a new self which is being renewed in knowledge according to the likeness of God. In this renewal, Christ is all and in all! Let us remember whose we are in all of our diversity. Let us love all the pieces back into God’s beautiful mosaic and restore our distorted image of God.

Amen.

Week 3: “It Is Not So Among You”

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen; Mount Olive Lutheran Church, Minneapolis
Texts: Galatians 3:26-29; Luke 24:1-12

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

James and John were feeling pretty good about themselves.

They were in the leadership group of the disciples, top three with Peter. They were, they liked to think, Jesus’ right-hand men. In a singularly misguided moment, the brothers asked a favor of Jesus: when he came into glory, could they have the seats of honor, at his right and left? We know the story.

But we need to hear Jesus’ response clearly: You know, he said, that among the nations, the Gentiles, the world, their leaders lord it over the others. “It is not so among you,” he said. (Mark 10:43) “Whoever wishes to be great must be a servant.”

“It is not so among you.” In just a few words Jesus forever declares Christian life counter-cultural, not like the others, not like the world. There’s a new order of how we relate to each other when we are brought into Christ’s life in baptism. We are different than the world.

The great tragedy is the Church of Christ has far too easily kept the ways of the world rather than the ways of Christ. Many times the Church has even justified the world’s way as if Christ demands it, it’s how things were meant to be. One of the Church’s greatest sins in this is the treatment of women for most of the Church’s life.

“Do justice. Love Kindness. Walk humbly with God.”

Micah’s command shapes our midweek Lenten worship this year. This is the faithful response God seeks from us. This Lent we are looking at five areas in our life where these words challenge us, where we ask if we’re doing justice, loving kindness, walking humbly with God.

Three of these are amply commanded in Scripture: welcoming the stranger, the immigrant; caring for those who are poor and hungry; loving our enemies. It’s impossible to read the Scriptures and not find these clear mandates. The other two, the issues of race and gender, are less clearly delineated. Maybe that’s why it took nearly 2,000 years for the Church to face its sin of racism and its sinful treatment of women. Maybe that’s why the Church still struggles with these two things, and in many places hasn’t even begun to address them.

But the more we carefully read Scripture the more we see God views all people and genders as equally beloved, valuable, gifted, and needed. There is ample clarity if we have eyes to see. And none are clearer than the apostle Paul.

Paul’s ringing declaration of the new reality in Christ is a sun shining over the whole of Scripture.

In Christ you all are children of God through faith, Paul says. “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” The radical love of God in Christ reveals that God views all of us as children, without distinction.

This isn’t just rhetoric for Paul. Though many translators, pastors, and theologians try to mask this truth, Paul clearly regarded women as equal co-workers in the faith, using the same terms he used for male leaders. Phoebe, Priscilla, and Junia, for example, were all clearly the same kind of leaders as any of the men in Paul’s congregations.

Jesus obviously treated women as he did men, radically against the culture. He debated theology with them, treated them as equals in conversation, gave them apostolic callings. A number of his disciples, including leaders, were women.

So ask yourself: why have we only noticed this recently?

When you hear the phrase, “Jesus’ disciples,” what first comes to mind? Twelve men? Why is that? What does that say about how you’ve been taught to read the Scriptures? It took until the 1970s for Lutherans to ordain women as pastors, even with the evidence from Paul’s communities. What happened?

It seems clear that, by the end of the first century, women were being sidelined from leadership roles in the Church. We can see evidence in the Timothy letters, supposedly from Paul, but clearly coming from a time decades after his death. The Church may have started to feel its radical acceptance of women was so counter-cultural it was hindering their mission. Maybe people couldn’t handle that women were key Christian leaders.

But our culture shapes us without our being aware of it. The Church was born in a deeply patriarchal society. It may be the next generation of male Christian leaders themselves just got squeamish about having women in leadership. Jesus and Paul, close to the beginning of the movement, started to fade a little into the background, and old habits lingered.

But don’t we see this human nature already in Luke’s Easter story?

The four Gospels clearly agree that the women disciples faithfully watched Jesus’ burial and came, by themselves, with no men, on Sunday morning. They were the first witnesses, and they were sent to declare the good news, to be apostles, to their fellow disciples.

But when they witness, the male disciples dismiss them, calling their story “an idle tale.” The word means “foolishness,” “nonsense.” They didn’t trust that the women were reliable. They were just babbling idiocy. The men had to see for themselves.

Ask any woman today if she’s ever experienced the same situation, where she said something and no one paid attention, but later in the same conversation a man said the same thing and everyone picked up on it and agreed with it. It happens all the time.

