Trees bear fruit for the sake of others; so we repent, return to God, that we might bear fruit for the sake of all and be a part of God’s extravagant satisfaction for all the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Third Sunday in Lent, year C
   texts: Isaiah 55:1-9; Psalm 63:1-8; Luke 13:1-9

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

Why do you spend your money and labor for that which does not satisfy?

It’s a fair question. Are we getting value for our investment of time, energy, wealth? Are we satisfied with life?

Can we evaluate this? We can live unaware of how we spend our time and wealth and whether it brings us blessing or satisfies. We hear many messages promising satisfaction, from advertisers, from politicians, from entertainers, offering fulfilled lives if we only buy what they’re selling.

What if Isaiah’s right? What if we’re running through life following this whim and that trend, living without any attention to how our time spent and our lives lived really fill us? Can we say with confidence that the things we spend the most time or money or thought on are the things that can satisfy us?

If we aren’t sure we could ask our psalmist: when we wake in the midnight watches, do we find a content spirit, filled with God’s goodness as if with the richest of foods? Or when we wake in the night is our spirit filled with worry, discontent?

Maybe a sign of our dissatisfaction is that we’re here this morning. We’ve come away from our everyday life, looking for God, seeking answers, hoping for something that will address our deepest needs.

So, what are we missing that would truly satisfy us?

Jesus compares us to a tree today, so let’s consider plants.

Plants need certain things to flourish and grow, and produce the fruit or leaves or flowers they are meant to. Some people are really good at knowing what plants need. They can take a plant out of the ground, put it in a pot, care for it, and it will grow and bring delight. My Uncle Ray once grew an apricot tree out of an apricot pit, and it won a prize at the county fair.

I’m not one of these. I don’t know what it means when told, “don’t water it too much.” Is that once a week? Every day? Only when it’s wilting and near death?

Maybe we’re the same when it comes to the tree we each are. Some instinctively know the ways to life and growth in God. Some are clueless, until we get to a point in our lives where we’re wilted or dried up or starving and aren’t sure how we got there.

Isaiah has wisdom for all of us, however we are: God knows what we need. If we’re seeking to be a fruitful tree, a flourishing plant, turn to God.

Or, as Jesus would say, “repent.” Turn around, and come back to the One who gives life.

But we’ve got a problem: Trees don’t bear fruit for themselves.

We look at Jesus’ parable today and think we want to be a tree bearing fruit. Why wouldn’t we?

But do we want it only because we don’t want to be cut down? When John or Jesus talk of fruitful trees and vines, lurking behind is always the idea of the dried up, unfruitful branch that feeds the fire. We may only want to be fruitful to avoid destruction.

Because there’s little self-interest found in bearing fruit. A tree doesn’t bear fruit for itself. Even if an apple falls uneaten, rots, and the seeds within begin to grow, that’s another tree reaping the benefit.

Do we avoid repentance because there’s no self-incentive for bearing fruit? Do we run after all sorts of things seeking satisfaction for ourselves rather than turning to God because God will only create gifts in us that will help others?

We make repentance a personal thing, a spiritual exercise God needs us to do because we’re sinful people. It’s all about us and our private, personal salvation.

But that doesn’t seem to be what our Lord means.

The turning around of repentance Jesus invites is for the sake of all, because it is meant to bear fruit.

This tree in the parable is meant to give to others, be a blessing. The problem of the owner of the tree is he isn’t getting any blessing from it.

John the Baptist invited his hearers to “bear fruit worthy of repentance.” But what was that fruit? If you have two coats, give one to someone who doesn’t have one. If you have more food than you need, share it. If you’re cheating someone, stop it. Don’t extort from others, and be satisfied with what you have. Fruit of repentance is for others.

“My thoughts are not your thoughts and my ways are not your ways,” God says. Maybe we’re not satisfied deep within our spirits because we’ve been mistaken all along thinking our faith was all for our sake. That we needed to repent because otherwise we’d be punished. Instead, we repent so we can be a blessing to others. That’s God’s way.

What if God’s way is really better for us?

Isaiah begs us to see where our life is truly found.

Four times he invites: come to God. God’s arms are open wide with blessing and grace that can truly satisfy us and give us life.

If we’re afraid of being cut down as unfruitful, Isaiah says, “don’t be.” Return to the Lord, who will abundantly pardon; return to God, that God might have mercy. Whatever the result of our repentance, we have the promise of welcome and forgiveness when we turn.

And in that turning, we find life, because we become the fruitful tree we are meant to be. We find what satisfies, because we are living as we were made to live. The One who truly knows what makes us grow and flourish is the one who made us. And in Jesus’ parable, that One has grace prepared for us.

Whoever the owner is in this parable, it’s clear it is the Triune God who is the gardener: the Father created the tree and loves it enough to give it time, the Son cares for and prunes the tree, and the Spirit nurtures and feeds the tree, and in the patience of God the tree is given time to grow, deepen, and finally bear fruit.

And in that fruit, given away to others, we find true satisfaction.

This is the mystery of God’s way: all are satisfied when each bears fruit for another’s well-being.

This happens when we don’t look for God’s mercy and healing to benefit ourselves, or understand repentance as a path to personal salvation, and rather see the grace of a God who would have all people bear fruit for the sake of others, and will take all the time necessary to see it happen. Will dig around us, fertilize us, bless us, so we become what we’re meant to be.

This is how there’s wine and milk and bread and satisfaction and joy enough for all: when all are bearing fruit for others, there is more than enough to satisfy the whole world.

When we find the joy of this repentance we can wake in the midnight watches and, with the psalmist, say, “my spirit is content as with the richest of foods.”

No longer motivated to help ourselves, we turn to God so we are fruitful for others, and strangely enough, we are satisfied. In the middle of the night or the bright sunshine, we are satisfied.

There is grace today in God’s generous patience and willingness to help us turn and bear fruit. There is even more grace in the fruit we bear for the world.

Come, let us return to the Lord, who has mercy and abundant pardon, enough to satisfy all.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God desires to gather us together like a hen gathers a brood under her wings. Gathering here opens us up to further opportunities for healing, forgiveness, and love. To be a part of a brood invites us to see those gathered with us as living examples of faith.

Vicar Anna Helgen
   The Second Sunday in Lent, year C
   texts: Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

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.

I grew up in a suburb, so I’ve not seen first-hand how mother hens interact with their chicks. I know–I’m missing out. And it’s unfortunate that this vivid agrarian imagery is lost on me in this modern age of factory farms. Thankfully though, we do live in the age of the internet where we can look up anything in a matter of seconds. And since I’ll jump on any opportunity to look up videos of cute baby animals, I went to youtube to watch videos of mother hens and their chicks. Here’s what I noticed as I watched one of those videos:

As the mother hen pecks and scratches in the dirt for insects and seeds, her chicks are scattered about her, some venturing off farther than others, some staying close by. But each chick is aware of its mother; and the hen is always aware of her chicks. At the first sign of danger or uncertainty the chicks race to the mother hen, who opens her wings gently—almost like an embrace—and gathering the chicks close to her for security, they nestle in the warmth and familiarity of her wings.

There is a straggler chick though, who seems unsure–or perhaps unwilling–to nestle under its mother’s wings with its brothers and sisters. And so the mother hen goes out of her way to make sure the straggler chick knows where she is. Eventually, this chick too finds its place under the shelter of her wings.

What a powerful image of God’s love for us. God desires to gather us together–you and me, our neighbors down the street, the presidential candidates who fill the airwaves with mean-spiritedness–all of us. God desires to gather us together much like a hen gathers a brood under her wings. But often we are not willing. Often we’re like that chick that goes off on its own, who leaves the brood behind in search of a more succulent insect or a plumper kernel of grain.

What if we took seriously Jesus’ lament–and God’s longing for us–and imagined what it might be like to actually go there–to be gathered together under God’s wings? It’s worth asking the question why. Why does God want us to be gathered together? What is so special about our being with one another that Jesus would compare himself to a mother hen and us to baby chicks?

God wants us gathered together because here is a safe place where God offers protection and warmth. A place where we can settle in and rest. We can practice living as our best selves, but trust that when we don’t have all the answers, when we make a mistake, or when we wander off, God loves us unconditionally. The gathered brood is a place of love and forgiveness.

God wants us gathered together because here we will be brought into relationship with the stragglers and the strangers. The brood isn’t about our self-interests; it’s about the community. The gathered brood is diverse and being a part of it means that we’ll get to know people that we don’t know and we’ll come to appreciate those we maybe don’t like. But with this comes further exploration of how we live as God’s people in community with one another. We get to struggle together with the reality of practicing faith. The gathered brood is a community of faith.

God wants us gathered together because here we will get a foretaste of God’s goodness in the land of the living. The gathered brood is a sign of the new creation where all, even our enemies, are brought under God’s wings. Where what once divided us, now unites us. Where we live authentically with one another–with all the messiness and complexity that relationships bring. The gathered brood is a glimpse of God’s eternal kingdom.

God longs for us to be gathered together as a community because the brood matters–the people in our communities matter. Paul understands this, too. In his letter to the Philippians, he writes, “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.” Paul writes to a community that struggles, like he does, with how to live for the sake of the gospel in the face of persecution. Paul’s hope is in Christ and the power of his resurrection, and this is what enables him to rejoice even in the midst of difficult circumstances. But living this way, with this hope, requires community.

And so Paul invites the Philippians to be like him–to imitate Paul’s own example. To be of the same mind of Christ, but to follow the example of Paul and others like him, those who recognize that struggle is a part of what it means to live in community. Paul is one example of many who has followed Christ, struggled over the meaning of the gospel, and tried his best to live out authentic faith. He’s a wonderful example for us, too, but he’s not the only one.

And so we, too, are invited to look to those in our own community–those in this brood–as living examples of faith. People we can learn from. People who have gone through their own challenges as they seek to live as the people God created them to be. People who have screwed up and started again. People who model for us what authentic faith looks like at all stages of life. People who teach us that the way to the cross is a way of surprise, a way of redemption, a way of promise.

Who comes to mind for you? I think of my confirmation mentor, Jean Sprague, one of the first people who gently pestered me to go to seminary. Her generous support and willingness to share the joys and sorrows from her own life taught me the importance of living in community. That we need each other to be reminded of God’s grace and goodness. That we need each other for inspiration and encouragement. That we need each other in midst of all that life brings us. Who is your Jean Sprague?
 
Take a minute to get cozy, take a deep breath, and settle into your pew. Imagine that God’s wings are wrapped around you, around all of us. Now take a look around at this brood gathered here today. Seriously: look around. This is your brood. This community is for you. This is a safe place. A place of unconditional love.

Gathering here means we open ourselves up to further possibilities for healing, forgiveness, and protection.

Gathering here means we build deeper relationships with God and each other.

Gathering here means we have the opportunity to learn from one another, to see each other as imperfect, yet beautiful examples of living faith.

Gathering here means living in deep expectation of what is to come.

 “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

We go into the wilderness of life to be tested that we might become the Christ we are anointed to be; we do not go alone, we are filled and led by the Spirit of God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The First Sunday in Lent, year C
   text: Luke 4:1-13

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

Jesus wasn’t alone in the wilderness.

Think about that. This looks bleak, Jesus spending forty days in the wilderness of Judea without food. He was tested, tempted. He had no companions with him. But he did not face testing alone.

He left his baptism at the river Jordan full of the Holy Spirit, Luke says. He was in the wilderness by choice, to fast, to be tested, to learn what kind of Christ he would be. But the Holy Spirit filled him to overflowing, and, Luke says, “led” him through those forty days.

Jesus faced his wilderness, his learning, his testing, in communion within the Triune God. That made all the difference.

What’s challenging is knowing what this has to do with us.

How does this story connect with us? We’re not Jesus.

We can’t compare to the Son of God. Consider his wilderness experience: well, he was fully God and fully human. Of course he handled this, we say, he is God’s Son. Whenever he had crises, we forget Jesus was fully human and sometimes assume his truth as the Son of God got him through, made it easier for him.

Well, what if it did? What if it was easier because of being God incarnate? Isn’t that also our truth? Repeatedly we are taught in the New Testament that in our baptism into Christ, we are joined into the life of God, made children of God ourselves. We are anointed, are Christ ourselves. We are, as Luke reminds us in Acts, filled with the Holy Spirit, ourselves, who leads us by the hand.

How can we be alone in our wilderness, then, when we have this same advantage Christ had to handle the tests we face in being Christ in the world?

But then we wonder: can we claim we live in a wilderness?

Most of us haven’t done a forty day fast in rugged terrain without any human support. The forty days of Lent mean to give us the spiritual sense that we are engaging in such a testing, but we keep eating and being with people.

Even if we say all life is a wilderness, we know we have it better than most. We’re privileged, wealthy people who have compassion for those who suffer. So we discount our own struggles because we always remember so many suffer far worse.

And they do. But that doesn’t mean life isn’t challenging for us. We can work for the healing of the world, care for those on the brink of death and loss and pain, and still recognize that we, too, walk in the wilderness.

We face all sorts of challenges from within and without. Doubts about our goodness, fears about our future, threats to those we love. No one in this room hasn’t faced deadly illness or death, either themselves or with a loved one. No one here hasn’t faced a desert time where God seemed absent, where we were feeling spiritually empty, if not physically hungry.

Life is often wilderness time. We don’t need to compete for whose is worst.

We also are tempted, tested, by the demonic. 

Luther taught us that our testing comes from the devil, the world, and our sinful self, and all of these challenge us.

It can be embarrassing in some circles to speak of the devil. Maybe some have moved beyond belief in such things. But it doesn’t take much to see forces working in the world beyond simple human choice, forces in society, culture, even in mobs, that carry great power. They may not challenge us directly, as our ancestors felt. But seeing the evil perpetrated in the world, we can join those ancestors in acknowledging unseen forces working against God’s loving will for the world.

As for the world, we know that testing well. When children are teens we warn about peer pressure, but it’s rare that we aren’t pressured by culture, society, or led astray away from following God’s path. Our culture is designed to promote materialism, destructive self-centeredness, and individual autonomy as the prime good. We can’t claim that never tests us, challenges our faith, leads us to choices we later see are not of Christ.

And the sinful self? If that were the only testing in our wilderness we faced, it would be more than enough. Our own internal demons, ruts we’re stuck in, thoughts of inadequacy and failure that plague us, desires and wants that lure us, the fear of not being loved that haunts us: we may not easily speak of external devils, but the ones that wait to plague us from inside are all too familiar.

We often think we’re alone in all this. Like Jesus, we’re not.

Sometimes it’s easier to see our demons than the Spirit within us. We know our failings, our internal and external struggles. We know when we’ve messed up, when we’ve not been what we want to be, let alone what God wants us to be. These things we see easily. Sometimes we feel we’re in this by ourselves.

But we have a promise from the Triune God that we are not alone. In our baptism we were anointed with the promise of the Spirit, and that Holy Spirit is filling us even now. It’s only a matter of looking for God’s movement in our lives.

We see the Spirit in our lives when we follow Jesus’ model of constant communion. The Spirit led Jesus in the wilderness. Jesus walked with the Holy Spirit as companion and guide. That’s our gift. We can live our lives with open hearts and minds to God’s Spirit, a life of walking prayer. It takes reminding, being attentive. We’ll forget sometimes. But take this promise seriously. God is with you.

We need to talk about this together, too. Tell each other when we sense the Spirit’s presence, when we see the Spirit’s guidance. If we’re really not alone, it’s critical we name that when we see it. When we see glimpses, even if as in a mirror’s reflection, we point it out with joy so others can see.
And we do glimpse things like the fruits of the Spirit, when we see love, or joy, or patience, or self-control, all these gifts. We glimpse those moments of inner peace when we know God is with us, however fleeting. Or those times when we felt confidence from God to face life unafraid. These glimpses come to us. We would make such a difference if we told each other this.

Life’s wilderness is actually a gift to us, as it was to Jesus. It’s where and how we become what we’re meant to be.

Jesus intentionally went from his baptism into this testing. He needed to face whatever demons challenged him, learn what kind of Christ he was to be. How would he use his power? How would he lead people? How would he trust in God? In each test, he made decisions with great implications for his teaching and ministry, decisions that led directly to the cross. With the grace of the Holy Spirit, he made it through this testing, was filled to become what he was meant to become.

Like Jesus, we are tested as to what kind of Christ we are, and given the Spirit’s grace to become that. We need to know the Spirit’s presence even more, since we sometimes need to be convinced we are also Christ.

As the Spirit gives us grace to endure, to stand up for who we are called to be, gives us wisdom in our decisions and our plans, comforts us in our hunger and fear, we grow. We become. We are made holy, like Christ. We’ve seen glimpses of this, and we will again, because this is really happening to us.

That doesn’t mean our path won’t be hard. It will. But we won’t be alone.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen