It is enough for the healing of this world when God and we work together; then miracles happen in God’s divine grace and our human partnership.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18, year A
   Texts: Matthew 14:13-21; Isaiah 55:1-5

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

The crowd was overwhelming.

We’ve heard 5,000. That’s a lot. But Matthew very clearly counts 5,000 men, apart from women and children. If there were at least as many women as men, if half the people brought one child, both conservative guesses, there were at least 15,000 people fed that day. 15,000 people among whom Jesus walked and healed and blessed. 15,000 people with deep needs, in poverty, struggling with illness, suffering under oppression.

Overwhelming might be an understatement.

And it feels familiar. Millions suffer in our world, close by in our city and nation and far away on the other side of this planet. Oppression, war, violence, racism, sexism, all the systemic things people do that harm and kill others. Starvation, loss of home and life from climate change, poverty, homelessness, inequal distribution of resources, all the particular sufferings that afflict the creation and all within it. It’s hard to know where to begin, or if our puny efforts do anything. Overwhelming is an understatement.

Overwhelming is our link to this story. What happened in this encounter between overwhelming need and Christ and his followers offers hope when we, too, face overwhelming need and recognize that we, too, are Christ’s followers.

The ultimate hope we have, the ultimate plan of God, is that the world, like the crowds, is fed, satisfied, whole.

Not just for a day. But for good. God has entered the world to fill it with steadfast, sure love, as the prophet says today, the only thing that really satisfies. A few verses later, we’re promised that God’s Word will always do what God wants it to do. So God plans on bringing healing to this world, not just for one meal, but true healing, justice, and peace for this creation. And God will accomplish this.

But what we learn in this story of bread and fish and thousands of needy is how this healing will be accomplished. We learn it will not be enough, the healing will not satisfy, until we understand and live out what Jesus is trying to teach the disciples today. If we understand how God’s Word does what God needs.

Our first learning begins by hearing what Jesus tells the disciples.

The disciples, facing massive, hungry crowds, and the end of a long day, ask Jesus to send them away for food. Instead, Jesus says, “you give them something to eat.”

The disciples weren’t out of line. They had tiny resources, two fish and five loaves. There were thousands in need. It was reasonable to send them away.

Sometimes we look at our meager resources and at the overwhelming problems of the world and also think, “they should really go somewhere else.” But Jesus says, “you give them something to eat”. It’s our problem to solve.

God didn’t come into this world in Christ to heal it by being a divine vending machine, solving all problems. Jesus did miracles out of compassion. But his mission was to draw all people into God’s life, into the role of Christ, so the people of the world help solve the problems of the world.

God isn’t satisfied, it isn’t enough, fixing all things for us.

To be fair, the disciples didn’t ask Jesus to feed the crowds. But too often the Church sees the overwhelming problems of the world, sits on our collective hands, and says, “God, do something.”

People look at the world’s problems and conclude either God isn’t loving or God doesn’t exist. Rarely do they consider a third option: God exists, and God is loving, but God wants us to be a part of the healing of this world.

Jesus desires that all his followers become Christ for the healing of the world. It’s how all will be reached, and how Christ’s followers grow into who we’re meant to be. Popping something out of the divine vending machine at each crisis might miraculously fix all things. But God’s people won’t become who God dreams.

God knows we have all we need to feed and house everyone, end war and violence, build a just society. God needs our hands and wisdom and strength to use what we have been given to heal the world, and become who we are meant to be.

Nothing less will satisfy God.

But sometimes we have the opposite problem. We get out into the crowds and forget that Christ is still with us.

Sometimes we act as if solving all of the world’s problems is our burden alone. We don’t take it to Jesus, like the disciples did.

In the past half-century or more the Church has done a remarkable turn-around, taking on God’s core issues of justice and peace for all. We’ve moved from a view of church that exists solely for members to have certainty of heaven after death to a Church whose calling it is to be Christ in the world, to end injustice and oppression and poverty and all the world’s problems.

Except we often forget God is still involved in the healing. Jesus said, “you give them something to eat,” but he also poured divine power into this supper and provided a miraculous meal. Surely some there also had brought their own food and shared. But that doesn’t explain the astonishing twelve basketsful of leftovers, far more food than could be accounted for by anything but God’s miraculous action.

We are sent as Christ into the world, but we’re not solely responsible for Christ’s work. No matter how meager our five loaves and two fish seem, God always transforms our scarcity into abundance for all.

In fact, this story teaches us that God’s love is the beginning and the ending of all healing.

Do you see? It’s Jesus who walks the crowd during the day, healing, blessing. We only hear of the disciples in the evening, when they raise the question of supper. And when this meal was over, first Christ sent the disciples away, then dismissed the crowds himself.

Christ’s love and compassion for the crowds preceded and succeeded the disciples’. God’s love for the suffering and dying of this world precedes and succeeds ours. God’s love for Mount Olive was here before any of us, and will be here well after us. There is no pain of this world into which God hasn’t already invested far more than we.