This is both our grace and our urgency, that Jesus says it is not so among us. We must make that true.

Women in our culture are regularly harassed sexually, often assaulted. Women are paid on average 20% less than men in our society for doing the same work. Many jobs are still denied women, even if it isn’t openly stated, because they are not seen as capable. We who are men must face this truth: our sisters and daughters and mothers and aunts, equal in God’s eyes, fully gifted as we, consistently face discrimination, harassment, and diminishment.

In Galatians Paul makes an unassailable claim that overrides all other claims about distinctions. It is a travesty of life in Christ that the Church took nearly 2,000 years finally to be dragged into doing what it was already doing at its birth. We still deal with the legacy of a patriarchal culture in our structures, our leadership. We still have serious language issues with regard to women. We still have the reality that, though Jesus called the First Person of the Trinity “Father,” we have too often ascribed maleness to the whole of the Triune God, which is not only heretical but unscriptural. The Church has much to do to live into Jesus’ reality and Paul’s breathtaking claim.

And we need to pay attention to this before we can be a true witness in the world to these injustices. If we are meant to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God,” the Church needs to work on the culture and society to fully welcome all genders into equality of life in all phases. We can start on that now. But we have to clean our own house as we go, and be willing to look into all the dark corners of our prejudice and blindness.

“It is not so among you.” That’s our hope.

In Christ we are drawn into a life where all God’s children, in all our marvelous variety and diversity, are seen and welcomed and treated as equal, as beloved, as blessed, as gifted. We are all made in the image of God. And Christ is life and hope for the whole world because in Christ all are loved, everyone, without exception. There is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, but all are one in Christ Jesus.

That’s the hope the Church has held for 2,000 years, even if we’ve struggled to live it, even if we’ve done sinful things to work against that hope.

But we are in Christ. The Spirit is moving in us, changing us. If we stop resisting the Spirit, and look clearly at the places we need to see uncomfortable truths about ourselves, if we seek as truthfully as we can to be faithful to the mind of Christ, we will together find the path Paul says is the path of life. A path where all are needed and loved, where all are one in Christ Jesus, and in the love of God for this world.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Week 2: “Our Heart”

Vicar Kelly Sandin
   Texts: Luke 16:19-31 

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

The truth is, most of us take eating for granted. We wake up, grab our coffee or tea, have toast, oatmeal, eggs or green smoothies of spinach and mangoes, and begin our day. Lunch is assumed. It’s simply a matter of what. Do we pack it for work, eat at home, find snacks in our office, or do we run to a local restaurant for a quick bite to eat? In fact, after this liturgy there will be a lovingly prepared lunch of soup, bread, and other treats to satisfy our hunger. That’s our tradition. It’s expected. We’ll then go on in our day and afterwards we’ll plan something for dinner. Whether that’s a home-cooked meal, going out, or coming back for soup and bread before evening vespers, there will be food and, likely, snacks before we ever lay our heads in warm beds.

Lazarus had none of this. No food or warm bed. He lay sick and hungry at the gate of a very rich man. The contrast between these two characters in the parable is extreme. The nameless rich man feasted sumptuously every single day, meaning his meals were of great expense. They were lavish and taken for granted. With such exquisite meals it’s curious to know what his reaction would be if his servants didn’t prepare his food to his liking, every day, and whether or not they got to eat this food, too.

Certainly, the rich man had food waste. There would have been plenty to feed many hungry mouths. The problem this parable sets up for us is that the rich man either didn’t have eyes to see Lazarus because of his own self-absorption, or he saw him and didn’t care. Either way, Jesus brings this to our attention as a human condition that is utterly contrary to the way of God. Compare rich man with the dogs in the parable. They had more mercy for Lazarus than any human. They kept him company in his misery and soothed his sores. Perhaps they knew what it was like to be rejected and only saw and sensed a kindred spirit needing love.

Notice, Jesus doesn’t give details about how Lazarus got to this state. That’s not the point. All we know is he’s poor, covered in sores, and longing to fill the void of hunger with whatever falls from the rich man’s table. Obviously, he’s helpless to feed himself. Jesus isn’t judging Lazarus. He simply points out his needs that the rich man could have attended to, but didn’t. Simple food and help for his sores would have been nothing for the rich man to give, yet Lazarus was ignored and eventually died. Starvation and disease took his life.

In death, Lazarus gets to be at the bosom of Abraham. That would be the better translation. He’s carried away by angels to be held in the warmth of Abraham’s bosom. He’s comforted and soothed. He’s cradled and loved. He’s given what he never got in his earthly life. In his death he gets eternal care and affection. He gets more than what he had hoped for at the gate of the rich man.

As opposed to Lazarus, the rich man had his fill in life and in death is tormented. Yet, while dead, and in the agony of flames, the rich man acts with a certain superiority. He sees Lazarus and speaks his name, but only so Lazarus can be of service to him by cooling his burning tongue. Even in torment, the rich man looks at Lazarus as being beneath him. He can’t see him in any other way but less than.

Of course, Father Abraham will not let Lazarus do this. There is a reversal of roles in the parable that recalls the sermon on the plain, earlier in this gospel, where Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled…but woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.”

Jesus has preferential treatment for the hungry and poor and this parable is a wake-up call. The difference between Lazarus and the rich man in their death, with the huge chasm between them and the inability to ever get across that bridgeless divide, is vivid and startling. It reminds me of Ebenezer Scrooge in the Christmas Carol and the ghosts who showed him what would become of him if he continued in his loveless ways.

Our parable today is told as a warning about our indifference, our inaction, our judgement toward the poor and hungry. It’s an opportunity to be introspective and acknowledge, with honesty, our disposition toward those who live in poverty.

As a society we’ve been taught that hard work pays off. That we are to rely upon our own resources and pull our own selves up. Therefore, those who are poor, hungry, or on the streets are often viewed as lazy or just looking for handouts. That they ought to get a job and take care of themselves and that we owe them nothing. We are skeptical of many, thinking they’re conning us and taking advantage. We’ve all been there as to whether or not to do something. And when we don’t our inaction gnaws at us when we walk by and ignore them. That’s God working within us. We do have hearts and it’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we don’t know what to do or don’t want to be fooled, so more often than not we do nothing and then try to justify it.

When I was in Portland, Oregon the homeless were in abundance. They were allowed to lie in front of stores and were not shooed away. There were times I felt I had to step over them. I was overwhelmed with how in my face it was and it was, quite frankly, disturbing. I was asked for money at every turn, so I kept dollar bills ready for when I was. I’ll admit, my motives were less than pure. I was on vacation. It was easier to give than to be harassed or to deal with the integrity issue of saying I didn’t have cash when, in fact, I did. I kept this up for a week. But, if I actually lived there, how could I afford to do that every day? This is what many of us contemplate in the areas we live and in the neighborhood of Mount Olive. We feel helpless to fix or change the chronic circumstances of others and, if we’re truthful, we really don’t want to see it. We want to go on with our lives free from dealing with the impact of poverty in our society. Yet, this parable speaks. God calls us to do something. Our inaction or indifference is noted.

We may not feed every person on the street, but we have voices to fight for and support affordable housing, decent wages, insurance coverage for all, free community gardens, and grocery stores in urban food deserts. This parable is asking for more than quick hand-outs to those who come to our church doors or a dollar bill given to someone begging, as helpful as that might be. It’s deeper than this. It’s about our attitude toward others. It’s about our heart. It’s about whether or not we love our neighbor. Whether or not we can truly look another in the eye and feel the hurting person inside. This is what God is looking for in us. That we love as God loves. That we care as God cares. Jesus’ parable gives space for reflection on our Lenten journey, but also reminds us there’s room for all to be rocked in the bosom of God’s love.

Thanks be to God.

Week 1: “You Were, Once”

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Texts: Deuteronomy 10:12-22; Matthew 2:13-15

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

Alien. Stranger. Sojourner.

Nearly 100 times the Hebrew Scriptures uses these words, with this mandate: welcome, befriend, offer kindness to them. With due respect to some current Christian leaders, immigration is very clearly a Bible issue. And there’s no question where the Scriptures stand.

At the core, the Scriptures tell the story of a world of immigrants and aliens, wandering people who are found by the God of all people and welcomed. Even the Son of God became a refugee when he was only a child. Joseph, Mary, and Jesus look exactly like the refugee families fleeing famine and war and persecution in the Middle East today.

“You shall love the stranger,” Moses says today, “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” This is the heart of the Biblical witness to our identity: remember who you were before you were found by God’s love. Remember that you, too, or maybe your forebears, were an outsider, a stranger. You didn’t belong, and people didn’t welcome you. Now you know you are loved by God forever, offer that love to everyone else.

If once you’ve been welcomed out of the storm into a warm room, with a fire and food and kindness, don’t bar the door behind you. Take turns watching to see if anyone else is lost out there needing to come in.

This is a huge problem in our country right now. It’s one of our oldest problems.

We gladly recite Emma Lazarus’ words on the Statue of Liberty, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.” But it’s not true. It’s not how we behave most times.

In 1798, John Adams’ government passed four Alien and Sedition Acts, making it harder for immigrants to become citizens, giving the president authority to deport or imprison non-citizens who were deemed dangerous or who came from nations the U.S. considered hostile, and giving sweeping power to shut down any who spoke against the government. After Jefferson became president, three of these were repealed. But the law permitting deportation and imprisonment of immigrants who belong to nations we consider enemies remains on the books.

It was picked up again in 1918 and broadened to include even citizens, causing many German-Americans grief and persecution. German language newspapers in the Midwest were bombed, their presses destroyed. People on both sides of my family changed the spelling of their last names so they seemed less German.

FDR picked it up again in World War II to justify the incarceration of thousands of Japanese-Americans and the theft of their lives and property. This is who we truly are. Muslim immigrants are only the latest iteration of our fear of the stranger.

And even without these laws, every wave of immigrants, including many of our grandparents and great-grandparents, faced discrimination, hatred, abuse, simply for being different.

If the words on the Statue of Liberty were actually true of our national character, we would be right in proclaiming them. It’s hard to find an era in our history where the truth wasn’t the exact opposite of these words.

We must be honest with ourselves as the Church, too.

Franklin Graham isn’t the only Christian leader supporting a ban on immigration and the deportation of illegal aliens. Throughout history the Church is commonly on the side of the powers in charge, the side of the status quo, and leaves the stranger, the immigrant, out in the cold.

It’s a basic human challenge: we band together in groups. We were made for companionship. But pretty quickly we act as if the group is only valuable and safe if we control who’s in and who’s out. If we can close the doors to some people, somehow we feel better about who we are.

So the Church too often has been on the wrong side of history. We who have been welcomed by God in Christ without our doing anything have then tried to shut the door to anyone else, at least anyone who isn’t like us. We’ll deal with this more in a couple weeks, but our history on race and slavery is just one example of Christians happily accepting the Good News of the grace of God and just as happily refusing it to others. In the history of immigrants in this nation, it’s most often Christians leading the charge against the outsiders, even against fellow Christians. My Irish Catholic forebears were hated by good American Lutherans, some of whom were probably my relatives, too.

We shut the doors to others because we are afraid.

Our fear of the other is deep-rooted, and until we name it and face it, it will continue to drive us. We fear those we don’t understand, those who behave differently than we, those with different cultures and customs. We struggle to shake that fear, so much so that once we get used to one group, we’ll find another to fear.

So Christ first always tries to ease our fear. We hear “do not be afraid” often, and it is more than just words. Trusting we belong to God’s love forever means we can learn, through the grace of the Spirit, to let go of our fear of the other, and be welcoming to all.

This congregation has learned that over the years and it’s almost second nature to us. But we still have times when we’re challenged to keep that hospitality. Our old fears crop up just when we thought they’d gone forever.

As we are filled with God’s grace in this place, we pray that we are also given a spirit of peace and hope, and not one of fear. So we can love. And so we can deal with the question of barriers and doors more hopefully and honestly.

Because Christ blows open all doors, and not just on Easter Day.

Here, in this place, we are welcomed in God’s love, even if we felt outsiders before. We belong.

But Christ never lets us stop there. To follow Christ is to break down all barriers between all people. Jesus frequently got into trouble for talking to and welcoming people he wasn’t supposed to welcome. To belong to the family of Christ is to belong to a family with no doors, no walls, no barriers. As Paul has said, there is no longer Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, but all are one in Christ Jesus.

But that’s also our great joy: if there are no walls, doors, or barriers, we also can never be left out in the cold. Once we’ve found God’s warmth and love, how then can we likewise envision ever leaving someone else out in the cold? And once we’ve enjoyed the freedom of this country, how can we refuse it to others?

This is a non-negotiable truth for any who wish to follow Christ: all are neighbors to us, all are loved by God, and all are welcome.

It is the very love of God in Christ that we know that breaks open our hearts. That love takes away our fear of the stranger. That love can open our doors, take down our walls, and help us reach out to those who are strange to us. When we do that here, and in our daily lives, we can also work with others in this country to make our nation live up to what we hope is its destiny as a home for any who seek a home.

You once were strangers yourselves, God says to us. But now you belong, and are welcomed, loved, forgiven, graced. Go, and be that love and welcome and forgiveness and grace to the stranger. There is room enough for all in God’s reign.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen