We needn’t worry about our place in God’s love; however, Jesus, before his death and resurrection, grounded in that love for us, seems to have deep concerns about our awareness of our calling as children of God and our willingness to live in that calling and serve.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 32 A
   texts:  Amos 5:18-24; Matthew 25:1-13

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

We know preparation is key to a good party.

If you’re having guests to your house, there are things that need doing.  The house needs to be deep-cleaned, clutter put away.  Food needs to be purchased and prepared.  Tables need setting, dishes need polishing.  Candles might be needed.  The guest list needs to be checked so no one is left out, invitations need to be issued.  Parties don’t create themselves.

Why then are we so skittish about this parable?  We shudder at the “I don’t know you” from the bridegroom.  We don’t like the judgment on the careless ones.  We, who claim the unlimited grace of God in Christ Jesus, hear this parable and cry out, or mutter, or think to ourselves, “This sounds pretty legalistic!”

Maybe we’re using that word to avoid the heart of what it means to be a disciple.  If every time Jesus says something that remotely sounds like he’s asking us to do something we throw up the “legalism” defense, it’s worth asking what that says about us.  If we believe salvation in Christ is only about our being loved by God, that the Son of God can have no expectations on us, that as long as we worship and hear that we are forgiven, we can do what we want with our lives, well.  Can I introduce you to the prophet Amos?  He had something to say about that.

We’re entering a challenging stretch these next three weeks.  If we’re squeamish about Jesus calling us to tasks, our struggle only begins today.  Just wait until we hear the next two parables and the prophetic words chosen to accompany them.

There are two typical ways Christians in this country seem to face these challenges.  Today Jesus invites us to consider a third way, his way.

Our usual way is the approach of the grace people.

We believe we cannot earn God’s love, it’s ours already.  We declare we have been claimed by God in baptism, made clean in the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus, and have life with God now and forever.  We read the Scriptures with this truth as our lens, our way of interpreting.

But sometimes when we grace people hear a parable like today’s we don’t like it.  So we run away from it in fear, hoping we didn’t really hear it, or we happily ignore it.  With the latter, sometimes people will even say Jesus likely didn’t tell this parable, it’s probably Matthew’s creation.  Doesn’t sound like Jesus, we might say, so we’re free to dismiss it.  If we live the fear option, we push this parable aside so we don’t have to consider it, hoping if we simply say it’s legalistic we can get to grace and not be troubled any more.

There are other Christians who take the approach of the judgment people.

The lens they use for Scripture is the lens of our sin.  We’re awful people, they say, and Jesus has called us to straighten up and fly right.  If we don’t do that, we’re in trouble.  These Christians are seemingly happy to declare lots of people heading to hell for their sins, and grace, while proclaimed, seems to be only possible for those who never make mistakes.

When judgment people hear a parable like today’s it’s manna from heaven.  Be prepared or you’ll be left out, they say.  Sure, God forgives, but not if you’re not ready.  Be wise and be ready and enjoy heaven, or be foolish and regret it in hell for eternity.

This begs the question: why don’t we want Jesus’ approach?

We who focus on grace want to say, “Why can’t we just know we’re loved by the Master and leave it at that?”  Those who focus on judgment say, “Jesus is clear here: we’ve got things we have to do, job requirements.”

But our Master, if we look at everything he taught and did, including his death and resurrection, says this: “Why can’t I have both?  I love you wholly and fully, with an eternal love.  I set aside all my divine power and glory and went to the cross to open your hearts to my love.  Risen from the dead, I forgive you of all things and welcome you to God’s party that will last forever.”

But then he says in this parable, “Can’t I also, grounded in that love, ask you to do your work and get ready for the party, ready for my rule, ready for my life in the world?”

This isn’t judgment, and it isn’t conditional.  The love of God in Christ Jesus cannot be taken from us.  But this parable points out a deeper reason for Jesus’ coming as one of us.

Jesus comes to invite us to new life for the sake of the world.

The forgiveness of God in Christ Jesus isn’t tied to our doing our work, our being prepared.  God’s forgiveness assumes we will sin, otherwise it’s not needed.

But Jesus came not only to forgive, he came to teach us how to live God’s true, abundant life.  To show us how God will heal this world and bring the party of God’s new creation: by using the very people who made the mess to get the place cleaned up.

This is the heart of his teaching.  Look at all the parables he tells of servants being awake and prepared at all times for their master’s return.  They’re supposed to be about their jobs as they wait, keeping all things ready, so when the master comes back, he’ll find a clean house, clean sheets, full cupboards, and a fire in the fireplace.

Or as he says in this parable: God’s planning a party of life and restoration for this whole world.  The Bridegroom, the Son of God, is the center of the party.  Everyone’s invited, wise and foolish.  But a good party needs preparation.  Oil for the lamps, so the world in darkness is lighted up, so we can see each other’s faces in joy, so the procession can be festive and bright.  The house of this world needs to be cleaned, food prepared enough for all, not just those who have it, and the guest list filled up to include every child of God on this planet.  This is a huge party, this justice and peace of God.  It’s going to take some doing.

It’s immature of us to run away from this work by falsely tying our eternal salvation to it.  That’s what children do, blaming their parents for asking them to work in the life of the home, thinking that means their parents only love them when they do right.

God’s truth is, Jesus both loves us fully and unconditionally and at the same time asks us to be about our work to get ready for God’s great feast of hope and renewal.  We know we are growing into maturity in Christ when we can hold both those truths together and rejoice in our Christly life.

Why the warnings, then?  Why would Jesus tell parables with scary endings that imply if we fail we’re left out?

Jesus knew his prophets, knew Amos.  Amos tells the people God hates all their worship, festivals, rituals, sacrifices.  Amos shocks them into hearing God’s cry for justice by telling them God hates that they’re doing the very things God commanded them to do.  They trusted in their worship, doing as told, but ignored the other commands.  They neglected the starving poor, participated in crushing those who struggled under their rich lifestyle.  They needed to wake up.

Jesus does the same as Amos.  These parables from Matthew 24 and 25 are told privately to the disciples.  They are insider warnings, intended to shake them from their comfort zone, wake them up, get them alert.  They’re jolting because they’re supposed to be.  Jesus knows human nature, and it’s as if he anticipated we’d ignore his call to preparedness and servanthood, simply resting in our forgiveness and doing nothing.

So he shakes us up a little, because of his central purpose: he repeatedly says he came to seek and to save the lost.  He constantly ran into people who were lost but claimed they weren’t.  So he’s waking his disciples up, shocking them to take his call seriously.

The minute they, or we, say, “Oh no, I’ve not been working for the kingdom, I’m probably not prepared, I’ve only taken care of myself, I’m in trouble,” at that moment we discover God’s grace.  Then we learn firsthand Christ Jesus came to seek and to save us.  When we know we have messed up, we need never worry that he’ll say “I don’t know you.”  Because he’s looking for the lost, to bring them home.  All we need to do is recognize we’re lost, we’re broken, we’re dead, and he’ll make us new, even in this life.

As long as we think we’ve got it all figured out, we need this parable to wake us up.  So we can hear the good news that we are loved and get back to work getting ready for the party.

This parable is full of God’s grace: we, and all God’s children, are invited to the party God is making in this world and the next.  That’s secure.

Now all that needs doing is to prepare for this party.  So let’s be about it.  We don’t know when the Bridegroom, our Lord, will return, so we’ll just keep the house clean, feed people, take care of things.  We’ll make sure the invitation gets out to as many people as we can reach in our lifetime, and make sure no one thinks they’re not good enough for the guest list.  We’ll take care of our little part of this world, and work toward God’s justice and peace, because it’s our job.  And because we know we are loved by God eternally in Christ.

The wonder of God’s plan is that through such work of all God’s people, the justice and peace the Scriptures envision and promise will come to pass.  That’s God’s great miracle, God’s delightful twist: as we prepare, do our jobs, the party comes into focus, even now, and continues forever.

And let me tell you, this party is going to be spectacular.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We needn’t worry about our place in God’s love; however, Jesus, before his death and resurrection, grounded in that love for us, seems to have deep concerns about our awareness of our calling as children of God and our willingness to live in that calling and serve.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 32 A
   texts:  Amos 5:18-24; Matthew 25:1-13

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

We know preparation is key to a good party.

If you’re having guests to your house, there are things that need doing.  The house needs to be deep-cleaned, clutter put away.  Food needs to be purchased and prepared.  Tables need setting, dishes need polishing.  Candles might be needed.  The guest list needs to be checked so no one is left out, invitations need to be issued.  Parties don’t create themselves.

Why then are we so skittish about this parable?  We shudder at the “I don’t know you” from the bridegroom.  We don’t like the judgment on the careless ones.  We, who claim the unlimited grace of God in Christ Jesus, hear this parable and cry out, or mutter, or think to ourselves, “This sounds pretty legalistic!”

Maybe we’re using that word to avoid the heart of what it means to be a disciple.  If every time Jesus says something that remotely sounds like he’s asking us to do something we throw up the “legalism” defense, it’s worth asking what that says about us.  If we believe salvation in Christ is only about our being loved by God, that the Son of God can have no expectations on us, that as long as we worship and hear that we are forgiven, we can do what we want with our lives, well.  Can I introduce you to the prophet Amos?  He had something to say about that.

We’re entering a challenging stretch these next three weeks.  If we’re squeamish about Jesus calling us to tasks, our struggle only begins today.  Just wait until we hear the next two parables and the prophetic words chosen to accompany them.

There are two typical ways Christians in this country seem to face these challenges.  Today Jesus invites us to consider a third way, his way.

Our usual way is the approach of the grace people.

We believe we cannot earn God’s love, it’s ours already.  We declare we have been claimed by God in baptism, made clean in the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus, and have life with God now and forever.  We read the Scriptures with this truth as our lens, our way of interpreting.

But sometimes when we grace people hear a parable like today’s we don’t like it.  So we run away from it in fear, hoping we didn’t really hear it, or we happily ignore it.  With the latter, sometimes people will even say Jesus likely didn’t tell this parable, it’s probably Matthew’s creation.  Doesn’t sound like Jesus, we might say, so we’re free to dismiss it.  If we live the fear option, we push this parable aside so we don’t have to consider it, hoping if we simply say it’s legalistic we can get to grace and not be troubled any more.

There are other Christians who take the approach of the judgment people.

The lens they use for Scripture is the lens of our sin.  We’re awful people, they say, and Jesus has called us to straighten up and fly right.  If we don’t do that, we’re in trouble.  These Christians are seemingly happy to declare lots of people heading to hell for their sins, and grace, while proclaimed, seems to be only possible for those who never make mistakes.

When judgment people hear a parable like today’s it’s manna from heaven.  Be prepared or you’ll be left out, they say.  Sure, God forgives, but not if you’re not ready.  Be wise and be ready and enjoy heaven, or be foolish and regret it in hell for eternity.

This begs the question: why don’t we want Jesus’ approach?

We who focus on grace want to say, “Why can’t we just know we’re loved by the Master and leave it at that?”  Those who focus on judgment say, “Jesus is clear here: we’ve got things we have to do, job requirements.”

But our Master, if we look at everything he taught and did, including his death and resurrection, says this: “Why can’t I have both?  I love you wholly and fully, with an eternal love.  I set aside all my divine power and glory and went to the cross to open your hearts to my love.  Risen from the dead, I forgive you of all things and welcome you to God’s party that will last forever.”

But then he says in this parable, “Can’t I also, grounded in that love, ask you to do your work and get ready for the party, ready for my rule, ready for my life in the world?”

This isn’t judgment, and it isn’t conditional.  The love of God in Christ Jesus cannot be taken from us.  But this parable points out a deeper reason for Jesus’ coming as one of us.

Jesus comes to invite us to new life for the sake of the world.

The forgiveness of God in Christ Jesus isn’t tied to our doing our work, our being prepared.  God’s forgiveness assumes we will sin, otherwise it’s not needed.

But Jesus came not only to forgive, he came to teach us how to live God’s true, abundant life.  To show us how God will heal this world and bring the party of God’s new creation: by using the very people who made the mess to get the place cleaned up.

This is the heart of his teaching.  Look at all the parables he tells of servants being awake and prepared at all times for their master’s return.  They’re supposed to be about their jobs as they wait, keeping all things ready, so when the master comes back, he’ll find a clean house, clean sheets, full cupboards, and a fire in the fireplace.

Or as he says in this parable: God’s planning a party of life and restoration for this whole world.  The Bridegroom, the Son of God, is the center of the party.  Everyone’s invited, wise and foolish.  But a good party needs preparation.  Oil for the lamps, so the world in darkness is lighted up, so we can see each other’s faces in joy, so the procession can be festive and bright.  The house of this world needs to be cleaned, food prepared enough for all, not just those who have it, and the guest list filled up to include every child of God on this planet.  This is a huge party, this justice and peace of God.  It’s going to take some doing.

It’s immature of us to run away from this work by falsely tying our eternal salvation to it.  That’s what children do, blaming their parents for asking them to work in the life of the home, thinking that means their parents only love them when they do right.

God’s truth is, Jesus both loves us fully and unconditionally and at the same time asks us to be about our work to get ready for God’s great feast of hope and renewal.  We know we are growing into maturity in Christ when we can hold both those truths together and rejoice in our Christly life.

Why the warnings, then?  Why would Jesus tell parables with scary endings that imply if we fail we’re left out?

Jesus knew his prophets, knew Amos.  Amos tells the people God hates all their worship, festivals, rituals, sacrifices.  Amos shocks them into hearing God’s cry for justice by telling them God hates that they’re doing the very things God commanded them to do.  They trusted in their worship, doing as told, but ignored the other commands.  They neglected the starving poor, participated in crushing those who struggled under their rich lifestyle.  They needed to wake up.

Jesus does the same as Amos.  These parables from Matthew 24 and 25 are told privately to the disciples.  They are insider warnings, intended to shake them from their comfort zone, wake them up, get them alert.  They’re jolting because they’re supposed to be.  Jesus knows human nature, and it’s as if he anticipated we’d ignore his call to preparedness and servanthood, simply resting in our forgiveness and doing nothing.

So he shakes us up a little, because of his central purpose: he repeatedly says he came to seek and to save the lost.  He constantly ran into people who were lost but claimed they weren’t.  So he’s waking his disciples up, shocking them to take his call seriously.

The minute they, or we, say, “Oh no, I’ve not been working for the kingdom, I’m probably not prepared, I’ve only taken care of myself, I’m in trouble,” at that moment we discover God’s grace.  Then we learn firsthand Christ Jesus came to seek and to save us.  When we know we have messed up, we need never worry that he’ll say “I don’t know you.”  Because he’s looking for the lost, to bring them home.  All we need to do is recognize we’re lost, we’re broken, we’re dead, and he’ll make us new, even in this life.

As long as we think we’ve got it all figured out, we need this parable to wake us up.  So we can hear the good news that we are loved and get back to work getting ready for the party.

This parable is full of God’s grace: we, and all God’s children, are invited to the party God is making in this world and the next.  That’s secure.

Now all that needs doing is to prepare for this party.  So let’s be about it.  We don’t know when the Bridegroom, our Lord, will return, so we’ll just keep the house clean, feed people, take care of things.  We’ll make sure the invitation gets out to as many people as we can reach in our lifetime, and make sure no one thinks they’re not good enough for the guest list.  We’ll take care of our little part of this world, and work toward God’s justice and peace, because it’s our job.  And because we know we are loved by God eternally in Christ.

The wonder of God’s plan is that through such work of all God’s people, the justice and peace the Scriptures envision and promise will come to pass.  That’s God’s great miracle, God’s delightful twist: as we prepare, do our jobs, the party comes into focus, even now, and continues forever.

And let me tell you, this party is going to be spectacular.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We know nothing about the shape of true life; we belong to the Triune God who has shown us the shape of that life, brought it to fullness in those saints who have gone before us, and even now is transforming us into that fullness on our path of faith here.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   All Saints Sunday A
   texts:  Revelation 7:9-17; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

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’s OK to admit we don’t know everything.

In fact, it’s the path to wisdom.  Today we approach that holy ground wherein there is much we do not know.  Hebrews tells us “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  (Hebrews 11:1)  That is this day.

Those who have died who are not with us, there is much we don’t know about their life now.  Those who are beginning their journey of faith, there is much we don’t know about their path to come.  Those of us between these two places, there is much we don’t know about how to find life that really is life, much we don’t know about our path.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.  It’s not what we know.  It’s a question of who does know.

Thank goodness for John of Patmos.

An elder at the throne of the Lamb in John’s vision asks him, “who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?”  John’s answer: “Sir, you are the one that knows.”

This is good biblical advice: when asked a question by God or God’s messenger, the right answer is usually, “You know, not I.”  Ezekiel, in the valley of dry bones, answers “Can these bones live?” with, “O LORD God, you know.”  (Ezekiel 37:3)

There is deep wisdom knowing what we do not know; even more wisdom in knowing who actually does know.

“See what love the Father has given us,” says 1 John, “that we should be called children of God.”

This day we celebrate all saints, all the children of God.  We remember with grief and joy admixed those dear to us who have gone through the ordeal of death; we rejoice to see three new siblings brought into Christ’s family in the healing waters of baptism; we listen deeply for what it means for each of us to be likewise children of God.

The truth is, we don’t know what it means, not fully. We have absolute clarity that we are loved by the Father, we are blessed children of God, washed in baptism’s water.  We know we are growing into that identity, that “child of God” will have a fuller, richer meaning the deeper we live into this abundant life.  Genevieve, Lenore, and John will discover this, too, as they begin their faith journey today.  Those older and wiser among us know more than most, as they have been growing into this identity for longer.  But there is still much we do not know.

“Sir, you are the one that knows.”  This is our place of faith, where we, too, stand and trust.

Because today we know this much: our Lord Jesus knows the path to true life.

These nine blessings on the mountain, given to these new, learning disciples, are quite different from the ten commandments Moses brought down from the mountain.  Those commandments provided the outer boundaries of community life and behavior in God’s family.  Now Jesus calls his disciples, calls us, up the mountain ourselves, and gives a new wisdom.  He shows what the heart of faith looks like lived, what real life in God is.  The center of life, not the outer boundaries.

We don’t know the path to abundant, full life.  But Jesus does.

“Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed,” 1 John says.

But we know enough, we know where we are headed, and who we will look like, he says.  Because we have seen this from our Lord who knows, and we trust him.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to be poor in spirit, he says.  To know our weakness, our lack, means knowing we have room for the Spirit of God to fill our hearts.  This is the kingdom of heaven, to be filled not with our ego, our spirit, but to be an open vessel for the transforming love of the Spirit of God to overflow in us.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to mourn, he says.  To see all the pain and grief of this world, with eyes open to truth and hearts open to the sadness, knowing this isn’t what God intends.  Then we can hear the comfort that God has taken all that pain inside, even death, transforming it into resurrection life for all.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to be gentle, considerate, humble, what we translate “meek”, he says.  The blessed truth that we aren’t the most important thing opens us to see the beauty and grace in others.  Knowing we aren’t in control opens us to see the whole world as God’s, and so belonging to everyone.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to hunger and thirst for righteousness, to make peace, even to be taken advantage of and hurt for following the path of love.  Because in these places which the world sees as loss you are able to find and be filled with the blessing of the grace of God you could not see otherwise.

This is what our Lord knows, for he lived it.  Now he shows us.

We may not yet know this.  But those saints we recall today do now.

God didn’t speak to John in Revelation here, it was an elder, one who had died and now worshipped around the throne.  So it is with all those we name silently and aloud today, those whose presence still comforts us, those whose lives modeled and taught us when they lived among us.  They now worship the Lamb in full knowledge of what it is to be children of God.

We say these blessed saints join us in our worship, gathering around our Eucharistic table with us as we eat and drink.  It’s the other way around.  We join their never-ending worship when we gather here.  We borrow their hymns, join their song.  We gather around the Lord’s Table, not as if this is the fullness, but a foretaste of the feast to come.  They know what we are still learning.

This is the joy of our journey of faith.

In this place, past, present, and future are joined in the life of the Triune God who knows, who eagerly desires that we also learn as we journey.

We who still walk by faith don’t know much, but we know these things:

We know are following our Lord Christ who knows the fullness of this path of abundant life, who has shown us what it looks like today in these words, and who, in his death and resurrection has empowered us to walk it, if we dare trust him.

We know we are walking this path together, so we can help each other live this life Jesus shows us, from the newest children washed in the font to the oldest and wisest among us, if we dare let others into our hearts so they can help us walk it.

And we know we are walking surrounded by those who have gone before, the cloud of witnesses who have gone through the ordeal of death and now know the fullness of this life of grace in Christ, those whose worship we join, if we dare open our eyes of faith to see them and listen to their wisdom.

There is much we do not know.  But we are in the hands of the One Who Knows, the Triune God, the One in whom are all things.  So together we walk with all these saints, not knowing where we go, but only that God’s love is supporting us, God’s hand leading us.

And that’s enough, for now, until we, too, fully see the abundance of God’s life ourselves.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We know nothing about the shape of true life; we belong to the Triune God who has shown us the shape of that life, brought it to fullness in those saints who have gone before us, and even now is transforming us into that fullness on our path of faith here.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   All Saints Sunday A
   texts:  Revelation 7:9-17; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

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’s OK to admit we don’t know everything.

In fact, it’s the path to wisdom.  Today we approach that holy ground wherein there is much we do not know.  Hebrews tells us “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  (Hebrews 11:1)  That is this day.

Those who have died who are not with us, there is much we don’t know about their life now.  Those who are beginning their journey of faith, there is much we don’t know about their path to come.  Those of us between these two places, there is much we don’t know about how to find life that really is life, much we don’t know about our path.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.  It’s not what we know.  It’s a question of who does know.

Thank goodness for John of Patmos.

An elder at the throne of the Lamb in John’s vision asks him, “who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?”  John’s answer: “Sir, you are the one that knows.”

This is good biblical advice: when asked a question by God or God’s messenger, the right answer is usually, “You know, not I.”  Ezekiel, in the valley of dry bones, answers “Can these bones live?” with, “O LORD God, you know.”  (Ezekiel 37:3)

There is deep wisdom knowing what we do not know; even more wisdom in knowing who actually does know.

“See what love the Father has given us,” says 1 John, “that we should be called children of God.”

This day we celebrate all saints, all the children of God.  We remember with grief and joy admixed those dear to us who have gone through the ordeal of death; we rejoice to see three new siblings brought into Christ’s family in the healing waters of baptism; we listen deeply for what it means for each of us to be likewise children of God.

The truth is, we don’t know what it means, not fully. We have absolute clarity that we are loved by the Father, we are blessed children of God, washed in baptism’s water.  We know we are growing into that identity, that “child of God” will have a fuller, richer meaning the deeper we live into this abundant life.  Genevieve, Lenore, and John will discover this, too, as they begin their faith journey today.  Those older and wiser among us know more than most, as they have been growing into this identity for longer.  But there is still much we do not know.

“Sir, you are the one that knows.”  This is our place of faith, where we, too, stand and trust.

Because today we know this much: our Lord Jesus knows the path to true life.

These nine blessings on the mountain, given to these new, learning disciples, are quite different from the ten commandments Moses brought down from the mountain.  Those commandments provided the outer boundaries of community life and behavior in God’s family.  Now Jesus calls his disciples, calls us, up the mountain ourselves, and gives a new wisdom.  He shows what the heart of faith looks like lived, what real life in God is.  The center of life, not the outer boundaries.

We don’t know the path to abundant, full life.  But Jesus does.

“Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed,” 1 John says.

But we know enough, we know where we are headed, and who we will look like, he says.  Because we have seen this from our Lord who knows, and we trust him.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to be poor in spirit, he says.  To know our weakness, our lack, means knowing we have room for the Spirit of God to fill our hearts.  This is the kingdom of heaven, to be filled not with our ego, our spirit, but to be an open vessel for the transforming love of the Spirit of God to overflow in us.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to mourn, he says.  To see all the pain and grief of this world, with eyes open to truth and hearts open to the sadness, knowing this isn’t what God intends.  Then we can hear the comfort that God has taken all that pain inside, even death, transforming it into resurrection life for all.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to be gentle, considerate, humble, what we translate “meek”, he says.  The blessed truth that we aren’t the most important thing opens us to see the beauty and grace in others.  Knowing we aren’t in control opens us to see the whole world as God’s, and so belonging to everyone.

It is a blessed life, children of God, to hunger and thirst for righteousness, to make peace, even to be taken advantage of and hurt for following the path of love.  Because in these places which the world sees as loss you are able to find and be filled with the blessing of the grace of God you could not see otherwise.

This is what our Lord knows, for he lived it.  Now he shows us.

We may not yet know this.  But those saints we recall today do now.

God didn’t speak to John in Revelation here, it was an elder, one who had died and now worshipped around the throne.  So it is with all those we name silently and aloud today, those whose presence still comforts us, those whose lives modeled and taught us when they lived among us.  They now worship the Lamb in full knowledge of what it is to be children of God.

We say these blessed saints join us in our worship, gathering around our Eucharistic table with us as we eat and drink.  It’s the other way around.  We join their never-ending worship when we gather here.  We borrow their hymns, join their song.  We gather around the Lord’s Table, not as if this is the fullness, but a foretaste of the feast to come.  They know what we are still learning.

This is the joy of our journey of faith.

In this place, past, present, and future are joined in the life of the Triune God who knows, who eagerly desires that we also learn as we journey.

We who still walk by faith don’t know much, but we know these things:

We know are following our Lord Christ who knows the fullness of this path of abundant life, who has shown us what it looks like today in these words, and who, in his death and resurrection has empowered us to walk it, if we dare trust him.

We know we are walking this path together, so we can help each other live this life Jesus shows us, from the newest children washed in the font to the oldest and wisest among us, if we dare let others into our hearts so they can help us walk it.

And we know we are walking surrounded by those who have gone before, the cloud of witnesses who have gone through the ordeal of death and now know the fullness of this life of grace in Christ, those whose worship we join, if we dare open our eyes of faith to see them and listen to their wisdom.

There is much we do not know.  But we are in the hands of the One Who Knows, the Triune God, the One in whom are all things.  So together we walk with all these saints, not knowing where we go, but only that God’s love is supporting us, God’s hand leading us.

And that’s enough, for now, until we, too, fully see the abundance of God’s life ourselves.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Jesus promised his followers, and promises us today, that we will know the truth, and the truth will make us free. When we embrace the truth of our human limitations, and recognize our dependence on God, the slavery of our fears, addictions, and sin will die and we can live in freedom as children of God.

Vicar Meagan McLaughlin
   Reformation Sunday
   Texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36

Grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I was sitting in a restaurant, eating dinner, when I heard several thunks. I turned and saw a bird flying around inside the restaurant, banging into windows in her frantic attempt to get outside. When she landed on the floor, exhausted, I laid my jacket gently over her and carried her through the door. I opened the jacket cautiously, expecting her to burst out, but she clung for dear life, her tiny talons hooked into the lining, afraid to let go and be free. As I held her, I wondered, how often do we do that? Struggle to be free from that which confines us, and then cling to our cage when we are freed? What does it really mean to be free, and why are we, when we are really honest with ourselves, terrified of it?

We in the United States pride ourselves on being a free country, and in many ways we are free, especially those of us with good health, steady income, solid education, and the privileges that come along with being white, middle-class, American-born. We can travel, study, walk our neighborhoods without fear, eat knowing we will have enough food for another meal, send ourselves and our loved ones off for the day with the belief that we will all come home safely. Most of the time, we have the luxury of living in the illusion that we are in control of our lives, even if it is only through the false security of believing we know what our future holds. Jesus in Matthew promises freedom, and his followers protest, saying they are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone, and we might well make the same claim. We live in a free country, slavery was abolished almost 150 years ago! What do you mean by saying “You will be made free?”

Jesus’ reply to his followers is for us, too: “Everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin.” 19th century Lutheran theologian Rudolph Bultmann defines sin as the brokenness that comes from dependence on worldly things instead of God. By relying on our own efforts or on what we can take from the world for our well-being, we forget our ultimate dependence on God; in other words, we forget what our true relationship with God is. Because of this we feel anger, jealousy, and judgment, and as Bultmann says, the “slavery of anxiety that oppresses all of us (Romans 8:15)—the anxiety in which we each seek to hold on to ourselves and what is ours in the secret feeling that everything, including our own life, is slipping away from us.”  [1]

We are free in one sense, but at a much deeper level, we are all slaves to our own brokenness. As a nation we spend a great deal of time obsessed with how to keep ourselves safe—closing our borders, taking off our shoes at the airport, debating who is to blame for Ebola coming to this country. We labor under the illusion that we can create perfect safety. If the danger is far enough away, and we can build a high enough wall, we feel separated, and protected. When the threat comes too close, we are afraid. Afraid of change, of those we don’t understand, of death. And when we depend on these actions to protect us, and ground our hope in our own efforts instead of trusting in God, we go beyond reasonable steps to take care of ourselves, and build walls that not only separate us from our neighbors, but from God.

On a personal level, we exercise and eat well expecting that this will guarantee our health, to the point where we feel surprised and angry when are sick. We are slaves to addictions that tell us the lie that everything will be OK if only we have enough alcohol, or sex, or food. We buy in, without even being aware, to the idea that growing old, rather than being a normal part of the cycle of life, is something that can and should be prevented, or at least slowed down, with the right lotions or vitamins or procedures. We act out of the illusion that life is a competition for success, love, and resources that only a few will win, and work furiously to be sure we will be one of them, secretly convinced that we are not good enough. We remain confident in the idea of our own power and ability to control our lives, until unexpected events wake us up, and we begin to understand the truth. We are slaves to our own brokenness, and we, like the bird, find ourselves trapped by our own fears, exhausted from our efforts to escape a prison we cannot even see.

We are slaves to our own brokenness, but Jesus made his followers a promise—makes us a promise today. “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” And the truth that Jesus talks about, the truth that will free us, is precisely why we are so afraid of freedom. The truth, as Paul proclaims it, is simply this: we have all sinned, and we all fall short of the glory of God. Every one of us, without exception. What terrifies us about this truth is that when we embrace it, it takes us completely out of the driver’s seat. We can no longer cling to an illusion of safety that is built on our own efforts or beliefs that we are in control. We are vulnerable, exposed for who we are, face-to-face with our own humanity. This is the truth that leads to freedom, the freedom to be exactly the people God created us to be.

We are freed by this truth, because grounded in our own humanity, we can understand Martin Luther’s claim that we are simultaneously sinner and saint. The very truth of our own weakness reveals our need for God, and our place as God’s children. The promise of the covenant Jeremiah talks about is our promise. God’s law has been written on our hearts, God is our God, and we are God’s people. In the core of who we are, God has written the law of love, faithfulness, forgiveness. And as our illusions, addictions, and sinfulness die in the light of this promise, we can see that we have been enslaved. And we can see that we are free.

Like the bird with its talons hooked into my jacket lining, we tend to cling to what we feel sure of, certain that there is nothing to catch us if we let go. The psalmist describes in vivid images the chaos we sometimes feel in this unpredictable world—earthquakes and roaring waters, nations at war. The chaos, as the psalmist sings it, does not go away. Illness, job loss, wars, death, are all a part of this life we live. Promise and hope and certainty come from the presence of a loving God who never abandons us, regardless of the circumstances. “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble. . . . . The LORD of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. . . . Be still and know that I am God.”

By seeing clearly the truth of our own powerlessness, our own brokenness, our own humanity, we are freed from our illusions. We live as people of the covenant, knowing that we belong to God, and we can do that because God has written God’s promise on our hearts. We know the truth. God is our refuge, and will be with us, no matter what may come. Jesus calls us to embrace the truth, and by doing this, we can, like the bird, unhook our talons from the lining of the jacket, and live in freedom.

[1] Rudolf Bultmann, New Testament and Mythology and Other Basic Writings, trans. Schubert Miles Ogden (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 17