The Triune God is there in the overwhelming pain and suffering already, is coming with us, and will be there after we’re done. These overwhelming problems aren’t ours to solve alone. God will ensure healing happens. While also saying, “you heal them. You feed them. You make peace.”

Nothing less will satisfy the world’s needs.

This is God’s path to the world’s healing. And our path.

When we’re neither satisfied sitting back waiting for God, nor deluded into thinking the world’s overwhelming weight lies on our shoulders alone.

When Christ draws us into the heart of God, into the life in Christ that is ours, and together we go out into the crowds and are Christ. And they are Christ to us.

And when God’s mighty power in us and in the world turns death into life, despair into hope, scarcity into abundance. Until all are satisfied. All have enough. And God’s whole creation is healed.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

Jesus gives us pictures that open up God’s realm to us when we contemplate them and hold them in our minds and hearts: God’s inseparable love is the treasure beyond price that we find.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 17, year A
Texts: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52; Romans 8:26-39

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

Understanding how God works and rules in the world isn’t easy.

We know how the world has worked for thousands of years, how power is kept and used. People claim power, use it to benefit themselves, people tend toward self-centeredness and self-interest. Whether we’re talking about people controlling their families or at work, or even how we rule politically, it’s the same “get what you can for yourself” kind of pattern that repeats endlessly over time and cultures.

We might assume that God rules in this world the same as we. Many Christians claim that. But the Son of God came to us from the heart of the Triune God, wore our flesh, and showed us that God’s way of rule is dramatically different from our way. Jesus taught us of the realm of God, how the Triune God works and rules in the world, how God is in charge.

Sometimes Jesus gave us ideas: that God’s realm is found in love of God and love of neighbor; that forgiveness is the center of God’s relationship with the world and our relationships with each other.

But sometimes words aren’t enough, so Jesus used pictures. Parables. Images of what God’s realm is like. Today we have five such pictures. Rather than converting them into neat and tidy teaching, let’s use them as Jesus intended, as windows into the mystery of God’s rule. The images themselves are the gift, they’re what we want to take away from today. When we contemplate these pictures, we’re drawn deeper into Christ, into the heart of God. We begin to see the truth of God’s rule and realm in this world, and the life God offers all things through it.

Now, the world’s way demands instant gratification, immediate achievement of goals, with minimal sacrifice or effort.

No matter how complicated a problem, we want results now, from cosmetics to politicians. Even if a better solution exists, if it takes time and sacrifice, we take the quicker option.

But consider the mystery of a seed, Jesus says. Everything the plant will be is inside it already. The tiniest of seeds can grow to enormous, shading plants. But you wouldn’t know either of these by looking at that dead seed. That’s how God rules in the world.

Envision a seed, then, when your faith is tiny or weak. See that the full child of God in Christ you are meant to be is already within you, contained in God’s planting. See that a seed has no visible power, but it can break apart concrete and reach the sky.

What else can you see in the seed?

Or consider yeast, Jesus says. Without it, you’d have a lump of paste. But these tiny organisms eat and ferment and produce carbon dioxide, and empower a golden loaf able to feed those who hunger. That’s how God works in the world.

Imagine yeast, then, when you feel that the good you do in the world is insignificant, a tiny contribution. Consider how these tiny beings affect many things around them and make growth and healing far greater than their size. Consider what happens when there’s no yeast.

What else can you see in the yeast?

Again, in the world, we cling to our tribes and clans, and judge those not like us, to feel safe and secure.

Whether family or ethnicity or belief system or even the human species, we judge who is in with us and who is out. Whether it’s genocide or destructive pollution, shunning of a family’s black sheep or ignoring the suffering of those who aren’t us, this is how the world works.

But look at someone fishing with a net, Jesus says. The net drags through the water and picks up everything in its path. Not just fish, but trash, driftwood, everything, Jesus says. Look and see: God’s realm is this net, so we’re in the net, not in charge of it.

Contemplate this, Jesus says, that God holds the net, and all things – not even just people – are included. Ponder that God alone decides what to keep and what to throw. Who knows if the One who draws a net through the world can use an old boot, sees beauty in a broken wheel?

What else can you see in the net?

We already know how God will value all things in the net.

At the cross, Christ gave his life for love of the whole creation, the cosmos itself, to draw all things into the heart of God’s love. Paul tells us today that nothing in all creation, not present or future, not any powers or evil, nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing. And Paul shares Jesus’ inclusive vision, declaring that the whole creation is being brought into this heart of God, this inseparable love. Not just our kind of humans, not even just humans themselves, the whole creation.

For the One who draws in the net, the judgment over all things inside is “this is good and precious to me.” The Netminder has need for all things in it, broken or whole, ugly or beautiful, strong or weak. No matter how we might judge what jostles alongside us, or they us, the only judgment that counts is the inseparable love of God in Christ for the whole creation. God’s inclusive net is where our true safety and security is found.

Now, we know our world values much that we’re taught will satisfy us, make us happy, but don’t.

We don’t get to take our wealth with us in death. We don’t find happiness in selfish gain. If we need more things to be satisfied we never will be. All we’re taught to strive for ultimately leaves us empty.

But see this realm of God? Jesus says. When you dwell on the seed and yeast and dragnet, do you see this treasure? If you were looking the world over for the most precious thing, like an enormous pearl, and you saw this realm of God I’ve shown you, you’d stop immediately, sell everything, to have that treasure of inseparable love and subversive grace.

Or maybe you weren’t searching, you just happened on this treasure of God, Jesus says, when you weren’t hoping to find anything. Like walking in a field and being surprised. You’d still immediately give anything for this treasure.

When we hear Jesus, see his love at the cross, when our eyes open to the image of a seed planted that will shade the world, a tiny growth that will produce bread for all, a net that will bring all things into God’s love, when these images sit in our hearts and minds, we begin to grasp what real treasure is.

And when we contemplate these images, we also see the path of the cross.

The path of the cross is a way of patience and trust in hidden growth, subversive grace, an enduring of “already but not yet” in our personal faith and spiritual lives, in the life and healing of the world. There aren’t quick answers, but seed and yeast show God will give growth and life.

The path of the cross is a way of learning God’s eyes of judgment instead of our own. There’s patience here, too, as we bump in this net alongside all sorts of things and people we neither like nor understand, whose value and worth elude us. Because all are loved by God, we are asked to love all, and that’s costly and painful. But contemplate the great joy that we, too, are in this net of inseparable love.

The path of the cross is a way of letting go of all that keeps us from the true treasure. Dying to the ways of the world, letting go of our selfishness and self-centeredness. Our habits that hurt the world and others. Our need to be right. Our need to be in control.

As we turn our eyes to this pearl, the treasure of this astonishing love of God, nothing else matters for us and for the world. Once we see the treasure of God’s realm, meant for the whole creation, no sacrifice or loss is anything compared to being drawn into that love.

God’s realm in this world is deep mystery.

There are few easy explanations, we rarely have a moment where it’s all clear.

But if we contemplate these simple pictures, take them home, bring them into our hearts and minds in prayer, the Spirit will open our eyes. That’s Christ’s promise. We’ll see growth from seeds planted in us and the world, rising dough creating food, the joy of sharing God’s net of inseparable love. We’ll see ever more clearly the precious treasure of life within God’s heart that Christ is offering the whole creation.

And the best treasure of all? We don’t need to understand the seed’s mystery to enjoy shade, or understand science to delight in bread. We don’t need to understand why God’s judgment is always love to be swept up into the net of life in Christ. God’s realm will be, even if it remains mystery to us.

This is what God’s realm looks like. Seed. Yeast. Net. Treasure. This is how God is working and ruling in the world. God give us eyes to see.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

God’s Word will do what God purposes, always. That’s our ground for living and hope for healing of ourselves and the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15, year A
Texts: Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23; Isaiah 55:10-13

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 today, let’s set aside the interpretation we just heard.

We understand why the Evangelists included it. The early believers struggled with why sometimes their work bore good fruit, people joined Christ’s way, and sometimes no matter how faithfully they shared the Good News, it wasn’t received or rooted. Jesus’ interpretation helps face that frustration.

But Jesus didn’t tell parables that had only one interpretation. When he needed to speak that clearly, he did. “Love one another as I have loved you” is direct speech needing little explanation.

But some truths about God and the world aren’t easily packaged in a simple teaching. So Jesus also told parables. Stories, pictures revealing a deep wisdom about God’s reign. Every parable Jesus told is a jewel that, if held to the light and turned, or held in a different light, reveals further facets of God’s truth and wisdom. This interpretation here is only one facet.

Today we heard this parable alongside God’s word to the prophet Isaiah. In that light, when we turn it carefully, a whole new grace in these words is revealed to us.

God declares a promise to Isaiah that transforms our faith.

God says: you see the rain and snow fall, water the earth, and help life grow and sprout? That’s like my Word that I speak into the world. Like rain and snow, it will always bear fruit. “My Word that goes out from my mouth shall not return to me empty,” says the Lord, “but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.”

How have we forgotten this? This gives hope to all our attempts to be obedient and faithful, confidence to our footsteps and our voices, encouragement to our hearts. God’s Word will accomplish what God wants, always.

Now, what does this tell us about Jesus’ parable?

Suddenly what we thought was certain about this story isn’t.

In Isaiah’s light, God’s Word is the rain and snow, not the seed. So if God’s Word always nurtures the fruit God needs, can we hear this parable as not about the visible harvests at all?

Isaiah’s light focuses us on the Sower, not the harvests. Jesus describes a Sower who walks over the ground, throwing seed everywhere and anywhere. This looks careless, but that’s how seed was then sown. Today, agriculture has eliminated the obvious problems of this Sower. Farmers long have removed the rocks, killed the weeds, prepared the ground. And none of them, for centuries, has run their planter over the road.

But what if the Sower isn’t careless at all? What if the Sower knows birds will eat the seeds on the path, and the sun will wilt the plants in rocky ground, and weeds will challenge the new growth in places, and still plants seeds there?

If God’s Word always bears the fruit God wants, always accomplishes what God wills, we know two things about the path, the rocks, and the weeds. We know we can’t see how planting seeds there is helpful or good. But we also know God sees something important in that planting, and that at some point God’s rain and snow will produce what God needs there.

This has profound implications for our lives in the world and our own journeys of faith.

We struggle with the crises of our world, and our involvement in them, but we might have forgotten Isaiah’s word.

Systemic racism, the devastation of climate change and the injustice and oppression it causes, the wicked systems that create rich and poor and deepen those realities almost without conscious thought or effort, the evil distribution of resources that forces millions to die of hunger every year, all these cause us great anxiety and stress. We struggle to know how to begin to turn these into paths of healing.

But God says, “My Word will accomplish what I purpose, and succeed in that for which I sent it.” Do we not believe this? Hasn’t God promised over and over to draw all races and nations together? Hasn’t God not only called us to do justice and care for the poor but also said “I myself will care for the poor and needy, and feed the hungry”? We can’t read God’s Scriptures without seeing God’s promise to personally bring justice and peace.

Of course we still follow our own call to serve. But now we do it with the confidence that God’s promise is to heal all things. God’s seed will bear fruit, the rain of God’s Word will see it happen.

We struggle with being Christ in our own lives, but again may have forgotten God’s promise.

The more we listen to Christ the more we realize the challenges of Christ’s path. We realize our own implicit, unthinking racism, our embeddedness in a capitalist culture that benefits us while harming others, our sinful thoughts and words and actions even to those we love. We long to be Christ, to love as Christ, to witness to Christ’s love. But we stumble in our Christly, self-giving love, and sometimes despair at that.

Have we forgotten God’s promise? “My Word will accomplish what I purpose, and succeed in that for which I sent it.” Isn’t the Bible full of promises of God to change us, make us holy? Aren’t we joined to Christ’s vine, with the Spirit’s fruits borne in us? Hasn’t God promised through Paul that we are new children of God, a new creation? We can’t read God’s Scriptures without hearing God’s promise to make us new, to make us Christ’s love in the world.

Of course we still heed our call to walk Christ’s path. But now we walk with God’s hope and courage, knowing we will become what we are meant to be. God promised. And God’s promises always, always bear the fruit God needs.

Seen in the light of Isaiah, this jewel Jesus gives us reminds us that we can’t always believe what we see.

We look at a dead Son of God hanging on a cross, and can’t see how God’s love can heal the world. But Christ is risen, and love defeats death, and Isaiah was right. God’s Word will always do what God intends.

So what we think we see isn’t always truth. The birds eat seed, rocks push plants into the sun, weeds choke. The world rolls on, systems take deeper root, our efforts to be Christ fail.

But if God’s Word always succeeds, we don’t know what we’re really seeing. In the devastation of any of the world’s problems, in the grief and frustration we find in our failure to be Christ, we see only one piece of God’s strategy. Just because we can’t see how God will make life out of death, hope out of despair, joy out of sorrow, doesn’t mean God won’t. The cross taught us that. Justice will prevail, healing will happen in our hearts and in the world, those who are poor will be restored, those who are hungry will be fed, and God’s reign of peace will heal this universe. God has promised it.

The Sower knows what the Sower is doing, and we shouldn’t be distracted when we don’t think we see results. God’s Word will always do what God needs it to do.

This transforms everything.

Even our understanding of God’s grace. Grace isn’t just needed when we fail. It’s our beginning. The Great Sower begins with grace, our lives are born in God’s grace. God’s grace is the source, the font of life, the rain and snow that water the earth. All is born in God’s grace, and that changes everything. All we fear, all we struggle against, all we have to do as Christ, all that work is born from the womb of God’s eternal grace and love.

If we begin Christ’s path supported by God’s grace, how can we fail? If we follow our call to heal this world supported by God’s promise, how can we fail?

“My Word will accomplish what I purpose, and succeed in that for which I sent it.” That’s where we always begin. And end.

So, let’s get to work.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

There is hope in living and loving as Christ, and there is hope in failing to live and love as Christ, for Christ bears the load with us, in good and ill, and helps us walk the path of Christly love.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 14, year A
Texts: Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30; Romans 7:15-25a

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

Paul of Tarsus was a saint. The Church says so.

We know it is so. His brilliant and passionate proclamation of God’s love in Christ, his tireless mission work, creating congregations across Asia Minor and Europe, his letters that still inspire and move us into faith, all witness to the holy grace that he was.

But sometimes he could be a jerk. He struggled with arrogance, had a temper problem, would sometimes wish terrible things on his opponents. Paul wasn’t always a gracious, kind, Christ-like person. And this is after his conversion from being a persecutor of the Church. Rightly or wrongly, there are many who do not see a saint when they consider Paul.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta was a saint. The Church says so.

We know it is so. Her life among the poor is inspiring to us all. Dedicating her life and all she had to caring for those on the fringes of the fringe, those whom so many had abandoned and ignored, her establishing of clinics, orphanages, and hospices, and an order of sisters who expanded her ministry, all witness to the holy grace that she was.

But she struggled with faith, often feeling God’s absence from her life. After her death, her writings were made public which described a deep sense of alienation from God lasting many years. During her process of canonization, some accused her of misusing donations, and said her methods weren’t intended to bring those who were poor out of poverty but to keep them there. Rightly or wrongly, there are some who do not see a saint when they consider Teresa.

What of the saints in our lives?

Think of those whose holiness of life and word inspired you, taught you, shaped you. Those about whom you and I could tell stories of awe and wonder, whose lives are ones for which we are still thankful. If the Church in East and West has not seen fit to formally canonize them, nonetheless we witness to the holy grace that they were.

Yet can we not also tell other stories of them which don’t neatly fit the title “saint”? There are fourteen names I name in the final petition of our prayers each week, when we each name our own beloved dead, fourteen loved ones from my mother to my uncles and all sorts of relatives in between. Some are dear models of faith to me. Not one was free of failure. With each I could tell of things that weren’t Christ-like. So could you of yours. Depending on which part of the story we tell of these who were holy in our lives, others might not see saints when they consider these people.

But think of all these and ask, are you ashamed of their failings?

I doubt it. We find inspiration and hope in their lives, and always will. People like Paul still teach us with their words, and always will. People like Teresa still inspire us with their devoted ministry, and always will. People whom we name and love still are the lights by which we first saw in the darkness, and will always be blessed in our hearts and minds.

We don’t ignore their failings, but we aren’t embarrassed by them. Their mistakes aren’t a source of shame. We love them for who they are and for the blessing they have been.

So why has the Church so long served the main course of the Good News of God’s love in Christ covered in a rich sauce of shame? For centuries now, we have been taught to be ashamed of our sin, to look at the lives of saints and note how unlike them we are, to hang our heads in humiliation before God as if we aren’t worthy. Only then are we told we can know we are loved by God’s grace.

But this is in direct conflict with the Scriptures, with the teaching, life, death and resurrection of Christ, with the teachings of the apostles and the very saints themselves, even our own. What we hear from all these is that we are beloved of God, worthy of God’s deepest attention, even to the point of God taking on our humanity alongside us. These witnesses name our sin not to humiliate, but to correct. They name it as we name the sins of our saints, as a truth needing forgiveness, not a truth that changes our view of the person.

It’s time we learned from the saints and Christ Jesus to set aside our shame and finally hear the real Good News.

Instead of shame, from the saints we receive the grace of a shared struggle.

Paul’s words from Romans 7 comfort and bless us. We hear from the apostle who taught us of God’s love for us, that he struggled to do right. “I can will what is right, but I can’t do it,” he says. “For I don’t do the good I want, but the evil I don’t want is what I do.”

We understand this in our bones. But what a gift for this saint and apostle to say, “I’m like you. This path of Christ is hard for me, too, and even when in my inmost heart I want to follow Christ, I don’t always do it.” What a blessing to hear!

Likewise, Teresa’s writings themselves give us hope, because her life of faithfulness continued in spite of her sense of a missing faith. She longed for God’s closeness, but she kept serving and loving as Christ. What a gift that is in our own times of God’s silence!

All these aren’t blessings to us because they were perfect, but because they share the same struggle we do. The best of them, if we read their writings, or remember their conversations with us, freely admit their failures to be like Christ.

When we look at the problems of the world, and at our own lives where we’re complicit in so many unspoken and unexplored areas, when we realize how hard it is to walk as Christ, even though we want to so badly, we can see around us these saints, not on pedestals but right next to us, who say, “I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard.”

But then they all say, turn to Christ for help. All these saints who share this struggle with us have this in common: they drew hope and life and strength from Christ, not themselves.

Instead of shame, from Christ we receive the grace of a shared burden.

Jesus never shamed people, or humiliated them. Yes, he called out sin, named it. But always in love, always ready to accept those who strayed. He said his job was to seek and find the lost and bring them home.

It is this crucified and risen Christ who now says to us: “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Christ Jesus says we are beloved and that as we walk the cross-shaped path that frightens and daunts and intimidates us, we do not walk it alone. In fact, we are yoked to Christ, each of us, like a fellow ox. The yoke is this life in Christ we seek. And Christ is harnessed alongside us, so we are pulling together, bearing the burden together.

When we stumble and fall, because we do, Christ doesn’t shame us or humiliate us. Christ picks up more of the weight, helps us right ourselves, and off we go again, forgiven and loved still, on this path of love of God and love of neighbor.

When Paul asks today who will save him from his struggle, he says it is God who does it, through Christ. And partly he means it is God who forgives him. But what Paul really desires is help with the struggle, help carrying the burden.

That’s the promise Christ gives Paul, and Teresa, and all the saints. And us. To pull alongside us, help us when we stumble, and get us going forward in love again.

This is the grace of our struggle to faithfully follow Christ’s path. We never carry the weight alone.

When we grasp this, it’s like the sun breaking through dark clouds. We find hope and joy in living and loving as Christ, of course. But because Christ is yoked alongside us, we also find hope and joy in failing to live and love as Christ. Because in our weakness we are made strong. In our failing we are made perfect and in our failing we are also the most aware that we are always joined to Christ, and therefore to the love of the Triune God.

Christ’s path often seems overwhelming. But once we truly see the witness of the saints in failure as well as grace, once we remember who’s yoked alongside us, we finally understand how this yoke can be easy, this burden light. “Thanks be to God through Christ Jesus our Lord!” Paul says. Thanks be to God indeed!

In the name of Jesus. Amen

Go in peace. Serve the Lord. This is our promise and hope, that we go out into the world always in Christ’s peace. This is also our calling, our sending, that we go as Christ’s peace.

Vicar Kelly Sandin
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13, year A
Texts: Matthew 10:41-42, Romans 6:12-23

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

Most Sundays, except the Easter season, we end our liturgy with “Go in peace. Serve the Lord.” This dismissal is a commissioning after we’ve gathered to hear God’s word for us and have come to the table for the meal that sustains us. The meal that promises forgiveness of sin. The meal that is the true body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. The sacrament of bread and wine that fills us with God’s presence. And then we’re sent. Go in peace. Serve the Lord.

Last week I was struck with the thought, right before I was about to speak the words of this dismissal, “Am I really thinking about what I’m saying?” Go in peace. Serve the Lord. Do we truly hear this sending? It isn’t simply the signal that the liturgy is over so we can now have coffee hour treats or get on with the plans for our day. We are literally being authorized to go into the world, now that we’ve worshipped God and been filled with God. And with God in us, we are to go and serve.

Whoever welcomes you, Jesus says, welcomes me.

These were the parting words of a long list of instructions Jesus shared with his twelve disciples before they were sent on their mission to proclaim the good news of God in Christ. They were given authority to do all kinds of things from curing the sick to casting out demons. And while doing so, they were to rely upon the hospitality of others. They had to be humble and receive food and housing from whomever would give it. And it wouldn’t be easy. They would be persecuted from town to town, but were told to let their peace come upon every house they entered and if no one welcomed them they were to let their peace return to them and move on. Shake the dust off their feet. In other words, truly go in peace because whatever happened, whether the twelve were welcomed or not their peace wouldn’t be taken from them. Jesus covered all the bases. They had what they needed for their mission, but that didn’t mean they weren’t afraid.

Whoever welcomes you, Jesus says, welcomes me and the one who sent me. Even if it’s simply giving a cup of cold water. The one giving it was welcoming God into their presence and whoever received the disciple with such a gift, a cup of water, would not lose their reward. They would see God, not only in the promised life to come, but in the present, in the faces of those they welcomed.

As the church, we continue Jesus’ ministry. God is with us in the going as we are welcomed and share the love of God in Christ Jesus. Share the reason for our hope. And for this to happen there needs to be strangers to meet and greet. Strangers who will see Christ in us. It’s hard to receive a welcome if we don’t go outside that which is comfortable. We must go and trust that God is with us and in us and will provide. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

Last weekend I went to the Pride Fest right after liturgy to represent Mount Olive as a welcoming church. I kept my collar on, but contemplated not wearing it at all. In truth, sometimes I just want to blend in with the crowd and not get all the looks I often get while wearing it or have the possible expectations that come with it. As I was searching for my booth that I couldn’t find, a young man sitting on a bench met my eye with his and in a half second his whole face lit up with a beaming smile as he leaned toward me with expectancy. He seemed so happy to see me. Of course it was the collar that enabled this to happen. I smiled back and he asked if I would sit with him. In that holy moment, while I came to Pride to do the welcoming, I was the one welcomed. I’m fully aware it was the collar that enabled this privilege, but I almost didn’t wear it and would have missed an opportunity of being God’s presence in the world. Because of it, I was able to hear his pain, but also his faith. God was indeed present as I listened and while we held hands to pray. And then, since I still needed to get to my booth, he grabbed a map and helped me find it. He had given me more than a cup of cold water to quench my thirst that afternoon. His welcoming spirit allowed two strangers to connect in the middle of a crowded park and experience the mystery of the Triune God.

Whoever welcomes you, Jesus says, welcomes me and the one who sent me.

The joy of being received, of being welcomed is transforming. Jesus welcomes all of us with grace we don’t deserve, as we are, but doesn’t leave us that way. God’s grace changes us and enables us to love. Through God’s love we become right with God. We are forgiven. Life becomes more holy as we are aligned with God’s will. Having been set free from sin, our hearts want to become more obedient. As we go out and serve, we open ourselves up more and more to receive God’s love that never leaves us the same. Of course, it’s a way of life that requires intentional effort. It will not always come easily. We will miss opportunities and ignore the Spirit’s nudges, but when we do align ourselves with God’s desires we are blessed with unforgettable moments that makes life so worth living.

As we go and carry God with us, sharing the good news, God is welcomed and rewards us in the encounter. The one going and the one receiving is transformed. And while the ultimate reward is eternal life with God, that can never be lost, we also have the joyous reward of being received in the here and now, of truly connecting with a stranger, even for a moment, and experiencing that which is holy.

But the truth is, being welcoming has its own mistrusts and fears. It takes courage to welcome – to open the door and give a cup of water when mistrust of strangers is so prevalent. This can leave us quite vulnerable to all kinds of possibilities. Likewise to be sent brings its fears, as well. We have no idea who it is we are being sent to and what kind of person they might be. Our hesitancy to avoid encounters with strangers is understandable and many of us would rather not do it. It puts us in an extremely vulnerable place. To be obedient to God, to love our neighbor, to see God in them and pray they see God in us is a high calling. Thank God that when our fears get the best of us and we don’t follow through God doesn’t have a score card! However, we also miss out on what could have been when we shrank back from the call and played it safe instead.

As baptized Christians, we carry Christ in us and are given a mission in word and deed to serve others, to be Christ’s presence in the world. Whoever welcomes you, Jesus says, welcomes me. God needs you and all have gifts to share. Some of you are doing street ministry. You’re giving out bottles of water and talking to strangers. Some of you cook community meals and welcome those who walk in the door. Some of you are a voice for social justice and are fighting to have health care for all, advocating for our neighbors being detained and deported, confronting racism against the black community, and fighting for climate justice. Others offer the kindness of a smile and the recognition that they see the stranger among them.

Where is God calling you to serve? Are there neighbors you’ve yet to greet? Are there those you’ve avoided that might yearn to welcome you? God needs your hearts, your hands, and your relentless hope for a better world where all will give and receive God’s love.

In our time of gathering, renewed and strengthened with God’s word and meal, know Christ lives in you and Christ goes with you. In your encounters the Triune God promises to be present. You’re not alone. Go in peace and boldly serve the Lord.

Amen.
POSTED BY PASTOR CRIPPEN AT 12:00 PM 0 COMMENTS
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LABELS: SERMON
SUNDAY, JUNE 25, 2017

How Far?
It is enough to be like our Teacher, Jesus says. But that’s harder than we thought, and asks a lot of us. So it’s good that we are beloved of God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 12, year A
Texts: Matthew 10:24-39; Romans 6:1b-11; Jeremiah 20:7-13; Psalm 69:7-18

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

It is enough, Jesus says, for the disciple to be like the teacher.

Be like Christ, and that’s enough. But how far are we willing to go?

A week ago I came into the office on a Friday. My day off, but I had a couple hours of things I didn’t get done.

As I was finishing, the door rang. Reluctantly, I went down the stairs and found a social worker and an older woman. The woman was homeless, had difficulty with the accessibility of some of the shelters, and this social worker, helping in her off time, was trying to connect her. We were their eighth church.

I told her we weren’t really set up for this, and the shelters we’d recommend were the ones she’d tried. And I sent them to Central Lutheran Church, where they have a restoration center designed specifically to help people who are homeless get off the streets. Help with shelters, financial advice, showers, clothes closet, it’s a wonderful program, and I refer people there a lot.

But as I walked back up the stairs, ready to finish my work and enjoy the rest of my day, this felt too easy. I can justify what I did. I just don’t think I was Christ. I could have taken her in at Mount Olive. But we don’t have a bed, or showers, or adequate coverage of needs. I could have accompanied them to Central, made sure someone was there to connect with, so we weren’t the ninth door closing in her face. Isaiah 58 says we truly serve God when we welcome the homeless poor into our houses. I could have offered to take her home. We have beds and showers, and could have let her stay until she could get settled more permanently. But none of these options even occurred to me until later. It was easy to say, “not here, but there,” and close the door and go up the stairs. That’s right – I didn’t even invite them in. We had this whole conversation at the door.

It is enough, Jesus said, for the disciple to be like the teacher. But how far are we willing to go to be Christ? How far am I?

After last week’s sermon about sharing the heart, the guts of Christ for the world, I had a conversation with someone who thought I could’ve gone further describing our complicity in the problems between police and people of color. I certainly could have. But how far are we willing to dig?

Are we willing to admit most of us live in safe, mostly white bubbles, where problems like this just don’t happen to us, and that’s part of the problem? Are we willing to look deeply into our hearts at the implicit racism there that we don’t want to see? Psychologists have long known that the majority of Americans, when asked, will give answers that say we aren’t prejudiced, or racist, but that when unthinking actions and attitudes are studied, a very different picture emerges, even among those who consider themselves enlightened. It shows most of us have deep-rooted bias and prejudice we don’t want to see or admit. Are we willing to peel away those layers? Dig deep into things that are really hard to get rid of, to be like Christ?

How far will you go?

There’s a struggle to raise the minimum wage in this state to $15 an hour. Our Neighborhood Ministry committee endorses this. But if Minneapolis, or St. Louis Park, or or Apple Valley, or Bloomington, raised the wages of city workers, where will that money come from? Will we who live in these cities pay more in taxes to fairly pay those who keep our cities clean and safe and beautiful? Are we willing to pay more at restaurants and grocery stores? Or will we go to the place that sells things the cheapest, not caring who made it or who worked to get it to us and whether they were paid fairly? How far will you go?

Our economy is unjust, and many work very hard and cannot make a living. The gap between the rich and poor is widening. Laws keep getting made that benefit the one percent, and, if we’re honest, benefit many of us, while making it more and more difficult for those on the edge to survive. The current health care plan in the U. S. Senate will benefit the wealthy of this nation while depriving many who are poor of adequate insurance and care.

But my pension is tied to the stock market. I get regular reports of how my money is growing. How willing am I to poke at this bear? To dig into the reasons that stocks are going up while more and more are falling short of basic necessities? Must I let go of my retirement security so that others can survive? Is that being like Christ?

The problems of our society Christ would heal are so deep and complex that we are complicit in ways we can’t even imagine most days. We’re much more comfortable confessing the petty sins of everyday life and calling it even, than we are taking a hard, close look at all the ways our lives are benefitting from others’ suffering. Taking a hard, close look at all the things we might have to let go of to be like Christ.

It is enough, Jesus says, for the disciple to be like the teacher. But Christ suffered and died for the love he bore in the world. Just trying to be nicer to folks and calling that Christly doesn’t really cut it, if we’re honest.

But God’s Word today helps us discern how far we’re getting toward being Christ.

We’ll know we’re getting closer to Christ when we understand Jeremiah’s anguish today and don’t need to be given context. When we hear Jeremiah talking about his best friends hoping he’ll fail, because he’s always all about this God stuff, or when he says not doing anything makes him burn up inside. When we can say, “I know what you’re saying, Jeremiah,” we’re starting to dig deep enough.

We’ll know we’re getting closer to Christ when we sing a psalm like today and don’t need explanation to understand what it is to feel overwhelmed trying to follow God’s way, like we’re sunk in a swamp. Or when we hear Paul say it is like a death to get rid of the things that are sin in us, the things not of Christ, and we don’t need someone to theologically explain that. When we actually think, “It is like dying sometimes.”

We’ll know we’re starting to dig deep enough when we aren’t shocked by anything Jesus says today. Not shocked that following Christ might lead to breaks in relationships with people we love, or lead to us being mocked by others. Jesus said if they call him the devil, we should expect that, too. We’ll know we’re getting to closer to Christ if we ever are called names for it.

We’ll know we’re closer when we don’t have to ask why Jesus calls this “taking up a cross,” because we have felt what it is to truly sacrifice.

And if we hear today’s readings and say, “It’s not like that for us these days,” that’s a pretty good sign we’re not scratching the surface of being like Christ.

But this is really overwhelming, frightening.

The more we dig, the more we find. The more we pull on threads, the more complex the web. That’s frustrating and scary, overwhelming and tiring. But that’s good news. Because now we can understand the rest of God’s Word today.

We can hear Jeremiah say, in spite of frustration and fear, “The LORD is with me. Sing to the LORD, who delivers my life.” We can hear the psalmist call out for God’s love. We can hear Paul say, yes, it’s dying when we peel away the depth of our sin, but we are joined to Christ’s resurrection. There is abundant life from this death.

And we can finally understand why Jesus says losing our life is actually finding it. As we dig deeper, become more like Christ, we find healing and hope and grace. Where once we protected ourselves and our privilege and our wealth, now in letting go of the things that are not of Christ, all people start to find life and hope. Including us. In letting go of things that are not of Christ, we find don’t need or want them after all. We want the life and love we find in becoming more like our teacher.

And best of all, when we find ourselves overwhelmed and frightened, we can at last hear Jesus’ grace today.

Because at the center of all these challenging words, Jesus says, “Don’t be afraid.” Don’t fear things and people that can’t harm your soul. Don’t fear losing all this. Not only will you find life in me, he says, you don’t need to be afraid because you are beloved of God.

Look at the sparrows, Jesus says. You see how they bounce off the ground, fly around, and land again, only to bounce back up? How the whole flock does that all day long? Every single landing, every single bounce, God sees and loves.

You are as valuable to God as sparrows, Christ says. Everything, even your hairs on your head, God knows and loves and values. So you don’t need to be afraid.

So let’s dig together. Peel away together. Die together. Learn together how to be like our Teacher.

It’s complicated, it’s harder than we thought it might be, and it’s going to take a lot of wisdom. So let’s trust that Christ has put us together to help each other. And that we don’t need to be afraid, because we are God’s beloved.

It is enough to be like Christ because that’s where life is for us and for the world. We can share Christ’s heart, Christ’s guts, and act on them for the sake of the world because we are always in Christ’s heart, beloved of God, who died and rose to begin this new life in the world. From that heart, we can freely go and be God’s heart in the world. It is enough. It is how God is making all things new.

In the name of Jesus. Amen